by Linda Huber
His face paled, and he clutched her hand over the table. ‘Oh no, how dreadful. I – I’ll pay and we’ll get straight off.’
He strode across the barn and murmured in the woman’s ear, handing over a banknote as he did so. Sarah ended the call, dropped the phone into her bag and weaved her way to the door. What a horrible end to their brunch, and oh, was Mim coping? Thank heavens Caitlyn was there.
Jack drove swiftly towards Brockburn, Sarah fidgeting in the passenger seat.
‘This is awful. Poor Frankie.’
‘I know. She’ll need all the help you can give her.’ His voice was tense, and she glanced across. This had upset him too.
‘Hell yes. What can have happened to – Petra?’ Was there any hope it wasn’t Petra?
Jack slowed down for the turn into Allington Road and pulled up outside Mim’s gate. ‘Sarah, you know where I am. Promise you’ll ask if you need anything.’
‘I will. Thanks, Jack.’
Sarah ran up the path and burst into the hallway. The house was in complete silence.
‘Mim? Frankie?’
They were in the living room. Frankie was wedged into the corner of the sofa, her face pale and tearstained, a black velvet cushion clutched to her chest. Mim was beside the girl, one hand on Frankie’s shoulder and the other clenched in a tight fist on her lap.
Caitlyn came over from the window, a helpless expression on her face. ‘I’ll leave you now, Sarah, but let me know if I can do anything.’
Sarah’s heart sank as her eyes met Mim’s. Offering Frankie any kind of comfort under these circumstances would be futile – impossible to imagine what was going on in the child’s head. What could it feel like – not knowing if it was her mother’s body in the canal? But it must be.
Sarah crouched beside the sofa – how many times had she sat huddled in the corner where it was soft and warm, grieving for her gran? It was a different sofa in those days, and a different situation. The death of an old lady was something even a child could understand, something almost logical, in spite of the pain it caused. Petra’s death was unexpected and unfair, and Frankie would feel as if the bottom had been ripped out of her world. And it was clear she wasn’t looking for hugs and reassurance; her entire posture was one of disbelief and aggrievedness.
‘Frankie, love, I’m so, so sorry,’ whispered Sarah, touching the child’s hand. ‘We’ll help you all we can.’
Frankie snatched her hand away and turned a white face to Sarah. Her eyes were wild. ‘How can you help?’ she choked, her voice shaking with anger. ‘No-one can help because she’s dead, she’s fucking dead and she’s not going to come back, is she, so how can anyone help?’
Sarah winced. This was how she’d felt too, half a lifetime ago, but her upbringing hadn’t allowed her to voice her anger so bluntly.
‘I know. I do know,’ she said helplessly. She turned to Mim. ‘The police?’
‘They’ll be here soon. They’ll be able to tell us more,’ said Mim, rubbing Frankie’s shoulder. ‘A body was found in the canal, that’s all I know.’
Frankie gave a little gulp. The anger was gone for the moment and her voice was puzzled and childish. ‘What was she doing in the canal? And she can swim. Why didn’t she swim? Maybe it isn’t Mum?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mim. ‘The police’ll be here soon. Frankie, I’m going to take you upstairs and then I’ll stay with you while you have a little lie down until they arrive. You’ve had a shock, you need to rest. Come on, lovey.’
That was neatly done, thought Sarah, as Frankie preceded Mim out of the room. The police might well want to talk without Frankie’s presence first, and now they could. She flopped into an armchair and listened to Mim’s voice talking comfortingly as she crutched her way upstairs. Her foster mother sure had power when things got tough.
A car drew up outside, and Harry West, an older man, and a young woman carrying a bulky briefcase got out. Sarah hurried to open the door before they rang the bell.
‘This is Doctor Maxwell, she’s a police surgeon and she’s here in case Frankie needs anything,’ said Harry West. ‘And this is DI Summers from CID.’
His face was grim, and Sarah wondered fleetingly how on earth the police learned to cope with situations like this. How could anyone learn how to talk to a child whose mother was found dead?
