by JANICE FROST
“They’re with my friend, Nina. She owed me one since I tipped her off about the cops . . .” Debbie checked herself, “since I helped her out a couple of weeks ago.”
“And Wade?”
“He ain’t been round for a bit. Left me this,” she said, touching the bruised and tender-looking skin around her left eye, “’spect he’ll be back when he wants some.” It was said in a matter of fact way, as though it were something over which Debbie had no control.
“Why do you let him?” Nancy asked.
“He ain’t all bad. He puts some cash my way sometimes.” Debbie said, defensively.
“Why do you want the council to move you if he’s only going to find you again? If you keep telling him where you are?”
“Because maybe next time, I won’t tell him.” Debbie said, unconvincingly. “Will you watch the kids for me Tuesday?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nancy sighed, feeling a sense of inevitability about the elements of her life that had brought her to this moment and this choice. She could have just walked away, but she did not.
“I’m sorry about the other week,” Debbie said, “We was both drunk. Nothing would have happened, honest. Wade’s bark’s worse than his bite.”
But not his fist, Nancy thought, bleakly, looking at Debbie’s black eye.
The next day Debbie turned up at Nancy’s door with her kids in tow, which surprised Nancy, as Debbie had never visited her before.
They drank tea together at Nancy’s drop-leaf kitchen table. Emily was asleep in her buggy and Peter was playing on the floor with his box of beloved toy animals.
“Men like Wade are bad news,” Nancy said, tentatively, “I know he’s the father of your children and that even though he treats you badly, you still have feelings for him. I won’t pretend I approve or even understand that. But if you promise to keep him away from me, I’ll watch the kids for you whenever I can.”
It was against her better judgement, but Nancy wanted, like her mother and father, so distant to her already by then, to be and to do good. She could not erase the years of unhappiness since their death almost half her lifetime ago, but through doing good for someone else, perhaps she could restore the feeling she had carried inside when they were still alive.
“You won’t see him again,” Debbie assured her. At that precise moment, Peter looked up from his toy animals and smiled at Nancy. In his unsteady hand, he held out a small, grubby panda from his tin of animals.
“Bless him,” Debbie said, then in her next breath, “I’m just nipping out for a fag.”
Nancy scooped Peter up and sat him on her knee, admiring his treasure.
“Favourite,” Peter said in his small voice, holding a tiger out for her to keep, “Nancy keep him safe from daddy.” Nancy choked back a tear.
Over the next few weeks, Nancy saw as much of the children as their mother did. Debs would turn up on her doorstep unannounced saying she had to go here or there; sometimes she just turned up and left them with Nancy because, ‘they was driving me crazy and I just need to get away.’ Nancy didn’t mind; it meant the children were safe with her, and not left alone in that depressing flat to where, at any moment, their father might return.
One night, Nancy had awakened sometime after midnight to the sound of urgent knocking on her door. Warily, she made her way through her small living room to the kitchen where her door opened onto some steps leading up to the pavement. Through a gap in the curtains, plainly visible in the light of the streetlamp spilling down from above, she could see Debbie hovering halfway up or down the stairs, poised between staying and going.
Had Nancy stepped away from the window and slipped unseen back into the dark interior of her kitchen, Debbie would no doubt have continued on her way up, but in Nancy’s moment of indecision, Debbie saw, or sensed, that she was there and came running back down the steps to the door.
“Nancy!” she’d cried in a voice edged with panic, “Let me in, quick.” A couple of seconds later, she was standing in Nancy’s kitchen, yanking the curtains tightly together.
“Debbie! What’s going on? What are you doing here at this time of night? Is that blood?” Nancy looked in horror at a trickle of blood running from Debbie’s mouth down her chin.
“Bastard knocked one of my teeth out.”
“Are you saying Wade did this?” Nancy asked, pulling Debbie into the living room where she saw that Debbie’s whole face was a mess.
