by Ann Troup
Angie’s eyes were streaming, the acrid air burning her throat. ‘Anyone in there?’
‘No one that we managed to get out anyway,’ he said, more casually than perhaps he should have. ‘Put it this way, if there is anyone in there, they won’t have survived. We’ll let you know.’
Ratcliffe emerged from nowhere, as if he were walking out of a fog. ‘Call came in from the dental surgery next door,’ he said, before coughing heartily into a handkerchief. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Angie wasn’t going to argue with him. All they were doing was cluttering up the place.
‘Do you think Stella was in there?’ she asked when they were back in the car.
‘More than likely – she gave this place as her home address when she was released. I think she probably caused it.’
They didn’t talk again after that, not until they got back to the station. Angie couldn’t speak for him of course, but she wondered if he was feeling the same sense of creeping guilt that was crawling through her conscience. They should have sectioned Stella Baxter – she had been unstable and unreliable. They should have used the Mental Health Act and taken her to a hospital. Perhaps then, The Limes would still be standing. And they wouldn’t be waiting for a call to tell them that Stella had been inside.
Peter Haines was waiting for them, antsy in the company of his solicitor. ‘I’d like to take my wife home now. You have no right to keep her here, and since taking legal advice we have decided that she will not be giving you an informal interview,’ he said, his weak chin jutting forward.
Ratcliffe sighed. ‘OK, Mr Haines, take a seat while I talk to Mr Latimer for a moment.’
Peter looked nonplussed, undecided whether to sit down as instructed or stand his ground. He sat down.
Ratcliffe took the solicitor to one side whilst Angie hovered within earshot. ‘I’m going to arrest her.’
‘On what grounds?’ Nigel Latimer asked.
‘The murder of Roy Baxter. We’ve got DNA evidence,’ he said wearily. ‘Do you want to talk to her again before we see her?’
‘You know I’m going to advise her to make no comment don’t you?’
Of course he was. They always did, and they would have to sit in a room going through the motions for hours on end because of it. ‘You do your job; I’ll do mine.’
Angie felt quite proud of him.
Latimer nodded. ‘OK, just so as we know where we stand. By the way, I hope you’re going to change that suit before we go in – you smell like a barbecue.’
Ratcliffe sniffed his jacket sleeve. It was rank with acrid smoke. ‘Yeah, you might like to inform Mr Haines there that his inheritance has just gone up in smoke.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The Limes, the family pile. They’re still trying to put it out.’
Latimer rolled his eyes as if this was all he needed. ‘As long as he has enough to cover my fee,’ he said.
***
Angie was pissed off. She had done a lot of the donkey work on this case, and now Benton had breezed in at the last minute and insisted on doing the interview with Ratcliffe. It wouldn’t do her much good. Angie had seen clams with looser lips than Frances Haines. Not that it mattered, since they could safely leave this one to the court to decide. All the evidence they needed for a conviction had been found clutched in the stiff, dead hand of Roy Baxter.
There would be some back-up work of course. That was no problem; she enjoyed that part. Better than sitting in an interview room for hours on end listening to some dodgy bitch repeatedly saying ‘no comment’. Nah, DI Benton could carry on driving her desk. It would be Angie and Ratcliffe who got this one sorted, despite how it would look on paper.
It was unfortunate that Stella was out of the picture, and given that a body had been found in the charred shell of The Limes, she was pretty sure that was the case. Not that Stella would have been much help in a courtroom; it would have been like throwing a pork chop to a bunch of hungry dogs. But she would have been useful for background.
Not like Frances or the other one: Rachel. She didn’t relish having to talk to Rachel Porter again, not after the last time – all that thrashing about and foaming at the mouth. She felt like she would be better off approaching the woman with a first-aid kit and a portable defibrillator, just in case. That was pending being able to track her down. God this family were good at disappearing! If they weren’t missing, they were uncontactable. It was as if no one had told them they were living in the twenty-first century, where normal people had mobile phones, e-mail and addresses where they could be found in residence. Rachel Porter didn’t even have a landline. Angie was sure they had told her to let them know what her movements would be. But all she had managed to do so far was to contact a particularly unhelpful neighbour, who spoke as if she had a gob full of plums, only to be told that Rachel Porter was ‘away’.
Not only did she have all that on her plate, but there was also the prospect of Mike Ratcliffe taking up residence on her sofa. Finding Rachel Porter was a much more appealing prospect than dealing with her boss and his mid-life crisis. It was obvious that he was going to bail out on his wife, but why he had to choose Angie as the repository for his marital misery was beyond her. She was too nice for her own good sometimes.
Chapter 26
Amy was bouncing around like a ping-pong ball in a bingo machine. Since discovering that there might be a way to find Rachel she had become like a thing possessed, all of which was completely unnerving for Charlie. He sat in the back of the taxi, arms folded, watching her as she harangued the driver to get a move on. Too much time spent with his mother he supposed, that and youth, which was full of expectations and the need for instant gratification. He knew she meant well – she wanted to find Rachel and make everything better. So did he.
Even if they did track her down, they had every chance of just making things worse. All they had was a name on a piece of paper and there was a good chance that there was more than one R.L. Porter in London.
