Disordered Minds

by Minette Walters

  "Don't wear your heart on your sleeve. People react badly if you show you care. They either take advantage or leg it as fast as they can." He slowed as they approached a roundabout. "Calling the police fascists wasn't the best idea you've ever had."

  Jonathan stared grimly through the windshield. "Do you know how many times I've been stopped and searched in the last six months? Four, including last night. How many times has it happened to you?"

  "In the last six months? Not at all. In my life? Once, when a fight broke out as I left a pub."

  "Point made then. As a kid, I was stopped every other week."

  "Only because you were expecting to be. If you flag a prophecy, it'll fulfill itself immediately. I'm not saying it's fair, but suspicion breeds suspicion."

  "And which came first?" Jonathan growled. "Police suspicion of me or mine of them? Try applying your simplistic rules to that little conundrum. I was hoping for some sympathy, not another damn lecture on the dangers of alienation. I'd tolerate it if I thought you'd ever experienced it, but you haven't. A broken marriage hardly counts, not when your wife still invites you to dinner and your girls stay weekends."

  "You'll be telling me next how lucky I am," said Andrew mildly. "All the joys of family life without the irritation of living with any of them. Despite their age, the parents are fit and independent-courtesy of a share in a thriving little agency-the wife and kids are safely parked with a man who appreciates them-courtesy of a generous divorce settlement-and I can dedicate myself to what I really enjoy doing: working to support them all."

  "Considering the divorce was your fault, you're damn lucky Jenny didn't break off all contact."

  "Mm ... except she was having an affair too. It's easier to maintain relationships when both parties feel guilty."

  Jonathan looked at him. This was something he hadn't known. "I thought it was only you."

  "I know you did."

  "You should have told me."

  "Why?"

  "I always thought what an idiot you were to chuck Jenny over for a woman who only lasted a few months. I can't even remember her name now. Claire? Carol?"

  "Claire," said Andrew, "a blonde, blue-eyed bombshell, just like Jenny. They say men are always attracted to the same type of woman, but it doesn't seem to work the other way. Greg-Jenny's lover-is ten feet tall and looks like Brad Pitt. I can see exactly why she was attracted to him. The girls, too. They adore him as much as she does."

  Something in his tone caused Jonathan to frown. "If Jenny was equally to blame, how come she did so well out of the divorce?"

  Andrew glanced at him. "I made it easy for her."

  "Then you're a fool. She got the house, the bloke and the kids-" he made a dismissive gesture-"and you got a miserable two-up, two-down in Peckham. What kind of trade was that, for Christ's sake? No wonder Claire buggered off."

  Andrew gave a small laugh. "I'll take that as a compliment. Obviously, I mistook my profession."

  "What does that mean?"

  "I'm a better actor than Greg."

  There was a short silence.

  "I don't understand."

  "Claire never existed. The only blonde, blue-eyed bombshells I've ever had relationships with are Jenny and the girls. You don't have a monopoly on pride, Jon. What did you expect me to do? Get down on my knees and beg? I was happy as a sandboy-beautiful wife, beautiful children, house, secure job, good social life-then, wham, the wife hits me between the eyes with the muscled actor from next door who's been shafting her for months. The irony was, I really liked him ... still do, as a matter of fact."

  "You're mad," said Jonathan in disbelief. "Why would you lie about a thing like that? It's cost you a fortune in guilt money."

  "It depends what you value. As long as the business isn't threatened, I'd rather be thought of as a bit of a dog than an embarrassing burden on my wife's conscience. Do you think Jenny would be on the phone all the time, or Greg would invite me to dinner, if they thought I was a sad, lonely git who still hankered after his ex-wife? Would the girls be happy to stay overnight if I'd slagged off their mother for two-timing me?" He spoke matter-of-factly without any attempt at sympathy. "More importantly, the parents see their grandchildren whenever they want. They castigate me regularly for causing the breakup but go on treating Jenny as their daughter-in-law. All in all, I'd say it was cheap at the price."

  Jonathan's incredulity deepened. What did a man have to gain by turning himself into a whipping boy for an errant wife and critical parents? "They were flogged for the failings of others ... it's a very twisted, concept..." "Why let Jenny off scot-free? She bad-mouthed you enough at the time. I remember her telling me what a shit you were."

