by Penny Kline
She wanted to say she had, wanted to tell them more. ‘Spoke very quiet he did, and fast, I had a job to keep up with it. Tell you what, after you’ve gone I’ll lie down, close my eyes, and see if any more comes back.’
‘Good idea,’ Tisdall told her, ‘and if it does we’d be grateful if you could contact this number. Ask for Sergeant Tisdall, or leave a message for me to call you back.’
‘I haven’t a phone,’ she said. ‘Never need one normally. Still, I can always ask Mrs Frith if I can use hers.’
Back in the car, Brake asked if they would try Kristen Olsen’s again later.
Tisdall nodded, although he had decided he would return on his own. ‘In the meantime it might be a good idea if we paid one final visit to the hostel for the homeless. No, I tell you what, you go there without me, might notice something I missed.’
The more he found out about Frith the more questions it raised. But there were very few answers. No one knew who he had planned to see that day. The most likely explanation was that Frith had invented the meeting. Why? Because one evening out was no longer enough? Because he was having an affair and the woman involved had insisted they meet up? Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tisdall cherished the notion that solving the Frith case would lead to a resolution of his own problem. In one fell swoop the killer would be arrested, Julie would tell him she had met someone else, and Grace would welcome him back.
A more likely scenario was that Liz Cowie would tell him he and Brake were off the case, Grace would suggest he saw Serena away from the house, and Julie would want to ‘try for a baby’, an expression he disliked almost as much as the thought of her wish coming true.
25
Kristen had slept badly, waking before it was light then drifting off just before six. When the phone rang dead on nine o’clock she was still in bed.
‘Kristen? Is that you?’
She recognised Vi’s deep, gravelly voice and felt her stomach lurch, although nothing in Vi’s tone had suggested she knew how Kristen had knocked on the door of the house in Fishponds.
In the event Vi’s call had turned out be an invitation to ‘pop round for coffee later in the morning’, followed by a friendly inquiry about Kristen’s health.
On her way to the bungalow, Kristen tried to re-live the incident outside the college when the man had given her the address of the house. She had been exchanging a few words with Brigid in the car park then Brigid had crossed the road, and suddenly the man had been by her side, breathing hard and with sweat standing out on his shiny forehead.
Why was he so determined she find out about Neville? And if it was the same person who had sent the anonymous letter, would he have shown up in person?
During the night it had occurred to her that the house in Fishponds was only a short distance from the hostel for the homeless where William had worked. Not that she had ever been there but she knew which road it was in. Could the man outside the college be someone William had met? Had William been blackmailing Neville and the man had found out about it and thought she ought to know? Surely he would have done better to go to the police. But not if he was in trouble himself.
Once, before they left for America, she had said something to William about the fact that he always seemed to have plenty of money. He had laughed then sworn her to silence, saying he earned it doing statistical analyses for PhD students who were hopeless at stats. She had believed him, but supposing he had been lying, supposing she was right about the blackmail. Neville had paid up then William had asked for more and, desperate to prevent Vi from finding out, Neville had decided to …
‘There you are.’ Vi had heard her car and come out to meet her. ‘Been having a clear-out now a batch of paintings has gone. Let’s hope the gallery accepts some of them or they’ll be back to clutter up the place all over again.’
She was talking too much. Or was Kristen imagining it and she was just her usual self? She looked cheerful enough.
‘I’m sure the gallery will want them.’ Kristen followed her round the back where she noticed that two green and white canvas chairs had been positioned under the only tree in the garden, a magnolia that had dropped most of its creamy flower petals on the grass.
Vi pointed to the chair in the shade. ‘I thought we’d sit out here but with fair skin like yours I expect you have to be careful.’
So far Kristen had avoided Vi’s eyes. Now she looked straight into them and smiled. Vi’s expression told her nothing.
In the distance, across towards the Brecon Beacons, clouds were building up that might bring rain later on. Vi was dressed in an old tennis shirt, pale blue cotton trousers with an elasticated waistband, and a pair of leather shoes with no laces.
