That One May Smile

by Valerie Keogh

  Like what? She didn’t know, but she had to think of something.

  Taking out the silk camisole and French knickers she had purchased earlier she slipped them on and instantly felt better. Well, ok, she conceded, not better but better than before.

  Taking another wine glass she filled it with chilled white wine and sat in the comfortable armchair by the window, her legs stretched out before her. From her window she could see the lights of Cork. She imagined cosy restaurants, intimate bars, and romantic couples. She had stayed nearby once with Simon, somewhere near the river she remembered. One of those intimate, discreetly luxurious hotels they both loved. Or did they, she wondered bitterly. Was it all what I wanted, my likes and dislikes? What did Simon really want? Was it going to haunt her, that she had never really known him? She sighed heavily.

  Her thoughts drifted on the wine to Sergeant West. What did he think when he found out she was missing again? She wondered again if she should ring him. Would he believe that I had taken out almost three hundred thousand pounds and just given it away to a stranger? Kelly stood impatiently moving closer to the window where, as darkness had fallen, she could see her reflection. ‘God, not you again,’ she said irritated, addressing her reflection. ‘I thought you were going to do something,’ her reflection replied sulkily.

  Kelly lifted her glass in a toast and clinked it gently against its reflection. ‘Ok,’ she murmured quietly, ‘I will.’

  She moved to the desk and, picking up the phone, dialled a number.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Mike West and Peter Andrews were still collating information at six that evening. They had ascertained that Kelly had taken a taxi to Heuston station that morning. The ticket office hadn’t recognised her photograph but told a frustrated Andrews that she could have bought her ticket on the train anyway. They were able to give him the timetable for that morning but, since there were several trains in either direction within twenty minutes of her arriving at the station, it was impossible to pinpoint which train she took. The stationmaster, unhelpfully, also commented that each train stopped at several places en route to their final destination, so, even if they knew which train, they wouldn’t know where she got off.

  Back at the station he faced an irate sergeant who was loudly and roundly condemning the duplicity of females.

  ‘This bloody woman has made a fool of me for the last time,’ West snarled in unaccustomed temper as he paced his office. ‘I’ve had the inspector on the phone and, believe me, incompetent was the kinder of the words he used!’

  He sat heavily and frowned at Andrews who sat placidly opposite, daring him to comment. Andrews wisely refused to give the sergeant more ammunition for his ire and West relaxed slightly, his anger always short lived, and a slight smile appeared on his handsome face as Andrews continued to sit stoically.

  ‘Ok, Peter, temper tantrum over. Let’s get back to what we are good at and get this case solved and shelved,’ he said, all evidence of temper spent. ‘We need to find out why Kelly Johnson has run this time and where to.’ He frowned at the information in front of him, ‘Our best bet, looking at this time table, is Cork. It keeps popping up in this case, doesn’t it? Can’t be a coincidence. Fax her photo to the local station in Cork; see if anyone recognises her at the station or at the taxi rank. Just to cover all our bases check with Amanda Pratt, make sure she hasn’t been in contact. Get a warrant for her bank accounts and track credit card use.’ He checked his watch. ‘If you go now you’ll catch a judge for the warrant and we can get her bank records first thing tomorrow.’

  The phone rang interrupting his train of thought and he answered curtly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that Sergeant West,’ came a voice he recognised immediately. He held his hand over the mouthpiece and said quickly, ‘it’s her, put a trace on the call.’ He waited a moment, as Andrews sped away, before replying, in calm measured tones. ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  There was a pause while Kelly chose her words. ‘It’s Kelly Johnson, Sergeant West. I wanted to let you know, I’ve...I’ve had to go away, suddenly.’

  ‘Ms Johnson,’ he replied, remaining calm with extreme effort, ‘I did request, if you remember, that you remain at home, available should we need to speak to you.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said quietly, ‘but...I can’t explain...I just wanted you to know that I had to go. I didn’t have a choice. I’m sorry.’