  "I hope you agreed with her. I was never too sure she totally believed in Claire."

  "I did as a matter of fact. I said you'd married too young, and the marriage was bound to fail." He thought back. "She wasn't very happy about it."

  "Her pride was dented. She thought she was the only woman in my life."

  "What about your pride?"

  "Shot to pieces till I invented Claire. She was a great restorative."

  "I'd have wanted revenge."

  Andrew shrugged. "I couldn't see the point of going to war over something I couldn't control. You can't force people to love you ... you can't force them to be loyal. All you can do is keep affection alive and hope for the best."

  He was living in cloud cuckoo land, thought Jonathan. "Are you expecting Jenny to come back?"

  "No."

  "Then I don't get it. What's the quid pro quo for acting honorably if no one knows you're doing it?"

  "I don't have to walk around with a neon sign on my forehead, saying 'loser.' "

  Jonathan felt the familiar anger knot inside his jaw. "Meaning that I do, I suppose?"

  " 'Fraid so. You're a sitting duck for the Roy Trents of this world."

  COUNCILLOR G. GARDENER

  25 Mullin Street, Highdown, Bournemouth, Dorset BH15 6VX

  Andrew Spicer

  Spicer & Hardy Authors' Agents

  25 Blundell Street

  London W4 9TP

  April 2, 2003

  Dear Mr. Spicer:

  I hesitate to write to Dr. Hughes as he may not wish to correspond with me, but I would be grateful if you could pass on my apologies to him and my best wishes for his recovery. I have had a long conversation with Sergeant Lovatt and, though he refused to go into details, he did say that Dr. Hughes had been unwell.

  The circumstances of our meeting were unfortunate, and I take much of the blame. I have some experience of illness, and I should have realized that Dr. Hughes's reticence was physiologically based. He was clearly exhausted, but I made no allowances for poor health, jet lag or even the severity of the weather that day. My only excuse is blind dedication to exculpating Howard Stamp, and a long history of disappointment in the attempts I've made to do so. I am now so programmed for failure that I see it before I need to.

  Re: our short phone call on the evening of February 13: Roy Trent stands by his story that Dr. Hughes left his wallet at the pub. However, after Sergeant Lovatt gave me the details of Dr. Hughes's arrest, I made inquiries at Branksome Station. The clerk in the ticket office remembers Dr. Hughes well because some passengers expressed concern about his behavior. The gist of the clerk's story is as follows:

  He thought Dr. Hughes was drunk as he was swaying and trying to focus on the other platform to keep his balance. His face was wet-the clerk thought it was rain until he realized Dr. Hughes was sweating-and he was clutching his briefcase to his chest. Several trains went through but he didn't take them. At least two people thought he was a suicide bomber trying to pluck up the courage to go through with it. The clerk was worried enough to consider phoning the police. However, a woman approached Dr. Hughes for what appeared to be a prearranged meeting. They smiled and talked and Dr. Hughes gave her his briefcase from which she removed some papers. The clerk remembered seeing the woman earlier in the ticket hall, a
nd assumed Dr. Hughes had misunderstood where the meeting was to take place. He admitted he wouldn't have been worried if Dr. Hughes hadn't been an Arab-he would have dismissed him as a drunk. He was relieved when the woman helped him onto a train and took the problem out of his hands. She had dark hair and held a scarf to her mouth, but he couldn't remember anything else about her except that she left in a black BMW that had been parked for forty-five minutes in the "drop-off only" zone.

  Because this seemed to validate Dr. Hughes's version of events, I made some discreet inquiries about Roy Trent's ex-wife. Her name is Priscilla Fletcher, formerly known as Cill Trent. I was unable to discover her maiden name, but she has been described to me as midforties, medium height, slim, dark hair cut in a straight fringe, light-colored eyes (possibly blue) and attractive. Her current husband, Nicholas Fletcher, is in "business"-there's some mystery over exactly what he does-and they live in Sandbanks, an expensive part of Poole. She had a child by Roy-a son, now in his thirties (!)-but none by Fletcher. Because of the son, she and Roy remain on good terms. While there is no evidence that this is the woman who approached Dr. Hughes, the description seems to fit.

