The Sting of Death

by Rebecca Tope

  Maggs ventured a small laugh. ‘You could say the whole story’s so unlikely it has to be true,’ she said to Roma. ‘Don’t you think?’

  ‘If it is true,’ Roma began, having taken a deep steadying breath, ‘then Penn deliberately made fools of us. Drew, me – the whole thing about you being missing.’ She tilted her head awkwardly towards her daughter, as if scarcely bearing to look at her. ‘She pretended to be worried about you, when all along she’d left you to die of thirst. That’s impossible to believe,’ she sagged back in the armchair. ‘It’s just too bizarre.’

  ‘She might have intended to come back and release me,’ Justine suggested. ‘Although … well, maybe if she’d given me a fantastically good reason, I’d have forgiven her. She didn’t really hurt me too badly, apart from my wrists. She might even have known I could climb through my arms. We used to do it when we were little and I was always better at it than her.’

  ‘Chloroform?’ Maggs reminded her. ‘That’s serious stuff. Where would she have got it?’

  ‘College, I suppose. They’ve got a big Natural Sciences department. They probably use it to kill rats and things for dissection.’

  Roma stared hard at her daughter. ‘Jelly babies,’ she said, her voice icy.

  Maggs barely stifled a giggle, while Justine shook her head in bewilderment. ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘There was a big pile of jelly babies with the little girl. It had wasps all over it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Justine – you were always mad about jelly babies. You must have eaten thousands of the damned things. I’m quite sure you would have bought them for this little one.’

  Maggs was suddenly aware of something unspoken between mother and daughter; some event or person they’d been thinking about, almost referring to but never quite permitting it into their discourse. It could only be the cause of their rift five years earlier, something that made one angry and the other fearful, too momentous for words, even now. Like a huge iceberg sitting there in the room, which they could look through, but which distorted their view of each other and which froze the normal emotions that mothers and daughters felt for each other.

  Justine refused to defend herself against this new accusation. Instead she leant her head back and closed her eyes. ‘I guess I’ll just wait for them to come and arrest me,’ she said. ‘I’d rather explain myself to them than to you – at least they might keep an open mind.’

  But Roma couldn’t leave it there. ‘Can’t you see I want you to convince me?’ she demanded with awful intensity. ‘I want to believe you. That’s the reason I went over there today, to see if I could find something that would confirm your story.’

  ‘And didn’t you? Wasn’t a dead child enough?’

  Roma shook her head miserably. ‘Not when I saw the jelly babies,’ she whispered.

  ‘I think you should give her the benefit of the doubt,’ Maggs asserted, her voice ringing loud. ‘Don’t judge her so quickly. There’s obviously much more to the story than you’ve heard yet. We need to find Penn, for a start. We need to talk it all through from the starting point that Justine hasn’t done anything wrong and see if we can make sense of it that way.’ She sat back in her corner of the sofa, and gave Roma a stern look.

  Roma sighed. ‘Don’t make us go through it all again,’ she pleaded. ‘I imagine we’ve got until tomorrow, anyway. I don’t think the police are coming, after all.’

  ‘They haven’t got much evidence until the post-mortem,’ Maggs agreed. ‘We should probably all get an early night.’

  ‘We should have something to eat,’ Roma worried. ‘I always forget about food when Laurie’s away. If we don’t have some supper we’ll all be prowling around the kitchen at two in the morning.’ She went off to the kitchen and neither girl did anything to stop her.

  Penn thanked providence for the invention of mobile phones. Calls could not be traced – at least not without massive police pressure on the phone company – and could be made from discreet locations where nobody could overhear.

  ‘Mum?’ Relief flooded through her as the phone was picked up at the other end. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ Helen’s voice was slow and warm. ‘I was just dozing in front of the telly with the cats.’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’

  ‘He’s gone to bed. It’s half past ten – past his bedtime.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘What? It isn’t like you to phone me. Is something the matter?’

  ‘Have you seen Roma? Or Justine? Have you heard anything from them?’

