by JANICE FROST
Since her visit to the community centre in Sheffield, Ava had tried unsuccessfully to track down Rohina. Stromford did not have a large Asian population, and Ava had made some enquiries, but so far she had drawn a blank.
It had occurred to her that Rohina might be a student at the university. She might even have known or been in contact with Amy Hill. If so, there was a possibility that she was in danger. And there it was again, a line drawn in Ava’s mind between Amy’s death and Christopher Taylor, even though he had been out of town the night Amy died.
If Rohina believed Taylor had killed Amy, she might have gone into hiding. She might also have been the sender of the anonymous note alleging Taylor was having an affair with Amy.
Ava’s mobile felt hot against her leg and she took it out and placed it on the table in front of her. Camden flexed a lazy paw and flicked it as though it were a mouse he was too tired to toy with. Tutting at the cat, Ava caught the phone as it skidded towards the edge of the coffee table. This time she read the message. Why hadn’t she been responding to his texts? Could he see her again? Call him soon. Ava put the phone down and got up to make herself a drink.
It was dark outside and the only noise was the familiar patter of rain against her kitchen window; the sounds of small nocturnal creatures going about their business in the woods around her cottage were undetectable to the human ear. Usually, in the peace of her own home, Ava could work or read uninterrupted for hours, but this evening Taylor was so much inside her head that she couldn’t concentrate.
Camden had followed her into the kitchen and begun winding his lithe body around her legs. Ava scooped him up and held him against the side of her face, feeling his soft fur on her cheek and listening for a few moments to the contented purring that seemed to come from deep within his being. Then, he wriggled free and jumped out of her arms to land sure-footedly on the tiled floor. A moment more and he was gone, out through the cat flap and into the night, driven by some primal instinct to prowl the darkness, like the predator he was.
“Traitor!” Ava called after him. “I feed him and fuss over him and what happens when I want a little comfort in return? He’s off like a shot.”
Just then, her mobile vibrated again, but this time it was a ring tone she recognised.
“Hi bro’,” she said, pleased to hear from Oliver, her younger brother.
“Hey, sis,” Oliver said in a breezy voice, “What’s up? Got time to talk?”
“Always got time for you, you know that. Actually your timing couldn’t be better; I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, and Camden doesn’t want to know.”
“I keep telling you to get a dog. They’re more empathetic.”
“It wouldn’t be fair, leaving it cooped up indoors all day while I’m at work. Cats are independent, they can look out for themselves.”
They had had this debate countless times, of course; it was almost a convention of their telephone conversations to banter on about the relative merits of canine versus feline. It served as a warm up; and this evening, the topic was dropped more quickly than usual. Ava had detected a note of unhappiness in her brother’s tone.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, knowing that with Ollie, things were seldom okay. There was a silence that told her he was deliberating.
“What’s happened, Ollie? You being bullied again? If it’s that bastard, Jack Anderson, I—”
“It’s not Jack Anderson. He’s been expelled for doing drugs in the playground. I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Ava waited.
“Can I come and stay with you for a while, Ave?”
That took all of two minutes, Ava thought. They had been here before. Ollie was fifteen years old and emotionally immature in many ways, but intellectually, he was something else again. Gifted and talented they called him at school. Borderline autistic, the psychologist had told their parents when they had sought a professional opinion on their son’s combination of high intelligence and low social skills. Clever, geeky, a bit clueless about the kinds of things other kids his age took for granted or just seemed to know about, Ollie was an easy target for bullies. And until recently he had been small for his age, poor kid, although that was definitely changing. On her last visit, Ava had been amazed to see that he had grown two inches in a month, and he was refusing to tell her how much he had grown since then, so she suspected a lofty surprise when she saw him again. What’s worrying him, Ava wondered, suspecting she already knew the answer.
“Take your time, bro, tell me what’s worrying you.”
“Mum’s got a new boyfriend and I can’t stand him.” So that was it. Their parents, Carla and Steve Merry, had divorced years ago and Steve had moved to the States with his new woman, an American high school teacher he had met on a school exchange visit. Carla had been single for a couple of years, but recently she had run through a succession of men, some less savoury than others.
Ollie needed order and routine, not the constant disruption and chaos that accompanied a new partner in his mother’s life every few months. Then again, Ava thought, wasn’t her mother entitled to a life after divorce? Six months ago her brother had come up with the idea of coming to stay with her, and he had been pestering her about it ever since.
Ava’s objections had been similar to those she gave for not wanting to have a dog. She often worked long hours. She couldn’t be there for him. Moreover, she couldn’t be there to sort out Ollie’s problems at school . . . the list went on.
“Ava?” Ollie said, waiting, no doubt for the usual excuses and explanations but Ava was having an unexpected rethink.
Ollie was going to be sixteen in a couple of weeks. He had just started on his A-level work at school, but he was bright enough for a short disruption to his studies to make little difference. There was a good FE college in Stromford. What was the problem?
