Stalked By Shadows

by Chris Collett

Grace Copeland was taken aback by the question. ‘No. Why ever would she be? Though I must confess I haven’t seen much of her since the wedding. We talk on the phone regularly, of course, but, since she started getting these calls, it has become more difficult. It’s so expensive to call her on her mobile.’

  ‘Is there anyone you can think of who might want to upset Lucy now? Any old boyfriends you remember, who might have got too attached?’

  But Grace couldn’t think of anyone. Millie had finished her tea and was mindful of the twenty-minute journey ahead of her. ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom before I go?’ she asked. ‘It’s a bit of a drive back into the city.’

  ‘No, of course, I’ll show you where it is.’

  Grace took Millie into the house, directing her to an upstairs bathroom. Without seeming obvious, Millie took the opportunity to have a quick glance around. It was a typical middle-class home, Millie thought, though the photographs on the wall alongside the stairs were interesting; mostly corporate shots at formal functions. Paul Copeland, Millie presumed, had been photographed with various dignitaries, including, she noticed, the current assistant chief commissioner. Grace Copeland caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘Your husband knew some important people,’ Millie commented.

  ‘I suppose he did,’ Grace said proudly. ‘He was a prosecutor with the CPS. I think at one time he’d hoped that Lucy would go into law too; she was bright enough, but Lucy was determined to do a job that was more obviously helping people, and she loves being around small children. She didn’t think much of the people Paul used to mix with.’

  ‘Like the ACC?’ Millie suggested.

  Grace smiled. ‘Hm. Paul belonged to the Masons. It wasn’t something I liked or particularly approved of, and neither did Lucy, but Paul felt that it was good for his career, so we tolerated it.’

  Through the door into the lounge Millie could see a cabinet full of trophies. ‘Lucy’s?’ she asked, and on cue Grace Copeland walked her through to look at them.

  ‘She was a cheerleader of all things,’ she said. ‘Paul hated it. It was all so American and - tacky. I think the girls mostly liked it because of the glamour and the costumes. Girls of that age love dressing up, don’t they? But to their credit they worked hard and they were very good.’

  ‘So I see,’ Millie said. The array of first-place awards was impressive.

  ‘And it kept them out of trouble.’

  ‘What would Lucy’s father have thought of Will?’ Millie wondered.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure he would have got along with him.’

  They walked out again into the sunshine. ‘Well, thank you for your time, Mrs Copeland,’ Millie said, getting into her car. And, after checking her route back to Granville Lane once more, she left Grace Copeland to her garden.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Mariner saved his questions for Rachel Hordern until after she had made a positive identification of her stepmother. Until then he simply introduced himself and waited quietly in the background. Stuart Croghan and his staff had managed somehow to make Nina Silvero serene in death, and Rachel tearfully confirmed that it was her stepmother. A member of the morgue staff sat with the Horderns’ energetic two-year-old, while the ritual took place, and, though Rachel remained remarkably composed throughout, it was seeing her child again that brought emotion to the surface. Mariner allowed her some time alone with her husband, Adam, before going into the visitors’ lounge with Knox.

  ‘Did she suffer?’ was Rachel’s first question to him, her eyes eager for reassurance. A heavily built woman, her face was covered in pale freckles and fine, strawberry-blonde hair touched her shoulders. They sat round on low chairs and Rachel clung so tightly to her son that he was squirming, trying to wriggle free.

  ‘It was over quickly,’ Mariner replied tactfully. ‘I’m very sorry. Were you close to her?’

  ‘Yes, I was. I’d stopped thinking about her as a stepmother long ago.’

  ‘How long had she been -?’

  ‘- my mother? Since I was six. I think I was hideous to her for the first couple of years, but Mum - Nina - did all the right things. We’ve been closer than ever since Dad died.’ She paused to wipe her eyes.

