If Tom had ever seen an example of a human ventriloquist’s dummy, this was it. He looked at Mrs Bale. She was looking down, smoothing the red dress over her thighs as if satisfied with her husband’s response. He was certain they were going to get nothing useful out of these two while they were in the same room.
Becky had clearly picked up his silent message. ‘Could I make you both a cup of tea or coffee?’ she asked. ‘Mrs Bale, would you mind showing me where the kitchen is?’
Mr Bale quickly pushed himself up from the sofa before his wife could respond. ‘It’s all right, Linda. I’ll go.’
There was no doubt at all that Gregory Bale was only too glad to get out of the room, and Tom hoped Becky would be able to get some sense out of him, because he was sure he was going to get nothing at all from his wife.
*
The kitchen was much as Becky would have expected in a property of this age that hadn’t been brought up to date by demolishing walls, adding flat-roof extensions and fitting bi-folding doors. It was a small galley, with room for just one person to cook.
Mr Bale led the way in and turned to face her.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, reaching for the kettle.
‘I’ll have coffee, if that’s okay. DCI Douglas will have the same, but I’m happy to make it. Please, Mr Bale, you don’t need to do this.’
Becky made a move towards the kettle, and Mr Bale banged it down on the draining board and pushed past her, moving quickly towards the door. For a moment Becky thought he was going to flee upstairs, but to her surprise he pushed the door closed and leaned against it, his palms pressing down on either side of his body as if to ward off an intruder.
‘You didn’t want a drink really, did you? And I don’t think you really needed someone to show you where the kitchen is – it wouldn’t have taken many of your detecting skills to find it.’
Becky looked at the man’s face, the last vestiges of self-control slipping, his voice breaking on the last syllable.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Bale. I thought it might be useful to give the two of you a bit of space, that’s all. I quite understand if you want to go back to your wife.’
There was a trace of a smile for a fleeting second, but now the tears were flowing freely. Becky unravelled a handful of kitchen roll from its stainless-steel holder and passed it to Mr Bale. Knowing that nothing she could say or do would make this poor man feel any better, she busied herself with the coffee to give him some time.
‘I think Jen might have been seeing someone.’ Mr Bale spoke quietly.
Becky didn’t turn round, but carried on with her task, not wanting to interrupt the flow.
‘Don’t tell my wife. She has no idea, and she’d be furious. She wouldn’t forgive me for not telling her, and maybe she’d be right.’
‘It’s not that unusual for a girl of Jennifer’s age to be interested in boys, Mr Bale. But you said before that you hadn’t given your permission. I’m not sure I understand.’
Becky pushed a cup of coffee across the worktop to Mr Bale, who wiped his eyes and stuck the damp kitchen roll in his trouser pocket.
‘We believe that girls shouldn’t start dating until they are of marriageable age – and then they’re supposed to be serious relationships, not frivolous.’
‘So it’s a religious thing?’ Becky asked, trying not to show her surprise.
‘Yes, but God forgive me, I think it’s a mistake. Young girls have to kiss a lot of frogs before they find a prince. And it’s the same for boys. They know when they marry that the man is supposed to be the one in charge, but unless you’ve had a few relationships you don’t always realise what you’re getting yourself into.’
Mr Bale spoke the words quietly, as if this was something that was very close to his heart.
‘And your wife doesn’t agree?’
He shook his head. ‘I suspected Jen might have met someone, but I couldn’t ask her because then I would know. And if I knew, I would have had to tell my wife. She would have expected me to lay down the law and forbid her to see this boy. So it was better not to know, if that makes sense.’
Becky tried to ignore the thought that if Jennifer had been able to talk to either of her parents, none of this might have happened. It was too late for If only… and it wasn’t a helpful thought, much less one she should voice.
‘What do you know, or what have you guessed, about the boyfriend?’