He was inclined to think that his mother was right. Finding out the truth might make Rachel’s life difficult. But not knowing would leave it just the same: miserable, lonely and irretrievable. Rachel had been trapped and pinned by a lie, like a butterfly on a board she’d been held ransom to a moment in time that she couldn’t move forward from. All through malice.
Charlie had been stuck too, but his life had redeeming features. The lively girl next to him for one, even though her current behaviour was a mite embarrassing. Rachel might fall apart at realising her life had been a mockery but it might give her a chance of building a relationship with Amy. That had to be something on their side at least.
There could be no going back for him and Rachel. How did two people move on from something like this? She was hardly going to welcome him with open arms and say, ‘Well, that’s a relief. Where were we?’ Besides, she had told Amy that their relationship had been founded on desperation. He had never seen it like that, but if she did, it had been wrong from the beginning.
Charlie shook his head, and ran his hand over his face, as if the cobwebs of the past could be so easily wiped away. Maudlin thoughts about things that could not be undone would get him nowhere. He had to focus on the present, work out what could be changed.
‘We’re here, Dad,’ Amy called, launching herself out of the cab and leaving him to pay the fare.
‘You do realise that this may be nothing to do with her, and I might have just spent twenty-five quid on a wild goose chase,’ he said as they stood outside the women’s centre.
‘You can be wrong, Dad. Sometimes. Honest.’
***
Diana was faced with a dilemma. Two people she had never heard of were looking for Rachel. Unfortunately, one of the volunteers had already told them that Rachel had links to the centre, so denying all knowledge wasn’t an option. She needed to run another session on confidentiality because the message clearly wasn’t getting through.
Looking through the glass panel in her o
ffice door, she surreptitiously surveyed the pair of them. A young girl who looked like she needed a decent night’s sleep and a man whose appearance told her that he’d forgotten what a decent night’s sleep was. From his manner he came across as pensive and unwilling to give anything away. Not the usual type of man who turned up at the centre – they were usually demanding their rights and shouting the odds. The lack of bluster made her wary.
Bracing herself, she walked into the office. ‘Hello, I’m Diana Lovell. How can I help?’ she said, not offering to shake their hands, but sitting behind her desk and smiling helpfully.
It was the girl who spoke first. ‘We’re looking for Rachel Porter. The woman out there said you would be able to help.’
Diana kept smiling, and folded her hands on the desk. ‘Might I ask who you are?’
The girl looked anxious and glanced at the man. His expression was still inscrutable. ‘I’m Amy Jones, and this is my father, Charlie,’ she said, as if it were supposed to mean something to Diana.
Diana sighed and put her hands flat on the desk. ‘I get a lot of people here asking for the whereabouts of certain women, as you can imagine. Given the nature of what we do here, I’m not in the habit of disclosing much.’
The man unfolded his arms and leaned forward. ‘We understand that. We’re concerned about Rachel. She had an accident and discharged herself from hospital. We just want to know if she’s safe.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Jones, but I don’t know you from Adam. Even if I did know your Rachel, I wouldn’t be able to discuss anything with you.’
‘But the woman out there said that you did know her,’ the girl said, showing her distress.
‘I’m sorry but I can’t really help you,’ Diana said, starting to rise.
‘You don’t understand – this is really important!’ the girl cried.
Diana felt sorry for her. She was genuinely upset, but what could Diana do?
Charlie Jones put a hand on his daughter’s arm. ‘It’s OK, Amy, don’t get upset. We’re putting Ms Lovell in a very difficult situation here,’ he said, reasonably. ‘I realise that you might not be able to talk to us about this, but that doesn’t prevent you from listening, does it? If I were to explain our situation, you might at least be able to take a message. Is that possible?’
Diana was curious now and settled back in her seat. ‘I’m happy to listen.’
Charlie took a breath; his daughter reached out and held his hand, a brave little smile on her face. ‘Rachel is my wife, and Amy is our daughter. A few weeks ago, Rachel’s mother died, and certain events came to light as a result of the family home being cleared. It appears that Rachel’s brother-in-law had been murdered and his remains were found in the house where she grew up.
‘As well as that, she saw me. We have been separated for a long time, and it was a bit of a shock to her, which resulted in her having several epileptic fits. I’m trying to cut a very long story short here, so please bear with me. Anyway, one of those fits resulted in quite severe injury, and landed Rachel in hospital. She discharged herself, has disappeared from her home, and is in no fit state to look after herself. We are both very concerned about her welfare and only want to know if she’s safe.’
‘And there is something really important we have to tell her,’ Amy added eagerly.
Diana sat back in her chair and studied the two of them. It would be a bizarre coincidence that the Rachel they were looking for had epilepsy and had been in hospital. Stranger things had happened. She felt sorry for them; they were genuinely concerned. ‘I’m very, very sorry, I can see how upset you both are, but I really don’t see how I can help. I think you have the wrong place. There is a Rachel Porter who is a patron of the charity, but I don’t think she is the same person you are looking for,’ she said apologetically.
The girl looked crestfallen; the man just frowned. ‘This has to be the right place,’ the girl said.
