The Rotting Spot

by Valerie Laws

  ‘Derek!’ Liz’s voice was warm, when Dr Derek Gould answered his mobile. ‘Liz Seaton. How are you? And Sue? Good, good. Listen, Derek, I’m sorry to ring you in the evening like this, but I need a favour…’ He was listening.

  She put down the phone, relieved. She couldn’t take any chances with Peg’s state of mind. Even if Peg’s religious faith forbade suicide, (it’s the sin of despair, dear, Liz could hear her explain, thinking God can’t help you, it’s pride really…) maybe she’d feel she deserved damnation for what happened to Molly. The picture of Peg on a post-mortem table flashed into her mind, naked, helpless, as dispassionate voices noted every mark and scar … Liz went corpse-cold herself at the thought.

  Never mind, tomorrow morning Peggy would be installed in a nice comfy room at Derek’s clinic, and Liz could concentrate on getting Lucy back. Strange she had Erica Bruce to thank for the knowledge of why Lucy had gone. Not that she had any intention of thanking her.

  27

  Early evening, Tuesday 8th July

  Will Bennett was on the phone to Peg Westfield’s GP. This is where your amateur Ms Marples fall down, Erica Bruce. Information, and the right to get it.

  While he was on hold, Will felt his doubts coalescing. Liz’s story about Peg’s surrogacy sounded plausible, but with two deaths and a disappearance connected with the family, he couldn’t let anything lie. He could insist on talking to Peg Westfield, of course, but he’d rather dig a bit first. Peg was a bit flaky, and he didn’t want to ride roughshod over a grieving mother without something concrete to go on … the voice in his ear made him jump. After some discussion, they agreed, yes, he could see Peg’s records. They’d be with him by tomorrow. Yes! Will punched the air.

  At Point View, Erica and Violet sipped sherry. Oh, yes, Lily had been excited at the prospect of a second grandchild. Lucy, as it turned out.

  ‘Did Liz’s pregnancy go alright? I mean, she was getting on, for a first baby.’ Erica started probing.

  ‘Oh yes, well of course she worked at the hospital, she’d get special treatment there. Didn’t want Lily fussing over her or anything. Said her ideas were all out of date, and she knew best. Lily was a bit huffed, but she couldn’t argue could she? Not with Liz in that job!’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ Erica nibbled on a Twiglet. ‘She must have wondered if she’d ever get another grandchild. I mean, with Peg only having the one daughter, and Liz giving all her time to her career for so long.’

  ‘Oh yes, she was thrilled to ribbons, flower. She’d nearly given up hope Liz would oblige! And she never expected Peg to have another after Molly. But look how it’s all turned out … better we can’t see the future, isn’t it pet?’

  ‘Erm yes. Wasn’t Peg’s husband George ill or something? Shame she couldn’t cope with another baby.’

  ‘Oh it wasn’t just that, flower. No, Peg nearly died when Molly was born. Had to have an emergency Caesarean. Great big scar right down her tummy, oh in them days there was none of this bikini-line scar business.’

  Erica nearly choked on her Twiglet. ‘You mean she couldn’t have any more children?’ So Liz was lying!

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that was the case.’ Shit!

  ‘But it did put them off. The docs said she’d have to have a Caesarean every time after that.’

  Sherry, hastily gulped to get the Twiglet crumbs out of her gullet, shot down Erica’s nose.

  ‘Not used to drinking, dear?’ Violet smacked her on the back.

  ‘M’m ok. Sorry.’ She managed to stay long enough to hear about Violet’s grandchildren and their doings, while her mind churned.

  That’s where the amateur wins, Will Bennett, old ladies won’t gossip with you! Should I tell Will? Not after last time! He wasn’t interested in what I learned from Julie. Gotta talk to somebody. Steve. He’s the only one who knows nearly as much as I do.

  Morning, Wednesday 9th July

  Police Station, Wydsand

  ‘Right Sally. Lucy was born, let’s see, April 1979. So Peg Westfield must have been secretly pregnant for nine months before. I’m thinking, if she saw her doctor during that time, he’d have spotted that.’ Will left her checking the records.

  Wednesday 9th July

  Dr Derek Gould’s Clinic, near Edinburgh

  By late morning. Peg was under the kindly supervision of Derek Gould. She had complied, sedated and confused as she was.

