Secrets

by Jane A. Adams

  There was a long pause. Naomi voiced what they were thinking. ‘And how many arms did you have to twist?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah, well, that’s the thing,’ Barnes said uncomfortably. ‘It wasn’t actually my idea at all. It was, shall we say, suggested that I invite you to consult.’

  ‘Who by?’

  Barnes shrugged. ‘Directly, by my DCI, indirectly. … Alec, no offence, I’d welcome a new pair of eyes on this of course, but don’t expect me to be comfortable with being told what to do and who to do it with, and especially don’t expect me to be comfortable with the conclusion that someone well above my pay grade is thinking along the same lines as you are. Given all that …’

  Alec hesitated and Naomi could feel the thoughts and memories writhing in his brain as acutely as if they’d crawled across her skin.

  She knew he would say yes, he couldn’t not. Curiosity and concern for Molly would conspire to draw him in, but it still disturbed her. This felt too much like the events they had both been through so recently. Events that had led them to the indigent lifestyle they now followed. She knew what kind of life Molly had led, Alec had told her some of it and Alec’s father filled in some other details. She admired Molly, rather than liked her. The older woman had a spirit and energy that Naomi hoped she might possess when she was Molly’s age, but she also sensed – no it was more than that; had grown sensitive to the undercurrents, dangerous and deep, that she and Alec had fallen into earlier that year.

  The experience then had been painful and stressful and she had no wish to repeat it now.

  ‘Alec?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to go with you,’ Alec said.

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Same reasons I had for leaving the job. I don’t want to be dragged back in again.’

  ‘A quick look round a flat, that’s all it will be, a few thoughts on some notes I’ve had sent over. Alec, I don’t think I like this any more than you do—’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I don’t think you have a clue how I feel about it.’

  ‘Ook-aay,’ DI Barnes breathed. ‘Look, no one can force you, but I know you care about Molly and I also know, because I’ve done some digging about, that you’re a first class investigator. I could use your eyes on this, Alec.’ He paused. ‘I suspect, so could Molly.’

  ‘That sounds awfully close to blackmail,’ Naomi commented.

  ‘It probably is,’ Bill Barnes agreed. ‘I don’t want the hassle of facing my boss and telling him that former DI Friedman told him to stick the idea.’

  ‘Oh, poor you.’ Naomi was caught between amusement and downright annoyance. but she knew which way this discussion would go. She was right. She heard her husband set his cup down and ease himself into his seat. He clasped her hand, silently asking for her approval and, reluctantly, she nodded.

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ Alec said, ‘and I’ll be ready to go.’

  FIFTEEN

  It had been close on eight months since Bob Taylor had seen his wife and the first he knew of her return was the smell of toast and bacon that reached him as he came through the side gate and crossed the garden. The dogs knew what it meant too; their owner never cooked breakfast, making do with a pot of strong tea and whatever he thought to pick up from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, before disappearing into his studio.

  Bob paused, standing beneath the apple trees and wondering for a moment how he felt about her being there. Fly, the youngest of the two dogs had no such reservations, yipping excitedly, his short body whipping side to side in a frenzy of tail wagging. Rabbie, older and more sensitive to his master’s thoughts, looked up expectantly as though waiting to be told that he could celebrate. Bob fondled the old dog’s silky ears. ‘OK, so she’s home,’ he said, knowing that if he had a tail to wag he’d be doing so as well.

  Annie was by the range, turning bacon in the pan and dancing to music on the radio. She turned, smiling at them. ‘Hey. Thought you’d be along any time now. I borrowed your robe, couldn’t find mine and I’ve put my stuff in the spare room, hope that’s all right.’

  She flipped the last piece of bacon and set the tongs down on the star-shaped brass trivet at the side of the stove. Bob folded his arms around her, inhaling her scent. She’d used his shampoo; he always put her things away when she left. It was easier not to have her stuff around during her long absences and, besides, he was never absolutely certain that she would come back. Not really. He could never really be sure of anything where Annie was concerned.