Kicking off the shoes, she wiggled her toes then scratched the sole of one of her feet. ‘I’m glad you’ve come,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure what I’d have done if I’d been you, but I think I might have made an excuse, stayed well clear.’
Kristen made a feeble attempt to feign incomprehension and regretted it when Vi made an impatient noise with her tongue.
‘Come on, Kristen, don’t let’s beat about the bush. Who told you and why did you take it upon yourself to go and check?’
Kristen moved her chair to make it steadier on the grass. ‘I know what you must be thinking, but it wasn’t like that. A man came up me when I was leaving the college. He pushed a piece of paper into my hand and told me I must go to the address he’d written down that same evening.’
‘What man?’
‘I’d never seen him before. At least, I might have done but I’ve no idea who he is.’
Vi stared at her impatiently, waiting to hear the rest. ‘Didn’t you ask who he was, what he wanted?’
‘Never gave me a chance. No, he did say one more thing. He told me the dog man didn’t do it. If it hadn’t been for that I’d probably have taken no notice. I thought the address must be something to do with William.’
‘So you’ve told the police.’
‘Of course not.’
Vi bent down to pull a dandelion out of the lawn but the leaves broke off, leaving the root in the soil. ‘You’ll have to, though. So they can try to trace this man.’
‘You believe me then.’
Vi was silent for a short time. ‘Yes, I believe you. Whatever you think of Neville and his friends … No, don’t say anything. Only I can’t see why this man, whoever he is, thought it could have anything to do with William.’
‘He didn’t look very bright.’ Kristen was aware her explanation had sounded feeble in the extreme. ‘I suppose he must have picked up some gossip and couldn’t resist interfering, making trouble.’
‘What’s done’s done,’ Vi said firmly. ‘Nev wasn’t very happy about it. Not because you’d seen him and his friends but because he couldn’t think what you were doing there, why you felt the need to spy on him.’
‘I told you,’ Kristen said angrily.
‘Yes, so you did. I’ll make some coffee. When I phoned, did you realise … Yes, of course you did. Nev and I have no secrets. What on earth must you have thought when he came to the door?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘Must have been quite a shock. Of course, people assume cross-dressers are gay.’
‘I don’t.’
‘No, well, they couldn’t be more wrong. Nev told me about it ages ago, before his sister died, explained how it satisfied a need in him.’ She pushed her feet into her shoes. ‘I don’t mind admitting it was a bit of a surprise but later, when we decided to live together … At our age you have different priorities, want an agreeable companion. Anyway, I’m not the easiest person to live with. For a start I’m a frightful cook. And I spend far too much time painting, time when I should be dusting and polishing or whatever it is people do.’ She began to laugh a little hysterically. ‘I’ll tell you something that’ll amuse you. Sometimes Nev asks my advice about make-up, clothes, what goes with what. Advice from me. Can you imagine!’
Kristen smiled but she was thinking about Nev’
s sister Jane, and how she had fallen from the loft. Who had found her? Neville himself, or had it been one of the days when Vi called round? ‘Does anyone else know?’ she asked. ‘Only I was wondering how this man found out.’
‘Only one other person. I suppose I needed someone to talk to, someone I knew wouldn’t be shocked. You’d think I’d have chosen a female friend, wouldn’t you, but the people I know wouldn’t have understood. Cameron took it in his stride.’
‘Good old Cameron,’ Kristen said, watching Vi’s head jerk up.
‘Has something happened?’
‘I was only wondering if he’d told William. You see, as far as the police are concerned William was a compulsive liar who led a double life.’
A magpie had landed on a strip of concrete near the garden shed. It strutted about for a few seconds then gave a squawk and flew up into the trees on the other side of the hedge. A cloud had covered the sun. Kristen shivered and Vi asked if she wanted to go inside the house, or borrow a cardigan except it would be about six sizes too big.
