Finding Lucy

by Ernesto Lee

  ‘He is much better today, Sean. He is fully awake and was able to eat something a few hours ago. He’s sleeping again now, but the doctors are hopeful that he can be transferred to a hospital closer to home in a couple of days.’

  Knowing that he is on the mend is a huge relief to me, but selfishly I’m still worried about what he might have told Maria about why he was there in the woods. I send another message asking if he has managed to say anything about what happened. For a few minutes, I can see that Maria is typing a reply and then it comes through.

  ‘Yes, he did. I’m sorry that I thought you might have encouraged him in some way. He told me that it was entirely down to him and that he spoke with your mother to find out where you were. I’m sorry, Sean. I was just so worried and didn’t know what to think.’

  I reply to reassure her that it doesn’t matter, that the important thing is for Ben to make a full recovery. Then I promise to visit again when I am back in London.

  Shortly afterwards, I get another message.

  ‘I would really like that. You’re a good man, Sean xx’

  Now maybe I am reading too much into it, but I’m left wondering if she meant to say, ‘He would really like that’, instead of, ‘I would really like that.’ I am so wrapped up in thoughts of taking Maria in my arms again, I don’t notice that we have arrived at the hotel until the driver taps me on the leg.

  “We’re here, Sergeant. Is there anything else you need from me tonight?”

  “Um, no, thanks for the lift,” I reply.

  The driver leaves and for a few minutes I stand outside the hotel pondering the possibilities before going inside. Maria is nearly twenty years older than me and I have no idea how Ben might react if I was to hook up with Maria in the real world.

  The sensible part of me says that it is playing with fire, but deep down, I know it is going to happen regardless of the consequences. Maria is a recurring itch and sooner or later that itch will need to be scratched.

  “Penny for your thoughts, boss?”

  Catherine has appeared at the entrance to the hotel and her question snaps me out of my daydream.

  “Oh, nothing much, Cath. I was just taking a breather. It’s been quite an interesting couple of days.”

  “You can say that again, Sean! Come inside, the bar’s open. I think we both deserve a drink.”

  For the next two hours we discuss the recent developments including the Clive Douglas comment over a few drinks and a meal sitting at the bar. Despite the comment from person unknown and the way in which the interview with Eddie ended today, we are both in good spirits and confident that by the end of the day tomorrow, this case should be more or less wrapped up.

  If we had been able to carry on today, I’m convinced that he would have caved in. Now that we have a second body and the footage of Joanna arriving at the vicarage in the early hours of yesterday morning, it is a virtual certainty. By 10 pm, I wish Catherine a good night and I get up to leave.

  “No particular rush to get up in the morning, Cath. It’s Sunday tomorrow and unless there are any new developments, have a lie in. Meet me back in the reception at midday. We’re due to catch up with DI Miller again at one-thirty.”

  Cath sarcastically thanks me for my generosity, and I head to my room to work out my final moves.

  For most aspects of this case, I now either know for certain what happened, or I at least have a good idea. I take a sheet of the hotel stationery from one of the dresser drawers and I note down each of the main questions along with the answers or my assumption.

  What happened to Lucy? – Killed by Eddie Wells, albeit unintentionally. Provoked by JPB.

  Was the killing of Lucy a deliberate act? – No. From what I saw, the killing of Lucy was unintentional, but there was almost certainly a plan to blackmail Eddie into at least paying off Sir David’s debts to keep the estate in family hands.

  What happened to Paul Oliver? – Not certain, but he seemed to know or suspect something about Lucy’s disappearance and for this reason he was murdered by Eddie Wells at the instruction of JPB.

  Who killed Beatrice Partington-Brown? – Murdered by Eddie Wells at the instruction of JPB. Not sure why yet. She possibly also discovered something about Lucy’s disappearance.

  Who killed Father Beale? – Most likely, Eddie Wells, assisted by JPB.

  Who tried to kill me and unintentionally wounded Ben Pinto? – Almost certainly, Eddie Wells.