‘Frankie’s upstairs with Mim.’ Sarah motioned them all to sit down, feeling her heart beat faster. What was she going to hear?
‘The body was found at midday by a woman walking her dogs by the canal,’ said DI Summers in a low voice. ‘From the clothes she was wearing, and the physical description, we’re convinced it was Petra Walker. We’ll know more about the time of death after the post-mortem.’ He dropped his voice even further. ‘Her face had been badly beaten, whether that was the cause of death or not we don’t know yet.’
Sarah’s gut started to churn. What had Petra done to deserve that? And who on earth could have done this to her – and why? She struggled to keep her voice steady.
‘Had she been –’ She choked, unable to bring herself to say the word ‘raped’. It was there in her head; she could picture the letters, but the word stuck in her throat.
‘She was fully clothed, but again, we won’t know until later,’ said Harry West. ‘We need someone to officially identify the body. Could you do that?’
Sarah felt as if he had doused her with cold water, the shock was so great. ‘Me? Isn’t there anyone else? I wasn’t really a friend.’
‘The neighbours aren’t being cooperative,’ said Harry West. ‘She wasn’t popular in the flats. And we haven’t found any family nearby except of course Frankie and the grandmother. We can do DNA testing, but that takes time and it would be better for Frankie to have things official sooner.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Sarah miserably.
Brilliant. What a horrible thing to have to do. And there wasn’t anyone she could ask to go with her, either. Mim would have to stay with Frankie, and Rita in her pregnant state was out of the question. Caitlyn? For a moment Sarah wavered, then grasped her courage with both hands. If there was no shoulder to cry on, she wouldn’t cry. Best just get it over with quickly.
The doctor leaned forward, speaking rapidly. ‘We have to decide how much Frankie should be told today. The fact that her mother is dead, and we can say from a head injury, is perhaps enough for the moment.’
‘She knows about the canal,’ Sarah told her.
‘Then I suggest we leave it at that for today. I’d like to –’
Mim’s head appeared round the door. ‘We’re back down. Frankie wants to see you,’ she said, looking at Harry West.
Sarah could only admire the way DI Summers told Frankie about her mother’s body being discovered. Although she wasn’t given much information, everything he said was true. Frankie asked about the cause of death, and the doctor explained that Petra had suffered a head injury, and wouldn’t have been aware of what was happening.
The girl was staring at the doctor, her eyes wide. ‘But what was she doing beside the canal?’ she whispered, tears starting again. ‘That’s what I don’t understand. She never goes there.’
DI Summers stood up. ‘Clever girl. That’s what we have to find out. Where did Petra go after she left the rehabilitation unit? Someone, somewhere, must know, so we have to find that someone. We’ll get back to working on that now. The doctor’ll stay with you and Frankie for a bit, Mrs Dunbar, and Sergeant West will keep you up to date with the investigation. Ms Martin, if you’ll come with us we can…’
He touched Frankie’s shoulder briefly, shook hands with Mim, and left, Harry West behind him.
Sarah exchanged a look with Mim, and saw that her foster mother had realised where she was going. Mim’s face was paler than when she was in hospital, and Sarah hugged both her and Frankie.
‘Won’t be long,’ she whispered.
The mortuary was in the oldest part of the hospital, up at the back and not far from the rehab w
ards. Harry West drove into the covered staff car park and pulled up beside a shiny black Jaguar.
‘One of the perks of being a consultant, I guess,’ he said, nodding towards the other car.
Sarah attempted a smile. He was trying to bolster her up, but her legs felt like jelly as she followed him into the lift, where going down and not up as she was expecting did nothing for the feel-good factor. The mortuary was in the cellar. Yikes.
‘This won’t take long,’ said Harry, holding a grey metal door open for her.
The smell was everything she’d ever read about and Sarah clamped one hand over her nose and mouth. How did people work in an atmosphere like this? Thick and cloying and a mixture of disinfectant and something indescribable, it caught in the back of her throat and made her cough. Eyes watering, she followed Harry West, who seemed completely at home in the department. He led her along a badly-lit corridor and into a dingy little waiting room. Her stomach was churning like mad – dear heavens, supposing she was sick?