  ‘What happened to your natural mother?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘She and Dad split up years ago, before Nina came along. She ran off with a Swede.’ She broke into an unexpected giggle, which in seconds turned into a sob. ‘Sorry, it’s just for some reason my friends and I used to find that hilarious.’

  ‘Where’s your mother now?’

  ‘Still in Stockholm with Lars, as far as I know. I haven’t seen her in a long time.’ She blew her nose, then looked up at Mariner. ‘Mum wouldn’t have committed suicide, you know,’ she said emphatically. ‘She had no reason to. She’d got her first grandchild, she loved being with Harry, and she’d just been given the MBE, for God’s sake.’

  Mariner knew that, given the right state of mind, those two factors didn’t necessarily make a difference, but she’d been through enough today, so he went along with it for now. ‘What did she get the award for?’ he asked.

  ‘Services to dance; she runs a local ballet school - she’s been doing it for years.’

  Mariner hesitated. ‘This is a difficult question to ask, but is there any chance that the MBE could have uncovered some kind of skeleton in the closet, something she might have been ashamed to have made public?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Mariner admitted. ‘Some kind of impropriety?’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Rachel was beginning to get impatient now. ‘My stepmother did not kill herself.’

  Harry began to grizzle loudly, making further conversation impossible. Knox stood up. ‘Why don’t we take Harry to look at the boats on the canal?’ he suggested to Adam, who responded immediately. ‘Yes, of course. Come on, soldier.’ He held open his arms and Rachel gave her son a final squeeze before letting him break free and go to his dad.

  ‘Be careful by the water,’ she called after them.

  When they had gone, Mariner asked, ‘Who knew about the award?’

  Rachel was calm again. ‘Lots of people,’ she said. ‘We placed an announcement in the local paper. There were people she’d lost touch with over the years, and it was good publicity for the school.’

  ‘Is there anyone you can think of who might have resented the MBE, or felt that your stepmother didn’t deserve it?’ Mariner asked. Seeing her blank expression, he added, ‘Was there any rivalry? Any other dance schools that might not have liked the attention she was getting?’

  ‘Enough to kill her? That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘It probably is,’ Mariner agreed. ‘But I do need to ask these things. When was the last time you saw your stepmother?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago, we came up for the weekend, Harry and me.’

  ‘And how did she seem?’

  ‘She was fine, looking forward to finally retiring. I mean, she hasn’t had a very good year healthwise, so it seemed the right thing to do.’

  ‘She’d been ill?’ Mariner queried.

  ‘Just silly, niggling things,’ Rachel said, shrugging it off. ‘Mostly tiredness and lethargy, and she’d had a couple of tummy bugs lately. It wasn’t like Mum to be ill. She’s always been so active what with the dancing and everything. We put it down to the number of hours she was working, so she had cut those down. I suggested she get some help around the house; it’s a big place to look after all on her own, but she wouldn’t even consider it. And we were talking about the possibility of her moving down to be nearer to us, except that she didn’t really want to leave the friends she has here.’

  ‘She had close friends?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Two in particular that she sees on a regular basis; the Golden Girls they called themselves. Some throwback to years ago.’

  ‘Estelle Waters, was she one of this group?’ Mariner recalled the name of the woman who raised the alarm.

  ‘Yes
, Estelle’s probably Mum’s closest friend.’

  ‘And neither of them would be jealous about what your stepmother has achieved?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible that anyone could be envious, but enough to do this to her? No, I’m certain. They’re good friends to Mum and were very supportive.’ Rachel, like most people, was inclined to believe in the essential goodness of people, though Mariner knew differently.

  ‘Was your stepmother anxious about anything, or had anything changed in her behaviour recently?’ he probed.

  ‘Not recently. She went through a bad time when Dad died. But then, you’ll know all about that.’ She looked up at Mariner, a hint of challenge in her eyes, he thought.

  ‘I know a little, yes,’ he said evenly. ‘But it was before my time.’ He needed to distance himself from it, to encourage her to talk.

