BLOOD SECRETS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘Not a great deal.’

  ‘You don’t seem to be getting very far.’

  ‘These things take time.’

  He gestured for her to go ahead. She moved reluctantly and he waited until she was walking to her car.

  ‘Oh, Ms Bartlett, just one question. Were there ever any births in your extended family or in friends’ families when you were young? Did any babies visit your house?’

  She stopped and turned slowly. Colour drained from her face, then rushed back in a fiery blush.

  ‘Babies? No. What an odd question. Why are you asking me that?’

  He wasn’t sure what he could see in her eyes. Anger and confusion, certainly, but maybe fear as well.

  ‘Oh, just something that was said. Detectives come up with all kinds of random questions you know.’ He stepped towards her. ‘Sheila, why do I get the impression that you’re hiding something?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. What would I have to hide?’

  He shrugged. ‘I have an idea that you’re concerned that my investigation might throw light on something else, something you wouldn’t want revealed.’

  She tightened the belt on her coat. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. I can’t waste any more time on this nonsense.’

  He stood watching as she walked slowly to her car. She sat inside, her head down. Then she reached into her bag and took out a large pastry, which she rapidly consumed, stuffing it into her mouth. After she had driven away Swift tidied the mess Howell had made in the living room, amazed that nothing was too damaged, just one wonky chair leg. Sheila was worried about his questions, that much was clear, and the mention of babies had thrown her.

  When he had finished clearing up, he sat with his notes, sifting through the information. There were dots but so far, none of them joined up.

  * * *

  Kris’s flat in Kennington was at the top of a three-storey house. It was small with a living room, kitchen, one bedroom and a shower room but dormer windows made it bright and airy. Swift visited her after his dental appointment. The dentist had applied a temporary cover to his chipped tooth and said it would need a crown. The poking and prodding had been painful because of the bruising to his jaw. He had told Kris that he’d had a burglar and that he had an interesting bruise on his face. He was glad that she didn’t make a fuss when he arrived.

  She watched expectantly as he looked at the vibrant fifties décor. There was a free-standing cupboard filling the wall between the windows of the living room, painted in sections of pale green, yellow and sky blue. The wallpaper was green with geometric designs, lamps with shades in the same design lit the room and there was a sofa and chair in red fabric with yellow cushions. Pictures of cityscapes and a sunburst clock hung on the walls. A long white table with a laminated apple print occupied one wall. It held a sewing machine, an angled lamp and a length of orange fabric, patterned with triangles and squares.

  ‘I haven’t started on the kitchen yet. I have to earn some more money first,’ she told him.

  ‘You know, I think I like it. It’s a bit of a shock but it works.’ He turned around slowly. He admired the detail and the care she had taken. Also the fact that she knew what she liked and wasn’t afraid to express her taste. She was wearing a black and white polka-dot dress with a full skirt, the kind he’d seen in films and on her website.

  ‘Did you make the dress too?’

  ‘Finished it yesterday. Look at the dents in my fingertips from my hard work!’

  ‘Amazing. You have real talent.’

  They ate macaroni cheese with salad at her narrow kitchen table, the kind with an extra flap that could open out. He appreciated that she’d made food he could eat easily. He forked the meal carefully into the side of his mouth, telling her his background with Ruth and the truth about Francis Howell and the reason for his attack.

  She looked at him, food suspended on her fork.

  ‘You’re not going to go to the police?’

  ‘I can’t, Kris. I want to close the whole situation down, have done with it. Otherwise Emlyn and Ruth are still in my life, and they’ve been there long enough.’

  She nodded. ‘I can see that. I’m glad, actually.’

  She had made a Polish fruit dessert called Kisiel, thick with apricots, cherries, oranges and red wine and wonderfully rich. He admired the vibrant colours, though its sweetness made him blink.

