by Annie Dalton
She saw Isadora tenderly laying her scarf over Naomi, the scarlet stains blossoming on the silk.
‘I’d seen her out running, when I was walking my dog. One morning she stopped to admire her, and we just got talking.’ Anna had found it alarming, this unlooked for consequence of dog-ownership; the way total strangers would see her and Bonnie together and feel entitled to start a conversation. British people were supposed to be reserved, but apparently if you added a dog to the mix, reserve went straight out the window.
Naomi had taken things one step further. She had dropped to her knees beside Anna’s dog. And Bonnie, normally shy with people she didn’t know, had pressed her snow-white forehead intensely against Naomi’s, as if they were old soulmates who’d been reunited.
Anna had felt childishly jealous. She and Bonnie were still in the early stages of getting used to each other. Certainly, Bonnie had never yet leaned adoringly against Anna. But then Naomi had said in a tone of awe, ‘This has to be the most beautiful dog I have ever seen in my life! Actually, the two of you look like you’ve just stepped out of a fairy-tale!’ and she had smiled up at Anna with such innocent delight that Anna had felt all her carefully maintained defences melt. She registered that the inspector had asked a question. She forced herself back to the present. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said, do you remember what you and Ms Evans talked about?’
‘We talked about my dog. I said I’d only had her a few weeks and that she was almost spookily well-behaved. For the first couple of weeks it was like having a ghost dog. I thought maybe she was grieving for her previous owner. The Rescue Centre told me she’d been brought in after the old lady who owned her died. Naomi agreed with me that Bonnie didn’t seem like the kind of dog an old lady would normally have, and I said I wished I knew more about her background; Bonnie’s, that is.’
‘Were there any subsequent occasions when you spoke to Ms Evans?’
‘I saw her again about two weeks ago. Naomi told me that she was a researcher and that if I wanted she’d do a bit of digging around for me, try to find out some more about how Bonnie ended up in the rescue centre.’ At this point the rain clouds that had been piling up over Port Meadow had decided to empty themselves. Anna, Naomi and Bonnie had rushed to the car park through the near-tropical downpour, to shelter in Naomi’s sporty silver Audi. Bonnie had performed her magic trick of gracefully folding her snowy limbs small enough to fit exactly inside the footwell, while Naomi scrolled through her phone, trying to find a mutually convenient date to meet up.
‘We decided on an early breakfast at Coffee on the Green,’ Anna told the inspector. ‘So she could tell me what she’d found out, if anything.’ She remembered Naomi’s breezy confidence that she’d be sure to have some info for Anna by then.
The inspector moved fractionally in his chair. ‘You and Ms Evans had arranged to see each other? When?’
Anna felt her mouth go dry. ‘This morning. It’s my day off. But she didn’t show up.’
‘She didn’t call or text to let you know?’
Anna shook her head. ‘I left the house in a hurry. I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t sleep very well last night.’ She hadn’t slept at all until, finally, at around five, she’d fallen into one of those pitch-black sleeps that always left her totally exhausted. She’d barely had time to throw on some clothes and grab Bonnie’s lead.
‘She had your contact details?’
‘Yes, she said she has – had – to put everything in her phone, because she had such a bad memory.’
‘Did we find a phone?’ the inspector shot at his second in command.
Sergeant Goodhart had been so quiet that Anna had genuinely stopped noticing he was there. She wondered if it was something they taught in police training. One to talk and a second, invisible, cop to watch.
He shook his head. ‘We didn’t find a phone with her body, and so far one hasn’t turned up at her flat.’
Absorbing what they’d told him, Inspector Chaudhari was tapping lightly on the table-top, as if accompanying some internal soundtrack.
Anna pictured Naomi leaning out of her car, her face shiny with rain, wet hair plastered to her head. ‘I’m so sorry I can’t give you and Bonnie a lift,’ she’d called. ‘I’ve managed to land an interview with this guy, and I need to rush home to change first.’ Then she’d driven away, out of Anna’s life forever.
The inspector had stopped tapping. ‘If I could just take you back to the moment you discovered the body. You say your dog led you there. But you were still alone at this point?’
‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘It was just me and Bonnie.’
‘Can you remember when you first saw the body – did you maybe cry out or call for help?’
Anna shook her head. She didn’t tell him that finding Naomi’s body had totally robbed her of her voice; something that had previously only afflicted her in dreams.
For the first time Inspector Chaudhari looked sceptical. ‘You didn’t make any sound at all? That’s unusually controlled given the circumstances.’
Anna felt stung. Did women invariably scream when they found bodies? Yet another epic fail for her unconvincing attempt to impersonate a human being. She settled for a half shrug. Let Inspector Chaudhari think what he liked.
The inspector resumed delicately tapping his fingers. ‘I just want to be quite clear. You don’t think that you cried out or made any kind of sound, yet nevertheless Ms Salzman and Ms Lavelle came to find you? And you hadn’t previously met either of these women before?’
Anna took another sip of dust-flavoured water which, if anything, left her feeling more dehydrated. ‘I’d seen them both separately walking their dogs, but I’d only spoken to Tansy.’
The inspector frowned, and DS Goodhart obligingly became visible again. ‘Ms Lavelle, sir.’
‘Actually, Tansy – Ms Lavelle – spoke to me,’ Anna said, correcting herself. ‘She asked me if Bonnie was my pet wolf. That was the only time we’d talked until – until today.’
‘And though the three of you didn’t know each other, Ms Salzman and Ms Lavelle elected to come to your aid, until the emergency services arrived?’
‘Yes. I think they thought I shouldn’t have to handle it on my own.’ Now they were minding Bonnie while Anna was being interviewed. Anna’s grandfather had dubbed the twenty-first century the ‘walk on by era’. But these unknown women had given up their entire morning to help her. Anna should feel grateful, but she found their kindness claustrophobic. It implied that the three of them had some kind of connection, but after this morning she didn’t want a connection with anyone ever again.
The inspector asked a few more desultory questions, but Anna had the feeling that he was gradually winding things up. He had toyed with her a little, mainly for form’s sake, she thought, but now his fatigue was winning out. When Sergeant Goodhart handed her a card with the name and number of Thames Valley Support Services, and smiled at her, with a smile that reached his eyes, she felt herself start to breathe more easily. ‘So is that all?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice even.
‘That’s all for now,’ Inspector Chaudhari said, placing a slight emphasis on the last word. He ran his hands through his hair. ‘You probably know that two young women were recently stabbed to death in Oxford in a similar manner to Naomi Evans? It’s too early in our investigations to know if we’re dealing with the same killer. Either way, we are dealing with an extremely dangerous individual, someone who isn’t afraid to strike in broad daylight in a public place. So until he or she is caught, I’d advise you to take extra care in your day-to-day movements.’
He pushed back his chair as the cue for everyone to stand up. ‘Well, thank you for your cooperation,’ he said in an almost cheerful voice. Anna heard his stomach give a prolonged gurgle. ‘Was that you or me, Goodhart?’ he asked, straight-faced.
‘I couldn’t possibly say, sir,’ Goodhart said, equally dead-pan.
Their jokey exchange felt like final confirmation that
her ordeal was over. Anna felt light-headed with relief as the inspector opened the door, politely moving aside to let her go through.
She already had her back to him as he said casually, ‘You don’t remember me, do you? Of course, I was a lot younger then. I was with the first-response team that night. It’s not something you easily forget.’
Behind her, the sergeant softly cleared his throat. Anna had gone rigid with the effort not to react. Inspector Chaudhari had known all along. He’d known exactly who she was, and he’d waited until she thought she was home free before he showed his hand.
Somehow she found her way back to the concrete stairs with jaunty blue-painted handrails, along institutional looking corridors, past noisy open-plan offices. By the time she arrived back at reception she was frantic to get out into the air. She had just reached the external doors as two burly male police officers came through with a shaven-headed youth in handcuffs.
