The Gifted Child

by Penny Kline

  ‘I’m hoping to do a pilot study. I started one in Ohio.’

  ‘But you had to give it up when William decided to come back to Bristol. Why did you agree to it? No, sorry, don’t answer that. I know I’m coming across as an insensitive bastard but it’s only because…’

  Kristen had stopped listening. She was remembering how William had said if they stayed on in America they’d have to get married or she’d be illegal. Had that contributed to his decision to leave? No, that was ridiculous. What difference would it have made, it would only have been a formality … But supposing William had been lying when he said he wanted them to have their own baby, only not until he found himself a permanent job.

  ‘Talking of exceptional ability.’ Lyle could hardly keep a straight face. ‘How come there are so few women geniuses? People claim it’s because women have to spend so much time looking after kids but what about the ones who don’t have any?’

  ‘The most likely reason is that males, on average, score twice as highly as females on psychoticism, a trait that’s closely related to creativity.’

  ‘Say that again. No, I get it. The mad professor syndrome. There’s nothing crazy about Vi, must be one of the sanest people I’ve come across. Still, she’s hardly a genius.’

  ‘You’ve known her quite a time?’

  He counted on his fingers. ‘Three years. We met when one of her paintings won a prize at an amateur art society exhibition. I could see she had potential, just needed someone to tell her how to market the stuff.’

  ‘What about her teacher? She mentioned someone called Brian.’

  ‘Oh, him,’ he said scornfully, ‘I daresay he’s a reasonable enough teacher but he knows about as much about the London art scene as …’ He broke off, standing up and crossing to the bar, and she watched with annoyance as he chatted with the landlady for a couple of minutes before returning with replacement drinks.

  When he sat down again his face was serious. ‘On the few occasions I talked to William I got the impression you spent most of your spare time looking after his son. Before he decided to go to the States you had a job at the university too, did you?’

  ‘I was teaching at a comprehensive.’

  He nodded. ‘So you could pick Theo up from school, and look after him during the holidays and half terms. I don’t know how to say this, but obviously it’s important to you, finding out what happened, whether he really was the victim of a mugging that went wrong.’

  His eyes were partially closed, as if he was finding the whole conversation tedious. In that case, why had he bothered to get in touch? He was under no obligation and appeared to have taken very little interest in the murder until she contacted him. Under the table her fists had clenched.

  ‘If you want the truth,’ he said, speaking too loudly then lowering his voice when he noticed how people had turned to stare. ‘Steve couldn’t stand the guy, said he was a troublemaker, caused havoc wherever he went. The reason I’m telling you, the reason I’m here now, is I don’t want you finding things out from other people, least of all from the cops. I won’t bore you with the details but I could introduce you to a fair number of people who…’

  Kristen never heard the rest. She reached the heavy glass door, dragged it open, and the noise of passing traffic blotted out every other sound.

  14

  Someone was leaning on Kristen’s doorbell then a face peered through the window and, dragging the cover over her unmade bed, she hurried to let him in.

  ‘Good.’ The quietness of Tisdall’s voice alarmed her. ‘I hoped I’d catch you.’

  ‘Theo went missing, but he’s turned up.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean … A mix-up, outside a shop. He’s coming here at the weekend.’

  ‘Good.’ He followed her, talking all the time and irritating her as he always did with the way he alternated between sounding almost like a friend, then reverting to polite formality. ‘This hostel where Mr Frith did voluntary work – how many evenings a week did you say it was?’

  ‘I told you. Tuesdays and Fridays.’

  ‘Until you went to America.’ He had the sympathetic expression of someone who was going to tell you something you wouldn’t want to hear. ‘I’ve spoken to Daniel Joseph, who runs the hostel, and he says Mr Frith gave up working there on Fridays three or four months before you left.’

  ‘Why didn’t you find this out before?’

  Tisdall frowned. ‘Sloppy checking, I’m afraid, although that might be a little unfair. At the time of the first inquiries, Joseph was on holiday and the man standing in for him had never met Mr Frith, just looked up an old duty roster and assumed the hours had remained unchanged. After you returned to Bristol he was in most evenings, was he?’

  Kristen struggled to keep calm. ‘He was trying to find a job, had to see people who might be able to help.’

  He nodded and they sat in silence for several moments, with Kristen wondering if he was hoping to force her into admitting she had known about the hostel all along. But when he spoke it was to ask why William had been unable to return to his job at the university.

  ‘You can’t leave and expect to be taken back a few months later. I don’t imagine Alex Howell was very pleased he’d thrown in the job in Ohio. What you’re trying to say – William pretended he was working at the hostel but really he was having an affair?’

  ‘There are reasons why he might have wanted to keep you in the dark. Perhaps he was moonlighting, wanted to make some extra cash.’

  ‘Or doing something outside the law, have you thought of that?’

  Tisdall looked over her shoulder at the crumpled bed. ‘There’s probably a simple explanation. It made sense to ask you first. You might have forgotten he’d cut it from two nights to one.’

  ‘Either I’ve been lying to you or I’ve told you the truth as far as I know it and William went out every Friday, pretending he was going to the hostel.’