  Over coffee they talked more about her business. She told him that she had an order for two halterneck dresses, a pair of pedal pushers and a circle skirt. Several more customers had contacted her and asked her to visit them to take fittings, and orders on her website were growing. She showed him the cupboards in the hallway and her bedroom. They were full of neatly packaged and labelled fifties-style hats, gloves, shoes and sandals, boleros, wraps and pieces of jewellery. Some of these she had made but most she had sourced on the Internet or through visiting second-hand shops and house clearances. She thought she’d soon be able to give up her shifts at the Evergreen. She had a delightful habit, he noted, of blowing her fringe back from her forehead when she became animated.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘did you ever feel like running away from home when you were a teenager?’

  She laughed. ‘Loads of times! Is there a teenager who doesn’t? All those things your parents forbid or don’t approve of. I must have planned it a couple of times. You know — that’ll show them, they’ll be sorry for being so unreasonable!’

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘I couldn’t think of where to go and of course in the end, home was in fact a pretty good place. How about you?’

  ‘No, I never did. My parents must have been exceptionally tolerant and long-suffering.’

  * * *

  Later, lying in her not very comfortable bed, she whispered in his ear.

  ‘You know, I was attracted to you when I first saw you in the restaurant. Thought it was just my luck that you were married.’

  He held her close, stroking her hair. Her bedroom was so narrow he had already cracked his shin twice on the furniture but he didn’t mind. He lay awake for a while after she fell asleep. This uncomplicated relationship was such a novelty. His heart was already lighter. He could see the outline of a tacked gingham skirt hanging on the sewing mannequin that stood in the corner. His thoughts drifted to a boy who liked to wear his friend’s dresses.

  Chapter 9

  Swift was feeling irritable. He wasn’t able to row for a few days because of his arm wound and he keenly missed his therapy. He knew that Sheila was hiding something but he couldn’t tell if it was connected to Teddy. He rang Barbara Stead and asked her if she knew why any of the Bartlett family might have bought baby clothes. She laughed, her dog barking madly, and said she had no idea and none of that lot should ever have been left in charge of a baby. An idea was scratching away in a corner of his mind. He emailed Nora Morrow.

  Hi Nora,

  Hope you’re good. Could you do me a favour and run a check on Sheila Bartlett to see if she comes up in connection with any other incidents? There’s something about her that doesn’t add up. In return, I can borrow a boat for you and Alistair from my club if you want to go on the river.

  All best, Ty.

  He walked to the Silver Mermaid just after nine o’clock. Cedric had told him to come along then, as the book club would be finishing. The members met in a room above the bar. The landlady was an avid reader so they got the place for free. Lucy Magee, auctioneer and Druid, was attending and had agreed to have a drink afterwards. Cedric was sitting in an alcove with her. Swift bought another round of gin and tonics and sat opposite them. The pub was noisy but she had a robust voice. She was a rounded, cheerful woman in jeans and a cotton jacket. Her long chestnut hair rippled down her back. Swift gave a quick outline of Teddy. He showed her the email with the copy of the note Teddy had left and the exercise book Deaven Harrow had loaned him.

  ‘His beliefs were important to him,’ he explained. ‘I think that those beliefs
might have played some part in him being attacked. He was a troubled young man, trying to understand his sexuality and gender identification. I’ve read up about Druidry, but any ideas you can come up with would be welcome.’

  Lucy examined the email carefully, then scrutinised the exercise book. She looked up at Swift.

  ‘It’s a searing note, full of desperation and despair. But there’s hope in it too, with the mention of the journey and Otherworld.’

  ‘I’ve read that the Otherworld can be a state of mind as well as the next world after death, and I think that’s what Teddy meant.’

  She nodded. ‘I suspect that Teddy was drawn to Druidry because it’s free of dogma. There are no set beliefs and its tolerance would have been liberating to a young man who must have felt confined and confused. His goal of reaching the Otherworld would mean attaining wisdom, creativity and love.’ She traced her fingers over the drawings on the exercise book. ‘There are different kinds of Druid beliefs. Teddy’s drawings and words indicate that he was drawn to animism or pantheism, the belief that the deity is present all around us, within ourselves and in nature.’

  ‘He gave his brother a painting of a white hart in a forest. That would also fit with what you’ve said.’

