by Dawson, H A
After many hours of work, she slumped back into the chair and listened to the persistent cries from her aching body. Her head was thick, her arm like a lead weight, and her eyes blurring. Stretching, and taking a few moments to regain her focus, she reached to her telephone.
‘Hi Geoff, it’s Leanne. How’s it going?’
‘We have a little problem. There is a legal issue to sort out relating to Mrs Oakdale’s ex so we’ve had to put the brakes on, but it’s nothing to worry about.’
‘How long do you think it will delay us by?’
‘Not sure. Could be a few days . . . could be a couple of weeks.’
‘Okay.’
‘Don’t worry Leanne. These things happen all the time. Have you been making plans?
‘Yes. I’m working on it now. We must meet up some time to go through them . . . Tony too.’
‘Yes, sure, great idea. I’ll be in touch. I’m a bit busy at the moment.’
‘Before you go, we never changed the vault over into my name. When can we do it?’
‘I completely forgot about that! Now let me see. How does Friday sound? No, wait, I can’t. I’m likely to be in London. Tell you what, I’ll give you ring. It’s nothing for you to worry about, though. I hope you realise that.’
‘Yes, of course. I just like to be organised.’
‘I love your attitude. I can see we’ll make a fantastic team. This is all very exciting for me.’
‘Yes, me too. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Great stuff. Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but someone’s waiting for me. I must go.’
‘Fine. Bye.’
She placed the phone onto the table, strode into the lounge, and slumped onto the sofa, happy but exhausted. Needing to relax her mind, she lifted her legs onto the soft fabric, placed a cushion under her head and shut her eyes.
Although she did not intend to meditate, Leanne followed the same routine and squeezed every muscle in her body in turn, releasing the tension, and breathing in a deep and slow manner. She inhaled, held her breath, and exhaled, each for five seconds. Then she increased the time to ten seconds, and soon the fuzziness inside her head started to fade.
After a while, dreamlike images appeared, rather like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and lacking the same cohesion. There was a digital clock displaying 15:37 hanging from a curved metal structure. There were a railway line and a bridge. There were mumbling voices. Leanne shuffled, her breathing laboured. There was a scream, screeching brakes, and a loud, crushing thud. She bolted upright, sweating profusely and with wild, frantic eyes, and searched the rapidly fading detail of the victim. The body was a silhouette, the blood an ever-growing pool.
Chapter 31
Luke and Imogen strode through the double doors to the hospital, scanned the reception and waiting area, and followed the signs to the lifts and staircase. The air was odourless and the atmosphere subdued as hospital workers, patients, and visitors wandered the corridors.
Two nurses with grave expressions hurried by, conversing in low voices and carrying an assortment of clean linen and a bedpan. They disappeared into a room and closed the door. Next, a distressed teenage girl exited the lift and ran by. Tears streamed down her reddened face, swelling and streaking her eyes as she released gasping moans. Luke’s gut tightened. He could feel death in the air.
He arrived at the lift and waited, shuffling his feet and trying not to stare at a sick man in a wheelchair. He looked about forty, was gaunt and pale and had his head resting at an angle at the top of the wheelchair. His eyes were a sickly yellow colour, his lips were near-white, and saliva dripped from his mouth. He groaned and the nurse leaned over and cleaned his chin. She did it with ease and showed no expression of fear or disgust, an admirable quality.
Luke and Imogen travelled to the third floor in silence. Once they had departed from the small space, he felt his guard loosen and his breathing relax.
‘I’d hate working here,’ he said.
‘Did you see that poor girl? I wonder what happened.’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anyone chasing after her.’
‘Didn’t you? Just after you entered the lift, the other one arrived, and a man and a boy rushed out. I heard the boy saying, “Can you see her?” They were quite frantic.’
‘I wonder if you ever get used to dealing with stuff like this.’
‘I have a friend who’s a nurse and she said it was horrible the first time someone died. She said she learned to become emotionally detached.’
‘You know a nurse?’
‘Luke! She’s married.’
‘Pity.’
‘I thought you were happy being single.’
‘I am. I’m waiting for the right woman.’
She had a glint in her eye. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time. I can’t imagine anyone putting up with your dirty mind.’
‘I don’t have a dirty mind.’
‘Really? What was your first thought when I said I knew a nurse?’
‘I was surprised.’
‘You’re such a poor liar. No doubt you watch porno movies with nurses in.’
He feigned surprise. ‘There are porno movies with nurses?’
She gave him a bemused look.
‘I must hang around with you more. I learn all sorts.’
They reached the end of a corridor and paused, unsure of which way to go. After checking his notes on a scrap of paper, they continued to the right away from the wards and to rooms with either department names or individuals names on the doors. They turned left into another short corridor and rapped on the end door.
A scrawny woman in her late fifties with blonde streaked hair welcomed them inside. She introduced herself as Joyce Cunningham, now a senior administrator but once a nurse, and offered them drinks.
‘As I explained on the phone,’ he began, ‘we’re trying to trace the whereabouts of Karen Jefferson. Her daughter was born in this hospital. At least that was what the birth certificate says.’
