by Penny Kline
My car had been boxed in by a ridiculous jeep-like vehicle that belonged to one of the over-privileged university students and a dilapidated motor-cycle that had fallen on its side. After a series of finely judged manoeuvres I squeezed out of the gap and started up the hill. A light mist obscured the sun but it was going to be another hot stuffy day. My eyes itched and my ears felt as though they were stuffed with cotton wool. Nearby sounds seemed to come from a long way off.
I swallowed hard, trying to clear my head, then concentrated on the traffic zooming down Constitution Hill at the kind of speed that would have made it impossible to stop had a pedestrian suddenly stepped into the road. As I turned left into Jacobs Wells Road I saw an old man struggling along with two bags of shopping and remembered that I was running out of basic foods: bread, milk, bananas. Some time during the morning I would have to visit the supermarket and fight my way through the Saturday crowds.
Searching for a parking space off Whiteladies Road I thought I saw Carl Redfern. The same loping walk, thick grey hair. But the man who turned round was well into his fifties, with a small moustache and round, metal-framed glasses. He reminded me a little of my father.
I turned in to the multi-storey car park above the shopping centre. Once or twice on a Saturday morning I had bumped into Doug Hargreaves buying fruit and vegetables. He and Elaine had no car but he had explained that the walk did him good and there was more choice than up where he lived. I suspected Elaine sent him off so she could have the house to herself. The arrangement probably suited them both — or was I jumping to conclusions again, speculating about other people’s lives, filling in the gaps with my own inventions?
Inside the police station it felt cool, almost church-like. Light grey walls, dark grey lino, heavy wooden doors. I asked to speak to Inspector Fry, waited for the desk sergeant to put through a call, then made my way down the familiar corridor.
Howard Fry was standing in the doorway. It was several months since our last meeting but I could have sworn he was dressed in exactly the same clothes as the last time I saw him. Light-coloured trousers and a dark brown jacket, striped shirt and plain green tie. The first time we met I had estimated his age at around forty. Now I decided he was nearer thirty-five. His dark red hair was cut in the same neat style, parted on the left. From his rather formal manner he might have been mistaken for a bank manager or an accountant, nothing like your average policeman — if there is such a thing.
He seemed relaxed enough, standing there smiling, with his hand in his trouser pocket. But when he spoke I sensed a slight tension in his voice.
‘Anna. I was just about to phone.’
I followed him into his office and sat down on a chair near the window.
‘Luke’s disappeared,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.’
‘I see. Well, thank you for coming to tell me. I’d be grateful if you could fill me in with a few details.’
I hesitated. ‘What kind of details?’
‘Oh, the usual. Names, addresses. I’m presuming in this instance confidentiality won’t be a problem. Since Luke has a medical history we must at least make a token attempt to find him.’
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or outraged.
‘A token attempt? But he could be in danger.’
‘His doctor says that’s unlikely.’
‘You’ve been in touch with the hospital?’
‘Just doing my job, Anna.’ He was watching me closely. ‘As a matter of fact the only reason I’m involved is because you and Graham Whittle had a chat about the case. The witness who came forward was somewhat inarticulate, incapable of sticking to the same story. We’re not taking her evidence very seriously but we have to follow the rules.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ll tell me,’ I said, ‘but this witness, what’s her name?’
‘Rhiannon Pascoe. I’m telling you on the off-chance that you’ve come across her in your work. It occurred to me that she could probably do with some kind of psychological treatment. Rather a pathetic looking girl. Only sixteen, distinctly under-nourished and of no fixed abode.’
‘That doesn’t mean — ’
‘Of course not.’ He was sitting at his desk, turning the pages of a typewritten report.
‘Rhiannon,’ I said. ‘No, I don’t know a Rhiannon. She’s homeless, is she?’
‘Not quite. She shares a van with some of those New Age travellers. It’s all down in her statement.’
‘What did she say exactly — about the accident?’
‘That she’d seen a woman arguing with a tall fair-haired man. Shortly afterwards the woman had fallen in front of the traffic.’
‘Fallen?’
‘In her first statement she said she’d been pushed. Later she changed it to ‘could’ve been pushed’. We run across this kind of thing all the time. People read about a crime and like the idea of becoming involved. We even have an elderly man who rings up and informs on himself.’
He had used the word ‘crime’ but that didn’t mean …
Swivelling his chair until he faced the window, he stretched out his legs and clasped his hands behind his head. I remembered our very first meeting when I had told him about a possible intruder in my flat. Expecting him to make light of my anxiety I had been pleasantly surprised when he took my fears seriously. There had been a slight frisson between us — the kind that sometimes takes place when one person is in the role of an authority figure and the other feels in need of protection. Since then I had learned from Martin that Howard Fry was divorced with an eight-year-old son, that his wife had remarried and moved to East Anglia so he hardly ever saw the boy.
Perhaps that accounted for the sadness I occasionally saw in his eyes.
He was holding a pencil, moving it round between his finger and thumb.
‘Of course the girl must have been in the vicinity,’ he said, ‘or she wouldn’t have been able to describe Paula Redfern and Luke with a fair degree of accuracy.’