Breathing carefully through her mouth, Sarah perched on the edge of a plastic chair. Everything was grey here. Were the bodies… Her insides lurched anew, and she was concentrating on keeping her stomach under control when the mortuary attendant, an Asian woman a few years older than Sarah, came in and smiled sympathetically.
‘Hi, Sarah, I’m Reena. The body is in the viewing room next door. You’ll see it through a glass window.’
Sarah stood up, and Reena took her arm. The human contact was comforting.
‘The face will stay covered. Don’t think about that. Look at the hair, the hands. See if you notice a definite sign that this is Petra Walker. When you’ve seen enough, say if you recognise her or not.’
The room they went into was small, white tiles on the walls giving way to institutional green on the ceiling. Sarah’s knees began to shake. What a hellish colour to paint a mortuary. A window on the long wall opposite the door was curtained. That was where –
Harry West gripped her free elbow. ‘One good look will be enough.’
Sarah nodded to Reena, who slid the curtain to the side before returning to Sarah’s side.
Sarah’s head swam for a second before she saw the body of a woman, lying on a trolley and covered by a green drape from the chest down. One arm and hand lay free beside the torso. White gauze was covering the face, and Sarah’s throat closed. Flat… the head of this poor woman had been battered almost flat. The killer must have used an incredible amount of force. The thought was appalling. She retched, and Reena gripped her arm so hard that it hurt.
‘Do you know who this is, Sarah?’
Sarah nodded. She wrenched her arms free and raised clasped hands to her mouth, feeling her fingers shudder against her lips. Recognition had been instantaneous in spite of the distraction of the flat head. The earrings. She’d noticed them in the cafeteria on her first day back, four pathetic little studs, all different colours, the bottom one looking like a diamond. And of course the hair, the dyed red hair that clashed so horribly with the top pink stud.
‘It’s Petra,’ she said in a low voice, surprised at how steady she sounded.
‘Well done. Come and have a cup of tea, then I’ll take you home,’ said Harry West.
Later that evening the phone rang, and Sarah hurried to answer it, glad to hear the buzz of voices in Frankie’s room, where Mim and the little girl were. What a good thing Frankie had come back to her old foster home. It would have been ten times worse for her if she’d been with strangers today.
‘Sarah, hi. How are things – how are you?’
It was Jack. Sarah took the phone back to the sofa and snuggled into the corner cushion. ‘Oh, Jack. I’m – I’ll be okay. I had to identify the body and it was horrible.’
She heard his breath catch, and his voice when he spoke was unsteady.
‘Oh no. That’s terrible. So it was Petra. You take things easy, Sarah. Have an early night.’
Sarah put the phone down feeling comforted. Jack’s call showed she was important to him – and look how upset he’d been in the restaurant, when she’d told him what was going on. It was good to know she had a supportive friend nearby.
An hour later she was in bed, the events of the day churning round her brain. Just this morning she’d been enjoying scrambled eggs at Rushglen Farm. It seemed like half a lifetime ago. What a terrible day it had been for Frankie, but at least the girl was asleep now, helped by the doctor’s pills.
Sarah shivered. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw those earrings, and Petra’s battered, hidden, flat face. Sleep was a long way off. Perhaps she should take one of Frankie’s pills. She began to sit up, then collapsed into the mattress again. Hell, no – what if she had a nightmare about Petra’s no-face and couldn’t wake up because she’d taken a pill? Better to stay awake. That way, at least she was in control.
Chapter Seven
Monday, 10th July
It was on the radio. ‘The body of a woman identified as the missing Petra Walker has been found in the…’ He switched it off, his stomach shifting. It was happening too soon. The body hadn’t been in the water long enough – less than twenty-four hours. Would any trace of him still be lingering on Petra? But the canal would have got rid of any stray hairs he might have shed on her, and surely there wouldn’t be fingerprints... He was still safe, and in a few weeks all this complicated stuff would be behind them and he could concentrate on getting to know Sarah. What God-awful timing it all was.
