‘I’m lost,’ Naomi told her. She laughed nervously. ‘God, look at me, I’m shaking.’
‘Like a leaf,’ Penny confirmed. ‘Give me your arm and I’ll get you out of here.
Gratefully, Naomi did as she was told, surrendering to the moment and letting this woman she had lately so wanted to avoid, lead her back home.
*
‘Are you sure it was them?’ Alec asked her.
‘Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have followed if I hadn’t been sure.’
‘No, I don’t suppose you would,’ Alec agreed. He hugged her more tightly. She was feeling better, now that some distance had been put between herself and the events of the day. Better and somewhat angry.
‘Penny walked me home, came in and made me a cup of tea and I’ll admit, Alec, I was really grateful, but...’
‘What was she doing there in the first place?’ Alec finished for her.
‘She said she was just cutting through the fairground, and I mean, maybe she was. I used to do it all the time, from the town centre to the promenade.’
‘Still one hell of a coincidence.’
‘I know. Alec, I should be really grateful she was there and I am. I’d have been glad of anyone familiar at that point. I was in a real panic.’ She laughed nervously. ‘What a wimp.’
‘Wimp, nothing.’ He kissed her, softly at first but with increasing intensity, pulling her more tightly into his arms and sliding a hand beneath her shirt.
God, Naomi, he thought, moving down to kiss the hollow of her neck and his fingers fumbling with schoolboy awkwardness at the fastenings of her bra. Do you know how much I love you?
Thirty-Two
‘The letters were definitely typed on the same machine as the confession,’ Travers confirmed at the morning briefing. ‘We’ve got a psychologist looking at the content, but so far the general inference is that these were written by a child; possibly Penny Jackson, though that is just supposition.’
‘We could apply for a warrant, look for the machine,’ someone suggested.
‘These were written twenty-odd years ago. It might not even exist now,’ Travers replied. ‘Anyway, we’re holding for the psychologist’s analysis.’
Alec reached out and plucked copies of the documents from the table and read them again. The text was familiar now and the style still struck him as odd. But then, how would you write a letter to the police telling them about a murder your father had committed? It seemed right that the style was strange.
‘Dear Sir,’ the first began.
‘I’m writing to tell you that I know who killed that girl, Helen Jones.’ Helen had been spelt Hellen at first, then the word scribbled over and the correct version typed next to it. ‘I saw the man do it. I was there. I saw him when he strangled her and threw her bag into the canal.’
‘The bag was never found, was it?’
Travers shook his head. ‘They sent divers down but nothing pertinent to the case turned up. There are no lock gates on that stretch and the water flows fast towards the mill and down over the top of that damned weir. They searched below it, I believe, but nothing.’
‘Why was no notice taken of these, sir?’ The question was put by a young PC. ‘I mean with the detail and all.’
‘Because they were among the hundreds of tip-offs, confessions and “my neighbour did it” information that came in over those weeks. And that’s not including the phone calls and the witness statements,’ Alec told him. ‘I’ve had the pleasure of sifting through boxes of the stuff, and the number of claims that Helen was strangled has to reach maybe fifty. That her bag was thrown into the canal, or that she was, are also popular. Along with the dozen or so who reckoned she must be buried on the allotments under someone’s potatoes or stuck under a compost heap. Back then, there was nothing to set these apart, not even the fact that there were two of them, and that might not even have been noticed at the time.’
The letter ended ‘yours sincerely’, Alec noted, as though constructed by a child who’d been doing letter writing in her English class and it was signed off ‘a friend’. They had talked about that yesterday and speculated as to how well Penny and Helen knew each other. That they went to the same school meant very little. Ingham Grammar was one of only two secondaries in the immediate area. It would have been more worthy of note had they not.
Penny was younger by a year, so it was unlikely they had known each other really well, Alec thought, remembering the friendships he had formed in his own school days; strictly peer based. Naomi had not recalled Penny in any great detail from that time; only after Helen and during the Joe Jackson era had she realized who she was.
