by Anne Coates
Hannah felt a complete whimp. In comparison to such a courageous friend as Liz, Hannah felt she useless.
“I imagine,” Celia said breaking into her thoughts, “that my daughter was giving back something to society. She was trying to make a difference. It takes a very special person to do that. And my daughter was very special.”
Well, that’s put me in my place, thought Hannah. She smiled at Celia.
“We’re thinking – that is I am thinking about Mary’s suggestion – of establishing some sort of bursary to a charitable institute to commemorate her life.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Celia.” Hannah looked down at the box she was opening. “But why did you ask if Liz and I had fallen out over something?”
“Oh nothing really. But she made some disparaging comments about Paul in something I read and I wondered if she’d repeated them to you?”
“She was never one of Paul’s fans. Although I did think they’d warmed to each other a little before he disappeared off the scene. He was at the funeral.”
“Yes, I spoke to him. Charm personified. How did you feel about seeing him again?”
“Actually he’d already been to see me. He’s threatening to take me to court so that he could have access to Elizabeth.”
Celia said nothing but gave Hannah what seemed to be a pitying look.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“I don’t know how you do it.” Rory placed his pint and Hannah’s large white wine on the table which wobbled in protest. None of the empties had been removed although the pub wasn’t that busy – yet. It would soon be heaving with lunchtime drinkers.
“Do what exactly?” Hannah sipped her wine.
“Well you’re not exactly investigative journalist of the year, are you?”
“And your point is?” She smiled to soften her reply but she had a feeling she knew what he was about to say and let him stew.
“What I mean is, you’re not a hard-bitten hack – you’re a good, competent woman’s magazine writer who somehow manages to stumble on major stories.”
Rory took a long gulp of beer, fascinated by Hannah’s expression. At the moment she’d make a bloody awful poker player. Yet he knew there had to be another, almost ruthless streak beneath that soft-looking exterior. Judy with all her brittle nastiness would be no match for her, if Hannah decided to crush her. He wondered why she hadn’t already. Perhaps she wasn’t aware of this side of herself – yet.
Hannah placed her wine glass onto a wet patch on the tabled and pushed it round in a circle.
“It may surprise you to know that I would much rather have avoided discovering a dear friend murdered and as for…”
“Hannah I didn’t mean… Look I’m sorry, that came out all wrong.”
“Be careful if you’re friends with me you might disappear or worse.” For a moment Hannah looked as though she were about to cry. But she blinked rapidly and drank some more wine.
“So where are you up to and how can I help.” Rory’s businesslike tone restored a modicum of harmony.
Hannah didn’t answer the question but fielded another. “How come some people are so evil? They can’t be born that way…”
“Herd instinct I suppose. Once anyone starts some sort of scam…” Hannah’s face now betrayed her indignation – “I mean crime – even if you’re on the periphery it’s difficult to extricate yourself without… oh I don’t know. There’s just a lot of complete bastards in the world. And sometimes no justice.”
“Well could you imagine yourself getting caught up in something like this?”
“Hell no! But then I wouldn’t be volunteering. I’m no do-gooder.”
“Nor am I and I must say I was surprised that Liz was.”
“So why do you think she went?”
“To get away from me.” The words were out before she realised she had articulated her worst fear. “I think she went to get away from me.”
“Bit extreme isn’t it? Were you such a powerful influence on her?” Rory glanced at her over his pint. She looked fragile again and was blinking hard. “Sorry I didn’t mean to upset you. But friends don’t usually have such a profound effect.”
“I was pregnant. I suppose I changed and I could see she was really pissed off with me at times going on about having a baby and…”
“Even so… there must be more to it.”
“She had one of those foster children. You know the ones you sponsor…”
“Ye-es?”
“I think it was a combination of being fed up with me and that girl. Something happened to make her want to visit her.”
“Hm that makes a bit more sense. Extreme, but a bit more understandable.”
Hannah nodded but said nothing.
“I think we need to do a bit of digging about this charity, don’t you?”
“Yes I was hoping you’d suggest that.” Hannah had given just enough information to whet his appetite without exposing what else she feared. She was more wary now. The News might have her on a contract but she hadn’t sold her soul. Not completely.
“Thanks Rory. Do you need to run it by George?”
He shook his head as he drained his glass. “No need for that at this stage. Let’s see what we come up with first.”
Hannah felt the relief as a wave of lightness that rippled through her. That had been easier thank she had anticipated. She smiled. “Now can I get you another drink?”
Rory glanced at his watch. “Why not?”
An overpowering scent of fresia. Hannah woke with a start. Once more she had fallen asleep in the armchair in Elizabeth’s room. It had become a ritual to check on her sleeping daughter, to sit and gaze as Elizabeth snuffled in her sleep, flung an arm out of her duvet or chuckled at some unimaginable dream. Hannah sat and stared in mute adoration. Inevitably she fell asleep.