  ‘Where to now?’ Seymour looked to Liz as to the fount of all knowledge.

  Liz started the car. ‘Home, of course. When Lucy comes back, and she will, we’ve got to be there. Don’t worry darling, just lie back and have a nice nap. I’ll drive.’

  And think. She’d been thinking all night, it seemed, watching the summer dawn break and the swallows taking over from the bats. Lucy was a medic. She’d not accept Lily’s old crony’s word alone about something so important. She’d want a DNA test to be sure. And where would she go, but the Life Centre? She was bound to have friends, or friends of friends, there. Liz herself had contacts at the Centre, and intended to use them. Everything hinged on whose DNA Lucy had supplied for an unofficial test. Peg’s, Liz’s or both?

  She pictured Lucy coming back to Hex Tower on Father’s Day, shocked at what she’d heard. Her aunt, really her mother? Her father, an incestuous adulterer? Wanting to run, not face any of them, but enough of a scientist to want evidence.

  Lucy would have dashed into the kitchen, through the back door. No-one about. They were either out or napping after the heavy lunch. Nothing there Peg had definitely used … but Lucy’d only need Liz’s DNA. To find out she wasn’t her biological mother would be evidence enough.

  Liz saw the kitchen in her mind’s eye, immaculate – then she focused on her make-up bag, the one she kept in the downstairs cloakroom … her mascara had gone missing! The mascara she had a habit of spitting on! Saliva, finger prints … DNA all over it. Clever darling, Liz thought, Lucy’s mine, all right. Time to call in some favours at the Life Centre.

  She put her foot down.

  Wednesday 9th July

  Police Station, Wydsand

  ‘Guv!’ Sally burst in to Will’s office.

  ‘Found something? Mint!’ Will sprang to his feet.

  ‘Nothing in 1978 Guv.’

  ‘Oh.’ Will subsided, crashing back into his chair and pushing up his hair with both hands.

  ‘But it occurred to me, what if there were complications at Molly’s birth that meant Peg couldn’t have more kids? She’s the type that you’d think’d have shedloads of babies. Sick husband or not.’

  ‘Yes, and?’ snapped Will.

  ‘Right here, Guv. Look.’

  ‘Result!’ Will punched the long-suffering air yet again. ‘Come on, genius, we’re going to talk to her. Now.’

  Her tell-tale hair tucked into a baseball cap, wearing black vest and shorts, Erica jogged along the cliff tops towards Stonehead. A vole shot across the path, two stonechats chatted, but for once she noticed none of them. Instead, she relived her morning encounter with Steve, and the mad decision she had made as a result of it.

  Unable to get through on his mobile the night before, Erica had decided to call at his mother’s home next morning to see if she could catch him in. His mother let her in, calling to her still-sleeping son; Toby dashed past en route to breakfast, giving Erica a brief but beautiful smile and vanishing before she could speak to him. Steve, unshaven, obviously hungover from a night out, (with whom?), was visibly taken aback to see Erica so early.

  She gave him a brief résumé of her talk with Violet at Point View while he necked strong coffee.

  ‘You’re the medic, but wasn’t it the case that back in the Sixties an emergency Caesarean meant a big scar, and after that each baby would normally be delivered the same way, in case the uterus ruptured during labour? In which case,’ Erica gave Steve no chance to reply, ‘how could Liz deliver Peg’s baby in secret, she’d have to perform a full operation, general anaesthetic, far too difficult to do at h
ome. Even Peg wouldn’t agree to that surely. And Liz wouldn’t risk it.’

  ‘Well I suppose, but then who did act as surrogate for Liz and Seymour?’

  ‘I think it was Molly.’

  ‘What? What the fuck…’

  ‘I believe Molly was pregnant when she disappeared. I believe Peggy wasn’t. It’s too much of a coincidence, Steve.’ She gave him a brief account of Julie’s hypnotherapy session.

  Steve stared at Erica. ‘What are you saying? That Molly had her aunt and uncle’s baby…’

  ‘Peg’s pregnancy is unlikely. Molly’s is less so. Suppose she gave birth to Lucy, and Liz ended up with the baby. That’s what I think happened. Whether Liz and Seymour had anything to do with Molly’s death, I don’t know. The police aren’t interested…’

  ‘Hang on Erica. Are you suggesting Liz and Seymour murdered Molly?’