  ‘You’ve done your homework.’

  ‘I’ve tried but it’s a complicated subject, as are all belief systems. I haven’t been able to work out the drawing on the back of the book, the circle with three dots and three lines.’

  Lucy pointed to it. ‘It’s called Awen and symbolises the search for the spirit of Druidry.’

  She sat back and looked through the exercise book. ‘He was a very intelligent young man, judging by these grades.’ She shook her head. ‘Your difficulty is that Druidry is such a non-regimented way of living and believing. It’s open to many different interpretations. Teddy was looking for meaning and structure, a sense of belonging and acceptance. By going to a place of trees, associated with sacred things, he may have believed he was starting his journey to Awen.’

  ‘Do you know anything about Low Copsley, where he was found?’

  ‘I know something of it, although I haven’t been there. It’s a sacred grove of yew trees. To Druids, the yew is the most potent tree for protection against evil. From ancient times, it has been a means of connecting to ancestors and a conduit to dreams and to Otherworld journeys. Yews are thought to have a powerful connection to the oldest magic.’

  ‘So it could be that Teddy went there to make a positive, fresh start in life. I visited there and that’s how it seemed to me.’

  ‘That’s how I would read his note and his actions. I think as a start of some kind of healing, too. Sadly, that wasn’t to happen,’ she said.

  ‘No. His life effectively stopped that day.’

  Swift left just before closing time, while Cedric and Lucy were still chatting over their drinks. He walked to the Thames to breathe the fresh night air, reflecting that the open-ended Druid beliefs and the strict ideology of The Select Flock couldn’t be more dissimilar.

  At home his thoughts turned again to Teddy and the likelihood that he had been targeted. He sat in his dressing gown, mulling over all the information he had gathered so far and writing down his thoughts:

  Bartlett family; all damaged & in pain & locked in a strange dependency.

  Teddy’s note; something caused Teddy great distress — someone in the family with a secret? Seems likely. A gentle, confused boy but with a strong belief and spirit. He was questioning his sexuality. He was using Internet to explore this. He responded to people he trusted. He had planned to get away from his family.

  Sheila was like an obsessed gaoler & she’s hiding something. She’s a liar. She was unwell that summer. Teddy told Judith that she was really getting him down.

  Teddy went to Low Copsley because it held sacred significance. Possibly arranged to meet someone there & that person arrived ready to kill him. Teddy believed same person was going to be part of his new start/helping him with it. Someone he met online or in Internet café?

  He considered Teddy’s small social circle and his own options for trying to progress the case. The Internet café was long gone and there seemed to be nothing else he could glean from the Bartlett family, the school or Judith. She had mentioned that Imogen Thornley’s mother knew and liked Teddy. He emailed Deaven Harrow, asking for a contact number.

  * * *

  Mary and Simone had sent out their wedding invitations. The marriage was to take place at a small hotel near Kew where Simone’s brother was head chef. The request at the bottom of the card said, please keep your dress informal! Swift wasn’t sure what this meant. He showed the card to Kris over lunch.

  ‘I suppose it means you don’t have to wear a suit.’

  ‘Ah. I am the best man, though.’

  ‘Better check with your cousin, then. What does it mean in the UK, being best man?’

  ‘As far as I know, making sure there are rings and giving a speech at the reception. Some grooms ask the best man to organise a stag do but given that there isn’t a groom, I’m relieved of that responsibility.’

  ‘In Poland the best man has no responsibilities, other than to turn up.’

  ‘That sounds ideal.’

  Kris smiled, declaring that she was going to have a pudding and holding the menu close to her face. Swift had discovered that she was short sighted but didn’t like wearing glasses in public. She had tried but failed to get on with contact lenses and admitted the world was often slightly blurred. She was wearing one of her home-made outfits: dark grey cigarette pants, a striped grey and blue shirt and a blue beret. Swift was becoming familiar with the names of fifties styles and could confidently distinguish between cigarette pants, pedal pushers, Capri pants and a poodle and a pencil skirt. He had discovered that she had been an enthusiastic gymnast as a child, which explained her balance and poise. She could still do handsprings with somersaults and something called an Arabian double front which she had demonstrated in his living room after pushing all the furniture against the wall.

