They stood for a moment longer, each weighing the other up.
He was curious, she relieved.
He was surprised he wasn’t angry, after all, this woman had run out on him, made him the butt of jokes at the station. Embarrassed and humiliated him.
She was surprised she wasn’t afraid, after all she had no reason to trust this man.
West reached into the car and turned off the engine. The headlights dimmed and he spoke at last. ‘They’ll go out in a minute, we’d better go inside.’
Nodding she turned back to the cottage, leading the way through the ivy festooned door, holding back the particularly long, barbed bramble that had sprung back each time she tried to fix it out of the way, the same one Simon had carefully wound around a rhododendron branch...was it only yesterday? West took it from her gingerly, reaching up and looping it over a branch that overhung the door, cursing as the bramble took its revenge.
Sucking on the bloody scratch at the base of his thumb he crossed the threshold into the cottage, a look of disgust written clearly across his handsome face. The smell hit him first, damp and...and something...animal maybe? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The log fire added to the problem, the damp logs giving off more smoke than flame and the small amount of heat intensifying the unpleasant smell. He was determined not to spend more than a minute inside.
He turned to her in astonishment. ‘You spent last night here?’ he asked sharply, ‘This is a hovel! Why on earth did you leave The Inn to come here?’
She sat on the solitary chair and clasped her arms around herself, half in comfort, half to ward off the chill that was seeping into her bones. ‘It’s a long story, Sergeant West.’
West looked around the room grimly.
Kelly smiled sadly at his look of disdain, ‘Simon thought I was being precious when I condemned it. It is pretty awful, isn’t it?’
His eyebrows rose at the mention of her husband’s name but he said nothing. He took in the paltry, cheap chair, the inadequate fire and spluttering candles. ‘Pretty damn awful,’ he agreed with a slight smile as he turned to look at her. ‘You’ve a lot to tell me, I think, but I don’t fancy hearing it here.’
She nodded and waited for him to continue.
‘I rang the landlord at The Inn on the way here. He has rooms available and agreed to stay open till we get there. It’s not far really, about four miles. So...if you’ll get your things we can get going immediately and you can fill me in when we get there...ok?’
She nodded again and indicated her bag on the chair, ‘I’m ready to go, Sergeant.’ She hesitated and then pointed to the briefcase lying on the floor. ‘I think you’ll need to take that, there are some papers and things...’
He nodded this time, hearing in her voice more than she knew. He picked up the briefcase without further ado and brought it out to the car where he locked it into the boot. Back in the cottage, Kelly checked the fire but guessed it would soon be out, extinguished the remaining candles, picked up her bags and gratefully closed the door of the cottage behind her.
West concentrated on the twists and turns on the road back to Come-to-Good leaving Kelly to her own thoughts. He pulled up in The Inn’s car park and parked in the exact spot he had done before, in what felt like weeks ago but, in fact, was almost the same time two nights before. He sighed. He had done far too much travelling in too short a space of time and he was bone tired. Almost reluctantly, he stepped out of the car, trying to delay the start of what would, he presumed, be a long and complicated interview.
He heard the passenger door open and turned to watch Kelly. She too stood wearily, leaning for a moment against the car door. Events certainly seem to have cowered her, West thought, with more sympathy than he thought healthy in his position. He gave himself a mental kick and opening the boot he took out his overnight bag ignoring the briefcase. With a glance at Kelly he turned and headed for the inn leaving her to follow in his wake.
Paul Murphy, the landlord, commonly called Murphy by all and sundry including his wife, was polishing the last of a pile of glasses when the door opened and Sergeant West walked in. He was followed by a very subdued lady Murphy quickly recognised as Kelly Johnson. Natural curiosity tickled him but he had learnt in his years as a landlord that they learnt more who asked less. So he just nodded a good evening to the sergeant and tilted a pint glass at him in silent invitation. A look of sheer gratitude answered him and as he filled the glass he called a greeting to Kelly, ‘Good evening, miss. What can I get you? Glass of wine?’