  Nevertheless, I remained puzzled as to why Priscilla Fletcher, an apparently wealthy woman (or indeed one of her friends) would have taken the wallet. For this reason I related the clerk's story to Roy Trent, embroidering the description of the woman to more closely resemble Priscilla Fletcher, and asked him what he made of it in view of Dr. Hughes's certainty that she was the thief. Roy's reaction was interesting. He treated it as a joke and said if Dr. Hughes was right, the woman must have returned to the pub after it closed for the afternoon in order to leave the wallet on the floor of the room where Dr. Hughes and I had lunch. And that hadn't happened. I agreed the story was absurd, pointing out that she must also have known where the lunch took place, which would suggest someone very familiar with the running of the pub. Therefore, unless Roy recognized the woman's description, Dr. Hughes must be mistaken. Roy agreed that he did not recognize the woman's description.

  I should say at this point that I've never had reason to disbelieve anything Roy has told me in the past. Our relationship is an informal one, based on two years of friendship after he gave me permission to use his pub as a "surgery." I don't claim to know him well-he is not a forthcoming man-but I've always found him pleasant and supportive, particularly with the help he's given me in unearthing information about Howard Stamp. Of course I was intrigued by the lie, particularly as I could see no reason for it. He might easily have said, "I know several women who match that description, my ex-wife being one, but none of them came to the pub that day." I was, after all, agreeing with him that Dr. Hughes was mistaken.

  I was interested enough to do some further research and began by making a number of assumptions, any one of which might have been false, but which seemed worth testing. These are the assumptions I made:

  1. Roy's ex-wife stole the wallet.

  2. She did so because she: (a) is an opportunist thief; or (b) was told to; or (c) was interested in Dr. Hughes; or (d) a combination of the three.

  3. If it was an opportunistic theft, how did she know: (a) to return the wallet to Roy; (b) that he would protect her?

  4. Because she returned it, she must have known: (a) that Dr. Hughes had been at the pub earlier; (b) what he looked like.

  5. She knew these facts because: (a) she had been at the pub herself; or (b) they had been given to her by someone else.

  6. Apart from myself, Roy Trent is the only other person who knew when, where and why I was meeting with Dr. Hughes.

  7. The only way Priscilla Fletcher could have known these details is if Roy told her.

  8. If theft of money wasn't her motivation, then she wanted to know more about Dr. Hughes.

  9. She did not ask Roy for details because: (a) she didn't think he would tell her; or (b) he didn't know the answers; or (c) it was he who told her to commit the theft.

  10. If (b) or (c), Roy did not want to display undue interest in Dr. Hughes by quizzing me about him.

  11. Dr. Hughes's only reason for coming to Bournemouth was his interest in Howard Stamp.

  I already knew that Roy Trent was acquainted with Howard Stamp, if only "by sight" (Roy's words), but it seemed reasonable to infer that Priscilla Fletcher was also connected with him in some way. Out of curiosity, I went back to the newspaper coverage at the time of Grace Jefferies' murder to see if there was anything I'd overlooked. I came across an unrelated story about a thirteen-year-old called Priscilla "Cill" Trevelyan who went missing from her home in Highdown a week before Grace's body was found. As yet, I have been unable to establish whether Cill Trevelyan and Priscilla Fletcher are one and the same. However, there are similarities between the photograph of the missing girl and the one I've managed to track down of Priscilla Fletcher/Trent, taken five years ago at a Crown and Feathers barbecue, courtesy of Jim Longhurst. I hope Dr. Hughes will appreciate the irony! (Copies enclosed.)

  While I am reluctant to jump to conclusions at this stage, it seems that Cill was subjected to a gang rape before she ran away and this would accord with Priscilla Fletcher (midforties) having a son in his thirties. I attach photocopies of the newspaper clippings which might be of interest to Dr. Hughes when he's well enough to read them. He will, of course, note immediately that Cill Trevelyan had shoulder-length dark hair. He will also note the descriptions of her assailants-none of whom was named and none of whom was charged through lack of evidence. Interestingly, the story of this missing thirteen-year-old never made it into the national press, presumably because she was posted immediately as a "runaway."

