The Devil`s Feather

by Minette Walters

  I decided to keep out of that argument. Everyone’s feelings would have been very different if Ralph had run over a child at twenty miles an hour when he was three times over the limit. “Why would Jess be out to get them? Shouldn’t they be out to get her?”

  He gave an abrupt laugh. “You can’t apply logic to it. The Galbraiths are one of the couples who found Lily in their bed, and Jess accused them of cruelty because they drove her home and abandoned her without offering to help. The car incident was the icing on the gingerbread—gave her the chance to shop Ralph to the police—or that’s how it’s viewed in the village at least.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Four or five months ago.”

  “How long have the Galbraiths lived here?”

  “Eight years. Why do you ask?”

  “Just trying to understand where stalking fits in.” I repeated as nearly as I could what Madeleine had said about Jess’s fixations and her vindictive reactions when she was rejected.

  “I’m surprised you went to see her,” Peter said with heavy irony. “Weren’t you afraid of being her next victim?”

  “I might have been if I’d believed Madeleine. I’d have given her the cold shoulder…which is what everyone else seems to do.” I watched him. “Except you. Is that because you’re her doctor or because you’re better informed?”

  “About what?”

  I shrugged. “Nathaniel? Does anyone else know he used to be with Jess?”

  He moved back to his chair and folded his tall frame on to the seat. “Presumably anyone who was around at the time does…but it was a fairly private thing. If Jess had worn her heart on her sleeve, it might have created a few waves, but she couldn’t have shown less interest at losing him. Which is why you shouldn’t place too much weight on Lily’s remark about value…or not where Jess is concerned at least. Boyfriends come and go at that age. Do you even remember the names of the ones you had at twenty?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact, even though none of mine lasted longer than three months. I’d certainly remember a man I spent two years with.” I eyed him with amusement. “Your experience might be different, though. Perhaps you never knew the girls’ names in the first place.”

  “Ouch!”

  “What other reason is there for Jess and Madeleine to hate each other?”

  He rested his chin on his hands. “I’ve no idea, but whatever it is existed long before Nathaniel jumped ship. He was just a bone in an endless dogfight. It’s Lily they’ve been squabbling over…not Nathaniel.”

  “Perhaps it’s sibling rivalry,” I suggested ironically. “They’re not half-sisters, are they? Could Lily have slept with Jess’s father?”

  Peter gave a snort of laughter. “Not unless she was drunk. His mother was her maid, for God’s sake. It’d be like touching pitch.”

  “It happens.”

  “Not in this case,” he said positively. “Frank Derbyshire wouldn’t have done anything so crass. He was far too fond of his wife.”

  “What about the other way round…Madeleine’s father and Jess’s mother?”

  He shook his head. “Jenny Derbyshire had better taste. In any case, it would only be sibling rivalry if Lily was Jess’s mother…and she wasn’t. I can guarantee that Jess is a Derbyshire through and through.” He said it firmly, as if the idea of anything else offended him. “The jealousy’s mostly on Madeleine’s side. She had no time for her mother until Jess took an interest, then suddenly she was all over her…and Lily wouldn’t play. I’m sure the remark about value was in reference to herself. Madeleine was never so fond of Lily as when Jess took to visiting Barton House after her parents’ death.”

  “Why wouldn’t Lily play?”

  “She knew it wouldn’t last. As soon as Madeleine was top dog again, she’d have dropped her like a hotcake. I think Lily felt she’d be better off setting them against each other.”

  “She was probably right.”

  Peter shook his head. “She enjoyed stirring too much…and it backfired on her. She used to refer to Jess as her ‘little stalker’ in front of Madeleine, and to Madeleine as her ‘little parasite’ in front of Jess. It wasn’t very clever of her. If they’d liked each other, they’d have treated it as a joke, but as they didn’t”—he smiled rather bitterly—“it just added fuel to the flames.”

  “So how did the lesbian rumours start? I mean, if Jess had a relationship with a man, why does everyone assume she’s a dyke? Has she had affairs with women?”

  A look of distaste crossed Peter’s face. “I don’t think that’s anyone’s business but hers.”

  “Why on earth not?” I asked in surprise. “It’s perfectly legal…and she’s told me about your affairs. You’re not homophobic, are you?”

  He glared at me. “Of course not.”

  I shrugged. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. Everyone else in Winterbourne Barton is homophobic. It’s like Zimbabwe—fifty years out of date and deeply ignorant. Robert Mugabe won’t tolerate gays so no one else does either…not if they want to keep a head on their shoulders.”

  Peter rubbed his eyes. “She has two women working for her—Julie and Paula. They live together as an openly gay couple, and it may have something to do with that. The younger one, Julie, is Harry Sotherton’s granddaughter—he’s the old boy who used to work for Jess’s father and still helps out at the farm—and he asked Jess to take Julie on about ten years ago. She was twenty-five and married, but she left her husband a year or so later and moved herself and her children in with Jess. They stayed for about two months, then she set up home with Paula…which is when the tongues started wagging.”

  “Why?”

