by Iris Gower
She climbed into her car and gunned the engine of the Mazda into life. ‘This had better be good,’ she said. Out on the road she headed in the direction of Plunch Lane. The wide streets of Jersey Marine quickly narrowed into winding country lanes bounded by thick hedgerows.
Through the open window of the car she could smell the tea roses, the corn, almost ready to cut. It was a lovely day, a day when she should be free of worry, free of her stupid infatuation for a married man.
As she neared the row of cottages she saw the two police cars at the bottom of the lane. Mrs Brandon was standing at the side of the road looking pale and anxious, but she managed to glower at Lowri as she drew the Mazda to a halt.
‘What now?’ Lowri muttered. She caught sight of DI Lainey – he was in his shirtsleeves and his hands were thrust into the pockets of his trousers. Lowri could not help noticing that he had a very pert bottom.
‘Why are the police here, what’s happened, Mrs Brandon?’
‘The place has been burgled!’ Sarah Brandon looked at Lowri as though she was responsible. ‘I went to the call-box and rang your boss to tell him I was terminating my tenancy here. I stopped to buy some groceries from the van that comes round. I must only have been gone about twenty minutes. When I got back the place had been wrecked.’
‘I don’t know what you expect me to do about it, Mrs Brandon,’ Lowri said. ‘The police are here, I’m sure they have the matter in hand.’
‘I don’t know about that, the detective there has been quizzing me as if I’m a criminal!’ She sounded outraged, as if, at any moment, she might burst into tears. ‘What I want to know is will I be compensated for the loss of my personal belongings?’
‘I wouldn’t think Mr Watson is responsible for your possessions, but you didn’t get me out here just for that, did you?’
‘No, in the mess that was made of the dressing-table drawers I found some underwear that wasn’t mine. I also found a credit-card receipt for them, and Sally White’s signature was on it. I really would like to know what’s been going on here. Has Jon been conducting orgies in my absence?’
Lowri took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know anything about that, Mrs Brandon.’
‘Well, I blame you! If you hadn’t been fooling around with my husband none of this would have happened.’
‘Hang on, now,’ Lowri protested but Sarah Brandon waved her hand impatiently.
‘You’ll have to take me back to town, I can’t stay here, not now.’
‘Where’s your own car?’ Lowri demanded, feeling angrier by the minute. Sarah Brandon pointed to a low sports car parked near the cottage.
‘There it is,’ she said. ‘With all its tyres slashed.’
‘I don’t quite see what this has got to do with me,’ Lowri began and then looked up as a shadow fell across her face.
‘You always turn up at the scene of a crime, don’t you, Miss Richards?’ Lainey’s face was expressionless and Lowri had no idea if he was serious or not. She saw the twinkle in his eyes and guessed he was not.
‘I have an alibi this time, Inspector. I was at the office.’
‘Well, you are not a suspect, Miss Richards.’ Lainey spoke soothingly. He moved a little closer and the scent of his aftershave drifted towards her. It was clean and fresh and very attractive.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She looked up and saw he was staring down at her with a curious expression on his face.
‘You’re wishing you could read my mind, aren’t you?’ she said quietly. ‘But there’s nothing there to help you with all this . . .’ She waved her hand, encompassing the cottage. ‘I don’t know what the hell is going on, I promise you.’
He allowed himself a smile. ‘You are half right except that I wasn’t thinking of the case.’
‘Are you going to give me a lift into town or not?’ Sarah Brandon demanded. ‘And tell your boss I will expect adequate compensation for all my worry and stress.’
‘I’d better go.’ Lowri grimaced and caught a half-suppressed smile on Lainey’s face.
Sarah climbed into the back seat of the car and Lowri was aware of the heaviness of the woman’s perfume.
‘Drive carefully, now, I’m a nervous passenger.’
Lowri felt like telling her she would drive any way she chose and if Mrs Brandon did not like it she could walk back to town.
