by Penny Kline
One or two of them giggled. Another said she couldn’t draw.
‘You must be fair on yourself,’ I said. ‘Draw your good points as well as the parts you don’t like. The reason behind this exercise is to help you to understand how you feel about your own body.’
I passed round the paper and pencils and for five minutes we sat in comparative silence. At one point somebody asked if they were allowed to rub out. For the rest of the time, with a few anxious glances in my direction, they concentrated on the job in hand.
There was not enough space in my office to accommodate eight people so we were using one of the downstairs rooms. I thought I could smell dry rot but perhaps I was imagining it, although the whole building could have done with some updating and a fresh coat of paint.
Halfway through the drawing session Heather knocked on the door, apologized for interrupting, but could I take a telephone call.
Outside in the passage she apologized again.
‘Sorry, Anna, but it sounded important. Detective Inspector Fry. He didn’t think it ought to wait.’
I took the call in my room, listening for the click as Heather replaced her receiver.
‘Hallo?’
‘Anna, Howard Fry speaking. I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily but a witness has come forward.’
‘A witness?’
‘She’s thoroughly unreliable, someone you’d almost certainly describe as an attention-seeker. All the same, we’ll have to make the usual enquiries.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Hang on a moment. I have her statement on my desk.’
I heard papers being shuffled, Fry clearing his throat before he came back on the line.
‘I won’t read it all. The gist of it is that she noticed a woman and a tall fair-haired man having a heated argument. Then moments later she saw the woman fall in front of the traffic.’
‘I don’t believe it. Who is this witness?’
‘As I said before. I’m extremely sceptical.’
‘Why didn’t she come forward before?’
‘Exactly. She claims to be afraid of the police but there’s nothing on file. No record. Anyway, she says now her conscience has got the better of her, she’s afraid the man might do it again. I’m really phoning on behalf of Sergeant Waters. He thought you should know about it and he also wanted to check that Luke Jesty’s still in hospital.’
‘He’s not.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘He’s in my flat. I’ll bring him round to the police station. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’
‘If you could. Apart from anything else Sergeant Waters needs a statement about the accident.’
‘You’ve talked to other witnesses — people who were waiting on the … ’
‘Of course. The pavement seems to have been crowded with theatre-goers — and a coach party, the worse for wear, coming out of that pub behind the — ’
‘What did they see?’
‘Nothing that’s much use to us.’
‘Until this witness came forward.’
‘Exactly.’
When I returned to the compulsive eaters they were talking about their children and one of the teachers at the local school. Their abandoned drawings lay face down on their laps. They picked them up, shielding them from view with their hands.
‘I don’t want to see the drawings,’ I said, my voice shaking a little, although nobody seemed to notice. ‘I’d just like each of you to describe how it felt when you were drawing yourself. Who’d like to start?’
A small woman with a round worried-looking face raised her arm. ‘I don’t mind. I felt bloody awful, except when I got to my feet.’
‘You like your feet?’
‘They’re the least awful part.’
Some of the others laughed nervously. I glanced at the clock, resisting the temptation to cut short the session with some excuse about not wanting to do too much since it was our first time together. I had forgotten that, as soon as he felt up to it, Luke was supposed to have made a statement about the accident. I should have reminded him, or taken him there myself. Now the visit to the police station was likely to throw him completely.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘who’s next?’
There was a short pause, then someone else volunteered to talk about her drawing. I tried to listen carefully, understand how she felt, but my mind was on Luke, alone in the flat, starting to come to terms with what had happened, unaware that he had become a potential suspect in a murder case.
The woman who was talking about her drawing was in her late thirties or early forties. Her black hair was scraped back from her face and tied with a red ribbon.
‘I hate everything about myself,’ she said fiercely. ‘Every morning on my way back from taking the kids to school I buy a cream doughnut. When I’ve tidied up I sit in front of the television, drinking coffee and eating. I suppose if I had to go to work I’d be better, but who’d give me a job, I’m no use to anyone.’
Several of the other women made sympathetic noises. I tried to join in but Howard Fry’s ominous words were repeating themselves in my head. ‘A tall fair-haired man … a heated argument … the woman … fall in front of the traffic.’
*
My front door swung open before I had turned the key in the lock. Luke must have looked out to see if my car was coming down the road, then left the door on the latch.
I called his name but there was no response. Then I checked each room but there was no sign of him. It was ten to six, only five minutes later than the time I had told him I would come back. I had promised Howard Fry I would take him to the police station by half-past.
He must have gone for a walk in the park or slipped out to buy something from one of the local shops. I wasn’t worried, just annoyed with him for leaving the door open, especially since there had been a spate of break-ins in the area during the last month or so.
Returning to the street I looked up and down, craning my neck to see beyond the parked cars. As far as I could tell the road was empty, apart from a boy on roller skates, who was coming down the road at a considerable speed and looked as though he would be quite unable to stop if a car came round the corner.
A voice called out. ‘Watch it, Mark, you’ll kill yourself one of these days.’ And Janos came up the steps from his basement flat.
Perhaps Luke had been to visit him. Perhaps he was there now. I called his name and he jumped.
