A Crushing Blow (Anna McColl Mystery Book 3)

by Penny Kline

  Deb shrugged. ‘I doubt it, although reading between the lines I’d say she had a bit of thing about that Mr Haran.’

  ‘Sandy? What did she say?’

  ‘Oh, nothing you can put your finger on. Just that he’d been very kind. He gave her a lift to London so she could go and see the social worker.’

  ‘He knew where she was going?’

  Deb shrugged. ‘Anyway it wasn’t any good. I warned her they never tell you who got the baby. They couldn’t, could they, although I’ve heard in the States the real mother meets the adoptive one. Bloody crazy if you ask me, bound to lead to trouble.’ She pushed her cup aside, preparing to leave. ‘Lynsey hates that Helen Sealey, said she knew something about her and if anyone found out they’d take the baby into care.’

  ‘What? She didn’t say what it was?’

  ‘Oh, I expect she made it up. You know Lynsey. Mind you, if it was my kid I might feel the same way.’ She stood up, smoothing her skirt. ‘I’ll have to go.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Look, if she gets in touch … I’ll give you my phone number.’

  ‘I never thought she’d do it.’ She took the slip of paper then started walking towards the exit. ‘Not really.’

  ‘I don’t suppose she has,’ I said. ‘The baby’s probably gone to Cornwall with her parents and Lynsey’s in bed sleeping off a hang-over.’

  Deb stared at me for a moment, adjusting her shoulder-bag before she crossed the road. ‘Oh no, it can’t be anything like that. Lynsey’s got a thing about alcohol. Something to do with her dad. She never touches a drop.’

  *

  I could have gone round to the office and talked to Martin or Nick but I was supposed to be on holiday. They would sigh and groan, tell me I was my own worst enemy. I would never hear the end of it.

  Instead I drove up to the university, spent five frustrating minutes searching for a parking space, then half walked, half ran, willing Owen to be in his room, needing to talk to someone, anyone, before I decided on my next move.

  The room was empty. I returned down the dingy corridor, looking for an open door but the place seemed deserted. In the secretary’s office a girl was seated at a word-processor, eating a doughnut. When I pushed open the glass door she looked up briefly then took another bite.

  ‘Owen Hughes,’ I said, ‘d’you know where he’s gone?’

  She licked each finger in turn. ‘They’re having a meeting.’

  ‘It’s rather important, when are they likely to finish?’

  ‘Any time now, you’ve an appointment have you?’

  ‘No.’ I began to explain, then stopped when a door squeaked open and I heard a group of people coming closer.

  Owen was conversing with a large camelfaced woman — something about cash and how the Americans didn’t have to grub around for research grants. He looked up and rubbed his eyes as if he thought he might be seeing things.

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Are you busy?’

  ‘Not really. I have to see a student in about ten minutes but … ’

  I followed him into his room. There were piles of books on every chair and a large brown-paper packet that was covered in dust but still hadn’t been unwrapped.

  ‘Look, it’s about the Sealeys,’ I said, ‘they’re away in Cornwall and they haven’t left an address or phone number.’

  ‘Very sensible.’ He opened a drawer and started searching through a muddle of old envelopes, notebooks, ballpoint pens.

  ‘The baby was staying behind with her nanny but there’s no one in the flat and it’s been left unlocked.’

  ‘That’s suspicious, is it?’

  ‘Not on its own but Lynsey, the girl I told you about — she hasn’t turned up for work and — ’

  ‘Slow down.’ He sat on the edge of his desk, tipping some books off a metal chair with a torn canvas seat and pushing it in my direction.

  ‘Lynsey had a baby, back before last Christmas,’ I said. ‘I’ve just seen Deb, the friend of hers who works in John Lewis. Apparently Lynsey had the baby adopted. Now she’s convinced the Sealeys’ baby’s hers.’

  ‘So she’s taken it back. Makes sense.’

  ‘The thing is … No, forget it.’ I turned towards the door.

  ‘Hang on.’ He caught hold of my arm. ‘Right, I’m giving you my undivided attention.’