‘Did you try to make friends with her?’ Alec asked. It would to him have seemed a natural extension of the Joe Jackson network.
Naomi shook her head. ‘No, I lost a lot of time at school after Helen. I’d just got settled in again when Penny left. I think that was about the time that Lydia and Joe separated for a time, though I sort of remember that Penny hadn’t been around much before. I get this feeling it wasn’t the first time Lydia walked out, but I’m sorry Alec, I don’t really recall.’
The second letter was somewhat similar. ‘Dear Sirs,’ it began this time. The letter-writing class must have moved on to business letters. ‘I wrote to you a week ago, but you have not done nothing.’ It was the first major slip in grammar, but entirely in keeping with local language. ‘I told you that the man strangled her and buried her and threw her bag into the water. She’s buried in the new houses. I saw it happen.’
This time it was signed ‘yours faithfully’, but nothing more.
‘The pattern’s definitely different,’ Alec commented. They had discussed this the day before, but it struck him afresh now. ‘It’s more hurried, impatient.’
‘What about the reference to the new houses?’ someone asked. ‘Was that ever checked out?’
Travers shook his head. ‘I couldn’t tell you without going back through the records,’ he said. ‘But it could mean any of a half dozen locations being built around that time. My guess is that priority was given to the Mamby development closest to Helen’s home.’
When the meeting broke up, Travers called Alec back. ‘We’ve traced the mother and she’s agreed to talk to you.’
‘Good. When?’
‘Not until Monday. Lydia Jackson remarried apparently about six years ago. She says she and Penny don’t keep in touch and she never talked to Joe. I don’t think she was all too happy to be found, and they’re away visiting friends for the weekend. But she’ll see you on Monday. I said around ten thirty. Here’s the address and I’ve got the video footage from the CCTV cameras you wanted.’
‘That was quick.’
‘Efficiency is my middle name.’
‘How many hours do I have to trawl through? I guess it’s too much to hope it’s digital...time-coded...No, thought not.’
‘Have fun, Alec. And Alec, I think you should tell Naomi to take care. I’ve got an odd feeling about this. The coincidence is just that bit too much this time.’
Thirty-Three
Half-term had begun and Naomi had an invitation to tea at Mari’s house. Harry had offered to collect her, but Naomi had declined. Her experience the day before had unnerved her considerably and she knew that the best way to deal with it was to get back on the metaphorical horse. Or in this case, to catch the bus. She knew that the bus stopped at the end of Mari’s road and now she was reasonably certain she could find the bus stop on the promenade, it should only be a matter of counting the stops, though just to be certain she asked the driver to tell her when she’d arrived.
It was a triumphant woman and happy dog that arrived at Mari’s door. She had worried slightly about finding the right house, but Patrick saved her the bother. He had been watching for her from the upstairs window, which gave the clearest view over the parked cars and down the street, and he had the front door opened before she was halfway there.
Patrick hugged her. Mari kiss
ed her cheek and told her how well she looked. Harry took her hands and stood awkwardly for a moment before kissing her almost on the mouth and telling her how good it was to see her again.
‘It seems like you’ve been gone forever,’ she told them, the wriggle of dog beside her and thump of tail against the door a sign that Napoleon thought so too.
The afternoon passed too quickly and they talked of nothing in particular. Patrick’s rendition of how well he was doing on his latest game merged with Mari talking about a trip to Chatsworth they had made while they were away. Harry said he had grown used to boredom once again, but that he had not settled back to it as well as he had thought he might.
‘Are you still thinking about moving?’ Naomi asked him.
‘Oh yes, in fact I’ve got some viewings lined up for later in the week. If you’d like to come, I’d enjoy the company.’
‘Who the devil’s that?’ Mari asked as a knock came at the door. ‘I thought we’d seen all the neighbours.’ She got up and went through to the hall.
