The Lost

by Roberta Kray

Jess looked at him. ‘You owe me,’ she said.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you can begin by telling me the whole damn story.’

  They were almost at Kentish Town by the time Harry had finished relating the events of the afternoon. Jess screwed up her eyes. It had started to snow again, a swirling blanket of white, and she was trying to keep at least some of her focus on the slippery road ahead.

  ‘That is one tangled web.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have lied to you,’ he said. ‘But I honestly didn’t think she’d talk if you came with me.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Jess said. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Do you?’ he said gratefully.

  ‘Of course I bloody don’t!’ she snapped. ‘I thought I could trust you but I quite clearly can’t. What is it with you and that woman?’

  Harry averted his face and stared out through the window.

  Jess tapped her fingers impatiently on the wheel as they waited at yet another set of traffic lights. She glanced over at him. He looked tired and drawn and miserable. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just the frustration talking. I know today hasn’t exactly been a ball for you.’

  ‘No, you’re right to be angry,’ he said. ‘I went behind your back and I shouldn’t. It was wrong.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now,’ Jess said. She could never hold a grudge for long, especially towards people she liked. And for some obscure reason she did quite like Harry Lind. ‘Let’s forget it. Just promise me something – no more secrets, right?’

  Harry nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’

  She edged the car forward as the lights changed to green. Her mind was still processing everything he had told her.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a couple of questions. Why didn’t Sharon go to Grace after Michael Harper died? I mean, her daughter wasn’t in danger any more. Why was Grace told that Sharon was dead too?’

  ‘Because Grace couldn’t just be resurrected, could she?’ Harry said. ‘Sharon had done some major lying to the police and if they found out about it … Even bearing in mind the circumstances, she’d still be in deep trouble. No, the only way she could have been with Grace permanently was to leave London, leave her family and friends and take on a new identity too. Reading between the lines, I suspect Sharon wasn’t prepared to make that sacrifice.’

  ‘Delightful,’ Jess said. She scowled, remembering her own conversation with Sharon Harper. ‘And how did she explain that to Grace when she finally turned up on her doorstep?’

  ‘She claimed she’d done it so that Grace could have a better life. By the time Michael died she was settled with the Corbys in Ireland and seemed happy enough but if she was always going to be waiting for her mother to appear …’

  ‘Oh, very altruistic,’ Jess snorted. ‘And a good way of making sure that she didn’t take it into her head to come looking for her when she was old enough.’

  ‘That could be true,’ Harry said softly, ‘but maybe it’s not that black and white. The Corbys could have put a lot of pressure on Sharon. If she’d begun going over for regular visits Grace would never have really accepted them as her parents and there was a far greater chance of the secret slipping out. And let’s face it, if it had, Sharon wouldn’t have been the only one facing major trouble from the Law. At the moment we can’t be sure what her real motivation was. Only she knows that. Perhaps we shouldn’t be too quick to judge.’

  ‘I guess,’ Jess said reluctantly. She was starting to wish that it was all more black and white. These shades of grey only muddied the waters. ‘So what does Grace think?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘She wants to believe that her mother did it for the right reasons.’ He sighed. Although I don’t suppose it helped smooth things over when she discovered that Sharon had started an entirely new family in her absence; she had two small sons by the time they met again.’

  Jess could barely imagine what Grace must have felt; the sense of betrayal must have been devastating. ‘And does she still see Sharon?’

  ‘Rarely.’

  ‘That’s not surprising.’

  Jess drove in silence for a while, trying to figure out how all this could be connected to Len’s death. Would Grace have been prepared to kill to stop the truth coming out? She couldn’t see why. It was Grace, after all, who was the victim in this unholy mess. Sharon and Jimmy Keppell were better candidates. They both had more to lose.

  ‘Len was murdered because of this,’ she said angrily. ‘I’m sure of it. Do you think it was Keppell?’

  ‘He’d be more than capable,’ Harry said, ‘but why would he take such a risk?’

  ‘Because if it all came out he could be charged with … I don’t know, conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, wasting police time?’

  ‘He could,’ Harry agreed, ‘but only if Sharon and Grace were prepared to give evidence against him. And what were the chances of that? With the Corbys gone, there’s no way of proving he was ever involved.’

  ‘Perhaps he did it to protect Sharon.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘Or maybe Sharon killed Len,’ she said.

  Harry lifted his hands and dropped them wearily back on to his knees. ‘Could she actually have been that desperate? If she knew the story was about to blow she’d have been better off going to the police, coming clean and claiming mitigating circumstances – after all, Grace was being abused – than facing a murder charge.’

  Jess was unwilling to sacrifice all her theories without at least the semblance of a fight. ‘Yes, but people don’t always do rational things. She might have acted on the spur of the moment.’

  Harry lifted his brows but said nothing more.

  They fell into silence again.

  Without much recollection of actually getting there, Jess found herself in the street where Harry lived. She pulled into the nearest empty space, a short distance from his flat, but kept the engine idling.