  ‘I have to decide whether to go to the police. If Lynsey’s completely innocent I shall feel I’ve made trouble for her. On the other hand — ’

  ‘When did you discover the Sealeys’ flat had been left unlocked?’

  I sat down. ‘This morning when I went to see Geraldine. I’d get in touch with Sandy but there’s no phone at the cottage and … Deb said Lynsey’s got a thing about Sandy.’

  Owen smiled. ‘A thing? So Sandy Haran, the property dealer turned psychologist, has been having it off with the cleaning lady while you treated his wife for agoraphobia. I should leave well alone, let someone else sort out the mess. Hey?’ He snapped his fingers. ‘I said I should leave well alone.’

  I was thinking fast. Had I misjudged Sandy completely? He could have met Lynsey months ago. Then, when Geraldine reacted badly to the murder, he had seen a way to give Lynsey a job while at the same time providing Geraldine with someone to do the shopping. But if there was something going on between them wouldn’t it have been better to keep Lynsey as far away from the flat as possible? Doing up a cottage was the ideal cover for an illicit affair.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ignoring the irritating expression on Owen’s face, ‘if Sandy knew Lynsey before he offered her the job … ’

  ‘You mean he wanted his two women to meet, become friends. Crazy as it sounds, I believe it’s a fairly common phenomenon, something to do with wanting the mother figure and the lover as part of one big happy family.’

  I stared at him, unwilling to admit that he could have displayed some genuine psychological insight.

  He grinned. ‘Your inspector friend — what was his name? Howard something. I know — Howard Fry. I made this association. A fried egg sitting on top of a policeman’s helmet. Now I can’t get the image out of my brain.’

  He stood up, with his back to the window. It was a technique he had perfected. He could see me clearly but I could only see him as a dark shape. It had been that way the first time we met.

  ‘Anyway,’ I said, annoyed at the patronizing way he always referred to Howard as my inspector friend, ‘there may be a perfectly simple explanation — why the flat was left unlocked. Rona may have taken the baby to visit a friend living nearby and just forgotten to pull the door shut when she left.’

  ‘Yes, the simplest explanation’s usually the best.’ His voice had an edge to it. He wanted me to leave, he had far more important matters to attend to. Any minute now his student would be knocking on the door and the two of them would spend a pleasant hour studying the latest print-out from the computer. ‘You tell your inspector all about it,’ he said, pretending to sound more relaxed than he felt, ‘and if it turns out you’ve overreacted — well, there’s no harm done. Leave it to the cops, that’s what I always say, they’ll know what to do.’

  I had my back turned and my hand on the door handle. ‘Oh, they’ll know what to do all right and a perfectly innocent girl will be dragged in and grilled for several hours — all thanks to me.’

  *

  The road where Lynsey lived was near the old tobacco factory. A large number of houses had been demolished and blocks of council flats built in their place but Lynsey’s bed-sit was in a three-storey terraced house in a small cul-de-sac that had escaped the developers. The ground-floor window had a poster, advertising a local theatre group I had heard of but never seen. Their current production was called After the Revolution. I made a note to tell Janos about it. He enjoyed an evening out and it sounded just his kind of thing.

  There were three door bells but only one of them seemed to work. I banged on the front door but there was no reply. Not even a face at the window or a twitching curt
ain. A few doors back I had noticed an alleyway full of bags of rubbish. If it led round to the back of the terrace I might be able to approach the house from the rear, but when I investigated I found the alley had been blocked off by a pile of broken concrete slabs. Later in the day surely some of the tenants would be at home. In the meantime there was not much else I could do.

  On my way back to Cliftonwood I had second thoughts and decided to contact the police, but by the time I was halfway up Whiteladies Road I had changed my mind again. Finally I fixed on a compromise. I would wait until five thirty and phone Sandy, who should be home by then. If he knew nothing — about Lynsey or Rona — then I would get in touch with Howard Fry.

