Feeling Bad (Anna McColl Mystery Book 2)

by Penny Kline

  ‘As far as I can tell he shut himself away in his room most of the time. I doubt if he made any close friends.’

  Faith turned round sharply. ‘You know what happened, I assume? Of course you do. Nothing’s been the same since — since the … ’ Her voice trailed away. She was close to tears.

  I expected Michael to comfort her, put his arm round her, say something reassuring. But he stayed quite still. His lips were pressed together, his eyes looked cold, angry. Then he turned towards me, smiled briefly, then looked away and started studying his fingernails. A small twinge of fear pinched the back of my neck. I sat on the broad arm of a chair, gripping the rough worn material with both hands.

  Straining her eyes to make out the figures on the grass Faith started speaking slowly, carefully, almost as though her words had been planned for just such an occasion.

  ‘I’ve been expecting something like this for a long time. Oh, not the road accident, but something that pushed people just that little bit too far. It’s easier for me, of course. I’m single, unattached, and besides I’m a Christian.’ She glanced at me to make sure I was listening. ‘Of course when I say I’m a Christian I don’t mean I believe in God. Well, certainly not in the sense that our vicar does. Still, for all its shortcomings the Church is better than nothing.’

  I put my hand up to my face. She thought I was smiling but she was wrong. I was wondering what she meant by something pushing people ‘a bit too far’.

  ‘Oh, you can smile,’ she said. ‘Most people think I’m rather a joke.’

  ‘I wasn’t laughing at you,’ I said.

  ‘No? Well you, no doubt, can see some deep, underlying meaning in every word I say.’ She crossed over and patted me on the shoulder. ‘You haven’t said much, haven’t had a chance, but I like the look of you.’

  Michael stood up and walked towards us.

  ‘We’ll leave you in peace, Faith, but I’ll let you know if there’s any news. In the meantime if you hear anything perhaps you could get in touch with me — or Anna if I’m out of the office.’

  He handed her one of his business cards. She turned it over and I saw that he had written my office number on the back.

  ‘That’s all right with you, is it, Anna?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Faith wasn’t listening. I felt as though I was intruding on private grief. Diana’s death six years ago had obviously been a shattering blow for her as well as for the whole Jesty family. Nobody had really recovered.

  *

  It was so long since I had defrosted the fridge that the thickness of ice was making it impossible to close the door properly. I had switched off the electricity a couple of hours ago. Now it was time to mop up the mess. As I transferred soggy newspapers to the washing-up bowl I thought about Michael. When he dropped me off at my flat he had expected to be invited in, but when no invitation had been forthcoming he had appeared quite unconcerned. All in good time, that was the message his eyes had conveyed. No need to rush things, that could spoil everything.

  Tipping the newspaper in the sink and pressing hard to squeeze out as much water as possible, I switched my thoughts to Doug. Why had he been so keen to bare his soul? There was no need to tell me about the goings on in the garden shed. At the time I had assumed he felt guilty, worried in case it was his fault that Luke had disappeared. Now I wondered if his confession was a smoke screen, a way of diverting my attention away from something more important, something he was desperate to conceal.

  Spreading more newspaper on the floor and stuffing a tea towel into the bottom of the fridge I left the flat, slamming the door behind me, ran down the steps and climbed into the car.

  It was just before six thirty. If I was right Doug would leave the house around six forty-five, set off in the direction of the mythical framing class, then make his way to his real destination. Perhaps he spent the whole evening in the pub, but somehow I doubted that.

  If I stayed in the car I would be less visible. On the other hand, if he took a short cut through an alleyway I would be unable to follow and might lose track of him altogether. I reached the end of his road just after twenty to. The best thing would be to park the car near by, then walk to a spot where I was out of sight but could keep an eye on the house. Of course, I might be too late.

  I wasn’t. The porch door opened at ten to seven and I saw a slight figure in a beige anorak hurry down the short path, then turn right and set off in the direction of the main road.