  He heard the catch in her voice and rushed into speech to preclude her cutting the connection. ‘Why can’t you explain,’ he asked evenly. ‘It can’t be that complicated.’

  ‘It would take too long, Sergeant, I’m not giving you the opportunity to trace this call. I just wanted you to...’

  He interrupted her. ‘This is Foxrock, Ms Johnson, not New York. We don’t have the technology to trace phone calls here. ‘Why don’t you tell me what happened this morning?’

  ‘I can’t, sergeant. He said he would...’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His name is John. That’s all I know.’ Kelly spoke falteringly. ‘And he is a very bad person, believe me.’ Oh God, Kelly decided, this was a bad idea, a very bad idea. They wouldn’t find this man and he had promised to make her pay if she informed the police. She had met him, she believed he could and would do anything; she had his teeth marks in her skin to remind her.

  ‘I’m sorry, sergeant, this wasn’t a good idea.’ She finished and hung up.

  Swearing roundly, West rushed out into the main office where Andrews was putting down a receiver. ‘Well?’ he asked impatiently

  Andrews smiled. ‘Cork International Hotel.’

  West nodded. ‘Ok!’ He checked his watch. ‘Ok,’ he said again, ‘Let’s call it quits for the day. She’s not going anywhere. Go home; introduce yourself to your wife and kids. I’ll pick you up at seven and we can meet our lovely Ms Johnson for breakfast in Cork!’

  ‘Right,’ Andrews replied. ‘Do you still want me to chase that warrant before I go?’

  West thought a moment and then shook his head. ‘Leave it. Let’s see what she has to say tomorrow. We can proceed afterwards if it’s still necessary.’

  Andrews nodded and with a wave headed off. West stayed longer, filling in paperwork, updating the less than supportive inspector and running through their data again. Perhaps Kelly will have the answer to the mystery five hundred thousand euro he thought, and maybe, just maybe, she knows who killed Cyril Pratt. They’d know tomorrow, he yawned and grabbing his jacket and keys headed for home.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Seven in the morning, West was opening the garden gate of the Andrews’ house in Crocosmia Close, a small crescent of semi-detached bungalows nestling among a bouquet of roads in Bray all bearing the name of a garden flower. The gate squeaked open into an immaculately kept garden just starting to show its summer colour. The house was as well maintained as the garden, and just as pretty inside West knew from his frequent visits. The front door opened as he approached it and Andrews appeared with his pretty, petite wife close behind.

  ‘Hi Michael,’ she called in greeting, before reaching up to give Andrews a kiss on the lips and a soft pat on his cheek. Sergeant West, thinking how strange it was that only his mother and Andrews’ wife called him Michael, gave a wave and smile in return before turning and heading back to the car with Andrews on his heels.

  Conversation was desultory, neither man big on small-talk this early in the day, both focused on the job ahead. Traffic was heavy as they approached Cork but they arrived outside the International in good time and parked in the generous car park of the hotel just as the car clock showed nine.

  ‘I hope you were serious about breakfast, Mike,’ Andrews said as they climbed out and walked toward the stylish entrance.

  West smiled. ‘I promise, before we leave, I’ll treat you to the best breakfast the hotel can offer, ok? Let’s hope we can call it a celebration breakfast, eh?’

  The receptionist, despite their identification, refused to disclose the information t
hey requested and insisted on calling the duty manager. He arrived quickly with an encompassing gaze around the foyer and swiftly showed them into an office away from prying eyes.

  West gave him a brief précis of their situation, enough to convince the manager the benefit of cooperating. After eliciting a promise that trouble would not ensue to spoil the calm, relaxed ambience of the hotel the manager gave them Kelly West’s room number, explaining that she had requested it be kept confidential. West reassured him again. The manager offered half-heartedly to go with them and offered, with more sincerity, a security team to accompany them.

  West thanked him and declined assistance. ‘We don’t envisage any problem, thank you.’

