The Anna McColl Mysteries Box Set 2

by Penny Kline

  Sally hesitated. ‘Shouldn’t we call the doctor?’

  ‘No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary. This can’t be the first time she’s been like this, is it?’

  Sally shook her head slowly, then walked towards the door, glancing anxiously over her shoulder at the figure on the sofa, then raising her shoulders and letting them drop in a gesture of resignation. ‘Abigail says alcohol destroys your liver. Her mother was caught drink-driving but that was different, she’d been to a party.’

  I had never been in the dining room before. It was dark and gloomy, with brown and cream striped wallpaper, brown velvet curtains, still partially drawn across, and heavy oak furniture. A round table, surrounded by six carved chairs, had been polished quite recently — I could smell the scented wax — but I had a feeling no meals had been served in the room for months.

  ‘We used to have our supper in here,’ said Sally, ‘when Daddy was …’

  ‘Sit down then.’ I pulled out two of the chairs. ‘Is James upstairs?’

  The tears started again. She moved her head but was unable to speak, and when I put my arm round her the sobbing increased. Eventually, between gasps she managed to tell me James had not been back for three days.

  ‘Oh, well, I expect he’ll be home soon. He often stays away for a night or two, doesn’t he?’

  She stood up again and pulled open a draw in the sideboard, taking out a paper napkin, with sprigs of holly round the edge, and blowing her nose. ‘Not for this long. I wanted the police to look for him but Mummy says he’s too old.’

  ‘What about the cleaner?’ I asked. ‘If your mother was feeling unwell couldn’t she have helped?’

  ‘She doesn’t come any more. She and James had an argument. I think she said something about Mummy. He told her she wouldn’t be needed again. And Col’s gone too.’

  ‘The gardener?’

  ‘He was nice, he helped when one of the guinea pigs escaped. He was making a new run but he didn’t have time to finish it.’ She covered her face with her hands and when she spoke again I had a struggle to hear what she was saying.

  ‘I’m sorry. It was lies. Some of the things I told you.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I don’t know. I got so muddled. The map in the car. I just said I saw it so you’d think I was trying to remember. James said … It’s because of Daddy. James knows who did it.’

  ‘Did what, Sally?’

  Her face was swollen with crying and she had the paper napkin pressed to her mouth. ‘Buzz thinks so too. They’re going to get him — the person who killed Daddy.’

  ‘Who’s Buzz?’

  ‘James’s friend. I don’t think his real name’s Buzz. It’s Brian or something.’

  ‘Is James with him now? Where does he live, this Buzz?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ She was shouting so much Erica must surely wake from her drunken stupor. But I could hear no sounds from the other room.

  ‘Do you know who James thinks was responsible for your father’s death?’

  ‘No.’ She was shaking, but less agitated. ‘James didn’t want me to talk to you. He thought I’d made a mistake.’ She pushed the sodden paper napkin in the pocket of her shorts, then took another from the drawer.

  ‘A mistake? What about?’

  ‘About the person who tried to pull me into the car. Then he decided it mightn’t be such a bad thing, you coming here, not if you could make the police find out what happened to Daddy.’

  ‘James told you what to say to me? Listen, Sally, if you know …’

  ‘I don’t, I got it all wrong.’ She drew back the curtains and began struggling to undo the window catch. ‘It’s so stuffy in here. I feel sick. You won’t tell the police. If they find out … ’

  I tried again. ‘Sally if you know who was driving the car … ’

  ‘I don’t. I did. At first I did, but it wasn’t right, it couldn’t have been.’ Suddenly, she let out a squeal of delight. ‘Oh look, it’s Abigail.’

  I joined her at the window. ‘Your friend from school?’

  ‘Can I let her in?’ She was licking her fingers, rubbing her cheeks in a useless attempt to disguise the fact that she had been crying.

  ‘Yes, of course, but you’ll have to finish what you were telling me. Maybe Abigail can wait in your bedroom.’

  ‘No, there isn’t any more. I promise there isn’t.’