  ‘So what happens now?’ Harry said tentatively. ‘This is one hell of a story but if you take it to the cops, to the paper, then—’

  ‘I know,’ Jess interrupted. She gave him a long hard look. ‘I do understand the concept of moral responsibility. And although it may surprise you to hear it, I’ve even got a conscience. I’m not some heartless hack who’ll do anything for a headline.’ She paused. ‘I need time to think it through. It’s Len’s funeral on Monday. I won’t make any decision until after that.’

  Harry gave a small grim smile, nodded and then got out of the car. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Just one last thing,’ she said, before he closed the door. ‘Do you swear you’ve told me everything that happened today?’

  He hesitated, thinking of that final kiss.

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, leaning down to look her straight in the eye. ‘Absolutely everything.’

  Harry remained standing on the pavement as she drove away. He waited until the car disappeared around the corner. He felt exhausted, drained of every emotion other than relief. Ellen was still alive; that was all that really mattered.

  Pushing his cold hands deep into his pockets, he began to trudge through the snow towards the flat. It was only as he approached the gate that he felt a weird prickle on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him! Twisting around, he surveyed the street but there was no one in sight. He gazed along the pavement, at the windows of the houses opposite and at all the parked cars. No one. Perhaps he was just imagining it. It had been a long and stressful day. Touching the back of his neck, Harry frowned. He walked up the drive, unlocked the door, closed it behind him and quickly pulled the bolts across.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  By Monday morning the snow was ankle deep and still falling. Harry traipsed down the road to the corner shop. He had rung the hospital and discovered that Ellen had been discharged; now he was fighting the temptation to call her at home. Not a good idea, he knew, as Adam would probably answer the phone.

  By the time he got back with milk and a paper, Val
erie’s red Citroën was parked outside the flat. He felt his heart sink. In his present frame of mind, an argument was the last thing he needed. Was she here to pick up more of her things? If so it might be wiser if he just left her to it and walked around the block for half an hour.

  Had it not been for the weather he might have done exactly that but the prospect of slowly freezing to death was, on balance, marginally less desirable than the inevitable row.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, coming out of the kitchen to greet him. She was wearing a dark red sweater, faded jeans and boots. Her long fair hair was tied back in a ponytail.

  Harry took off his coat and smiled thinly.

  ‘No need to look so pleased to see me,’ she joked. Then, sensing the darkness of his mood, she gave a small apologetic nod of her head. ‘No reason why you should be, I suppose. I should have called first. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s still your home,’ Harry said, a little churlishly. ‘You don’t need to make an appointment.’

  She hesitated as if unsure how to respond. Then she settled for the most placatory option. ‘I was just making coffee. Would you like one?’

  He passed her the pint of milk. ‘Here, you’ll need this.’

  Val went back to the kitchen and Harry followed her. On the way, he glanced briefly round the living room, checking for empty cases or holdalls. There were none in sight. He sat down at the table while she sorted out the coffee.

  ‘How have you been?’ he said.

  ‘Oh, so-so.’ She put a mug in front of him, pulled out a chair and sat down opposite. ‘You?’

  Harry shrugged. ‘Busy,’ he said.

  Her smile, which had been fairly feeble to start with, faded away completely. She had been hoping, perhaps, for some small indication that he might have missed her. When it wasn’t forthcoming she took a sip of hot coffee and then gently cleared her throat. ‘How’s the case going?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ he said shortly. ‘You found out who killed Tommy Lake yet?’

  She sighed. ‘I think we all know who did that. The problem is proving it. Sometimes I wonder if Holt even wants to. He’s so deliberately obstructive, it drives me crazy.’

  ‘He’s not a great one for cooperation – or for female detectives.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘And you haven’t got any leads on Al Webster?’

  ‘Not a whisper,’ he said.

  There was an awkward silence. Harry felt confused and unsettled by her presence. He knew they were tiptoeing around each other, both staying on neutral ground, neither of them comfortable with starting that conversation. He had more than one reason for not wanting to get involved in a lengthy discussion: apart from the fact that he wasn’t prepared for it, that he was still unsure of what he actually wanted, it was also Len Curzon’s funeral at eleven thirty. He had to be there. He had to find out what decision, if any, Jess had made.

  Eventually, when the silence had gone on for too long, she lifted her soft hazel eyes and looked at him. ‘What are we going to do, Harry?’

  ‘Do?’ he repeated disingenuously.

  ‘I know you must be mad at me,’ she said. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have walked out like that. And I shouldn’t have refused to take your calls. It’s just … you didn’t really leave me with too many choices. What was I meant to think when you promised me a meal, a chance to talk, an evening when we were supposed to try and sort things out, and then didn’t even bother to turn up?’ Her lower lip trembled. ‘You really let me down. You didn’t even ring to make one of your usual lousy excuses.’

  Harry heard the dreadful hurt in her voice and winced. He imagined how she must have felt, sitting here and waiting for him. He noticed the dark shadows under her eyes and the sadness in her face. All the old feelings for her came rushing back. She was right; he had treated her badly. He’d been treating her badly for months and she hadn’t deserved any of it. But then, just as he was about to apologize, he suddenly remembered what had happened in the meantime. With startling clarity the image of her and Chapman flashed into his head. His guilt instantly flipped into anger and resentment. He stared at her, astounded. How dare she act like the injured party?

