‘Do you talk about what happened, at school?’ she probed.
‘A bit.’
‘You didn’t know him well, did you?’
A shake of the head.
Sandra said gently, ‘Mikey, is there something in particular that’s upsetting you? Something we haven’t talked about?’
A look of apprehension flashed across his face.
‘Mikey?’
Slowly, he nodded.
‘You can tell me, darling. Let me try to help.’
He was plucking at the edge of his duvet now, not meeting her eyes.
‘It often helps to talk about things, you know.’
She was about to give up, to kiss him goodnight and return downstairs, when he said suddenly, ‘I saw him, Mummy.’
Sandra frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘I saw Josh, at the fair.’
She leaned forward, covering his small hands with her own. ‘When did you see him? At the pillion rides?’ Though Mikey was below the required age and height, she knew he and Tim had gone to watch.
‘Yes, but again later. When me and Daddy were on the way back.’
Sandra’s heart started thumping. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘He was talking to Dave Harris,’ Mikey said unwillingly.
‘And who is Dave Harris?’
‘He plays football for the school, and Dan says he’s a prefect.’
Sandra’s mouth was dry. Could this be as important as she was beginning to suspect?
‘Did you hear what they said?’ she asked carefully.
‘Only a bit, because it looked like rain and Dad was making us hurry. But I heard Dave say he had his bike round the corner, and he’d give Josh a ride.’
‘And – did Josh seem pleased?’
Mikey shook his head. ‘He said someone was waiting for him, but Dave took his arm and said it wouldn’t take long.’
‘So – what happened?’ Sandra asked, every nerve taut.
But Mikey was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know. We’d gone past by then.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Darling, why didn’t you tell us this before?’
His eyes were wide. ‘He’s a prefect, Mummy. You can’t tell on prefects!’
‘Oh, baby!’ There were tears in Sandra’s eyes as she scooped him up in her arms. ‘Don’t worry about it any more. Tomorrow, we’ll go down to the police station and you can tell them what you saw. I’m sure they’ll be very interested.’
‘Callum.’
‘Bob?’ Callum tensed, gripping the phone. ‘How are—?’
‘Thought you’d like to know they’ve got someone in for questioning.’
Heat washed over him, but he answered wryly, ‘Don’t count your chickens; they took me in, remember.’
‘But that was just for the background,’ Bob said dismissively, and Callum didn’t disabuse him. ‘This is a senior kid at school; he was seen talking to Josh – must have been when he went back for the coke. As yet, none of this is official, but rumour has it this boy had his own bike nearby, offered Josh a ride, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. And that prompted someone to come forward to report seeing a bike roar down the road running parallel to the main street, with a kid without a helmet riding pillion.’
Callum closed his eyes. ‘Well, that’s great news, Bob. Do you think they’ll charge him?’
‘No doubt they’re processing his DNA as we speak, but it sounds pretty conclusive. Especially since Josh’s friends are saying this boy had been pestering him after football.’
Callum frowned. ‘You’d think one of the staff would have noticed.’
‘I don’t suppose it was obvious. But on the bright side – if there is one – it looks as though we’re a step nearer getting some justice for Josh. God, if I could lay my hands on that murdering little pervert!’
‘I’d be right behind you,’ Callum said.
After replacing the phone, he leaned, palms down, on the table, deluged by a enervating wave of relief. Thank God, he thought, oh, thank God! The odds against a breakthrough had seemed a hundred to one; but Fate had intervened. Perhaps now he could grieve naturally for Josh, with no undercurrent of fear. Which, as Bob said, had to be a step forward.
Schoolboy charged with fellow pupil’s murder, ran the headlines, but though a detailed report followed, the identity of the suspect was withheld. The alleged killer was a juvenile, and as such, granted anonymity by the law. Phoebe and Luisa, however, under no such restriction, had already supplied their parents with a name; it was common knowledge at school that Dave Harris had been taken into custody.
