Person or Persons Unknown

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Pops has been there for as long as I can remember,’ Lindsey commented. ‘It’s odd to think he soon won’t be. Because of his retirement, I mean,’ she added hastily.

  They went inside and were shown to a table. The café was doing a good trade in afternoon tea. There were blue and white checked cloths on the tables, and the crockery bore the willow pattern from which it had taken its name. Rona ordered a toasted bacon sandwich. She’d still not phoned Max, but since there was now no urgency, this evening would do.

  She glanced across at her twin. ‘Anything more on Hugh?’

  ‘No,’ Lindsey said, adding after a minute, ‘Thank God.’

  ‘And Jonathan? Still dancing attendance?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘When did this start between you?’ Rona asked curiously. ‘I thought at first he was new to the firm, but at dinner he said he’d been there yonks. If you’d known each other for years, why the sudden spark?’

  Lindsey shrugged. ‘At first I was married to Hugh and not looking elsewhere, though I always thought he was dishy. Also …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There was talk he was seeing someone in accounts.’

  ‘Quite the philanderer.’

  Lindsey bit her lip. ‘Then, of course, I met Rob.’

  There was a brief silence, while they both reflected on that disastrous episode.

  ‘And as soon as that ended,’ she continued, ‘Hugh started his weekend visits, so to some extent I was involved with him again. It was really only after our latest bust-up that Jonathan … hove to, as it were. Said I was looking miserable, and would a drink cheer me up, and we went on from there.’ She paused. ‘Weird it should turn out he knew that girl whose death you’re working on.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Rona agreed.

  Catherine sat gripping Tom’s hand, her eyes continually searching his face. ‘But it’s my fault!’ she insisted for the second time. ‘God, Tom, if anything serious had happened as a result of my suggesting—’

  He smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘My darling, that’s the best release of tension known to man! If it hadn’t been for that episode, I might really have kicked the bucket.’

  ‘Don’t talk like that!’

  ‘Well, it’s true.’ He paused, looking at her anxious face. ‘But if you really feel responsible, let me scotch it once and for all. As it happens I did have a word with the doctor; asked if it could have had any ill effects, and he said no.’ His mouth twitched. ‘Though he advised me not to overdo it for a while!’

  Catherine flushed, laughing in spite of herself.

  ‘So you don’t have to hie yourself to a nunnery, all right?’

  ‘That’s a relief!’ She bent forward and gently kissed his mouth. ‘I do love you,’ she said.

  Fifteen

  When Rona returned to her study the following morning, it was to find Gemma’s tapes still on her desk, as she’d left them when Mrs O’Toole telephoned. Fortunately, her call to Max the previous evening had been taken up with the drama over her father, and it was only at the end that he’d thought to enquire about Selina. Rona reported that she was still seriously ill but making progress, and no more was said. He seemed to have forgotten the urgency of the summons to her bedside, which was just as well; she’d no intention of telling him Selina thought she was in danger.

  Rona sat down and stared for a couple of minutes at the postcard from Monte Carlo, reaching out absentmindedly for the phone when it started to ring.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Well now,’ said the remembered voice, ‘not doing too well, are we? And now that woman mentioned in the paper is in hospital. Coincidence, would you say? Don’t you think it’s time you agreed to see me, before anything else unpleasant takes place?’

  Instinctively, Rona slammed down the phone – and immediately regretted it. Without hope, she dialled one-four-seven-one, to be told, as she’d known she would be, that the caller had withheld the number. Pushing him from her mind, she switched on the recorder, backtracking slightly to remind herself of Gemma’s last words. I thought I’d switched it off, she said.

