by Sue Fortin
For a moment he let his mind wander as to what he was going to do with it. A smile seeped across his face.
‘Afternoon, mate.’ Ken’s northern tones greeted Donovan as he answered his mobile.
‘All right?’ Donovan replaced his coffee cup on his desk.
‘Just keeping you in the loop. Stella Harris regained consciousness yesterday.’
‘How is she?’
‘Groggy. One of my team went to see her this afternoon,’ said Ken. ‘She can’t remember a thing about the attack.’
‘Shit.’
‘Shit, indeed.’ Donovan heard his friend exhale, before continuing. ‘Short-term memory loss. Not uncommon with head injuries. There’s every possibility she will start to remember bits and pieces as she recovers, but the hospital can’t put a timescale on it.’
‘Any news on Lampard?’
‘I was just coming to him. Yes, he’s turned up. Been at his brother’s at Petworth. Apparently he lost his phone when they were out mountain-biking. That’s why we haven’t been able to get hold of him.’
‘You’ve been able to verify all this, I take it.’
‘Of course, I haven’t made it to DCI without reason. Checked with his brother and with the phone company.’
‘Sorry, Ken. Wasn’t questioning your thoroughness. Just clarifying for my own benefit.’
‘I know.’ Ken gave another sigh. ‘I also know you’re convinced he’s behind the attack and I’m inclined to agree, however, we’ve got no evidence.’
‘Something doesn’t sit right,’ muttered Donovan.
‘Hopefully Stella Harris will start to remember a few details,’ said Ken.
Donovan didn’t think Ken sounded particularly hopeful, the frustration clear in his friend’s voice. He ended the call and sat back in his chair, going over their conversation again. The nagging feeling in his gut remained. What the hell was bothering him?
Chapter Seventeen
Ellen found herself beginning to relax a bit more again as the days passed by. The car incident she could pass off as ‘one of those things’ but the note still bothered her. She had mentioned it again to Donovan but he seemed unconcerned, telling her to forget about it.
Ellen looked at her watch. It was now ten o’clock and Amanda was late. She was supposed to be here an hour earlier. The sound of the doorbell ringing; an insistent and persistent buzz told Ellen that it was probably Amanda now.
Ellen heard a high-pitched trill of a woman’s voice calling out Izzy’s name.
‘Mummy!’ Izzy jumped to her feet, a look of excitement and surprise on her little face. She looked at Ellen as if seeking confirmation.
‘I think it is,’ said Ellen, although she had no idea what Amanda sounded like, she guessed it couldn’t be anyone else. She held out her hand and beckoned to Izzy. ‘Come on, let’s go and find her.’ Izzy practically ran out of the room. Fearing she’d stumble on the stairs in her rush to greet her mother, Ellen caught hold of Izzy’s hand. ‘Mind how you go.’
Izzy took the stairs at almost a run and, leaning over the bannister at the first floor, shrieked with excitement. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ She dragged on Ellen’s hand to get down the stairs quicker.
‘Darling,’ said Amanda holding her arms wide. It took only seconds to get down the stairs but she looked impatiently at Ellen. ‘Let the child go. Can’t you tell she wants to see me?’
Ellen thought about protesting that she wasn’t holding Izzy back for any reason other than her safety, but thought better of it. Why make an enemy out of Amanda? Letting go of Izzy’s hand, she slowed her descent so as not to intrude on the mother and daughter reunion.
Ellen stood rather awkwardly at the foot of the stairs. The embrace seemed to be going on for rather a long time, drawn out by Amanda. Izzy attempted to wriggle free from the bear hug she was enveloped in, but her mother clearly had other ideas. Ellen looked over at Carla, who was standing patiently to one side in the hallway. The two women exchanged a look. Carla raised her eyebrows but so subtly that Ellen couldn’t decipher their meaning. She looked back at Izzy as she continued to be squeezed, held at arm’s length, looked over, kissed and hugged again by her rather enthusiastic mother.
Ellen shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wishing Donovan would hurry up. As if her prayers were answered, the door to the office opened and he appeared in the hall.