“Where are the children?” she asked, in a panic.
“It’s alright. They’re with my friend, Chantelle. I took them over this afternoon when Wade phoned and said he’d be round later. Nancy was shaky with fear and relief. She also wondered why Debbie hadn’t brought the children to her instead, and then remembered she had been at work.
“Sit down,” she ordered, taking control. “I’ll get a cloth or something for your face. And some paracetamol. And a cup of tea.”
“I’ll have something stronger if you’ve got it,” Debbie said. Nancy didn’t drink much but there was a bottle of brandy that she’d discovered in a kitchen cupboard; no one would miss a little of that.
She bathed Debbie’s face with cooled, boiled water and cotton wool and gave her a cold, damp cloth to hold against her eye. They sipped their brandies, leaving the tea untouched.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Debbie said.
“It’s alright. I’m glad you did. Was Wade following you?” Nancy said, remembering how Debbie had rearranged the curtains.
“He came running after me, but he was too drunk to catch up. I was just being careful with the curtains. He doesn’t know where you live.”
Nancy was grateful for that, at least.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
“Painkillers are helping. I’m more bothered about losing my tooth,” Debbie replied, a finger probing the inside of her mouth.
“We can go to the dentist in the morning. They might be able to do something about it,” Nancy suggested.
“Yeah, maybe,” Debbie yawned, “Does that mean I can stay here tonight?”
“Yes,” Nancy sighed.
In less than half an hour, Debbie was curled up asleep on the sofa. Nancy covered her with a spare duvet before going back to bed, but she lay awake for a long time afterwards, listening for any sound that might be Wade, and even when it began to grow light outside, she slept only lightly.
In the morning, Debbie let slip that she’d left the children at home, not, as she had told Nancy the night before, at her friend Chantelle’s. Nancy stared at her, mouth agape, anger replacing pity for the young woman in front of her.
“Wade wouldn’t hurt them. State he was in, he probably went straight to bed after he punched me one. Only kicked off like that cos he was pissed. The kids was asleep through it all, honest. Nothing wakes them once they go off.” She moved to the door, cigarette in hand.
When Nancy did not respond but only kept staring at her with mounting contempt, Debbie added, “If you tell the social, you ain’t seeing them kids again. Just so’s you know.”
* * *
Nancy pulled the duvet tighter around her, all thoughts about opening up the shop abandoned. There had been a moment, not so long ago when, looking at her beautiful, independent, eighteen-year-old daughter, she had felt absolved of the wrongdoings of her past. Right from the start, Nancy had realised that if she were to live with the conflict within her, she would have to find ways to justify what she had done. Loving Amy, keeping her safe and giving her a good life, had been the way forward. But Amy’s death had changed everything, and had left Nancy in a moral black hole from which she feared she would not emerge intact.
Chapter 9
It was easy to find an excuse to bump into Christopher Taylor. She merely hung around the university campus at ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning, when the good professor made his way back to his department after giving a lecture.
Ava had perused Taylor’s timetable the evening before, having requested information on his schedule f
rom one of the English department administrators.
“He usually stops at the Coffee Bean counter in the Oasis for a coffee on his way back,” the woman she spoke to on the phone had said, helpfully, allowing Ava to be at the cash till paying for her skinny latte, just as Taylor joined the queue. The Oasis was the university’s main eating area, a large open air space with different outlets selling a variety of foods. Most of the world’s cuisine seemed to be represented.
Heads turned as Ava sashayed across the floor of the cafeteria in her killer heels. There was a pair of trainers in her bag and her ankle was aching, but it was worth the temporary discomfort, for a glance out of the corner of her eye confirmed that Christopher Taylor’s head was turning along with the rest.
“May I join you?” he asked, arriving at her table hot on her heels. Ava tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders and flashed him one of her most alluring smiles, hoping she didn’t have a frothy milk moustache.
