Feeling Bad (Anna McColl Mystery Book 2)

by Penny Kline

  ‘The sea,’ he said. ‘I love it. We used to go sailing with my father before — ’ He broke off, running his finger round the rim of his glass. ‘Right then. Luke, how long d’you suppose he’ll be in hospital?’

  ‘It’s hard to say. I saw him yesterday and I’ll be going again tomorrow.’

  ‘Lucky old Luke. I mean, he’s lucky having such a devoted guardian. My mother phoned, wanting to know what she was supposed to do. Visit him on the ward? Wait till he comes out? Pretend it never happened? By the sound of it just thinking about the place had given her one of her tension headaches.’

  ‘I think it’s probably better not to visit.’

  ‘You do? Good. My father had told her to leave well alone and I agreed.’ He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. ‘You’ve met my mother. Poor old thing, she doesn’t have much of a life.’

  It was strange hearing Brigid Jesty described as a poor old thing. Carl Redfern had used the same phrase to describe Paula.

  ‘She used to be an actress,’ said Michael. ‘Did quite well back in the sixties. Then she married Dad and gave it all up.’

  ‘Couldn’t she have gone back to it later on?’

  ‘I suppose. But it’s a tough business, once you’ve lost touch, out of the swing of things.’

  He lapsed into silence and I guessed he was deciding how much to tell me about his father.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘starting to get a hang of the family dynamics, are you?’ He laughed. ‘You’ll find I’m reasonably well up with the jargon. I do voluntary work for a Housing Trust that finds homes for kids who’ve been in trouble. Working with some of them calls for a smattering of psychological know-how.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Of course I’ve only read the softer kind of psychology. Not the scientific stuff.’

  I pulled a face. ‘The first lecture I ever had the head of department took great delight in informing us that whereas we might have thought psychology was about helping people, in fact it was about controlling them.’

  ‘And was he right?’

  ‘Yes and no.’

  ‘Diplomatic answer. Anyway, where was I? Luke’s problems began around the age of five or six when someone stuck a label on him: ‘gifted child’. The kiss of death, if you ask me, and for Luke of all people … He was always pretty anxious. The brainy, sensitive one, whereas I was categorized as the tough, self-sufficient type. Family myths, isn’t that what they call them?’

  I watched him finish his drink, then wait for me to follow suit. ‘Same again?’

  ‘I’ll get them.’ I stood up and collected his glass, expecting him to protest, insist on paying for everything, but he stayed where he was.

  ‘When you come back I’ll give you the run down on my father, then you must tell me about yourself.’

  The landlord knew me a little.

  ‘What’s it to be, Anna? Don’t usually see you in here this time of day.’

  He glanced at Michael, who had his head down and seemed to be turning the pages of a notebook.

  ‘Didn’t know you were a friend of Michael Jesty. Only know him by sight myself but he helped my sister’s boy. Been in trouble with the police, nothing serious but you know how it is, one thing leads to another. Michael Jesty found him somewhere to live, helped him get back on his feet.’

  I nodded, handing him a five-pound note and waiting while he counted out the change.

  When I returned to the table there was no sign of Michael. For a moment I thought he must have left, then I saw him standing by the pay phone. He punched out a number and whoever it was he was ringing answered straight away. It was a brief call, the kind where a piece of information is passed on at once without wasting time on social chit chat.

  When he came and sat down he looked pleased.

  ‘Right, where were we?’ He took off his jacket and hung it over the arm of the seat.

  ‘You know Luke took an overdose,’ I said.

  ‘End of April. Not a serious attempt, was it, more of a cry for help.’

  ‘It could have killed him. If you absorb enough paracetamol it destroys your liver. Takes about a week or ten days and there’s nothing anyone can do. People don’t realize.’

  ‘Should it be on sale to the general public?’

  I shrugged. ‘I think there should be more of a warning on the container.’