  ‘Well she sounds unreliable from what I’ve heard. They wouldn’t want her blabbing, or demanding Lucy back. And is it that much worse than Seymour getting his niece pregnant?’

  ‘Stop it for fuck’s sake! Can you imagine Lucy coming back to hear this crap? Lucy could have been born to someone else, maybe Liz doesn’t want anyone to know who. Maybe she promised secrecy. Perhaps Seymour got a village lass pregnant, Liz took in the baby. Maybe Molly was pregnant by her boyfriend, or maybe she wasn’t pregnant at all. You’ve no proof.’

  ‘OK, I know it sounds icky, but maybe, I don’t know, Molly did agree to act as surrogate, for money, to help her leave and start another life. Maybe someone else killed her. But part of my theory is provable. I want you to ask the police to do a DNA test on Lucy’s blood, with samples from Molly’s skull. And if they can’t or won’t, you can get your contact at the Life Centre to do it. Then…’

  ‘Are you insane? Look, if the police aren’t impressed by this mad theory, that’s enough for me. I think you’d better go.’

  ‘Steve!’ Erica began, when his mum put her head round the door disapprovingly at the row. ‘Ok then I’ll leave. I’ll get someone else to listen to me.’

  Steve had stumped upstairs, holding his head, leaving Erica fuming. How could she have fancied such a git?

  As she reached for the front door handle, her eye fell upon a row of small hooks behind the door. Labelled keys hung on them. Huh, Steve had suggested going into Hex Tower with her to search … he’d not have the balls … The words ‘Hex Tower’ felt-tipped in bold blue burned into her retina; without pausing to think, she snatched the key and was out of there running.

  Now she was still running, the key, the stolen key, digging into her hipbone, as she carried it to Hex Tower House.

  In border country now, not far from the cottage they’d left that morning, Liz drove with her usual expertise, dodging the occasional suicidal sheep. While her eyes scanned the road, her inner eye was watching the past unravel.

  Sally drove equally fast in the opposite direction, heading towards the Seatons’ cottage. Will had decided not to phone Liz, Seymour and Peg; he didn’t want Liz topping up Peg’s dope before they arrived. He’d chance them being out. After all, if Peg was as unwell as Liz claimed, she could hardly be left alone while they picnicked among the heather, and was unlikely to go with them.

  ‘So we get Peg Westfield to confirm Liz’s story?’ Hassan had been swept into the car without a full explanation. Will had been very quiet up to now. ‘This Caesarean business…’ he fished.

  ‘Yes,’ Will burst out. ‘And what Erica told me about Julie’s hypnotherapy. If Peg wasn’t pregnant, and if Molly was, I can’t ignore the possibility that Molly is actually Lucy Seaton’s biological mother.’

  Hassan drew in a sharp breath. ‘And as Molly ended up dead, that opens a whole supermarket of cans of worms.’

  ‘Whether anything about the murder can be proved now,’ Sally began.

  ‘God knows. But parentage can be proved.’

  ‘Nearly there, Guv.’ Sally drove as fast as the sheep and the bends would allow through the moors.

  28

  Stonehead

  Erica jogged past Hex Tower, trying not to look too obvious. No car. The whole place had a deserted air. Seatons still at the cottage, then. She fingered the key in her pocket. Not a Yale-type key, more like a back door key. If only. Be a bit conspicuous using the front door.

  Presumably Steve had a key for when he needed something Toby had left there. Maybe Lucy’d had a front and back door key, and passed the back door key to Steve. Erica passed the house, then dodged down a gap into the back lane, doubling back. She’d have to just wing it, the longer she took, the more likely she’d be spotted. She let herself in, closing the door behind her. Done it! Her heart pounded, her breath came in gasps. Crime was better exercise than jogging.

  Sitting on a wall, smoking and idly jiggling Noosh’s buggy with one foot, Stacey Reed glanced up and saw the figure run past. Stupid cow! … Hang on, wasn’t that that Erica lass with the useless drugs … yes, there was a rat’s tail of her fake blonde hair extensions hanging down from that sad baseball cap … what was she doing down there? Fkn’ell! Sweating in the summer heat Stacey walked to the end of the back lane, looking up in time to see the back door of Hex Tower closing. Weren’t the stuck-up Seatons away?