“Okay,” Ava replied. There was a silence on the other end of the line, “Olllie? You still there?”
“Do you really mean it?”
Ava could hear the doubt and hope in Ollie’s voice.
“Yes. When do you want to move in?”
“This weekend?”
Ava laughed, “It might take a bit longer than that to sort things out, but we’ll need to move quickly to avoid disrupting your school work any more than necessary. I take it you want to continue with your studies? I can call the college in town in the morning and find out if they’ll take you. Is mum there? Can you put her on?”
Oliver was ecstatic. Ava could hear him calling their mother at the top of his voice, and she knew he would already be upstairs packing the contents of his bedroom. She almost felt sorry for Carla.
“Ava? What’s this all about?”
“Ollie’s moving in with me. Can you take care of all the arrangements at your end?”
It did not surprise Ava that her mother did not protest for long. It disappointed Ava, but in the years since her father’s departure, she had come to realise that neither of her parents had been particularly suited to child-rearing. Her dad had abandoned his family at the earliest opportunity and her mum’s heart had never been in it, though she had done her duty by her children, more or less. Ava had been under no illusions when she left home that only Ollie would miss her.
Of course, Oliver, coming along ten years after Ava, had been an ‘accident.’ Ava could still remember her mother’s dismay at finding herself pregnant with a second child after a one-night stand with her ex-husband on one of his transatlantic stopovers. She had been only too happy to hand little Oliver over to Ava whenever she could. That was the reason why the bond between Ava and Ollie was so strong. The loving relationship that grew between brother and sister had compensated for what their parents failed to provide.
It had broken Ava’s heart to move away. After school, she had gone to university in her home town so that she could live at home and be there for Oliver but, after her first year, she had decided to drop out; all of a sudden, studying a subject that had no relevance or importance in t
he grand scheme of life seemed wasteful and indulgent. She had felt she could employ her talents better elsewhere, in a career where she could make a difference, and when she met the detective in charge of investigating a friend’s assault case, she had suddenly found her vocation.
For a couple of years she had managed to stay within commuting distance of home, but sooner or later she knew that if she were to advance in her chosen career, she would have to move further afield. Her transfer to the Stromford force, and her subsequent promotion, had meant that she managed to return home less frequently, but she and Oliver emailed, skyped and texted regularly.
What have I done? Ava asked herself after she put the phone down. To tell the truth, it had not been an entirely random decision. She had been considering the possibility of Oliver coming to stay for a while; meeting Neal’s family had nudged her a bit closer, seeing how well it seemed to work, all of them together in their slightly unconventional household.
Ava poured herself a drink and stretched out on the sofa, TV remote in hand. For a while she flicked idly through the channels. Her mind was occupied with all the plans and arrangements that would need to be made prior to her brother’s arrival. But as the alcohol began to relax her, she found her thoughts drifting back to Christopher Taylor again.
At least the local news hadn’t mentioned Amy Hill’s murder investigation. That was strange, given that Amy had been a student and the autumn term had just started, but it was something to be grateful for. How much longer the story would stay out of the papers was anyone’s guess, but Ava would have bet money that it was only a matter of days. Then it would be open season for reports of police incompetence.
She was still convinced that Taylor was somehow involved. The only way to investigate him further was to resume her relationship with him, though she had all but promised herself that wasn’t going to happen. On a sudden impulse, she picked up her phone and speed-dialled the professor.
“Ava! What a pleasant surprise. I was wondering if you were ever going to answer my texts.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been hectic at work for the past week, what with the murder inquiry and other stuff. I’ve had to put my personal life on hold.”
“I understand, Detective. But everyone needs to take a break sometimes, unwind. I think I could help you unwind and release some tension. How did I do last time? You rushed off without even saying goodbye.”
Was he asking her to rate his performance? Ava felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her.
“Sorry, work again. It gets in the way of pleasure. You’re right; I really do need to unwind.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” Taylor spent the next couple of minutes describing exactly how he would relax her, and Ava was shocked to feel a thrill of excitement shoot through her, as well as a shiver of revulsion. She slipped her phone back into her pocket having arranged to meet him at his place in an hour, distinctly uneasy about the dark side to her character that seemed to be emerging of late.
There was little time to get ready; Ava was grateful that she could look good in practically anything. This was not vanity, but long experience of how others reacted to her looks. Sometimes she dressed down, underplayed her looks, other times she used her attractiveness to her advantage, and this was one of them. There was a low-cut clingy red dress in her wardrobe that she knew looked sensational on her.
Ava wiggled in front of the mirror, trying to make the skirt cover a bit more thigh but it simply wasn’t designed for modesty. Red lipstick and a pair of killer heels, which made her ankles ache before she even put them on, completed her look. A short black cashmere jacket and she was ready to go.
* * *
Exactly one hour after her conversation with Taylor, she was parking her car outside his town house and experiencing a sudden stab of nerves that made her feel physically sick. Then, just as suddenly, it passed.
