by Rebecca Tope
‘In a nutshell,’ he smiled. ‘It sounds to me as if the key person in all this is the Townsend woman. If she believes in her friend’s innocence, that must surely count for a lot.’
‘She does. And she knows Anita better than anyone does. But Ben would say she’s got a lifelong friendship invested in the Anita she knows and loves, so she’s not trustworthy. But I’m so sure she is,’ Simmy wailed. ‘I can’t bear to think she’s deliberately falsifying evidence to get Anita off.’
‘Could she do that, even if she wanted to?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t see how. Everybody likes her, you see. They’re all going out of their way to please her.’
‘But do they like Anita?’
‘Maybe not so much. But she seems all right to me. She’s so hurt, because of the way her children are towards her. They’re being absolutely awful, accusing her of murder. I mean – isn’t that the most terrible thing?’
‘Pretty bad,’ he agreed. ‘But families can get into ghastly emotional vendettas, at times. Sisters who never speak to each other, and fathers who ruin their daughters’ lives.’
‘Yes. But it’s not often mothers, is it? That’s even more horrible to think about.’
‘We were both lucky, I guess. We had nice, normal, decent parents.’
She looked at him, head to one side. ‘Three out of the four, anyway,’ she corrected, referring to recent events concerning Christopher’s parents.
He flinched. ‘Okay. But nobody did anything bad to me, which is what I’m saying.’
‘But Matthew doesn’t strike you as capable of killing anyone. Is that right?’ she pressed him.
‘I really have no idea what he’s capable of. The question’s meaningless. But I’ll keep an eye on him next week, if I can.’
He finished the last morsel of pork, with relish. ‘That was amazing,’ he said. ‘Though I say so myself.’
‘I could eat it all over again,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t think there’s anything that would do for pudding.’
‘Cheese would be nice. Didn’t I see some in the fridge?’
They finished the modest lump of cheddar, which started Simmy thinking of her next shopping list. ‘And I don’t imagine there’s anything we might have for a nightcap, either?’ he asked with a rueful grin.
‘Nightcap! It’s only quarter past nine.’
‘So?’ he grinned, and finally she really did forget all about the Kennedys and the Olsens and dented white vans.
She continued to forget them throughout a blissfully enjoyable Sunday, in which she and Christopher did very little. They buried their phones under a cushion, walked up Wansfell, turned up the heating when they got back, and shared another indulgent meal. ‘I’ve earned this,’ Simmy assured herself, once or twice. Earned a break from her parents, the shop and above all, the repellent details of a recent murder. Monday would come soon enough, with Christopher scrambling out of bed at silly o’clock and leaving her to face the new week as best she could.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Tanya Harkness was quite a surprise. Much darker than Ben, almost as tall, and with a clear gaze that Simmy quickly decided would go over very well with customers. She presented herself at half past three on Monday afternoon, looking at least sixteen despite being in school uniform. Bonnie politely stayed at the back of the shop, pretending to be rearranging some of the stock.
‘It seems daft that we’ve never met, after all this time,’ Simmy said. ‘I’ve even been to your house several times.’
‘Ben wanted to keep you all to himself,’ said the girl. ‘We often tease him about it.’
‘I can’t imagine why.’ I’m old enough to be his mother, she wanted to say – a thought that came to her almost every day.
‘He says you’re a very rare person.’
‘Don’t tell me what he says,’ Simmy begged. ‘It’s bound to be embarrassing. Let’s talk about what you might be able to do for me when the Mother’s Day madness kicks off. It’s going to be absolute bedlam.’
‘Sounds great,’ enthused Tanya, somewhat prematurely.
‘You haven’t heard anything yet. There’ll be orders on the computer, phone calls, both right up to late on the Saturday before it. I’ll be out delivering most of that day, as well as Sunday. I’m offering a discount for Saturday delivery, which is a bit of a cheat, but it’s the only way to cope. Bonnie and you will be here without me, keeping track of everything, making sure nobody gets forgotten. I’m going to let Bonnie do some of the bouquets – the simpler ones. The place is going to be so full, we’ll hardly be able to move.’
‘You haven’t put me off yet. How much will you pay me?’
