by Vicky Jones
“Yeah, that is a bit strange. But it might be that Mrs. Walker didn’t want to speak to her. People do strange things all the time.”
Rachel paused. “It was just a thought.”
“Look, I don’t know where your head’s at right now, Rachel. But from where I’m standing it doesn’t sound like Diana Walker has taken some train to sanctuary. We’ve had the CCTV from all local train stations looked at. No sign of her. Also, what did she use to pay for her ticket, Scotch mist? We might not have a motive, but that Lovell girl had the means and opportunity to get into the house with the spare key, so that’s why there was no forced entry present. Also, Walker knew her, so trusted her. I want that girl brought in and questioned. We need to box off this case, quick smart. We need to find Diana Walker, or the press will have a field day. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll speak to Poppy tomorrow.”
The lightbulb above the table swayed as another gust of wind buffeted against the lighthouse. The waves in the distance continued to lash the rocks.
“So, what happened?” Amanda asked The Nurse.
“Well, I was so torn up by not being believed at the hospital that my husband paid for some private therapy, due to the stress of it all. He could see how much it was getting me down, working with this monster. I’d already been suspended for the allegations, but now they were talking about making it permanent if I kept this ‘vendetta’, they called it, up. Almost thirty years as a nurse, all for nothing. No job, no pension.”
“That’s shit,” Amanda said.
“So in my therapy sessions each week, I talked about it. And the therapist listened. And listened. Until one day he finally said, ‘What would you say if I told you I could get rid of the problem for you?’”
“Meaning the pervert doctor, right?” Amanda asked.
“Yes. I thought it was a joke at first. A test to see what I would say. Maybe testing my mental state, perhaps? But I wasn’t crazy. I was angry at the doctor. Working with that predator day in, day out, you should hear what he said to me. I was putting up with it so I could try and protect as many vulnerable patients as I could. Well, I couldn’t face doing that forever. What if I got sick and couldn’t go in one day? How could I live with that being the day someone else died? When the therapist alluded to another type of justice, well, what can I say? It sounded appealing.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me to give him details of the doctor’s whereabouts, his movements, where he hangs out after work, all that kind of thing. I managed to get his address. And one of the last things the therapist asked was, ‘Are you sure you want this to go ahead?’”
The Teacher and The Gardener looked at each other, then at Amanda. The Gardener watched her reactions especially keenly.
“So then what happened?” Amanda asked.
“I nodded. The Therapist told me to ask no questions, not act any different and he said he would now take care of it. I wouldn’t know when. There are a few people involved, but we all don’t know each other. Safer that way, I guess. Then we all can’t tell on each other. And as expected, four days later, the bastard didn’t show up to work. The hospital reported him missing, and all kinds of things got said, like he’d topped himself, gone off with somebody else. But I knew what had happened. I had my normal weekly therapy session and I was just told it was ‘sorted’. Now as much as I’m happy about that, that no doubt he is buried somewhere, I have to live with that.” She paused and began fiddling with her wedding ring. “This kind of thing isn’t me. I’ve lied to my husband, my daughter, my colleagues… I’m responsible for somebody's murder.”
“Sounds to me like the bastard deserved it,” Amanda said. “I bet he squirmed while they were finishing him off.”
“He did deserve it. I know it was the right thing to do, for all those patients he won’t have the chance to hurt. But it was on my conscience and that's what this group is for. The Therapist knows that we all can’t just live with this, so he created this little group. It gives us a chance to get things off our chest and makes it less likely one of us will crack and start talking to a stranger. Clever when you think about it. For the three of us, and now you, who have to live with being responsible for ending people’s lives. We may not pull the trigger, but we are just as guilty.”
Amanda swallowed and licked her dry lips. “Where is he buried?”
“Oh, we never get told that... Ever… It’s so we can’t get interrogated. We don’t know anything. Only The Therapist knows.”
Amanda looked at the two men across the table. “What’s your story?” she said to The Teacher.