  There is nothing to link Cill's story with Howard's except the coincidences of time and place and some thought-provoking descriptions. However, the synchronicity of events, coupled with the unnecessary theft of a wallet thirty years later, does raise questions. At the moment I have no idea what the linkage might be, but I am left with the suspicion that Priscilla Fletcher feels she has something to lose if Howard's case is resurrected. I am willing to forward further information that comes my way, if you think Dr. Hughes would be interested. I will, of course, understand if he prefers to wash his hands of it.

  In conclusion, Roy Trent is not party to this information and, for the foreseeable future, I intend to remain on good terms with him. I would be grateful if you and Dr. Hughes would avoid doing anything to prejudice that position. Thanking you in advance,

  Yours sincerely

  George Gardener

  Encs

  Bournemouth Evening News-Saturday, May 30, 1970

  CONCERN FOR MISSING GIRL

  Bournemouth Police today asked for help in the search for Priscilla Trevelyan, 13, who went missing from her home in Highdown during the early hours of this morning. She is 5' 5" tall, weighing approximately 8 stone, with shoulder-length dark hair, possibly dressed in blue jeans and a long-sleeved white T-shirt. Known as Cill, the youngster is believed to have run away after an argument with her father. Mrs. Jean Trevelyan, 35, blamed her daughter's school. "Her father was upset because she was given a week's suspension for fighting. But it takes two to make a fight and the other girl wasn't punished at all. Cill's bright and she knew that wasn't fair." She broke down as she made a plea for her daughter to come home. "We love her and we want her back. No one's going to be angry."

  Police are following various lines of inquiry. "She's mature for her age," said a spokesman, "and she was in the company of some older boys three weeks ago. There's a possibility she may be with one of them now. Two were described as dark-haired and of medium build, the third as tall and thin with ginger hair. We are asking these boys to come forward. They have nothing to fear if they know where Cill is. The imperative is her safe return."

  Police have not ruled out abduction. "Runaways of this age are vulnerable. They may accept offers of help from people who seek only to exploit them." The Metropolitan Police has been alerted. "London is a magnet for unhappy children," said the spokesma
n.

  Bournemouth Evening News-Monday, June 1, 1970

  HUNT FOR 13-YEAR-OLD CONTINUES

  Three teenage boys were released without charge today after being questioned by police over the disappearance of Priscilla Trevelyan. They matched descriptions given by one of her school friends, but all three denied knowing Priscilla or having any knowledge of her disappearance. A police spokesman says there is no evidence to link them with the missing girl.

  Priscilla's father, David Trevelyan, 37 was also questioned after neighbors mentioned constant rows between the two. "They didn't get on," said one. "He was worried about her truanting." Police denied that Trevelyan was a suspect. "Parents are always questioned in these circumstances," said a spokesman, "but we are satisfied Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan know nothing of their daughter's disappearance."

  He admitted that the authorities are baffled. "Several sightings of a girl matching Cill's description have come to nothing, and we are no further forward. After leaving her house she appears to have vanished." They have made a fresh appeal to the public by issuing a series of photographs of the girl in the hope of jogging memories.

  Bournemouth Evening News-Saturday, July 25, 1970

  MOTHER'S ANGUISH OVER MISSING TEEN

  It's just two months since 13-year-old Priscilla Trevelyan left home after an argument with her father, yet her file has been shelved and the team looking into her disappearance disbanded. In simple terms, a runaway does not command the same level of police attention as a child who's been abducted, and Priscilla has joined the frightening statistic of 75,000 children under 16 who run away from homes or institutions in this country every year.

  While most of these children return after one night away, some 1,000 will still be missing months later. They are in danger of physical and sexual assault, and many of them resort to crime and prostitution to stay alive. "Cases like these are always difficult," said PC Gary Prentice, who holds a watching brief over Priscilla's file. "If a runaway doesn't want to be found, there's little the police can do. We've circulated her photograph to other forces and we hope someone will recognize her. Many children return home at Christmas when memories of family are strong. I hope this happens in Cill's case."