Isadora and Tansy were waiting with the dogs outside. Isadora was cuddling Hero. Tansy was loosely holding Buster’s and Bonnie’s leads in one hand as she talked on her phone. She gave Anna a relieved smile. ‘And obviously I would have done,’ Anna heard her say, ‘but I genuinely thought we’d be finished by now. I’m sorry, Julie, but in my world a murder counts as an emergency.’ She pulled an apologetic face at Anna. ‘Yes, I’ve already said I’ll be in tomorrow. Look, I’ve got to go now.’ She ended her call. ‘Unfeeling bitch,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Unbelievable.’
‘Sorry if I’ve caused problems,’ Anna said stiffly. ‘It was good of you both to wait.’
‘Of course we waited!’ Isadora said, over the top of Hero’s curly head. ‘We wanted to make sure you were OK.’
‘Don’t you worry about Julie,’ Tansy said. ‘She’s a passive-aggressive vegan; not a good mix.’
They were trying too hard. There was something different in their faces. Anna didn’t want to identify it. She just needed to get away. ‘Well, thanks for everything. I’d better get going.’ She moved to take Bonnie’s lead, knowing she was being totally graceless, but too frantic to care.
Isadora laid her hand on Anna’s arm. ‘The desk sergeant told us someone would drive us all home.’
Anna felt a flash of naked panic. ‘No, honestly! Bonnie didn’t get her run, and I could do with some air.’ She was ready to scream with the need to escape, but Isadora didn’t seem to notice.
‘I’m supposed to be going to a book launch tonight,’ she said, her hand still lightly detaining Anna. ‘Kit Tulliver, an old student of mine, has written a rather well-received biography of Owen Traherne, but I simply can’t face going now. Anyway, Tansy and I thought we’d meet up later for a drink. Perhaps you’d like to come?’
‘I can’t, sorry. I’m really not in a very—’ Anna began when Tansy fervently interrupted.
‘I shouldn’t think you are, sweetie!’
Anna was horrified to see tears glittering on her lashes.
‘Inspector Chaudhari told us all about your family. I’m so sorry. This morning must have just brought it all—’
Anna coldly cut her off. ‘Thanks again for all your help.’ Gripping Bonnie’s lead with whitening knuckles, she hurried away, not bothering to say goodbye. In her mind, the women and the game-playing detective inspector had now become equally threatening. Inspector Chaudhari had exposed her – betrayed her – to these women. He had done it as a form of shock tactics, or maybe just to test their claim that they had never met Anna until that morning. Whatever his reasons, she hated him with a white-hot hate.
She had just reached the gates of Christchurch College when Tansy caught her up. She pushed a wilted business card into Anna’s hand. ‘It’s from the cafe where I work,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve written my number on the back. I just thought, in case you ever—’ She registered Anna’s stony expression and pulled a face. ‘You probably never want to set eyes on us again, right?’
Anna shoved the card into the front pocket of her leather messenger bag, gave a curt nod and kept walking. The autumnal light touched the ancient buildings with gold. Somewhere bells rang, the clangorous medieval sound mingling with the hum of traffic.
Throughout the interview she had longed for the moment when she could go back to her safe solitary existence, not having to monitor her expressions or explain herself. But Inspector Chaudhari had shattered her illusion. I was with the first-response team. It’s not something you easily forget. With those brutally casual words he had shown her that she would never now know any peace of mind.
As she passed Carfax Tower a trio of teenage girls hurried past, laughing, talking, flicking back their glossy hair. She watched them rushing headlong into their unknown future, girls every bit as self absorbed and silly as she had been.
Anna began to walk faster, and Bonnie obediently matched her pace. She mustn’t think. It felt like if she could just keep moving she could put actual distance between herself and the rising tide of horror. Without slowing down, Anna fumbled one-handed for her ear-buds, plugging herself into a talk radio podcast. She needed impersonal voices; voices, and the physical rhythm of walking.