  ‘It was terrible. He didn’t deserve to go that way. If he hadn’t been persecuted the way he was -’

  ‘I’m not sure that -’ Mariner began gently, but she wasn’t listening.

  ‘Dad was made a scapegoat. And afterwards that man’s family were horrible to Mum. She got these hate letters saying that they were glad that Dad was dead, and we had bricks through the windows and everything.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Do you think this could be related to what happened with Dad?’

  ‘It’s a possibility we’ll have to consider,’ Mariner admitted.

  ‘But why now?’ she demanded.

  ‘That’s what we’d need to find out. How had your stepmother been since then?’

  ‘Of course she missed Dad, but she’d got her life back together. She always was an independent woman and with all that was happening lately . . . It’s why this just doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘So, a couple of weeks ago, was that the last contact you had with your stepmother?’ Mariner checked.

  ‘No, we spoke every couple of days; the last time was the day before yesterday, in the evening. Oh, God, it would have been later that night that she . . .’ As she tailed off, Mariner could see her visualising the sequence of events till emotion overtook her and she broke down into gentle sobs, fumbling in her handbag for a tissue.

  Mariner passed her the clean handkerchief he always carried for just such occasions.

  ‘Would you like another drink?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’

  When she seemed ready to resume, he asked, ‘What time would it have been when you called her?’

  ‘It was after we’d eaten, at about seven thirty, I suppose, maybe quarter to eight. Harry was in bed.’

  ‘And how long did you speak for?’

  ‘Not for long as it happened. Someone came to the door, her door.’

  ‘Did she say who it was?’

  ‘No. I don’t think she could see. She hung up the phone before opening the door. She just said, “Got to go, darling, I’ve got a visitor, I’ll speak to you soon,” and rang off. And it was fine because I just thought, yes, I’d speak to her later, or the next day, and now . . .’ She wiped her nose again.

  If that timing was right, Mariner realised, then that visitor could also be Nina Silvero’s killer. ‘And you’re certain she didn’t give any indication about who this person might be?’

  ‘Absolutely, she gave no hint, though I didn’t get the impression she was expecting anyone.’

  ‘Did your stepmother have any close male friends?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘You mean boyfriends?’ Rachel was taken aback. ‘No, she didn’t go in for that kind of thing.’

  ‘Do you think she would have told you if she did?’

  ‘Of course.’ She was affronted. ‘We used to talk about everything. In fact, from time to time after Dad died I used to tell her she should find someone, but she always said no, she was quite content as she was. Maybe if there had been a man around -’ She broke off as the door opened and Harry came running in, flinging himself at her, Adam and Knox following. It was a good enough time to end the interview.

  ‘Where will you be staying?’ Mariner asked, as he and Knox prepared to leave.

  ‘I’ve booked us into the Norfolk Hotel, on the Hagley Road,’ Adam said.

  Mariner took out a card and passed it to him. ‘If you have any questions, those are my numbers,’ he said. ‘And we will need to talk to you again.’

  ‘What about the funeral?’ Rachel asked. ‘When can we . . .?’

  ‘We’ll release her body as soon as possible; probably in the next couple of days.’

  ‘And the house?’

  ‘Is still a crime scene,’ Mariner pointed out. ‘I’m afraid we can’t let you in there for the moment. But if there’s anything specific you need, as long as we don’t consider it relevant to the inquiry, one of my officers will retrieve it for you.’

  Rachel shook her head vaguely. ‘No, there’s nothing special.’

  ‘So it’s looking pretty definitely like murder, boss,’ Knox remarked as they picked their way through the afternoon traffic.

  Mariner was in agreement. ‘Croghan seemed sure. And, if that timing’s right, it ties neatly in with our mystery caller. We need to find out who that was. We’ll put out an appeal as part of the next press release. How did Adam Hordern seem?’

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mariner saw Knox shrug. ‘He seemed pretty fond of his mother-in-law. He particularly appreciated her generosity; she’d pretty much paid for their wedding, he said.’