  Tisdall stood up. ‘If you think of anything…’

  ‘I’ve told you everything.’ But she knew what he was saying. The information he had given her might trigger off a memory, a stray remark William had made, an evening when he had come back even later than he usually did.

  Tisdall was hardly out of the flat before the phone started ringing.

  It was Ros.

  ‘Me again, Kristen. About next weekend, would it be terribly inconvenient if we changed it to the one after? My father has decided to pay us a visit – I expect William told you he lives in the south of France – and it would a shame if he and Theo missed each other.’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ She had barely taken in the news about William’s nights out. Now another blow.

  ‘Theo was disappointed when I told him but I’ve shown him the new date on the calendar and he’s counting the days. Oh, hang on, here he is.’ Ros’s voice faded but Kristen could still hear what she was saying. ‘Darling, it’s Kristen, come and talk to her, tell her what you’ve been doing.’

  ‘Hello.’ Theo sounded as if he had a cold.

  ‘Theo, it’s lovely to hear your voice, how are you? Have you been visiting lots of interesting places?

  ‘We went to the seaside but there wasn’t any sand, only stones.’

  ‘Oh, Theo,’ Ros shrieked, ‘you had a wonderful time.’

  ‘Did you get my letter?’ Kristen asked.

  ‘I was going to write one back but Mum said I could stay the night with you, only now Grandpa’s coming.’

  ‘But it won’t be long till you come here.’

  Ros came back on the line. ‘He’s had a bit of a snuffle, nothing serious and he’s over the worst. We had a day trip to Brighton. John drove us down. Marvellous sea air and all those fascinating little shops. Anyway, I won’t keep you. Bye for now, and nearer the date I’ll let you know the exact time we’ll be arriving. Oh, by the way, you remember I told you about the filming in Yorkshire? Looks as if it may actually come off. Only be two or three days and fortunately K
imberly’s agreed to sleep here.’

  After Ros rang off, Kristen ate a Mars bar in three bites, and washed it down with a glass of red wine. Agonising questions piled up in her head. Where had William gone those Friday nights? He had told her the hostel was understaffed, which was why he was often back so late. Had he ever spoken the truth? All the time they were together, had he been sleeping around while pretending they had such a perfect relationship? During the months before they left for America, they had both been working hard and often gone to bed exhausted. Then, in Ohio, the apartment had been cramped and Theo had found it hard adjusting to a new school. How often had they made love? Once a fortnight? Less? When things were easier, when they felt more settled … but they never had. Lately, it had even crossed her mind that William had asked her to live with him because he thought it would make it more likely the judge awarded him custody of Theo. Or perhaps she was simply a useful person to look after his child. But it hadn’t been like that, they had loved each other and no one, not even William, could have pretended that convincingly.

  Bimbam’s was more crowded than last time. Tisdall showed his identification to the same man as before and was escorted to Mrs Ronane’s office only to discover someone else sitting in her chair, a fat man with hair so greasy Tisdall half expected drops to slither onto the collar of his jacket.

  ‘DS Tisdall,’ he said, ‘I spoke to Mrs Ronane last Tuesday.’

  In spite of his weight, the man had leapt out of his chair as if he had received an electric shock. ‘Mrs Ronane won’t be back until next week. If it’s about the new licence.’

  ‘I’m looking for Pascale.’

  ‘Oh, is that all?’ The man’s chins sank onto his chest with relief. ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘Nothing. I need to ask her a few questions, nothing to do with the club. One of your staff suggested she might be able to help with some inquiries we’re making.’

  The man made no comment, asked no questions, and escorted Tisdall to the bar where he had a word with a bloke, busy polishing glasses, and disappeared back into his room.

  ‘Over there.’ The barman jerked his head towards two women dressed in the usual get-up of short skirts, low-cut tops, and high-heeled shoes. They were watching him, as if they had been waiting for him and as he approached the spot where they were standing one of them moved away.

  ‘You wanted me?’ The remaining woman was younger than her companion, probably in her mid-thirties, and better-looking, quite classy. Her hair was a reddish-brown mass of curls, with a fringe that covered her eyebrows, and a light covering of freckles on her nose. Looking at her reminded Tisdall of how he had once been obsessed with getting Julie into bed. Was that all life was about? Males picking up as many females as they could get their hands on. And then what? Did he want Grace back because she no longer wanted him? No, Grace was different.

  ‘You’re Pascale?’ he asked, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your other name. I spoke to someone called Glen earlier in the week and he told me you might be able to help.’

  She gave him a warm smile. ‘Shall we sit down, my feet are killing me. If it’s about Will, I’ve a theory or two you might be interested in. Or there again you might not.’

  Tisdall followed her to a table in a dark corner. ‘If you know something you should have contacted us weeks ago.’

  ‘There’s knowing and knowing. I can’t tell you anything definite but if you’re having doubts about this dog man person I reckon it’s about bloody time.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Her perfume smelled expensive although, as Julie often pointed out, Tisdall was no expert on such matters. He felt sleepy. Maybe it was the lack of air-conditioning. He’d been hoping to talk to the woman well away from other customers but having their conversation blocked out by the noise around was preferable to having it overheard by the fat slob in the office.