  ‘Who did you think it was, Sally, the person who …’ But she was halfway through the door and a moment later I heard her greeting her friend with small excited cries.

  I closed the dining room door and stood in the hall, working out what to do next. If James had real proof that his father’s death had not been an accident, he should have gone to the police and told them everything he knew. But none of the people who thought Tom Luckham had been murdered seemed to have any actual evidence, apart from Clare Kilpatrick and it was likely she had made up the story about the passenger in Luckham’s car.

  Sally and Abigail stood in the doorway. Abigail was slightly shorter than Sally, but looked older. Maybe it was the designer jeans and jacket, and the way her hair had been cut in a short, fashionable style.

  ‘I just called round to see if Sally was all right,’ she said, looking a little shifty, as if she thought she should have come sooner.

  ‘Yes, of course, I’m sure she’s very glad to see you.’

  Was it the first time Abigail had been to the house, and if so why had she chosen to turn up now? Odd sounds were coming from the drawing room. Sally looked frantic. ‘I should take Abigail up to your room,’ I said. ‘I expect your mother would like a cup of tea. No, it’s all right, I’ll make it.’

  Erica had woken up but was still slumped on the sofa. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out who I was, then belched loudly. ‘Is that you, darling?’

  ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Anna. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Tea,’ she repeated. ‘What time is it? I must have dropped off for a moment, didn’t sleep very well last night, had a bit of a headache. Is James back?’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Where is he, d’you know? Oh, it’s you, the psychologist.’

  ‘I don’t expect there’s anything to worry about,’ I said, although nothing could have been further from the truth. ‘Have you any idea where he stays when he’s not here? I remember you saying he sometimes crashed out with a friend.’

  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘Sally’s here, but they won’t serve her at the off-licence. If you see James tell him to get some money out of the cash machine.’

  ‘Sally’s friend Abigail has come to see her.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A girl called Abigail,’ I repeated. ‘She’s in Sally’s class at school.’

  Erica yawned hugely, then covered her mouth with both hands and spoke through her splayed fingers. ‘Oh, the child with a mother who works for the BBC. Tom promised Livvy Pope he’d send her some of her poems for that programme that used to go out in the afternoon. Livvy’s poems on the radio, what a hoot.’ She hoisted herself up and sat with her legs stuck out in front of her. ‘Poor old Livvy, I’m afraid her idol had feet of clay. You know, I don’t think I’ll bother with tea.’ She reached for the empty glass that was lying on the floor. ‘But if you could be a dear and top this up.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  I should have contacted Howard Fry straightaway, but I had clients to see and an appointment with Fay Somers, who had asked to visit the Psychology Service. In any case, Howard had shown little interest in Tom Luckham’s death and whatever James knew, or thought he knew, was unlikely to contribute anything to the search for Geena Robson.

  Fay was in the office, talking to Heather. They seemed to be getting on well and Heather reacted almost as if my arrival had spoiled the fun.

  ‘Trouble?’ said Fay, studying my face, then glancing at Heather. ‘If I’ve come at an awkward time …’

  ‘No, nothing that can’t wait.’

 
; ‘Sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  Heather came close and lowered her voice to tell me how Dawn had given her a little present. ‘Look, it’s for the bath.’ She held out a bottle of pale green liquid. ‘Wasn’t it kind? Perhaps we misjudged her.’

  ‘Yes, I think you may be right. Look, Mr Rogers is coming at four-thirty, isn’t he?’

  Heather checked the appointments book. ‘Yes, that’s right. D’you want me to give him a ring? If you’re not feeling too good …’

  ‘No, I’m fine, but if he wouldn’t mind changing his appointment, coming in a couple of days’ time. He lives quite close by and he seems to be free most days. Anyway, see what you can do.’

  I took Fay up to my office.

  ‘I just thought it’d be interesting to get an idea of how you all worked,’ she said, casting an appreciative eye round the room. ‘Something I can tell them back home. It’s fascinating the way clinical psychology’s developed in different parts of the world. In some ways we live in a global village, where research from all over becomes common knowledge, but in terms of applied techniques, well I guess different cultures have different ways of doing things.’

