Closing In

by Sue Fortin

  ‘Yep, summer has definitely gone,’ replied Ken following Donovan’s gaze. ‘Even so, that’s a bit over the top.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Hood and scarf.’

  ‘Takes all sorts, I suppose,’ said Donovan. ‘Ah, here comes the waitress.’ After placing their orders, Donovan look out of the window again. A sixth-sense feeling was drawing his eyes away from his companion. Donovan frowned.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Ken.

  ‘Mmm, I think so. Probably nothing.’ Donovan was talking to himself more than to Ken. The man wrapped in the scarf was still standing there – looking right at the café. At himself and Ken. Donovan turned to Ken. ‘Friend of yours, is he?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That bloke, out there.’ Donovan looked again, his eyes locking with the voyeur.

  ‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Ken. ‘At least I don’t think so. Hard to tell.’

  The man then raised his arm and made a pistol with his hand, two fingers pointing straight at Donovan and Ken. With his other hand he pretended to cock the gun and fire it, flicking his hand slightly to signify the bang.

  ‘What the …?’ Donovan stood up, his chair scraping noisily on the floor.

  The man turned and sprinted off out of sight.

  ‘Sit down, mate,’ said Ken. ‘No point running after him. Just some bloody idiot. Take no notice.’

  ‘What was that all about?’ A rhetorical question.

  ‘Look, here comes our breakfast,’ said Ken, flapping his napkin open and laying it across his lap. ‘Come on, tuck in.’

  Donovan sat back down. The breakfast was a far more tempting option.

  ‘So, any progress on the Stella Harris case? Have you been able to find any evidence against Lampard?’ Donovan spoke in a quiet voice. The café wasn’t busy but you could never tell who was eavesdropping, albeit unintentionally.

  Ken swallowed and putting his cutlery down, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. ‘In a word, no.’ He let out a sigh. ‘All circumstantial evidence at the moment. We’re hoping that Stella Harris regains consciousness and can remember something. It’s not looking good, though. Lampard’s prints are at the scene; on the door, on the furniture, etc. and her blood is on his clothing, but his explanation for that is that he found her. At the moment we have nothing to suggest otherwise.’ Ken shifted in his seat and Donovan sensed his friend wasn’t telling him everything.

  ‘What else?’ he prompted.

  ‘Lampard’s being a bit elusive.’

  ‘Elusive? As in you can’t get hold of him?’

  ‘Yes, exactly that. We needed to check something with him yesterday but he wasn’t at his home address and he hadn’t turned up for work either.’

  ‘So now you have a probable murderer on the loose.’

  ‘The girl’s not dead yet,’ said Ken. ‘We haven’t been able to charge him with anything so couldn’t arrest him. Asked him to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. We’re on the lookout for him, naturally.’

  ‘You need to find him fast. He’s dangerous.’

  ‘Innocent until proven guilty,’ said Ken.

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Donovan, picking up his mug of tea. ‘You know as well as I do, that bastard attacked Stella Harris. Have you got any leads as to where he might be?’

  ‘We’re looking into a few. Just thought I’d give you the heads up.’

  Donovan frowned as he recalled his meeting with Lampard. The frown deepened slightly. ‘Ah, yes. The “watch your back” threat.’ Donovan shrugged. ‘I’ve had them before. It’s just bullshit. Comes from low self-esteem. Designed to intimidate others and make the perpetrator feel empowered.’ He smiled at his friend, who rolled his eyes. ‘Do you want me to continue with a more in-depth analysis?’

  ‘Spare me the psychobabble,’ said Ken. ‘We’ve got more serious things to deal with, like a fresh brew.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  After a rather longer breakfast than planned, Ellen was anxious to get Izzy to school. The traffic around Chichester was always heavy and particularly so at school drop-off time.

  ‘Come on, Izzy, time to go,’ said Ellen. She adjusted the emerald-green ribbon on Izzy’s school hat. ‘There, you look beautiful. Bye, Carla! Bye, Mrs Holloway!’

  Ellen gave a small shiver as they crunched across the gravel drive to the carport where the little blue Fiesta was parked. Despite the sun being out, there was definitely a chilly autumnal feel in the air today. Izzy skipped on ahead, reaching the car first.

