by AB Morgan
It occurred to Rory that Anna’s parents might neither be safe nor sound if they were stuck with her. He recalled the state in which he’d last seen her. By trying to find her, he also realised that he could be putting himself at considerable risk but felt he owed it to Brenda to agree to her request.
‘Anna’s address is nine, Old Swan Drive, Lensham. Her neighbour at number ten is a lady called Dawn. She may know where Anna is. Even if you could just check to see if her car is parked outside then we’ll know she’s there.’
Rory had to smile. He hadn’t thought of that. Neither had he considered the type of home Anna Chamberlain would be living in but he wasn’t surprised to draw up outside a modern, new-build house, functional, and semi-detached. It was one of several compact properties that had been squeezed onto a plot of land where an old pub had once stood abandoned and unloved, until the developers made their wallets fatter by providing much needed homes for the few who could afford them. A token offering had been made to the local authority for social housing in the shape of six flats in a block nearest the main road.
Anna’s car was not parked outside. As far as he could see from the roadside, the curtains throughout the house were pulled across each window negating any attempt to see inside. However, he then noticed that the front door was slightly ajar. He could see the catches on the multi-point door lock mechanism and instinctively he started to walk towards it. A few feet short of the doorway he stopped himself, deciding instead to take the sensible option of approaching the house next door where there were signs of occupation.
21
A Good Turn Backfires
Through French windows at the side of the house, children’s delighted chatter could be heard above the sounds of a radio playing cheerful hits of the nineteen eighties, to which a woman was singing along as the children laughed at her. They were silenced by the chiming of the doorbell.
‘Oh dear, that’ll be the council complaining about the dreadful wailing.’
Rory could hear giggling from the toddlers, in anticipation, as their mother asked for their obedience. ‘Hush now, we’re in enough trouble without you lot laughing so loudly.’
The door was opened by a young woman in her late twenties wearing a welcome smile that rapidly departed at the sight of a biker in full leathers standing on her front path. ‘Goodness. I thought you were the postman. What do you want?’ She closed the door several inches, indicating her wariness by providing only enough room for her head to be seen.
Rory explained his predicament. ‘I’m looking for the lady next door and I’m not sure whether to knock. She isn’t expecting me, you see.’
For the life of him, Rory couldn’t remember what name Brenda had given him. Was it Diane? It definitely began with a ‘D’… Deidre? The neighbour didn’t seem too impressed with his hesitancy, and he tried to reassure her. ‘It’s nothing serious. All I need to know is whether she’s at home or not, so I can report back to her family that she’s been seen. I don’t really know her well enough to go barging in.’
‘I’ve never seen you before,’ Dawn replied as she released her grip on the door and scooped up one small boy and slung him onto her hip. The other, an older boy with eyes too large for his head, clung onto her leg. ‘Are you a friend of Anna’s?’
‘No, not a friend as such, I’m doing a favour for an elderly relative.’
‘I can’t help, I’m afraid. I don’t have much to do with the lady, if I’m honest; she’s been nothing but a nuisance. She’s a raving nutter. I’ve been in touch with her parents to make a complaint, so unless you’re here on their behalf then you’ve wasted your time. I’d stay away if I were you. She doesn’t like people knowing her business. As I said, I can’t help.’ She flung the door shut with a firm bang and no apology.
Rory swung round looking at the houses opposite, for inspiration. At first no one else seemed to be around. No weekend car washers, nobody cleaning windows. ‘Shit,’ he muttered as he placed his crash helmet carefully inside the sidecar, but as he was about to head towards Anna’s front door again there was a spluttering sound from his left accompanied by a complaining voice.
‘Oh, come on. Start, you bastard.’
A young man, similar in age to Dawn, was doing battle with a petrol lawn mower that stood silently in the middle of a square of long grass. Because he was wearing headphones, Rory hadn’t been noticed until he was within touching distance. The man leapt backwards. ‘Holy, crap. What do you want?’