In the small glow of the nightlight the room was utterly peaceful. Hannah stretched and inhaled deeply. Fresia. Hardly a fragrance to grace a winter’s evening. She tensed then relaxed as a smile spread across her face. Fresia. Her favourite flower. From wherever it had emanated, it felt like a message. An endorsement. A peace that she hadn’t felt for so many months now, embraced her as she stood up and went into her own bedroom. She fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
She awoke to chuckles and a hushed conversation that seemed to be coming from Elizabeth’s room. Totally disorientated she leaped out of bed, thrusting herself into her dressing gown and walked in on Janet dressing Elizabeth as she chattered away and the toddler replied with happy laughter and the odd word.
Hannah watched in silence for a few moments. Janet had been a good choice.
“Hello you two.”
Two relaxed faces turned to her, one smiling, one beaming.
“You look a lot better,” Janet said.
“Thank you. Sorry I overslept. I…”
“It’s no problem, Hannah. I realised when I let myself in you must still be asleep and Elizabeth was quite happy chatting to herself in her cot.” She did up the last button on Elizabeth’s cardigan. “Now madame you are ready to face the day. You go to Mummy while I go and make some coffee.”
“Thank you,” Hannah mouthed as she held her daughter close to her and breathed in her baby scent. No fresia this morning. Whatever it was in the night it had certainly helped her to sleep and feel more like facing life. Which was just as well as she had a long day ahead.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Hannah sat back and rubbed her eyes. She had spent the last couple of hours going through the microfiches that threw up any reference to her search for the charity and Somalia. There was a pile of notes on the table. Everything she had read made Liz’s trip to Somalia seem even more unfathomable. And yet there was something…
She only had a few facts to go on but one was the girl Liz had “adopted”. Liz had sent regular contributions for some time and received updates. Then they stopped. Both the payments and the communication. Why? Hannah had seen photos of the girl
. She looked like an engaging child with a broad smile and a lively intelligent face. But then something had happened and there was a sadness reflected in her eyes. For want of a better word Hannah thought she looked as though she had been betrayed. But perhaps that was a flight of fancy. There were no further photos after that. So why did the payments stop? Hannah saw that it wasn’t long afterwards that Liz had made her decision to volunteer for the charity.
Somalia couldn’t have been an easy or comfortable place to be in. Frequent wars and uprisings led to an unstable and unsettled society. A society in which women had little say. It seemed the only thing the women were strong on was to perpetuate the mutilation of female genitalia. Hannah felt sick. Girls as young as six would be held down and cut and sewn like a piece of meat. She could imagine the screams of pain. The tears. And she wondered if Kamaria’s sad photo marked her mutilation. Her female castration. Hannah shuddered. It was incomprehensible that a mother would do that to her child. And why? How could other women be complicit in such an aggressive and unnecessary act?
Hannah read that in 1983 55.4 per cent of women surveyed in Baydhaba, Somalia reported abnormal menstruation. Women who had undergone FGM were twice as likely to die during childbirth and more likely to give birth to a stillborn baby or one with brain damage. There were so many other awful side effects. So why?
She decided to try ringing James to ask him if he had come up with any contacts who would talk to her about what was, it seemed, a widespread problem for African women. Luck was on her side and she managed to reach him. His reaction wasn’t promising.
“I’m still not sure about this, Hannah. I do know someone who could help you and she’d probably agree but…”
“But? Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not you I don’t trust, Hannah. But if you write anything for The News I’m not sure they wouldn’t just sensationalise it and maybe undermine all the good work that is being done.”
“First off I’m not even sure The News would carry any such story but I would have to offer it to them first. Secondly please give me some credit for handling this with integrity.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can arrange and I’ll be in touch.”
Was their friendship now on the line? James obviously didn’t trust her and if that was the case… His loss didn’t bear thinking about.
Her research on the charity threw up very little. It was a minor player linked to other philanthropic bodies under umbrella organisations. Hannah wondered yet again why Liz had chosen such small time charity when she could presumably have had her pick of those in the major league like the Red Cross and Médecin Sans Frontiers. None of it made sense. Unless WelcAf really was the only charity which worked in the area that Liz’s adopted child lived in.
News on the microfiche was sparse. However Rory had a contact in the Foreign Office and he was going to try that source.
Just as she was leaving the library her mobile rang.
“Hannah, it’s Jane. I’ve just got back from Berlin and heard about what happened to Liz. You must be gutted. Can we meet up and talk?”
Hannah felt a warm glow inside her. Jane hadn’t known Liz very well but she would understand Hannah’s grief.
“Of course it will be so good to see you. Could you come to me so I don’t have to get a babysitter? I’ll cook supper.”
“Ok but we’ll get a take away – my treat. Are you free tomorrow evening?”
Hannah didn’t like to say she was free most evenings. It sounded so lame and needy even if true. “Yes – will Chris be coming with you?”
“No he had to stay on for work. So just the two of us, wine, food and talk.”
“You don’t know how good that sounds.” Hannah was enveloped in a sense of peace. Jane was back. Jane would help her put what had happened into some perspective.
Meantime there was someone else who could help with perspective. Hannah decided to broach Claudia Turner. She hadn’s heard any updates for a while now and could use this excuse to sound out the inspector. On the third call she managed to reach her. “What happened to Jacob Gurnstein?” she asked with no preamble.