  ‘Oh, but that feels good,’ she said, hugging him tightly and then lifting her face for his kiss before pulling away.

  ‘Eggs,’ she said. ‘You do have eggs?’

  He pointed to a blue, covered bowl on the dresser.

  ‘Oh, that’s new. Very pretty.’

  ‘I saw it in the antique market last month. I loved the colour.’ He took a deep breath and asked the most important question. ‘How long are you home for?’

  Annie grinned at him. ‘A couple of weeks, if that’s OK, then I’ll be off for about ten days, but then, if it’s OK with you, can I stay until Christmas, maybe a bit longer.’

  Christmas. That was months. Even in the early days of their marriage when Annie had tried so very hard to settle down, to be the wife she knew he wanted, she’d never been around for that long at any one time.

  Friends and family told him he was crazy to put up with her. Bob didn’t need telling, but he knew he’d be even crazier if he stopped.

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘I mean, yes, of course it’s fine. It’s wonderful, but …’

  ‘I’ve got a teaching job,’ she said.

  ‘A teaching job?’

  She giggled. ‘There’s no need to sound so shocked. I’m fully qualified, you know and someone made me an offer I just couldn’t refuse. It’s only a few hours a week, and it’s a temporary contract, but Bonnie told me about a friend of his over at the Arts Centre at Benton Place. You know they’ve just got a whole load of new funding? Well, they need tutors. And I applied and I start in October. If it goes well there’ll be classes next spring too.’

  She finished with the eggs and dished bacon and toast on to warm plates. Slid the eggs on top. ‘Sit. I’ve already made tea.’

  ‘But … teaching who?’ He sat down and checked the strength of the tea in the bright red pot.

  ‘Whoever turns up. It’s mostly going to be adult returners, but Dan, that’s the college director, he reckons that I’ve got a strong enough reputation in the business that we should attract a good calibre of student.’ She laughed at his incredulity. ‘I earned my living that way before, you know.’

  Yes, and you hated it, Bob thought, but he said nothing. She was back, and not just for a few weeks this time. He knew she’d go again. Annie just could not settle, not even with the man she loved and Bob knew she loved him. He also knew that she couldn’t change, not ever, not really.

  ‘You really should remember to lock your doors,’ she said as she attacked her breakfast. ‘Anyone could just walk in.’

  ‘No one locks their doors round here,’ Bob reminded her. He paused, just looking at her. The thick, wavy black hair was still damp from the shower and her skin was tanned from whatever part of the world her latest adventures had taken her to. A small scar on the back of her hand was new. It stood out, still pink, against the brown skin. Green-grey eyes laughed at him. She had the most perfect, oval face. He’d sketched her so many times over the years but never quite managed to capture her in oils. To freeze Annie in the moment was an impossibility and eventually he had given up on trying. His wild girl, as he thought of her in secret moments. She had come hurtling into his life ten years ago and he, thirty years her senior and a confirmed bachelor – so confirmed that even close friends had assumed he must be gay – had fallen utterly and completely in love.

  ‘I saw the posters for the new exhibition in the hall,’ she said. ‘They look wonderful. You’ve got to show me the new work after breakfast.’
/>   ‘I’m pleased with it,’ he admitted. ‘And you’ll be here for it.’ He smiled.

  ‘Yep, sure will. Not that I’ve missed one yet, you know.’

  That was true. Sometimes it had been a close run thing, but she’d always returned for the important things in his life. Opening nights, birthdays, anniversaries. ‘You were away a long time,’ he said quietly. ‘The longest time yet. I’d begun to think—’

  She reached out across the table. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, my love. I stayed away for far too long. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I know. But I did. I missed you. Bob, I may never stop being a nomad, but maybe it’s time, you know, to try and be a bit less of one.’

  He wanted to believe her and he knew she meant it, as far as Annie could ever mean anything like that. He clasped her hand. ‘Good to have you home,’ he said. ‘Very, very good.’