He remained quiet for a few moments. After fiddling with his tie knot, loosening it slightly, he shuffled in his chair and folded his arms. “I was also having stress therapy. There was this guy teaching at the same school as me. I’d noticed him acting inappropriately towards some year elevens he was teaching. Same as The Nurse really, I spoke up, but no one believed me. No hard evidence, and none of the girls wanted to make a complaint. Why would they? They didn’t understand what he was doing. They got A grades, lots of attention, and loads of school trips. Even though half of the trips were nothing to do with the subjects he was teaching. The school saw it as enrichment of the curriculum, so they were happy. But the things I saw were disgusting.” He paused to take a long drag on his cigarette.
“One day, after school, I went back to a classroom I’d done a cover lesson in, as I’d forgotten my laptop. I heard a noise in the stockroom at the back of the classroom, so I peeked through the crack in the door. He was in there with his hand down the front of a year eleven girl’s blouse. She was looking up at him through doe eyes as she was wanking him off. He saw me and threw me against the wall. Told me if I said anything he’d rape my niece who went to the school. The year eleven girl just laughed at me and said she’d deny it if I told anyone. I think she was in love with him. Anyway, the next morning I saw a poster on his classroom door. He was planning to take his year eleven geography class on a field trip to New York. But my niece was also in that class and there was no way I was letting him near her. I wanted her out of his class, but she assured me nothing was happening to her. But I couldn’t take the risk that something might if she went on this trip. Her mother didn’t believe me, and because I’d made such a racket about my concerns the head wouldn’t even allow me to go on the trip to keep eyes on that teacher. He said it would cause ‘unrest between the others’. Can you believe that?”
“So what did you do?” Amanda asked.
“I told The Therapist, who responded in the same way he did to The Nurse. Asked me if I wanted something to be ‘done’. Of course I did. What choice was there? Anyway, the teacher disappeared and the trip never went ahead. He’s still registered missing. But he won’t be coming back.”
“I remember. There was a teacher in the list of missing persons I saw on the news. Ryan something.” Amanda nodded.
“There you are then.”
All eyes fell on The Gardener.
“So, what’s your story?” Amanda looked at him. He looked down to his steel toe-capped boots and fiddled with the edge of the table. Before he could answer, The Nurse looked at her watch.
“My goodness, is that the time? We’ve been here for nearly two hours. My husband’s going to be calling the police to search for me if I’m not back soon.” She looked at Amanda. “Listen, we normally meet once a month to talk things over. Why don’t we all come back tomorrow night? You haven’t had the chance to talk about why you’re here.”
“I can do tomorrow night. The wife is at her book club so she’ll be out until late,” The Teacher said.
All three pairs of eyes fixed on The Gardener.
“I’m not sure. I might have to be in tomorrow night. It’s not good for me to be out two nights in a row.”
“I’m sure it’d be OK. I can ask a friend of mine to go check on Jamie while you’re out,” The Nurse said.
“I guess.”
“That’s settled then. Amanda, sorry, Daughter, can you make it?”
Amanda smiled. “Sure. Same time?”
“Eight thirty p.m. sharp,” The Teacher said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Amanda and The Teacher walked along the coastal path back to the pub where their cars were parked. Once they were out of earshot, The Gardener pulled back The Nurse’s arm as she was locking the front door to the lighthouse.
“I can’t do this. What is he playing at bringing another person into our group? I thought it was just us.” He bit down on a fingernail.
“She’s in the same boat as us. Give her a break. And anyway, now we’ve got another member of the group, maybe she can get you to open up more. We’ve been coming here for almost six months now, and both me and The Teacher have noticed you’ve not been the same this last week or so. Maybe tomorrow you can get whatever it is that’s bothering you so much off your chest?”
“I can’t. No way. I won’t be here. I can’t do this anymore.”
“You have to. The Therapist said we should attend all sessions.”
The Gardener ran a shaking hand through his dark brown hair and left her by the door.