“What do you mean what happened to him?” Claudia’s tone told her she wasn’t going to get very far here but Hannah persisted.
“I suppose the obvious question is, did he jump or was he pushed?”
“His death is still part of an ongoing investigation, Hannah. Nothing salacious as yet for The News to get its teeth into.”
“Well, I wasn’t actually asking on behalf of The News. I’m sure Father Patrick, had he been able, would have organised a funeral for instance… he must have had one by now.” Hannah couldn’t mention that she’d been tipped off by Lucy. The less DI Claudia Turner knew about her own “investigations” the better.
“He did. His family saw to that.”
“Family?”
“Yes they recognsied him from the photo and we released the body to them. They didn’t want any fuss or publicity. So we honoured their wishes and withheld the information.”
“I see.” Convenient, Hannah thought and wondered about this family. “Do you think they’d talk to me as part of my follow up article on Liz?”
“I wouldn’t think so.” Claudia was dismissive. “They’re a very private family with no wish to expose their relative or themselves to press scrutiny.”
“Well if you hear that they’ve changed their minds, perhaps you’ll give them my number?”
Claudia Turner’s silence told Hannah all she needed to know – the DI would not pass on her details. Instead she asked, “Tell me, Hannah, I’m curious. Why would you think there’s any connection – apart from the obvious one of his attending Liz Rayman’s surgery – between his death and Liz’s?”
“Just exploring ideas really. Seemed a strange coincidence, that’s all. Plus there’s Father Patrick…”
“Yes, Father Patrick. Look I have to go now. Keep in touch.”
Hannah knew she was being fobbed off but there was little if anything she could do about it.
TWENTY-NINE
“Paul? Paul turned up here? Well that just takes the biscuit. The bastard! What did he think – that you’d fall at his feet grateful for any crumbs from his table?”
Hannah laughed. Jane and her indignation was just the tonic she needed. They’d ordered an Indian takeaway to be delivered and it was now spread before them on the coffee table and they had nearly finished the first bottle of wine.
“That’s not the best of it.” Hannah helped herself to some more green chicken handi and rice. “He’s also seeing Judy Burton at The News.” Hannah managed to impart this piece of gossip with an equanimity she was far from feeling.
“Nooooo!” Jane had a forkful of food halfway to her mouth and and looked like some sort of cartoon character betraying her incredulity. “He told you that?”
“No I discovered it at the office when I was there. Someone was going on about Judy’s latest prey and his name came up.”
“So how did you feel about that?”
“To be honest it was like a physical blow. I nearly passed out. Judy’s a vicious cow but I don’t think she knew of my connection to Paul. I’m sure if she had known she’d have made me aware of it. If Rory hadn’t been there to push me onto a chair I think I’d have completely disgraced myself. He was a real Samaritan and took me for a drink and a sandwich.”
“Did you tell him?” Jane had known Paul casually but had no time for him once he and Hannah had split up. But she had a lot of time for Rory whom she’d worked with.
“No I said that I hadn’t eaten and it was low blood sugar.”
“Well if he believed that, he’s not much of a hack…”
“I don’t think he did believe me but he was too much of a gentleman to push the point. And he’s being really supportive with helping me look into Liz’s murder.”
Jane’s expression was deadpan. She had worked on The News as the chief sub and had in fact got Hannah her first commission ther
e. “So how exactly has this come about. Doesn’t sound like The News to let you loose on a major news story. No offence,” she said quickly seeing the look of indignation on Hannah’s face.
“None taken and you’re right, The News is only letting me write first person accounts of what it’s like to lose a friend like this etc etc.” Hannah made a face. “You needn’t worry they haven’t gone soft on me and Judy is champing at the bit and after my blood. God knows what she’d be like if she knew about the Paul connection.”
“Hmmm I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“Just a thought that’s going round in my mind. I’ll let you know if it bears fruit. So you still haven’t explained how …”
“Lady Rayman, Liz’s mother…”
“I know who Lady Rayman is.”
“Well she asked me to investigate for her. A bit like a private detective, I suppose and she’s paying me. I wasn’t happy about accepting her suggestion – or money – but she has a way of getting people to do her bidding. I assume she thinks that as a friend, I’ll be kind to Liz’s memory if anything untoward emerges.”
“And has it?”
“Not really. She was pregnant when she died and…”
“Shit – did you know she was having a baby?”
“No. I think she was going to tell me on the night she died. At least I assume she was. What’s that look for?”
“What look? You just sound … oh I don’t know. Take no notice of me. Who was the father?”
“That’s what’s so odd, there’s no clue as to who the father was. I didn’t even know she was seeing someone. Lady Rayman didn’t know either. The pregnancy was mentioned in the post mortem report.” Hannah shocked herself at how dispassionately she could talk about Liz – now in the past tense.
Jane finished her wine. “What a bloody awful time you’ve been having.”
“Well it’s not just me. There’s the odd connection with the vicar at St John’s where Liz held her weekly surgery. He…” Hannah was about to mention the blackmail when she thought better of it. “He’s currently in St Thomas’s and –”
