Lost Summer

by Stuart Harrison

  There was something else he had to tell her. He reached inside his jacket pocket and produced the phone record he’d printed off and smoothed it down on the table. ‘I found this. It’s a record of every phone call that was made from the lodge during the time they stayed there.’

  She came back over to the table. He pointed to a call made to a local number on the fifth. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Her eyes widened when she recognized it as her own.

  He was awake when she knocked softly on the door later. At her insistence he’d agreed to stay the night and she had made up the bed in the spare room. They had said goodnight an hour earlier, but he hadn’t gotten further than removing his jersey and shirt and sitting down on the edge of the bed. Since then he’d been staring at the shadows cast on the wall by the single bedside lamp. He’d been lost in thought when she knocked. He got up and opened the door and she stood on the darkened landing, still clutching her robe tightly around herself.

  ‘I saw the light under the door. I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘I was thinking,’ he said. They faced each other awkwardly for a moment before he opened the door wider and gestured that she should come in. He went back to the bed and sat down and she came inside and sat in a chair against the wall, her face half hidden by shadow.

  ‘Were you thinking about what happened tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘Partly.’ He paused. He was unused to talking about himself. But for once he wanted to. ‘I was thinking about Helen Pierce. When she first told me about her brother I said that I couldn’t help.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘A lot of reasons, but mainly because it happened here. Because I have a lot of memories associated with this place. I was seeing a psychologist a while ago.’ He saw her surprise. ‘It was when my marriage was falling apart. It was meant to be counselling but we ended up talking about a lot of other stuff too. All the clichés about them are true, you know. They want to know about your parents and if you were happy as a child.’

  She managed a smile. ‘And were you? Happy I mean?’

  ‘I don’t think I was unhappy exactly. I suppose I never felt sure of myself after we moved here. I never really fitted in.’

  ‘But you had friends. David …’ She broke off uncertainly, seeing his expression. ‘Look, whatever you feel about him now, whatever happened after your accident, you were friends once.’

  ‘I used to think so.’

  ‘Until you were in hospital and you realized he was trying to steal your girlfriend?’ She leaned closer, her expression intent. ‘Adam, it really wasn’t like that, you know. Neither of us knew what to do about the way we felt. I told you before that nothing ever happened until after it was over between you and me. You shouldn’t blame David, it was both of us. We couldn’t help the way we felt. If you hate him for what happened, then you should hate me too.’

  He was surprised. ‘Who said I hate him?’

  ‘Alright resent, or whatever. But you do don’t you? Isn’t that why you want to believe he had something to do with what happened to those lads? And what about tonight? Somebody tried to run you off the road and you came here looking for David, because you assumed it was him.’

  Had he assumed that? He wasn’t sure. It could have been David, though Angela wouldn’t admit the possibility. She thought she knew him, knew that he wasn’t capable of hurting anyone. But she didn’t know about Meg and Adam knew if he told her now she would think he was crazy, making it all up.

  ‘Why did you come back, Adam?’ Angela asked. ‘If you weren’t sure at first, what changed your mind?’

  She was watching him intently, unaware that as she had leaned forward her robe had come apart revealing her nightdress and a glimpse of her thigh. He could lie to her about his reasons, but he was certain she would see it in his face.

  ‘The truth is I wasn’t sure how I felt about seeing you again. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I assumed you would be married, had a life. I didn’t know you were married to David of course. The point is I didn’t think I had a right to butt in.’

  She was silent for a while, absorbing what he’d said. ‘But you decided to come.’

  ‘For all kinds of reasons, yes. But I’d be lying if I said you weren’t among them.’

  He thought she would be angry, that she’d feel certain now that his suspicions about David were rooted in what had happened between the three of them. Instead she looked sad. ‘Adam. It was such a long time ago. We weren’t much more than kids …’

  He could guess what else she’d been about to say. They hadn’t ever done anything more than kiss and hold hands, aware that they had always had different plans. But it didn’t matter. He’d loved her.

  ‘You know I said I was seeing a psychologist? His name was Morris. Louise, my wife, thought that I used my work to shut her out, and that I felt it was more important than our marriage. Anyway, I came to realize that she was right in a way. I’ve always done that with the women I’ve known, driven them away effectively. I remember the first time I saw Louise in a bar. She had her back to me but she had long pale blonde hair. She reminded me of you.’

  Angela’s eyes widened in surprise. She shook her head slowly, a small movement that was an expression of incomprehension, though her eyes remained full of sadness, regret for him perhaps, for the things in his life she sensed he had missed. She couldn’t understand why he had been so affected but she could appreciate the result.

  He stood up. ‘I know it’s crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  She stood and touched his cheek. ‘I don’t think it’s crazy. I’ve always felt badly about what happened. The way it did anyway. I didn’t know you felt that way about me then. So strongly.’