‘Thirty-five pounds,’ said Simmy promptly. ‘Cash in hand.’
‘What if I come on the Friday and Sunday as well? Not just Saturday. Sounds to me as if it would be good to get ahead as much as you can on Friday.’
Simmy shook her head. ‘No, thanks. Friday’s my problem. But Sunday morning might be a help. Say another fifteen for three hours? I don’t have to pay someone your age the minimum wage, you know,’ she added defensively.
‘No, I know. That would be great.’ The sparkling eyes and shallow breathing betrayed how excited she was. Such a sweet child, thought Simmy. From Ben’s disparaging remarks about all his sisters, she had expected a far more disaffected and inarticulate creature.
The deal apparently made, Tanya began a tour of inspection, gently fingering the foliage and sniffing some of the blooms. When the doorbell pinged, she looked up, her face alight with interest.
DI Moxon glanced at her without recognition. Simmy wanted to make immediate introductions, but thought better of it. ‘Hello,’ she said, knowing she sounded resigned and profoundly unwelcoming.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Can I have a word?’
‘It’ll have to be in here, then. It’s going to get busy any minute now.’
‘No problem. You’ll know that Mrs Townsend is naming you as an independent witness to events on Saturday morning. All we want is for you to come down to the station and sign a statement to that effect.’
‘The statement’s already been written, has it?’ she said stupidly.
‘No, no. Of course not. We’ll want you to give your own first-hand account of what happened. As much detail as you can. It’s looking bad for the person concerned, I don’t mind telling you.’ He cocked his head. ‘I’m not sure whether you’re aware of his identity?’
‘I am, as it happens, despite Gillian’s efforts not to tell me. Mrs Olsen came the same afternoon and told me.’
‘Did she indeed. I wonder what she did that for?’
‘Muddying the waters,’ said Tanya boldly. ‘That’s what Ben would say.’
Moxon looked from Tanya to Bonnie to Simmy and back again. ‘Who’s this?’ he asked.
‘Can’t you guess?’ Simmy gave a little laugh, partly sympathetic towards his confusion, and partly scornful. ‘She’s Ben Harkness’s sister. Tanya.’
He rolled his eyes, and swept a theatrical hand across his brow. ‘Heaven help me, they’re proliferating,’ he groaned. ‘Are you an amateur detective as well, young lady?’
‘Sort of,’ she grinned. ‘I’ve been keying in some of Ben’s notes, to save him time – and a bit of googling as well. I know quite a lot about the Declan Kennedy case.’
Moxon groaned again. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Fourteen.’
‘Far too young to get involved in any of this business. Miss Lawson’s too young, as well. You all are. It’s a scandal, the way you think you can get involved in serious police investigations. Absolutely scandalous.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Tanya soothed him, sounding uncannily like her brother. ‘I’m not at all involved. I just know about it, that’s all. I’m not as clever as Ben, of course.’
‘Nobody is,’ sighed Moxon. Then he straightened up. ‘Now then. Let’s try to keep this on track, if that’s possible. I have matters to discuss with Mrs Brown, whi
ch are not for your young ears. Either of you.’
‘I’ll try to come when we’ve closed up,’ Simmy told him. ‘Is that soon enough?’
‘It’ll have to be, won’t it?’ His expression was much milder than the words might suggest. He seemed relaxed and subtly complacent. Simmy interpreted this as coming from a satisfied investigator, case solved, primary suspect exonerated and new perpetrator identified. Moxon, like everybody else, obviously liked and admired Gillian Townsend, and wanted her to be on the side of the angels. Matthew Olsen was a much better candidate for their attentions, despite a singular absence of motive, as far as Simmy was aware.
‘I’m glad I can help,’ she said. ‘I never could see Anita as a killer.’
‘No. Well …’ he said. ‘There’s still a way to go before we can present a proper case. The evidence is thin at the moment.’
‘That’s why you need Simmy,’ said Bonnie, with an accusing look. ‘Without her, you’d never make a case against Matthew, would you?’