“Haven’t seen you in my neck of the woods before,” Taylor said, “But I must say, you’re a very pleasing addition to the usual clientele.”
“I’m here on business,” Ava said, after acknowledging the compliment with an elusive smile. “Friend of mine’s doing a PhD in forensic psychology. I was asking her advice on a case.”
“The Amy Hill murder again? Or aren’t you allowed to discuss that with a mere member of the public and a suspect to boot?”
“I can’t discuss the specifics, of course, but it was a matter pertaining to that case, yes.”
“Am I allowed to ask how the investigation is progressing?”
“You can ask, but I’m afraid my answer would be so general as to leave you none the wiser.”
“Something along the lines of, ‘we’re exploring every avenue, leaving no stone unturned in our search for the killer?’” Taylor said.
“See, you can read my mind.”
Taylor leaned towards her and dropped his voice, “Bet you can read mine, too. What am I thinking, Ava?” His manner and expression left little room for doubt. In a lesser man, it would have been sleazy, but Christopher Taylor was a charmer and he looked like an Adonis.
“You’re wondering what I look like naked?”
A slow smile spread across Taylor’s chiselled, designer-stubbled face.
“I’m an open book, but then again, I think every heterosexual male in the room was wondering the same thing as you walked from the counter.” His tone was low, without a hint of irony. It made Ava nervous, and she wasn’t sure why. That, and the fact that he had locked eyes with her, and it was she who had to look away first, like some kind of submissive pack animal yielding to the alpha male. Predatory. That’s what his eyes were. Not just his eyes but his whole demeanour. Predatory — and sexier than any man had a right to be.
All part of the plan, Ava reminded herself, to make him desire her, so why did she feel that she was the one being lured into a trap? She felt uncharacteristically disarmed
“We can’t speak plainly about your work, Ava, but there’s no need to be coy about other matters. We’re both adults. You were attracted to me that morning at my flat. I was attracted to you. The question is, are we going to do anything about it? Or am I still a suspect and as such, out of bounds to you?”
“Your alibi was good,” Ava answered.
“Then have dinner with me. Thursday evening?”
“You’re a hard person to say no to.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Ava raised an eyebrow. Charming and humorous. Irresistible to an impressionable young girl, no doubt.
“Professor Taylor?” Two young female students stood blushing by the side of their table. Taylor beamed at them.
“Hannah! Eloise! May I present two of my most diligent students, Ava?” Ava inclined her head, but the girls weren’t looking at her.
“We were wondering if we could come and see you about this morning’s lecture, Professor Taylor,” the one named Hannah ventured, “only all that stuff about the metaphysical poets and conceits was like way over our heads.” More blushing, and some self-conscious giggling.
“Maybe we could come to your room and go over it?” suggested Eloise. Taylor affected a look of regret, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to fit you in before your tutor group tomorrow, ladies. We’ll go over it again then. I’m sure if you two excellent scholars had difficulties, other members of the group must have struggled too.”
Hannah and Eloise exchanged disappointed glances, having failed in their unsubtle effort to secure the professor to themselves for an hour. Another beaming smile from Taylor sent them on their way, still giggling. God, how could he fail to love himself? thought Ava.
“Pair of groupies?” she asked.
“I have to fight them off all the time.”
“Must be tough. Amy Hill was obviously not the only student carrying a torch for you.” To his credit, Taylor didn’t flinch. “It can’t always be easy maintaining a professional distance,” Ava added, struggling to sound less accusatory, I get it too, you know, even in my line of work. Young lads thinking they can chat me up while I’m questioning them.”
“The curse of being attractive.” Taylor seemed to relax.
“You mentioned dinner,” Ava prompted. Now his whole demeanour suggested that he was back in his comfort zone.
“I’ll pick you up at eight. Where do you live?”
“Out of town. I’ll meet you.”
“How do I know you won’t stand me up?”
“How do I know you won’t?”