  ‘What does he do for a living?’

  ‘He’s an entrepreneur.’

  On Tuesday evening, Lucy was leaving the office on time, her stomach churning with conflicting feelings; she was eager to get home to Will, who was due home tonight, but at the same time she felt sick with trepidation, anticipating the journey home. However, she had decided to stop being such a wimp; she was going to confront her tormentor. In her handbag, in preparation, she had her phone, a panic alarm and a notebook, determined that, if she was followed home tonight, she would make sure to get the vehicle registration at least. Climbing into her car, the adrenalin began coursing through her, making her mouth dry and her heart thump. Tonight she would take control of this and end it once and for all.

  Last night, despite the build-up, nothing had happened. Maybe this was all in her imagination. Tonight she would take her normal, quicker route home and all would be well. As always she had a choice; she could take the route that followed the main road until she was almost home, or she could take the little-used short cut that threaded through the back roads, ending with a quarter-mile stretch through the Holloway, little more than a deep tree-lined lane, designated one way only. Since developing the suspicion that she was being followed, she had avoided it completely. It was time to try it again.

  The first part of the journey went smoothly, though Lucy was occupied so much with looking in her rear-view mirror it was a miracle she didn’t collide with something. It was rush hour so the major roads were busy. Each time headlights fell in behind, her heartbeat quickened, but then just as suddenly the headlights vanished again. Then, as she turned into the Holloway, there he was, up close and headlights on full beam. Her palms, grasping the steering wheel, were suddenly sticky. Off the main road he kept close, crowding her as always, but instead of increasing her speed, as she had before, Lucy slowed down until she realised she had ground to a complete halt. The lane was dark, street lights widely spaced, and for several seconds they sat there, one behind the other. Her foot hovering on the accelerator, Lucy waited to see what he would do. Nothing happened. There was just enough space for him to squeeze by, but the car remained stationary behind her, silent and menacing.

  Clutching her panic alarm in one trembling hand and her phone in the other, Lucy got out of her car and approached the vehicle cautiously, giving it a wide berth. The driver had stayed where he was, but as Lucy reached the driver’s door, the window slid smoothly down. With a shock, Lucy saw an elderly man, frail and white haired and with a face as petrified as her own. ‘What do you want?’ he ple
aded, voice quaking. ‘I haven’t got any money, you know.’ White-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel.

  Suddenly Lucy realised that, in the dusk, her hair tied back, and wearing trousers and a bulky jacket and as tall as she was, she must have cut an intimidating figure. She almost wept with relief. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were following me. You were driving so close.’

  ‘Following you?’ the old man was baffled. ‘But I couldn’t help it. You slowed down.’

  It was true, she had.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I made a mistake.’

  After the high tension of the encounter, Lucy’s mood was almost euphoric when she saw Will’s transit parked on the drive, and she pulled in behind it. Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous that she had gone to the police at all. What if this was all in her head? She’d convinced herself that the car had been following her but really it was a harmless old man. Whatever had she been thinking about? She took her mobile out of her handbag on the seat beside her, and dialled DC Jamilla Khatoon. Millie answered right away.

  ‘Thanks for all your help,’ Lucy said. ‘But I don’t want you to take it any further. I’m sure Will is right. It’s just a few silly phone calls and the rest is just me imagining things.’

  ‘Lucy, I’m not sure that you’re the kind of person who imagines things,’ Millie said. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No, nothing. I’ve just changed my mind.’

  ‘It seems to me that there’s enough for us to look into,’ Millie persisted.

  ‘No, I really don’t want you to.’

  ‘I’d prefer it if we could come and talk to Will, too.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, really, I’d rather you didn’t.’ And Lucy ended the call.

  She went into the house feeling relieved. It had been a moment of madness, but, thank God, no harm had been done. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom, she was instantly comforted by the sight of Will’s things lying around, his holdall dumped on the floor and spilling out dirty washing. ‘Will?’ she called out.