  He thought about this for a moment, then started talking fast as though time was running out but there was still a fair amount of information I needed to know.

  ‘When I said Luke was always pretty anxious I didn’t want you to think I’m unsympathetic, it’s just that he was the sort of kid who worries if his homework’s anything less than a hundred per cent perfect. I felt sorry for him, I really did. Of course, being that much older I had a better insight into the problems between my parents and how they were affecting us. Luke seemed to blame himself for every little thing that went wrong in the family.’

  ‘Are you talking about when he was at primary school or later on?’ I was trying to steer the conversation round to their sister’s death, but without seeming to have a morbid curiosity.

  ‘Primary school, secondary school. Then when it happened … ’

  I waited, looking down at my drink, aware that Michael was watching me. He had placed one of his hands on the table and I noticed that it was exceptionally long and narrow — the one feature he seemed to have inherited from his father.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t really like talking about this but I will if you think it’ll help. I’m not sure how much Luke’s told you already. My mother said you’ve been seeing him for several weeks but haven’t been able to get much out of him.’

  ‘He finds it difficult,’ I said, trying not to sound as irritated as I felt. ‘We have to take things slowly.’ I paused. ‘You were telling me about your sister. I’m very sorry. I didn’t know — not until your mother … ’

  I looked up and noticed a puzzled expression on his face.

  ‘Luke never told you about Diana? Oh well, I suppose I can understand that. He was only sixteen when the accident happened.’

  ‘Accident?’

  I realized I had assumed Diana had become ill. Something awful like meningitis or kidney disease.

  ‘Luke and Diana had taken the dog for a walk. Stupid great thing. Big, black and hairy. The crazy thing was it had been my father’s idea we should have a dog. I suppose it went with his idea of country living. Anyway, nobody had bothered to train the creature and it saw a cat or something and dashed straight across the main road. It must have happened in an instant. Diana rushed after it and … ’ He stared at the carpet, then lifted his glass, splashing beer on the table. ‘She died in hospital two days later. My father blamed Luke.’

  I was horrified. ‘But how could he? What was Luke supposed to have done?’

  ‘I know. I suppose he just had to find someone to hit out at. Not that he ever said very much but we all knew what he was thinking. You see, Diana was his favourite — the daughter he’d always wanted. He withdrew from the rest of us, became even more of a workaholic. In my opinion, for what it’s worth, he doesn’t want to get over it. Coming to terms would be a betrayal. Maybe someone like you would understand how he feels.’

  I was thinking fast, shocked by what I had heard and ashamed at my enormous sense of relief. No wonder Luke’s reaction to Paula’s death had been so extreme. It was all beginning to make sense. He hadn’t pushed her. The accident outside the Hippodrome had nothing to do with his violent fantasies. For Luke, history had repeated itself and once again he was blaming himself. All his old feelings about his sister’s death had been resurrected. It explained too why Peter Jesty had seemed so indifferent to his son’s well-being, and why Brigid Jesty had been so nervous, on edge.

  I yawned. I couldn’t help myself. The tension of the last few days had dissipated. I was exhausted with the relief of knowing that Paula’s death was not my fault.

  Michael stood up. He
looked sad, strained.

  ‘I’ll have to leave now I’m afraid but if there’s anything else … I don’t suppose Luke’ll be going back to work in the shop. If he needs some cash to tide him over I’ll be more than willing.’

  ‘I’ll give you my address and phone number,’ I said. It was the least I could do after he had gone to so much trouble. In any case, it was reassuring to know that at least one member of Luke’s family was prepared to provide some practical help.

  *

  I drove home through Redland. Not the shortest route but I wanted to look at the cards in the window of the newsagent’s near Doug and Elaine’s. My last meeting with Doug had made me uneasy and, now that I could stop thinking about Luke as a possible murderer, I was free to speculate about what had been going on in his life during the weeks preceding Paula’s death. Was there something Doug knew about but was keeping to himself? Were Doug and Elaine having problems and, if so, had Luke got caught up in their domestic difficulties?

