by Sue Fortin
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, standing next to him.
He continued to look ahead of him. Another sigh. This time smaller. ‘Can’t really talk in front of little ears,’ he said under his breath. ‘Just you-know-who stirring things up.’
Ellen wasn’t entirely sure she knew who he meant but thought it was probably Amanda. She wondered what Izzy’s mother had been up to now. ‘If you ever want to talk,’ she said, ‘then I’m a good listener.’
Donovan turned to her and gave a wan smile. ‘Thank you.’ He kissed her again on the cheek. Then spoke with what Ellen suspected was false cheer. ‘Right, I’ve got work to finish. Carla has shot off for a while but she’ll be back later.’
‘Problem?’ asked Ellen, hoping she sounded casual.
‘Not as far as I’m aware. She’s gone to the post office or something. Why do you ask?’
‘No reason. Just wondered.’
Ellen thought back to the telephone conversation she had overheard earlier. She decided against mentioning it to Donovan. What Carla did outside of work was none of her business. It might simply be a coincidence. Besides, she didn’t want to cause trouble needlessly.
‘If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know,’ she said.
‘That’s very kind but it’s nothing that can’t wait. Now, I really must get on. I’ve got to pop out a bit later. Meeting Ken for a chat, but I’ll be back before Izzy goes to bed.’ He turned and headed out of the kitchen. ‘Catch up with you two lovely ladies later.’
Chapter Twenty
DCI Ken Froames unfolded the piece of paper from his pocket and placed it on the table, turning it around so Donovan could read the handwriting.
The Fox was busy enough for the two men to only attract a passing look of interest, but not so busy that they hadn’t been able to secure a table at the back of the pub in relative privacy.
Ken took a swig of his pint of ale. ‘Not much, I’m afraid, mate,’ he said. ‘Toby Hastings, twenty-nine, works for a city bank, earns in a month more than I do in six. Good at his job. Recently promoted. Has had a couple of parking tickets and one speeding fine. No criminal record. Only time he’s so much as sniffed the inside of a nick was when he reported his girlfriend missing, back in April.’
‘What happened about that?’
‘Helen Matthews? Well, turns out she doesn’t really want to be found. Local officers in the Met spoke to her friend, Kate Gibson, who said Helen was alive and well, working abroad, just avoiding the boyfriend. Gibson alluded to domestic violence but refused to say any more. The next day, Helen Matthews turned up at a local police station in the south of France to confirm the story.’
‘Did the boyfriend ever find out where she was?’
‘If he did, it wasn’t from us. He was told that his girlfriend wasn’t actually missing, but that’s about it. It’s not an unusual situation. Adults go walkabout and don’t want to be found for lots of reasons. In this instance, no crime had been committed and the officer investigating was satisfied Helen Matthews was okay, so that was that. Incidentally, it won’t surprise you when I tell you Helen Matthews changed her name by Deed Poll.’
Donovan shook his head. ‘No, it won’t surprise me at all.’ He looked further down the handwritten note with events chronicled in date order. ‘28 March. Helen Matthews officially changes her name by Deed Poll to Ellen Newman.’
‘And in answer to the question I know is coming next,’ said Ken, ‘nothing on record under either name. Not known to us in any way, shape or form.’
‘Thanks Ken, I appreciate your help.’
‘Well, you didn’t hear this from me. All right?’ said Ken, looking at Donovan. ‘This is all off the record and simply because I’ve got my god-daughter’s best interest at heart. Speaking of which, how is Izzy?’
They finished their pints, chatting mainly about Izzy. Both men made a conscious effort to avoid shop talk. ‘One more for the road?’ said Donovan picking up the pint glasses.
A few minutes later, with a freshly pulled pint in each hand, Donovan turned away from the bar only to bump straight into another customer. Lager and ale sloshed out of the glasses onto Donovan’s shoes. He looked up, about to offer his apologies but was momentarily lost for words. The customer wasn’t, however.
‘Oh, sorry Doc. Didn’t see you there.’ Oscar Lampard’s face creased into something resembling a smile.
‘What are you doing here?’ demanded Donovan.