  ‘I’m going to have butterscotch and toffee sponge with cream,’ she declared.

  ‘I’ll share it with you. There’s something reassuring about a woman who likes puddings.’

  ‘My mother makes wonderful desserts. Whenever anyone compliments her she’s embarrassed and she says, “a beautiful plate won’t feed anyone.” She makes the best cheesecake I’ve ever eaten.’

  Swift smiled at her. He knew she was getting under his skin and it felt good. He was being cautious, though, taking things slowly. He pictured her with him at the wedding and decided to ask.

  ‘Would you like to come to the wedding with me?’

  She looked delighted. ‘Am I invited?’

  ‘I’ve just invited you.’

  ‘Yes, please! It will be my first English wedding. You’ll have to draw me a diagram of your family so that I can be polite.’

  ‘That won’t take long. My stepmother will be thrilled to meet you.’

  Joyce will be astonished and overwhelming, he thought. He would have to warn Kris. However, there was a determination to the tilt of her chin that persuaded him she would be more than a match for his stepmother. While they ate pudding, Kris sketched an outline of the dress she would make to wear at the wedding. It would probably be in heavy satin, she said, dark blue with a light aquamarine trim on the bodice, a full skirt and three-quarter-length sleeves, as it was a winter ceremony. She would match it with an ivory feather clip hat decorated with small beads that she had in her store. He watched the light, confident pencil strokes she made in her notebook. He took her free hand in his and she wriggled her cool fingers against his palm, glancing up at him, smiling.

  * * *

  Mrs Thornley lived in a one bedroom flat near Fairacres School. Swift was glad that he hadn’t eaten more than a couple of spoons of Kris’s pudding as Mrs Thornley had provided an old-fashioned tea, with scones, Madeira cake and meringues. She must have had Imogen later in
life, he thought, looking at the deep lines under her eyes. Her blue jeans and jaunty floral quilted jacket belied her years. The small sitting room had too much furniture, with deep armchairs that dwarfed the space. Mrs Thornley explained that she had sold her house and downsized after her husband died.

  ‘I should have been more ruthless in disposing of things but I think it’s a process’, she told him, gesturing at the room and buttering a scone. ‘Imogen was our only child. There didn’t seem to be any point, living in a three-bedroomed house. I’m not going to have grandchildren.’

  ‘I understand that Imogen was killed in a car accident. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes. She was just about to go to university to study architecture. The car driver was four times over the limit. He got seven years for taking her life.’ She had a precise, slightly sharp tone but her eyes were kindly.

  Swift took a slice of cake, deciding he didn’t want to manage the cream oozing from the meringues.

  ‘As I explained, I’m investigating what happened to Teddy Bartlett and I’ve been speaking to as many people as I can who knew him.’

  ‘That was so awful, what became of him. Imogen was distraught at the time. The whole school felt the shock of it.’

  ‘I spoke to Judith Saltby and she told me that Imogen and Teddy were friends, attending art club together. What can you tell me about Judith’s family?’

  Mrs Thornley chewed carefully and took a sip of tea. ‘The Saltbys were . . . are . . . members of an exclusive church called The Select Flock. I believe that Judith managed to break free of them?’

  ‘That’s correct. She doesn’t have any contact with her family.’

  ‘I do believe that’s a good thing, even though I put great faith in family life. I’m wary of people who think they are special and who judge others for the way they live. I know of the family because I was a school governor at Fairacres for eight years. Mrs Saltby only attended one school event during that time and that was when her husband was ill. She seemed a faded, downtrodden woman, meek. She wore a dark brown cotton dress and headscarf. All married women in The Select Flock wore a brown headscarf. The son, Joshua, was with her and she deferred to him. He was a handsome young man, tall and blond, but he had a severe, withdrawn manner. I don’t think there would have been many laughs in that household.’