by Dawson, H A
‘No, that’s not what I mean at all. She could have still done those things. I just think she might have learned how to handle Janet and may have been more secretive in her actions.’
He frowned. ‘Ted did say Fiona was almost sanctimonious in her behaviour. I just can’t see-’
‘She never got caught, that’s all.’
‘You could be right, I suppose.’
‘Do you have an older brother or sister?’ she asked.
‘No, he’s younger than me.’
‘My brother is older than me and I learned from what he did. Once, he arrived home drunk and got into a huge amount of trouble. So when I drank, I kept my head down and my parents never found out.’
‘And you got away with it?’
‘For sure. I was determined to appear clear-headed and bubbly and act as normal as possible. It was a huge effort, but it was worth it to avoid the punishment.’
He leaned back and folded his arms. ‘I’d have never thought you the type.’
‘What to have a few too many drinks?’
‘To be so deceitful.’
‘You think too highly of me Luke Adams.’
He averted his gaze. ‘I think we need to find someone who knew Karen, perhaps a friend. Can you see if you can contact the school and get a list of names?’
‘That was a swift change of subject.’
‘And have a look online. You never know, there might be contacts on the social network sites.’
‘Cool. Don’t you so love all of this?’
He gave her a questioning look.
‘It’s fascinating peering into people’s lives. It’s such a cool job.’
‘I suppose it is.’
She looked away and her slender fingers reached up to her face, and very gently, she touched her small upturned nose, stroked her smooth, pale cheek, and eased away a floating strand of hair. She was beautiful and she smelled delicious.
For a moment, a heavy yearning twisted his gut. Then, he stared at the spot on his desk where an image of his ex-girlfriend had resided for years. Sarah was his heart’s desire, his only chance at love. There was unlikely to be anyone else.
It was a crippling acceptance. He thought of her working at her desk. She would be wearing a business suit and her long brown hair would rest upon her shoulders, and although exquisitely groomed, she was not fastidious and did not care for fussy behaviour. Sarah lived for what was in her mind. She was a fantastic lawyer and a wonderful woman and different in every way to Imogen.
He reached for his mobile phone and scanned the list of contacts, and wondered if he had been hasty in his decision to remove her from his life. Would it harm to speak to her just once? His finger hovered over the dial button, and his heart throbbed and his hands quivered.
Imogen caught his eye. She had disapproved of his relationship with Sarah, often telling him that she had used him and that he could do better. He remembered the abortion, the lies, and the admission that she would never love him, and it imparted a crushing blow. Should he reconsider calling her? Would it be harmful? It would just be the once, a brief call.
He scurried to the bathroom with his phone, turned his back to avoid gazing at his reflection in a mirror, and whilst he had the courage, made contact. The ring tone sounded in his ear, warbling, on and on. There was no answer and his disappointment mounted. Feeling foolish, he returned the phone to his pocket and blanked out Sarah’s mocking expression. If she had wanted a relationship with him, she would have already been in touch.
Regretting his weakness, he strode to his desk, passing through Imogen’s sensational floral scent, and sat down. She was studying something on the computer monitor, and her tongue rested on her lip. He smiled. She caught his eye and smiled back.
Luke knocked on the glass door, eagerly anticipating progress with the case, and waited for Maureen to answer. A figure appeared through the frosted glass and the door opened. It was a man of about seventy years old, wearing pressed trousers, a cream shirt and a blue tie. He projected a hostile expression.
‘Maureen Colchester is expecting me. I’m Luke Adams.’
The man nodded, yelled upstairs, and disappeared into a room, leaving them standing in the doorway. It was chilly outside, and the cool air gushed into the heated house. It was such a waste of energy, and Luke peered apprehensively at Imogen before glimpsing over his shoulder.
The house was situated on the main road. Cars were queuing at the traffic lights waiting to pass through a congested intersection, a bus screeched to a halt, and a cyclist mounted a pavement and weaved around pedestrians.
‘Sorry to keep you. Come on in.’
He shook the woman’s hand and followed her into the kitchen.
‘I’m not sure how I’ll be able to help you,’ she said. ‘It all happened a long time ago.’
‘Whatever you can remember will be useful.’
‘I’ve just been looking upstairs for photographs.’ She peered at a dusty cardboard box resting on the floor. ‘These are the old ones. I’m not sure I’ll have anything mind.’
‘Do you remember Karen Jefferson?’
‘That I do. There were a few of them and they all hung around together. Sally and I used to avoid them like the plague. They’d pick a fight with you for the slightest thing. How her poor sister put up with her, I don’t know.’
‘What do you remember about Fiona?’
‘She died didn’t she?’
He nodded.
‘It was horrid, just horrid. She was quite a bit younger than I was so I didn’t know her, but from what folks said, the two of them were chalk and cheese. It’s hard to believe they were sisters.’
‘Did she ever hang around with Karen?’
‘Blimey, no. If Karen ever saw her, she’d poke fun at her in front of everyone. Fiona was such a timid thing. Folks said she was afraid of her.’
‘Afraid of Karen?’