  ‘Ellen!’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Come here, look what’s on your car.’

  Under the windscreen wiper was a single red rose. Ellen lifted the wiper and retrieved the bloom. She looked for a note but there appeared to be none.

  ‘Can I smell it?’ said Izzy reaching up to take it.

  Ellen handed it to her. ‘I don’t think it smells of much. I wonder who left it there.’ Was it Donovan? It wouldn’t be anyone else – she didn’t know anyone else. She took the rose back from Izzy and unlocked the vehicle. ‘In you get, Izzy. That’s it. Sit back and fasten your seat belt. Good girl.’ Getting in the car, Ellen placed the rose on the passenger seat. It must be from Donovan. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. A rose was something associated with love. Why would Donovan do that?

  Ellen switched on the engine and drove out onto the road, her thoughts still very much on the rose. She didn’t know Donovan in any great depth, but, somehow, leaving a rose on her car didn’t seem his style.

  Ellen drove on, turning out of the beach estate and onto the road leading to Chichester. The only logical explanation was that he was testing the water. A good response from her would give him the encouragement to pursue things.

  The lights at the end of the village were on red and Ellen drew to a stop, first in the queue. She glanced down at the rose. If she gave a negative response to the gesture, then Donovan could simply deny any knowledge of it and claim he hadn’t put it there. It was a clever plan, she decided. He couldn’t lose.

  The blaring of a car horn made Ellen jump. The lights had turned to green and she was just sitting there. She shoved the car into first gear and jerked forward, kangaroo-hopped and stalled the hatchback in the middle of the set of traffic lights.

  ‘Shit,’ muttered Ellen as she started the engine again, trying to ignore more hooting from the car behind. She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Some impatient boy racer sporting a beanie hat and sunglasses.

  ‘You said a naughty word,’ Izzy piped up. ‘Daddy says it’s rude to say shit.’

  Oh no, just what Ellen needed; a reprimand from Izzy about swearing, especially when she was struggling to start the blasted car whilst holding up the traffic and incurring the wrath of Boy Racer. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it. Daddy is right. Come on car! Please … Yes!’ Another sudden jerk forwards and they were moving again. Ellen took a deep breath and settled herself. She looked once again in her rear-view mirror.

  Great. Boy Racer was now tailgating her. What was his problem? Ellen checked her speed. A steady thirty. Right on the button of the speed limit. Boy Racer could get himself all worked up if he wanted, she on the other hand wouldn’t. In fact, she would pull over at the next convenient place and let him pass.

  The petrol station a few minutes down the road provided her with this opportunity. Ellen turned onto the forecourt and pulled round past the pumps. She looked over to the road waiting to see Boy Racer go by. He didn’t. So where was he? Surely he hadn’t needed petrol too? She turned in her seat and looked through the back window. Her heart gave a nervous jump. Boy Racer had pulled his Astra on to the forecourt too and was sitting on the other side of the pumps. She strained to get a better look at him but couldn’t make anything out from this far away. Ellen toyed with going over to confront him but dismissed the idea almost immediately.

  ‘What are you looking at?’ asked Izzy, trying to twist around on her booster seat to look out
of the window.

  ‘Nothing, don’t worry. Thought I saw someone I knew.’ It was a rubbish excuse but apparently plausible for an eight-year-old. Izzy didn’t ask any more questions. Ellen turned back and put the car into first gear. ‘Right, we’re late as it is, let’s get off to school. Your teacher will be wondering where you are.’

  The traffic was building up and as Ellen pulled into the stream of cars, she was relieved to note that Boy Racer was still sitting on the forecourt. The rest of the journey to school proved uneventful and Ellen was glad nothing more had come of the incident.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Ellen got a rose on her car,’ said Izzy across the kitchen table that evening when they were sitting eating tea.

  Ellen wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for Izzy’s announcement or not. She looked up from her pasta at Donovan. He raised his eyebrows in question. ‘A rose? From an admirer?’

  Ellen shrugged. ‘It didn’t have a name on it.’ She couldn’t read his expression. Perhaps a look of mild surprise. Definitely no form of recognition.