As she negotiated the lanes Lowri felt a sense of pleasant warmth. She was sure Lainey liked her, she could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he spoke. But then was that his official ‘bedside’ manner, the one he adopted with everyone? Soon, the roads broadened and Lowri heard Sarah Brandon sigh with relief.
She dropped her at the entrance to a small hotel on the edge of Jersey Marine. Sarah walked into the hotel foyer without so much as a glance at Lowri over her shoulder.
‘Thank you too, Mrs Brandon,’ Lowri sighed, putting the car into gear. She was just about to drive away when she saw a man go in through the double doors of the hotel. Lowri frowned. From the back the man looked exactly like her stepfather. But what would Charles Richards be doing in Jersey Marine? Lowri shook her head; she must be mistaken. When she returned to the office, Sally was holding the telephone to her ear.
‘Excuse me, madam,’ she said quickly, ‘I’m going to have to get back to you on that one.’ She replaced the receiver and looked at Lowri, waiting for an explanation.
‘The place in Plunch Lane has been burgled and Sarah Brandon is bleating about compensation.’
‘Why would anyone want to burgle a holiday home?’ Sally asked.
‘Don’t ask me.’ Lowri sank into her chair, her head resting in her hands. ‘I wish to God I had never got involved with Jon Brandon. The man’s brought me nothing but trouble and heartache.’
‘Oh, you’ll get over it,’ Sally said brashly. ‘Think of it like this, Jon was just another man and men are ten a penny.’
‘By the way,’ Lowri said casually, ‘Sarah Brandon found some of your undies in the bungalow and the receipt that went with them. You do have a Visa card don’t you, Sally?’
Sally put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my Lord!’ she said. ‘I must have left my shopping bag at Plunch Lane when I was there a few days ago.’
‘You were over there, why?’ Lowri asked.
‘I had to take a copy of the lease Jon Brandon took out – his wife wanted to see it. There was some question about overlapping rent or something.’ She looked at Lowri. ‘Ask Mr Watson if you don’t believe me.’
Suddenly Lowri was tired of being suspicious of everyone. ‘I believe you, Sally. Come on, let’s go out for a bite to eat. My treat.’
Sally did not have to be asked twice. She swung her jacket off the hook and slipped her arms into the sleeves.
‘About time you cheered up,’ she said. ‘I was sick of seeing you with a long face. There’s plenty more fish in the sea, just remember that.’
‘Oh, I will.’ Lowri smiled. She was thinking of a very special fish, but that was something she intended to keep to herself. She might feel she had to trust Sally, but she did not trust her that much.
As the two girls stepped out of the building, a fire-engine sped past them with the siren blaring. ‘Busy chaps, hunky too!’
Sally stood and waved to one of the men in the cab and he waved back.
‘You are a terrible flirt, Sal,’ Lowri said, laughing in spite of herself.
‘Well, why not, it’s what makes the world go around, isn’t it?’
7
It was cold in the hospital corridor and dark after the brightness outside. Lowri, dwarfed by Lainey and his sergeant, felt a sense of unreality as she walked towards a set of double doors leading to the mortuary.
‘Had we been able to contact Mrs Brandon, she would have been here and not you.’ Lainey glanced sideways at her. ‘Did you know the place in Plunch Lane has burned down?’
‘No. Right now I don’t care. Just let’s get this over.’ Lowri was surprised at the calmness of her voice. Inside, sh
e was trembling.
‘He isn’t a pretty sight,’ Lainey said, ‘the body has been in the water for days.’
Lowri swallowed hard. She felt ill suddenly, as if the walls were closing in on her. She looked at Lainey.
‘If it is Jon, what then?’
‘It’s too early to say. The results of the post-mortem will be crucial, of course.’
‘All right, let’s get it over with.’
If she had thought the corridor cold, then the mortuary was like the grave. Not a happy comparison but already Lowri was shivering, partly with cold but mostly with fear. A white-shrouded figure lay on a slab and Lowri bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I don’t think I can go through with it.’
She stood beside the body with Lainey hovering near, watching her reaction. The young sergeant stood back as if to dissociate himself from the proceedings.