  She was so close. As she dropped her hand from his face he caught it without thinking and they stood motionless staring into one another’s eyes. Without thinking about it he began to draw her towards him. She hesitated and then moved closer. They embraced, not as lovers, but in some instinctive need for comfort each felt. She put her head against his shoulder and he stroked her hair, remembering instantly the feel of it between his fingers. He could smell the mingled scents of her skin and some lotion she used and he had to force himself to resist the sudden impulse to kiss her neck. Their bodies touched briefly and then he felt her draw away very slightly and he let her go. She smiled, a little embarrassed.

  ‘I should let you get some sleep.’

  He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. At the door she paused.

  ‘He isn’t a bad person, Adam.’

  Then without waiting for him to respond she quietly closed the door behind her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Warm autumn sunlight slanting through the window woke Adam early. For a short time he lay in the unfamiliar surroundings of the room. When he glanced at his watch he saw it was still early, though he could hear sounds of activity from downstairs and guessed that Angela was already up.

  He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His knee was sore and his neck ached. He was going to feel stiff for a few days but he didn’t think there was any serious damage. When he went through to the bathroom he found Angela had left out a towel for him with a toothbrush on top still in its wrapper. He took a shower, turning the temperature up as high as he could bear and directed the jet onto the back of his neck.

  When he went down to the kitchen the smell of coffee hit him and he realized he was hungry.

  ‘Sit down,’ Angela said. ‘I’ll do some eggs.’

  He did as he was told. There was something different about her. She moved with new purpose and he detected a kind of resolve about her. He watched her against the window, her hair pulled back tightly from her face, her skin clear and free of make-up. She was beautiful.

  Outside the sun lit the fells, but there was an icy paleness to the colour of the sky. The fields were frigid with early frost. Angela brought coffee and plates of scrambled eggs. When they’d finished eating she got up and fetched
a calendar that was hanging on one of the kitchen cupboards.

  ‘I thought about that phone call from the lodge,’ she said. She turned the calendar back a page and traced her finger to the beginning of September. There was a red circle around the fifth, and the letters JC were scrawled beside it. ‘The fifth was a Saturday. I remember it because Kate was staying over at a friend’s house. I’d planned to cook a meal and open a decent bottle of wine. I wanted David and I to have a nice evening together for once. Just the two of us. I wanted us to forget about the problems he was having with the business, about the protest. But it didn’t happen. He got a phone call, it must have been around seven or eight, and said he had to go out. Something had come up at the sawmill. I made a sandwich and drank most of the wine myself in front of the TV. I don’t know what time David came home.’

  The accident had happened around nine that night, but he didn’t say anything. He sensed she hadn’t finished yet.

  ‘There were no other calls that night,’ she said. ‘So, the one he took must have been from somebody at the lodge.’ She fixed him with a level gaze, her eyes startlingly clear. ‘Look, I don’t know what happened that night. I can’t believe that David is capable of the things you suspect him of but I’m not a fool. I’m not going to bury my head in the sand and ignore all of this. I want to know the truth. I know something is eating at David. He won’t tell me what it is. So, I’ll have to find out my own way.’

  ‘Alright,’ he said, uncertain what she was getting at. ‘I’ll tell you whatever I find out.’

  ‘No, I want to help. There must be something I can do.’

  ‘Maybe there is.’ He told her about his meeting with Dr Webster the day before, and about running into his wife at the garage. ‘He lied about Jane Hanson. He claimed he never met her. Whatever Jane was on to, it led her ultimately to Marion Crane’s medical records, whoever she is or was. You could try to find her. It’s a long shot but you could start with the phone book.’

  ‘You still haven’t found Jane Hanson?’

  ‘Somebody in London is looking, but I haven’t heard anything.’ He glanced at the time. Karen was an early starter and he knew she would be in her office. He took out his mobile and called her direct line. When she answered he got up from the table and stood at the window with his back to Angela.

  ‘Karen, it’s Adam here. I wondered if you’d had any luck finding Jane.’

  ‘Well, good morning to you too. And yes I’m fine, thanks for asking.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, chastened by her sarcasm.

  ‘You’re forgiven. And the answer to your question is both yes and no. Yes, I managed to get an address from her father, though I gather they’re not close and he hasn’t spoken to her since earlier in the year, but no, I haven’t managed to speak to her yet. She’s an elusive girl. I’ve talked to her neighbour who tells me she’s hardly ever home. And I’ve left messages, but she hasn’t answered.’

  ‘What about a phone number? A work number perhaps?’

  ‘No such luck. There’s a young guy who lives in the flat above her. I think he fancies her actually. He thinks she’s got some kind of high-powered job. Says she wears expensive-looking suits and every time he’s seen her she’s climbing in and out of taxis, but he has no idea where she works or even what she does. She’s not very forthcoming apparently. Either she’s secretive as well as elusive, or she just doesn’t fancy him. Can’t imagine why. He’s quite a hunk.’

  ‘I’m glad there’s some compensation for all the time you’re spending on this.’

  She laughed. ‘If you were a girl I’d say that sounded like bitchiness. Anyway, you needn’t worry, I’m beginning to see our Ms Hanson as a bit of a challenge. But it is starting to look as if you might have been right about her. Perhaps she was bought off; that would explain why she seems to be avoiding me.’