Mr Bale hung his head. ‘I don’t really know anything. Jen had taken up swimming recently. She went with her friend Lauren. We don’t encourage competitive sport, but she said she wanted to swim for pleasure and there’s a pool that’s not too hard to get to from here – River View. She takes the tram and then a bus. On one of the nights she was supposed to be swimming I saw Lauren going into the chip shop – so obviously not at the pool with Jen. And although she always brought her costume home wet, it didn’t smell like a swimming pool, if you know what I mean. I know she might have rinsed it, but it’s a smell that lingers, isn’t it?’
‘Did you ask her about why she wasn’t with her friend?’
Mr Bale looked up and Becky saw a flush on his sallow cheeks. ‘No. Because like I said, I’d have known, wouldn’t I? I pretended I hadn’t seen Lauren, then I didn’t have to say anything to Linda.’
Just as Becky was about to ask more, there was a yell of anguish followed by the slam of a door upstairs, and Mr Bale’s head swivelled towards the door.
‘Oh no!’ He turned swiftly and wrenched the door open, setting off at a run for the stairs. ‘It’s okay,’ he shouted. ‘Daddy’s coming.’
15
Tom and Becky were finally on their way back to the office. Tom had accompanied Mr Bale to the mortuary for the formal identification, his wife opting to remain at home with their son, and Becky had stayed with them. It hadn’t taken long, but Tom couldn’t get the image of Mr Bale’s wide-eyed look of horror from his head.
‘What did you make of the Bales’ reaction, Becky?’
He glanced sideways at her, noticing that she looked a bit pale too, but he didn’t dare ask her if she was okay again. He had taken over the driving, and she had given in much more readily than he would normally have expected, deluded as she was that she was an excellent driver.
‘What?’ she asked, looking as if he had just woken her from a dream. ‘Oh, sorry. It’s pretty clear that they don’t want to believe what’s happened, particularly Mrs Bale, and if Jennifer did kill herself they’re not going to find it easy to accept, are they?’
Tom blew out a long breath. ‘What did the dad have to say when you got him alone? He didn’t speak much to me on the way to the mortuary, and I can’t say I blame him.’
‘It was all a bit weird, really. He’s fairly sure that Jennifer had something going on with a boy, but it was better not to know.’
Becky filled Tom in with the rest of Mr Bale’s revelations and his suspicions about the days when Jennifer was supposed to be swimming.
‘I think his wife forces him to be far more strict than he believes is absolutely necessary, so he didn’t delve too deeply. From what I could gather,’ Becky said, ‘they believe in a patriarchal family – the father sets all the rules and everybody has to obey them.’
‘Wives, submit to your husbands in all things,’ Tom said in a fake pompous voice.
‘What? Where has that come from?’ Becky swung round to face him, laughing.
‘Don’t shoot the messenger. It’s from the Bible. It may not be those precise words, but that’s the gist of it. Ephesians, I think. So Mr Bale is supposed to make the rules that Mrs Bale and their family live by.’
Becky snorted. ‘Whereas in reality Mrs Bale tells him what the rules are, and he just passes them on. I now know what he meant when he said men don’t always realise what they’re getting themselves into.’
She gazed out of the window for a while, but being silent for long was not her forte.
‘Did you hear Jennifer’s little broth
er cry out from upstairs?’
‘I did, and Mrs Bale looked cross. She’s not the most empathetic of parents, is she? Did you get any explanation from her husband?’
Becky’s mirthless laugh indicated her thoughts very clearly. ‘He told me the child had been listening at the door and he’d run back upstairs sobbing, saying things like, “I should have helped her.” I asked if I could speak to him, but apparently that was one step too far. We need to follow it up, Tom. Maybe her kid brother was the only person she could confide in.’
For the rest of the short journey they made their plans for the next day, but there was nothing they could do right now and Tom couldn’t see anything to be gained by working late. It was Becky’s first crime scene since she had been back, and he could sense how much it had taken out of her.
‘I’ll drive you back and pick up my car, Becky, then let’s call it a day. Don’t want to be sending you back to the hospital just yet, do we?’