There had been a dark period in her life when mindless walking was the only thing that had held her together, and so she had walked and walked. Sometimes she’d walked all night. When exhaustion finally stopped her in her tracks, she’d slept – in doorways, on park benches, at the bus station in Gloucester Green – while her grandparents were frantic with worry. Once she’d gone missing for two weeks. The police had eventually picked her up on a street just off the Cowley Road. Her grandparents had begged her to tell them where she’d been, but she only knew that she’d been walking. Her grandmother had cried over Anna’s grubby emaciated state. She ran her a bath, put plasters on her blisters, tried to persuade her to eat. For her grandparents’ sake, Anna had made a superhuman effort to behave like a normal sixteen year old: breathe out and in, chew and swallow, even go to school, until the next time the furies in her head drove her to walk out of the door and keep on walking. Twice she’d been caught trying to let herself into her old family home with her grandparents’ house-key with no memory of how she’d got there.
That lost, driven teenager suddenly felt dangerously close. Anna could feel her grief and terror. She remembered how something from the external world would occasionally break through the muffled undersea sensations that had enclosed her – the smell of mown grass from a college garden, a cafe door opening to let out a babble of voices – before she was sucked back under. She had walked so as not to feel, not to remember. But sometimes, like today, memories would rise up, more disturbingly vivid than when they were really happening. In her memories, everything was burnished, glowing, hyper-real. Whole scenes played themselves out before her eyes. All the times she’d screamed at her mother for being so stupid, for being so unfair, while her little sister looked on, stricken. Worse than Anna’s shameful memories were the ordinary good times; like the time she and her brothers had attempted to toast marshmallows on a beach in Cornwall in a near gale while her dad tried to catch fish for their supper. The marshmallows had refused to melt, then turned ominously black and finally burst into flame. The fish had stubbornly evaded their father’s hook and line. Her dad had ended up buying everyone fish and chips, which they ate in the fish-smelling car with the heater turned up high. Yet Anna recalled it as a day of pure unalloyed happiness.
If she could just bring them all back for one hour, just one hour …
Anna found herself sitting on a stone step. She could feel the chill of the stone rising up through the denim of her jeans. She was soaked through with cold perspiration. Tiny black specks danced before her eyes, and for a moment she didn’t know which Anna she was supposed to be. Then she became aware of the solid warmth of her White Shepherd pressing firmly against her hip, pulling her back into present time, back into her body. Anna dimly heard a passer-by say, ‘That’s the most fabulous looking dog I have ever seen.’
And she remembered
Naomi smiling up at her, her arms wrapped around Bonnie’s neck.
Anna had offered to pay her for her investigations, and Naomi had laughed. ‘Are you kidding! Finding out stuff is like my drug of choice! I’m so lucky,’ she’d told Anna as rain battered the car windows. ‘I actually get to do what I love every day!’
Bonnie continued to press insistently against Anna. It felt as if she was saying, ‘Are you OK? If not, I will make you OK.’
Properly taking in her surroundings for the first time, Anna saw that she was sitting on the bottom of the flight of steps at the base of the Martyrs’ Memorial, just across from the Randolph Hotel. All she had to do was cross over to the Banbury Road, keep walking, keep breathing out and in, and eventually she’d reach her front door. She pulled herself shakily to her feet.
TWO
Anna’s grandparents had lived at the far end of the graceful Georgian terrace for as long as she could remember. She had loved visiting their house as a child, but then for a time in her teens it had felt like her prison. Now the bottom two floors of this house, with all its mixed memories, was Anna’s home. But this afternoon she felt only exhausted relief that her sanctuary was finally within reach.
She unlocked the door, disabled the alarm and hustled Bonnie inside, quickly resetting the alarm.
The hallway looked exactly the same as when she’d left it this morning to meet Naomi: the faded scarlet and blue of the antique kelims against the softly gleaming wood floor, the swirling colours of the abstract painting on the wall, a faint scent of her grandfather’s favourite roses coming through the open door of her sitting room. But nothing was the same. Dazed and disconnected, Anna bent to unclip Bonnie’s lead. ‘Basket,’ she said. At that moment even a dog’s undemanding presence was too much.
Bonnie gave Anna one of her soulful looks then took herself off downstairs to the kitchen. Anna heard her toenails clicking on the polished wood stairs followed by the sound of a thirsty dog gulping water.