  His mouth twisted cynically. “Jess was the facilitator. She introduced them, and took Paula on to the payroll so that Julie could work flexitime around her children. Now she and Paula box and cox mornings and afternoon so that one of them’s always free to do the school run. It works very well.” He looked as if he was about to add a “but,” then changed his mind.

  “But Winterbourne Barton doesn’t approve of lesbians bringing up children?”

  “Harry’s wife certainly doesn’t. She’s had a lot to say on the subject…and she lays the blame at Jess’s door.”

  “For enabling them to work?”

  “For initiating her granddaughter into moral turpitude and depravity. She won’t accept that Julie’s a lesbian and thinks Jess ‘taught’ her”—he drew quote marks in the air—“then handed her over to big, butch Paula to finish the job. Julie’s very feminine, and looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.”

  “What does Harry say?”

  “Nothing, just turns up for work every day and goes to see the great-grandchildren on his own. Julie won’t let Mrs. Sotherton near them.”

  “Which makes Mrs. Sotherton worse, I suppose?” Peter nodded. “What about Lily? Presumably she didn’t condone moral turpitude in Winterbourne Valley?”

  He smiled again and this time the smile reached his eyes. “Quite the reverse. She took it all in her stride. She said Jess was too inhibited to sleep with women, but she quite saw that Julie might, and had no doubts at all about Paula. I think she quite envied them as a matter of fact. She told me once that her life would have been very different if she’d had a loving wife instead of a ne’er-do-well husband.”

  “Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.” I paused, but he didn’t say anything. “Where did Jess’s ‘loner’ tag come from? It’s a very schizophrenic view that has her offering beds to women and children on the one hand…and acting like a morose recluse on the other.”

  “Pass.”

  “Weirdo?”

  “Spends her time with weasels…has photos of the dead on her walls…dresses like a man.” He spread his hands at my frown of impatience. “Best I can do. If she smiled or said good morning once in a while, it would do more to change people’s opinions than anything else.” He steepled his fingers in front of his nose. “But you’ll be wasting your breath
if you tell her. She’s even more dismissive of advice on her lifestyle than she is on her art. Lily was constantly trying to change her, and it had no effect whatsoever.”

  I wondered if he knew how obvious his feelings were. “You really like her, don’t you?”

  He gave a muted laugh. “If you mean Lily, then, no. She was an evil-minded old bitch when the mood was on her.”

  “I meant Jess.”

  “I know.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to be making tracks soon. Was there anything else you wanted?”

  It was smoothly done, but just as final as Jess’s earlier injunction to keep my mouth shut. I took the hint with good grace and left, but as I headed back to Barton House I couldn’t help wondering if Peter had made his soft spot for Jess as obvious to Madeleine. If so, it might explain a few things.

  From:

  connie.burns@uknet.com

  Sent:

  Thur 29/07/04 10:43

  To:

  alan.collins@manchester-police.co.uk

  Subject:

  Scan

  * * *

  Dear Alan,

  Re: Scan of O’Connell’s documents

  No. Even allowing for the poor quality of the original fax, the man in the photo is NOT MacKenzie/Harwood. MacKenzie is thinner-faced, thinner-lipped and his eyes are much paler. This man has dark eyes. Also, he looks younger. I can’t make any useful comments re the facts in the documents since they don’t relate to MacKenzie. NB: With the name and contact address for next of kin blacked out, this man could be anyone. Bill Fraser only has Alastair Surtees’s word that it’s Kenneth O’Connell.

  Could you stress very strongly to Bill that I do not believe MacKenzie was wrongly identified to me? Our Iraqi guide took care to note the correct office, and I have no reason to think he made a mistake or that the academy’s records were out of date when I was told the next day that Kenneth O’Connell was still working there. The press corps was guaranteed free access to anyone at the academy, and several of my colleagues elected to do one-on-one interviews which were speedily arranged. Had O’Connell been wrongly identified as MacKenzie, then there was no reason for O’Connell not to speak to me. But if O’Connell was MacKenzie then he had every reason not to speak to me. Not least because he was using a fake identity.

  I realize this casts major doubt on Alastair Surtees’s role—not to mention BG’s head office in Cape Town—but private security firms are making a fortune in Iraq, and none of them wants to kill the golden goose through the adverse publicity of an investigation. For this reason, I’m deeply sceptical about these “documents,” and my guess is Bill’s been sold a “dummy.”

  FYI: At the suggestion of my boss in Baghdad, Dan Fry, who’s interested in pursuing the story, I’ve tracked down a Norwegian photographer who was in Sierra Leone in 2002. I remembered him doing a photo-montage of Paddy’s Bar—to show the post-war multinational interest in Freetown—and I hoped he might have a shot of MacKenzie. He’s sent through two prints with MacKenzie in the background, and a friend here is enhancing the best one to produce a workable and recognizable headshot.