Amanda sat in her car and locked the doors. Fishing her phone out of her pocket, she saw on the display there were fourteen missed calls from Poppy, and five voicemails. Playing the first one, she growled. “Hi Amanda, it’s Poppy. I was just ringing to see if you were OK? Call me when you can. Bye.” Then the next one. “Amanda? It’s Poppy again. I was thinking I could bring round a pizza? OK, speak to you soon.” Then the third one. “Hi Amanda, I’ve just got to yours and I hope you don’t mind but I let myself in. I’m worried about you. Where are you? OK, call me back when you get this.” Then the fourth one. “Amanda, it’s Poppy. The police have just been round again. They want to talk to you. Your mo—.”
Amanda hit the end call button.
“Fuck’s sake, Poppy, leave me alone for five minutes, won’t you?”
As she was about to start the car, her phone rang again. This time it was her uncle’s number that flashed up on the display. “Hello?”
“Amanda, thank God. Where the hell have you been? Your crazy mate’s been ringing me all evening. Said she’s staying at your place until you come home.” Eddie Green’s gruff voice pounded Amanda’s eardrums.
“Look, I just needed space. I’m not coming home tonight. I’m going to get a hotel.”
“OK, but keep your bloody phone on, will ya. I’m sick of having people bugging me all the time looking for you.”
“Bye.”
Amanda hit the end call button, then switched her phone off before throwing it onto the passenger seat. Noticing a sign above the Anchor Pub doorway saying they had rooms to rent, she climbed out of the car.
Chapter 12
“Afternoon, boss. How was your evening?” Michelle asked as she got into Rachel’s car.
“Shit. I was knackered,” Rachel replied.
“I was a bit worried about you. After we found out about Becca Anderson and the baby, you seemed... I texted you when I got home, but…”
“I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t text back. I fell asleep on the couch. I was going to take the morning off, you know? Recharge the batteries. But then Hargreaves rings me, wanting me to go and bring Poppy Lovell in for questioning.”
“About time, if you ask me. Well dodgy, that one.”
As they rounded the next corner, Rachel’s car phone rang. “Morrison.”
“Detective, it’s Becca Anderson.”
Rachel and Michelle looked at each other.
“Hi Becca, how are you feeling? I was so sorry to hear—,” Rachel said in a voice so soft it surprised Michelle.
“Listen, I need to speak with you. It’s urgent. There’s something I didn’t tell you. About that night Diana Walker went missing? Toby did come home late. I’m so sorry I didn’t say anything before. I just wanted to protect him. He didn’t come straight home from work like he told you. He didn’t come home until late, and then when he came in, he got changed and put his clothes straight in the washing machine.”
Rachel shot a glance at Michelle, whose eyes widened.
“I was surprised he even knew how to switch it on. He’s never done a load of washing in the whole time I’ve known him.”
“Becca, would you be able to point out the clothes he was wearing that night for us?” Rachel asked, knowing that, with the advances in modern science, it was still often possible to detect microscopic traces of DNA on clothing, even after it had been put through a stringent wash cycle.
“Yes, I know exactly what he was wearing and where it is now,” she said.
“OK, Becca, thank you. That’s really helpful. I’ll be in touch.” Rachel punched the end call button on her steering wheel and took the next exit off the roundabout.
“Well, well, well, our friend Anderson may be a lying little toe rag after all,” Michelle said. “Washing machine too, eh? Straight round there?”
“Oh yes. It’s time Toby Anderson told us the truth about Diana Walker’s disappearance. Michelle, phone the office. Get Kev and Matt to drop whatever they’re doing and meet us over there on the hurry up, just in case we need some muscle.”
They sped down the high street and turned left at the lights onto the road leading to Dixon’s Autos. Already there when they pulled up was an unmarked police car, its back lights flashing blue. Inside sat two solid looking men.