I watched his face but made no comment. He returned the report to its folder, then placed the folder in the top drawer of his desk.
‘As I say, she’s a thoroughly unreliable witness. I just wondered if she might know Luke Jesty, have some kind of grudge.’
I thought about it for a few moments, tried to remember a stray remark. Someone who had helped out at the shop? A friend of Doug and Elaine’s? I even considered inventing a recollection of someone with a Welsh-sounding name.
‘I don’t remember Luke mentioning anyone called Rhiannon,’ I said. ‘So what will happen now?’
‘We’ll do a few checks. If you’ve any ideas where he could have gone … First I suggest you tell me everything you know about him. We don’t have the manpower to send people off on a wild-goose chase, but any reasonable possibility, in this area, or another part of the country, and we’ll follow it up as best we can.’
So he was more concerned about Luke’s well-being than apprehending a possible murder suspect. Or was he bluffing? Lulling me into a false sense of security so I would unwittingly incriminate Luke? I smiled at him and he smiled back. But it was the smile of a policeman, not a friend.
‘His parents live out towards Chew Magna,’ I said.
He passed me a sheet of paper and I wrote down the address.
‘Then there’s his brother. He lives in Portishead, runs his own contract cleaning agency.’ I searched in my wallet for Michael’s business card, then passed it across the desk.
‘You know these people?’
‘Yes. Well, I’ve met them.’ I glanced up at him but his face was expressionless. ‘Then there’s the couple where he was lodging. Doug and Elaine Hargreaves, they have a house in one of the streets off Coldharbour Road, but you know that already.’
‘Quite near where Paula Redfern lived.’
‘Yes. Luke worked with her in that herbal remedies shop on the way to the hospital. There’s an art gallery, then a shop that sells old musical instruments — ’
‘No. Why?’
‘No reason. I just wondered.’
‘I doubt if any of the people I’ve told you about will know any more than I do,’ I said.
His fingers drummed on the edge of the desk. ‘I’m sure you’re right. Just routine checking and I’ll put his name and description on ‘Locate and Trace’. The central police computer.’ He made a few notes, pausing in the middle of writing to listen to a passing ambulance. ‘D’you think there’s any point in circulating the local doctors, or GPs in other areas come to that? I thought he might call in for a prescription.’
‘I suppose it’s possible.’
‘Was he taking any tablets?’ His voice had an edge to it as though he thought I was being less than co-operative. What on earth did he expect?
‘He was given some tranquillizers when he left hospital,’ I said, ‘but he told me he didn’t want to take them. I left it up to him.’
‘Major tranquillizers?’ He wrote a few words on his pad.
‘No, just something to calm him down. I thought Dr Stringer would have told you all that kind of thing.’
We stared at each other. I didn’t trust him and he didn’t trust me. I thought the witness had told him more than he was letting on. He thought I was withholding information about Luke. It was inevitable, part of the nature of our jobs. I felt a twinge of hostility. Fry was supposed to be a friend. Well, he knew a great deal about me from the last time our jobs had overlapped and surely that made us friends of a sort. I decided not to mention the fact that Michael and I were going to spend the afternoon searching for Luke. Neither would I mention my visit to Carl Redfern and his description of the ‘insanely jealous’ Liz. What was the point? They had nothing to do with Luke’s disappearance.
*
As soon as I turned the corner I could see Doug waiting at the bottom of the steps leading up to my flat. Was it really Doug, or was it just one of those days when almost everyone you see reminds you of somebody else?
It was Doug all right. When I got out of the car he started walking quickly towards me. His tongue was moving backwards and forwards across his upper lip and when he came closer I could see that his whole body was trembling.
‘Anna, could I have a word?’ His voice came out as a sort of airless gasp.
‘Yes, of course. Come on up.’
‘I thought you might have gone out for the day. I asked the lady in the ground-floor flat. I wasn’t sure which part of the house you … ’
He followed me up the steps, losing his footing halfway up and putting out his hands to steady himself.
Once inside the flat he stood in the hallway, his eyes darting round the three half-open doors.
‘In here, Doug.’ I steered him towards the kitchen. From there I would be able to see if Michael arrived — or Luke came up the road.
‘Elaine doesn’t know I’m here,’ he said. ‘She thinks I’m at the garden centre. I shall have to go there after this and buy a few bedding plants. I can’t stay long.’
‘Sit down,’ I said, ‘I’ll make some coffee.’
‘Not for me. Luke’s found somewhere to stay, has he? I’d have had him back like a shot but Elaine — she couldn’t take it.’
So he had come to apologize.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I understand. I’m sure you both had a lot more to put up with than I realized. I thought Luke would be a fairly easy person to have as a lodger but — ’
‘Oh, he was. No trouble at all.’ He paused, his face contorted, as though in pain. ‘Did he say anything?’
‘When? What about?’
‘When he came to see you. When he was in hospital. About — about when he was staying with us.’
‘Not really. I got the impression he was happier, liked it better than when he was in a room on his own.’
‘Is that what he said?’
He breathed out heavily and sat down on the chair I had offered him several minutes before.