  SIXTEEN

  The drive to Newark took a little over an hour. Dual carriageways gave way to a good, but narrow A road which swung off to bypass the town as Barnes and Alec continued on. The land was flat, here, not quite fenland but smoothing out as if in preparation. In the distance Alec glimpsed the chimneys of the sugar beet processor; they had crossed a river some minutes before with a small marina packed with boats. Off to the left he glimpsed the newer road rising and guessed the river too headed off in that direction.

  ‘Newark on Trent,’ he read on one of the painted signs. ‘Of course, this is Nottinghamshire.’

  ‘Just,’ Barnes confirmed. They were in town now, passing the curtain-walled ruins of a castle which jogged some memory in Alec’s brain that a civil war battle had been fought close by.

  They turned left and Alec glimpsed the wide space of the market square. A little further on and Barnes pulled in outside a shuttered shop.

  ‘He lived above the shop,’ Barnes said. He nodded a welcome to a woman getting out of a car across the road. ‘Alec, this is DS Tupper. Stevie, this is Alec, I told you about him?’

  Stevie Tupper was in her thirties, Alec guessed, noting with interest that her short brown hair had been cut very precisely and she wore a bright red lipstick. Her handshake was firm, but she looked puzzled, even faintly disapproving. Alec felt like apologizing for being there but decided against. It wasn’t his fault.

  ‘We’d better go up,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know what you expect to find that we haven’t seen already. The boss says you can bring him back to look over the notes,’ she said to Barnes and Alec figured that the handshake had been the full extent of her acceptance. She probably figured she’d done her duty towards him now. Barnes, obviously recognizing this too, shrugged apologetically.

  This was going to be fun, Alec thought, already regretting his decision to come. He followed the officers up the stairs and into the flat above the shop. A door opened from the narrow lobby and he guessed that must be the private entrance into the shop. He decided he’d like to take a look before they left, thinking that the objects Herbert Norris chose to stock in his little shop might shed more light on the man himself. DI Barnes held the door open for him, Alec went inside.

  ‘There’s no lock on this door,’ he said. ‘Only a bolt.’

  ‘Which has been painted over so many times it doesn’t work,’ Stevie Tupper said. ‘You need a key to undo the downstairs door and there’s a dead lock and two bolts. Same as on the shop door. I suppose he felt safe once those were fastened.’

  ‘So. Whoever shot him, must have, what, rung the bell on the street door, Norris must have come down and let him in, then brought him back up here. Or been forced to bring him back up here. Any CCTV?’ he asked hopefully.

  Stevie laughed. ‘Two cameras in the shop itself. Nothing inside and nothing in the street. This is not a high crime area.’

  ‘And the footage from the shop over the past few days?’

  She sighed. ‘If you want to waste time looking it over, be my guest. We’ve had officers on it. Nothing of interest that we can see.’

  Alec ignored her tone. Slowly, he walked the scene. It had been cleared for entry now, the CSI had collected every scrap of possible evidence and there was no defined path to follow, but Alec walked the perimeter anyway. Hands thrust in his pocket, as they always were when he was deep in thought. A fine dusting of fingerprint powder covered the shelves and coffee table and in the second room, the dining table had been given the same treatment. Kitchen counters, two cups on the draining board … in the bedroom the headboard shimmered with a faint veil of silver grey.

  But there were no fingerprints. Only the evidence of the CSI’s increasingly frustrated search.

  ‘The place has been cleaned,’ he said. ‘Not just wiped down. Deep cleaned.’

  Stevie said nothing; she just glanced non-committally at DI Barnes.

  ‘What about the shop?’ Alec asked.

  ‘Untouched, so far as we can tell. I mean, there are fingerprints everywhere from customers handling stuff and so on.’

  ‘So you’ve dismissed the CCTV.’ Alec didn’t mean it to sound so judgemental, but that was the way it came out. ‘Because you think the killer would have cleaned up after himself if he’d ever been there as well.’

  ‘We’re assuming nothing,’ Stevie Tupper said coldly.

  Alec shrugged. He was discovering that there was something liberating about being an essential outsider.