‘Anna, how are you? What about our talk?’
‘Sorry? Oh yes, I hadn’t forgotten. You haven’t seen Luke, have you?’
‘Luke?’
‘He’s staying in my flat. Yes, I know it’s not a very good idea, but … It’s a long story, I’ll explain later. I just thought he might have been round.’
‘I wish he had but his memories of this house are not so good.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll want to see you. Only he’s been ill. Well, not ill exactly.’
‘I understand.’ He was pushing a bag of rubbish into one of the large green bins that took up most of the space at the front of the house. ‘You look worried,’ he said. ‘Come inside.’
‘I’d like to, Janos, but I think I’d better try and find Luke. He can’t have gone far.’
‘I will come with you. No, I tell you what, you stay in the flat in case he returns and I look round a bit.’
‘Would you? I’m sure I’m worrying unnecessarily only he has an appointment in half an hour’s time and I’m afraid he may have — ’
‘Leave it to me.’
Back in the flat I searched for any clue, however unlikely, that might tell me where Luke had gone. It was a lost cause. His clothes were still in the drawer and the zip-up bag lay on the floor by the bed. The cardboard box that Elaine had filled with the rest of his belongings had been pushed under the chair. I examined its contents, turning over a brand-new shirt, still in its cellophane packet, half a dozen paperback books — all non-fiction — and a folder containing a prospectu
s for the university and a leaflet about applying for accommodation. Then I lifted out the book about apes and flicked through the pages. The letter had gone.
The bed had been left unmade. With quick automatic movements I pulled up the duvet and straightened the pillows. Was it my imagination or did the sheet feel slightly warm?
I would have to phone Howard Fry, explain that Luke knew nothing about the witness, that he must have gone out for a walk but would be back soon. When he returned I would bring him round straight away.
In the silence I heard a faint hum like the sound of a music centre that had been left on. But when I checked it was switched off just as I had left it. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the phone lying on its side on the floor several feet away from its rest.
As I picked it up someone came through the front door.
‘Luke?’
‘Anna.’ The voice was familiar but it didn’t belong to Luke. ‘I was passing near by and I wondered if there was anything I could do. I phoned the hospital but they said Luke had gone home.’
Michael Jesty entered the room. He was wearing a dark blue suit, a cream shirt and a dark red tie with thin white stripes. I took in all these irrelevant details from my position on the floor by the phone.
‘Luke’s staying here,’ I said, standing up and attempting to look reasonably composed. ‘Just for a day or two.’
‘That’s very good of you. What happened to the place where he was living before?’ He was looking at a photo of my parents on the mantelpiece. ‘Nice flat you’ve got. Been here long?’
‘Not very. Look, there’s a bit of a problem. I said I’d take Luke round to the police station at six thirty but when I got home he wasn’t here.’
‘Probably gone for a walk.’
‘Yes, I expect so.’ I gestured towards a chair.
‘Thanks. He’s better, is he? I thought he’d be in hospital at least a week. When I rang up and heard he’d been discharged I wondered if he might need some help. I’m afraid you were my only contact. I tried to phone but your number was engaged.’
‘It had been left off the hook.’
‘Really? By Luke? I suppose he was afraid someone might ring while you were out.’
He sat on the arm of a chair and gazed out of the window. Ernest was on the lawn in his wheelchair, reading the Evening Post. The sun had moved round but perhaps he preferred to be in the shade.
‘Your neighbour?’
‘From the ground-floor flat.’
‘He’s an invalid?’
I nodded. Any minute now I was expecting Janos to come back with Luke. He was sure to find him, he would know all the right places to look. The shop in Queen’s Road that stayed open till late.
The patch of grass on the way to Clifton Village where Aaron was exercised morning and evening. The seats on the opposite side of Hotwells Road where people sat for hours at a time, watching the sand boats being unloaded.
I wanted to tell Michael about the witness but was it fair when not even Luke knew about it? On the other hand, Howard Fry had said she was unreliable. Masses of people confess to crimes they haven’t committed. Presumably people also pretend to be witnesses. That way someone listens to them, they become interesting, important.
‘A witness has come forward,’ I said. ‘She claims she saw Luke and Paula quarrelling.’
For a moment I thought he had failed to understand what I was saying. He put up his hand to smooth back his hair. ‘Oh, you mean at the time of the accident.’
‘They’re not taking it very seriously but — ’
‘I’m sorry you’re having to deal with all this.’ He was worried but trying to sound as unconcerned as possible. ‘You must have quite enough to do at work without coming home to another set of problems.’ He picked a speck of dust from his trouser leg and placed it carefully in the waste-paper basket next to his chair. He was trying to stay calm, composed, but I could see the muscles in his jaw, clenching and unclenching.
‘This witness,’ he said, ‘who is she?’
‘I don’t know.’
He frowned. ‘I’ve been up in London, otherwise I could’ve collected Luke from hospital and taken him back to Portishead. Still, I doubt if he’d have stayed with either of us for long.’
‘So you think he’s run off?’
‘Not necessarily, but even if he has I don’t think you should feel responsible.’