  As I passed the row of shops I could see the place was deserted apart from a solitary man leaning against an advertising hoarding with a half-empty bottle in his hand. Turning left into a side-street I parked the car — too close to the corner but I would only be gone a couple of minutes — and returned to the main road.

  The first shop was a greengrocer’s with one of its windows boarded up. Next in line was a dry cleaner’s, then a video rental place that doubled as an off licence: everything on tap for a satisfactory evening’s entertainment.

  The newsagent’s was on the corner. Outside, a metal bin, wrenched from its stand, leaned to one side. Greasy newspaper, crushed drink cans and something that looked like a purple vest were in danger of spilling out on to the pavement. A glass panel by the entrance to the shop protected half a dozen yellowing, curled-up cards. Divan bed, good as new and a phone number that was indecipherable. Want to Earn Five Hundred Pounds a Week? Own car essential. Three other cards offered personal services under various euphemistic guises. The sixth was typed in smudgy red and black ink. Picture Framing Classes for beginners. Sat. 7-9. Tools provided. Ring Neil between six and eleven.

  I made a note of the number, glanced round guiltily as though I expected Doug to be watching me, then walked quickly back to the car.

  *

  When I arrived back at the flat, Aaron, Janos’s dog, was sniffing the begonias in Ernest and Pam’s front garden. I stroked his head, then ran up the steps two at a time.

  My living-room smelled of lavender and beeswax. A quick spray and polish first thing in the morning had achieved its effect but already the dust was reclaiming its position on the bookshelves and television. Taking my diary from my pocket I memorized the figures I had scrawled on the back page and picked up the phone.

  It rang four times, then a man’s voice answered.

  ‘Who is it?’ He sounded as though he suffered from asthma. I could hear the wheezing when he breathed.

  ‘Is that Neil? I’m sorry, I don’t know your other name but I saw your card in the newsagent.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘It said you run classes in picture framing.’

  ‘Not any longer.’ The wheezing was getting worse.

  ‘But you used to.’

  ‘They never really got off the ground.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ It was important to stop him ringing off. ‘Will you be having any more?’

  ‘I doubt it. Only had one customer. We wound it up. Must be over a month ago.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. Are you sure it was as long ago as that?’

  But the line had gone dead.

  I sat down heavily. The feeling of euphoria, when I found out why Luke had reacted to the accident so badly, had evaporated. Doug had lied about the framing class. Elaine had said he returned to the house just before the police brought Luke home; but so what, he could have been anywhere. Out for a drink with friends, unwilling to admit to Elaine that the class had been a non-starter, using it as an excuse for a Saturday evening at the pub. The irony was that Elaine wanted more time alone in the house. I wondered if they ever really talked. About Doug’s redundancy and the likelihood he would be permanently unemployed for the rest of his life. About Elaine’s job at the supermarket. About Luke.

  *

  My thoughts shifted to Michael Jesty. It had been a relief talking to him but it had forced me to re-examine my whole approach to helping Luke. I should have insisted, right from the start, that he provide me with at least a sketchy account of his life up to date. It had been wrong to concentrate on gaining his confidence, on trying to reduce some of his psychosomatic symptoms. Diana’s death, even though it had taken place six years ago, must have haunted him ever since. During his brief time at Oxford had he felt that his father was glad to be rid of him? Was that why he had returned home and then, when he found he was unwelcome, moved out and found himself a bed-sit, condemning himself to a lonely, isolated existence?

  I closed my eyes and Diana’s accident merged with Paula’s. Better to face up to your worst imaginings. Mangled bodies, crushed beneath heavy wheels. Limbs wrenched off or twisted at unnatural angles. Bones sticking through ripped flesh. I sat up straight and focused on the carriage clock that my father had given me when he moved to a smaller house. Another school of thought says it’s better to shift your thoughts away from morbid images. To kill them stone dead before they get a hold. Wasn’t that what I had been trying to persuade Luke to do? But when I tried to practise what I preached the images returned in the form of bad dreams, nightmares that forced me awake and reminded me that sleeping alone had more than one disadvantage.

