by D. S. Butler
An elderly couple shuffled past my table. He had a newspaper tucked under his arm, and had loosened the collar of his shirt.
“Warm out there today,” he muttered to no one in particular.
I didn’t turn around. I wasn’t the mood for conversation.
They sat down at a table behind mine.
“Look at that, it’s disgusting.” The man chucked his newspaper down on their table.
Despite my original intention to ignore them, curiosity made me turn. I couldn’t make out the smaller text on the front page but I could see the lurid headline – Robin Vaughan fights to clear his name.
My fingers tightened around my glass.
“Nasty man,” the woman commented and pulled a compact mirror out of her old-fashioned handbag.
“Well, that’s the problem with society these days. He can afford a fancy lawyer, so he’ll get off scot free, won’t he?”
“Probably,” his wife murmured in agreement as she peered into the mirror to check her make up.
“Shame he won’t go to prison,” the man grumbled. “I’ve heard what they do to the likes of him if he goes inside. Dirty scumbag.”
“Terry!” his wife exclaimed, leaning forward. “Mind your language,” she said, chastising him.
I tried to tune out the rest of their conversation, but it was too late. A seed had been planted in my mind.
I didn’t know who Terry was, but he had a point. With a well-paid lawyer, Robin Vaughan did have a good chance of getting away with whatever he’d done. And if he got off these charges, did that mean the police would think twice about investigating him in relation to Jenna’s disappearance?
I leant forward, resting my head in my hands. I couldn’t face that. I couldn’t bear the thought of him getting away with whatever he’d done.
I stood up and left the table without leaving a tip. I strode out of the bar and headed straight for Robin Vaughan’s house.
Chapter Thirty-Two
It wasn’t my wisest decision, and I probably should have known better after how things had gone yesterday with Phil. Although I’d had too much to drink, I couldn’t blame the alcohol completely. The obsessive thoughts had taken over my mind, and I couldn’t let things go.
Less than two minutes later, I was standing outside the walls surrounding Robin Vaughan’s residence. There was nobody around, absolutely no sign of the angry mob who’d surrounded his fortress. People moved on fast. Fury and outrage had ebbed away as the residents of Woodstock went back to their everyday lives. In time, his crime would be a distant memory. Would he get away with it?
I moved closer to the gate and placed my finger on the intercom button, hesitating for only a moment before pushing it hard. There was a small camera lens at the top of the intercom, so he’d be able to see me if he was home. The thought of him watching me turned my stomach.
There was no answer. Was he out or just ignoring me? I tried again. But still, there was no answer. I gave the gate a shove, but it didn’t budge. It was made of heavy, solid wood.
I swore and thumped the gate with the side of my fist in frustration. He was there. He just didn’t want to speak to me. The coward.
I only wanted to talk to him. I had to find out whether he’d had anything to do with Jenna’s disappearance.
I placed my hands on the sandstone wall and felt the rough surface scratch my fingers. I looked more carefully at the stone. It was crumbly in spots, but it was a relatively new wall, and having been made in the traditional way, there were many crevices and cracks. The walls were about seven foot high. Close up, it looked imposing but not quite the impenetrable fortress I’d thought. I nodded as I walked along the base of the wall, looking for the most suitable crevices I could use as a handhold or foothold.
Pausing at a good spot, I looked up. Could I really scale the wall? Did I dare?
I looked around, making sure I really was alone. There was a large, old house opposite, but I couldn’t see any signs of life.
I pivoted back to the wall. Could I really climb over it without breaking my neck? And even if I got over the wall, would I be able to get inside the house?
Maybe not. But I could look in the windows, and if Robin Vaughan was at home, it might pressure him into opening the front door to talk to me.
I reached up for the first crevice, stuck my foot in a hole at the bottom of the wall and tried to pull myself up. My first attempt wasn’t successful. I slipped back down, and the rough stone scraped my hands.
I tried again. This time I made it to a second handhold and hung there perilously for a moment before dropping back to the floor.
It wasn’t as easy as it looked.
Again, I reached up, this time trying to move faster, my feet scrabbling against the wall. I kept moving, even as my feet slipped and my grazed fingers began to bleed.
When I made it, puffing and panting, to the top of the wall, I hung there for a moment trying to get my breath back. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so hard.
I didn’t stay draped over Robin Vaughan’s wall for long. If I was discovered, it wouldn’t be easy to explain.
Motivated by the fact I didn’t want anyone to see me perched on the wall, I flung one leg over and straddled the dusty top of the wall.
Then slowly, I slid down the other side, trying to slow my descent with my hands and feet and failing miserably. I plummeted down and landed with a bump at the bottom of the wall.
I felt a little woozy and when I tried to stand, a pain shot up my ankle. I was sober enough to realise that was going to hurt even more later.
Brushing my hands together, I looked around to get my bearings. I’d come down in a lawned area, surrounded by a few well-maintained shrubs. There were no flowers in the garden. The house was straight ahead of me, but I couldn’t see anyone from where I stood.