  For the next twenty minutes or so she sat listening as Gemma reminded herself of dental appointments, trips to the clinic, cinema bookings and a dozen other things that had made up her life. Selina was right, Rona concluded regretfully; there was nothing of interest here. However, the tape had barely two more minutes to run; she’d hear it through to the end, then turn her attention to something else. In fact, it would be a relief when it finished; it was becoming increasingly difficult to sit listening to the dates Gemma gave at the beginning of each memo, knowing they were moving steadily and inexorably towards the day of her death. Which had been—

  ‘January the twenty-fifth,’ supplied Gemma on cue, and this time her voice sounded clogged, as though she’d a cold or had been crying. ‘Selina will be late home, so remember to record the serial – if I can get the video to work.’ There was a pause, while she blew her nose. ‘Clinic appointment, but must be back by five, for Jonathan. Check there’s enough beer; he—’

  There was a final click as the tape ran out. Rona scarcely heard it. She sat staring at the machine for some minutes, then briefly rewound it. No, she hadn’t misheard: January the twenty-fifth, Gemma had said. Which was the date she was killed. And Jonathan had been expected at five o’clock. Either Selina hadn’t played this tape, or had got bored and switched off halfway through, as she almost had herself. And the police, though they’d taken the recorder, would have found only a new, blank tape in it; Gemma must have tossed this one on the shelf with the others, until she could be bothered to clear it.

  God! she thought. What should she do? Would the police be remotely interested in such flimsy evidence? After all, there was no saying whether Hurst had actually gone to the flat, or even if he was the Jonathan she’d been talking about. Yet surely, as her unknown caller had hinted, it was too much of a coincidence? And was it the expectation of seeing him that had upset Gemma?

  Rona thought back to his manner at their dinner table, when she’d questioned him about her – the spilt wine, the hunted look in his eyes. He’d carried it off well, she had to admit, but he’d certainly given the impression that once Gemma had dropped out of the crowd, he’d never seen her again. Let alone on the day of her death.

  Suppose she did go to the police? Even if they decided to look into it, it could be days, weeks, even months before they took any action, during which time he would presumably be at large. And with Lindsey. What he’d done once …

  Rona gave herself a little shake. Suppose she told Max, then – asked his advice? But she already knew what it would be. Drop it – get out while you can – it’s not your problem; the girl’s been dead over twenty years, and the world’s kept turning.

  It seemed, then, that she had two options: one was to put the whole thing out of her mind and forget she’d ever heard the tape, the downside being she’d continue to worry about Lindsey. The second was to tackle him herself. Her skin prickled at the thought, but she’d no intention of being foolhardy. She would take someone with her, meet him in a public place, and let him know she’d told a number of people her suspicions – even if this last was untrue.

  Her mouth was dry and she plugged in the kettle to make coffee. So – where could they meet, and who should be her escort? Dave Lampeter was the obvious choice; an ex-student of Max’s who’d still not found long-term employment, he’d acted as her bodyguard before. She wondered if he was still available and, while she drank her coffee, looked up his number.

  ‘Dave? It’s Rona.’

  ‘Hi there. How are things?’

  ‘A little fraught; hence the call.’

  ‘Uh-oh!’

  ‘How are you fixed at the moment?’

  ‘Literally at the moment?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Well, at this precise minute I’m on my way back from delivering an order.’

  ‘You’re not still stacking shelves, th
en?’

  ‘No, I’ve been elevated to deliveries,’ he said drily. ‘We’re on the Internet now, and doing a roaring trade. They needed more drivers, I have a clean licence, so I applied. Gets me out and about, at least.’

  ‘Any free time?’

  He said cautiously, ‘You’re not on the track of another murderer, are you?’

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘God, Rona, where do you dig them up? And I suppose Max is in blissful ignorance, as usual?’

  ‘More or less. Look, this isn’t a long-term thing.’ She thought rapidly. ‘Could you make yourself available around lunch time?’

  ‘Today? Shouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I can swing this, but I’m hoping to meet someone, and I’d like you to be there.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Have lunch while keeping an eye on us, and afterwards see me safely back home.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘I’m hoping so. First, though, I’ll have to see if I can ensnare my quarry. I’ll ring you back as soon as I know.’

  ‘I can hardly wait,’ he said.

  Rona finished her coffee, her mind turning over possibilities. Where could she meet Jonathan that would ensure there’d be plenty of people around, but still afford them a little privacy? For various reasons she discarded the Gallery, the Clarendon and Dino’s – which left the wine bar where she and Lindsey had once met for lunch. It had waist-high partitions between the tables, giving at least the illusion of privacy.