‘Aye, that’s right. Karen wasn’t violent . . . no . . . but she had a hard exterior. I’d say it was put on.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Once, I saw her in the park late at night.’ She turned to face him. ‘She didn’t see me . . . no . . . she was with someone else. I don’t know who it was. Karen was crying. Full-blown blubbering.’
‘Did you know why?’
‘I heard her say something about never being listened to. I think it was family stuff. That’s all I know. It was heart-breaking. I never looked at her in the same way after that.’
‘How old was she?’
‘Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I don’t remember.’
Before her disappearance, Luke thought. ‘Can you remember the names of her closest friends?’
‘Now, let me see. There were four of them.’ She scratched her chin. ‘No, I can’t remember.’
‘Could you look through the photos? It might help.’
‘Of course.’
She bent over, grabbed a pile of photos from within the box and scattered them across the table. The images were of young people, presumably herself and her friends, and they brought a smile to her face.
Luke was searching the images for familiar sights and faces when his phone sounded. Seeing it was Leanne, he declined the call and returned it to his pocket. Moments later, a warble indicated an incoming text message. In the message, she mentioned three people, Mrs J Taylor, Queenie and Rusty. Leanne said they were friends of Karen.
‘Do you remember a J Taylor?’ Luke asked while showing the message to Imogen.
Maureen raised her head. ‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Could it be June or Joyce?’
‘Or Julie or Joanne,’ Imogen added.
‘There was a Joanne, she was Karen’s best friend, but it wasn’t Taylor.’
‘What about Queenie or Rusty?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think they were nicknames?’ Imogen asked.
‘They did have some daft ideas, and they did toy around with nicknames for a while, but I
wouldn’t have a clue what they were. From what I heard, they thought their names weren’t cool enough.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked, then Maureen turned away and continued flicking through the photos and piling them up at the edge of the table. Occasionally she paused, smiling and reminiscing. He wanted to hurry her up and fought for patience.
‘This is her,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’m afraid it’s not very good.’
She passed it across. It was a bit hazy.
‘Karen and her friends are on the back table.’
‘Which one’s Karen?’
Maureen hesitated. ‘The red-haired one. Definitely.’
‘I didn’t know she had red hair.’
‘She didn’t . . . always. They would forever change their hairstyles and appearances. I doubt they looked the same two weeks running.’
‘Can I borrow this for a while?’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks for your time. I’m sorry, but we have to dash. You’ve been most useful.’
‘Nice to have the company.’
They headed outside and to the car.
‘We should visit Mrs Taylor,’ Luke said. ‘I want to surprise her.’
‘Do you have her address?’
‘No, can you get it from Leanne?
Luke stopped the car and looked to the house. Inside, just visible through the window, was a woman with red hair, and his expectations danced. He retrieved the photograph from his pocket, studied the facial structure, and looked back to the house. There was no obvious connection between the two women. He looked at the other three women on the photo and back again. There was still no obvious resemblance.
‘Can I have a look?’ Imogen said.
He gave it to her.
‘It could be her.’
‘It’s not a great likeness.’
‘No, I agree.’
‘She’s looking. Come on, we should go in.’
Imogen pressed the doorbell. A podgy woman with short dark-brown hair, and with a cigarette in her hand, appeared, scowling.
‘I’m Luke Adams. I’m wondering if you can help. I’m looking for Karen Jefferson. I believe you might know her.’
‘She’s not here.’ Queenie started to push the door closed. His foot was in the way.
‘Can we come in? It won’t take long.’
A red-haired woman appeared from behind. ‘What you want?’
‘Is one of you a Mrs J Taylor?’
They looked at each other. Queenie spoke first. ‘We’re Queenie and Rusty. That’s all you need to know.’
‘Do you know Karen Jefferson?’
She puffed on her cigarette. ‘Might do.’
‘Where can we find her?’
‘Not seen her for years.’
‘We know you were friends.’
‘So, it’s not a crime.’
‘She’s not in any trouble.’ He reached for a card. ‘I’m a private investigator. Her daughter wants to find her.’
‘She’ll never find her mother.’
He narrowed his gaze and studied the two women. Both were equally guarded. ‘Are you Joanne?’
‘I told you, I’m Queenie.’
‘We’re only here to help,’ Imogen said.
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Queenie ushered them backwards and pressed her hand onto the door.
‘Please,’ Luke said, ‘where can I find Karen?’
‘Try Northampton.’
He eased his foot away from the door. ‘Why Northampton?’
‘That’s where I last saw her, thirty odd years ago.’
The door pushed to. A bolt engaged. Curtains were drawn.
Bewildered, he looked at Imogen.
‘They hiding something,’ she said.
‘Do you think one of them is Karen?’
‘Could be, although they look nothing like they do in this photo. Having said that, it was taken decades ago.’
‘Well, they’re not going to talk. Maybe we should try Northampton.’ He sank into the seat of his car.
‘They could be sending us on a wild goose chase.’
He started the car, looked back at the house, and pulled away. ‘Let’s visit Leanne, she might know something.’
