by Penny Kline
‘Why would she do that?’
Ronnie shrugged. ‘To make her life seem more exciting? She loved an audience, people listening to her stories, laughing at her jokes.’
‘So you never saw this friend.’
‘Once, in the distance.’ She hitched up the leg of her jeans and scratched her ankle. ‘I saw her with someone but for all I knew it was perfectly innocent, could have been her older brother.’
‘He was older than her? Tall, short, young, middle-aged? It wasn’t Eric?’
‘Oh no, it definitely wasn’t Eric. I’ve never met him but Nikki showed us pictures, she was always showing us pictures. That woman you mentioned, the one with the toyshop, didn’t she go off with Charlie’s grandfather? I forget the name but Nikki talked of nothing else for days.’
‘That was Faye Tobin’s business partner,’ I said. ‘What did Nikki tell you about her?’
‘Oh, just the usual. Nikki loved a scandal, a drama. “God, I’m so bored.” That’s what she used to say. “Doesn’t anyone know someone who’s done something awful?” Then if no one did she’d fall back on what was in the newspapers, preferably some story about the Royal Family.’
I stood up. ‘Thanks for letting me come and see you. As I said, my main aim is to try and build up a picture of Charlie’s mother in my mind. You’ve been really helpful. Oh, there was one more thing. Janice Kirk — does the name mean anything?’
‘Kirk? Someone Nikki knew, is it?’
‘I’m not sure. Could be. Just a name that came up, someone who lives in Brislington, the part of Bristol where Nikki lived before she and Eric moved to the present house. I just thought she might have mentioned the name.’
Ronnie nodded vaguely but she wasn’t really listening. ‘You said you wanted to build up a picture but I’d say you’ve more of an interest than that. Still, since I wasn’t exactly straight with you, that puts us on even terms.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘It seems wrong to mention it now, but when Nikki died she owed me some money. Four hundred. I don’t begrudge it, wouldn’t dream of saying anything to —’
‘Nikki owed you four hundred pounds? Does Eric know about it?’
‘No, and whatever you do you mustn’t tell him, it wouldn’t be fair. She made me promise. “Cross your heart and hope to die.” She was like that, like a child. I can see her now, drawing her hand across her heart then insisting I did the same.’
‘Why would she have wanted so much?’ And why did you agree to lend it?
Ronnie stood up and faced the window. ‘She said it was important, a matter of life and death. She promised to pay back a fixed amount each month, and she stuck to the promise except there were only a couple of months.’
‘Four hundred pounds is a lot of money. Did you tell the police about it? It’s possible she needed it for —’
‘Something illegal. Oh, I’m certain there was nothing like that. Anyway, I didn’t want the police bothering Eric.’
The door of the front room had opened and the television had been switched off. Ronnie’s mother walked slowly towards us, steadying herself against the wall with the palm of her hand and pausing every few steps to get her breath back. She was taller than her daughter, and thinner. In fact, I could see no family likeness at all. Her legs, beneath a knee-length royal blue dress, were slightly bowed and she was wearing brown slippers with the backs stamped down so that she had to struggle to keep them on her feet.
Ronnie raised her voice till she was almost shouting. ‘The friend of Nikki’s I told you about, Mother. She’s just going.’
‘What’s she want?’
‘She’s been telling me about Charlie, Nikki’s little boy.’
Mrs Cox had reached the kitchen and was resting her back against the wall, and pressing the top of her chest as if to steady the beat of her heart. ‘Who is she? The boy’s aunt?’
‘No, a friend.’
Mrs Cox gave a snort. She was looking in the opposite direction but her next remark was addressed to me. ‘Poor little blighter. Poor little lamb. Still, from what Veronica’s told me about that Nikki Newsom, I reckon he’s better off without her.’
Chapter Five
Gayle Hedley was waiting by the gate when I left for work.
