Age …
She decided to stop here. For the rest of the story, they could talk to Geoffrey.
Sarah picked up one painting awash with purple flowers, violets and crocuses, butterflies darting about.
“I really like this one,” Sarah said.
It took a moment for Peggy to pivot, look at her own work.
Then a half smile.
“Yes. They were from my garden here. And …” her smile broadened, “I like it too.”
And while looking at the painting in this quiet studio, Sarah had to wonder whether Jack had found anything interesting back in the house.
*
Jack was on the top step and he tried to take slow, measured — and small — steps, just as shakily as Harry would have done.
First he grabbed at the wobbly banister.
Then he took a step down, his leading foot more to the edge of the step as one would do climbing down.
And it was on that step below that he felt something that he hadn’t on the way up.
He felt a little give.
Again — he thought — not enough to cause a fall.
But when he took another step below it did the same thing.
A third, though, felt rock solid.
Still, something about them bothered Jack.
He turned around, and knelt on the stairs, and got as close to these top steps as he could.
6. Delicate Questions
Peggy locked the small door of her refuge and turned to Sarah.
“I do hope your friend, Jim will be all right. We’ve left him—”
“Jack,” Sarah said with a smile, falling into slow step with Peggy as they walked back to the house together.
Memory. So frail, and fleeting at this age. Like bits of stucco peeling off a building. Never to be replaced.
“Of course. Such a nice man.”
Sarah sought to buy Jack a few more minutes alone.
She stopped half way up the garden, by a small garden incinerator that was still smouldering.
“Still doing a little gardening?” she said.
“What?” said Peggy, looking down at the ashes. “Hmm, yes. Life goes on.”
Sarah could see bits of picture frame poking incongruously out of the ashes.
Odd, she thought. Maybe she uses them for kindling …
She turned — Peggy had resumed the slow walk back to the house.
“Peggy, I do have another question for you,” said Sarah, catching up with her. “The people yesterday at Tony’s office …”
Peggy’s smile faded.
Not a moment — or a memory — she wanted to revisit.
“Yes?”
“All the people there … beneficiaries. With you. Was any of that surprising?”
“Well …”
She turned away from Sarah’s gaze, and looked towards the house. Sarah felt a little ashamed to ask what might be an embarrassing question.
“Harry never shared such matters with me. Said he had it all in hand, back when he had his faculties of course. And when things started to change. Well, I never raised the question with Tony. He made sure I had — the medical, um what do you call it?”
“The medical proxy?”
Peggy nodded. “That’s it. If anything happened, I could, well, make important decisions. But the actual will? Oh, that was done long ago. Harry always said, ‘no surprises there, Peg. Not to worry’.”
Sarah paused a moment. The conversation here in the sweet-smelling garden, with a bright sun above, seemed out of place.
But she knew that part of what she and Jack did meant that they had to ask the hard questions.
“And were there any surprises? About the people there?”
Peggy looked like she didn’t want to say anything.
Yes, ‘embarrassment’ here would be the right word.
“I—I didn’t know what to expect. The carer, Mrs. Slaski? I suppose such things are done. And that man, her husband, whoever he was … he certainly did a lot more around the house, helping, when Harry started to slip away. And it made sense for Geoffrey, of course. I never would deny them anything.”
Sarah noted that Peggy had omitted the obvious.
“What about your daughter, Laura?”
“Harry and Laura …” said Peggy, her face frowning. “They never really … I don’t know why. She lives in France, you know.”
“She came over for the funeral though, didn’t she?” said Sarah. “That must have been nice, to see her.”
“Nice? I suppose so,” said Peggy. “But she’s gone back. Never stays long.”
So we’ve missed the chance to talk to her, thought Sarah. Have to do it by phone if we need to …
“And Kirsty? Your neighbour …”
Now she watched Peggy force a smile onto her face, that very forcing saying that she hadn’t omitted the neighbour by mistake.
“Yes. Um, here we are …”
Sarah watched her push open the kitchen door and shuffle into the house.
She was looking forward to telling Jack her impressions.
The big one: Peggy was indeed surprised by yesterday’s meeting over the will.
*
Jack heard the back door open, another creak in this house probably full of them.
“…the light … always so beautiful this time of year. Must get back to my painting … as soon as I can …”
Steps, the voices louder.
“Jack?” he heard Sarah say, as he stood up.
He hurried down the stairs so that he appeared standing in the foyer just as they walked out of the hallway that led from the kitchen.
“Oh, I do hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” Peggy said. “I was just telling your young friend here how much I love this light, late afternoon, this time of year.”
Jack smiled.
“Perfect season.”
He looked at Sarah who — if he read her correctly — may have learned an interesting fact or two.
“Guess we should go?” he said to Sarah.
A nod, but then he turned to Peggy.
“Oh, while you were in your studio, I just walked up to where the accident …”
That word didn’t seem operative anymore.