Taylor had evidently been looking out for her. His door opened inwards before she could ring the bell and his eyes travelled over her in appreciation, lingering on her breasts, making Ava feel like a cheap prostitute.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked.
“Oh Ava. You are very welcome to come in,” Taylor answered, taking her hand and kissing it gallantly as she stepped onto the Escher runner in his narrow hallway. With one hand, he closed the door behind them, and with the other, drew her to him and kissed her until she half fainted in a rush of danger and delight.
Two hours after speaking to Taylor on the phone, Ava was lying in his bed, feeling the inevitable mixture of sexual satisfaction and guilt. No matter how she looked at it, this relationship could not end well. Even if Taylor turned out to be innocent of any ill deed, she would still have to live with the knowledge that she had had sex with him when she had thought him guilty of having sex with an underage girl. What did that make her?
“Are you feeling relaxed, Ava?” Taylor asked, his tone playful.
“Oh, yes,” Ava answered, and it was the truth, at least in a physical sense. “You’re wasted as an English professor.”
“And you are wasted as a police officer, although I wouldn’t mind seeing you in uniform.”
“Flat loafers, knee-length woollen skirt, blouse buttoned up to the chin. Very sexy.” Ava answered.
“I’m getting hard just thinking about it, Sergeant.” Incredibly, he was, and that took care of another half hour.
* * *
“I can’t stay the night,” Ava told him. She had showered and was sitting on a barstool at the breakfast bar in Taylor’s stylish but un-homely kitchen. “I have to be up early to take a train to London with DI Neal.”
“The dashing Detective Inspector Neal,” Taylor said, placing a coffee in front of her.”
“Jealous?” Ava asked, smiling.
“Why wouldn’t I be? He gets to spend a day in your delectable company and I get to give a lecture on Chaucer to a bunch of half-witted pimply eighteen-year-olds.”
“I saw the way those girls were drooling over you in the cafeteria that day at the university. Any man would be flattered by that much attention from attractive young girls.” Ava said, choosing her words carefully, but still feeling that she was hinting unsubtly at paedophilia.
“Occupational hazard,” Taylor joked, “Young girls continually throwing themselves at my feet.”
“Still, you must be tempted,” Ava persisted. “Surely any man would be.”
“Professionalism aside, there are a lot of reasons why dating your students wouldn’t be a good idea,” Taylor answered.
“You said Amy Hill had a crush on you, set you up on a date. It could have got you into a lot of trouble if you hadn’t had a sound alibi for the night she was murdered.” At last, Taylor’s face betrayed the slightest hint of irritation.
“Amy Hill was a most persistent young woman,” he replied, “I could have reported her for what amounted to harassment.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I tried to deal with the matter sensitively, Sergeant. I had no wish to see a young girl being sent down from university on my account. I thought she would eventually get the idea if I did nothing to encourage her. Which, I am sure would have been the case had the poor child not been murdered first.”
It was impossible to tell if his regret over Amy’s murder was feigned, but his irritation was obvious. Tread carefully, Ava cautioned herself.
“I’m sorry,” she said, stroking his hand. “Too many questions. Once a detective. . . I remember having a crush on my science teacher at school. I must have made his life a misery, but he never put a foot wrong. I can appreciate now how difficult it must have been from his point of view. He was married with two kids. I used to post love letters through his letterbox. Imagine what his wife must have thought.”
None of this was true, but Ava hoped it would dispel any suspicions the professor might be nurturing.
“I never taught in a school. I worked in a community centre when I was doing my doctorate, tea
ching English to young Asian women, mainly. Recent immigrants. A lot of them were very young but already married with children. It’s a different culture.”
This much Ava already knew. But they were moving in the right direction.
“That must have been rewarding work. Do any of your former students keep in touch with you?” The question seemed to catch him off guard, and he stared at Ava for a moment. She could tell that she had rattled him, even though he quickly recovered his composure. His eyes were wary.
“No,” he replied, dryly, “Not my Asian ladies, but I receive postcards from graduates from time to time letting me know how they are getting on.”
“That must be nice.” There was nothing else she could ask him without raising his suspicions further, but Ava felt that she had got what she came for. No evidence, not the slightest word wrongly placed, but she had seen it in his eyes. He had something to hide. And now you know I know it too, she thought, smiling at him as she grabbed hold of his tie to pull him to her for a lingering kiss. The spark that usually crackled between them was absent.
“It’s late,” she said. “I have to go.” He did not try to dissuade her, and when they kissed again by her car, he bit down on her lip drawing blood.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, wiping the thin trickle from her lip. “Got carried away.”
“I’ll call you,” Ava said, pretending to be unaffected by his sudden violence. As she drove off down the hill, she licked her lip, still tasting blood and feeling violated. “I’m onto you, Professor,” she whispered. “You’ve got a dirty secret and I’m going to find out exactly what it is.”