  Standing in the doorway of a boarded-up wool shop I watched him reach Coldharbour Road, then turn left and increase his pace. He was carrying a brown polythene bag with the name of a chain of supermarkets printed in orange on the side. I stepped out on to the pavement, convinced he had no idea he was being followed. Perhaps I was right and what took place next was only what happened every Saturday evening. A bus passed by and Doug started running. He reached the stop as a couple of middle-aged men were boarding, and jumped inside a moment before the doors swung shut.

  I started running back to my car but by the time I reached it I had already decided it was pointless to try and catch up with the bus. In the first place I had no idea which route it followed and, in the second, Doug might have alighted at the next stop. Annoyed with myself for having planned the whole operation so badly I left the car where it was and walked back towards a pub I had noticed the day I collected Luke’s box of belongings. The King’s Arms? Queen’s Head?

  From the outside it looked quite imposing but once inside it turned out to be small and slightly scruffy. No alterations appeared to have been made to the decor for the last two or three decades. The people in the bar looked like regulars. Four old men sat together at a table looking up at a television on a wooden shelf near the entrance to the Gents. The colour was turned up almost as bright as the set in the hospital day room.

  One of the men was dabbing at his lip with a greyish-looking handkerchief. The other two kept their eyes glued to the screen.

  I ordered half a pint and sat on a stool by the bar. With any luck the landlady would start a conversation. With a great deal of luck I might find the answer to some of my questions.

  ‘Live round here?’ she asked. She was thin, tired looking and had made only a token attempt to wear an outfit in keeping with her job. A white silk blouse held together at the top by a blue glass brooch. A paisley patterned skirt that hung loosely over her thin angular hips.

  ‘Quite near,’ I said. ‘Cliftonwood.’

  She nodded. ‘Traffic bad?’

  I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the traffic in Cliftonwood and Hotwells or the traffic in general.

  ‘Quite bad,’ I said. ‘Could be worse.’

  In a moment she was going to walk away, start tidying up, washing glasses.

  I stared at the back of her head and she sensed it and turned to face me.

  ‘I came up here looking for an evening class in picture framing,’ I said.

  She looked blank.

  ‘Photography,’ I added. ‘Someone told me there was a place round here — ’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was the kind of — ’ She broke off, fiddling with the blue brooch, then looked at me carefully. ‘Not a policewoman, are you? Don’t look much like it but these days you never know.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Just wondered.’ She paused, glancing at the four old men. ‘There’s a few of them come in here about nine thirty. No, not the police. A group of men, younger than that lot but not that young. Only see them on Saturday evenings. Talking and whispering. You can hear every word in a place this small. People don’t realize.’

  I waited patiently.

  ‘Nothing to do with me but I think it’s disgusting. Photography they call it. Just an excuse to gawp at naked women.’

  I nodded vigorously to indicate my whole-hearted agreement. ‘You don’t know where they come from, do you?’

  ‘Men like that — pathetic — most likely the only chance they get to stare
at female parts.’

  ‘Yes, pathetic,’ I said, finishing my drink and sliding off the stool. Then I raised my hand, muttered something about how it had been nice talking to her, and left.

  Doug at a mock photographic session goggling at naked women? Somehow I had a feeling the sessions were rather different from the kind of thing the landlady had in mind.

  12

  It was four days since Luke had disappeared. There was no word from Howard Fry, and nothing from Michael since the weekend. Most of Sunday I had spent asleep or lying in bed listening to the radio. The Archers, Pick of the Week, The World at One all rolled by, interspersed with thinking about Luke, Paula, Doug Hargreaves … There were no phone calls, not even a silent one. Now I was back at the office.

  Declan, one of my angriest clients, was scratching at the sole of his boot with a bunch of keys. He had nowhere else to direct his anger. His wife was perfect, his home was perfect, when the building society account reached a good round number it would be time for them to start a perfect family.

  Earlier, while I was with my previous client, Brigid Jesty had phoned. She had left a message with Heather asking me not to ring back.

  ‘She’ll try again at twelve fifteen. I told her you should be free by then.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll make sure I am. She didn’t say what she wanted?’