She smiled slightly and nodded, stepping over to a seat near the glowing embers of the fire and sinking into a comfortable chair with a sigh feeling the warmth wrap itself around her.
Murphy topped off the pint and put it on the bar and filled a large wine glass from an open bottle in the fridge. ‘You have the same rooms as you had last time,’ he informed the sergeant, handing him two keys. ‘You’re welcome to stay in the lounge as long as you wish. Throw some more logs on the fire, if you need to. And,’ he added with a smile, ‘if you want another drink, help yourself. You can settle up in the morning. There’s nobody else staying tonight, you won’t be disturbed.’ With a final nod, he called a ‘goodnight’ to Kelly and left.
West took their drinks over and took the seat opposite Kelly. Outside he could hear the wind picking up. It was going to be another stormy night, he thought, hoping it would be clear by the morning. He threw another couple of logs on the fire, took a long drink of his beer and sat back with a sigh.
He watched her for a moment as she hugged her glass of wine. ‘Well?’ he asked, too tired to provide foreplay for what was bound to be a long story.
‘Where do I start?’ she asked, her voice suddenly thick with tears.
He started to say ‘the beginning’ but, hesitated and surprised himself by asking instead, ‘Why did you run away yesterday?’
She responded to the hint of disappointment in his voice. ‘It wasn’t planned, believe me, sergeant. I really did go up to my room just for a minute but, when I got there Simon was there! I was so stunned. He was alive, you have no idea...!
A log spat suddenly startling them both. West reached forward and poked it further into the fire where it rewarded him with a wave of flame. Resting the poker against the fireplace he sat back with his beer.
Kelly swallowed a large mouthful of wine and continued. ‘I told him you were here, you know, but he became very anxious, told me we couldn’t trust anyone, not even the police.’ She took another sip of her wine and drew a long shaky breath. ‘He said he would explain when we got to that terrible cottage.’ She shivered at the memory. ‘As soon as we arrived he told me he had to go. I couldn’t believe it! He said he had an important meeting. That he would explain when he got back. Then he went and...’ She gulped noisily, took a mouthful of wine, sniffed and continued. ‘I sat and waited. Then it got dark and cold and he didn’t come. I had to sleep in that awful place and when I woke he still hadn’t come back. I waited and waited.’
She sat a moment thinking bitterly of the day she had spent, the discoveries she had made. Sitting here in front of the fire, listening to the wind rattling the mullioned windows, it began to feel unreal, a page from a book she had read, a scene from a movie.
She put her glass down and looked across the low table at the man opposite. ‘I didn’t know what to do. I discovered, at the last minute, that Simon had taken my car because his had broken down so I was stuck there. And I really couldn’t bring myself to spend another night at that place. When I found your card...well I thought...’ Her voice faded from a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.
West sat a moment, digesting what he had heard. He frowned, thinking a moment; she wasn’t confessing or admitting guilt or complicity. ‘Let me get this clear,’ he said, ‘Are you telling me that you hadn’t seen your husband since he was supposed to have vanished three months ago. That you hadn’t, in fact, planned the meeting here?’
‘No!’
�
�You didn’t know that Simon Johnson was really a man called Cyril Pratt?’
Kelly lifted her glass and drained it. ‘Can I have another, please?’
West hissed in annoyance, but went behind the bar and removed the white wine bottle from the fridge. Returning he filled her glass and left the bottle within her reach. He sat back expectantly.
‘The first time I heard that name was here,’ she said quietly. ‘I told you about that, didn’t I?’ She looked to him for confirmation and continued when he nodded. ‘I had never heard the name before, I swear! Then when I was hanging around that awful cottage, waiting for Simon to return, I decided to do a little sleuthing of my own and went through his stuff. I found credit card and store card statements for Simon. He owes so much money! About fifty thousand!’ She stopped talking for a long minute and stared into the fire. West waited.