  I pulled out a chair but she continued to stand. ‘I’ve caught you at a bad time,’ she said. ‘No, I can tell.’

  ‘Not at all. Have a seat. Well, let’s think, there’s three of us who work in this part of the city. Used to be four and, with any luck, we should be getting someone else in a month or two.’

  ‘And your clients are referred by local doctors.’

  ‘Not just doctors. Social services, ed. psychs, the child and family unit.’

  ‘You see kids too?’

  ‘Only the older ones.’

  She nodded. ‘Teenagers, sounds great. Treat them like adults, establish a relationship where they feel they’ve got your respect and the battle’s already half won.’

  It was no good, I couldn’t give her my full attention. ‘Listen, I’m sorry Fay, but since you’re here d’you mind if I ask you something?’

  ‘Fire away.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘I could tell you had a lot on your mind.’

  ‘That evening at your flat. Jill phoned me not long after — to talk about Clare Kilpatrick, the girl with a child at the day nursery.’

  ‘Really? She asked for your number but I thought maybe she needed some advice, something about one of the kids.’

  ‘The thing is,’ I said, wondering what it was about Fay that always made me want to confide in her, ‘Clare’s never told anyone the name of her baby’s father. Well, not as far as I know. Jill seemed to be implying that she knew who it was, or thought she did, and if it turned out to be important she would be prepared to tell me the father’s identity.’

  ‘And is it important?’ Fay was unable to hide her curiosity. ‘I was round at the nursery one time when Clare was collecting the little boy. Got the impression she’s quite a tough cookie. Her friend was there too.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Such a good-looking pair, but terribly young, and perhaps just a little irresponsible. I kind of assumed he was the baby’s father. Luckham, yes I’m sure that’s the name Jill mentioned. Or have I got it all wrong? Jill’s a wonderful person but some of her mothers, I’ve a feeling they take advantage of her, expecting her to stay on longer after the place should be closed up. Well, I mean, you can’t just walk away if a kid’s waiting to be collected.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ I was wondering how much Jill had told Fay. If Jill’s marriage was on the rocks and she was finding her job hard-going, she was probably glad to have another woman around the place. I could imagine her feeling sorry when Fay returned to Australia.

  ‘This boy you saw Clare with,’ I said. ‘About eighteen, good-looking, thick fair hair, drives an old Ford Capri?’

  Fay smiled, remembering. ‘Don’t know about the car, Anna, but I recognize the description. Nice-looking boy, looks a little like that kid that used to be in our most notorious soap opera, the one that’s shown on your television twice a day.’

  ‘The thing is, he hasn’t been home for a couple of days. I don’t think it’s all that unusual but his sister’s worried and there’s some questions I need to ask him.’

  ‘I saw him last Monday if that’s any help.’ She frowned, closing her eyes and scanning a mental map. ‘I’d driven down Whiteladies Road, then straight on, past the big store, only I got in the wrong lane, you know how it is, and found myself in a queue of cars waiting alongside those fascinating little shops.’

  ‘And you saw James? Was Clare with him?’

  ‘No, he was with another lad, taller, older I’d say, with his hair tied back in a ponytail. The lights were red, that’s how I came to spot James, not that we’ve ever been formally introduced, but Jill’s pointed him out a couple of times, says he’s sweet with the baby, even collected him from the nursery one time when Clare was late back from work.’

  ‘And you’re sure it was James you saw?’

  ‘Certain. The lights turned green but the traffic took a time to move off. I remember glancing over my shoulder and spotting the two of them disappearing through a doorway.’

  ‘What kind of a doorway?’

  She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Anna, I haven’t a clue. Isn’t there a shop that sells second-hand violins? No, hang on, it could’ve been a place that hires out fancy dress costumes. Well, it looked like fancy dress.’

  I stood up. ‘Look, I’m terribly sorry, but I need to clear this up straightaway. Can we meet up some other time, soon, for a meal maybe?’