Moments later, they arrived and knocked on the door. There was no reply, yet her car was there. Following his instinctive curiosity, he strode along a flattened track to the rear, turned a corner, and looked at a barn. The beams were corroded, the hayloft was devastated, and part of the roof absent.
‘Tansy!’ a voice called. ‘Tansy.’
He turned around. A dog was racing towards him and his body stiffened. Her tongue was lolling, her legs at full stretch, and her determination written into her eyes. He leapt to one side. Tansy carried on, racing down the track and to the house.
‘I thought she might do this,’ Steven said. ‘That’s why I’ve been avoiding walking this way. Are you looking for Leanne?’
‘Yes, there was no answer at the door. I thought she might be down here.’
‘Are you the investigator?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘I’m Steven . . . a friend. Have you got anywhere?’
‘We’re piecing bits together. It all takes time.’
‘I’m sure it does.’
They walked towards the house. Imogen was chatting to Leanne, and the dog was next to them, wagging furiously. The instant they turned the corner, he noticed a plaintive glance pass between Leanne and Steven, and the closer they became, the more awkward the silence.
‘Tansy,’ Steven called.
The dog looked at him and then back at Leanne, but she would not move.
‘Tansy!’
She sat down at Leanne’s feet.
‘Damned dog,’ Steven mumbled and continued forward.
Imogen caught Luke’s eye and then turned to Leanne. ‘We’ve just visited Queenie and Rusty and they suggested we should try Northampton. Any ideas why?’
Leanne’s gaze was magnetised to Steven. ‘No.’
‘Have you ever lived there?’ Imogen asked.
‘I was born there.’
Imogen turned to Luke. ‘We could try the hospital?’
‘What did they say?’ Leanne asked.
‘They weren’t forthcoming I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘Did they say who Mrs J Taylor was?’
‘No. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’
Leanne was displaying a melancholy expression as she watched Steven hooking up the dog. She was more engrossed with him than the case. Luke saw it as his command to leave.
‘Thanks. It’s getting late and we should get back. We’ll be in touch.’ They headed away.
‘What’s with those two?’ Imogen whispered out of earshot.
‘No idea.’
‘I think they’ve had a lover’s tiff.’
Luke peered over his shoulder. Steven was dragging Tansy away. ‘I think you’re right.’
Chapter 30
Leanne felt as though she should make a hasty retreat, but she was frozen to the spot and stared at Steven as he dragged Tansy along the trodden path, urging her away from a place he had never intended to visit. The dog persisted in looking backwards, slowing their progress and knotting her master’s legs, but it made little impact and caused her needless discomfort as the leash jarred. After a decisive telling off, Tansy continued forward, although still at a sluggish pace, and gave Leanne a last plaintive glance.
Yearning for Steven to turn and apologise, Leanne edged forward, her agony tightening her heart, her focus all-absorbing. She traced the muscular tone of his legs and the broadness of his shoulders and watched his strands of golden brown hair lift up in the breeze. There was sadness within her eyes and regret within her mind as their previous disagreement persisted with its haunting ritual.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted.
He stopped and turned. ‘I’m sorry too.’
Cautiously, she stepped towards him, noting how h
e avoided locking eyes. ‘Can we talk?’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
Her tongue stilled; she held her silence.
‘I thought you were different,’ he said, ‘I can’t believe you’d think I would see Queenie. She’s . . . she’s . . .’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll keep on saying it if it helps.’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘What we have is worth fighting for, is it not?’
He looked to the ground, his eyes wandering, his lips stirring. ‘I should go.’
‘Please don’t.’
He strode away, faster this time, and headed to the field and progressed around the perimeter. Not once did he turn; not once, did his steps falter.
Despondent, she returned indoors, slumped onto a chair, and gazed at her business plans strewn across a low table, unable to generate interest or enthusiasm. Her anger was simmering. Steven must have been searching for an excuse to end their budding relationship, but he should have been honest rather than putting the blame on her. It was inconceivable to think he would still be annoyed at her for her accusation. Queenie had had her arm draped over Steven. It was not as if she had lied.
Drifting, she relived their argument in the town centre. Ever since their first encounter, they had had problems, yet with Phillip, it had been trouble-free. Was it a sign? Her relationship with Steven had barely started and it was continually stumbling. Perhaps she should forget him.
She puffed out, the papers and plans catching her eye. She flicked through the various sheets, each a summary of the individual business areas, and scanned a list of the products to be sold. There were glass painting supplies, felt and foam, crepe and tissue paper, and much more. The list was endless, and the hope of including a range of exclusively designed finished products fading. Space would be limited and the room to support struggling artists probably not economical. Nevertheless, she looked to her partial list of ideas and decided that somehow, even if it were via photographic displays, she would exhibit some goods.
It was an exciting prospect, and her energies expanded. She drew images of the displays, she developed her list of expansion ideas, and she created a basic outline for an online site. Then she considered promotion ideas. She could run workshops, demonstrations and competitions, and she could get involved in the community. Her mind was buzzing and her ideas flowing from the pen.