‘Be quiet, Bonnie!’ Simmy said sharply. ‘That isn’t true at all, and you shouldn’t use people’s names.’ She glanced anxiously at Tanya, who gazed blandly back. ‘Though I don’t suppose it matters,’ Simmy admitted. If the girl had been helping her brother with his flow charts, she’d know all relevant names already.
Moxon’s eyes had widened, and he seemed to want to say quite a lot. But he controlled himself and turned to leave. ‘When you’re free, then,’ he said to Simmy over his shoulder.
‘He’s prejudiced in favour of Anita Olsen,’ said Bonnie indignantly, as soon as he’d gone. ‘He’s not supposed to be. It’s not fair.’
‘You think he’d let it influence him? Of course he wouldn’t.’ Simmy was equally outraged at the imputation. ‘He’s the straightest man in the police force, and you know it.’
‘I don’t, and neither do you. You’re exaggerating. He’s probably no better or worse than average, in fact.’
‘My mum thinks he’s brilliant,’ said Tanya. She gave Simmy a supportive look. ‘The way he’s always been so nice to Ben, letting him interfere with police work. Mum says that’s extremely rare. Moxon’s one in a million, she says.’
‘He can see how special Ben is,’ said Simmy. ‘But he’s not always very patient with him.’
‘Who is?’ laughed Tanya. ‘Ben’s a real pain a lot of the time.’
‘Me,’ said Bonnie. ‘I never get impatient with him.’
‘Oh you,’ said Tanya. ‘You don’t count.’
It occurred to Simmy that her newest employee had no intention of going home soon. The interview, such as it was, had been concluded within moments, but that apparently did not mean she should leave, and Simmy hadn’t the heart to tell her to go. ‘You can stay and watch what goes on, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Bonnie can show you the computer, and where we keep things.’
Both girls nodded as if this went without saying. Two customers came in, and all was business and efficiency for a few minutes. Then it went quiet, and Simmy took some time to get the back room organised. A running order for Mother’s Day, and a rough estimate of the orders they could expect over the coming week.
When she came out again, Bonnie and Tanya were bent over a large jotter pad, Tanya with a pen in her hand. ‘This is Ben’s flow chart,’ Bonnie explained to Simmy. ‘Or a copy of it, anyway.’
‘There are five different versions,’ said Tanya. ‘This is the latest one. I’ve just had a new thought.’
‘She’s good at this,’ said Bonnie. ‘Makes me feel really slow.’ The look on her face was not unadulterated approval. Even the ever-faithful Bonnie could not restrain a hint of jealous resentment against the sudden intervention of a young sister.
Simmy glanced at the computer. ‘Four new orders,’ she discovered. ‘I feel weak already.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Bonnie absently, her focus still on the jotter pad. ‘Hey, Tanya – what’s this about the farm shed? Why’s it got a red circle round it?’
‘I explained that at the start. It’s the crux of the whole thing. That’s where Gillian found the van, isn’t it?’ The girl looked at Simmy, not Bonnie, for a response.
‘That’s right.’ Simmy saw no reason to conceal further details. ‘Some old chap in a pub told her about it. At least … I think it was less direct than that. The farmer got to hear that she was looking for a dodgy vehicle and phoned her to say there was a van in his shed that she might find interesting.’
‘Wow! We didn’t know about that,’ said Bonnie. ‘Does that mean this man thought all along that Matthew Olsen killed Declan, but was keeping quiet about it? Or what?’
‘I don’t think he realised it was relevant, for a while. He lives up there with his sister, and I imagine they take very little notice of local news. They seem quite busy.’
‘Huh!’ scoffed Bonnie. ‘Don’t you believe it. Farmers are the biggest gossips alive. He’ll have had his own reasons for staying quiet about it.’
‘I don’t think so,’ argued Simmy, feeling strangely loyal towards the more than co-operative Jonah. ‘He wanted to be useful to Gillian, that’s all. She helped him a while ago, and he likes her.’
‘Anita should be very grateful to him, anyway. He’s going to be a central part of the case against her son.’
‘I’m sure she will be,’ said Simmy. ‘She looked very relieved when she told me about the van belonging to Matthew.’ She was aware that this represented a different bias from her earlier disclosure, as well as threatening to be yet another detail that looked less than good for Anita. Any normal mother would be appalled at the news. Yet again, the truth forced itself through her reservations.