  ‘I dropped in on them on Tuesday, as it happens. Roma and Laurie, that is. I wouldn’t expect Justine to be there, now would I?’ she laughed.

  ‘It might surprise you to know she’s there now,’ Penn said sharply. ‘You must only just have missed her. So you don’t know anything about what’s been going on at Gladcombe?’

  ‘What’s Gladcombe?’ asked Helen vaguely.

  ‘The farm where Justine lives. Near Tedburn St Mary. Keep up, for goodness’ sake.’

  Helen tried to shake herself into a better focus. ‘Penn, are you trying to tell me something?’

  ‘Actually, I’m trying to ask you to do something for me. Things are rather difficult just at the moment. I’ve gone away for a bit. I thought you might have been trying to get hold of me …’ she tailed off weakly.

  ‘I’ve got your mobile number, haven’t I? Or have you changed it again?’

  ‘No, it’s still the same.’

  ‘So explain what it is you want. I don’t have to go out anywhere, do I? Not at this time of night.’

  ‘No, no. Tomorrow will do. But would you go to Pitcombe again and see if Justine’s still there? If she is, tell her … well, tell her I’m really sorry. That I can explain what I did to her and it isn’t as bad as it must have seemed. The trouble is … there’s a chance that Justine’s got some pretty serious problems just now, and I’ve probably made them worse for her.’

  ‘I haven’t understood a word of that,’ Helen interrupted crossly. ‘Why can’t you tell her yourself?’

  ‘I can’t face her,’ Penn admitted. ‘She’s going to be so furious with me.’

  ‘Well, I suppose I could,’ Helen conceded without enthusiasm. ‘You want me to say you’re sorry for whatever you did and there’s a good reason for it. Is that right?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘And you’re not going to tell me what it was?’

  ‘It was too awful.’ Penn tried to laugh. ‘You might not even believe it.’

  ‘Maybe Justine will tell me,’ Helen said. ‘Is there anything else? You are all right, aren’t you?’ she added belatedly.

  ‘I’m fine. I just need a few more days …’

  ‘I’ll give you a ring when I’ve seen Justine, shall I?’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ sighed Penn. ‘You do that.’

  DS Cooper was amongst friends and colleagues, discussing the discovery of the dead child and feeling miserable. Worse than miserable, if he was honest with himself. A small child had died and been left to rot in a ditch – and Den could not find it in himself to seriously care. He made dutiful notes, asked the right questions, put due procedure into train, and it was as if the whole thing were experienced through a thick mist. His attention was somewhere else entirely. It was in fact in a number of other places, not one of them to do with his job as a police detective.

  Primarily it was with Maggs. She had scarcely glanced at him the previous afternoon, leaving all the talking to Slocombe. At the end, when they might have managed a quick encounter, she’d marched over to Roma Millan and started talking to her instead. He could only conclude that she’d changed her mind about him; that what had initially seemed like a mutual attraction was now indifference on her part. He was poison where women were concerned, that much was obvious. And it shouldn’t matter. The job should be enough, and his friends, and … and … at this point he was forced to admit just how hollow his life had
become in the past year or so. There didn’t seem to be anything to fall back on; he knew from close observation that it was this sort of thing that led to a downward spiral into booze and self-neglect and bitterness and depression. Sometimes it seemed that it happened to virtually all police officers sooner or later, so why should he be any different?

  DI Hemsley was speaking, his voice getting louder, angrier. ‘Cooper? I’m asking you about the Renton couple. Someone’s going to have to give them the result of the post-mortem later this morning.’

  ‘That’ll be the Coroner’s Officer, won’t it. What’s his name – Sharples?’

  ‘Apparently he’s on holiday. Some other chap’s standing in for him, and hasn’t got a very good name for dealing with families. Especially not families of kiddies. I thought maybe you and Bennie …?’

  Den shook his head resignedly. ‘Whatever,’ he muttered.