The security cameras were in full view, but it was too late to worry about that now.
I marched up to the front door, my original plan to sneak around and look in the windows long forgotten. I needed to look Robin Vaughan in the eye and ask him whether he knew what had happened to Jenna.
I pressed my thumb on the doorbell and kept it pushed down. I could hear the cheerful chime inside.
“Open up, you bastard. I know you’re in there,” I muttered.
There was no movement from inside, but I wasn’t going to give up easily. I must’ve stood there for a full minute with my thumb firmly on the doorbell. When the front door finally opened, I blinked in surprise.
The man facing me looked nothing like the flash, cocky Robin Vaughan I’d seen at the fête. The media-friendly, loud, colourful clothes were absent and he looked at least ten years older.
The pathetic man standing in front of me was barely recognisable. He had on a dark red dressing gown that hung open to reveal he wore a grubby white T-shirt and boxer shorts underneath. His mid-length hair stuck up at all angles as though he’d only just woken up. He clutched a bottle of whiskey in one hand as his bleary eyes watched me fearfully.
His lower lip trembled before he spoke. “What do you want?”
His fear gave me courage. I pushed open the door further, barging in and forcing him to stagger back.
“Who are you?” he demanded but there was no power in his voice, and I ignored him and walking further inside the house.
The place was ostentatiously decorated — black and grey flock wallpaper, gilt mirrors and red velvet curtains, which due to the size of the windows must have been custom-made.
I took the first doorway on my left and walked through a large sitting room. This room was decorated in the same shade of purple as a Cadbury’s chocolate bar. A large archway led into another room — a modern kitchen.
“I don’t understand what’s going on.” Robin Vaughan said as he trotted after me.
He didn’t try to stop me. He just stood there shivering, looking like the pathetic figure he was.
“I’m going to look upstairs,” I told him and turned, heading for
the staircase.
He scurried after me. “What for? Are you with the police?”
I ignored his question. If he wanted to think I was with the police that was fine by me. He might be a little more forthcoming.
I went from bedroom to bedroom and even checked all the bathrooms, but there was no sign that a child had been here.
After I checked the last room upstairs, I leant back against the wall and let out a shaky breath. Even if Jenna had been brought here after she’d been taken, there was no reason to believe she would still be here now.
Two years. A lot could happen in two years.
Besides, the police had searched his home. If there was anything to be found, they would have found it. It was stupid of me to think I might pick up on something they’d missed. Did I think I possessed some sort of sixth sense? That I would somehow know if Jenna had been here?
I turned to look at Robin Vaughan who’d been following me from room to room. “What have you done?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, I haven’t hurt anyone.”
I looked at him scornfully.
“You’re not with the police are you?” he asked. “Well, you better leave because the police are on their way.”
I narrowed my eyes. “No, they’re not. You didn’t have a chance to ring them.”
“I pressed my panic button before I opened the door.”
I scrutinised his face, trying to guess whether he was lying to me. If the police were on their way, I was going to be in a hell of a lot of trouble.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I said, even though I knew climbing over someone’s wall and trespassing was wrong. “You let me in.”
He didn’t have an answer to that, and his eyes darted backwards and forwards as he lifted the bottle of whiskey to his lips.
“Have you brought any children here?” I asked him.
He shook his head “No! Honestly, the police got the wrong end of the stick. They found something on my computer, but it wasn’t mine. I dunno how it got there.”
I looked scornfully at the pathetic, lying worm. “You’re sick.”
He held the bottle of whiskey to his chest, dribbling onto his white T-shirt.
Then his gaze lifted and he blinked a couple of times. “It was your niece that went missing, wasn’t it?”
I clenched my fists at my sides and stepped closer to him. “What do you know about Jenna?”
He shook his head frantically, swaying as I took another step forward. “Nothing! I had nothing to do with that. I’m not a monster.”
I shoved him in the middle of his chest. “Yes, you are. That’s exactly what you are!”
He opened his mouth to defend himself but the doorbell rang. A voice travelled up to us through the front door Robin Vaughan had left wide open when he chased after me. They called out, identifying themselves as police.
So, he hadn’t been lying about that panic button, after all.
I thought about making a run for it then decided that would be an even worse decision than the other bad choices I’d made today. I headed for the stairs, determined to get my side of the story heard before Robin Vaughan.
I was met at the bottom of the stairs by two uniformed PCs.
“Who are you?” A stern-faced female PC asked. Her hair was streaked with grey, and her mouth was set in a thin, firm line as she waited for me to answer.
“I’m a neighbour. I just came to see if Mr Vaughan was all right. He wasn’t answering the intercom.”
Robin Vaughan was making his way slowly down the stairs, clutching the banister with one hand and his bottle of whiskey with the other.
“Is everything all right here, Mr Vaughan?” the female PC asked.
He nodded. “Yeah, she’s leaving now.”
“Why did you press the panic button?”
“Because she broke in,” he pointed at me with his whiskey bottle.
“I did not. You let me in.”