‘Oh, I was hoping to see you, my dear.’ She had the most insincere smile I had ever seen. ‘Any more strange phone calls for Tanya Thurston? Only after I spoke to you last it occurred to me the caller could be one of her poor souls trying to get in touch. You see she was a befriender.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Oh, just what the word says, I think. She helped people who’d been in prison, or was it mental homes? I saw her out quite often with a young woman, dressed from top to toe in black-out material, the kind of stuff they used to drape over the windows during the War.’
‘It was always women she helped?’ I had a sudden vision of Janice Kirk’s baggy black trousers and outsize sweatshirt.
‘Oh, no, there was a man too. Older, quite normal looking really.’
‘So you think this person who keeps ringing my number could be someone Mrs Thurston befriended. Surely she’d have told them she was moving away.’
‘You’d have thought so, wouldn’t you, but I daresay some of them haven’t all that much up here.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘Have you got a moment, dear, only they finished putting in my new kitchen yesterday afternoon and I’m simply dying to show it to someone and you can meet Peter. He might be able to throw some light on your mysterious calls.’
Confident that I would follow she started back to her house, turning her head as she walked so she could tell me about the fitters and what a mess they had made and how one of them had something quite disgusting on the back of his hand: a tattoo of a heart and the words ‘Jesus Loves’. The rain that had poured down in the early hours of the morning was threatening to start again.
‘Come along.’ Mrs Hedley glanced up at the sky and pulled a face. ‘Peter took the dog out first thing and the two of them got soaked through.’
As soon as she put her key in the lock her words were drowned by barking. ‘Straight ahead, second room on the left,’ she yelled, knocking on a closed door and shouting even louder. ‘Put him on his lead!’
The house had an odd smell, probably a mixture of wet dog and new kitchen. In the hall and passage two contrasting William Morris-style wallpapers had been stuck on opposite walls — leaves and lilies, one in shades of green and pink, the other orange and brown. When we reached the new kitchen Gayle Hedley stood with her outstretched arms.
‘There, what d’you think of that? I wanted blue worktops but Peter said they might clash with the carpet tiles so in the end we settled for peach. Decisions, decisions, that’s always the problem with home improvements. I expect you’ve found the same thing with your flat in Cliftonwood. Will you have to redecorate throughout?’
‘No, it’s not that bad.’ So Eric had told her all about his new tenant or, what was much more likely, she had dragged the information out of him, bit by bit.
‘It looks very smart,’ I said, running my hand along a smooth, cold surface. ‘What was it like before?’
‘Yes, it’s a shame you never saw it. Before and after — I should’ve taken some pictures. We did that with the garden — it was a wilderness when we first arrived — and it’s such fun comparing the old with the new. The last people hadn’t a clue about pruning — the poor roses had to be seen to be believed.’
Peter Hedley was standing in the doorway, with the dog under one arm. I had seen him before, in the distance — he was almost completely bald and seemed to have trouble with one of his knees — but close to he looked younger than his wife.
‘Nice to meet you.’ His speech was clipped, controlled. ‘I’ve seen you getting into your car. If you ever — automatically have any trouble getting it started —’
‘How’s Charlie?’ Gayle interrupted. ‘Such a dear little boy.’
‘Charlie
,’ Peter repeated. ‘Bonny Prince Charlie. Now let me show you the garden. I expect my wife told you I’ve automatically taken early retirement. They were looking for voluntary redundancies and the terms were exceptionally advantageous.’ He hitched up the wriggling dog, then let it scrabble to the floor where it rose on its hind legs, trying to reach me with its nose.
Gayle patted my hand. ‘You were on your way to work, dear. Come and see the garden another day. You’re always welcome — we’re those kind of people. You know, when Eric told me a psychologist was renting the annexe, I thought: oh, what a good idea, she’ll know all about post-traumatic stress and the required treatment. Do children suffer from it? I suppose they must, I mean, why wouldn’t they? Such a horrible thing to happen, and in a quiet road like this. Peter and I have had a security system installed but they say a professional can disconnect it, no trouble at all.’