‘As a matter of fact, Doug, I don’t know where Luke is. I brought him back here on Thursday, then yesterday evening when I returned from work he’d gone.’
‘Oh, God.’ Doug was sweating profusely. It collected in droplets on his forehead and ran down his nose and cheeks. He took off his glasses and started wiping them with a tissue.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I said. ‘Luke was in a very volatile state. Even if you’d had him back I don’t know if he’d have stayed put for long.’
‘You don’t understand.’ The sweat was still pouring down his face but now he was crying too. ‘I wanted to help, get close to him, but … ’
The sobbing was so loud it was impossible to hear the rest of the sentence.
‘You’d better tell me what’s happened,’ I said.
I had to wait several minutes. When he spoke it was in the form of a question.
‘D’you think Elaine knows?’
‘Knows what?’ But already I had an inkling of what he was about to say.
‘Take your time,’ I said. I wanted to reassure him, help him to talk, but I sounded cold, intimidating — like Howard Fry.
‘I told you about the photography,’ Doug muttered. ‘Luke was helping me — in the darkroom — the shed at the bottom of the garden.’
He stopped, wanting me to guess the rest. I wouldn’t.
Blowing his nose, then keeping the handkerchief still held to his face, he started to explain. In spite of the handkerchief his voice was louder, clearer, as though having got this far there was no point in trying to protect himself.
‘I felt sorry for him, Anna. He’s so — so … The first time — it was a mistake. Brushing against him. I expect that’s what he thought.’
‘Luke’s not that naive,’ I said. ‘If he knew how you felt he should have stayed away from the shed.’
‘No! It was my responsibility. He’s only a boy.’
‘He’s twenty-two,’ I said wearily. ‘Anyway, when was all this?’
‘The last time was Thursday, two days before the accident. Has Elaine said anything? When you phoned from the hospital? Is that why she wouldn’t let him come back?’
‘I’ve no idea. Was there any reason why she should suspect?’
‘No. No, nothing — unless Luke … ’
‘I should think that’s highly improbable. It’s much more likely she was put off by the way he behaved the night of the accident.’
He replaced his glasses and attempted to pat down his tuft of hair. ‘What will you do?’
‘About what you’ve just told me? Nothing.’ I was torn between feeling sorry for him and wanting to punish him for making Luke’s life even more difficult than it was already. But Luke hadn’t complained … ‘Nothing. Thank you for coming to tell me. It must have been hard.’
He stood up and held out his hand. From the expression on his face I guessed the confession had produced a brief feeling of euphoria. He was almost back to his old self. I wanted him to go away.
‘I knew you’d understand.’ He smiled, as a naughty child might smile through its tears after a good telling off. ‘Only trouble is — put it in a nutshell — if Elaine found out … ’
‘She won’t hear about it from me.’
‘I knew I could rely on you.’ Already he was halfway to the front door. ‘By the way.’ He tried to sound as casual as possible but his words came out in a kind of croak. ‘The night of the accident Elaine stayed home and watched that serial about the couple who moved to the north and bought a market garden.’ He cleared his throat several times. The front door was open and only his head and shoulders remained in the flat. ‘I saw the first episode, then my classes resumed. She keeps me up to date with the plot. The reason I’m telling you. Well, you know me, I like to get the facts straight.’
‘I understand.’
I did. He was attempting to provide Elaine with an alibi. Had he guessed that Paula had been wearing Luke’s blue and white sweater and realized that Luk
e might have been the intended victim? Could he really imagine Elaine had found out what had happened and was prepared to go to any lengths to get rid of her lodger? It was crazy — but people in a panic tend to have crazy ideas.
I called down the steps after him. ‘Don’t forget the garden centre.’
He raised an arm but didn’t look back. From the kitchen window I watched him unlock the padlock on his cycle and set off, freewheeling down the hill.
Janos had come up from the basement and was talking to the tiny woman from number twenty-three. She was dressed in a thick winter coat and was talking animatedly out of the corner of her mouth that didn’t hold her cigarette. Then Pam appeared from the ground-floor flat and crossed the road to join them.
When I opened the window I could hear them engrossed in their favourite topic of conversation: the shortage of road sweepers and refuse collectors. ‘It’s not good enough.’
‘I blame the council.’
‘Dirt breeds dirt.’
Janos looked up, saw me at the window and waved.
‘Any news, Anna?’
I shook my head and he pulled a face. ‘I’ll talk to you later, all right? I take Aaron to Leigh Woods but we find nothing. Later we walk along the path by the river.’
He had such a kind, sensitive face. Why on earth had I persuaded Luke to move out of his room and become Doug and Elaine’s lodger? But I had done it from the best of motives, wanting him to feel less isolated, more like part of a family.
I stepped back from the window and sat on the edge of the table. My hand brushed against something sticky. A blob of marmalade? Some of last night’s take-away? The job in the shop had been my idea too. Better than packing china in the basement of a department store. But if Luke had stayed in the same job Paula Redfern might still be alive. I cursed myself, not for trying to help Luke, but for the way I always ended up blaming myself for things beyond my control.