Rory held both hands submissively in the air and apologised for being the cause of such fright. ‘I’m looking for the woman who lives there,’ he said motioning to Anna’s house. The man rolled his eyes skyward before bending down to make another attempt at starting the mower. He held the handle of the starting cord, puffing out air and staring determinedly at the engine. He pulled. The engine coughed, “phutt, phutt” and died.
‘Have you primed it?’
‘Have I what? I don’t know. My parents bought the thing for us as a housewarming present. It’s reconditioned, so they said, but I’m fucked if can get it to start. I wanted a Flymo.’
‘May I?’ Rory offered.
‘Go ahead. Be my guest.’
After less than fifteen seconds the engine awoke and a beaming grin arrived on its owner’s face. ‘Crackin’. Thanks mate. Now, what did you want again?’
The men had to raise their voices above the sound of the lawnmower. ‘I wouldn’t bother. She’s as mad as they come, that one. She used to be okay when we first moved in here but the last six weeks or, so she’s been really crazy. She looks at you funny and doesn’t quite recognise us, like she’s got dementia or something. Do you know what I mean?’
‘Strangely enough I do. When did you last see her?’
‘You a copper?’
‘No. One of her relatives is worried about her and I’m trying to help.’
The young man killed the engine, allowing for an easier and more private conversation.
‘Look. I haven’t seen her for a couple of days at least. Try her neighbour Dawn. She might know.’
‘I have. She wasn’t any help I’m afraid. I think I scared her dressed like this.’
‘Good old Dawn. She’s not the friendliest bird you’ll ever come across and Anna has put the wind up her more than once. She’s had enough. Trouble is, you can’t always tell if Anna is in the house or not. She keeps the curtains closed all the time. Some days you see her and she looks normal but acts weird, going out of her way to avoid you, and other times she’s as rough as a tramp and doesn’t notice you exist.’
‘I’m tempted to walk away, but she’s left her front door open. Will you come with me to check that she’s not at home and be my witness to closing the door? I don’t want people to get the wrong idea and I don’t want to go inside the house on my own really. I’m Rory, by the way.’
‘Darren. Yeah, why not. It beats mowing the lawn.’
Wiping his hands down the side of his jeans, Darren followed Rory over the threshold of Anna’s house. ‘Hello, is there anyone home?’ The men stood in the compact entrance and whispered to each other.
‘I was going to suggest taking our boots off but …’
‘Christ, what a shambles. You don’t think she’s been done over do you?’ Darren asked.
‘A break-in? I would say, on the strength of the evidence, the answer is a sound “no”. Burglars might have left the place in a better state. What is all this?’
In the half-light of the house, Rory had been struck by the fact that a one-man bivouac tent had been erected on the far side of the lounge. A camouflage net had been draped over it and, from the flap facing the door, part of a sleeping bag could be seen protruding. Resembling giant hailstones, one part of the open plan lounge-dining area was piled high with reams of paper that had been scrunched into balls and thrown or gathered against the wall. Paper balls were scattered across the floors in the hall and in the lounge. Several had landed on dirty clothing or empty takeaway pa
ckaging that had been abandoned on or near the three-piece suite in the lounge. Rory reached down and unravelled one. Scrawled writing overlaying typed words took up most of the page. Anna had added her thoughts to, what appeared to be, an article of some kind. There was reference to Leonard Fewtrell with a short description of his known convictions. Against these Anna had made a comment, which in most cases consisted of an inflammatory accusation. Rory folded the paper up and put it in his pocket.
A dining table doubled as a desk. On it lay a laptop computer, surrounded by abandoned mugs, a pen, a box of tissues, dirty plates and cutlery, old newspapers, a dictionary and a well-thumbed compact thesaurus.
‘Dear me, the place hums a bit,’ said Darren holding the edge of one hand against his nose.
‘I expect it does. Given the level of neglect.’