  ‘Because,’ said Hemsley, even more loudly, ‘we have to remember there’s a lot of doubt about the truth of his story. The Renton man’s. There’s a lot that doesn’t add up. Everything he’s told us has been contradicted by the Pereira girl. And the way we found the child suggests that neither of them’s giving us anything even close to the truth. So he needs to be watched, OK?’

  ‘Right.’ Den rallied somewhat. ‘And we ought to be looking for Penn Strabinski. I think she holds the answer to most of this.’

  ‘We’re looking,’ the DI nodded. ‘But it’s a needle and haystack scenario. She didn’t even take a car, wherever she went.’

  ‘Has anyone asked Roma Millan or Karen Slocombe if they know where she is?’

  Hemsley shrugged and looked around the room. ‘Today,’ he asserted. ‘We’re doing that today. Good God, we only found the kid last night, after all.’

  ‘Who …?’ Den wondered, looking at Bennie Timms and the three uniformed officers in the room.

  ‘You, Cooper. Obviously. As soon as you’ve been to the farm again. And you’re doing that as soon as we hear from the mortuary.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ sighed DS Cooper.

  Maggs felt strange waking up in Roma’s living room, where she’d spent the night on the sofa, wearing a pair of Roma’s pyjamas. She’d been invited to use Laurie’s bed, next to Roma’s, but had politely declined. ‘The sofa’s fine,’ she’d insisted. ‘It’s lovely and soft and plenty long enough for me to stretch out.’

  Her thoughts were fragmentary and jumbled on this new day when everyone waited to know just how little Georgia had died. There were too many shadowy suggestions with no substance behind them. Not enough evidence, by a long way, and too many unadmitted secrets. She realised she hadn’t wanted to wake up and face whatever might develop before this day was over.

  Instead she let her thoughts drift to Detective Den Cooper, who was always there now, taking up whole big sections of her mind. She’d been amazed at the way her body had reacted at the sight of him, even in the midst of the gruesome events at the farm. Her heart had lurched, her skin had tingled, and minor explosions had gone off inside her head. It had been crazy and almost frightening. She wasn’t that sort of person, for goodness’ sake.

  Desperately, she had tried not to look at him again, after that first shocking reaction. She’d been there to do a job, and so had he. If Drew had noticed what was going on, he’d be irritated, and probably sarcastic. She wasn’t even sure he liked the tall policeman, which would make things very awkward if anything were to develop between Maggs and Den. So she kept away from him, squaring her shoulders and forcing her mind onto the job in hand. She’d gravitated towards Roma, clutching at the straw of the woman’s evident distress. And that had worked. Roma had quickly diverted her attention, so that the image of Den Cooper and his almost irresistible wink had receded considerably throughout the evening that had followed.

  The dog was curled on Maggs’s feet at the end of the sofa, where it had been all night. ‘She always sleeps in here,’ Roma had said flatly. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  As it happened, Maggs had a very soft spot for dogs, and spaniels especially, but she wondered what would have happened if she’d made an objection. Now she fondled its long ears and velvety nose. It was an extremely pretty dog, she noticed again. And well-behaved. ‘It must be time you went out,’ Maggs murmured. But the animal didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave its cosy nest. ‘Don’t blame you,’ Maggs sympathised, pulling the duvet over her shoulders again. ‘Let’s just have another ten minutes, then.’

  From the Western Morning News:

  SWEET GEORGIA FOUND

  The body of a young girl was found yesterday afternoon in a ditch at the edge of a field on the farm where she lived.

  Police are treating it as a suspicious death, although they have no firm evidence until the results of the post-mortem are known later today.

  Mr and Mrs Renton, Georgia’s parents, are said to be devastated. Georgia attended a day nursery and Mrs Gloria Desmond said earlier this week, when Georgia was reported as missing, “She is a sweet little girl and we’ve all been very concerned about her. Already several children at her nursery have been asking ‘Where’s Georgia gone?’”

  Investigations continue, with a fingertip search of the farm, and enquiries made throughout the area.

  Our reporter has learnt that a young woman who also lived on the farm has been missing for some days. She was finally found and interviewed yesterday.