Becky didn’t respond for a few moments.
‘Are you still okay to meet up later, Tom?’ she asked, her voice unusually hesitant.
‘Of course. But do you want a chat now, as I’m driving and not clasping on to the sides of my seat for a change?’ He smiled.
‘Er…no. I’d rather stick to the plan. Meet up in Bar Roma at seven, if that’s all right with you.’
This was very unlike Becky, and Tom was puzzled. But if she wanted to talk, he certainly had nobody to rush home to.
‘I could stop somewhere,’ he said.
‘No, I’d rather drive my car home and get a taxi in. Would that be all right?’
Stranger and stranger, Tom thought.
‘Of course. It’s sounds like you’re planning a heavy evening.’
Becky grunted in response, and Tom had the horrible feeling that she was about to resign from the force. If so, that would be a huge loss, both personally and professionally.
‘I need to phone Lucy first, but seven o’clock should be fine,’ he said, thoughts of his daughter driving all other concerns from his mind. Day after day Tom witnessed the dangers inherent in growing up, and a flicker of fear for his daughter lurked permanently at the edge of his consciousness. Today’s tragedy had been one of the worst, and he needed to talk to Lucy, to make sure that she was safe and happy.
‘Give her my love,’ Becky said.
*
As soon as Tom had parked the car and walked across to his own, Becky jumped into the driving seat. She had the feeling she was going to need a bit of Dutch courage tonight, so far better to get a taxi.
She hoped and prayed that she had got everything right – the timing and Tom’s state of mind. She wondered how long it would take him to forgive her if she was completely wrong.
Her designated parking space at Mark’s apartment building was taken, as always, which drove her insane. She was tempted to bring some police notices to stick on the offending car, and at some point she would, but not tonight. She parked in a visitor’s spot and glanced up at the lighted window of their living room. Mark was home, but she couldn’t face him right now, so she walked to the end of the road where she could pick up a taxi on its way back to Piccadilly – the one advantage of living right on top of a noisy railway station.
She gave the driver the address of the bar where she had agreed to meet Tom and climbed into the back, going over and over in her mind the best way to play things.
Relax, she told herself. But what if she’d read Tom all wrong?
Tom was already at the bar when she arrived and raised his arm. She swallowed her anxiety and walked across the busy room to his side.
‘How’s Lucy?’ she asked.
He smiled, and the love for his daughter shone from his eyes.
‘She’s fine. A bit stroppy, according to her mum, but she said to say hi to you and asked if you’d been drinking any more river water.’
‘Oh, ha bloody ha.’ Lucy was a great kid, and Becky knew how much Tom missed seeing her every day.
‘What are you having?’ he asked, smiling down at her.
Becky looked at her boss, at the lines that creased his face when he smiled and the slightly messy dark blond hair that just touched his collar, and wondered what on earth she was doing.
‘Could I have a vodka and tonic, please – not too much tonic.’
Tom raised his eyebrows and his grin widened. ‘Like that, is it? Go and sit down – I’ll bring the drinks over.’
Becky chose a table in a noisy corner, aware that the more people were laughing and talking around her, the less likely they were to hear what she had to say.
Tom arrived all too quickly with the drinks and raised his glass in a silent toast. ‘It’s great to have you back, Becky, but don’t push yourself. You should take a leaf out of Leo’s book. She’s decided that life’s too short – as in her case it very nearly was. Yours too, for that matter. She makes sure she has time to relax and enjoy herself these days.’
Becky took a large gulp of her vodka. Had she got this completely wrong?
Tom hadn’t finished. ‘You should be at home resting, so what on earth is so important that it couldn’t wait?’
Becky took a second drink. ‘It’s personal, Tom, and I’m really concerned that I’m about to do something inappropriate.’
She paused and looked at his face. The smile was fading. She had to get on with it.
‘When I asked if you would be free for a drink, and you said you didn’t have any plans, I took that to mean that you’re not seeing anyone at the moment. But you just mentioned Leo. Are you back together?’