“Perhaps we should talk about this outside, please. What’s your name?” the young male PC asked, looking at me suspiciously. He was tall and looked much younger than his female colleague. His sandy hair flopped forward over his forehead.
“She’s the woman whose niece went missing a couple of years ago. She came here to accuse me. It’s not fair. I’m being persecuted.”
“We’ll deal with this, Mr Vaughan. Is the rest of your house secure?” The female PC asked in a cold voice. I could tell she didn’t want to stay here any longer than she had to. I didn’t envy her this part of her job, protecting someone like Robin Vaughan.
I didn’t hear any more of their conversation as the young, sandy-haired officer escorted me outside.
“Name?” he asked.
“Beth Farrow.” There was no point in lying. It would only come back to haunt me.
He nodded. “Mr Vaughan mentioned your niece—”
“My niece is Jenna Creswell. She went missing from Woodstock two years ago.”
I deliberately used the word is.
His eyes softened a little. “So, this wasn’t just a neighbourly visit then?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t hurt him, and he let me in.”
He looked at my bloody fingers and then shifted his gaze to the wall. “I’m going to guess you scaled that wall.”
I stared at the ground.
“Look, you probably don’t want to hear it, but here’s my advice. You stink like a brewery. Go home, sober up and come to the station tomorrow to make a statement.”
I pulled a face. “Why do I need to make a statement? Nothing happened. There was no crime.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re lucky I’m not taking you in now. Go home, sober up, sleep on it, and I’ll see you tomorrow. My name is PC Dawson.” He handed me a card with his name on it and the address of the Thames Valley police station.
I sighed. I suppose it could have been worse, I might be able to get out of this without Mum finding out, or Daniel for that matter. I wondered whether the police departments would talk to each other and whether Detective Inspector Sharp or Sergeant Parker would find out. If they did, they were bound to mention it in front of Mum and Daniel.
What a waste of time. I still had no evidence Robin Vaughan had anything to do with Jenna’s disappearance. What had I expected to happen? Did I really think he would admit everything to me just because I confronted him?
I blinked away angry tears and ran a hand through my hair in frustration.
“It’s not so bad,” the PC said. “I’m sure you’ll just get a ticking off. But it’s above my pay grade to ignore something like this. Come on, where do you live? We’ll give you a lift home.”
So with my cheeks burning with mortification, adding to the rosy glow I’d already had from the alcohol, I was taken home in a marked police car.
Mum came rushing out, and I knew she assumed the police were here with news of Jenna, which of course, made me feel like even more of a failure.
I felt like I’d reached rock bottom, but I was wrong. There was worse to come.
Chapter Thirty-Three
By early evening, my pleasant alcohol buzz had worn off and morphed into the hangover from hell. My head was pounding, which hadn’t been helped by Mum’s sudden urge to vacuum every room in the house.
It would have been better if she’d yelled at me, or at least discussed what I had done. But she completely ignored it, acting as though it hadn’t happened. The hurt and disappointed look on her face said it all, though.
She shot me worried looks when she thought I wasn’t looking, and I knew she didn’t want to talk about it in case she pulled the loose thread that would finally cause me to unravel completely.
Luke finally sent me a text message, saying he was sorry he’d had a busy day but tomorrow would be fine to meet up.
After swallowing two paracetamol, I tried to make myself useful by unloading the dishwasher and watering Mum’s bedding plants.
I was filling the
watering can from the garden tap to water some geraniums when someone frantically hammered on the side gate.
By this time, Mum had finished vacuuming and was now wiping down the windowsills in the sun room in a desperate attempt to keep busy. She paused and looked at me before quickly walking to the side gate to open it.
The gate was on the left side of the house and led directly from the driveway into the back garden.
After Mum had opened the gate, I recognised the woman standing there. Patricia Morrison, who’d been our neighbour for over twenty years and lived three doors away.
“What is it, Patricia? What’s wrong?” Mum asked.
“You’d better come quickly. I knew you wouldn’t want to miss this. The police are carting off Dawn Parsons, and they’re searching the house.”
“Dawn? Why?” I asked, brushing my hands together and walking quickly through the side gate, determined to find out what was going on.
Mum and I charged around the side of the house and out onto the road and Patricia followed us.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But everyone is saying it’s got something to do with your granddaughter, Rhonda,”
Patricia looked at Mum nervously as she spoke.
Mum pressed a hand against her chest and took in a deep breath as we saw police cars parked outside the Parsons’s house. We walked quickly towards the thatched cottage. A number of residents had already gathered outside.
A policeman in a bright yellow jacket was attempting to persuade the crowd to step back out of the way, but people kept nipping forward to get a better view.
I didn’t know what to do. I was repelled and didn’t want to get any closer, but at the same time, I had to know what was going on.
Mum clutched my forearm. “It can’t be anything to do with Jenna, Beth.”
I don’t know who Mum was trying to convince. Me or her. I linked my arm through hers as we walked towards the melee. As we drew level with the house, a female officer emerged with Dawn Parsons just behind her.