  He wandered back into the first room, noting the markers on the floor that defined where the body had lain. ‘One shot,’ he confirmed. ‘Can I see the pictures?’

  ‘Back at the station,’ she said.

  Alec grimaced. ‘I always like to look at them on scene as well,’ he said. ‘It helps get things clear.’

  ‘Well, I’m very sorry for the inconvenience—’ Stevie began.

  ‘Please,’ Barnes interrupted. ‘We’re all on the same side. Alec doesn’t want to be here any more than you want him, but if there’s anything useful to come out of this, then I want to hear.’

  Alec wondered if he should apologize; decided he didn’t want to. Stevie Tupper turned her back on them both and went to stare out of the window.

  A long, art deco sideboard took up most of the space along one wall. On it stood a lamp in the shape of a rather extravagantly elongated, deco nude, a few rather pleasing silver boxes and a couple of photo frames lying face down, their backs removed. Alec had noticed them on his first circuit of the room. ‘The CSI did this?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Stevie said without turning from the window. ‘The photo frames were empty when we first got here. The girlfriend says they were family photos.’

  ‘Did she say who of?’

  ‘I don’t think she knew. Some aunt or something, I think. And yes, we found that strange too, not just that someone would go to the trouble of removing family photos, but that a long term girlfriend would seem so vague.’

  ‘Long term.’

  ‘A year or two, closer to two since they met. She had a key, but didn’t live with him. Said they both still needed their space.’

  Alec nodded. ‘Any more photographs?’ he asked.

  She pointed to the sideboard. ‘Some albums in there, we took them. You can look later, but it seemed like the usual stuff to me.’

  ‘No photographs on show of Norris and the girlfriend out on display? Can I speak to her, do you think?’

  For a moment she looked like she’d be saying no, then she shrugged. ‘I’ve been told to let you do pretty much what you want,’ she said. The idea obviously really pissed her off. ‘And no, no pictures on show except the two that are now missing.’

  ‘Has the girlfriend been offered protection?’ Alec asked.

  ‘What for?’ Stevie asked frostily. ‘She’s at her mother’s, in Grantham. They’ve got someone checking in with them.’

  Grantham, Alec thought. That was Lincolnshire, wasn’t it? So a different force, different jurisdiction. Had they been told to cooperate with him too? He wondered who
was pulling strings here, then wondered if he really wanted to know.

  ‘You think the girlfriend might need protection?’ Barnes asked.

  ‘I think this is complicated,’ Alec said. ‘OK if we take a look at the shop, now?’

  Stevie Tupper sighed and led them back down the stairs.

  SEVENTEEN

  Annie stretched out on the bed, listening to her husband singing in the shower. Welcome home sex was always good, she thought, it left her feeling content and sleepy and reminded her of just how much she was missing when she left him behind.

  Bob Taylor was a good man. A loving, funny, talented man and Annie was always troubled by the thought that he deserved more. The truth was, she was more than a little afraid of remaining with anyone. It had taken encouragement on the part of her oldest friends to accept Bob’s proposal of marriage because she was afraid.

  ‘You love him,’ Nathan had said. ‘He loves you. What is there to think about?’

  ‘Because I might lose him. He might …’

  ‘We all die, Annie. Fact of life.’

  She closed her eyes and snuggled back beneath the smooth sheets and warm blankets. Bob didn’t like duvets. She knew exactly where the fear sprang from and knew that Nathan was right and as she inhaled Bob’s scent on his pillow, knew that she really did want to stay, this time. If she could. That she was ready to try. The memory of the first time she had met Nathan Crow swam into her head and she let it. Time was, she’d have tried hard to push it away, but over the years she’d learnt that Edward – God rest him – and Nathan had been right. Memories are what make you who you are and if you don’t acknowledge them they’ll rise up and bite you on the bum, just when you least need it and lately, she’d learnt to let the memory come. To acknowledge and even enjoy it, seeing it as the start point, the birth really of the Annie she’d become.