  Moments later they were outside room 556 and, with a quick grin at the Andrews, West knocked smartly on the door. Seconds passed with no response and West repeated the knock a little louder. Still no response. With a sigh West slid the keycard he had acquired from the manager into the lock. The red light immediately switched to green and with a clunk the door opened.

  He pushed the door open slowly looking for signs of movement beyond. Nothing. Both men, concerned now, reached for holstered weapons and drew them silently. They waited a heartbeat and then, after announcing their presence loudly, they slowly entered the room. A keycard was in the light slot but all the lights were switched off and, with the curtains drawn, the room was a dangerous mix of shadows and shades. The light from the hallway illuminated some of the room but there were still too many places they couldn’t see and they were dangerously backlit. Reaching along the wall West found the light switch and with a flick the room was filled with light.

  They stood without moving, their weapons held firm while their eyes adjusted to the light. Quickly they looked around, monitoring each space for potential threat. A rustle alerted both to movement and they turned as one, weapons raised, to face the built-in wardrobe which slowly opened to show a pale and scared Kelly.

  ‘I thought you were...were...’ she swayed and hung onto the open door for support, ‘I thought it was John,’ she finally finished as they stood watching her carefully.

  Andrews checked the rest of the room and bathroom and with a nod to the sergeant both men holstered their weapons.

  Kelly shakily made her way to the unmade bed where she sat wiping tears from her eyes with a crumpled sheet. She had had a restless night, dreams of being chased and caught by John constantly intruding and bringing her awake with a start. She had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep at seven and it took several moments before the knock on the door roused her, terrified. The room offered limited hiding place and she had immediately rushed into the small built-in wardrobe without thinking, and crouched there trembling. In no doubt that it was John who had chased her down, she didn’t, at first, understand when she heard the word gardai.

  ‘You did trace the call,’ she said accusingly looking at West, as she recovered from yet another shock to her system.

  ‘We did,’ agreed West calmly. Turning, he walked over to a chair by the window where he picked up her robe and coming back handed it to her, without a word. With sudden realisation she remembered she was only wearing the silk camisole and French knickers she had bought yesterday and, snapping the robe out of his hand, she quickly slipped her arms into the loose sleeves and belted it tightly. She knew she was blushing and concentrated on tying the belt in an elaborate bow to give herself time to recover.

  She was unaware that the tightly-belted, silk robe emphasised rather than hid the curves beneath and the colour complimented her pale skin perfectly. She was certainly a beauty, Andrews acknowledged, as he cast a sideways glance at the sergeant, but he knew it was her inner core of strength as well as her innocent vulnerability that appealed to West. He watched now as West weighed their options and decided a course of action. Attracted he might be, Andrews conceded, but he was a good police officer.

  ‘Get dressed,’ West said gruffly, averting his eyes from the rose silk covered curves with difficulty. ‘You’ve a lot of explaining to do and we may as well do it over breakfast. We’ll wait outside.’ He headed for the door leaving an amused Andrews to follow in his wake. In the corridor West paced, ignoring Andrews who rested nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed.

  ‘You’re going to interview her in the dining room?’ Andrews eventually questioned, stopping West as he turned to pace the short corridor for the third time. ‘Not that I am questioning your decision, of course, Sergeant West,’ he added hastily, seeing a look of annoyance flash across West’s face.

  West had been considering the wisdom of questioning Kelly over breakfast himself as he paced the corridor and was, for a split second, annoyed with Andrews. But the sergeant was neither arrogant nor stupid and his willingness to discuss decisions, and accept input in decision making, had contributed to the good rapport which had developed between the two men.

  He grinned deprecatingly at Andrews. ‘Yes, you are Peter. And you are right, it’s perhaps not the best idea I’ve had.’ He sighed and leaned his tall frame against the opposite side of the door. ‘Let’s just see what is going on here and go from there, ok?’ He saw the other man nod and continued, ‘At worst, she’ll tell us nothing but at least we’ll have had a decent breakfast before heading back. I did promise you that, didn’t I?’