  I thought about Lynsey’s obsession with the murder in Leigh Woods and her insistence that she had some special information. Her attitude towards Rona and Helen, never mind virtually all the men in the world, was so hostile, so absolute, but now that I knew about the baby it was starting to make sense. Supposing she had harmed Rona in some way, justifying it in her mind, using the distorted logic of a person under severe stress. She could never hope to reclaim her baby but with Rona gone she might be able to take over as Chloe’s nanny. Or was she planning to discredit Helen in some way, to convince the Social Services she should never have been allowed to adopt, to frame her for a crime she hadn’t committed? Bryan would still be the baby’s legal father but Lynsey might have convinced herself that with Helen out of the way …

  Just after five thirty I dialled Sandy’s number, certain that the two of us together would be able to work something out.

  Geraldine answered, her voice slurred and indistinct. I imagined her lying on the bed with her arm stretched out to reach the phone.

  ‘It’s me — Anna. Is Sandy back?’

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She cleared her throat and attempted to talk normally. ‘He’s out in the garden. I could fetch him if you like but neither of us has heard anything — about Lynsey or Rona.’

  ‘What does Sandy think?’

  ‘Oh, he’s not worried. He had an idea Lynsey might’ve mentioned an appointment.’

  ‘What kind of appointment?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ Her tone of voice implied that I was making too much fuss. She wanted to ring off, she wanted to go back to sleep.

  ‘All right. Thanks. Don’t worry.’

  The line went dead. Geraldine wasn’t worried, couldn’t understand why I was making such a fuss.

  Still I put off calling the police. Sandy would come in from the garden and when Geraldine told him about my call he would realize something could have gone seriously wrong and phone back. I would explain how Lynsey thought Chloe was her baby and we would make up our minds what to do next.

  The call from Deb came through while I was watching the six o’clock news. Someone from the City was explaining why the hundred-share index was down three points. The high, supercilious voice continued as I listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Is that you? She’s here. Turned up half an hour ago.’

  ‘Lynsey — she’s there at your house?’

  ‘And the baby.’

  I breathed out deeply. ‘Is she there in the room with you?’

  ‘Upstairs, changing its nappy.’

  ‘I’ll be round in fifteen minutes.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  The living-room was small but smartly furnished, with a pale carpet, three brand-new armchairs, and a pine dining table with a bench on either side. At the far end, near the patio windows, hundreds of records and CDs had been piled up on wide bamboo shelves. A large music centre had been dismantled into several sections as though someone was in the process of repairing it.

  Deb gestured towards one of the chairs. ‘Thanks for coming. I couldn’t think what else to do.’ She hitched up her black leather trousers, then picked at the fluff on her mohair sweater. One of her eyes was made up with two shades of pinkish shadow, the other was still waiting to be attended to. She had not expected me to arrive so quickly, although I doubted if her smart appearance had anything to do with my visit. She had arranged to go out for the evening, then Lynsey had turned up on the doorstep and ruined her plans. Now she was hoping I would take over and let her off the hook.

  ‘Lynsey’s upstairs, is she?’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘Giving the baby its bottle.’

  ‘She’s all right — the baby?’

  ‘Seems to be. Hasn’t cried much. I thought they yelled their heads off most of the time.’

  So she knew even less about babies than I did. ‘And Lynsey, how’s she been? Perhaps you’d better tell her I’m here.’

  ‘Oh, she knows that. She’ll come down when she wants to.’

  ‘Has she said anything?’

  ‘Not much. Just that the baby needed looking after.’

  On the mantelpiece a huge framed photograph of two people on the beach seemed to dominate the room. Deb, in bikini bottoms and a T-shirt that stopped a few inches below her armpits, had an arm wrapped round the waist of a tall dark-haired man of about twenty, dressed in a pair of orange and grey shorts. His hair was pulled back into a long, glossy ponytail and his head was turned slightly to one side, displaying a row of gold studs in his ear.

  ‘Those were the days,’ said Deb, following my eyes.

  ‘That’s Dean?’

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Taken recently?’

  ‘Couple of months ago. Day out at Barry Island.’

  ‘It must be hard for you, not knowing what’s going to happen.’

  She ran her tongue across her lips. ‘I’ll fetch Lynsey, shall I? Never tell you a thing, the Old Bill, gives them an extra feeling of power.’