Lowri began to feel panic building up within her; she was dreading the moment when she might look into the dead face of the man she had loved. Had, was it really the past tense? Did love die so quickly? ‘I’m ready,’ she said.
The covering was drawn aside and Lowri stepped back a pace. The smell of death hit her like a blow. The face she saw was bloated; there were no eyes, just empty sockets. The mouth was unrecognizable, the lips eaten away. Lowri wanted to vomit. She forced herself to look at the hair which had settled into clumps like matted yellow wool.
‘It’s not him.’ The bile rose to her throat. She felt darkness pressing in on her and arms caught her as she passed out. She regained consciousness to find herself seated on a chair in the corridor. Lainey was holding a glass to her lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but it had to be done.’ He watched as she sipped the water. ‘How can you be so certain that wasn’t Jon Brandon?’
‘The hair mainly and the shape of him. The physique was all wrong.’ She glanced away. ‘After all, I did know him intimately.’
‘Anything else? If so, you must tell me now.’ Lainey did not look at her. She swallowed some water. She was certain that the corpse was not the man she had laughed with, had lain with, had loved.
Tears blurred her vision. Why had he deceived her? Why had Jon Brandon turned out to be a man leading a double life?
‘The hands were wrong, what was left of them,’ she said. ‘They were too large.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m certain that man in there is not Jon Brandon. Now, can I go home?’
He drove her to the house himself and waited while she unlocked the door.
‘Come in,’ she said, ‘if you can spare the time, that is.’
Lainey followed her across the hall and went straight through to the kitchen. She heard him switch on the kettle and soon the hum of boiling water and a fragrant aroma told her that he was making coffee. She almost smiled; he was as bad as Sally. Coffee, the panacea for all ills.
He returned to the room with two mugs and handed one to her. She sat in the window alcove and leaned against the wooden panels.
‘I’m sorry, Lowri,’ he said. ‘I had to find out if you were lying to me.’
She shuddered, seeing that man, that corpse, trying not to throw up at the stink, had made her realize that Jon might really be dead. ‘You were testing me? How could you, Jim? Didn’t you think it might tip me over the edge?’
‘I did hope that the shock of seeing the corpse might make you slip up in some way. But I would never wish you to go over the edge. A breakdown is a terrible thing.’
‘Speaking from experience?’
‘I might be.’ He moved towards her and crouched down so that his face was on a level with hers. ‘Look, I really think you should get out of this place for a while, and stay somewhere else in the neighbourhood. This has all the wrong memories, you surely must see that?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘All the wrong memories.’ She sipped the coffee but the sweetness made her feel sick. She put the mug on the floor. ‘Perhaps I will go away from here, move out of Jersey Marine for good.’
‘I don’t think that would be advisable, not just now.’ Lainey’s voice was mild. She nodded, grimacing a little.
‘If you think Jon is dead then are you saying that I am a suspect?’
‘Too early to say anything of the kind.’ He rose to his feet and moved to the door; his hand on the latch, he looked back at her. ‘For what it’s worth I think Jon Brandon is very much alive. I mean to solve this puzzle, to find out exactly what is going on and my first step is to find out where Mrs Brandon has taken herself off to.’ He let himself out and, as the door closed, Lowri resisted the urge to run after him.
She got to her feet and went upstairs to the bathroom; she realized she was nervous of being alone. She switched on the light over the mirror and applied some blusher to her cheeks. She would go out, perhaps do a bit of shopping. She could not bear to go back to the office to face questions from Sally.
The weather was cooler now; the sun had disappeared behind the clouds. Soon the leaves would turn red, then fall. Summer was coming to an end. She drove into the High Street and parked the car and began to stroll along the road, pausing now and then to look in the shop windows. She caught sight of her reflection and saw a pale, thin stranger. Perhaps she should grow her hair, find herself a new image. Her life with Jon was over for good and she must just make the best of it.
‘Lowri not in?’ Mr Watson stood in the doorway and Sally looked up at him, hastily pushing her nail-polish bottle out of sight.