‘Yes, you’re right. Ms Jefferson did come here. I didn’t need to check. I remembered it well. I was working on the maternity ward back then and was quite startled when I saw the name on the list of the day’s entries. See, I knew someone of that name and I hadn’t seen her for a few months. I thought it was her.’
Luke nodded, encouragingly.
‘We had been good friends, but then she married and we started to drift apart. It’s quite a sad story because she was desperate for a baby yet couldn’t get pregnant, so as you can imagine, when I saw the name on the list I was elated.’
‘But it wasn’t her.’
‘No.’ She gazed through the window. ‘Unfortunately not.’
‘Were you involved with the birth?’
‘Yes, I was there. I was a bit miffed because she repeatedly told me she didn’t want the baby. It seemed unfair. The Karen I knew was desperate for a child, and this woman wanted to be rid, so I had an idea . . .’
‘You wanted to unite the two.’
‘Yes. I felt it was meant to be. They had the same names. I saw it as a sign.’
‘What happened?’
‘Karen, the one you’re looking for, moaned endlessly. She said she could never face anyone with a baby in her arms. It was wrong, and she said she had let everyone down. I tried to convince her otherwise but she just kept saying it was sinful.’
Luke and Imogen’s eyes locked.
Joyce continued. ‘Times were different back then, but still, a baby was a wonderful gift. Karen didn’t see it that way.’
‘She definitely said that?’
‘Yes, as clear as though it was yesterday. I assumed she didn’t have a partner, and when I went out into the corridor I was proven right.’
‘She was alone?’
‘No, a woman was with her. We talked. I was still thinking about my friend, see? But she was sure she’d change Karen’s mind and get her to accept the baby.’
‘Do you remember her name?’ Luke asked.
>
She looked to the table. She gazed at the doorway. She scratched her cheek. ‘It was an unusual name.’
‘Joanne?’ Luke said.
‘No. It was something quite strange.’
‘Queenie or Rusty?’
Joyce’s face lit up. ‘Queenie! That’s it!’
Luke glimpsed at Imogen. ‘Do you have any idea where they lived or worked?’
‘They were renting a flat above a restaurant. I took the address so I could check on Karen. That baby had become a bit of an obsession, see?’
He nodded, urging her on.
‘I think it’s still there.’
‘The name?’
He had his pen poised. With any luck, she might still be there.
At the end of a row of townhouses, set at the corner was a restaurant. Luke pulled into a parking bay, turned off the engine, and looked to Imogen.
‘It’s worth a shot,’ he said.
‘You never know, she may at least have left a forwarding address. Are you feeling lucky?’
He gave her a baffled look.
‘You must have days when you feel everything’s going your way. I certainly do.’
‘And you think today is one of them?’
Imogen clicked open her bag, retrieved a small mirror and peered at her reflection. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
She touched up her lipstick. ‘You know what my Mark does? He is constantly fiddling with his phone and drives me mad. Last night, we were having a conversation and he didn’t look at me once. It’s so annoying.’
She returned it to her bag. Then, using the mirror scrutinised her eyebrows.
‘We all have faults,’ Luke said.
‘It’s an addiction, an obsession. He never stops.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Texts, Facebook, Twitter.’ She peered at him, eyeliner in hand. ‘He brags about how many hundreds of friends and followers he has. I’m just not interested.’
‘Tell him to stop.’
‘I’ve tried. I tell you, it’s like a drug. He seems to think the world will end if he doesn’t tell everyone what he’s doing. I wouldn’t care so much if he led an exciting life, but he doesn’t. He tells people what food he’s eating or what programmes he’s watching. There’s no privacy.’
He raised an eyebrow.
‘He won’t accept that it involves me too. I don’t want my life scrutinised by the world.’
‘It might just be a phase.’
‘You think? Would you like it if your girlfriend was telling everyone what colour underpants you were wearing?’
‘He does that?’
‘He’s been known to.’ She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. ‘You know what, if you ever want to know my dress size or waist measurement go to my Mark’s twitter page.’
He exited the car and strode around to the pavement. ‘I might just do that.’
She nudged him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’
He smiled.
‘Sorry for whingeing.’
‘No worries.’
They strode a few doors away to the restaurant and peered up to the first floor flat. Given the lack of curtains and blinds it seemed as though it was unfurnished, Undeterred, they found a doorway around the back and rang a bell. After a few moments, they decided it was, in fact, empty. Imogen suggested they tried the restaurant. It was closed, but inside there was light and movement. They rapped on the door. An aging man strolled across.
‘I’m Luke Adams, a private investigator, and this is Imogen. We’re trying to trace someone who lived in the flat upstairs about thirty-five years ago.’
‘You’re expecting a lot. That place has rarely seen the same folks for more than a few months at a time. It causes me a headache.’
‘Are you the owner?’
‘Yes. ‘Greg Jenson. I’ve had the flat and restaurant for the best part of forty years.’
He peered at the orange and brown décor. ‘I like the colours, you’ve chosen . . . very effective.’
‘A lot of work has gone into it.’