‘She lives in flat two, number twelve Glengarry Gardens, Bayswater,’ Charlie said, pulling out his wallet and extracting something from inside. ‘This is a photograph of her. It’s old, but she hasn’t changed much.’ He handed it to Diana.
She took the picture and studied it, a young Rachel holding a small baby, smiling. Rachel smiling was not a familiar sight. But it was definitely her.
Diana’s mind was reeling with possible, and impossible, explanations. She handed the photograph back. ‘Would you mind giving me the long version of your story? I think I might need to hear it.’
Charlie told her everything except that Rachel thought he was her father. As Diana had said, they didn’t know each other from Adam.
‘Well,’ Diana said when Charlie had finished. She paused. The tale he had told certainly filled in the blank that was Rachel’s history. It even explained her reticence, but only so far. There was more to this – Diana was sure of it. Whether she had a right to know was a different matter. ‘I can understand your predicament. But I am still not able to discuss this with you. The fact that she has not made contact since Amy’s visit to the hospital suggests that Rachel has made a conscious choice not to communicate. Much as it might be difficult, I think you have to respect her decision. The only thing I can do is to assure you that she is well and is being cared for.’
Amy lurched forward in her chair. ‘So you know where she is?’
Diana hoped that her face looked impassive.
Charlie stood up and took Amy’s arm. ‘Come on, Amy, we’ve done everything we can.’
Amy pulled her arm away. ‘No. We have to see her. You have to tell her the truth!’ She turned to Diana. ‘You’ve got to tell us where she is!’
‘Ms Lovell doesn’t have to do anything, Amy – pull yourself together,’ Charlie said, his voice firm.
Amy’s eyes flashed. ‘Then she’ll have to tell her for us.’ She turned to Diana, mouth open, ready to speak.
Charlie’s voice stopped her in her tracks.
‘ENOUGH!’ he shouted, making both women jump. ‘It’s not yours to tell, Amy,’ he said quietly, a heavy warning in his voice. Amy opened her mouth to argue, but he silenced her with just a look. He turned to Diana. ‘Thank you for your time. I appreciate it, even if my daughter doesn’t. I wonder, if you see Rachel, could you please pass on a message. Just tell her it’s not true. If she wants to contact me, she knows how.’
Diana nodded. ‘Of course.’
With that, he led his daughter out of the office and out through the building. After they had gone, Diana sat back in her chair and stared at the door for a long time. Whatever it was that wasn’t true, it was the something that was holding Rachel back.
Finally, Diana gathered her things ready to go home. It might be a very long evening. She sent up a little prayer as she left the building. Just in case.
***
Amy was fuming. How could he? They had been in a prime position to track Rachel down, and he had blown it! Bad enough that she had been denied her mother for twenty years already; now he had taken her away for a second time. At that moment she hated him. He was nothing but a selfish, stubborn pig sometimes.
Unable to vent at him, she sat in silence as their cab made its way back to Bayswater through the heavy traffic. She would never forgive him for this. That woman wasn’t going to pass any message on to Rachel – she had made that patently clear. Well, Rachel had to go back home sometime, didn’t she? And when she did, Amy would find her and sort this mess out once and for all.
***
Charlie could sense Amy’s temper. It was coming off her in waves. Emanating like an emotional sonar and showing him up as the tangible object of her displeasure. He knew he was right and that she was wrong. He also knew that there was no point in trying to argue it. She would calm down soon enough. Charlie was nothing if not a patient man, at least in his own mind.
His phone rang.
Startled for a moment he answered it. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Mr Jones, this is DC Angie Watson. I’m trying to track down Rache
l Porter. Is she still with you?’
‘No. No, she’s not. In fact I don’t know where she is.’
‘It’s crucial that we contact her. Do you have any idea where we might find her?’
‘None I’m afraid. Has something happened?’
There was a pause.
‘Yes, look I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth or not, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt. We need to speak to her, urgently. If she doesn’t contact me on this number in the next two hours, I’m going to have to report her as missing. It’s in her interests to contact us, Mr Jones.’
Charlie pondered for a moment. ‘OK, I hear you. I’ll do my best.’ He guessed the game had changed. DC Watson rang off. He turned to the taxi driver. ‘Change of plan, mate, can you take us back to Southwark?’
The cabbie mumbled something unintelligible but by his tone it was unpleasant and he turned sharply down a side street, throwing Amy across the seat against Charlie.
‘What’s going on?’ she said huffily, pulling away from him quickly.
He told her what Angie Watson had just said.
‘Oh, so we have to find her now, since the police want her. Well, that’s just great isn’t it? Don’t worry about what your daughter wants. But the police say jump and you jump!’ she said sulkily.
Charlie had to smile. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
She’d learn.
The cab finally dropped them outside an internet café. Initially they had gone back to the women’s centre, but had found it closed. Charlie had asked the very disgruntled cabbie to drop them at the nearest internet café. He didn’t know this part of London at all well, but the ten-minute drive was spitting distance from the centre. He supposed it was what you got for hacking off your driver around here: a backstreet mystery tour and a hefty bill.