‘Hello, Amanda,’ he said politely, with little warmth. Amanda stopped cuddling her daughter and responded accordingly.
‘Hello, Donovan. How are you?’
He ignored the enquiry of his wellbeing. ‘Ellen, this is Amanda, Izzy’s mother, as I’m sure you’ve gathered,’ he said. There was a coldness in his eyes that Ellen hadn’t seen before. ‘Amanda, this is Ellen Newman.’
Ellen held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ She didn’t really know how to address the woman and thought for a moment that Amanda was going to snub the handshake. She seemed to study Ellen’s hand for an uncomfortable few seconds before taking it and shaking it briefly.
‘Hello. You’re not as young as I thought you might be,’ she said.
Ellen wasn’t quite sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing, so decided not to comment and smiled banally instead. Amanda continued. ‘However, it seems that Donovan likes you and so does Isobel, so that is a good thing. Perhaps we could talk in the living room. Donovan, where are your manners?’ She shrugged her peacock-blue coat from her shoulders which Donovan took without being asked, a gesture that had obviously passed between them many a time over their marriage. Donovan hung the long cashmere coat over the hall stand.
Ellen followed Amanda into the living room, glancing at Donovan as he stood back to allow her through the door before him. She bit the corners of her mouth to stop the smile that was trying to break free, as he winked at her; a small private moment between them.
‘So, tell me about yourself,’ said Amanda, as they sat down on opposite sofas. Donovan sat down on the same one as Ellen. A gesture of solidarity, for which she was grateful. ‘Where have you worked before?’
The next hour passed slowly. Amanda was forthright and opinionated, Ellen learnt. However, Ellen stuck to her well-rehearsed story, which Donovan was happy to back up by reassurances that he had spoken with the agency too. Amanda paid a bit too much interest in Ellen’s personal life than was necessary but Ellen suspected this might be because she was checking out whether Ellen had any designs on Donovan. A careful line to tread. Even though they were separated and going through a divorce, Ellen didn’t want to set Amanda’s imagination off and cause any problems for Donovan, or herself, for that matter.
‘Well, if that’s everything, I suggest we take Izzy out to the park,’ said Donovan.
‘I’ll go and get her ready,’ offered Ellen, eager to leave the room. Amanda’s mobile phone began to ring. Perfect timing, thought Ellen as she got up.
‘Get your coat as well,’ said Amanda, pausing with her mobile in her hand. ‘Yes, you, Ellen. I want you to come.’
Donovan followed Ellen out into the hall. ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I expect Amanda is only saying that so she doesn’t have to play with Izzy herself.’
‘It’s okay. I don’t want to upset her. I like playing with Izzy anyway,’ Ellen heard herself respond. The last thing she actually wanted to do was to go for a walk with Amanda but she sensed it would probably pay her to keep on the right side of the woman and if it meant playing with Izzy, then it really wasn’t a hardship at all.
‘Thank you. And don’t worry, Amanda won’t want to walk very far.’
They walked through the village again. This time, Ellen was aware that Donovan took them the longer way around, bypassing the narrow road where they had nearly been run over. Whether this was a conscious decision or not, she didn’t know.
Walking through Coronation Park certainly blew the cobwebs away; the bracing coastal breeze could still be felt, as it whipped their hair around their faces. Izzy found it ver
y funny as she walked along a low wall, keeping her balance from the blustery wind by holding onto Ellen’s hand. Donovan and Amanda walked on slightly ahead, apparently in discussion. About what, Ellen didn’t know.
‘Look at me!’ cried Izzy. ‘I can hop on the wall too.’
‘Oh yes, you are clever,’ said Ellen, watching the eight-year-old. She could have sworn there wasn’t anybody coming their way, but all of a sudden, Ellen felt herself bang into someone. Her shoulder clashed against the man’s shoulder with such force it knocked the air from her lungs. She let out something between a yelp of surprise and a groan of pain. The man was dressed in a black jacket. In the split second that Ellen had time to look at him, she couldn’t see his face at all, only the hood, pulled down. ‘Oh, I’m sorry …’ she began, thinking she hadn’t been looking where she was going. She half expected the man to apologise as well, but suddenly all her senses were prickling like pins and needles, a coldness clutched her windpipe and without warning, the man, still with his head down, raised his right hand and shoved Ellen hard on the shoulder, sending her stumbling backwards.