“What I don’t understand is why Becca didn’t just tell us when we were over at her house. She could have told me at least when we were talking alone in the kitchen,” Michelle said, shaking her head.
“Probably couldn’t handle him going back inside again. Not with a little one on the way. Well, not anymore,” Rachel added. “Probably thought, ‘Fuck it, I’ve got nothing left to lose.’ Poor cow.”
The two officers stepped out of their car and joined Rachel and Michelle on their approach to the garage. Anderson emerged from the side gate carrying a spare tyre. As soon as he caught sight of them, he growled into the wind. Holding a bolt gun in his other hand, he strode over to the approaching police officers. “What the fuck is it now? I’m finishing after I’ve done this last job.”
“Put that down, Mr. Anderson,” Rachel commanded, pointing to the bolt gun. Anderson dropped the tyre and bolt gun with a scowl. She nodded to Matt, who took out his handcuffs. “Toby Anderson, I am arresting you on suspicion of attempting to pervert the course of justice. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given as evidence. Do you understand?”
Anderson began to wriggle and pushed up against Matt, who gripped his wrist more firmly. Kev hooked his thick arms underneath Anderson’s, pinning him up against the wall of the garage with a shudder.
“Stop it. Alright mate, I’ll come quietly,” Anderson yelled at Kev. Turning to Rachel, his red face glistening with sweat, he glared at her.
“Poppy, are you OK this afternoon? You don’t quite seem yourself.” Margaret clasped her wrinkly hands over her stomach as she approached the library’s returns desk.
Snapping out of her daydream, Poppy half-smiled. “I’m just worried about Amanda. She didn’t come home last night and she’s not returning my calls. Her mother’s alive and she’s only got my voicemail to explain it to her. It must be hurting her so much to know her mother’s out there but doesn’t want to come home. She’s all alone now.” A look of determination and pride crossed Poppy’s face as she turned to Margaret. “But she’s got me. All these years and I’ve not been much use to her. Now I can be. I can be a proper friend to her. I can be what she needs right now.”
“Is that what you want, dear?” Margaret asked, her look quizzical. “I mean, I know you’re staying a lot more at her house, to keep her company. I didn’t mind so much at the start, when we thought something terrible had happened to Diana, you using the facili
ties here to spread the word. But now we know she’s safe.” She lay a hand on Poppy’s arm. “I think it would be best for you to start concentrating more on work. I need your ideas to keep this place open. You just don’t seem like my Poppy anymore.” She looked Poppy up and down, noticing her tight jeans and designer long-sleeved t-shirt. “You’re even wearing Amanda’s clothes, aren’t you?”
Pulling her arm away, Poppy scowled. “I’m just trying out a new style. What’s the harm in that? She was only throwing these out anyway.”
Margaret looked a little upset by Poppy’s short tone. “Well, it’s not really any of my business.”
“Not really,” Poppy murmured, then turned back to her book sorting.
Rachel and Michelle sat in the interview room opposite Anderson. The duty solicitor, dressed in a smart grey three piece suit, sat quietly next to him writing notes. Rachel had found that police interview rooms tended to be the same wherever you went in the country. Blandly painted walls, dirty carpets, solid tables that were bolted to the floor and chairs that were deliberately designed to be uncomfortable. Then there was the smell: cheesy feet mixed with ripe body odour.
“Let’s get started, then,” Rachel said, pressing the buttons on the tape recorder. “Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison and Police Constable Michelle Barlow in attendance with the suspect.” Rachel paused. “Can you state your names for the tape, please?”
Anderson shuffled in his seat and folded his arms. “Toby Anderson,” he mumbled.
“Philip Shaw,” the duty solicitor stated, before returning to his note taking.
After stating the time, date, and location of the interview for the purpose of the tape, Rachel read, from the idiot card sellotaped to the scratched and dented desk in front of her, the other blurb about what would happen to the tapes and how he could get a copy of them should he be charged with an offence after the interview. After giving the caution and confirming with him that he understood it, she began with her first question.
