It Started at Sunset Cottage

by Bella Osborne

  “I promised to take my friend Didi home to London this afternoon and settle her in. She’s the one who has been recuperating.” Tim nodded his understanding. Kate looked from Tim to Amy, fleetingly considered leaving Amy in Tim’s care, and then dismissed it speedily as a very bad option. One call from Lumina or Jackie and Tim would be off in a helicopter, and Amy would most likely be abandoned here or dumped on Pippa.

  “Can I help?” Tim said, as he got up and came and sat on the sofa, which was next to Kate’s chair. He perched on the edge and waited for her response.

  “Thank you, but I don’t think you can help. I’ll think of something,” Kate tried to sound confident and in control but, with Sarah at a police station, Andy helping the police dig up goodness knows what in Sarah’s garden and everyone else she was close to either in London or Australia, there was nobody else left that she trusted to do either job.

  “Kate, please let me help.” Tim’s voice was soft and slightly pleading. “I could look after Amy. We get on, don’t we Amy?”

  “Can you cook?” asked Amy, with a small frown.

  “Ah no, but we could get around that. My driver is just up the road in the pub. It’s okay, he’s watching the football not drinking,” said Tim, quickly turning to Kate to reassure her.

  “Sorry, Tim, Sarah has left me in loco parentis. I couldn’t possibly let anyone else look after her.”

  “I understand. So that settles it, then. Terry and I will pick Didi up and take her home and settle her in. I need to be in London tonight anyway, so it’s practically on the way home. Where does she live exactly?” He said pulling out his mobile.

  “Somewhere near Hampstead Heath. She’s given me the postcode for the sat nav. But, Tim, I couldn’t really ask you to…” Tim reached out and took Kate’s hand. The familiar zing ran up her arm and they both flinched at the contact.

  “No, stop, Kate, please let me do this. It’s the least I can do. Please?” Kate gently pulled her hand away and took a deep breath. She knew that she had little choice and, to be honest, she fancied Didi’s chances of survival with Tim a lot higher than Amy’s. Anyway, Didi could most definitely give as good as she got, and it really was the only option Kate had right now.

  “Okay,” she sighed reluctantly, but then added, “Thank you, it’s kind of you.” Tim jumped to his feet and for a moment she thought he was going to punch the air. He looked quite elated. He patted Amy affectionately on the head as he left the room.

  “Bye, Amy, enjoy the rest of your birthday,” and he followed Kate into the kitchen, where she scribbled down Didi’s details. Tim got on the mobile to drag a reluctant Terry away from the big match.

  “Had you been waiting here long?” Kate asked as he was leaving.

  “A couple of hours in the car.”

  “Right,” nodded Kate.

  “And another hour sitting here.” He pointed at the step. “If I get piles as a result, you know I’ll sue you, don’t you?” grinned Tim, replacing his sunglasses before deftly jumping out of the way as Kate took a swipe at him.

  “And then I’ll sell the story of Timothy Calder’s piles to the press and make a fortune!”

  One of the police constables, who looked rather old to still be a constable, was setting up a strange-looking piece of kit on the grass. Andy went over to have a closer look. The equipment looked like a metal pole with a long, thin cylinder on one end. There was also a box with a small screen on the handle and some wicked-looking wraparound black glasses.

  “That’s an interesting bit of kit,” said Andy eyeing the strange contraption.

  “It’s a specialised type of laser ground scanner. It’s really a bit of a hobby of mine. I do a bit of archaeology, but the kit works just as well for something like this,” he said proudly.

  “What’s it do, then?” Andy picked up the special glasses and had a little look through them.

  “It scans the ground and records any variances or disturbances in the layers underneath.”

  “Like a metal detector?”

  “No,” said the constable, looking put out and taking back the glasses, “not exactly like a metal detector. This is a sophisticated piece of kit. It can show you where alterations have been made to the natural lay of the land hundreds of years previously, like building foundations and burial chambers.”

  “What’s it going to tell you here, then,” he indicated the patio.