  Outside in the street Aaron had paused in the middle of the road and was sniffing the evening air. A shiver twitched the skin between my shoulder blades. I ran downstairs, put my hands either side of his tail and pushed him hard in the direction of the steps leading down to Janos’s basement flat.

  7

  Carl Redfern’s parting words kept going round in my head. ‘I can’t think how in hell it happened. Paula was always so bloody careful.’

  Careful people got killed in road accidents, of course they did, but did they allow themselves to be forced off the pavement when the pedestrian lights had changed to red?

  During the night I had lain awake going over and over my conversations with Luke, picturing him sitting in my office, always wearing the same torn jeans, the same blue and white sweater. The sweater — where was it? Not in his bedroom. I’d checked when I packed his zip-up bag. In Elaine’s washing machine? Lying in a crumpled ball under the bed? Or perhaps he had left it in the herbal remedies shop.

  I rang Doug, who asked me to hold on while he investigated, then returned several minutes later to say he had searched Luke’s bedroom and several other parts of the house, including the garden shed, but there was no sign of the sweater.

  Something stopped me phoning the shop. Maybe it was the thought of Bob, who would ask if I had seen Carl — he had looked the kind of person who could easily cause trouble — but, in any case, Luke was unlikely to have left his sweater at work. Once, on a hot afternoon when I had suggested he take it off, he had told me he wore it all the time, his voice implying that it was almost like a lucky mascot, that without it something awful would happen to him.

  I picked up the phone, dialled the number of the police station and asked for DS Whittle. It was only an off-chance and common sense told me it would have been better to stay well clear of the police, but some instinct pulled me in the opposite direction.

  Howard Fry answered.

  ‘Oh.’ He was the last person I wanted to talk to. My meeting with Graham Whittle had been informal, almost social. Bringing Inspector Fry into the case was quite another matter. But there was no case. I was being ridiculous. ‘Anna McColl.’ I tried to sound as casual as possible. ‘Sorry to bother you, it’s nothing really but Luke Jesty — did Sergeant Whittle tell you — ’

  ‘Oh, hallo, Anna. Yes, I was sorry to hear what happened, and am I right in think
ing you’re not entirely happy about the circumstances of the accident?’

  So he and Whittle had discussed my visit to the police station.

  ‘Oh. No.’ I sounded a little too emphatic. ‘Nothing like that. I’m just trying to find out as much as possible so I can help Luke.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘He’s not being very communicative at the moment. It’s difficult to get much out of him.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘The thing is, Luke had a blue and white sweater he wore all the time. It’s only an off-chance but I wondered, d’you know what Paula Redfern was wearing at the time of the accident?’

  ‘I don’t but I could certainly find out. Hang on.’

  While I waited I cursed myself for making the call. Was it really about Luke’s sweater or was it a semiconscious wish to diffuse responsibility, to bring the police in while at the same time trying to keep them out. If only Luke would start talking rationally, tell me everything he knew about the accident, explain the nature of his relationship with Paula.

  Howard Fry came back on the line. ‘Anna?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve had a look at the report of the accident and you’re right. She was wearing jeans and a blue and white sweater.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, quite sure, you can see the report yourself if you think it’ll be any help.’

  ‘No. I mean, thanks very much. The thing is,’ I lied, ‘Luke goes over and over what happened in his mind and he has this obsession with getting the details exactly right.’

  There was a short silence. ‘If there’s anything else you know where I am.’

  He rang off and I realized I was holding the receiver so tightly it had made a ridge along the tips of my fingers.

  My next client would be in the waiting room, watching the door, checking her watch. I ran downstairs to collect her.

  ‘Mrs Powers?’