  Does Sir David Partington-Brown know about any of the above? – Most likely not. I struggle with the idea that he could know about the death of his daughter and the murder of his wife and accept it, let alone demand for the case to be re-opened.

  This then only leaves one major unanswered question. Point number 8.

  What is the connection of Sergeant Henry Cuttler, if any, to any of this and why was he protecting the loan sharks? Sir David must surely have known Cuttler well, so why didn’t he mention this in his interview statement? And what about his brother DI Alan Cuttler? Is he involved in any way? Were either of the brothers pressured by Joanna into cooperating with the original investigation or closing it prematurely? She knew about her father’s debts, so did she also know that Henry Cuttler was somehow associated with the debt?

  Proving any involvement of the Cuttlers to the case is irrelevant and not really needed at this point, but it’s annoying me that I don’t really have much idea of the answers to my questions. My main focus is Eddie and Joanna, but I can’t speak to either of them until at least five tomorrow afternoon.

  I have a good few hours to burn until then and with my mind made up, I prepare myself to travel again. My seventies suit is in desperate need of a dry-clean, but hopefully this is the last time that I will need to use it. I quickly run an iron over the pants and the shirt and then I dress. I pour myself a small drink and knock it back in one. At just after midnight, I lie down and close my eyes. With the village of Tyevale and the image of Sergeant Henry Cuttler clear in my mind, I begin my now familiar chant and am once more transported back to March of 1972.

  The Past – Tuesday, 7th March, 1972

  When I feel how cold it is, it makes me wish that I had my turtleneck jumper on again instead of my suit. On the other hand, it’s an absolute blessing that I’m wearing regular shoes and not those bloody platform boots. Sensible shoes will make it far easier for me to negotiate the slush-covered streets without running the risk of breaking my neck.

  As before, the O’Hanlon Carnival is spread out across three fields in front of me. I watch for a couple of minutes to see if anything has changed. Satisfied that everything is as it was before, I turn and make my way to the newsagent’s on the high street.

  Inside, I’m pleased to see that my accuracy has been good again. I pick up a copy of the Daily Mail and take it to the counter. I don’t really need the paper this time. I already know the headlines from March 7th, but I figure it will make me less conspicuous in the pub while I’m waiting for the girls, Sir David, and the loan-sharks to show up. Donald Cuttler will probably have a few papers on the bar, but I’d prefer not to take the chance that he doesn’t.

  Today, I have remembered to bring a few coins with me and without waiting for her to ask, I hand over five pence to the young girl behind the counter. This time around she returns my smile with one of her own, before taking me by surprise by asking me if we have met before. For a second, I have a mild panic, but then she calls back to someone in the stockroom.

  “Beryl, get yourself out here. There’s a bloke that looks a bit like David Cassidy. You know, that lad from the Partridge Family.”

  Relieved that that there is nothing more to it than her thinking that I look like someone from a seventies sitcom, I turn to leave just as Beryl appears at the counter. As I walk away, Beryl loudly and completely without shame tells her friend.

  “Nah, I don’t think he looks much like David Cassidy. Nice ass, though.”

  Both girls erupt into fits of giggles and I leave the shop as quickly
as I can without looking back. Tyevale seems to be the nymphomaniac capital of England and I can’t wait to get back to the relative normality of London.

  I cross the street and head into the Tyevale Arms. The same drinkers are supping on their pints of bitter at the bar and Paul Oliver and his friends are standing next to the jukebox. I politely tip my hat to the pensioners playing dominoes and the two old men politely return the gesture.

  Donald Cuttler is in his usual place behind the bar and after taking a few seconds to pretend to scan the beer options, I order myself a pint of John Smiths Bitter. After handing over the payment, I take my seat next to the fire to warm up and to watch the comings and goings.

  Whilst I wait for the arrival of the girls, I absentmindedly flick through the newspaper and smile to myself when I see the article about the IRA bombing of Aldershot Barracks. It makes me think about Ben again and how relieved I was to find out that he is recovering well from his injuries. I had been feeling guilty about giving him a hard time for trying to help me but seeing him so badly injured has put everything into perspective.