Ellen tried to let go of Izzy’s hand, but Izzy held fast and as Ellen tumbled backwards, the calves of her legs making contact with the low concrete wall, she felt herself lose her balance altogether and fall over the edge. She landed in amongst the winter shrubs and bedding plants of the raised border.
Izzy let out a scream as she, too, ended up in the soil, and by the time Ellen had managed to scramble to her feet, Donovan was stepping over the wall and scooping his daughter up. A little shocked but unhurt, Izzy cried for all of thirty seconds.
‘What happened?’ demanded Amanda.
Ellen looked back at the man who had pushed her over. His head still bent, he disappeared round the path that threaded its way through the trees and out into the village.
‘That man pushed Ellen,’ said Izzy.
‘What man?’ said Donovan, his head whipping from left to right.
‘He’s gone,’ said Ellen. ‘Don’t worry, it was an accident. He was a bit rude that was all. Neither of us were looking where we were going and bumped into each other.’ She forced a smile at the family before her. ‘An accident. Come on.’
They began walking, Amanda and Izzy pacified, but Ellen was acutely aware that Donovan was not. He looked at her for a few seconds.
‘You sure you’re all right?’
‘Positive.’ Another false smile. She tried to shrug off the uneasy feeling settling around her.
This was so easy, he thought to himself. The whole lot of them were getting jumpy. Exactly what he wanted. At first he thought it would be fun to scare her, but now the others were starting to pick up on it, he was enjoying putting the wind up the lot of them.
It was getting light. Nearly seven in the morning. The household would be stirring soon. He had to wait until now otherwise the foxes or cats might ruin his plans. He wondered if the kid would discover his surprise first. The idea amused him. That would really fuck the shrink up. His daughter distressed and having nightmares – with any luck.
Stealthily he crept across the patio and prepared his surprise for the household. It only took a minute or two. He paused for a moment to admire his handiwork. Made a slight adjustment to it. Yes. It looked good. Just as he had imagined. He pulled the rubber gloves off, careful not to get any of the mess on his hands and stuffed the gloves into a plastic bag.
Scuttling back up the garden, he squeezed himself into the gap between the shed and the fence and crouching down, he pulled the upright wheelbarrow in front of him like a shield. He had made a small hole in the base of the wheelbarrow. A little spyhole from which he could view the back of the house without revealing his position. He could see the back door clearly. He grinned to himself, in anticipation of it being the kid who came out first.
Chapter Eighteen
Ellen clasped her hand over her mouth to muffle the scream. She half succeeded. Her next action was to screen the sight from Izzy. She spun round and bundled the bemused child back into the kitchen.
‘What made you scream?’ asked Izzy.
Ellen shut the door and forced an exaggerated eye-rolling movement. ‘Silly Ellen. There’s something on the patio that made me jump.’ She shuffled Izzy down the passageway, back towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll tell you what, Mrs Holloway will sort you out some milk and cookies. Then we’ll get you ready. Mummy is coming to take you out today.’
‘I thought we were going on the trampoline?’
‘We’ll go on it when you get back. I promise,’ said Ellen. ‘Come on, it’s home-made chocolate chip cookies.’
Mrs Holloway looked up from the kitchen table she was setting. ‘It’s a bit early for cookies, I’m not sure your father would approve,’ she began, but then catching sight of Ellen shaking her head, must have realised something was up and added, ‘but I don’t think it will hurt this once.’ Mrs Holloway looked questioningly over at Ellen who mouthed ‘in a minute’ to the older woman. Once Izzy was seated at the breakfast bar with her milk and cookies and the kitchen TV had tuned into a cartoon channel, Ellen and Mrs Holloway went down the passageway to the back door.
‘There are two dead rats on the patio,’ said Ellen, pausing with her hand resting on the doorknob. ‘With their insides all over the place.’
‘Rats?’
‘Sssh, I don’t want Izzy to come out.’