  ‘A secret admirer, then,’ he said.

  ‘It was on her car,’ said Izzy. ‘And, Ellen said a rude word.’

  Ellen cringed inwardly and felt her face heat up, she looked apologetically over at Donovan.

  ‘If Ellen said a rude word, then I’m sure it was an accident and she won’t say it again,’ said Donovan. He met Ellen’s eyes. ‘Will you Ellen?’

  She shook her head in reply wondering exactly how much further she could cringe. At this current moment, it seemed to be a great deal further.

  ‘Another car went beep! Beeeeepppp! BEEEEEPPPP!!!’ Izzy’s impression of the car horn was effective in changing the course of the conversation, for which Ellen was grateful.

  ‘Okay, okay, I get the idea,’ said Donovan good humouredly. ‘Why was the car beeping?’

  Ellen felt that now was a good time to intervene. ‘I stalled the Fiesta at the traffic lights and the other driver got really impatient. Some young boy racer, you know the sort.’

  ‘You can rule him out as your admirer, then,’ replied Donovan and gave a chuckle. ‘Right, where’s this birthday cake? I’ve been looking forward to a slice all day.’

  ‘Birthday cake! Birthday cake!’ chanted Izzy.

  Whilst Ellen was relieved that Donovan didn’t seem overly concerned about her slip of the tongue, equally, he appeared just as uninterested in the rose. Surely if he had left it there, then he would have said something or at least dropped a hint. However, it was something she would have to consider later as everyone was now demanding her attention to blow out the candles on the cake Mrs Holloway had produced at that moment.

  The next few days passed uneventfully and Ellen took the opportunity to do some exploring of the local area, Coronation Park at the top of Sea Lane became her favourite spot. A winding pathway trailed a circuit around the edge of the park, taking in a children’s play area, a basketball court and two football pitches. These different areas were separated by shrubs, bushes and trees; Ellen particularly liked the majestic oak tree that stood at a turn in the path.

  Sundays were deemed to be Ellen’s day off as Donovan liked to have at least one day a week to devote to his daughter. Although Ellen had tended to spend a lot of her free time either pottering around the house or reading in her bedroom, more often than not, she would end up joining in with whatever Donovan and Izzy were doing. Ellen enjoyed being part of the household and they appeared to have accepted her, albeit to varying degrees. Carla was still spiky but Ellen was getting used to that and it was bothering her less and less.

  So far the weather had been pleasant but as October rolled on, it was definitely beginning to turn more wintery. Monday morning had greeted them with a blustery wind and a light drizzle. Ellen and Izzy had spent most of the previous day indoors doing jigsaw puzzles and colouring. Donovan had asked Ellen if she could look after Izzy the previous day, despite it being a Sunday, as he needed to complete some urgent reports

  ‘It’s not very nice out there today,’ said Ellen as she gathered Izzy’s book bag and lunch box up. ‘You ready? Go and say goodbye to Daddy.’

  Right on cue, Donovan came out of his office as he always did to see his daughter before she went to school. Ellen was surprised to see him dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a jumper.

  Donovan smiled at her. ‘Thought I’d join you two ladies this morning, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Yippee!’ squealed Izzy. She gave her father a big hug. She had missed Donovan over the last few days, thought Ellen, and judging by the expression on Donovan’s face, it was a mutual feeling. It was a warming thought.

  ‘We’ll take my car,’ said Donovan. ‘Come on, let’s go.’ He scooped Izzy up. ‘Bye Carla! Bye Mrs Holloway!’

  The journey to school was chatty and laughter-filled. Izzy clearly delighted to have Donovan with them, which was having a contagious effect on Ellen. She dismissed the fact that she might be buoyed by his company herself. No, it was definitely Izzy’s enthusiasm.

  Surprisingly, Izzy went into school quite happily. Ellen had almost expected her to be reluctant to leave her father but that wasn’t the case.

  ‘She enjoyed you taking her today,’ said Ellen as they drove out of the school grounds.

  ‘I’ve been really busy over the last few days and I know I’ve neglected her a bit,’ said Donovan. ‘Thanks for stepping in despite the fact that Sundays are supposed to be your own. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘It was no problem. I didn’t have anything planned and I enjoy Izzy’s company.’