  A new respect for Erica sidled into Stacey’s mind. She was on the rob! Then another thought struck her, closer to home. Maybe here was another way to fund her fags and vodka shots for a bit. Supplement the child benefit. Noosh began to grizzle and Stacey walked back to her on automatic pilot, thinking hard. Should she go in after the daft bitch? No way, she’d get done herself, the bizzies’d think she’d gone in first, knowing them. Just cos she had a couple of shoplifting convictions … No, there was a better way. Mebbes being a honest, upright citizen could pay after all.

  ‘Shurrup Noosh, man, yer mam’s a fkn genius,’ she panted, her mobile sliding expertly into her hand like a gunslinger’s Colt.

  The unmarked police car had arrived at the cottage, to find it deserted. Neatly-tied binsacks, pulled-down blinds.

  ‘They’ve done a runner, Guv!’

  ‘Don’t get carried away, Sally, they’ve probably just gone home. Don’t bother getting out of the car, Hassan, we’re going back.’

  ‘To the station, Guv?’

  ‘To Hex Tower.’

  Erica’s heart went into near-arrest as an urgent electronic parping filled the empty kitchen. Burglar alarm!

  ‘Oh fuck!’ she whispered stupidly. ‘Fucking time delay …fuck!’

  On the wall she saw an alarm keypad. She had seconds to work out the code before all hell broke loose. From several gazillion possible combinations … PARP PARP sweat between her breasts PARP squint at the keys PARP four buttons were shinier than the rest … Oh fuck, 4!=24 combinations … PARP PARP 2, 4, 6, 0 PARP PAR Yes! Gotta be – she keyed in 2 PARP 6 PARP 0 PARP 4 ENTER: silence.

  ‘Lucy’s birthday, 26th April, thank god! S’pose it would have to be something simple for Peggy to remember as well as Liz and Seymour. Lucky I remember it. Oh shit, I’d never make a burglar.’

  She leaned against the door, weakly, leaving her DNA all over the place. Time to take some in exchange. The house was accusingly silent and echoing as she made her way to the cellar door.

  ‘Almost home, Seymour.’ Liz flexed the strong, slim fingers of each hand one by one as the familiar landmarks shot past.

  Stacey’s mobile was clamped to her ear, when she froze in a moment’s indecision. Call the bizzies, or call Liz Seaton? Less bother to ring 911. Which she did.

  Erica opened the door beneath the staircase which led to the cellars, where confiscated goods, more likely kickbacks in the form of contraband, were stored in the old days. It was strange, being in Hex Tower again, after five years. She could almost hear Lucy’s giggle in her ear. She pulled the light cord, and started down the narrow stairs.

  Will answered the call. ‘Fuck me!’ he exploded.

  Hassan stared, and Sally nearly swerved, the Guv hardly ever swo
re.

  ‘We’re on our way. No, don’t send anyone else round, we’ll handle it.’ He explained to the others. ‘Someone’s reported a burglar getting into Hex Tower House. And, wait for it, it’s a woman, answering the description of Erica Bruce! Didn’t know homeopaths made house calls … just wait til I get there … that interfering, stupid, arrogant…’

  ‘I didn’t have her pegged as a thief,’ Sally said. ‘What’s she after?’

  ‘I can guess,’ said Hassan. ‘DNA.’

  ‘Yeah, I can’t wait to throw away the key!’

  Hassan mused, ‘If the Seatons and Peg arrive home…’

  ‘She deserves a good shock. It’s not like they’ll do her any actual harm.’

  Liz opened her front door. Instantly, she knew something was wrong. The burglar alarm was silent, and she hadn’t touched the keypad. And she never, never forgot to set it. Her first instinctive sense of danger dissolved in a flood of joyful hope. Lucy! She’d come home! She opened her mouth to shout, then clamped it shut. Behind her, Seymour had roused himself and was lifting the bags out of the car. More than anything, she longed for the three of them to be a family again … but there might be bitter accusations, the reunion spoiled by anger. Seymour must be protected from that. If she could just speak to Lucy first, try to convince her nothing wrong had happened, Seymour could have his darling daughter back in his arms. Liz found she was shaking, tears spilled down her cheeks, and her fingers felt damp on the wall where she leaned for support. She summoned up all the control she had.