‘Yes, sorry, of course,’ muttered Mrs Holloway in a hushed voice. ‘What are two dead rats doing on the patio?’
‘You tell me.’
The rats were lying side by side on the edge of the outdoor mat. Mrs Holloway drew a sharp intake of breath at first sight of them before making an eeeww! noise. They both peered closer at the grey matted fur, the thick pinky-white tails neatly stretched out. The entrails and other internal parts of the body were also neatly laid out beside each carcass.
‘Blasted rodents. And they stink. Looks like a bloody cat has been at them too,’ said Mrs Holloway. ‘I’ll have to tell Donovan to get some poison or something. They’ve probably come in from the house at the back. It’s been empty for years. The builders started work on it recently. Although, can’t say they’ve been there much. They probably disturbed the rats. There will be plenty more, that I can tell you. Bloody rats get everywhere…’
She continued to rant on about a television programme she’d seen and there never being more than six metres between a human and a rat. Ellen had stopped listening. The rats had been put there; she had no doubt about that. Was this connected with the note, the cat in the water butt and the car incident? Surely it couldn’t be yet another coincidence.
‘Morning, ladies. What’s so interesting out there today?’ Donovan came down the passageway.
He was wearing a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, his bare feet making a gentle patter on the tiled floor.
‘Rats,’ said Mrs Holloway. ‘A pair of the buggers. There will be more, you mark my words.’
‘Rats?’ repeated Donovan. He was looking at Ellen for clarification.
‘Dead ones. Two of them, right here,’ she replied.
‘I’ll leave you two to admire the lovely creatures,’ said Mrs Holloway, shuffling past her employer. ‘I’ve got food to prepare and they are fair near putting me off.’
Donovan came to stand in the doorway with Ellen. ‘What the…?’
‘Call it a woman’s intuition,’ said Ellen, ‘but I don’t think those two just happened along here and died, laying their innards out neatly in that synchronised way rats are famous for.’
‘It begs the questions why and when?’ Donovan slipped on his deck shoes, which were by the back door. He stepped out on the patio and walked around the two dead rodents. ‘I know you don’t want the police involved, but I’m going to have to report this.’
Donovan removed his phone from his pocket and took several pictures of the creatures.
‘Why are you taking photos?’ asked Ellen.
‘Evidence. I doubt the po
lice will send SOCO out. I can’t see them dusting for prints, taping off the area and conducting a fingertip search, so I thought I’d keep a few photos.’
‘Clouseau,’ said Ellen, trying to make light of the situation.
‘I like to think of myself more as …’
‘Morse?’
‘Well, I was going to say Wallander but my ego has been clearly put in its place.’ Donovan cast a forlorn look in Ellen’s direction. ‘Morse, indeed.’
‘Okay, what about we settle on Sherlock Holmes?’ Ellen grinned at the even-more-indignant look Donovan gave her. ‘Sorry, has that bruised your ego further?’
‘Thank you Miss Marple,’ retorted Donovan, who then laughed at Ellen’s mock look of offence. ‘On that basis, I think we will call it a draw. I’ll get rid of these.’ He nodded towards the dead creatures before heading off to the shed. He reappeared a few minutes later with a shovel and a bucket. ‘I’ll dispose of them properly later.’
Ellen looked away as the stiff bodies landed in the bottom of the bucket with a thud. She shuddered. Disgusting things. The second shudder that rippled through her was at the thought that someone had deliberately put them there. Something drew her gaze down the length of the garden. The feeling of being watched was intense. A strong gust of wind sent a handful of dead leaves fluttering around the grass and Ellen held her hair from her face as she looked on. It was a damp morning and the garden had a particularly unwelcoming feeling. She didn’t like it at all and turning away, she hurried indoors.
Rats disposed of and Izzy out with her mother, Ellen took a cup of tea up to the playroom to sip while she tidied up. She wasn’t that surprised when a few minutes later Donovan appeared in the doorway.
‘Knock, knock,’ he said, tapping on the open door before walking in. ‘So then, Miss Marple, any suggestions on who could have left us that delightful present this morning?’ He picked up a couple of books from Izzy’s bed and restored them to the bookcase.