Tom was beginning to look wary.
‘Why would you want to know that?’ he asked. As always, he was being economical with information about his private life.
‘I got the impression that things were over between you. Was I wrong?’
Tom’s brow furrowed. ‘Becky, I don’t have to explain the ins and outs of my relationship with Leo to you or anyone else.’
Becky flapped the hand that wasn’t holding the glass to her lips, and noticed the vodka had nearly all gone.
‘No, no – it’s okay. I just wanted to be sure that you’re over her.’
Tom put his whisky glass down on the table and leaned back, as if recoiling from Becky.
I’m doing this all wrong, she thought. What if he’s seeing her again? It’s weeks since she told me they were done.
‘Look, Tom, it’s simple. I’m trying to work out if you’re available – whether you’d be interested in maybe exploring the possibility of a new relationship.’
Becky knew her boss well enough to recognise when he was trying to control his facial expression. After five seconds that seemed like an eternity Tom leaned forward and reached out a hand to pull one of Becky’s from the beer mat that she was currently tearing into small pieces.
‘Becky…’
One look at Tom’s face told her everything she needed to know. She pulled her hand away sharply and stood up.
‘I’m going to the loo.’
She pushed her way through a crowd of people and strode quickly to the Ladies. Finding an empty cubicle, she pushed the door closed behind her and leaned against it.
Well, she thought, I made a right cock of that.
16
Tom needed another drink, but if he deserted their table now it would be taken in an instant as the bar filled up. A passing waiter carrying food to another table stopped by Tom’s side.
‘Will you be eating, sir?’ he asked.
‘Not just now, thanks. Maybe later,’ he said. ‘Is it possible to get another drink, though?’
The waiter seemed all too happy to help, and after he had deposited the food returned to take Tom’s order. He ordered doubles for both of them.
What could Becky be thinking? He had to prevent her from saying more. Surely she wasn’t going to proposition him? What about Mark?
He was going to have to deflect this somehow. Tom had never thought of himself as much of a catch, an
d his ex-wife certainly had no hesitation in detailing his weaknesses and flaws. But right now he had no idea how he was going to handle this when Becky came back.
He was staring into his newly delivered drink, turning the glass round and round, wondering what on earth he was going to say – and anyway, where the hell was Becky; she had been gone for about ten minutes – when he became conscious of a subtle, light fragrance that had nothing to do with food and realised someone was standing next to the table. He looked up.
‘Louisa,’ he said with a rush of pleasure. He hadn’t seen her since those dreadful days at the hospital when Becky had almost died. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
Tom stood up and was about to offer his hand to shake when she leaned towards him and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.
‘Hi, Tom. Mind if I sit down?’
‘I’d be delighted.’ Tom glanced towards the door to the Ladies. At least with Louisa here Becky wouldn’t be able to dig herself any deeper into a hole. ‘What brings you here? Are you meeting someone?’
Louisa laughed. ‘I was certainly hoping so.’
Tom looked at her wide smile and wasn’t at all sure what she meant. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sleeveless vibrant blue top, and she looked so much more relaxed than when he had last seen her as she checked the various bits of machinery monitoring Becky’s breathing.
Louisa leaned forward, whispering confidentially. ‘I was hoping to bump into you, Tom.’
Tom sat back, and the pieces slowly fell into place. He grinned at Louisa. ‘Bloody Becky. She organised this, didn’t she?’
Louisa nodded, clearly amused at Tom’s obvious relief. ‘We were plotting when she was in hospital. The thing is, when you and I met I wasn’t myself. I was struggling with the fact that my friend Hayley had been so brutally murdered, and when I saw you with Leo I assumed you were together so I backed off. Then Becky told me that wasn’t the case and she had the idea that if you and I could meet by accident, I could gauge your response before doing what I always do – jump in with both feet. But I’m not that good at play-acting, so I might as well admit it. You’ve been set up, Tom.’
Tom Douglas Box Set 2 Page 74