‘Er … having a pint. No law against it. Free country and all that.’ Lampard looked over to where Ken was sitting. ‘Oh, there’s PC Plod. I would join you but I’m a busy man and it wouldn’t really do my street cred much good to be seen with the likes of you. Oink, oink piggy. Quack, quack shrink.’
‘Why don’t you go home and finish evolving?’ said Donovan, moving around Lampard and making his way back to the table. He placed the two pint glasses down.
‘What’s that toe rag doing here?’ said Ken.
‘Being exactly that. A toe rag,’ replied Donovan, pulling out his chair.
‘Look up. Said toe rag heading this way.’
Donovan didn’t sit down, instead he turned to face Lampard, who had now reached their table.
‘Evening Detective Chief Inspector,’ said Lampard, then to Donovan. ‘I forgot to ask, Doc. How is that nanny of yours? And your daughter? Hope they are both well.’
Before Lampard could take a breath, Donovan had grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and hurled him up against the wall.
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’ Donovan hissed. He could feel a pulse pumping hard in his neck, his hands pulling tightly together, his balled fists pushing against Lampard’s throat.
‘Steady on, Doc. Was only asking. Making sure they were okay. That no harm had come to them.’
Donovan was aware of Ken at his shoulder, his friend’s hand placed firmly over his wrist. ‘Come on, mate. Let him go.’
‘Yeah, Doc, let me go. Wouldn’t want to have you arrested for ABH.’
‘Stay away from my family,’ said Donovan, his jaw so tense he could barely form the words. With a Trojan-like effort, he forced himself to release the pressure he was applying. Hands still on Lampard’s jacket, he threw him to the side.
Lampard bundled into a table and staggered before regaining his balance, courtesy of a bar stool. He looked around at the now-silent pub. ‘You saw that,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Police brutality. Remember that, won’t you?’
‘I’m civilian, not police,’ said Donovan. ‘Besides, no one’s interested. Save your breath for your blow-up doll.’ A childish comment, Donovan acknowledged. A reaction that annoyed him as much as Lampard himself did.
Lampard straightened his jacket and, mumbling expletives under his breath in Donovan’s direction, left the pub. The burble of conversation started up again, customers returning to where they had left off before the interruption.
‘Here, sit down and drink your pint,’ said Ken, giving Donovan a small nudge. ‘You’re a bit tetchy aren’t you?’
Donovan acceded to his friend’s instruction. ‘Sorry, it’s just that loads of shit is happening all at once.’ He took a long swig of his lager and continued. ‘I’ve got Amanda turning up, wanting custody of Izzy. Ellen and the ex-boyfriend, slash, secret past. All this business with weird things happening, coincidences, which I don’t believe in. Even Carla’s been acting a bit odd. She keeps nipping off for this, that and the other. I have no idea what’s going on. My usual house of calm is descending into a chaos. And I don’t like it.’
Donovan was conscious of the fact he sounded like a petulant child stamping his foot, but the truth was his customary ordered life was anything but, at the moment. It was making him feel uneasy.
He pushed his unfinished pint to the centre of the table. ‘I’m going to get off.’
‘Finish your drink. Unwind for a minute,’ said Ken. ‘I’m sure everything’s fine.’
‘No, I’d sooner
go home, for my own peace of mind.’ Donovan stood up and shrugged on his jacket. ‘Thanks for the info, Ken. I appreciate it. I’ll catch up with you soon.’ The gut feeling Donovan so often relied upon was kicking him hard in the ribs. He had an overwhelming desire to get home as a blanket of unease weighed on his shoulders.
‘Right, squeeze up and we’ll take a picture of ourselves on my phone,’ said Ellen, crouching down next to Izzy, their green-painted faces side by side. Ellen adjusted her witch’s hat. ‘Now pull a really horrible, evil face. Oh, you’re good. Hold it. Ready, one, two, three…’ They both giggled at the image reflected back from Ellen’s iPhone. ‘Now, let’s do a nice one. Smile this time.’
‘There’s someone at the door!’ squealed Izzy as the doorbell sounded out. She grabbed Ellen’s sleeve and tugged her out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
Ellen gave Izzy the plastic orange bucket with the sweets in. ‘Okay, ready?’ Izzy nodded and Ellen pulled open the door.