  “Whether there is anything buried underneath it, however deep down it may be.” Andy didn’t say anything else; he just nodded and went to stand out of the way until the other police officers let him know when he could start moving the slabs. Andy hated waiting around and every minute he wasn’t doing something he was worrying about Sarah. Wondering what they were asking her, what she was telling them and generally trying to work out what the hell was going on. He knew Sarah wasn’t telling him everything and he was afraid of what she was leaving out. Andy wanted to protect Sarah, but he knew all he could do was wait to hear from her and then maybe he would be able to work out what he could do to help. For now, he’d just have to concentrate on saving her patio.

  Eventually, they set about taking up the patio one slab at a time, with the officers taking photographs and meticulously recording what they were doing. Andy couldn’t get over how much quicker it was to take up the patio than it had been to lay it. The sun spent the afternoon beating down on them and was only now starting to wane. The constable with the scanner had been walking up and down every time they moved a slab, but gave no indication whether he’d found anything interesting. Andy knew that all that was under there was rubble. When the slabs were all cleared and neatly set in piles around the lawn, the officers ushered Andy out of the way, so he went inside to get a long, cold drink, but there was only water. He leaned against the kitchen sink and enjoyed the cool draught coming in through the open kitchen window. He wondered if he’d be able to get the slabs back down again today, but he doubted it. He was knackered and emotionally drained as there was no word from Sarah or the inspector. Andy realised that the constable and the sergeant were having a conversation just by the kitchen window and were clearly unaware of Andy’s close proximity.

  “So, there’s definitely something under there other than hardcore?” the sergeant asked.

  “Yep. Do you see here there’s a silhouette? It’s probably only a couple of feet down. It sort of resembles a head and a torso, but it’s vague, so that’s only a guess. So he’s either in pieces or he was very short, Sarge,” suggested the constable. Despite the sweat he had built up moments earlier, Andy felt himself go cold, and all he could do was stand frozen to the spot and listen.

  “Okay, I’ll get the on-call SOCO down here. They’ll love me on a Saturday. You and the boys had better get digging. Be careful – we don’t want to damage any evidence.”

  “Right, Sarge,” and Andy heard the clang as spades were picked up and the digging started.

  Tim was very pleased with how things had panned out. At least Kate was talking to him and, better still, he was now doing something useful to help her and hopefully show her that he wasn’t a total arse. He knew there was a lot of damage to mend, but this was a good start. Terry had clearly got over his annoyance at missing the end of the football match and had brought Tim a couple of ham rolls from the pub, for which Tim was very grateful. He had only just finished the second roll when Terry called out, “Here we are, boss”. He turned the car into a side road and they followed a very neat line of beech trees to the front of an imposing three-storey Victorian red-brick building that was perfectly symmetrical, with an ornate clock tower in the middle, under which was a very over-the-top entrance with a large arched door, at the top of a flight of small stone steps. The many window frames were bright white and stood out against the red of the brick. There was a large, fancy sign outside, stating “St Gaudentia House – rest, recuperation and respite”. Tim got out of the car and went to speak to Terry through the driver’s window, which Terry duly lowered.

>   “Have you got your chauffeur’s hat?” asked Tim, putting on his sunglasses and brushing crumbs off his crisp white t-shirt.

  “Yeah,” Terry said, as he reluctantly leaned over and retrieved it from the glove compartment. He clearly didn’t like wearing it, even on the very few occasions that required him to do so, which were film premieres and when Tim wanted to particularly impress someone. Terry put the black hat with a patent black stripe on his head and was about to adjust it in the mirror when Tim swiped it.

  “Thank you!” he said, and he put it on before bounding up the steps two at a time. Inside, the reception area had a hotel feel about it, with a large, highly polished wooden reception desk to the left, a series of large brown-leather sofas on the right, and an expanse of tiled flooring between the two. Tim approached the shiny desk and the young, smartly dressed receptionist looked up and beamed a welcoming smile; she looked a little startled by the vision in front of her, but soon recovered herself.

  “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

  “Taxi for Didi,” Tim said, with a tip of his chauffeur’s cap.