Taylor’s eyes travelled over Ava’s body, causing her to blush like one of his undergraduate students. “I can assure you, Ms Merry, that there is absolutely no chance of that.”
They arranged to meet at an Italian restaurant they were both familiar with, and then Ava looked at her watch and apologised for leaving so soon, saying she had to report back to Neal. She felt Taylor’s eyes lingering on her as she walked across the floor of the cafeteria towards the exit. It bothered her a bit that she was not only concentrating on the job at hand. Part of her was enjoying the experience of being admired by a man like Taylor.
And what sort of man was that? Ava acknowledged that her feelings for Taylor were ambivalent. There was no mistaking the undercurrent of sexual magnetism between them, but at the same time, Ava was aware of a tension that had nothing at all to do with sex and more to do with fear.
Taylor was arrogant and no doubt, vain. His manner of dealing with the two love-struck students had been professional, but, she felt, insincere. There had been a dichotomy between what he had said and the way he had said it, as though he were playing with them. She had seen him appraising them even as he dismissed them, how his gaze had lingered, just that bit too long, as they walked away. Wouldn’t any man have done the same, she asked herself, and again the word ‘predator’ came to mind. Of course other men would have looked, but there was something about Taylor’s cool appraisal of the young women that troubled her, as if he were not just appreciating or desiring, but wanting to dominate and control.
From her handbag blared the opening bars of Beethoven’s ninth — her younger brother had changed her ringtone again — how he managed to get hold of her mobile without her realising, was a mystery. It was Neal asking her to meet him at Nancy Hill’s flat to question Becci Jones again.
“Our friend Gary’s going to be there too,” he said. “It’ll be interesting to see if he still denies knowing Amy.”
* * *
They met outside Becci’s flat. Neal asked how Ava had fared at the dentist and she felt a pang of guilt for lying about her whereabouts for the past hour and a half.
“Filling,” she muttered, feeling even guiltier as Neal winced in sympathy.
“Reid’s just got here.”
Ava followed his nod and saw a slouching Gary Reid, face semi-concealed by a maroon hoodie, waiting to be let in. He was looking up and down the street in a furtive way.
“Now what’s he so nervous about?” A
va said.
“Probably wondering why he’d been stupid enough to deny knowing Amy.”
It was Reid who opened the door to them when they knocked; grunting an incoherent welcome, face still lost in his hood.
Becci seemed even thinner and paler and more nervous than before, if that were possible. She didn’t rise from her armchair when they entered the room. Neal turned immediately to Reid, with:
“You told us you didn’t know Amy Hill, Gary, yet your girlfriend was her friend and flatmate. Care to explain?”
“I didn’t know her very well,” Gary said, “she was Becci’s friend, not mine.”
“Becci, how long have you and Gary here been an item?” Neal asked.
“Six months,” she answered, sullenly.
“And does he stay over sometimes?”
Ava thought of the narrow bed in Gary’s room at the university, and guessed that even the skeletal Becci would be balancing on the edge if she had to share it with Gary, who was at least six one and bulky to boot.
“Sometimes,” Becci answered, sulkily.
“So he would have met your flatmate?” Again, Becci’s eyes flickered to Gary’s face.
“Yes, but like he said, he didn’t know her very well. Amy was out a lot and we tended to spend a lot of time in my bedroom when he was here.” At this, Becci blushed bright scarlet.
“Still,” Neal persisted, ignoring her embarrassment, “Their paths must have crossed from time to time, surely?”
“I s’pose,” Becci mumbled.
Gary butted in, “What difference does it make whether I knew her or not?”
“The difference is, that it makes hardened police officers like myself and Detective Sergeant Merry wonder what else you might have lied about,” answered Neal sharply.
“Not to mention making us wonder why you lied at all,” Ava added, raising an eyebrow. Usually when two people colluded in a lie, they looked to each other for support, and Becci and Gary had exchanged a lot of looks. “So, why did you?” asked Neal.