“…happened.”
A nod from Peggy.
“And, well you may want to call someone in. A repairman.”
Peggy looked confused.
“Something wrong?”
“That banister at the top. Could use some tightening.”
“Oh yes … it does wiggle a bit, doesn’t it?”
“And the steps. Think they are a little wobbly as well.”
Peggy raised her eyebrows. “Oh, I didn’t know about that! I will call someone. Right away.”
Then her face clouded. “You don’t think … Harry’s fall?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? Jack thought.
For now he kept his thoughts to himself.
“Um, don’t think so. But do have it looked at, okay?”
She nodded.
“Just take care,” Jack said.
“Thank you,” she said smiling again. “This day … it’s been so hard. But meeting nice people like you … well, somehow makes it better.”
Sarah came close and gently touched the woman’s right shoulder.
“And if there’s anything we can do for you … let Tony know?”
Peggy put her left hand atop Sarah’s. “So sweet of you. I will.”
With that she led them out of the house for what — Jack guessed — would be her first night alone in the place in a long time.
And he hoped she’d be okay.
*
“You find anything upstairs?” said Sarah, as she started the engine then pulled away from the house and headed up to the main road into Cherringham.
“Not much,” said Jack. “You?”
“Not a great deal. But I did find out a bit more what happened on the night.”
“Go on.”
“It wasn’t Peggy
who found the body. It was Geoffrey.”
She saw Jack turn to look at her.
“The son — really? Tony didn’t tell us that.”
“Maybe it slipped his mind? Or — he didn’t think it was important.”
“Well, it might not be. But then again, it might. What was Geoffrey doing there?”
“Just happened to drop by, apparently.”
“He do that a lot?”
“That’s exactly what I asked her. And she said no.”
“Hmm.”
“I know that ‘hmm’,” said Sarah. “That ‘hmm’ means Geoffrey just became a witness of more than passing interest.”
“Exactly,” said Jack. “Anyone else happen to drop by that night?”
“She said the carer — Mrs. Slaski — had left already. But she did say the carer’s husband was round at the house quite a bit in recent weeks.”
“Really. She say why?”
“Fixing things, I think. The sort of stuff Harry used to do.”
“No shortage of things to do in that place, that’s for sure.”
“I asked her about the will. Peggy seemed okay about the way it worked out. But I think it still came as a big surprise to her.”
“The four–way split?”
“Right. Oh, and we’ve missed the daughter — she’s already gone back to France.”
“Cut out of the will.” said Jack. “Who can blame her?”
“I’ll get her number off Tony anyway, give her a call.”
Sarah turned off the main road and they headed down Cherringham High Street. It was just beginning to get dark.
“Lots to think about,” she said. “You want a lift back to the Goose?”
“It’s a nice evening,” said Jack. “So thanks — but no. I’ll walk. Maybe drop by the Ploughman’s for a bite.”
Sarah parked just before the turning that led down to her house and Jack climbed out.
She watched him lean in through the open passenger window.
“Forgot to say. The Bucklands were right. Not a trace of Harry upstairs. His bedroom must be on the ground floor. Like to get a look at that …”
“Then why did he go upstairs?”
“Exactly.”
“We have a case here? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“Not sure what I’m thinking right now. We need to talk to some of these people. The son. The neighbor …”
“The carer, her husband. Quite a line-up.”
“Butcher, baker …”
“Candlestick–maker …”
They laughed together.
“Tell you what,” said Jack. “Why don’t I follow up on the mysterious Mr. and Mrs. Slaski? Got plenty of time in the morning.”
“In which case,” said Sarah, “I’ll track down Geoffrey, have a chat.”
“Work pretty quiet at the moment?”
“It’s August. Everyone’s on holiday.”
“Everyone but you, huh? No plans to go away?”
“Chloe’s not back till the beginning of term. Daniel’s out with his mates 24–7 — god knows where most of the time.”
“No family holiday this year?”
“Maybe … no family to have a holiday. That’s what it feels like all of a sudden, to be honest, Jack.”
“I remember that happening,” said Jack. “But you know what? Daniel, Chloe — they’re going to make the most of this freedom. But they’ll drift back. And you’ll have plenty more family holidays, believe me.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Sarah.
“I know I am.”
She watched him step back from the passenger window.
“You head on home,” he said. “Catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Good night Jack,” said Sarah.
She watched him walk down Cherringham High Street toward the Ploughman’s.
All that talk about her family, her worrying about change.
But how did Jack feel — his wife gone, his daughter thousands of miles away, just Riley to keep him company?
Did he ever worry about the future?
She turned on the engine then headed home, hoping there was something edible in the freezer.
7. Sons and Daughters
Jack parked next to an overflowing dumpster on the car–lined street and checked that the doors of his little Sprite were locked.
He took off his sunglasses and looked up at the block of apartments opposite.