  Heather had shaken her head. ‘I don’t think it was urgent. Although, come to think of it, she did sound a bit upset.’

  My thoughts returned to Declan. He had failed to notice that, for thirty seconds or so, I had stopped listening. In their self-obsession clients rarely noticed. Once, with toothache so excruciating that it seemed my jaw must be visibly throbbing, a client told me how helpful I had been, adding, ‘You’re always so relaxed. I don’t know how you do it.’

  ‘It’s only an idea, Declan,’ I said cautiously, ‘but perhaps everything in your life is a bit too perfect.’

  He stared at me angrily but I refused to be put off.

  ‘There’s a theory,’ I said, ‘that we’re genetically programmed to be problem-solving creatures. If there aren’t any problems we create them.’

  ‘Load of rubbish,’ he muttered, but I could see he was interested. He had been referred by his GP because of a phobia about going up in the lift at the office block where he worked. Lifts, I had soon discovered, were the least of his worries.

  ‘Like Hansel and Gretel she wants us to be,’ he spat out. ‘If she could arrange it she’d have us living in a gingerbread house, just like a bloody fairy-story.’

  ‘And you want something rather different?’

  He spread out his legs, nearly kicking me in the process. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘Perhaps next time you come you could bring Wendy with you.’

  He pushed up his sleeve in an exaggerated gesture and looked at his watch. ‘If you insist. She’ll come if I tell her you need her help. Always ready to help, she is, if it suits her. Just like all you bloody women.’

  After he left I wrote up some notes then sat waiting for Brigid Jesty’s call. It came through dead on a quarter past.

  ‘Is that Anna McColl? This is Brigid Jesty, Luke’s mother.’

  ‘Mrs Jesty, how can I help?’

  ‘A policeman came round and told us Luke had disappeared. Peter couldn’t see what all the fuss was about but … Well, I wanted to know how you felt about it. I assume he hasn’t been in touch.’

  ‘No, but I’m sure he’s all right. I expect he felt he needed some time on his own.’ I didn’t sound very convincing. How much did she know? Had whoever called at the White Cottage told them about the witness? I thought it unlikely.

  There was a moment’s silence. I thought I heard her put the phone down on the table. Perhaps she was lighting a cigarette. When she spoke her voice sounded unnaturally cheerful.

  ‘So you’re not worried. The policeman said it was only a routine check — because of Luke having been in hospital. I was wondering. I’ve no idea where you live but if you were driving anywhere in this direction … ’

  ‘You want me to come and see you.’

  ‘Would that be possible?’

  ‘Just after five?’

  ‘I beg your pardon? Oh, you can come today. Yes, five o’clock would be all right. I’ll see you then.’

  *

  On the way out of Bristol I started speculating about why Brigid Jesty wanted to see me. She had some information to pass on? She wanted some information from me? The visit to Keynsham had made me uneasy. Something didn’t add up. Why had Faith Gordon said it was easier for her, being single and unattached? What was easier? Michael had explained how she had moved to Keynsham when her cottage needed expensive repairs. Also, she wanted to be nearer to Bath, where she had several friends. Did she and Brigid Jesty still see each other? Now and again, Michael was vague, and when I asked if there had been some kind of disagreement he said not as far as he knew, it was just that his mother stayed at home most of the time and Faith’s car had packed up and she hadn’t bothered to buy another.

  The grass verges on the main road were yellow from lack of rain. I watched the driver of the car in front wind down his window and toss out a cigarette end. Supposing the lighted end blew back into my face. I could write down his registration number, sue him for grievous bodily harm. The cigarette fell harmlessly to the road but the adrenalin in my body remained, whipped up by a silly fantasy that had nothing to do with the man in the car in front. I needed an outlet for my frustration and anxiety. Wasn’t I doing exactly the same as Luke? Except that Luke was incapable of expressing any negative emotion at all so the build-up inside his head led to imaginings far more violent than my own.

  Brigid Jesty was waiting for me in the garden.

  ‘How nice of you to come. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient.’

  I had expected her to ask if there was any news of Luke. But it seemed to be the last thing on her mind.