‘I’m fine,’ Kristen said. ‘Has Cameron taken your pictures to London?’
Vi stood up and rubbed the backs of her legs. ‘It’s never any good trying to pin him down to dates and times. Normally he spends four or five days in London, looks up friends, does a bit of buying and selling. All the same, if I haven’t heard from him for several weeks I do start to worry in case he could have had one of his attacks.’
‘Attacks?’
‘He hasn’t had one for well over a year. These new treatments seem to have done the trick. A couple of puffs from an inhaler first thing in the morning. How much has he told you about himself?’
‘Just that he lives on his own in a flat in Kingsdown, sells antique toys. No, you told me that.’
‘He hasn’t mentioned Eve?’
‘She’s his girlfriend, is she?’ Kristen said much too quickly. ‘No, as I said we haven’t talked that much, only about William and someone called Steve. I’m really sorry about what happened yesterday evening. If I’d had any idea…’
Vi waved her words aside. ‘I’d hate to interfere but if he hasn’t told you perhaps I ought to explain, it might help. Eve and Cameron lived together. For about four years, I think. She suffered from depression, but as long as she took her tablets she was all right. Although now and again the illness got out of control and she’d go on big spending sprees, buy all kinds of things she couldn’t afford and didn’t even want. Then she’d sink into a bad state, so low she couldn’t get out of bed in the morning.’
‘Bipolar?’
‘Your William persuaded her the pills were doing more harm than good and she should stop taking them and start talking about herself, her childhood, all that kind of stuff.’ Vi sat down again and hugged her knees, swaying from side to side. ‘When Cameron found her she was still breathing. They rushed her to hospital, did everything they could, but it was a massive overdose, she never regained consciousness.’
Kristen was thinking about the last time she had seen Cameron. His words to her when she was so distraught about Theo. The trouble with you, you think you’ve a monopoly … He had never finished the sentence.
‘When did it happen? When did she die?’
‘Eighteen months ago? No, must be two years. And that wasn’t all.’ Vi was staring into the distance as if what she had to say next was so upsetting she was unable to meet Kristen’s eyes. ‘It was a double tragedy, something Cameron found almost impossible to come to terms with. He had no idea – I’m not sure if poor Eve knew – but when they did the post-mortem they discovered she’d been fourteen weeks pregnant.’
‘I called round this morning,’ Tisdall said. ‘Thought I’d find you in on a Thursday. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, aren’t those the days you work at the college?’
‘I was with a friend.’ Why did she feel the need to explain? Why was his presence so threatening?
‘How’s the boy?’ Tisdall was strolling round the room, examining the prints on the wall, just as Cameron had done the first time he came inside the flat. ‘Your neighbour said he’d been down to see you.’
‘What else did she say?’
‘Some man who might or might not be the father of one of Theo’s friends. She told you about it I think.’
‘Mrs Letts is not exactly a reliable witness.’
‘You didn’t bother to check?’
‘Check?’
‘Phone to see if it really had been him?’
She could feel her cheeks burn. ‘I didn’t see the point. It didn’t sound anything like Matthew’s father.’
Tisdall sat down. ‘Ever heard of a club called Bimbam’s?’
‘No.’
‘Apparently William used to call in there occasionally.’
So he was ‘William’ now, not ‘Mr Frith’. She was thinking fast, trying to decide how much to tell him. Not about Neville, definitely not that. ‘A man stopped me outside the college,’ she said.
‘And?’
‘He said the dog man didn’t do it.’
‘You think it was the man who sent you the anonymous note? What did he look like?’
‘Receding hair, thin, in his late twenties or early thirties.’
‘Similar description to the one your neighbour gave us. On foot or in a car?’
‘On foot when I saw him. Could have parked round the corner I suppose.’
Tisdall was making notes. ‘Why didn’t you get in touch? You must have known he could be the man we’ve been looking for.’