Callum found it helped to know the killer’s identity – the word ‘alleged’ he ignored, having no doubt this boy was the culprit. It made the arrest more concrete, somehow, to have a name to focus on, and he hoped passionately that the maximum sentence would be imposed. Not only had this boy subjected Josh to unspeakable horrors, he had caused Callum himself to be considered as a suspect.
His musings were interrupted by Judy putting her head round the door, and he told her the news.
‘That’s wonderful!’ she exclaimed, giving him a relieved hug. ‘I’m sure it will help Bob and Elaine to know who was responsible. Actually, I looked in to tell you Mother’s been on the phone in quite a state, having recognized the name of the school. She was even more shocked to hear you’d been involved, and invited us over for Easter – to get away from it all, as she put it.’
Just as well, Callum thought, that the police had lifted their restrictions on his movements; it would have been difficult explaining to his mother-in-law that not only had he been with the murdered boy, but was suspected of killing him.
‘Did you accept?’ he asked.
‘I said we’d discuss it, and ring her back.’ She added diffidently, ‘Actually, I’d rather like to. I know it’s selfish, but at the moment I dread seeing the Nelsons in their garden, and we’re more likely to do that over the long weekend. I think it would be good for the girls, too, to get away for a while. It’s all been pretty close to home, in more ways than one.’
Callum nodded. He was well aware that while Bob had been understanding throughout, he had fences to build with Elaine, though that must wait till the initial sharpness of grief had alleviated. For no matter how one looked at it, if he hadn’t taken Josh to the motorbike display, he would in all probability still be alive.
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘If you’d like to go, we’ll go. I’ll have to be back for the Tuesday, because there’s a business dinner I can’t get out of, but there’s no reason why you and the kids shouldn’t stay on all week, if your mother would like that.’
Judy brightened. ‘I know she would. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Of course not; I could come over and collect you the following weekend.’
Judy dropped a kiss on the top of his head. ‘You’re a star! I’ll ring straight back and arrange it.’
Callum was surprised, and a little guilty, to find how much easier he felt in his mother-in-law’s house. It wasn’t that he put Josh and his family completely out of his mind, merely that, at this distance, they weren’t constantly at the forefront.
Daphne Leadbetter, small, stout and bustling, had twice been widowed, but she’d made an interesting life for herself in the local community, chairing several committees and doing voluntary work. David, her son by her first marriage, lived nearby with his family, and Daphne had a standing invitation for Sunday lunch, which, of course, would include Easter.
‘I checked with them, naturally, before inviting you,’ Daphne said, when Judy broached the subject. ‘They’d love to see you all.’
So despite everything, Easter was a relatively happy, family occasion, incorporating church, an Easter egg hunt, and a suitably festive lunch. David had been ten at the time of his mother’s remarriage, so there was a considerable age gap between him and Judy, and his children were correspondingly older. Giles, the eldest, with whom Callum had played computer games at his engagement party, was now in
the army and had a family of his own. The younger two, a boy and a girl, were home from university for the Easter break, and regarded with awe by their young cousins. Nineteen-year-old Emma in particular was the focus of interest, and indulged them by letting them experiment with her make-up. Even Nathan, at twenty-two, was unusually patient, having been apprised by his parents of their recent trauma.
Bank Holiday Monday was taken up with a country walk followed by a pub lunch, and later that afternoon, Callum packed his bag for his return home.
‘It’s better to leave now, and avoid the heavy traffic later on,’ he said.
‘I’ll miss you,’ Judy told him, going out with him to the car.
‘And I’ll miss you, all of you. I’ll phone you tomorrow before the dinner, and I’ll see you Friday evening.’
She clung to him for a moment as the children came running down the path to say goodbye.
‘Take care,’ she said.
The house seemed strangely silent without the hustle and bustle of the family. In happier times, Callum would have phoned Bob and suggested they had a drink together, but it would hardly be appropriate now. Briefly, he considered and rejected his other friends; they’d be tied up with their families on Easter Monday.
