Bye Bye Baby

by McIntosh, Fiona

  ‘Thank you,’ Anne said, all smiles.

  ‘What have you done to yourself?’ he asked, clearly impressed, his glance taking in the knee-length charcoal grey pencil skirt that showed off her slim, toned legs. She noticed how his eyes flicked to the tiny glimpse of cleavage she was deliberately showing, having undone the button on her silk lilac shirt as she crossed the road.

  ‘I grew up,’ she said.

  He whistled. ‘But you were so fa—’ He stopped, embarrassed.

  ‘I know, you told me often enough.’ She stepped closer. ‘I’ve looked like this for years, although it’s harder to maintain these days. It’s quite a health routine, let me assure you.’ She laughed delightedly at his shocked expression. ‘When did we all get to be in our forties, eh?’

  ‘You look amazing,’ he repeated, unable to help himself. And then she saw his expression cloud as memories ghosted into his mind, reminding him of his former relationship with Anne McEvoy. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said carefully and she saw him swallow hard. No, Billy had not forgotten any of it.

  ‘I visit an old friend of the family infrequently. What about you?’

  ‘My dad’s in here.’

  She smiled, ensuring he felt the full force of its warmth. ‘It must be fate — we were destined to meet.’ She glanced up the stairs, praying none of the nurses would see her. ‘Listen, are you free?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, are you rushing somewhere? Perhaps we could have a cup of coffee or something?’

  ‘Um . . .’ His gaze flicked nervously up and down the street. He looked embarrassed again.

  ‘Oh, come on, for old times’ sake. How often do you get to meet someone from your teenage years?’

  ‘Anne, it’s been a long time but I can’t help feeling odd about seeing you. I don’t really know what to say to you about . . .’ His voice trailed off, then, to his credit, he rallied. ‘About what happened all those years ago.’

  ‘You mean the rape?’

  Billy blanched. ‘I . . . yes . . .’

  ‘Billy —’

  ‘It’s actually Edward these days.’ His voice was suddenly strained. More memories, no doubt. ‘I, er, I changed to my middle name. No one knows me as Billy these days — other than my dear old parents and they agreed to call me William.’ Again his gaze roved. He was feeling very awkward.

  Good, Anne thought. ‘Alright . . . Edward . . . Look, let’s just ignore the past. Something awful happened. It was thirty years ago and I’ve moved on.’

  ‘I find it impossible that you can stand to talk to me.’

  ‘Let’s talk somewhere else. We’re blocking the doorway, I think.’ Billy allowed himself to be walked a few metres away from the nursing home. ‘Look, it’s such a surprise to see someone from the past. I’m happy to have a chat over a cuppa — why can’t you be?’

  ‘Anne, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen and act perfectly normal with you.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked brightly. She couldn’t lose him now. ‘I can, and I was the victim. This is good for me. I’ve never seen anyone from my schooldays — I’d really love to hear about your life.’

  He stared at her, baffled. ‘No grudge?’

  She crossed her heart. ‘I promise. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of therapy, but it was a lifetime ago, and really, I remember very little of it.’

  He shook his head, understandably unnerved. ‘This is very awkward. You know I didn’t —’

  She pulled an expression of mock exasperation. ‘Come on, we can do this over a cup of coffee — or better still, ignore it and talk about what we’re both up to today. Yes or no?’

  Could he resist her? She was sure she’d marked him right, had employed just the right amount of sex and confidence to lure him into her web. Billy was a handsome, virile-looking guy and he didn’t have a ring on his finger. She was certain he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be seen with a gorgeous woman.

  ‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly and Anne knew she’d cornered him. ‘What about your friend?’ He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder to the nursing home.

  ‘Oh, I can come back any time. I’d kill for a hit of caffeine right now.’

  He shrugged. ‘Do you have a car?’

  ‘No, I came by taxi. What about you?’

  ‘Hop in,’ he said, squeezing the button on his car keys. A sleek black car close by lit up.

  Anne raised an eyebrow. ‘I see you’ve done okay,’ she said, sensing it was what he’d like to hear.

  ‘Yeah, cheers, I have.’