‘Someone who’d committed a murder would hardly be stupid enough to walk up to me and –’
‘Don’t you believe it. Did anyone else see him?’
‘You think I’m making it up. Like you did with the letter.’
He stared at her. ‘Whatever makes you say that? Now, to return to the club William frequented.’
‘I’ve never heard of the place.’
‘No? Well, it’s not important.’ But his tone implied the exact opposite was true. ‘I’ve talked to one or two people who met him there, the woman who runs the place, a few others.’
‘What others? What you’re saying is, you think he was seeing someone else. A married woman whose husband found out.’
‘Steady on.’ Tisdall held up a hand. ‘Does the name Pascale mean anything to you?’
‘No, why?’
‘A friend of William's, or so I've heard.’
‘French, is she?’
‘Not as far as I know. If she is she’s acquired a convincing Bristol accent. Anyway, she assures me she and William were just friends, and I’m inclined to believe her.’
Kristen sat on the edge of the bed. ‘So what do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t want you to say anything. Unless there’s something you think you ought to tell us. I’m only interested in facts, evidence I can corroborate. So far, nothing I’ve discovered leads me to believe William’s death was anything other than a mugging that went tragically wrong.’
‘I suppose he went to this club on Fridays when I thought he was at the hostel. Is this Pascale there every night? What is she, some kind of hostess?’
‘As far as I can tell she goes there for an evening out, sings a little, although I got the impression that was in the past. She shares a house with two other women. They babysit for each other, take turns looking after the kids.’
‘Is that it then?’ Kristen was no longer capable of controlling her anger. ‘Five weeks of new inquiries and the best you can come up with is some woman William was shagging. If there’s more why not tell me now, get it over with? William’s dead, does it really matter what comes out about him as long as it leads to his killer?’
Tisdall looked tired. Almost as tired as she was. ‘Are you married?’ she asked, and from the way he reacted she could have asked if he was a serial killer. ‘Children?’
‘One. A daughter. This business about the nightclub, I wouldn’t want you to make too much of it. The only reason I men
tioned it, I thought William might have said something.’
‘No, you didn’t. You thought if you came up with another humiliating revelation I might break down, start telling you all the secrets I’ve been keeping to myself. Except there are no secrets, or if there are I’m not the person you should be talking to.’
She was crying. Because of William. Because of Theo. Because of Neville, and Cameron, and Vi. Because she was so exhausted she didn’t care about any of it, just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for a hundred years.
‘I’ll make some tea,’ Tisdall said, ‘or would you prefer it if I left?’
‘Tell me about your daughter,’ she said, using her sleeve to dab at her runny nose and watery eyes. He wouldn’t of course because that would be unprofessional, but for a fleeting moment she saw the anguish in his face and suspected she wasn’t the only one whose life was falling apart.
26
It was Kristen’s last day at the college. After what had happened it was unlikely Neville would employ her again, but when she bumped into him in the corridor he acted as though nothing had changed, even repeated how he was hoping to expand the courses to all day Saturday in term time and possibly one evening a week. Three of the children in the first group had gone on holiday so it was down to two boys, Hugo and Jack, and four girls, Lynne, Becky, Amy, and Shannon. Kristen was explaining how easy it was to take two events, or two facts, put them together and make it appear as though one had caused the other.
‘I don’t get it,’ said Becky, grinning at Shannon, ‘do you, Shan?’
Shannon said nothing. She was very pale, looked as though she was sickening for something, and as Kristen watched she put her finger up to the corner of her left eye in an attempt to conceal the nervous tic Kristen had noticed earlier on.
‘Hang on,’ Kristen smiled at each girl in turn but got no response from Shannon, ‘I’m going to give you some examples. How’s this? Twenty children each write a story.’
‘What about?’ asked Jack.
Hugo pulled a face. ‘Doesn’t matter what it’s about, twit face.’
Kristen began again. ‘Twenty children each write a story. The ones with large feet have better handwriting. So that means the bigger your feet, the better your writing.’