The building stood around ten floors high, bare brick, cheap paintwork, little balconies with washing hanging out to dry. A faded sign and map on a patch of grass and dirt confirmed it was Anstey Towers.
He’d been in England long enough now to recognise what the locals would call ‘council flats’.
Built sometime in the 60s, mostly beaten up, often forgotten places on the margins of cities.
He’d been to Gloucester once before, on a case.
He remembered now how excited he had been, expecting to find myth, romance, ancient buildings and cobbled stones. Sure, he’d found some of that in the centre, nicely laid out for the tourists.
And the cathedral itself was a marvel.
But then he’d discovered that the real city, the place people actually lived in, had fallen on hard times as industry had died and work had run out.
Gloucester looked like it had way more than its fair share of poverty and hard times.
He crossed the road, nodding to a couple of old guys in stained t–shirts who sat on a makeshift bench by the graffiti–covered entrance to the block, then went in.
He picked up a sour smell familiar from working the streets back in NYC, the projects. Dingy, concrete elevator shafts were the same the world over. He saw a sign on the elevator ‘Out of Order’.
Terrific.
He headed for the steps.
It was going to be a long climb to flat 9.6.
*
He knocked on the door of the apartment and waited. He heard music playing inside — some kind of pop. The music stopped.
Then the door opened — just a few inches. A man’s face, young, sharp features, stubble.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to trouble you. Mr. Slaski?”
“No.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought … I was given this address by Mr. Standish, the solicitor in Cherringham; he asked me to—”
The door opened wide and Jack saw that a woman stood behind the sharp–faced man. He watched her push him to one side.
“I’m Maria Slaski,” she said in an accented voice, wiping her hands on a teacloth, then gesturing to Jack to enter. “Of course. And you — from Mister Standish, yes?”
Jack smiled and entered. The woman shut the door behind her and said something slowly in what he guessed was Polish to the guy.
He in turn talked slowly back at her — voice raised now; clearly in no mood to do as he was told.
Jack waited, smiling patiently at both of them until the exchange had finished.
She doesn’t want you in on this conversation, does she, pal? he thought.
But you’re not going to let her tell you what to do, are you …
The discussion seemed to end in a draw and then Maria smiled at Jack.
“Please, in here.”
He followed her down a dark corridor into a small sitting room, with a sofa, big TV, table and chairs.
The guy followed close behind him.
He waited while she cleared clothes, newspapers, a basket of washing from the sofa. The guy just stood and watched, arms folded.
When Maria had finished, she turned back to Jack and smiled.
He could see a bruise on her cheekbone. Faded — maybe a few days old.
Okay.
Jack had seen plenty of bruises just like that back in his NYPD days and he recognised it straight away.
The kind of bruise you get when someone backhands you.
A husband. A partner.
Some bastard.
Through the window behind her, Jack
could see the cathedral spire.
“Nice view,” he said, making conversation.
Now they both looked at him as if he was trying to catch them out in some way; then they nodded to him to sit down.
“So, from Mister Standish … you have news, about the money?” said Maria. “It will be paid soon, yes?”
“How about you sit down too” said Jack looking at her glowering partner, doing his best to look as intimidating as possible.
He watched Maria look at the guy, then nod and the two of them took a chair each and sat.
“Yeah. You got news? About the money?” said the guy echoing Maria’s question.
“Didn’t catch your name,” said Jack, taking out a notebook and smiling.
He looked from one to the other. They had seen the notebook and now they seemed confused — which was just what he wanted them to feel.
Who is this guy and what does he want? Is he for us — or against us?
That was what they were thinking — he could see it in their eyes and in their looks to each other.
“Name’s Robert,” said the guy, shaking his head as if the question were annoying.
Jack made a note, then looked up. “Robert … Slaski, yes?”
“No.”
“We not married,” said Maria quickly. “He’s just … friend.”
Jack watched the guy’s eyes narrow.
“Hey. More than a friend,” said the man, grinning, then moving closer to Maria and putting an arm around her. “Got plans to get married, start a family — big plans!” He grinned. “I’m even learning Polish!”
Jack watched him as he squeezed Maria’s shoulder. She didn’t look quite so comfortable with the idea.
“Okay, so your name is …”
“Grieco. Robert Grieco.”
“Right,” he said, looking from one to the other. “Thing is — this is very confidential. Mrs. Slaski — are you happy for Mr. Grieco here to be part of this conversation?”
Jack watched her look at Robert.
Did she understand the question?
Grieco raised his eyes a tad as if to say — don’t you dare say no.
Maria took her cue.
“It’s okay. He can stay.”
“Okay then,” said Jack, making another note in his book.
Then he looked up.
“So, I need to ask you some questions, if you don’t mind. Just a formality, you know, nothing to worry about.”
He watched them. They both looked nervous as hell.
A Death in the Family Page 4