  He opened the door for her and Anne made sure he got a lingering look at her legs, bending deeply into the seat so he could also have a peek at her lacy bra beneath her shirt.

  He joined her in the car. ‘Looks as though you’ve done okay too.’

  ‘Oh? What makes you say that?’

  He smiled. Billy had lost none of his boyish charm. Seeing him grinning at her shot Anne straight back into the days of fear. She had to force back the anxiety and dig deep to paste a similar look of pleasure onto her own face.

  ‘Well, expensive clothes, no doubt very pricey perfume and loads of confidence,’ he said. ‘Money breeds confidence. I know from my own experience.’ He winked. ‘There’s a pretty good cafe near Hove Park —’ He looked at her, suddenly mortified.

  ‘No, not Hove Park,’ she murmured, carefully not showing any overreaction. ‘Somewhere on Church Road perhaps?’

  ‘Yeah, okay, I know somewhere.’ But the chasm had opened between them. She felt his awkward silence descend upon her. He shook his head again. ‘I must be mad . . .’

  Anne waited, wondering at the best approach. She had almost lost him again.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ he finally added, and swerved the car over to the kerb. ‘Let’s not do this.’

  ‘Billy — sorry, Edward . . .’ Anne loaded her voice with a gentle, soothing tone. ‘Please, I’ve dealt with it,’ she said softly. ‘I’ve had help over the years and one of the main things my therapist told me was if I could ever meet one or two of the boys involved, it would help enormously towards my healing. I’ve never had the chance until now.’ She reached out tentatively and placed her hand on his wrist. Took it away again almost immediately.

  ‘You’re serious?’ He looked to where her hand had rested. ‘How can you possibly forgive us?’

  She took a deep, shaking breath. ‘It was either that or kill myself. I chose to live, chose to move on. And today, seeing you again, reinforces that I have moved on and built a good life. I’ve never been more satisfied or focused.’

  Anne smiled. Billy could never understand how much she meant those final words, although he’d soon find out.

  ‘You’re amazing, Anne.’

  ‘That’s the third time you’ve said that.’ She smiled warmly at him. ‘But thanks, it means a lot. So, come on, tell me about yourself. Are you married?’

  She felt intense relief as Billy indicated right and pulled smoothly into the traffic of Sackville Road.

  ‘Divorced. I’m enjoying bachelorhood again. You?’

  ‘Divorced,’ she grinned, as if to say snap. ‘But happy,’ she went on, keeping it simple. ‘Do you live in Brighton still?’

  ‘Hastings at the moment — for about three months probably.’

  ‘Oh, not too far from your dad. That’s good.’

  ‘I’m in hospitality. I’ve set up a chain of B&B selfcontained accommodation throughout East Sussex and I’m now moving into franchising the name so guesthouses can use it. I’m doing up some apartments in the Hastings area just now — “the new Brighton” they’re calling it.’

  ‘That’s fantastic, congratulations.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Interior design. I have my own business and work for well-heeled London clients who want to know whether a colour called broken white, for instance, works better for them than eggshell white.’

  He laughed and Anne heard the relief in his v
oice. She knew her attitude confused him but she had to get this right.

  ‘What about this place?’ he asked.

  Anne saw that it was a nondescript cafe. Perfect. ‘That’s fine.’

  Billy parked close by and within minutes they were seated opposite each other at a wooden table that wobbled. A small silk pot plant sat next to a bowl stuffed with packets of sugar.

  Anne reached for a sachet of sweetener as their coffees arrived. Over a couple of very ordinary cappuccinos, she fabricated the past three decades of her life for Billy, carefully steering well clear of their schooldays, keeping her voice light, her humour sparkling. She could tell he was unsettled, but also helplessly captivated by the lovely-looking woman opposite him.

  ‘I’ve travelled a bit too,’ Billy said, after she’d finished telling him about living in France.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve just come back from six months on the other side of the world.’

  No wonder he hadn’t heard about the other murders. She had been waiting for him to mention them. Seemed her luck was running. ‘Holiday?’ she asked.