‘When did she say that?’ Tanya asked, her pen poised to make a note.
‘Saturday. She came to thank me for my part in getting things cleared up. She told me then that it was her son’s van in the shed. I’ve told Ben and Bonnie all this already.’
‘I see.’ The girl drew a new line from the red circle, and wrote Anita told Simmy abt van and shed.
Not for the first time, Simmy felt uneasy at the way these young detectives treated murder as if it were a game. She remained haunted by the image of Debbie Kennedy in the awful hat, her face smudged and her eyes blurred. Nothing was going to make things better for her, whether or not her certainties about her mother’s guilt were overturned. Declan remained dead, whatever happened. And if it turned out that her brother had killed her husband, that could only compound her misery.
A thin stream of customers occupied the remainder of the day. Tanya stayed for an hour, and then took her leave with a cheery wave. ‘What a nice girl she is,’ said Simmy.
‘She’s changed a lot just lately. She was nearly as bad as the others until around Christmas. I think there’s a new teacher she’s trying to impress. And Ben’s finally let her in. He would barely even talk to any of them when I first started going with him.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good thing, actually. She’s terribly young.’
‘Don’t keep saying that. Nothing’s going to happen to her. And she’s been really clever with that flow chart. She latched onto it right away.’
Simmy was increasingly aware that she was into the countdown to Mother’s Day, as well as enjoying the renewed intimacy with Christopher. There was enough going on in her emotions already, without making space for Tanya Harkness, Anita Olsen or Debbie Kennedy. It had been the same for a week now – too many conflicting demands on her feelings. And she had failed to include her worrisome father in the list. ‘Oh, Lord!’ she said aloud. ‘I’m supposed to go to Beck View after work. Should I go there first, and then to answer Moxon’s questions? Or do him first? When do I get a chance to have some time to myself?’
‘When you’re dead,’ Bonnie flashed back. ‘People aren’t designed to be by themselves. Be thankful so many people want you. You wouldn’t like the opposite problem at all, believe me.’
‘I know. But there can be too much of a good thing. I’ll phone my m
other and tell her I won’t be there till a bit later. She’ll be expecting me just after five. And I’ll have to fib about the reason. I can’t tell them I’ve got dragged into another murder.’
‘Don’t they know?’
‘Not a thing. They’re in blissful ignorance, and I want to keep it like that.’
‘Well, good luck with that,’ said Bonnie.
Before she could reply, Simmy’s prayer was answered. A woman came in, and gave Simmy a little wave of greeting from just inside the door. ‘Who’s she?’ whispered Bonnie.
‘Don’t know,’ Simmy mouthed back. Then she realised that she had seen the face before. A young woman, wearing a green jacket, with curly light-brown hair and a bold look. Somewhere only a few days ago – but her memory failed at that point.
The newcomer came closer ‘Don’t you remember me?’ She smiled teasingly. ‘In the queue at the fish and chip shop in Staveley, on Friday evening. You were talking to that woman from Crook, about what happened to Declan Kennedy. You said something about Matthew Olsen, and I told you he lives in Troutbeck.’
‘Right,’ said Simmy, with a warning glance at Bonnie not to say anything. ‘It’s all come back to me now.’
‘Don’t worry. I haven’t come to talk about that. I just want some flowers for my gran, that’s all.’
The relief was profound. ‘Great!’ Simmy enthused. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘Something old-fashioned with plenty of scent. And can you deliver them to her tomorrow, do you think? It’s her birthday, and she insists she doesn’t want any presents. She’s always been like that – very unselfish.’
Simmy threw herself into total commitment to giving the old lady the best of all possible birthday bouquets. ‘So where does your granny live?’ she asked, her pen poised to write down the address.
‘Oh – Staveley,’ came the reply, as if that was obvious. ‘We all live in Staveley. My great-great-grandfather bought land there back in the dark ages, and we’ve stayed put ever since. Not that any of the land is still in the family, and plenty of cousins and so forth have gone off to America or Australia, but there’s still about twenty of my close relatives within about fifteen miles of here. I’m related to your Melanie Todd, as it happens.’