‘She had to go somewhere with the police, Mr Watson, they came when you were out.’
Mr Watson grunted. ‘I would very much like to know what’s going on around here, Sally. Why are the police hounding Lowri?’
‘Well sir, you must know that her boyfriend Jon Brandon’s gone missing. The police have found a body and they want Lowri to do the identity thing.’
‘Damn nerve!’ Mr Watson said. ‘She should have called me.’ He put his finger to his glasses. ‘And where in heaven’s name is Mrs Brandon? She made enough fuss about being compensated for the break-in at the cottage.’ He sighed. ‘Goodness knows what she’ll try to claim now that the place has burnt down.’
‘I don’t know,’ Sally said. ‘Perhaps the cops . . . the police thought it better to take Lowri.’
The phone rang and Sally picked it up, hoping that her freshly applied nail polish would not smudge. ‘It’s the police.’ She mouthed the words at Mr Watson and he pursed his lips in disapproval. After a few minutes, she put down the receiver and sighed heavily.
‘What now?’ Mr Watson asked.
Sally shrugged. ‘They want to see you, Mr Watson, they want you to go to the police station to answer some questions about the Brandons’ tenancy.’
‘Well ring them back, Sally, and tell them they must come here if they want to see me. I’m not going running at their beck and call, I’m a busy man.’
She made the call and passed on Mr Watson’s message. Satisfied, he nodded and returned to his office. As soon as he was gone, Sally dialled Lowri’s number but there was no answer. Where could she be, had the police taken her into custody, perhaps? Well, there was nothing she could do about it. Opening her drawer, Sally pulled out the details of the cottages in Plunch Lane. She studied the sheet for some time before scribbling some words in the margin. Then she put the paper away again and sat back in her chair, smiling. Things were working out very well, very well indeed.
Lowri sat in the small waiting-room staring at the magazines lying on the coffee-table. She could not believe she was in Summer’s Dean, in yet another hospital. A nurse hurried past, a covered tray in her hand, and Lowri shuddered. She wanted to ask how her mother was but everyone seemed so busy.
Almost as soon as she had returned from shopping the phone had rung. It was her stepfather. ‘You’d better come down here,’ he said without preliminaries. ‘Your mother has been taken to St Mary’s in Summer’s Dean.’
‘What’s wrong, what’s happened to her?’ Lowri clutched the phone as if she cou
ld extract information from it.
‘How do I know? I’m not a doctor.’ Charles was his usual graceless self. ‘Just get here as soon as you can.’
She had thrown some clothes into an overnight bag and driven out of Jersey Marine without stopping to let anyone know. Two hours later she was at St Mary’s, no wiser than she had been when she left home.
This was turning out to be some day. First there had been the awful visit to the mortuary and now she was at another hospital, surrounded by the sights and smells of sickness.
A rough-looking man in an anorak heaved his way into the room and sat down opposite her. She averted her gaze quickly, he had obviously been crying.
‘Miss Richards,’ a nurse appeared at her side, ‘you can go in to see your mother now. Room three, down the corridor on the right.’
Rhian Richards was in a private room, at least Charles had managed that much. She was lying against the pillows, an oxygen mask over her face. Her eyes were open and she was trying her best to smile.
Lowri sat beside the bed. ‘How are you feeling, Mother? No, silly question, don’t bother to answer it.’ She took Rhian’s hand, noticing how slender her fingers were. Her mother really needed to take better care of herself.
‘The gas fire,’ Rhian whispered, ‘carbon monoxide poisoning. An accident.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Don’t blame Charles, he was away. It was my own fault.’
‘Mummy!’ Lowri said. ‘You always make excuses for him. He should have seen to it that the fires were checked.’
Rhian shook her head and Lowri dropped the subject. It was pointless to blame Charles – her mother would always defend him.
‘I’ll stay at the house for a few days,’ she said. ‘I could do with a break from work anyway.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll have to make a few phone calls, let people know where I am, but it won’t hurt me to have a rest, will it?’
Her mother struggled to sit up. ‘What about your job, Lowri?’