  “Well, well, well. Now this must be the surprise Kate was talking about,” came a strong voice from the sofas. Tim pulled down his sunglasses so he could see better. Sunglasses were standard issue for all celebrities and must be worn at all times, in all situations and in all climates. However, sometimes it just wasn’t practical. His eyes alighted on a slender, well-dressed woman of advancing years, wearing a smart, navy trouser suit with a bright-turquoise top underneath. Her hair was short and very neatly styled, and she had the face of a fifties’ movie star. Tim was surprised; this wasn’t the little old lady he had been expecting. He walked over and doffed his cap, before taking hold of Didi’s wheelie case.

  “Ma’am, Timothy Calder at your service.”

  “Oh my, this really is my lucky day,” she winked.

  “Do you have everything?”

  “Knickers and passport,” said Didi, tapping her shoulder bag.

  “You’re a minx, aren’t you, which is exactly my kind of gal,” said Tim as he linked arms with Didi and they strode out of St Gaudentia House with the receptionist staring after them open-mouthed. As they stepped into the fading sun, Terry was out of the car in a flash and opened the rear door, which he held whilst Didi got inside. He took his hat from Tim, as well as the case, and Tim got in the other side.

  “Right then, Didi, we have the sat nav co-ordinates, so you now have my undivided attention for the next…” he looked at Terry as he was putting on his seat belt.

  “Hour and half, depending on traffic,” replied Terry. “Er, the address we’ve got, boss?” said Terry tentatively, but Tim was waving him away. Terry shook his head and started the car.

  “So, tell me all about yourself, Didi,” said Tim.

  “In an hour and a half, you’ll only get the edited highlights!” Didi laughed. That was to be the start of an hour and half of non-stop story-telling between the pair, which was frequently interspersed with laughter as they triggered memories for each other, and both had equally fascinating tales to tell.

  By the time the scenery had changed from green fields to motorway and then to grey city buildings, they were chatting as though they’d been friends all their lives. Terry kept looking in the rear-view mirror in a feeble attempt to catch Tim’s attention.

  “We’re nearly there, boss.”

  “Ooh, so we are,” said Didi, recognising the streets out of the window. “My word, that was quick.”

  Tim looked out, too, but was not impressed by what he saw. They appeared to be entering a council estate, which was grimmer than the set he had worked on for the recent gangster film he’d been in. The buildings were grey concrete tombstones that had attracted the only grey clouds they had seen all day.

  “Is this it?” Tim failed to hide the horror in his voice.

  “Yes. If you drop me over there, I can go straight up in the lifts.” Didi pointed to a pair of obscene, graffiti-strewn doors. It was impossible to tell what colour they had originally been painted as none of the paint was visible under the graffiti. On either side of the door were two groups of youths, who were now staring at the approaching luxury car. Tim was mentally running through the list Kate had given him about checking that the heating and water were working and settling her in before going to get her some shopping. She had failed to mention that Didi lived in a war zone.

  “Right, Didi, I’m under strict instructions from Kate, so I need to check that the lift is working, then go and put the kettle on, so that when you come up you can have a nice cuppa. Keys?” Didi handed him the keys.

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that,” she protested, but Tim was already out of the car and waiting for Terry to put the driver’s window down.

  “I’ll check it out and you get ready to get her out of here if these guys kick off, okay?”

  “I did try to warn you, boss, when I realised where it was,” stressed Terry.

  “Okay. Call me if you have any problems,” said Tim, and Terry nodded and kept the engine running. Tim put on his shades and his best confident smile and he sauntered over to the double doors.

  “Gents,” he said, as he approached the two groups of young men, who appeared to be taking it in turns to spit on the ground. There was no reply and, to Tim’s utter relief, they didn’t attempt to stop him entering the building.

  Once inside, the smell assaulted his nasal passages and made him wretch. The urine of the ages was fermenting in the hallway. He quickly checked the scrap of paper from Kate: “Flat 524, fifth floor”. Tim noted that one of the lifts had a large out-of-order sticker across it, but the other one was waiting with its doors open. He stepped inside and pressed the number five button. Nothing happened. He pressed it again and then spotted that there were no lights on and this one, too, was obviously out of order.