  He had only been trying to help and it is all down to me that he was ever there in the first place. For the first time, it really hits me that I have a family and, I’m looking forward to getting home and to seeing Ben and Maria again.

  I finish reading the newspaper and stand up to get another pint. Whilst I wait for Donald to pour it, the door opens. On cue, the sisters walk in with Abigail Whitchurch and head towards the bar.

  Also right on cue, Paul Oliver puts his hand to his mouth and lets out a wolf-whistle and a compliment.

  “Looking good, Lucy.”

  All three girls pretend to ignore his comment and keep walking towards the bar. They don’t look back, but Lucy has a huge smile on her face. I hadn’t noticed before, but she is wearing a Rolex watch with a silver band and a cream-colored dial. The heat from the fire that killed her must have been incredibly intense. I shudder slightly when I remember the remnants of steel and glass fused to her wrist bone.

  While Lucy orders the drinks for herself and Joanna, I am momentarily lost in my own thoughts of a wasted young life. It’s not until Lucy asks Abigail what she wants to drink that I am jolted back to reality by the obvious innuendo in her response.

  “Unfortunately, they don’t serve what I want here, so for now I will settle for a gin and tonic.”

  The now familiar spark of mischief is glinting in her eye and she follows her first comment with a second one that leaves anyone listening in no doubt as to what she means.

  “Maybe one of the lads can sort that out for me later.”

  Donald frowns and tuts to himself. He turns away to get the drinks for the girls and Paul calls over to Lucy to join him at the jukebox.

  “Hey, Lucy, this one is for you. Come and join us.”

  The mechanical arm in the jukebox selects the next record and Lucy turns to face Paul. As the song starts to play, she teases him about his efforts to attract her and then tells him about the threat from her father.

  “My father has threatened to send his gamekeeper after you with his shotgun if he sees you with me. Doesn’t that worry you?”

  Clearly unfazed by the threat, Paul flashes Lucy the whitest of smiles to win her over. She picks up her drink and all three of the girls join the guys next to the jukebox.

  From here on, everything plays out exactly as before. Donald rings his hand bell and loudly declares last orders. I order myself a second pint of bitter and take a seat closer to the jukebox. At 3 pm exactly, Donald is about to pull the bolt across the door when his brother Henry steps in and stamps his feet on the doormat.

  “Afternoon, Donald, get me a pint in and a large scotch. It’s bloody brass monkeys out there.”

  Sergeant Cuttler takes his drinks from the bar and Donald continues to serve other customers. I watch as Cuttler makes himself comfortable by the fire and then I turn to face Abigail Whitchurch, who is now sitting next to me. Before she can say anything, I smile and take her by surprise with my own flirtatious comment.

  “Wow, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Um, sorry, I thought you were somebody else,” she replies.

  “Really, is that your best chat-up line?” I tease her.

  I follow this up with another smile and she visibly relaxes and joins in the banter.

  “I knew it as soon as I saw you – you’re a London boy. You are way to flash and arrogant to be from around here.”

  “Not arrogant, darling,” I correct her. “I prefer self-confident.”

  “Okay, whatever you like, Flash Harry. My name is Abigail. What do they call you in wherever it is that you come from?”

  I introduce myself and then order a fresh round of drinks. Over the next half an hour, we chat about a fictitious sales job in London and as Abigail gets progressively drunker, I once again find myself fending off her wandering hands. At three-thirty I brush her hand away from my crotch for the third time and get up to leave. Abigail stands up to follow me and, worse for wear, knocks the edge of the table. I already know what is coming, though, and I grab her glass before it can fall.

  “Where are you going, lover boy? It’s still early,” she slurs.

  I hand her the glass and smile.

  “You’re right, it’s still early, but maybe you might want to consider making that your last drink and having an early night.”