*
It was after ten. Janos, Michael and I had taken turns looking for Luke but it was a token search. By now he could be anywhere in Bristol. He might even have caught the train to another part of the country. Michael had phoned his parents, not mentioning Luke’s disappearance, just wondering if Luke was there so he could talk to him. I had forced myself to phone Elaine, using the excuse that I was checking to make sure no rent money was still outstanding. Before that I had phoned Howard Fry to say Luke was out, probably visiting a friend, and to tell him I would be in touch in the morning if that was all right. He had sounded a little doubtful but accepted the explanation without pressing for more information.
Janos had returned to his flat. He wanted to go on searching but Michael had insisted we leave it till the morning.
‘This is typical of Luke,’ he told me, ‘when he’s had time to cool down he’ll get in touch.’
‘How d’you mean cool down?’
‘I just meant he must be feeling fairly disorientated. This witness.’ He glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and checked it against his watch. ‘You say she claimed to have seen Luke and Paula fighting?’
‘Not fighting, arguing. Anyway, she didn’t know who they were. Just a tall fair-haired man and — ’
‘Sounds a bit vague.’
‘Yes, I know.’
He forced a smile. ‘Look, I don’t know your plans for the weekend but if he hasn’t turned up by tomorrow lunchtime I’ve one or two ideas where we could look.’
‘I expect the police will have started searching by then.’
‘Possibly, but they won’t have a clue where to begin.’ He paused, tipping back his head and staring up at the ceiling. ‘Perhaps the reason he left … Staying in your flat, it changed the nature of your relationship. It was too intimate. He felt bad about pretending to be psychotic and — ’
‘We discussed all that.’
‘I’m sure you did. All right then, maybe he was afraid now that you’d been in touch with our parents they might turn up and insist he went back to the cottage.’ This seemed unlikely. I was thinking about the letter. The bright blue ink. The smudged kiss. I blame myself entirely. You know that.
‘Did Luke ever tell you how he felt about Paula?’
‘Tell me? I never saw him. He’d cut himself off from the rest of the family, couldn’t stand the pressure.’
‘What pressure?’
He shrugged. ‘My father, you’ve seen my father, and my mother’s not the happiest of people. She can’t stand the thought of growing old. I suppose she thinks she’s wasted her life.’
‘By not picking up on her acting career.’
‘That too.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Have you eaten? If not I could fetch some take-away. Indian or Chinese? One’s in Hotwells, the other’s up in Clifton Village.’ Already he was halfway through the door. ‘Luke’ll be all right, you know. He needs time on his own and if you ask me he wants to give us all a good fright.’
From the kitchen window I watched him set off towards the steps leading up to the Village. He was shorter than Luke — and broader. Not the same build as his father or his mother but he had his mother’s colouring and the shape of her eyes. I remembered Luke’s remarks about all our characteristics, including our personality, being inherited. At the time of our discussion he had seemed in relatively good spirits. Had something happened while I was at work? Perhaps he had been round to the herb shop and Bob had questioned him about the accident, made insinuations.
Across the road one of the tenants had flung open his window to ta
lk to a friend down on the pavement. Rock music turned up to full volume filled the air. The monotonous beat of a drum thumped inside my head. No one was complaining, not the other tenants, not Janos. Luke would have put his hands over his ears. Luke and I were alike. Over-sensitive, easily upset. I pictured him standing by the slip-road that led up to the motorway, trying to hitch a lift to the north, anywhere, as far away as possible, in the vain hope that running away would allow him to escape from what was going on in his head.
In a short time Michael would be back with chicken tikka or mutton roganjosh. I was so tired, too tired to eat, but I would force it down. I had made that mistake before, becoming so involved with a case that I had lost my appetite and lived off sandwiches and cups of coffee until my body finally protested.
I found plates, forks, a couple of spoons so we could help ourselves from the tinfoil containers. Beneath the reassuring smile Michael was as worried as I was. He was trying to stay calm, positive, but the news about the witness had shaken him badly. Perhaps Luke would turn up, hiding in one of the places Michael knew about. It was a relief to have someone else around, someone who had known Luke all his life and understood how his mind worked. But supposing even now he was lying in the thick woodland above the Gorge with an empty container of capsules beside him on the grass. Or staring over the parapet of the Suspension Bridge at the dark water below …
10
Had I wanted Michael to stay the night? We had talked for ages, mostly about Luke, but a little about ourselves. It was a relief to have someone to talk to but he had known I was being careful not to break my rule of confidentiality. He hadn’t probed or tried to trick me into saying something I would later regret. Shortly after midnight he had stood up, cleared away the remains of our meal and announced that he was leaving. Had I felt a small twinge of disappointment? Wouldn’t I have made some scathing remark if he had assumed he could stay?
By nine o’clock next morning I was on my way out of the flat. Last night Michael had told me he had business matters to deal with — apparently he worked most Saturday mornings and sometimes right through the weekend — but we had arranged to meet around midday. In the meantime I decided to call in at the police station, explain that Luke was still missing and try to find out more about the witness. At least as long as Luke was out of the way no one could interview him. That was the most positive way of looking at things.