‘They never caught who did it,’ said Peter, licking his upper lip. ‘You’d have thought there’d be something forensic, hairs, pieces of skin under the nails. Of course it wasn’t a sexual assault, not unless the police — automatically kept some of the facts to themselves.’
As I was leaving Gayle caught hold of my arm. ‘She was on holiday at the time. Nikki — she’d taken a few days still owing to her. Only the reason I mention it is I thought the police should have found out how many people knew she was going to be at home that day.’
‘I expect they did,’ I said but they both shook their heads, implying that if the police had been any good at their job the killer would have been under lock and key by now.
Peter Hedley’s eyes had opened very wide and when he spoke I could see the spittle at the corners of his mouth. ‘The police made the usual inquiries, a constable went from door to door, but we never felt we were properly interviewed, did we, dear? We’re both observant people, we could have seen something.’
‘And did you?’
The two of them exchanged glances. ‘We did and we didn’t,’ said Gayle. ‘A man had been hanging about that morning, someone I thought I might have seen before, possibly one of Tanya Thurston’s hard-luck cases.’
‘Tell her,’ said Peter, ‘tell her what you saw.’
‘I was just about to.’ Gayle turned her back on her husband and gave me a ‘see what I have to put up’ look. ‘A youngish man, very dark. No, I don’t mean his skin, it was his hair. Jeans, jacket, those black training shoe things, or it could have been boots. The police didn’t seem to think it was much to go on, only I don’t know what they expect. How was I to know what was going to happen that afternoon?’
When I reached my car I turned to look back at their house and saw Peter Hedley standing on the pavement. He raised his hand in a wave, then disappeared through his front gate. It was only later it occurred to me how familiar his voice had sounded.
*
My last client of the morning had come to ask for advice about his girlfriend who appeared to have a serious eating disorder but kept insisting there was nothing the matter.
‘Tell her you’ve been to see me,’ I said. ‘She’ll probably be quite angry but part of her will be relieved you’re refusing to take what she says at face value.’
‘She talks of nothing but food.’
‘And I expect she enjoys preparing meals for you even though she eats very little herself.’
‘Yes, it’s bloody ridiculous.’ He stood up to leave. ‘If she doesn’t get help soon she’s going to end up in hospital, or worse. Can’t someone force her to have some treatment? No, I suppose that would make things even worse.’
We walked down the stairs together. He looked so desperate I felt I should have done more. ‘Come back in a couple of weeks,’ I said, ‘and you can let me know how you get on.’
He took the padlock off his bike. ‘Yes, all right then. Thanks. Anyway, she may have kicked me out by then. God, I never thought I’d end up being her bloody therapist.’
Through Heather’s open window I could hear laughter, then Martin’s voice telling someone to turn round, then keep still.
He heard my footsteps in the entrance hall and called out, ‘Anna, come and have a look.’ His head came round the office door. ‘Heather’s new wedding outfit.’
‘She’s getting married?’
Heather’s cheeks were burning. ‘No, of course not, it’s for a friend’s wedding. Big reception at a country club out towards Chipping Sodbury.’
She was dressed in an emerald green suit and a large black and white hat. A skeletal fashion model would have had trouble carrying it off and Heather was far from skeletal.
‘Actually Kieran and I have talked about it,’ she said, ‘and even the girls think it would be quite a laugh.’
‘Quite a laugh?’ Martin looked disapproving. ‘Marriage is a solemn institution, isn’t that right, Anna?”
‘I wouldn’t know.’ I gave him a withering look. ‘Where’s Nick?’
‘Still with a client, or clients. From the noise coming from his room I’d say it was kill or cure. Couple in their seventies who wanted marriage guidance but thought they were too old to go to Relate. Hey, don’t go away, I want to know what happened when you bumped into Superintendent Fry. Did he tell you all about their latest investigations?’
Heather was replacing her hat in its polythene bag. She turned round, surprised. ‘I thought Mrs Newsom was killed by an intruder.’