  She dismisses my comment with a shrug of her shoulders and sits back down at the table. Before I even get to the front door, she has already been joined by one of Paul’s friends and I am quickly forgotten.

  I reach the front door and Donald holds it open for me to leave. Before I can step through, Sir David appears and pushes me aside as he comes in. He approaches the jukebox and I watch as he pulls Lucy and Joanna away from the rest of the group so that they can talk in private.

  He gets more and more agitated, until finally Joanna shakes her head and walks away. Lucy hands him the two ten-pound notes, which he snatches and thrusts into his jacket pocket.

  Without another word, he leaves as quickly as he came. I follow as he makes his way towards the alley at the side of the pub. This time, I have no intention of getting involved. Not yet anyway. Today, Sir David will need to take his beating like a man. I know that he won’t be beaten too badly anyway.

  I pass his MG sports car and then I cross the road to a spot where I can observe the entrance to the alley. I’m too far away to hear anything properly, but I can see well enough.

  I already know it’s coming, but I still flinch when the younger thug slams his cosh into the side of Sir David’s head.

  The two heavies lift him to his feet and push him back against the wall. They talk for another few seconds and then Scarface pushes him to the floor and screams in his face. This time I can make out a few words. The bits that I miss, I fill in through memory.

  “You don’t bloody have a few more weeks, you toffee-nosed bastard. I want my bleedin’ money now, or we make a deal for that car and house of yours.”

  At this point, I know that Sir David is struggling to breathe. I also know that they have no intention of hurting him badly, so I don’t worry unnecessarily. Soon, Scarface releases his grip and lifts him up for a second time. The voices have lowered again, but this is the point where Scarface makes the comment about taking Lucy and Joanna for a walk in the woods.

  Sir David takes a swing and Scarface skillfully sidesteps the punch and lands his own in Sir David’s stomach. He then nods to his companion and, without the benefit of my intervention this time, Frankie boy brings the cosh down on the top of Sir David’s skull. At the same moment, Sergeant Cuttler steps out from the pub and walks to the top of the alleyway.

  He stops briefly to check that he is not being watched, and then he joins the two loan sharks at the end of the alley. A few words are exchanged before Cuttler helps Sir David stand up and then all three of them help him to straighten his jacket and tie.

  The conversation continue
s for another five minutes until Cuttler gives Scarface a friendly pat on his back and shakes his hand. With the business seemingly done, Sergeant Cuttler escorts Sir David out towards his car and helps him into the passenger seat.

  He checks again that he is not being watched, then he goes back inside the Tyevale Arms, leaving Scarface and Frankie boy still discussing something at the end of the alley

  I need to speak to them to find out what is going on between them and Cuttler, but Scarface could return at any second. I’m wondering why he has left Sir David in the passenger seat of his car, when the pub door swings open and my question is answered.

  Cuttler is standing in the doorway talking to Lucy. She nods and then gets into the driver’s seat of her father’s MG. Cuttler watches them drive away and then he closes the pub door behind him, and I hear the metallic clunk of the bolt as it is pulled across from the inside.

  Taking my chance, I cross the street and enter the alleyway. As I get closer, Frankie boy turns around, but he makes a massive mistake in misreading my intentions and in underestimating my ability. His cosh is safely tucked away somewhere and, confident that I am no threat, he steps forward with his arms by his sides.

  My fist slams into his solar plexus and as he lurches forward my knee connects with the end of his nose with a sickening crack.

  Scarface turns just in time to see Frankie drop to the floor. He’s not quick enough, though, to dodge the blow to the side of his leg from my extendable baton. His legs buckle under him and he drops to the floor. Frankie tries to stand up and I send him tumbling backwards with a well-placed foot in his chest.

  “Stay down, fat boy, if you know what’s good for you.”

  I point the end of the baton at Scarface and gesture for him to get up.

  “You. On your feet, baldy, but keep your hands where I can see them.”

  He had been reaching for something in his jacket pocket, but now thinks better of it. He slowly removes his hand from the pocket and without taking his eyes off me, he painfully stands and sizes me up.