  ‘True, but keep trying, would you? Maybe you can threaten her or appeal to her sense of guilt or something.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised. ‘So, what’s been happening up there anyway? I heard about what they found in the lake. That’s near where you are isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I haven’t seen the news,’ he said. ‘What’s the latest?’

  ‘Nothing much. Whoever it was has been there a long time. That’s all they’ve said so far.’

  ‘No speculation from the media? Nothing about who it might be?’

  ‘Not that I’ve heard.’

  ‘Not even confirmation of the sex?’

  ‘Nope.’ There was a pause. ‘You seem very interested in this, Adam. Is there something you’re not telling me? You’ve got that tone in your voice.’

  Karen’s journalistic radar was as sharp as ever, Adam thought. ‘I don’t know any more than you do,’ he lied smoothly.

  ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to believe you,’ she said, sounding as if she didn’t at all. ‘So, what else have you discovered?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. Nothing definite.’

  ‘Alright. Call me when you can.’

  He promised he would, and as they were about to hang up he remembered to ask about Nigel. Yet for some reason he was reluctant to talk about it with Angela listening. In the end he settled for a more general, how are things with you?

  ‘You mean with work?’ she asked.

  ‘That too.’

  ‘Adam, is there somebody with you?’

  ‘No,’ he lied, wondering how she saw through his minor deceptions so easily.

  Her tone altered, taking on a subtle hint of offence. ‘If that’s your way of asking about Nigel, which I assume it is, then nothing is settled yet.’ She broke off when there was a sound in the background and when she came back on she sounded rushed. ‘Look, I have to go. Call me. Bye.’

  ‘Bye,’ he said, but she had already hung up. He disconnected, feeling as he always did lately, that he had let her down in some way. When he turned around Angela had begun clearing the table.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘No. And it looks as if we shouldn’t count on getting any help from Jane Hanson either.’ He related briefly what Karen had told him.

  ‘Who is she, this Karen?’

  ‘She’s a friend. She edits the magazine I’m working for.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Angela carried their plates to the dishwasher. He wondered why he felt vaguely guilty.

  He left Angela to pursue Marion Crane through the phone book, and also gave her the phone print-out he’d taken from the lodge. Maybe if she tried all the numbers something would turn up.

  He borrowed Angela’s car, and left his own in her garage. When she saw the shattered rear window and the crumpled rear wheel arch where he’d been rammed her composure faltered. Confronted with hard evidence of the reality of what had happened doubt flickered in her eyes.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ he promised.

  He went to the New Inn first and changed his clothes, then called the hospital and asked to speak to Dr Keller in the pathology lab. The woman who answered the phone told him crisply that Dr Keller was unavailable, but asked if he wanted to leave a message. He realized she’d probably been besieged with reporters for the past twenty-four hours.

  ‘Would you tell her that Adam Turner called, tell her that I think I have something which might help her identify the body from the lake.’

  There was silence, at first surprised, but when the woman repeated his name she sounded simply dubious. ‘Adam Turner?’

  ‘That’s right.’ He could almost read her thoughts. Another bloody journalist who’ll try anything to get a scoop. Nevertheless she said she would pass the message on and he left a number.

  Half an hour later as he was leaving Castleton his mobile rang and to his surprise when he answered he was speaking to Dr Keller.

  ‘Mr Turner,’ she said coolly. ‘I understand you have something I may be interested in?’

  ‘I think so, but I need to talk to you in person.’

  ‘I see.’ She didn’t try to hide her sce
pticism.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking Doctor, but I promise you I’m not calling as a journalist. This is personal.’

  ‘Personal?’ She thought about that for a few seconds. ‘Alright,’ she agreed, ‘I’ll see you. But if this turns out to be some kind of trick to get access to the lab, you’re going to be in very big trouble.’

  He didn’t doubt her. ‘I can be there in half an hour.’

  ‘Fine, I’ll leave word to admit you.’

  In the event it took him a little longer than that and when he arrived he had to make his way through a loitering group of journalists. They regarded him with brief interest, until they concluded he was neither a doctor nor a policeman, and then they ignored him.

  When he announced himself at the desk he was shown downstairs and along a corridor before passing through a set of doors where a uniformed policeman was on duty.

  ‘Dr Keller’s expecting you.’ The woman who’d brought him indicated a door and went back the way they came, evidently not keen to go any further. A sign announced that he was outside the autopsy room.

  When he went inside Dr Keller and her assistant were busy on either side of a steel mortuary table. There was a smell in the air, but not of decaying flesh. Instead it was the almost metallic odour of lake water and dank mud.

  Dr Keller looked up from the remains she was examining. ‘Mr Turner, come in.’

  He glimpsed ribs and a skull though much of what he could see was covered in what looked like mud and debris, perhaps the remains of clothing. He stared at the empty eye sockets. Rather than being clean and bleached the way people expect to see such things, the skull was grey. A shred of matter clung to the side and what looked like silt filled the gaps between the teeth. Somehow this struck him as an unnecessary indignity. He was drawn to the hole in the crown, slightly to the rear.