  ‘Need any help?’ she said hopefully, springing up and taking her jacket from the hook on the back of the door. ‘Oh, well, never mind, you’ve got my number, if there’s anything, absolutely anything I can do. You know me, I’d be more than willing.’

  *

  The multi-storey car park was almost full. I managed to find a space on the top floor, then ran down six flights of stone steps, holding my breath to block out the stench of urine and stale cigarette smoke. A brief lull in the traffic left just enough time to dart across the road and, once on the other side, it was only a matter of seconds before I was standing outside the row of shops. It was a long shot — James had probably been visiting a friend, the man that Fay had seen him with — but it was just possible he had been staying there for the last couple of days.

  There was no sign of the shop Fay had described, then I realized she must have meant the one that sold masks and comic wigs. The window was full of the kind of stuff young kids find hysterically funny: bleeding fingers, enormous blackened teeth, coils of plastic dog shit. Through a half-open door to the right I could see a yard with a couple of bikes leaning against the wall, and beyond that three or four tubs of orange geraniums. When I tried to step inside the door stuck against the stone floor and I had to give it a hard push. At the same moment I thought I heard a sash window being pushed up, but when the noise of traffic faded there were no more sounds. A door to my left had a yale lock. Another had a latch, but when I opened it as carefully and quietly as I could it turned out to be a large cupboard, piled high with cardboard boxes. If I asked in the shop someone might know who lived on the first and second floors, if anyone did. The display of geraniums made it unlikely that the whole building was used for storage and when I stared up at a high window I thought I detected a slight movement, although it could have been the fleeting effect of a cloud passing over the sun.

  In a useless attempt to drag open the door to the street without making a sound I succeeded in scraping the skin off the side of my hand. Blood welled up and, intent on finding something to staunch the flow, I failed to notice that a door at the back of the yard had opened.

  ‘Looking for someone?’ The accent was Scottish and less than friendly. I spun round and saw a tall man, with his hair tied back in a ponytail, watching me suspiciously.

  ‘A friend,’ I said.

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Sorry? Oh, the name of my friend? James Luckham
.’

  The man’s eyes shifted towards the door on his right. ‘And you’re … ?’

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m a friend of his sister’s, she’s worried about him, I only came here on the off-chance.’

  The man had circled round and was standing between me and the door to the street. It was only open a crack. I could see the passing traffic, an elderly couple standing by the zebra crossing, waiting for the lights to change, a woman carrying a red shopping bag.

  The man had an amused smile on his face. ‘You’re the shrink, am I right?’

  ‘I need to talk to James.’

  ‘What about?’

  We stared at each other. ‘Just answer me one thing,’ I said. ‘You’re Buzz, at least I assume that’s who you are. Sally’s afraid James is going to do something stupid. He’s told her he knows who killed their father and he’s going to —’

  ‘Really?’ He seemed to find this funny, then his expression hardened. ‘Tom Luckham was a bastard, but that didn’t give anyone the right to snuff him out. You’ve been to Seeker Gorge? Nothing particularly dangerous about it. You’d have to be drunk or sleepwalking to fall off those rocks.’

  ‘D’you know a girl called Clare Kilpatrick?’ I asked. ‘Has James mentioned her name?’

  ‘He might have.’

  ‘Is he with her now? Are she and James …’

  He started to laugh. ‘You thought James was screwing Clare! It’s not as if he’s ever made a secret of his “sexual orientation”. Anyway, how did you know where to find us? Oh, I get it, you put the thumb screws on Sally.’

  He was leaning against the wall, and now that I could study him properly I could see he was quite a lot older than James, probably in his late twenties or early thirties. It was an attraction of opposites: James with his thick, straw-coloured hair and blue eyes, Buzz with eyes that were almost black, and hair to match. James, however hard he tried, still looked as if he came from a privileged background, whereas Buzz had the appearance of someone who has had to fight every inch of the way.

  ‘I have to go now,’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea when, or if, James’ll be back so there’s no point in you hanging around.’