  Dan’s idea is to show it round the academy to see if anyone identifies it as Kenneth O’Connell. Clearly, if he succeeds, he will have a story on Alastair Surtees and BG’s operation in Iraq and Cape Town, although he’s willing to share any information with Bill before he breaks it. If Bill wants to contact him in advance his email address is: Dan@Fry.ishma.iq

  Finally, if Bill is serious about nailing MacKenzie, would it be worth looking for the Mary MacKenzie on the envelope? She must be related to him, and I’m as sure as I can be that the address was Glasgow. NB: All the Brits in Freetown described Harwood’s accent as Glaswegian. I realize it’ll be like looking for “Mary Smith” in London, but if the rest of the family’s anything like Keith—i.e., violent—they might be known to the Glasgow police.

  Hope this finds you well. I shall keep my fingers crossed for your son’s A levels. Does he want to be a policeman like you?

  Best, Connie

  PS. By far the easiest way to identify MacKenzie is by the winged scimitar at the base of his skull—not unlike the one David Beckham has, but smaller. MacKenzie seems to have a thing about feathers. Did I tell you he called the prostitutes in Sierra Leone “devil’s feathers”?

  From:

  connie.burns@uknet.com

  Sent:

  Tues 03/08/04 12:03

  To:

  Dan Fry (Dan@Fry.ishma.iq)

  Subject:

  MacKenzie photo

  Attachments:

  DSC02643.JPG; Wcb=surtees (28KB)

  * * *

  Dear Dan,

  We have lift off! I can’t claim much credit for this—there’s a woman here who’s a computer/photo whizz—and she’s finessed the end result to perfection. I sent the finished version to an Australian mate who was in Sierra Leone at the same time, with the tagline: “Do you recognize this face?” And he emailed straight back: “I’m surprised you’ve forgotten. It’s the woman-hater from Freetown, John Harwood.”

  I know I’ve committed you to sharing information with Bill Fraser in Basra, but it is important, Dan. Please don’t let me down. You’ll still have your story on the Baycombe Group, but it will give Bill a chance to locate MacKenzie before Surtees spirits him out of the country, or he’s spooked into running himself. It may already have happened, but Bill should at least be able to find out where he’s gone and what name he’s using now. If I’m wrong, and O’Connell isn’t MacKenzie, then I’ll apologize to everyone for wasting their time. If I’m right, you’ll have a good, exposing piece on the lax vetting procedures of UK security firms.

  Time’s fairly short as Bill leaves Basra at the end of this month, and I doubt his replacement will be as sympathetic/interested as he is. Also, I’d rather you didn’t give information to Jerry Greenhough in Baghdad. 1) He’s leaving at the end of September; 2) A fake UK passport isn’t his problem; 3) He won’t include you in the loop, and by default me.

  I’ll keep fingers crossed for a speedy result, and please keep watching your back. Of course, I’m worried about you. I’m worried about all of you out there.

  Love,

  Connie

  From:

  Dan@Fry.ishma.iq

  Sent:

  Wed 11/08/04 10:25

  To:

  connie.burns@uknet.com

  Subject:

  Good news/bad news

  * * *

  Good news: 3 positive IDs of the photo as Kenneth O’Connell.

  Bad news: Alastair Surtees now claiming that, “following concerns raised,” he conducted his own in-house investigation and “gave Kenneth O’Connell his papers two weeks ago.” He has no idea where he went or what name he travelled under, but he allowed him to keep the O’Connell passport as he had no authority to confiscate it. Bill Fraser predictably furious and now going hammer and tongs at Surtees. As am I.

  Will forward my copy on the Baycombe Group ASAP.

  NB. There’s no record of a Kenneth O’Connell/John Harwood/Keith MacKenzie flying out of Baghdad airport, but Bill thinks he probably hitched a lift with an army vehicle and drove out through Kuwait. Frankly, with Iraq’s borders so porous, he could have left through any of them.

  Bill seems to think it was my idea to show the photograph at the academy. I haven’t disabused him, but is there anything you haven’t told me about MacKenzie/O’Connell? Did he have anything to do with your abduction, Connie? Because despite your assurance that he didn’t, I’m having doubts.

  Do you still not trust me?

  Love, Dan

  From:

  Brian.Burns@S.A.Wines.com

  Sent:

  Thur 12/08/04 08:52

  To:

  connie.burns@uknet.com

  Subject:

  Telephone calls

  * * *

  Darling,

  Written in haste. I’m in a meeting all morning but will call this afternoon when I’m back at
my desk. Your mother’s terribly upset about the row last evening re the nuisance phone calls. When she asked if Jess Derbyshire could be making them, she meant, was it possible—i.e., had you given Jess our phone number or might she have seen it written down somewhere? (Be fair, C. It was you who planted the seed a couple of weeks ago, otherwise the idea of Jess making them would never have occurred to Mum.)

  From the way you flew off the handle, I suspect you’re more worried than angry, but I don’t think there’s any reason to assume these calls are aimed at you. An adviser at British Telecom suggested they’re the result of random dialling—probably a man—who punched in numbers until a woman answered, and now uses “redial” for the thrill of it. We’ve had numerous calls from people trying to contact you, and we’ve followed your instructions to the letter—said you were out of London and taken their names and numbers to pass on to you. We’ve refused to be drawn into further detail, even when we’ve recognized the voices of your friends.