‘Seen all the neighbours,’ Harry said. ‘They were waiting practically on the doorstep. Still it was nice for Mam. Next door had done some shopping for us and that.’ Then he broke off. ‘Oh,’ he said as he recognized the voice coming from the hall. The pleasant atmosphere in the room seemed to evaporate as Mari led Penny Jackson inside.
It’s funny, Naomi thought, just how stilted conversation gets when everyone makes an effort. It became more stilted when Penny asked how she was feeling after her experience yesterday and she had to go through the event for the benefit of Mari and company. Deliberately, she kept it simple, making no mention of Helen or the children.
‘I got too ambitious,’ she said. ‘I walked too far and ended up in the middle of the fairground. I was feeling very lost and just about to shout for help when Penny turned up.’
‘That was good,’ Mari said. ‘Naomi, don’t try to push yourself too hard, love. She always did though,’ she added, speaking to Penny.
‘What were you doing there?’ Patrick asked, voicing what Harry must be thinking, Naomi guessed.
‘Oh, I often cut through,’ she told him. ‘It takes off that great corner at the end of Broadway.’
‘Oh,’ Patrick said and then fell silent. It was a silence that seemed to creep up on the others until it permeated the room.
Finally, Naomi broke it, unable to bear it any longer and eager to rescue Patrick who must by now be wondering if he could escape to his room.
‘Napoleon needs to go out,’ she said. ‘Patrick, do you want to come?’
‘Thanks,’ the boy said as they were walking down the road.
‘It’s OK, but I feel horrid leaving the others and I feel cruel feeling the way I do about Penny. I mean, she’s been through so much, hut every time I meet her, I’m just so overwhelmed by it all again. I just can’t handle it. Isn’t that a cowardly thing to feel?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘You said it was OK to he scared of things,’ he said. ‘I think you feel about Penny like I feel about swimming. I know it’s all right really and I should be enjoying it and loads of people really like it. But, I’m just different, I guess.’
Naomi laughed. He had said it with a kind of triumph as though he had learnt this lesson well.
‘Mind if we go down beside the canal?’ she asked. ‘I’ve not walked down there in a long while and I don’t feel confident enough yet to try it on my own.’
‘Sure. We need to cross over now, right?’
They talked little as they walked between the houses and down on to the towpath. Naomi’s thoughts were full of the other times that she had come here. Fishing for tiddlers with brightly coloured plastic nets. Feeding the ducks with bits of old bread and watching the barges carrying the holiday traffic in the summer.
And those times with Joe, talking about Helen.
‘Which way do we go now?’ Patrick was asking her and from the noise of rushing water Naomi realized that they had reached the mill and the weir.
‘Across the bridge, I think. Is that OK?’
‘I guess.’
The bridge ran above the curve of the weir. A steel and concrete affair that replaced the slatted wood Naomi remembered as a child. She remembered how vertiginous it was, peering down between the slats and watching the, frothing water flooding into the pool below. In this calm pool, narrow boats turned. These days just the holiday makers, but in times gone by merchantmen bringing wool to the factory and taking the bales away.
‘Is it dark yet?’
‘No, not really. The lights are coming on.’
‘Are you all right?’
Patrick laughed. ‘No, not really. You think I’ve got your arm to help you. You’re all wrong.’
‘We should be turning back anyway,’ she told him, judging that they were something like halfway across. ‘They talked about renovating the mill some while ago. Turning it into luxury apartments or something.’
‘Doesn’t look as if they got very far,’ Patrick told her. ‘It’s all boarded up and there are keep out signs. At least I think that’s what they say, it’s getting a bit too dark to see.’
Naomi began to turn back. She paused, turning her head so that she could better hear the moil and bubble of the crashing flood.
‘Joe rescued a child from there,’ she said. ‘A little girl who’d gone in off the bridge. In those days it was a rough old affair, all wood and holes mended with bits of twine. There’d been an incident, some flare-up in one of the waterside pubs and it was half dark like this when we were walking back to the car.