‘It’s a weird mixture of stinky mould and bleach,’ Darren said. He walked towards the kitchen doorway, following the smell. ‘Fuck me. What a strange way of going about doing the housework. She’s done the washing up,’ he stage-whispered to Rory, as he stood with his shoulder against the doorframe. ‘And it looks as if she’s been scrubbing the floor with neat bleach. Cor, it’s making my eyes water.’ He recoiled, blinking.
Rory shouted again aiming his head up the carpeted stairs leading from the lounge area. ‘Anna. Anna Chamberlain? This is Rory the instructor from the motorbike school. Brenda sent me to see if you’re okay.’
In response, a woman’s voice came from behind, paralysing them.
‘How did you two get in?’
Darren clutched his chest as his head rotated towards the sound. Rory was slower in his reactions, but when he did wheel around he was shocked to see a woman who, at first glance, could easily have been mistaken for Anna Chamberlain, but who was a few years older, neatly dressed, fresh-faced and athletic with an assertive air. ‘Well? Please explain how the hell you managed to get in here.’
Darren conceded to Rory by bowing in his direction.
‘The door was wide open, I’m afraid. We just walked in. I’m looking for Anna.’
‘No shit, Sherlock. I’m not that bloody dense.’ The woman paused, inhaled and shouted. ‘Anna? It’s Gemma, where are you?’ She looked back at the two men. ‘Stay here, I’ll look upstairs. What a bloody mess …’
‘Who’s Gemma?’ Darren whispered.
‘No idea.’
From upstairs the woman yelled back at them. ‘I’ve got ears like a bat by the way. I’m Anna’s cousin. Oh hell …’
Rory made enquiries. ‘Are you alright up there? Any sign of her?’
Gemma reappeared on the landing at the top of the stairs, sweeping her hair behind her ears. ‘It’s much worse than I thought. Shit. I’m not sure what to do next,’ she said thinking aloud as she made her way downstairs holding on to the bannister rail. Rory could see her hands shaking and feel her uncertainty as she stared hard at him.
‘Explain to me who you are and what you are doing creeping around in my cousin’s house.’
Rory was about to begin his reply when a police patrol car pulled up outside and two uniformed officers materialised to stroll purposefully up the path to the front door which was now wide open. ‘Anyone home? This is the police.’ They took the trouble to knock as they tramped unerringly from the entrance into the lounge.
‘What have we here? A burglars’ convention? Are any of you the home owner by a remote chance?’
Before Rory had an opportunity to explain himself, Gemma chimed in. ‘I found these two trespassing in my cousin’s house. I’m Gemma Waterford and the house belongs to my cousin Anna Chamberlain.’
Darren’s lower jaw slackened as he looked to Rory for backup. ‘But, we− ’
‘Hold your tongue, sir, if you don’t mind. Let’s get the details, shall we? Where is your cousin now, Mrs Waterford?’
‘I’m not a missus. Please, call me Gemma. My cousin is missing. She’s not been coping very well lately and I’ve come all the way from Gloucester to find her. I couldn’t get hold of her on her mobile or house phone so I drove straight here.’
The policemen scanned around. ‘I see what you mean about not coping,’ one said. The other pressed for more information. ‘You have a key for the property?’
‘Yes, well, I know where one is kept hidden, but when I got here the door was open and these two were inside, lurking about.’
Rory couldn’t hold himself back. ‘We weren’t lurking or creeping, we were trying to help. I’m doing a favour for Anna’s mother-in-law who was worried about her and she asked me to check to see if she was at home. The door was open so I asked Darren to come with me to investigate.’
‘And you are?’ the taller of the two policemen asked Darren.
‘I live two doors down.’
‘And you know this man well?’ the officer asked pointing at Rory.
‘No. I’ve never met him before.’
There was a sinking moment of realisation as it occurred to Rory that someone had reported his or her concerns to the police. ‘We’re not here to rob the place if that’s what you think,’ Rory said, not doubting that burglary was exactly what was being alluded to.