  ‘Bit of both. I’m a ski freak. Discovered it about ten years ago and decided I wanted to do some skiing in New Zealand. I ended up staying longer, touring Australia, and stopped off in Asia to look at the health spas. No one does it better.’

  ‘And did you pick up much for your own business?’

  He nodded. ‘The spas in Thailand were magnificent. Once this franchising thing is up and running, I want to take a look at setting up some luxury health resorts. The holiday itself was brilliant, especially Queenstown. They filmed The Lord of the Rings there and all over New Zealand. Did you ever see it?’

  He was gabbling, still a bit nervous.

  ‘No, but I’ve always wanted to get to that part of the world,’ Anne said, draining the last of her coffee. ‘I should get some info from you. Are you in town for a couple of days?’

  ‘No, I’m driving back to Hastings. Why?’

  She shrugged, making sure her breasts pressed against the silk shirt. ‘Oh, I just thought I could hear more about your trip over dinner.’ She saw him open his mouth to say something and waved a hand in apology, ‘Of course, you’ve probably got a lot to do —’

  ‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘If . . . if you don’t feel funny about us having dinner, I’d love to.’

  ‘Tomorrow evening?’

  ‘So you’re up for a day or so?’

  ‘Several,’ she lied and smiled, knowing it was the perfectly timed tease.

  ‘Shall I meet you in Brighton somewhere?’

  ‘Sure. Is seven okay?’

  ‘I’ll book a restaurant,’ he said.

  ‘No, let me. My treat,’ Anne insisted. ‘Give me your mobile number and I’ll text you the details.’

  Billy looked bemused — probably unused to a woman taking charge, Anne thought. He gave her his phone number, which she put straight into her mobile.

  She glanced up from the keypad. ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’ve put you under Billy — I can’t think of you as Edward.’

  He looked mildly embarrassed. ‘It’s okay. Just don’t call me that in public,’ and they both smiled. ‘Right, let me get you back to the nursing home.’

  ‘No, look, I’ll go up there tomorrow. Now that I’m already this close to town, I’ll do some shopping. I love the Lanes and never get enough opportunity to enjoy them.’

  ‘Pick up some nice pieces for your clients, I suppose, and sell them for twice the price?’

  ‘Yes, that sort of thing,’ Anne replied sheepishly. She held out her hand. ‘Well, until tomorrow then. Look out for my text.’

  ‘I already am,’ he said, a little more confident now, a hint of brazenness filtering into his voice. She remembered that tone well.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me mentioning that I’m really impressed you’ve lost your stammer,’ she said as they moved out of the cafe onto the pavement.

  Billy’s expression lost its assuredness. ‘You never lose it, Anne. It tends to come back when I’m under a lot of stress or anxiety.’

  ‘The divorce?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well, you’re obviously very happy and stress-free now,’ she said, imagining how she was going to bring that stammer back in force. ‘If I didn’t know you, I’d have no clue. See you tomorrow.’

  She gave him a last coquettish smile, a small wave, and then she turned and walked away from the man she was going to kill tomorrow night.

  21

  It was just before six by the time the Operation Danube team congregated in the operations room. Kate was starving and more than grateful to see the tower of bulging sandwiches DCI Hawksworth had ordered up from the nearby delicatessen.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Colin,’ Hawksworth said for everyone’s benefit. He’d held the full team back late so they could hear Moss’s tale. ‘But we can’t have you talking on an empty stomach.’ He gestured to the food. ‘Please, let’s have a working supper.’

  Colin Moss had enjoyed his tour of New Scotland Yard but now wore a serious look that indicated he was ready to get down to business.

  ‘Before we hear Colin’s info,’ Jack went on, ‘you need to know that Kate and Sarah’s trip to Hurstpierpoint has delivered us a firm ID on William Fletcher — known as Billy. He’s this fellow in our photo, the good-looking guy, the stammerer that Clive Farrow referred to. According to Mrs Truro, Billy’s old schoolteacher, she seems to think this fourth boy is familiar but couldn’t give us a name. I don’t have to impress upon you how important it is that we find not only Fletcher, but this fourth guy too. We have to assume both are now at risk.