‘I was shocked and upset that he hadn’t told me,’ she continued. ‘I thought, maybe, that was why he had run away and was upset that he hadn’t felt able to tell me. I wondered what kind of woman I was that her own husband couldn’t trust her. I felt so sorry that he had had to go through all that on his own, that he had had to live in that terrible place all these months. Oh, yes,’ she said when he sat forward to interrupt, ‘He has been there all this time.’ She had another drink of her wine, slowly this time, unconsciously savouring it, delaying the next disclosure till more of the wine numbed the telling.
‘When I found the briefcase,’ she began hesitantly, ‘I knew, just knew it would tell me something more. It did,’ she gave a short sad laugh, ‘But not what I expected.’ Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the photo she had taken from the briefcase again and again as she waited for the sergeant’s arrival, examining it, and then shoving it back in anger, in frustration, in deep, stomach-churning sorrow. Finally, she kept it, pushing it into the pocket of her jeans. She straightened it out now, smoothing the creases, almost caressing the family group it portrayed before handing it over. Meeting his eyes as she did so, she noted his lack of surprise, ‘You knew?’
He took the photo and put it on the table between them. ‘When you gave me the name yesterday I had my office run it. They got back to me with the information in the call I was taking while you were sneaking out the door,’ he added pointedly. He hesitated a moment, wondering how much to tell her, then continued.
‘Cyril Pratt used yet another alias to trick Simon Johnson into renting him his Cork apartment. He then set about using his name, and identity for his own ends. He sublet the apartment and pocketed the two grand a month.’
Kelly had drained her glass and now sat back, both arms wrapped around herself as if to hold herself together.
‘Perhaps we should stop there,’ he suggested but she shook her head emphatically.
‘Please, I need to know,’ she said in a whisper, ‘please!’
He shrugged and went on. ‘According to our records, Cyril Pratt has been in prison a number of times, mostly for petty crime and extortion, nothing in the last few years. His current marriage is his third. His wife says he works away for long periods.’
He watched her face tighten at the mention of Cyril Pratt’s wife and, ignoring the sympathy that was natural to him, he said roughly. ‘The night he supposedly vanished we think he went home to her. According to her, he stayed there a few days around that time and she hasn’t seen him since. She has, however had the odd phone call from him and regular money by post. She said that was the way things always were when he was away.’
‘So Simon, or Cyril as I suppose I should call him, is hiding from this man Simon Johnson?’
West looked at her intently. ‘Simon Johnson is dead, Kelly.’
She sat forward suddenly putting the wineglass down carelessly, wine slopping over the rim, eyes wide. ‘Dead!’ she cried. West watched as the truth, slowed by the wine she had taken, eventually dawned. ‘The dead man, oh my God, was he Simon Johnson?’Seeing him hesitate, she knew she had guessed correctly. ‘So...did my hus...did Cyril Pratt kill him?’
The fire suddenly sparked loudly again making both jump and drawing a gasp from Kelly. West took the poker and moved the embers around in the fireplace, getting soot on his hands in the process. There was something infinitely soothing about poking a fire, he thought, he always lit one in his own place when he could. He sat back on his shins for a moment, relaxing a little in the resurgent flames, allowing his weariness off the tight lease he’d kept it on for what seemed like hours and closed his eyes for a nanosecond.
Kelly watched him as he stayed there looking in to the fire. He was a handsome man she thought suddenly, his profile lit by the flames. He felt her gaze and turned with a half smile, saying simply, ‘I like fires,’ before getting up and sitting back into the chair with a sigh.
‘We don’t know who killed Simon Johnson yet,’ he began, ‘but there’s a connection between the two men and Simon Johnson is dead. At the moment Pratt is just wanted for questioning.’ He rubbed his hand over his face wearily. ‘We have a number of questions for him regarding the two thousand a month he was obtaining illegally. We would also like to know where he got the money to buy your house; he didn’t get it from Simon Johnson.’ He yawned suddenly, quickly covering his mouth with one hand while he waved the other in apology. ‘That’s all I can tell you at the moment, Kelly. All we know, to be honest.’
He rested his head on the wing of the chair, tiredness gaining, overtaking, winning.