In front of them stood two small children, not much older than Izzy, one dressed as a skeleton and the other with a white sheet over them, looking very ghost-like. Ellen looked beyond them at the edge of the driveway, where a woman, who she assumed was their mother, watched over proceedings.
‘Trick or treat?’ the children chorused.
Izzy took some sweets from her bucket and dropped them into the bag the other children were holding.
‘Thank you!’ called the mother as the children turned away.
‘Do you think anyone else will come?’ asked Izzy.
‘Oh, I’m sure they will. Come on, let’s go and have that Witch’s Ghastly Goo drink we made earlier.’
‘Chocolate milkshake!’ cried Izzy, running down the hallway, her witch’s cape flapping behind her.
How sweet they looked dressed up as witches. How appropriate it was Halloween. This was going to be fun. Well, maybe not for them.
Chapter Twenty-One
It all happened too fast for Ellen to compute. A lone figure at the door, dressed as a werewolf. A rubber mask pulled down over their face, a hairy suit covering their body. The build of an adult and not that of a child out on Halloween trick-or-treating.
She saw the container and felt the slimy liquid hit her fully in the face, as the werewolf sloshed the contents over both her and Izzy. They both screamed in surprise and alarm.
As Ellen turned to grab Izzy, pushing the child behind her for protection, she then felt the white powder hit her. It stuck to the goo already sliding down her face, hitting her straight in the mouth, covering her nostrils, engulfing her and making it impossible to draw breath. She spluttered, spat and coughed, frantically wiping her eyes.
Then there was nothing more as she heard the scrunch on the gravel drive of feet running away. Ellen squinted through the muck on her face but couldn’t see anything in the dark. She looked down at Izzy, who was crying. Fortunately, most of it had missed her. Ellen inspected the goo and gunk on her hands. Eggs and flour. Stupid bloody trick-or-treater!
‘Come on, Izzy,’ she picked up the little girl. ‘It’s okay. Just some eggs and flour. Sometimes older boys get carried away and do silly things like this. Let’s get cleaned up.’
As Donovan entered through the front door, the first thing he heard was the sound of raised voices coming from the kitchen. Two women arguing. The first thing he saw was Izzy sitting on the stairs, clearly distressed.
‘What the … ?’ he muttered, swinging the front door shut and striding straight down the hallway. He paused at the banisters and gave Izzy a little kiss. ‘It’s okay, angel, daddy will sort it out. Go upstairs, I’ll come and see you in a minute.’
He marched down the hallway, pushing the kitchen door open with such force it hit the wall and bounced back. The noise of wood hitting plaster went unnoticed by the two women.
‘I don’t actually work for you, in case it’s escaped your notice.’ Ellen’s voice was steely.
‘But can’t you see,’ Carla was hissing back. ‘Since you’ve come here there’s been nothing but trouble. You should do the decent thing and leave. We never had any of this nonsense before…’
‘Right! That’s enough. BOTH of you!’ Donovan didn’t need to hear any more. The two women stopped, both turning to look at him. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, caterwauling like a couple of alley-cats?’ Okay, that was probably uncalled for, but judging by the look of indignation on their faces, he had made his point. ‘Now, ladies, although I am using the term very liberally, would one of you care to tell me what is going on?’
They both began at once.
‘There’s been another incident,’ said Carla. ‘Eggs and flour all over Ellen and Izzy.’
‘It was a trick-or-treater,’ snapped back Ellen.
‘No it wasn’t and you know it.’
‘Carla thinks I should leave but I was merely making the point that I don’t work for her,’ said Ellen, fixing her gaze back on her adversary.
Carla returned the icy look. ‘And I was merely pointing out, that in the interest of everyone in this house, especially Izzy, that perhaps Ellen should think about others before herself.’
Donovan held up his hand before the argument could progress into a full-blown row again. He let out a deep sigh. ‘Carla, I would expect more from you. If you have any concerns about one of my employees, you should voice them to me first. I appreciate you are worried. We all are. But, it’s for me to take on board, not you.’