Since there was nothing to hold his interest on television, he decided to employ his time in looking over the speech he’d prepared for the following evening’s dinner. It was to be a prestigious affair, hosted by his company at a five-star hotel, in the hope of attracting wealthy local businessmen.
He was halfway through it, editing and timing it as he went, when the phone rang, and he reached for it absentmindedly.
‘Callum Firbank.’
There was a brief silence at the other end, followed by a click as the connection was broken.
Callum frowned and looked up at the clock. Nearly half past nine. He dialled 1471, but the number of the caller was withheld. Probably a wrong number. He shrugged, and, his mind still work-orientated, returned to his speech.
It was only some hours later, as he climbed into the empty bed, that his mind returned to the aborted call, reminding him of the unknown caller a few weeks ago. Better not start thinking along those lines, he told himself firmly; they’d do nothing for his insomnia. He’d read for a while, and then, when his eyes grew heavy, hopefully sleep would come.
The evening had been a great success. Callum’s speech was enthusiastically received, and there were a gratifying number of enquiries to follow up. The managing director made a point of congratulating him, colleagues lined up to buy him drinks, and for the first time since Josh went missing, he felt at peace with himself. This was the milieu in which he was most comfortable, most sure of himself, with none of the doubts and anxieties that, despite Judy’s reassurances, bedevilled his private life.
When the formal part of the evening was over, a group of them adjourned to the bar. Several of those who lived at a distance had booked into the hotel overnight, and consequently were unworried about their consumption of alcohol. By the time Callum looked at his watch it was past midnight, and he belatedly realized he shouldn’t have kept pace with his fellow drinkers.
He took his leave of them, and, aware of a slight unsteadiness, went to the cloakroom and sluiced his face in cold water. Briefly, he toyed with the idea of ordering a taxi, but it was only a short drive home, and he’d need his car in the morning. Once he was out in the fresh air, he told himself, his head would clear.
When he reached the car park behind the hotel, most of the cars had gone and his stood in isolation at the far end. His euphoria had evaporated, and he wished Judy was at home waiting for him. As promised, he’d given her a call earlier, and all was well. Flora had had her first pony ride, and Judy laughingly warned him that they might be in for an expensive few years if her present infatuation lasted.
He was smiling to himself as he reached the car and bent to put his key in the lock. He’d some difficulty finding the slot – the nearby lamp wasn’t lit, and his hand was none too steady. When the key did slide in, he found to his surprise that the door was unlocked, and paused, frowning. Admittedly he’d been in a hurry when he left it – the phone call to Judy had delayed him, and he’d had no wish to arrive late for the pre-dinner reception. But it was careless in the extreme not to have locked it, and he was lucky, he thought feelingly, that it hadn’t been pinched.
He slipped inside, registering with annoyance that the courtesy light hadn’t come on, thus causing further difficulty as he fumbled for the ignition slot. It would have been helpful had the nearby lamp been lit, but the open door admitted only a cold wind, and he pulled it shut, swearing softly to himself. This hassle he could do without.
It was as he reached to turn the key that something cold and sharp touched the back of his neck, and a voice – oddly flat and toneless – said softly, ‘Good evening, Cal. I’ve been wanting to have a little chat with you, about something that happened twenty-four years ago.’
They didn’t find him until the next morning. His throat had been slit and his body strung up on one of the car park’s lamp-posts, the bulb of which had been smashed. Curiously, stuck in the pocket of his overcoat, was a blank picture postcard of a town in the Lake District.
PART III – JILL
Nine
She saw him first in the post office – or, at least, in its doorway, since she was leaving as he entered, and they almost collided. In the brief moment they were face to face, she registered the quick flare of interest in his eyes, and smiled to herself as she hurried down the street. It was undeniably gratifying, this effect she had on men, even though Douglas bitterly resented it.