  ‘I won’t make a habit of it. If you need any extra time off to see your friends or family, just shout and we can sort something out. Don’t want people to think I’m making you work all day, every day.’

  Ellen didn’t reply. She couldn’t exactly say that she wasn’t in contact with anyone, except for Kate, and that was only by secret email. Instead, she simply smiled at Donovan, mumbled thanks and turned her attention to the passing scenery.

  As they reached Felpham, Ellen realised that instead of turning onto the Sea Lane estate, where Donovan’s house was, he had driven into the village itself. He brought the car to a stop near the seafront and cut the engine.

  ‘Come on,’ he said hopping out of the vehicle. ‘We’re going for a walk.’

  Ellen looked through the windscreen at the grey clouds stalking the sun across the sky. The drizzle had stopped but it still didn’t look very nice out there. From where she was sitting, high up in the four by four, she could see the beach. The sea itself didn’t look a dissimilar colour to the sky, only broken now and again by the waves crashing over and turning the caps of the water white.

  ‘You really want to go for a walk on a day like this?’ she said, as Donovan paused midway through closing his door.

  He grinned. ‘Come on, don’t be a wimp. It’s great walking along the beach on squally days and, besides, it will be practically deserted. Just how I like it.’ He pushed his door closed and, looking back through the window, gestured with his head for Ellen to follow.

  ‘I’d sooner be walking along here in my shorts and t-shirt with an ice cream in my hand and the sun blazing down,’ Ellen said, as they strode along the seafront against the wind.

  ‘Stop moaning,’ said Donovan good-humouredly.

  ‘It’s freezing too.’

  ‘What do you expect? You’ve only got a little fleece on. You really are a townie, aren’t you? Nothing like a bit of sea air to clear the lungs, or would you sooner be breathing in exhaust fumes and jostling for pavement space with commuters?’

  Ellen could hear the amusement in his voice. He had a point. They walked along the path, Ellen spending most of her time admiring the beautiful gardens of the houses that backed onto the beach. They were all very large and grand, much like Donovan’s. As they walked further along, they passed some pretty blue and yellow beach huts. Another five minutes round a small spit in the shoreline and some rather less-attr
active beach huts greeted them.

  ‘They don’t look very nice,’ said Ellen, taking in the dreary grey colour of the wooden huts with peeling paint and broken windows. Pieces of roofing-felt flapped in the wind, hanging down like depressed bunting, where stormy winds had ripped them from their fixings.

  Donovan explained that the beach huts were disused and in the pipeline to be demolished. ‘More picture-postcard blue and yellow ones will follow in their place,’ he said.

  ‘So where exactly are we now?’ asked Ellen.

  ‘This is called Old Point,’ said Donovan. ‘No one comes down here much as it’s a bit isolated. You can only access the shoreline from one road that, back in the 1930’s, used to service a small holiday camp. You know, Hi-De-Hi sort of thing. It finally closed down about twenty years ago.’

  ‘Why hasn’t anyone developed it in all that time?’ said Ellen, looking beyond the battered wooden huts to where boarded-up rows of chalets stood, alongside larger buildings, which she assumed were once the dining hall, ballroom and entertainment lounge. ‘It’s a shame to let something that was once so full of life fall into such a neglected and dead state.’

  ‘There’s been so many different plans put forward for developing the whole site. It’s been the topic of heated public debates. Finally, though, last year plans and funding were agreed and they intend to start work on it next spring. These old beach huts don’t really fit in, as you can imagine.’

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Let’s go down onto the beach,’ said Donovan, steering her in the direction of the pebbles.

  The tide was on its way out. Crunching over the stones and shingle, holding on to Donovan’s arm for support, Ellen allowed herself to be guided onto the gritty dark-brown sand. Donovan picked up a pebble and skimmed it across the water, the stone bouncing twice before disappearing below the surface. ‘Only twice?’ remarked Ellen, giving her best unimpressed look.

  ‘I would like to see you do better,’ said Donovan, tossing another stone in the palm of his hand. He threw it to her.