  ‘Alright now, everyone, sitting next to Sarah we are very fortunate to have former police sergeant Colin Moss. He was with the Brighton Police before he retired and he’s joined us this afternoon to tell us about a cold case that Sarah’s instincts have led her to. If she looks a bit fidgety, it’s because she thinks we’re on to something that could break open our serial killer case.’

  Everyone stared at Sarah and Jack winked at her. He was pleased her instinctive work had paid off, and was especially glad to see the two women seemed to have sorted themselves out.

  Once again Moss told his story of Anne McEvoy. He was greeted by a heavy silence when he finished. DCI Hawksworth broke it.

  ‘A tragic tale and one, unfortunately, that fits all too neatly into the scenario we are working with. I agree with Kate that it is too much of a coincidence for us to ignore that Anne McEvoy may be taking her revenge. Kate, I think you should call Eva Truro again — all of the teachers for that senior school if you have to — and establish whether she recalls Anne McEvoy.’

  Colin Moss interrupted. ‘Is this Russell Secondary? I can probably save you a call and some time.’

  ‘Yes, Farrow and Fletcher attended that school,’ Kate answered.

  ‘Well, it’s now known as Blatchington Mill, but Anne McEvoy definitely attended Russell Secondary. She left in October 1974 when she was nearly fifteen.’

  Jack felt a tingle of excitement zip through him like an electrical current. His gut was sending a bright message that this was it. They were definitely on the right trail.

  ‘Right, all the more reason to find Fletcher and the fourth person in our photo,’ he said. ‘Everyone is to turn their attention to this. We need to contact the doctor who examined Anne that night — do we have a name?’

  Moss nodded, he didn’t have to consult the file. ‘His name is Dr David Whitworth. He was in his late twenties back then so he should still be knocking around. I am, after all.’ His quip won a flutter of polite laughs.

  Both Cam and Bill had questions about the debris that had been found, which the former policeman was able to answer in detail because he’d personally visited the scene of the crime.

  ‘Definitely teenage debris. Chocolate bars — you know, Mars, Bounty, Galaxy, as well as Opal Fruits, pear drops, milk bottles, chewing gum — that sort of thing. As for
the alcohol, it was vodka and beer, plus there were lots of 10-pack cartons of cigarettes. They did them in those days.’ He shrugged. ‘All the sort of stuff teenage lads would enjoy.’

  Sarah was studying the file. ‘Colin, it said in the notes that there was also a tin of tobacco found.’

  Moss sat forward to pick up another sandwich. ‘Yes, a bit baffling that. There were no cigarette papers found, just the tobacco. It could have been anyone’s, of course, but it was relatively full and fresh, suggesting it hadn’t been lying around for a while.’

  ‘Not the sort of thing teenagers would go for,’ Bill said.

  Brodie shrugged. ‘Teenagers will try anything,’

  ‘Yes, but there wasn’t any associated litter there,’ Colin added, agreeing with the older detective. ‘If those boys were throwing around their sweet wrappers and beer bottles, then you can be sure we’d have found stubs of roll-your-own cigarettes, used papers and so on, but there was none of that. Just the tin. It always bothered me — still does.’

  Jack finally aired what he’d been thinking the whole time Colin Moss had recounted the sorry story of Anne McEvoy. ‘If you work with the hypothesis that these boys and Anne were on the pier together, are you suggesting there could have been someone else, someone older, involved as well?’

  A fresh silence descended. Moss and Hawksworth stared at one another. The older man confirmed Jack’s fears.

  ‘I’m guessing, of course, but yes, that’s been at the back of my mind for nearly three decades. I just needed someone else to think it, say it. No one at the time agreed with me.’

  Hawksworth blew out his cheeks. ‘An adult. So what we’re saying now is that an older man may have been there, possibly orchestrating the attack.’

  ‘Perhaps even the original rape and, arguably, the early birth of a baby,’ Kate said, her tone vicious. ‘How cruel.’

  Hawksworth lightly touched her sleeve. ‘Just a theory, Kate. It’s all we have at the moment.’ He noticed how she removed her arm as if burned, wondered at it briefly, but took up the thread again. ‘Colin, did you find out anything much beyond Anne’s schooldays . . . even after you’d lost track of her?’