‘You should be grateful,’ she teased him. ‘I’m good for business!’
Which was true. They were the owners of the Bay View Hotel in the Dorset town of Sandbourne, and Jill’s easy way with guests, both male and female, was a definite asset. Since her arrival a year ago, bookings had gone up fifty per cent, a large number of them return visits.
It wasn’t only her personality that had paid dividends; she’d invested a considerable amount of money in the hotel, redecorating and refurbishing throughout, and persuading Douglas to engage a first-class chef. What was more, she’d infected the existing staff with her enthusiasm, inspiring them to become more motivated, and Douglas, impressed by the results, was happy to give her free rein. It had paid off handsomely.
Sometimes, Jill wondered if it was because of her money that he’d insisted on marriage. With two divorces behind her, she’d not been anxious to embark on what she regarded as another farce, and would have contentedly lived with him without the blessings of the law. But he had pointed out – no doubt rightly – that as the owner of a hotel, his private life must be beyond reproach if he were to attract the clientele he wanted.
She’d warned him frankly that she was easily bored. ‘I was the guilty party in both divorces,’ she’d said, ‘so don’t count on my being faithful. I’ll marry you, if that’s what you want, but on my own terms – though I promise to be discreet.’
That he’d made only a token protest was indication, she’d thought, of the strength of his desire for her. Or possibly her money.
At forty-eight, Douglas was ten years older than herself, and when they met, had been a widower for two years. Jill, recently divorced from her second husband, had come down to the Dorset coast to ‘regroup’, as she phrased it to herself, and booked into the Bay View principally because of its position. And from their first encounter, an electrical charge had existed between them.
Douglas Irving was a man for whom there were no half measures, as might have been inferred from his appearance. His arms, permanently tanned, were hirsute and muscular, his shoulders powerful under the thin cloth of his shirt. He ate well, drank well – though never to excess – and had a strong sexual appetite, necessarily held in check for the past two years. It had taken no more than a couple of days before they were in bed together, and after the tender, unhurried lovemaking of her ex, Jill w
as first startled, then aroused, by the ferocity of Douglas’s. In the twelve months of their marriage she’d had no wish to look elsewhere, though she continued to flirt shamelessly. It was as natural to her as breathing, and Douglas, though he didn’t like it, held his tongue.
She had forgotten about the man in the post office, and when she saw him in the bar that evening, it took her a moment to place him. She assumed he was staying at one of the boarding houses along the front, which were unlicensed, and whose guests frequently came to the hotel for a pre-dinner drink.
It was her practice to hand out menus in the bar, giving guests time to choose and order their meal before going into the restaurant, and she paused when she reached him.
‘Will you be dining with us this evening, sir?’ she asked, holding up a menu.
He shook his head. ‘Not this evening, no.’
She nodded smilingly, and would have moved on, but he continued, ‘I hope I didn’t startle you this morning.’
She paused, looking back at him. He had the sandy hair and colourless lashes that had never appealed to her, but there was nevertheless something about him that caught her interest, something contained, held in check, and the expression in his eyes made her uncomfortable.
‘I’m not easily startled,’ she answered lightly, and, ignoring his raised eyebrow, continued distributing her menus. When she next turned round, he had gone.
Jill had never fooled herself that she loved Douglas, nor he her, but their physical relationship was eminently satisfying to them both, and their shared interest in the hotel provided the necessary ballast. It was, she felt, a sounder basis than the emotional roller-coaster she’d experienced in both previous marriages, which she’d entered into blinded with love, and which in each case had ended in bitter recriminations. Though she was aware Douglas could be jealous, she also knew it was his pride rather than his heart that was affected.
She was aware, too, that though most of his friends had made her welcome, some secretly compared her – to her disadvantage, she didn’t doubt – with his first wife, Aileen, who had died of cancer. There was a photograph of her in their private apartment, and Jill was happy for it to remain. She had been the love of Douglas’s life, and this was all he had left of her.
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