  ‘To explain that I’d have to tell you about Will.’ She placed a hand on the table and her fingers kept time with the rhythm of the music. ‘Good friends we were, but nothing more and you can believe it or not, makes no difference to me. Most men, I won’t say they only want one thing since there’s plenty not satisfied with that. They like a good listener, someone to make them feel cared for, like when they were kids and their mum kissed them goodnight and tucked them up in bed.’

  ‘That’s what Frith was like?’

  ‘No! What I’m trying to explain, he wasn’t the little boy type. In fact, I can’t imagine him wanting his mummy even when he was a kid.’ She turned her head and Tisdall saw Glen come into the bar, glance in their direction, and pretend not to have noticed them. ‘And don’t call him Frith,’ Pascale said, ‘like he wasn’t a person, like he’s just part of a murder investigation. Some loved him, some hated him, but me … If I knew the person who did it I’d pay someone to shoot the fucker in the back.’

  ‘These people who disliked him, I don’t suppose you’d be prepared to give me a list.’

  She gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘What I mean, people took notice of him. He wasn’t the kind who gets overlooked.’

  She had whetted his appetite. Now he was in danger of leaving the place with nothing more than the opinion of one of Frith’s obvious admirers.

  ‘What happened to the kid?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I heard he’d gone back to his mother, only that’s not what Will would have wanted. He loved that boy, and he was fond of her and all.’

  ‘You mean Kristen Olsen.’

  She nodded. ‘I never met her. Well, I suppose that goes without saying. Felt sorry for her, stuck at home with the boy while Will was out enjoying himself but I daresay it made him nicer to her when he got back home.’

  The club was so crowded Tisdall’s groin was being pushed against the table. He decided to drop the subject of Frith for the time being and ask Pascale what went on at the club apart from the usual after-hours drinking.

  ‘You only come here on Saturdays?’ he said, ‘is that right?’

  ‘Glen told you. I’m not on the game if that’s what you’re thinking, it’s just somewhere to go. Will and I used to have these discussions – about what makes people tick, about life and that.’

  The woman she had been talking to when he came into the bar had edged closer. Pascale looked up and gave her a wink.

  ‘Lisa,’ she told Tisdall, ‘she’s on her own like me. There’s three of us shacked up together.’

  ‘I see.’ He was thinking about Brake’s vain attempts to find out where she lived. ‘Glen mentioned a man who repairs musical instruments.’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Ned’s old enough to be my grandfather, only don’t have a go at Glen. Poor kid, he picks up bits and pieces then makes out people like to confide in him. No, I don’t mean he’s simple, just a vivid imagination and no one to keep him on the straight and narrow.’

  Lisa had pulled up another chair. ‘We take it in turn to look after the kids,’ she explained. ‘Dotty’s with them tonight. Better than being stuck on your own in some high-rise dump.’

  Tisdall was irritated by her presence. On the other hand she must have known Frith too. ‘Sounds like a sensible arrangement.’

  ‘Sounds like a sensible arrangement,’ Pascale imitated, patting the back of Tisdall’s hand to show she meant no offence. ‘I’ve told you all I know. If I think of anything else I’ll give you a call. Write your name and number on my wrist and I won’t wash it off for a week.’ She tried to stand up but the table had wedged her into the corner.

  ‘I haven’t quite finished.’ Tisdall made it clear he was including Lisa in the conversation. ‘You’re aware of the time and place where William Frith was killed?’

  Pascale shrugged. ‘Only what we read in the paper.’

  He looked at her closely and decided he had underestimated her age, she was nearer forty. ‘People must have talked about it. Incidentally, when was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Saw him or talked to him?’

  ‘Either. Both.’

&nbs
p; She paused, deliberately keeping him waiting. ‘To talk to, that would be just after he came back from the States, although he only called in for an hour or so.’

  ‘The day he was killed he’d gone out to meet someone he thought might give him a job.’

  Lisa looked puzzled. ‘Why would he want to do that? He was going back to his old job in the autumn.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Tisdall asked.

  ‘He did, of course.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea who he might have been meeting? And you say you both saw him again only not to speak to?’

  ‘Two days before …’ Pascale broke off and the expression in her eyes convinced Tisdall she had been genuinely fond of Frith. ‘I saw him at the shopping centre. He was with this woman.’

  ‘It could have been Kristen Olsen.’

  Pascale shook her head. ‘He told me how Kristen looked, described her in detail. This one … no, sorry, I can’t help, there was nothing about her that stuck in your mind.’

  ‘Oh, come on. Tall? Short? Fat? Thin? What age would you say she was?’

  ‘Couldn’t tell you, not specially young but definitely not old. Anyway, she could have been a stranger wanting directions. They were standing on the corner near the Odeon, where the bus comes. Then they split up and went in different directions.’

  ‘And you never saw him again?’

  ‘I told you.’ She spoke quietly. ‘What would be the point in keeping something back?’

  Tisdall said nothing. He was thinking about Kristen Olsen, wondering if she had known all along that Frith left her looking after the boy so he could go out and enjoy himself. Hardly grounds for murder, but he was beginning to doubt most of what he had been told about Frith.