Carla dropped her gaze. ‘Sorry, Donovan. It’s just so unsettling. Maybe, we can speak in the morning.’
‘Good idea,’ said Donovan. ‘Now, you, Ellen. I don’t expect you to get into a catfight with one of your colleagues. If there’s a problem, like Carla, you’re to come to me.’
Ellen flushed red and Donovan registered a tiny pang of embarrassment for her as she answered him meekly, her shoulders slumping. ‘Yes, of course.’ She sat down on a kitchen chair. Donovan appreciated this gesture. He could see Carla visibly relaxing now.
‘I think we should talk about this tomorrow once we’ve all had a good sleep. Everyone is tired and emotional. I’m not impressed by you two in the slightest.’
He was relieved when the two women apologised.
‘I think I’ll go home now,’ said Carla. ‘Unless there’s anything you want me to do, Donovan.’
He shook his head. ‘No, nothing to be done tonight, thank you, Carla. Goodnight.’
He let it go that Carla didn’t say goodnight to Ellen. They were, after all, grown women and not children. Now wasn’t the moment to introduce circle time and insist they make friends.
‘Right, you wait there,’ he said to Ellen. ‘I need to go and settle Izzy.’
‘Izzy?’
‘Yes, she heard everything. Sitting on the stairs crying because of you two.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Ellen. ‘Do you want me to go and see her?’
‘No, I’ll deal with this.’
It took at least twenty minutes to settle Izzy and convince her that everything was all right. Donovan had ended up half sitting, half lying on her bed, his arm around her and reading one of her favourite stories, Cinderella.
‘Ellen is like Cinderella. Pretty and nice,’ said Izzy, her voice heavy with tiredness and emotion. ‘And Carla is the ugly sister. All mean and horrid.’
‘Ahem, that’s not a very nice thing to say about Carla,’ said Donovan. He was well aware of the bubble of amusement this statement had stirred within him but, in all honestly, it really wasn’t very fair on Carla. He decided a gentle reproach was the best way to deal with this. ‘Carla is very nice. She’s always kind to you and she is also pretty.’
‘Not as pretty as Cinderella-Ellen.’
He couldn’t really argue with that. ‘Cinderella. We could call Ellen, Cinderellen. Do you think she will like that?’
Izzy giggled. ‘Cinderellen. Yes, that’s what we will call Ellen now.’ She snuggled down further into her father’s arm. ‘And you are
the Prince.’
‘Why, thank you.’ Donovan squeezed her gently.
‘That means you have to kiss Ellen and then you have to marry her and live happily ever after.’
‘Is that so?’ Donovan tossed this idea around in his head, the kissing bit he would happily manage. The marriage bit, well, maybe he shouldn’t visit that notion. ‘Now, let’s finish this story,’ he said making a supreme effort to distract himself. ‘Where were we…?’
‘Carla’s right.’
The words greeted Donovan as soon as he walked into the kitchen, having left Izzy fast asleep. He stopped and looked at Ellen, who was sitting at the kitchen table exactly where he had left her some time earlier. Her hands were clasped together, her thumb making a continual circular motion in the palm of her other hand. Anxiety oozed from her, like sticky syrup from a tin. He drove down a sigh. ‘What is Carla right about?’
‘That I should leave. She’s right. I’m bringing trouble to you all and I should think of Izzy. Tonight just went to prove it.’ Still she didn’t look at him.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ groaned Donovan, the sigh breaking free. He was starting to feel exasperated by this conversation. He sat down on the chair next to her, using the time to draw breath and search for his patient voice; the one he used for Izzy when something needed explaining for the umpteenth time. He took her hands in his. ‘How many times do we have to have this conversation? I’m sick to death of it. You’re not going anywhere. Not if I have anything to do with it.’ Okay, his patient Izzy voice wasn’t quite coming through but, Christ, was he weary of this.
She didn’t move her hands away, which pleased him, but when her eyes finally met his, all he could see was fear, which saddened him. ‘It’s really not fair of me to stay here. If all this is happening because of me. If it really is Toby, then I can simply leave and start again where he won’t find me. If it’s not him, then you will be able to take measures to stop it. That way you will know what you’re dealing with.’