‘A neighbour asked us to attend a possible break-in. There was a report of a man behaving suspiciously and asking questions about the lady who lives at this address. The impression isn’t a good one. You have entered a property without the homeowner’s permission, which is trespass. What was your intention? Theft? Or worse?’
Gemma stood with her arms folded, glowering at Rory. He was stunned at the accusations being levelled at him. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d never bothered now. My intention was to find out if Anna was in need of medical help and, if she wasn’t here, then Darren could witness that I had at least closed the door on my way out and not stolen anything or harmed Anna in any way. I really am just trying to help.’
The tall policeman had misgivings. ‘How do you know Anna Chamberlain? What’s she got to do with you? I find it highly unlikely that you’d go to so much trouble to trace a missing daughter-in-law out of the goodness of your own heart. I’m not buying it. These two people don’t know you. The neighbour who called in had never seen you before and you have acted questionably. Would you expect someone to enter your home if you left the door slightly ajar? No, of course not. Now, we can’t prove you are up to no good, but it has the hallmarks of illegality about it.’
It took all Rory’s powers of persuasion and a phone call to Brenda in the hospital to avoid being escorted to the police station for further questioning. Even so, the police, Darren and Gemma seemed uneasy with the explanations given by the stranger in motorbike leathers who barely knew Anna, and yet was insisting that the police should focus on finding her.
22
Digging
The larger logs, cut horizontally from enormous tree trunks, were too heavy to move safely unless Anna made enough room to roll them onto another much smaller log. She then levered them into place using one of the short planks that she found stacked against the back wall of the outhouse.
Instructions were coming in waves from Damien who was insistent on her having a den to hide in before she began her escape. Shortly after sending her email to the police, the battery had died on her phone. She now had no way of monitoring the digital security camera or calling the authorities with the first-hand account of systematic abuse, kidnap and of wilful murder.
Chopper had become her eyes. His flapping ears, his skilful ability to pass her coded instructions, had been a revelation to Anna. If Damien hadn’t told her, she may never have noticed.
‘Watch him. See. He’s indicating for you to stay hidden. There. His ears went back just before Leonard himself appeared. He distrusts that man and so should you, Fruitcake.’
Chopper had wandered over to the doorway of the outhouse the previous evening and sniffed loudly at the door. He’d scratched at the ground with his paws and sniffed again, trying to place his nose as close as possible to the air within. He’d sn
orted and sneezed before walking away, back to his kennel where he’d lain with his nose aimed in Anna’s direction.
‘You understood what he meant?’
‘No not really …’
‘Jesus. Pay attention. He is telling you to dig. Not at the door but at the back wall. That’s where he knows you can make an escape without being seen. Then you take the evidence to the police in person. If you leave by the door, they see you. You’re a dead woman.’
* * *
Early on Saturday morning Chopper started to bark, putting Anna on alert. She hid in her den.
The door rattled and the bolt was drawn backwards as she listened to the men arguing outside.
‘Cor it smells proper pissy in ’ere. I’ll get the wheel barrow.’
‘Fuck the wheelbarrow, get the forklift and we’ll lift the bags onto the flatbed. Why didn’t anyone do this earlier? We ’ave to leave soon.’
‘There’s no one here what knows how to work the forklift apart from you and Leo, and he’s going ahead in the Merc with the missus. Dolled up to the nines they are. Like toffs.’
‘Am I the only one ’ere with any brains? “Get the wheelbarrow”, what good is a wheelbarrow, you moron? We need a shed load of logs and a week’s worth of coal, not a few lumps to light the fire and get halfway down the lane. Give me strength …’
The door was pushed inwards, scraping across old tiles, allowing slender shafts of light into the space where Anna was hiding behind and beneath a wigwam of planks and logs.
‘Bollocks. We can’t get the forklift in; it’s too bloody narrow. How the hell did they get the bags in ‘ere in the first place?’
‘Pallet truck?’
‘Yeah. Pallet truck. Go and get it. We’ll drag ’em out on the pallet truck and then fork lift ’em onto the lorry. What a bloody palaver.’