Kelly watched him, digested what he had told her and sighed heavily, ‘Yesterday, when I saw him again, saw him smile at me, I thought everything was going to be all right. I couldn’t have been more wrong could I?’ Kelly asked, staring into the dying fire.
‘That one may smile.’ West murmured sleepily, lifting his head.
‘And smile and be a villain?’Kelly finished the quotation causing the sergeant to raise an appreciative eyebrow. ‘I know my Shakespeare, Sergeant West. Better, obviously, than I knew the man I married!’ She smiled grimly, ‘perhaps I should be relieved than he is, in fact, not my husband! I take it,’ she added, ‘he will be charged with bigamy, too? It is still a crime, isn’t it?’
West nodded. ‘Under Section 57 Offences against the Person’s Act. I must admit it is seldom prosecuted unless it is done with intent to defraud.’ He stood, ‘We will be questioning him on a number of things, Kelly. It will certainly be one of them.
‘It’s one o’clock. We need to get some sleep and make an early start back to Ireland tomorrow.’ He hesitated before looking down on her and continuing, ‘No more running away, eh?’
She stood, irritated. ‘I wasn’t running away.’
‘Ok, ok, we’re tired, let’s get some sleep.’ He took both glasses and put them on the bar and returned the wine to the fridge. Opening the door he waved her through following closely behind. At her door he handed her the key, holding on to it as she reached for it. For a moment they stood silently, joined by the key, each weighing the other up, and, as if they both came to the same conclusion at the same time, they smiled.
‘Good night, Kelly.’
‘Good night, sergeant.’
THIRTEEN
They breakfasted together in companionable silence. Sergeant West had made an early call to Andrews, filling him in on the previous evening’s events and outlining the plans for the day. He hoped to be back in the office by early afternoon he told him finally and rang off as both Kelly and a very well laden plate arrived. He tucked in appreciatively and, to Kelly’s amusement, made low groans of pleasure.
‘You sound like my cat,’ she laughed, spreading butter thickly onto her toast and following that with what looked like homemade raspberry jam. She made her own sounds of pleasure at this. ‘Gorgeous jam,’ she murmured licking the remains of the first slice from her fingers.
She cupped her coffee cup in her hands and sat back watching him. ‘What happens next, then?’
He looked up from his plate in surprise. ‘I go back to the station and get on wi
th the investigation and you...well, you go home and wait until we find Cyril Pratt.’
‘My husband, by any other name, or should I say every other,’ she commented with some bitterness. ‘Although, legally, we were never married, were we, so I can’t really call him that anymore, can I?’ She had a sudden horrifying thought. ‘If I’m not married, the house isn’t mine, is it?’
He frowned, putting down his knife and fork. ‘Are both your names on the deeds?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know. The purchase all happened so quickly. I remember signing whatever I was asked but to be honest I never read anything.’
West shook his head. That someone would sign something without reading it! Unbelievable! Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘If both your names are on the deeds you can argue you have a right to stay in the home as you entered the relationship in good faith. If your name is not on the deeds, well, then that’s a bit of a problem.’ He thought a moment before continuing, ‘There is the bigger problem of where the money came from. It may need to be repaid. When you get back get yourself a good solicitor, give him the whole story. If you know where the deeds are bring them to him too.’
Kelly, not having the remotest idea where the deeds to the house were, nodded.
West emptied his coffee cup and stood. ‘We’d better get going. I’ll settle up with the landlord and meet you out front in ten minutes.’ He waited for her nod of agreement and headed to where he could hear the landlord chatting to a delivery man.
He collected his bag, paid the landlord and was first to the car, tossing his bag into the boot beside Pratt’s overfull briefcase and settling himself behind the steering wheel for another long journey. Minutes passed. Twenty, he decided, checking his watch and getting out of the car to head in search for her. He had just banged the car door shut with more force than was strictly necessary when she appeared at the door of the inn with the landlord. He watched as she rose up on her toes to give the much taller Murphy a kiss on the cheek.
That One May Smile Page 13