‘I can tell,’ he said, ‘it’s smart.’
‘Who are you after?’
‘Her name is Karen Jefferson. I think she stayed with a friend, Queenie.’
Greg smiled and had a distant look in his eyes. ‘Karen Jefferson . . . well, well.’
‘That’s right.’
‘She was a live wire.’
‘You knew her?’
‘We saw each other for a while.’
A man appeared at Luke’s rear, wafting a piece of paper. They stepped inside the restaurant, moving out of the way.
‘Hang on,’ Greg said, weaving past.
Luke peered outside to a large van labelled ‘Parry Foodstuffs’. The name was familiar, but he could not determine how or from where. It rattled.
After a few moments, Greg returned and the man started to deposit his load near the kitchen door.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, ‘now, what were we saying?’
‘You had a relationship with Karen.’
‘Yes, she had a baby, but after that . . . well, it went pear-shaped and she left.’
‘The baby was yours?’
‘Yes, but it died. Karen flipped . . . couldn’t handle it, and left.’
‘When was this?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. 1973 or 1974. I can’t remember for certain.’
Luke looked to Imogen. ‘When was Leanne born?’
‘1975.’
Pensive, he glanced at the assortment of packages, each one emblazoned with Parry Foodstuffs. ‘Did Karen leave straight after the birth?’
‘No, she hung around for about six months. I saw her a few times after that, maybe over the next year or so. I haven’t seen her since. Is she in trouble?’
He returned his notebook and pen to his pocket. ‘No, her daughter is looking for her.’
‘Do you know anything about her friend?’ Imogen asked. ‘They lived together.’
‘It was her sister, wasn’t it?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I could be wrong. I didn’t see her much.’
‘Do you remember her name?’
‘No.’
‘Jo? Rusty? Fiona?’
Greg shook his head. ‘I doubt I’d remember. I didn’t pay much attention back then.’
The deliveryman deposited the last box near the kitchen door, strode across, and handed him a sheet of paper. Greg added his signature to the sheet and took his copy. ‘Cheers mate.’ The man left.
‘Do you have any photos?’ Luke asked.
‘No. If I did I’d have got rid when I married.’
‘Any ideas about her friends, her job, what her plans were?’
‘No sorry. I only cared about one thing in those days.’
He reached for a card. ‘If you remember anything else can you ring me?’
‘Sure.’
They left the building. It was starting to rain and cool droplets slithered from his face down his neck. The clouds were descending, the visibility was poor, and the road was already starting to congest. It was going to be a tedious journey home.
Chapter 32
Leaves danced in the air, floating and dropping, coiling and weaving, as the almost naked branches displayed their flexibility in the whooshing wind. It was late morning, yet it felt more like late afternoon, and the dark turbulent skies tumbled towards the village, burdened and menacing.
Sensing the chill from the window, Leanne shivered, wrapped her arms around her middle and listened to the whispering cries of the wind. Evergreens tussled, battling to remain upright as a brave bird vacated the apparent safety of cover to fly to new ground. It was a desolate scene; there were no crisp and clear colours in the autumnal sunshine, no elongated shadows extending across the land, and no wildlife enjoying the bounty of berries and seeds.
Her ache for companionship intensified. Just a glimpse of a car or a person would ease her need and dissolve the ridiculous noti
on in her head that she was alone in the world. What if the roof blew off or if the tree a short distance from the house crashed into her? If she was injured in an accident, she could remain buried for days.
Returning to the kitchen table and her business plans, she willed herself to be at ease with her solitude, but focusing was difficult. Distracted by the blustery conditions outdoors she searched the footpath for Steven’s wind-beaten form. In her mind, he was smiling, a wonderful lopsided smile, and craving her attention; his eyes dazzled, he thrust aside floating strands of hair with his slender fingers, and he caressed his lips with his tongue.
Jolting herself back to reality, she chastised herself for her stupidity, urging her burning longing to subside as his rejection haunted. She recalled his final words and remembered his pained expression, but the comparisons he made to his ex-wife were what hurt the most. The two situations were not the same.
It was infuriating that he would link the two. Disappointed, she folded her arms and scowled, denying his accusations. Unlike Andrea, she had not used the situation to find another lover; she had merely told him what she had seen. It was true, damn it. Steven had been with Queenie.
Closing the door to the hopelessly circulating ponderings, Leanne tried to reconnect with her business plans and looked at the possibility of attending craft fairs and exhibitions. She flicked through magazines and copied the details into her notebook, and then chose the ones that were within about a hundred miles or had business potential. She dialled the first number and listened to the ring tone. A woman with a soft voice answered.
‘Hello,’ Leanne said, ‘I understand there is a craft exhibition in Garston Hall on the 21st January. Are there any slots left?’
‘I will have a look, just hang on a minute.’
There were the tapping of keys and a mumble of voices.
‘You’re in luck. We’ve just had a cancellation. What’s your business name?’
‘Can I make a provisional booking?’
‘We need the money to confirm. These are popular events.’
‘It’s just that my craft shop isn’t up and running yet and I’d like to participate.’