  While she was out of the room I studied the photo more closely. Dean’s eyes were exceptionally large, with thick dark lashes. His high cheekbones made him look sensitive but no doubt it was an illusion. How could you tell anything just from the way someone looked? All the same it was hard to imagine him threatening an old lady with a hammer, and even harder to believe he was responsible for Walter Bury’s death. Surely by now Deb must have been told about the weapon. If she believed Dean was a murderer she was taking it very calmly, but perhaps the police had told her he was only being kept in custody as a precaution while they made further checks.

  Upstairs Lynsey gave a sudden shout. ‘She thinks what? Why didn’t you tell her? Fucking hell, I’d never have let you phone.’

  A moment later she appeared with the baby balanced on one hip, and an expression of utter outrage. ‘You think I stole her. Yes, you do. It’s not true, it’s crap! Rona said she’d be back in half an hour but she never turned up. What was I supposed to do?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell Sandy or Geraldine?’

  ‘What good would that do? Besides if Helen wanted Chloe she’d have taken her with them.’ She was shouting but when she saw the baby’s mouth turn down she lowered her voice almost to a whisper and tears began to slide down her face. ‘Nobody wants her, poor little sod.’

  Deb flopped into a chair and took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from under the cushion. Lynsey glared at her. ‘I told you she wouldn’t believe me.’

  ‘I believe you,’ I said. ‘Sit down and tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘Why should I? Why d’you want to know?’

  Deb leaned back, blowing smoke into the air but making sure it missed the baby’s face. ‘Oh, come on, Lynse, that’s not fair. Anna was worried when you went missing. I was worried, anything could’ve happened.’

  ‘What? Like the both of us jumping off the Suspension Bridge.’ She balanced the baby against the comer of the chair, wiped its face with a tissue, then covered her own face with her hands.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, ‘d’you really think Chloe’s your baby?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘But she’s the same age, has the same colouring?’

  ‘Rona never came back,’ she said. ‘I thought she was going to the dry cleaner’s — with Helen’s
coat.’

  ‘That’s what she told you?’

  She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. I was thinking about all the things she had said about Rona. How she’d called her an evil old bat, not fit to be looking after a little baby. How she’d said if the Sealeys had to have a nanny at least they could find someone young enough to do it properly. How she’d told me — only joking, of course — it was a pity the Leigh Woods killer hadn’t smashed Rona over the head instead of some poor harmless bloke.

  ‘Come on,’ I said quietly. ‘Just tell us everything, from when you first arrived at the flat this morning.’

  Her head jerked up. ‘Wasn’t this morning. Who said it was this morning? Yesterday, in the afternoon, I was cleaning the bathroom and she came and asked if I wanted some tea. Then, like, when we were in the kitchen she said she had to pop out, to the post or something.’

  ‘I thought you said the dry cleaner’s.’

  ‘And the post. She had this bag of stuff. I told you.’ She thought about it, trying to get the details straight — or trying to concoct a convincing story. ‘She was always writing letters. Not letters, cards, only she’d put them in envelopes. Sometimes Thomas took them to the box only he opened one of them, like he thought there was something funny.’ She paused, looking at me and Deb in turn. ‘There wasn’t though. Just a picture of two polar bears.’

  ‘What was written on the back? Did Thomas read it?’

  ‘How would I know? Nothing interesting. Anyway, you’re not listening about what happened yesterday. She was gone for ages and ages and the baby started whingeing, like she was getting hungry, so I carried her round for a bit, then I made her a bottle only like she wouldn’t take it at first.’ Deb had heard it all before. She disappeared into the kitchen and I could hear her filling a kettle, putting mugs on a tray. Before she returned she would have made up the other eye.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Lynsey, ‘she never come back so like I stayed the night. The baby was ever so good. Settled in her cot straight off.’

  ‘She took the bottle, then?’

  ‘Course she did, and some of that baby rice stuff. In the morning — they wake early, babies — in the morning I gave her a bath, then like I put her things in a carrier bag, nappies and that, strapped her into the buggy and left.’