  Tim stepped out of the lift, went through another set of double doors with matching graffiti and headed up the stairs. The concrete stairs were a strange affair as they were actually outside and zig-zagged upwards in blocks of ten steps. The stagnant city air was a blessed relief after the eau de urinal he had just encountered. Tim bounded up the stairs; his regular trips to the gym were paying off, but even so, he was very pleased finally to reach the fifth floor.

  Each faded door had a number screwed to it and Tim mentally ticked them off as he went along the outside walkway, which was littered with rubbish and general filth. As he reached the door of number 524 and was about to put the key in the lock he realised something was missing. The lock itself had been punched out – there was now an egg-sized hole where it should have been and the door was slightly open.

  Tim peered through the hole. It was dark inside and he could hear voices. They were young, male voices with local accents and lots of street talk. Tim stepped back and looked around him for inspiration. He quickly whipped off his sunglasses, expensive watch and t-shirt, tied the pristine white t-shirt in a knot and dropped it on the ground. He rolled it about briefly and then put it back on. He brushed off any obvious lumps of dirt and tried not to think about what it was exactly. He wiped his hands on his shoes to take off the shine and then messed up his hair as best he could. Taking a deep breath, he hunched his shoulders and stumbled inside flat number 524.

  Chapter 21

  Andy was still standing by the sink with his glass of water in his hand. His mouth was dry and although he could still feel the odd trickle of sweat running down his brow he no longer felt hot; if anything he felt shivery. He looked up as the back door was wrenched open and the sergeant came inside, jerking Andy back to life. The two men regarded each other. The sergeant faltered slightly as he saw the look on Andy’s face. Andy had never felt so confused and afraid in his life. He stared at the sergeant, waiting to hear the next instalment.

  “I’m afraid you need to leave now.” The sergeant reached out an arm to usher Andy out of the kitchen and through to the hall. Andy didn’t move. Aware of the dryness in his
mouth he took a large slug of water and tipped the rest away. He could hear the sound of shovels digging into the ground outside. “You’d best leave me the keys,” said the sergeant and he held his hand out expectantly.

  Andy stared at his hand for a moment. He was finding it hard to think straight. He was still processing the conversation he had just overheard, still trying to find an alternative explanation. He couldn’t believe that Shaun was dead and, even more, he didn’t want to think about the implications for Sarah.

  Sarah couldn’t have killed Shaun, he was certain of it. She couldn’t have killed him in cold blood. Had Shaun wound her up? Had he threatened her? How could Shaun be buried under the patio? Andy had laid the patio himself; he knew that there was only rubble underneath it. Sarah couldn’t have moved the slabs on her own, could she? Andy took a deep breath and tried to order his ridiculous thoughts, which were spiralling out of control. All he knew was what he’d heard, that the police believed that Shaun was dead, cut up into chunks and buried under the patio.

  Andy gripped the sink and took another deep breath. He didn’t want this to be happening; he wanted to press “pause” on his life so he could just take a few minutes to work out what had happened and, most importantly, why Sarah hadn’t told him what she knew.

  “Are you okay, sir?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be okay.” Andy clearly didn’t look okay. He turned the tap on and splashed his face with some cold water and dried it off with his t-shirt. “Actually, can I just wait in the car?” Andy pulled the window shut and locked it, partly for security and partly to block out the digging noise, which was now starting to disturb him greatly.

  “I think it’s best that you get off home now, sir. We may need to speak to you again, so don’t go leaving the area now, will you?” The sergeant stepped forward, with his hand still outstretched, awaiting the house keys from Andy. Andy ignored the gesture.

  “Have you heard from the inspector? Are they charging Sarah?” Andy knew that once he left they wouldn’t tell him anything. He also felt he couldn’t leave. In some macabre way he needed to see evidence that it was Shaun who was buried in the garden. He wanted to know for sure. He couldn’t take half a story back to Kate and he couldn’t think about Amy right now. Tears sprang to his eyes as he realised that with Shaun gone and Sarah on a murder charge, Irene was her next of kin. No child deserved that; least of all Amy.