So what should he do now? He was free this morning, but he couldn’t sit at home – he had to be active, because doing something would take his mind off the body. Petra’s bloody face, haunting him every time he allowed his mind to relax. Ward Five would be the best place to gather information – so he would go and get the gossip. He had to keep up with what was going on behind the scenes as well as what the media was reporting.
The rehab unit was busy with therapists and patients going about their normal weekday routine, and a few relatives taking advantage of the open visiting hours. Ignoring the lifts, he ran upstairs.
Ward Five was buzzing, but that was maybe a good thing. He wandered along to the nursing station, which was deserted, then looked into the kitchen, where a first-year nurse was drying her eyes on a tea towel. He started to reverse out, but she gave him a shaky smile, batting her eyelashes even in the midst of her tears.
‘Come for a cuppa? I’m just having a moment – Vicky bawled me out about old Wilma’s money, and yes, I know I deserved it.’ She clicked the kettle on.
He made an inquiring noise in this throat and she went on.
‘I saw it in her locker when I was helping her look for her reading specs, back when she was well enough to know if she had the right specs on. She warned me not to say anything, and when I looked later it was gone. Gawd knows what happened to it. I didn’t tell anyone at first but today I thought I’d better, with Mrs Walker’s body being found, you know… Vicky says we’ll have to call the police, and it won’t look good for the hospital.’ She mopped her eyes again.
He thought swiftly. ‘She might be better just to wait until the police come back here. They’re bound to do interviews soon.’ It was clutching at straws, but any delay would help him.
A shout came from the corridor. ‘Nurse Bruce!’
The girl left, and he walked back up the ward and out to the stairwell. Did he need to do anything about this? Not yet, he decided. The less complicated he kept his involvement here, the better. But he’d keep a close eye on student nurse Bruce. He should go home again and have a good think.
He drove back slowly, thinking about the body. It was horrible he’d been forced to kill her. All he wanted was a nice home – it was only what he deserved and in a fairer world he’d have had it long ago. Huh. He’d never had justice, never had what all the other kids had. And now… if only he could forget Petra and her battered, bloody head under the sacking. What did it look like now, that head?
Home again, he stretched out on his s
ofa, looking up at his brilliant white ceiling, and in spite of the horror a sense of peace soaked into his soul. The darkness of Mum and Dad had vanished from the ground floor. Memories of miserable weekends spent in his parents’ company when his mates were all out enjoying themselves flashed through his head. They’d always been there, pushing him, suffocating him, making him their puppet to dance as they pulled the stings. Even when he was a grown man they’d never let go. He thumped his hand on the sofa so hard his fingers tingled. Life here had been hell. God bless Dad’s arthritis; it had freed him. And his renovations were freeing the house – such a difference to three weeks ago. Petra had been an accident; he hadn’t meant her to die.
Drowsiness washed over him and he closed his eyes. He would dream of lovely Sarah. How perfect…
Sarah drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. She’d been trying to organise her online banking account for over an hour now, and getting nowhere fast. It was a welcome distraction when her mobile buzzed beside her, and she grabbed it, pushing the laptop away. Was this Jack? No, help – it was the hospital. Vicky the ward sister had called that morning with the news that Wilma’d had another small stroke, and the consultant would be coming to examine her shortly.
Sarah leaned across and swung the kitchen door shut. Frankie was in the living room, and it might be better if she couldn’t listen in here. ‘Hello?’
‘Sarah, it’s Nick. The consultant’s been, and he’s organised for Wilma to be transferred back to a medical ward. Rehab isn’t the right place for someone with a condition as acute as hers is now.’
‘Okay,’ said Sarah. It occurred to her that Wilma had no-one left in her corner. Petra would certainly have wanted to know all the reasons and ramifications, but there was only so much they could cope with here. She compromised guiltily. ‘We might want to talk to a doctor about her sometime, to give us an idea what’s happening. For Frankie’s sake.’