  ‘Don’t you love local papers?’ Karen grimaced. ‘It’s not looking very good for Justine, is it?’

  Drew shook his head, his mouth full of toast. He hadn’t slept well and was bleary-eyed. A phone call had come at eight-thirty that morning from a man who wanted to pre-arrange his funeral as a matter of urgency. Drew had managed to stave him off till eleven.

  ‘I’ll have to tidy up yesterday’s graves before this chap arrives,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get a chance to do it yesterday. And I said I’d go and fetch Maggs from Pitcombe. I don’t suppose …?’

  Karen smiled tolerantly. ‘You want me to go and get her?’

  ‘You’ll have to take the kids as well.’

  ‘I’ll take Timmy. Steph’s going to play with the twins this morning, providentially.’

  ‘Thanks, Kaz. I owe you one.’

  ‘No problem. I wouldn’t mind a little chat with Maggs, as it happens. Girl talk,’ she added mysteriously.

  ‘I wonder what the post-mortem’s going to find on the little girl,’ he returned to the topic that had kept him awake for much of the night. ‘There wasn’t any obvious sign of anything too horrible. Although …’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Karen shuddered. ‘I can cope with most things, but murdered three-year-old girls is just too close to home.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he muttered grimly.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘Have you tried phoning Penn’s mobile?’ Justine asked her mother. ‘Did she give you the number?’

  Roma shook her head. ‘She knows I loathe the blasted things.’

  ‘I think I can remember it. Try it now. She might talk to you. Why didn’t we think of this before?’

  Maggs was wondering the same thing. ‘Clever of you to have it in your head,’ she marvelled.

  Justine made a face. ‘I was always good with numbers,’ she said. ‘They just seem to stick in my memory.’ She wrote it down for Roma. ‘Go on – see what happens.’

  Roma obeyed, using the phone on the kitchen wall. ‘I wish I could phone Laurie as well,’ she muttered. ‘He said he’d be in touch before now.’

  ‘Let’s worry about him later,’ said Justine impatiently.

  ‘It’s making a peculiar noise …’ Roma proffered the receiver. ‘Listen.’

  Justine took it cautiously. ‘I don’t want to speak to her,’ she insisted. Then, ‘It’s switched off. We could text her, though, if only I had my phone here.’

  ‘Use mine,’ Maggs offered carelessly, fishing in her bag.

  Roma wrinkled her brow. ‘What does it mean – text her?�
��

  ‘Mum, where have you been?’ Justine groaned. ‘I can send a text message and it’ll be waiting for her next time she switches it on.’

  ‘She won’t believe it’s from me, though, will she? She knows I wouldn’t know how to do that.’

  ‘Never mind that,’ Justine thumbed the keys rapidly.

  ‘What have you said?’ Maggs asked, peering over her shoulder. Justine showed her the tiny screen.

  Where R U? call roma asap. Lots going on here.

  Maggs made a dubious face. ‘D’you think she’ll respond to that?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Justine said. ‘I can’t claim to understand her at all any more. But if she speaks to anybody it’ll be her Aunt Roma.’ She glanced spitefully at her mother.

  Maggs moved restlessly around the room, watching out of the window for Drew to come and take her back to North Staverton. It was already close to nine-thirty and her sense of something about to happen was getting stronger with every passing minute.

  Then, between nine-forty and nine forty-five, three vehicles all appeared in the road outside Roma’s cottage wall.

  The first contained Helen Strabinski. She hesitated outside the gate, and seemed to brace herself before coming in. A fine drizzle had begun to fall, frosting her brown hair. Roma met her in the doorway, eyebrows raised. ‘What on earth brings you here again so soon?’ she demanded.

  The second was Karen, with Timmy strapped into the back seat. When Maggs failed to appear immediately, she hooted the horn, evidently not wishing to get out of the car.

  The third, causing Roma far more astonishment than Helen had, was Carlos Pereira, released from police custody first thing that morning, and looking dreadful. He was getting out of a dirty white car that Roma thought for a wild moment was the same one he’d been driving when she’d been married to him twenty years ago.