‘We heard her scream and I just stood there thinking, oh my God, what do I do? I was still thinking it when Joe had his shoes and coat off and was in the water.
‘They had dredged the basin when they replaced the bridge, but it was still full of six foot of mud and slime at the bottom and decades of rubbish. But he went out and he got her and he pulled her to the side. Got her breathing again before the ambulance arrived.’
‘You still don’t think he could have done it, do you?’
Naomi shrugged and began to move back across the bridge. ‘I don’t know that I don’t believe, it’s just when you’ve spent most of your life thinking one thing, it’s hard to make the change.’ She paused. ‘It must be even harder for Mari?’
Patrick nodded. ‘She can’t,’ he said. ‘Nan’s making herself ill just trying to work it out.’
*
Alec stretched and rubbed his eyes. He’d spent much of Friday, and then come in today, looking through more of the CCTV footage. This past hour or so, Travers had joined him and they had finally got a glimpse of what must be the two little girls.
They had been walking out of frame, having just circled a Hook The Duck attraction and for far too long had been blocked by a family playing it. Finding the next shot in sequence from the second camera position had been a long-winded nightmare.
‘There,’ Travers almost shouted. He froze the tape, then backtracked frame by frame. It was the first shot that showed both Naomi and the children; Naomi stood frozen a few yards from the entrance, her head moving from side to side as she tried to find her bearings in the cacophony of noise.
‘My God,’ Alec said as the older child turned and for an instant faced the camera.
Travers snorted in similar disbelief. From a distance, helped by the fuzzy quality of the video, the children looked like Helen Jones and Sarah Clarke, walking through the fair, hand in hand.
*
Penny had returned home not long after Naomi and Patrick had left on their walk and she was crying as she closed the front door.
‘Penny?’ He was there for her as always, taking her coat and leading her through to the kitchen where it was always warm. ‘It didn’t go so well, then.’
Unable to speak, she shook her head and slumped down in the nearest chair. Bill stood beside her, cradling her head and stroking her hair. ‘Give it time,’ he said. ‘It’s hard for everyone, you can’t expect too much too so
on.’
‘I know,’ she almost wailed the words in her despair. ‘But Bill, if we could be friends, could help each other. It just hurts so much that they don’t care.’
*
When Alec arrived at Naomi’s with the tapes, Harry was there having just brought her back home.
‘Good,’ Alec said. ‘Saves me doing this twice and you can help me with the commentary.’
‘What is it?’ Naomi wanted to know.
‘CCTV footage of yesterday. She tell you about that, did she?’
Harry hummed his agreement. ‘Naomi told us something,’ he said. ‘Penny filled us in with the rest of the facts and how you thought you heard Helen or something.’
‘Penny?’
‘She turned up this afternoon. And I didn’t think it was Helen, not really. I told Alec, I thought it was the children who left the bracelet.’
She was irritated after making the effort to keep the more absurd aspect of the incident to herself that Penny should have let the cat so far out of the bag. She had almost forgotten that, being in such a state the afternoon before, many of her thoughts and feelings and, what she now told herself were her imaginings, had come flooding out, draining into Penny’s ready, listening ear.
‘Well, I know this may seem daft, seeing as how you can’t see it,’ Alec said. ‘But I’m going to talk you through and you tell me anything you remember. Anything, no matter how trivial it may seem or how silly.’
She shrugged. ‘OK. If you think it will do any good, but I’m not sure why you’re—’
‘Patience,’ Alec commanded. ‘It’ll all become clear, I promise you.’
He sat back on the sofa with the remote control in his hand and began to run the tape.
‘Right, Miss Naomi Blake’s dramatic entrance complete with large black dog. We’ve had to edit several camera angles together to get the complete picture so it’s pretty jerky, but as we pan left you see the kids for the first time just going out of shot.’
‘There’s Penny,’ Harry said suddenly.
Mourning the Little Dead Page 20