  ‘You’ve got a nerve to talk about being let down!’

  She frowned at him, her eyes widening with surprise. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t act all innocent. I saw you in The Fox last week. I saw you with Dean Chapman.’

  It took a few seconds for the full implication of what he was saying to sink in. ‘Oh God,’ she said, lowering her face into her hands.

  ‘I saw it all,’ Harry said. He could feel the rage, the humiliation growing inside him. ‘I saw you attached to his lips like some bloody limpet.’

  ‘Why didn’t you …’

  ‘What? Let you know I was there?’ Harry sat back and glared. ‘I didn’t want to spoil a lovely moment.’

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ she said. Her eyes, looking up at him again, were brimming with tears. ‘It really wasn’t.’

  Harry could barely stand to look at her.

  She groaned. ‘Yes, okay, I did kiss him but …’

  ‘But it didn’t mean anything, right?’

  Valerie’s eyes flashed bright. ‘No, it didn’t – at least not in the sense that you’re suggesting. You want to know why I did it?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I was tired and fed up and … and feeling insecure with everything that was going on between us. And yes, I’m sure it sounds pathetic – perhaps it is – but I was flattered that someone else was actually interested. If you think that’s a shitty excuse, then you’re right. But it was a kiss, nothing more. I didn’t sleep with him, not that night, not any night.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, provocatively.

  ‘We’re not having an affair,’ she said. ‘I’ve never been unfaithful to you.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  They stared at each other across the table.

  Val was the first to look away. ‘It was a moment of weakness, of stupid drunken weakness,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry that you saw it and I’m sorry if it hurt you.’

  ‘And you think that’s good enough?’ he said.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what would ever be good enough for you.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  Val looked straight into his eyes. Her shaking voice was filled with emotion. ‘You’ve been pushing me away for months.’

  ‘So it’s all my fault,’ he said. ‘That’s rich.’

  She expelled her breath in a long frustrated sigh. ‘Perhaps you should stop being quite so hypocritical. Are you telling me that you’ve never done anything you shouldn’t in all the time we’ve been together?’

  The reproach caught him off guard. Harry thought about snogging Jess in the back of the taxi. He thought about leaning down to kiss Ellen, of the way he had wanted her … still wanted her. By the time he realized that Val’s accusations were little more than a shot in the dark, his guilty hesitation had been enough to condemn him.

  ‘Well, I guess I just got my answer,’ she said. Stumbling to her feet, Val grabbed her coat and stormed out of the flat. She slammed the door so hard behind her that the whole building shook.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Jess was only half listening to the droning voice of the priest. He was reciting a rather drab eulogy, the content of which bore no relation to the man she had known. Had he ever actually met Len? Her gaze, after wandering around the chapel, alighted again on the cheap wooden coffin. A shiver ran through her.

  The turnout was even smaller than she’d expected. There were only fifteen people in attendance: the mourners comprised four relatives, some friends and a smattering of colleagues from the Herald. Toby was sitting beside her in the second row. Hardly a grand send-off, she thought sadly.

  As the tears in her eyes threatened to overflow, she pondered on Len’s last big story. His recognition of Grace Harper had set off a chain of events that had come to a halt, temporarily, with her. Harry’s rev
elations had given her plenty to think about. Armed with a bottle of vodka and too many cigarettes, she had spent all Sunday trying to decide what to do. She still had the dull blinding headache to prove it.

  The decision as to whether she should reveal Ellen Shaw’s true identity, however, had still not been resolved. She mentally listed the reasons why she shouldn’t keep quiet: there was the simple matter of the truth, the fact that the police had been misled and the Theresa Neal inquiry jeopardized, but top of the list was Len’s murder – she had to find out who was responsible for that. On the other hand, there was Ellen’s clearly fragile state of mind. If Harry was right and she had deliberately walked out in front of that car, who could say what she might do next?

  She was still trying to work out if there was any kind of compromise to be made, any means of bringing Len’s killer to justice without destroying Ellen, when the small congregation embarked on a feeble rendition of ‘Abide with Me’.

  Jess stared down at the hymn book. She suspected that Len would never have let anything as minor as a qualm of conscience stand between him and a front page story. He was a hack through and through and a major scoop was everything. She glanced sideways at Toby. God, if he had any idea of what she was withholding, he would hang her out to dry!

  A few minutes later the dark red curtains slid across the coffin, obscuring it from view. She closed her eyes, unwilling to witness the final moments.

  What should I do, you old sod? she found herself silently asking.

  ‘You need a bloody drink, girl,’ she heard him replying and had to stifle a slightly hysterical and thoroughly inappropriate laugh.

  Len’s sister-in-law glanced over her shoulder and frowned. Jess took out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She had met Edith Curzon earlier, a thin pinched woman who having travelled all the way from Birmingham seemed to view Len’s murder as rather more of an inconvenience than a tragedy.

  After a few more bars of solemn music, the funeral was over. Everyone trooped silently out of the chapel. As she left, Jess noticed Harry sitting at the back. He must have come in after the service had started. She knew what he wanted and it wasn’t to pass on his deepest condolences.