  What, she wondered, did Jonathan do at lunch times, apart from make love to her sister? A casual phone call to Lindsey should, with luck, reveal his plans. She rang Chase Mortimer, only to be told that Miss Parish wasn’t in today.

  ‘She’s working from home? It’s her sister speaking.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Miss Parish. No, unfortunately she has one of her migraines. She hopes to be back tomorrow.’

  Rona thanked her and rang off. A quick call to Lindsey established that she was, in fact, confined to bed and feeling sorry for herself.

  ‘It’s a full-blown one this time,’ she reported, ‘flashing lights and the lot. I can’t even lift my head off the pillow. Mum’s coming round later, to minister to me.’

  ‘I’ll pop over myself this evening,’ Rona promised.

  She’d have to think of something else, then. Jonathan was unlikely to agree to meet her without a plausible reason, but …

  An idea was forming in her mind; it was duplicitous, but it should prove effective. He and Lindsey must have the same lunch hour, since they often spent it together. Crossing her fingers, she again phoned Chase Mortimer, this time disguising her voice.

  ‘Mr Jonathan Hurst, please.’

  ‘May I ask who’s calling?’

  ‘It’s a personal call.’

  ‘One moment, please.’

  Then: ‘Jonathan Hurst.’

  ‘Jonathan, it’s me.’ Rona waited breathlessly, but even Max couldn’t distinguish her voice from Lindsey’s on the phone.

  ‘Hello, angel. Feeling under the weather, I hear?’

  ‘Actually, it’s easing off a little and some fresh air wouldn’t go amiss.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Especially if it took in a bit of lunch.’

  ‘Oh honey, when I heard you weren’t in, I arranged to meet Frank.’

  ‘You can change it, can’t you? I really need to see you.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what he’ll think—’

  ‘Please, Jonathan.’

  ‘All right. Where do you want to go?’

  A potential trap here. Had they, or had they not, visited the Bacchus together? ‘How about the Bacchus? I’m still a bit sensitive to light, and it’s nice and dim there. Don’t mention you’re meeting me though, or they’ll think I’m playing hooky.’

  He gave a low laugh. ‘It’s a date. One o’clock?’

  ‘One o’clock,’ she said aridly. It had been almost too easy.

  ‘One o’clock at the Bacchus,’ she confirmed to Dave, minutes later. ‘At least, you’d better make it ten to. Can you manage that?’

  ‘No problem. Are you likely to want me to leap to your defence, because those partitions could do me a mischief.’

  She smiled. ‘No leaping should be required, and your lunch is, of course, on me. Thanks, Dave.’

  Rona arrived at the wine bar at twelve forty-five, with Gus as added protection. The head waiter looked doubtful, until she assured him he always accompanied her to restaurants and lay quietly under the table. At her request, she was shown to a booth at the back, and seated herself so she could watch the entrance. She ordered a bottle of Muscadet and smoked salmon sandwiches for two, doubting that either of them would have much appetite.

  Five minutes later, Dave came in, saw her, and took a table in the centre of the room, not close enough to overhear conversation, but within easy reach should the need arise. The scene was set, and all they were lacking was the principal player.

  He arrived at five past one. As soon as she saw him in the doorway, Rona put a hand to her head, screening her face. She heard him approach and slide into the seat opposite.

  ‘Still suffering?’ he asked sympathetically.

  She raised her head and looked at him, saw the shock in his eyes, followed by dawning anger.

  ‘Rona?’ he asked uncertainly. Then, with more vigour, ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  The waiter’s arrival saved her replying, and Jonathan watched in growing bewilderment as he was shown the bottle of wine and invited to taste it. He hesitated, glanced at Rona, and after a minute did so, nodded briefly, and sat in silence as it was poured into two glasses. The man had barely moved away when a smiling girl brought the sandwiches, appetisingly garnished with parsley and lemon.

  ‘Enjoy your meal,’ she said.