  Andrews’ stomach growled and both men laughed, defusing any lingering tension. Just at that moment the door opened and, like sentinels, they stood as Kelly walked between them. She was dressed in the jeans and white tee shirt she had bought the previous day and, since her jacket had gone to the laundry with the rest of her clothes, she wore the gauze blouse instead, leaving it unbuttoned. She had combed her hair as best as she could with her fingers, mentally berating herself for not having bought a brush or comb yesterday. In fact, her hair, although tangled, shone and bounced as she walked down the corridor just ahead of the two men.

  They didn’t speak as they waited for the lift, relieved when it arrived empty. As they crossed the foyer to the dining room, Kelly felt all eyes were on them, felt, for the first time, like a criminal. I haven’t done anything wrong she thought, annoyed with herself for feeling guilty.

  The dining room was a lively, busy room, elegantly furnished, bright and airy. Big windows looked onto a courtyard garden filled with tree ferns and an array of other plants in large ornate terracotta pots. A sign invited them to wait to be seated and they stood, the men casually relaxed, Kelly obviously tense.

  A waiter, of uncertain years and poorly fitting toupee, gestured for them to follow him to a table near the window which had a pretty view of the courtyard but was closely surrounded by other tables, all occupied. West spied a table toward the back of the room, near the wall, with a floral arrangement separating it from the table nearest it. The waiter happily changed course and settled them at their chosen table handing them menus and relating a list of breakfast specials before leaving them to make their choices.

  Kelly gripped the menu with white knuckled hands as she faced the two guards over the table. She was tired and weary and she knew tears were not far away. Yesterday’s events had been the final straw; had pushed her, she thought, from sane and stoic to sad and scared. She didn’t know if these men would understand. God knows she didn’t anymore.

  She opened her mouth to speak but West interrupted before she got a word out. ‘Let’s have breakfast first. You look as though you could do with some food and we certainly could, right Peter?’

  ‘Right, sergeant,’ Andrews agreed, happily eyeing the menu.

  The waiter returned after a short interval and took their order. Andrews, in his element, ordered the hotel breakfast special which, West was amused to see, seemed to contain everything on the menu. West settled for basic bacon and egg and Kelly, hesitating a moment, did the same.

  They all agreed on coffee and toast and a large cafetiere came almost immediately. When their cups were filled West gave Kelly a nod. ‘Well, you may as well start.’

  She to
ld them everything. It didn’t take long, she didn’t elaborate on what happened, didn’t dwell on how she felt or linger too long on the details of her abuse on the station platform. She laid it out in short terse sentences, trying to remain emotionless and calm.

  The two men listening were not fooled. Kelly may have managed to keep her voice calm but she couldn’t disguise the tremble in her voice or the way her hand gripped her napkin. When she described the events on the station platform she was unaware that her voice dropped to a whisper the two men struggled to hear. They didn’t interrupt, allowing her to finish her story to the end.

  When she finished, the tension left her in an abrupt departure causing her to sag back against the chair. She felt suddenly sick and paled alarmingly causing both men to exchange worried glances.

  ‘Are you alright,’ West asked in concern, wondering if she were going to pass out.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and let it out slowly forcing herself to regain control. A second deep breath allowed her to focus again and she opened her eyes to see two pairs of eyes regarding her intently. ‘I’m sorry...it’s just been so awful. Everything...and it just seems to go on and on.’ She stopped on a sob and said no more.

  The waiter appeared just then, skilfully balancing three plates which he placed in front of each with a flourish. Andrews’ breakfast special appeared to be enough for at least five people and he gave a sigh of such obvious pleasure, that both West and Kelly were forced to smile. With general agreement they concentrated on their food for a while, or at least, as West said with heavy sarcasm, until he and Kelly had finished theirs.

  ‘You’ll never finish that, Peter,’ West commented when both he and Kelly had finished their breakfast and Andrews appeared to have made no inroad at all into the mound of food before him.