  ‘I wasn’t sure what hours you worked,’ she said. ‘Not nine to five, I imagine. Do you have to see people in the evenings and at weekends? I expect it’s the kind of job that’s difficult to leave behind at the office.’

  ‘Yes, it can be.’ I followed her across the lawn. She was wearing flat Italian shoes, made of soft white leather, and this time she was dressed in trousers, loose-fitting ones in some soft pinkish-brown material, and a pale shirt that hung in a straight line from shoulder to hip.

  She turned round, shading her eyes from the sun.

  ‘Would you prefer to sit in the house?’

  ‘No, the garden’s fine.’

  ‘Can I get you some tea or a soft drink?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  She sat down with her back to the tree. Her dark glasses lay on the table, along with a gardening magazine and a can of insect repellent.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ she said, ‘but I get bitten to pieces. Peter says it’s the same for everyone but some people have a stronger allergic reaction. Is that right, d’you suppose?’

  ‘It sounds a reasonable explanation,’ I said. How much longer would it be before she got round to telling me the point of my visit?

  ‘Peter’s a scientist.’ Her voice was high pitched, brittle. ‘Would like to have been. He comforts himself with his hobbies. Well, they’re more than hobbies, almost like a second job.’

  The metal chairs had round pink and blue cushions that matched the parasol. They were slightly too small and the edge was pressing into my leg.

  ‘So,’ she said, resting her fingers on the table and inspecting her nails, ‘Michael’s persuaded you to spend your Saturday searching for Luke.’

  ‘It was what I wanted to do.’

  ‘Of course.’ She adjusted a silver ring with a small opaque stone that had slipped round her finger. ‘Of course, we’re very grateful for all your help … ’ I looked at her and a shudder ran down my back. Was she trying to warn me off? In all my efforts to find out where Luke had gone, one possi
bility had never entered my mind — not until that moment. Had someone — his mother perhaps — known where he was all along? Worse. Did someone know he was already dead?

  ‘Of course, Michael has his business to run,’ she said. ‘He’s like Peter — a natural organizer — whereas Luke and I are dreamers.’

  She sounded flippant, superficial. I wanted to shake her. Instead I asked if Michael had told her about our visit to Keynsham.

  For a moment she seemed transfixed, then she came back to life with a small shake of the head.

  ‘No, no he didn’t. We only spoke to each other for a minute or two. He was in a hurry as usual.’ She stared at me, as though waiting for me to confirm that Michael never had enough time to spare for other people. ‘What did you think of Faith Gordon?’

  ‘She seemed very concerned about Luke.’

  ‘Really? She knew he was missing?’

  ‘Not until Michael told her.’

  ‘No, well I don’t know why he took you all the way to Keynsham. She’s an obstinate old woman, set in her ways, but I suppose we all end up like that.’

  She glanced at me intimating that there was nothing more to say about Faith Gordon. Then she stood up, lifted a pair of secateurs off the grass and began snipping dead heads off one of the rose bushes.

  Now that she had her back turned she could relax a little. After a short silence she tossed me a question in the kind of voice people use when they want you to believe the question itself is unimportant and they are simply making pleasant conversation.

  ‘Has Luke told you much about his childhood?’

  ‘Very little.’

  She thought about this. ‘So mostly you discussed what had been happening to him since he left Oxford.’

  ‘Yes. It was difficult to get him talking.’

  ‘I can imagine. His friend, Paula, what did you think of her?’

  ‘His friend, Paula.’ It was an odd way to describe someone who had been killed only nine days ago.

  ‘I never met her,’ I said.

  ‘Really? I saw her once — in the antique market in Clifton Mall. Luke introduced us but we only exchanged a few words. She was married to an actor, you know. Carl Redfern, he does mostly TV, tends to get typecast as a bad lot.’ She was gazing into the distance but not seeing anything. ‘I don’t think Paula was good for Luke,’ she said slowly. ‘She had problems of her own, I could tell, and of course she was years older. I don’t know about you but I got the feeling she was making demands on him he couldn’t possibly meet.’