  Jonathan met Rona’s eyes. ‘Is there any reason why I shouldn’t get up and walk out of here?’

  ‘Quite a pressing one, actually.’

  ‘Which is?’

  She took the recorder out of her bag and, putting it on the table between them, pressed the switch. Immediately, Gemma’s tear-clogged voice started speaking, as clearly as if she were sitting next to them. Jonathan hurled himself back in his chair, his eyes riveted on the machine and the colour draining from his face.

  … must be back by five, for Jonathan. Check there’s enough beer; he—

  A click, then silence.

  ‘Oh God!’ he exclaimed convulsively. ‘Oh, my God!’

  He dragged his eyes from the machine to Rona’s intent face, moistening his lips. ‘Where the hell did you get that?’

  ‘Selina found it among her things.’

  ‘God!’ he said again, shakily. He reached for his glass and drained it, seemingly wishing it were something stronger.

  ‘She gave the date earlier,’ Rona said, above the thundering of her heart. ‘It was the day she was killed.’

  ‘I know that, damn it. God, how well I know it!’

  Rona reached for her own wine glass, her hand as unsteady as his. ‘So?’

  He wiped a hand across his face, and she saw beads of perspiration on his forehead.

  ‘Did you tell the police you’d just seen her?’

  He gave the travesty of a laugh. ‘You know damn well I didn’t.’ He looked up suddenly, frowning. ‘Is Lindsey in on this? Was her migraine a blind?’

  ‘No, it’s genuine all right; she’s at home in bed. She doesn’t know what I’m doing.’

  There was a taut silence. Absentmindedly, Jonathan reached for a sandwich and began to eat it. ‘You were suspicious of me from the first, weren’t you? As soon as you met Selina, and found out I’d known them? I could tell, at your house that evening.’

  ‘I did wonder why you’d not told Lindsey, when she’d mentioned Gemma earlier.’

  ‘I thought I’d explained why.’

  ‘And I was prepared to believe you. Until I played the tape.’

  H
e nodded, accepting this. He finished the sandwich and started another, and Rona, hoping to fill the emptiness inside her, did the same, though she scarcely tasted it.

  ‘The question is, will you believe me now, if I tell you what actually happened?’

  ‘Try me.’

  He gave a deep sigh. ‘I suppose I’ve nothing to lose.’ A pause. Then: ‘To be frank, I’d always carried a torch for Gemma, even after we stopped going out together. But then she dropped out of the crowd altogether, and eventually I met someone else – Carol, in fact, who later became my wife.’

  Someone laughed loudly at an adjacent table. Two waiters collided at the door to the kitchens, and an empty tray fell to the floor, clattering on the tiles.

  ‘Then one day,’ Jonathan continued slowly, ‘that day –’ he nodded at the tape – ‘I bumped into her in town and we went for a coffee. To be honest, I was worried about her; she’d obviously been crying, but she wouldn’t say what was wrong. I asked after Selina, and Gemma said she was going to a leaving do that evening and would be late home. “Just when I could do with some company!” she said.’

  He refilled both their glasses. ‘Well, to be honest, I wondered if I was in with a chance. I still hankered after her, and her bloke was no longer in the picture. So I suggested dropping in after work, to cheer her up.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘And you went?’ Rona asked at last.

  ‘Oh yes, I went. We drank beer and played some music, and I was hoping to stay at least until Selina got back, but at half past six Gemma said it was time for the baby’s bath, and though I’d have been happy to watch, or help her or something, it was clear she expected me to go. So – I went.’

  ‘And that was it?’ Rona demanded, when he didn’t go on.

  ‘Yes. The next day the whole place was buzzing with the news Selina’d found her dead when she got back. I just couldn’t believe it. I was numb, horrified. And when it dawned on me I must have been the last person to see her alive, I just – flipped, went into complete panic mode. Fortunately I’d not told anyone I was seeing her – I didn’t want it to get back to Carol. I convinced myself there was no way anyone could find out, and that if I kept my head down, it would be all right. I was questioned, of course, along with everyone else who knew her, but the gods were with me and nothing came out.’