‘Looks that way,’ I said, ‘although according to Eric the police still see him as the number one suspect.’
‘That’s crazy.’ Martin hoisted himself onto Heather’s desk and started swinging his legs, eager to hear more.
‘I thought you said you’d never met Eric, just bought one of his rocking horses.’
‘Yes, I know, but from what Faye Tobin told me he’s definitely not the violent type, just the opposite if anything.’
‘So murders are only committed by violent types.’
His legs swung harder. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Anna. Anyway, I thought you rather liked the guy.’
‘I do. Look, I’ll have to go. My seminar.’
‘Today?’ complained Martin, predictable as ever. ‘Anyway, as far as the murder’s concerned, you’re right, it’s best to stay well out of it.’
If he had known how I had allowed Isabel to make a second appointment, he would have blown his top. What were you thinking about? You’re living next door to Eric Newsom and you’ve agreed to see his mother, and to make matters worse Eric hasn’t even been told about it. You know the kind of mess we get into if we don’t stick to professional boundaries. I glanced at Heather, hoping when Isabel booked herself in she had continued to use her maiden name, but Heather was fully occupied gazing at herself in the mirror, patting her hair, then retrieving the hat from its bag and trying it on again, blissfully unaware that the absurdly wide brim made her round, pleasant face look even more moon-shaped.
*
The only way to pre-empt more trouble was to lay down some ground rules. During the first part of the seminar there would be no interruptions, no questions. I would talk for ten minutes or so, then go round the group asking each student in turn to comment on the photocopied journal articles I had left in their pigeon-holes.
As I approached the ugly concrete building that housed the new seminar room my thoughts returned to Eric. Was it even remotely possible he had murdered his wife? Pushed to the extremes, subjected to the slow drip-drip of psychological torture that defence lawyers claim leads their female clients to resort to murder, had he lost his head, picked up the nearest weapon and lashed out? Isabel was convinced Nikki had been killed by someone a well-meaning psychiatrist had been deceived into allowing back into the community. Why did the police seem so unimpressed by his theory? Because no one had seen Eric in Cheltenham? Because the murder weapon had been an ordinary kitchen knife and Eric had told them he had no idea if one of his knives was missing?
Janice Kirk was sitting in her usual place at the end of the table, arms folded, lips pressed tog
ether, ready for battle. When she saw me she whispered something to the student sitting next to her, a thin, rather pretty girl with wispy hair, who seemed to be new to the class.
‘This is Lianne.’ Janice jerked her head towards her companion. ‘She’s changed courses.’
‘Which course were you doing before, Lianne?’ Steve had never mentioned any changes, but the whole organisation of the place seemed to be going to pot.
Lianne muttered something inaudible and I made a mental note to have a word with her at the end of the seminar. One or two of the other students, including a tall young man who had turned up the previous week with a dog on the end of a rope, were missing. The room was overheated and something in the back of my throat was forcing me to keep swallowing. What was it about Janice that made me feel so threatened? Perhaps it was because, in other circumstances, I myself might have made some of the same criticisms of psychiatry and clinical psychology that she kept tossing out, although in this instance it would be confusing for the other students if the pros and cons of various treatments were discussed before they had even had time to grasp the basic facts about the topic.
‘You’ve all read the journal article on “Genetic Theories of Schizophrenia”,’ I began, ‘but before I open up the discussion I want to talk a bit about —’
‘I thought it was bollocks,’ said Janice, gazing round at the others, willing them to agree. Some of the younger students sighed heavily, glanced up at me, then started doodling on their pads.
‘Yes, well you may be right, Janice but, as I explained last time, we’re going to discuss the papers later on.’
‘Nothing to discuss.’ She was sitting up straight with her large red hands on the table in front of her.
‘That may be your opinion, but that in itself —’
‘I thought these seminars were for us. I thought we had a right to say how we wanted them run.’
I struggled to remember what I had been saying, made a start but was immediately interrupted again.
