by AB Morgan
‘You reported her missing as well didn’t you? You must have a bit of soft spot to worry so much for a woman you claim to hardly know.’
Rory tensed. Socratic irony was in use: an approach every self-respecting mental health nurse resorted to when trying to set bait for the truth. He wasn’t fooled. Quinn knew only too well who the couple were talking to Joe, and that Rory had reported Anna missing, and indeed that he was the last person to see her alive.
‘She has a serious mental health problem and I’m trying to help her. How many more times? It’s hardly my fault that she happened to assault me years ago is it?’
‘So you keep saying, but with her being missing, it would appear logical to question you in direct relation to her disappearance, in the circumstances.’
Rory shut his eyes, only opening them when he felt able to manage his rising anger.
‘I’ll say it again, because it’s the truth. I’m trying to help find her because I know first hand how ill she can become. It’s in everyone’s best interests to get help for her because she presents a risk to herself and to the public, or have you forgotten that?’
The sneering expression on DS Quinn’s face hardly changed. ‘Of course not, and I haven’t forgotten that you know Anna Chamberlain’s address because you’ve been there. You’ve been tracking her down ever since you found out who she was. So, it’s hardly surprising that you’re the number one suspect as far as the press and the public are concerned. Are you quite certain that you don’t have another incentive for finding her?’
‘I’ve already been over this with you several times. No, I have no other reason.’
DS Quinn didn’t acknowledge the response and, without so much as a nod or a shrug, he returned his attentions to the activity in Leo Fewtrell’s Yard, heading back into Rory’s main bedroom to spy from the window at the side of the cottage.
‘Forensics are in there now, so we shall see what evidence they find.’ There was an audible sigh as he paced slowly to the other window to admire the view over the fields.
‘What a shame you have such appalling neighbours. Apart from that major disadvantage, this is a beautiful spot. The wildlife garden a special feature, is it?’
‘I hate gardening. No time for it.’
‘So I see. Your security camera … where is the monitor?’
Rory looked sideways in the detective’s direction. ‘What security camera?’
Walking up behind Quinn, he shook his head. ‘I don’t have one.’
‘Then what is that on the apex of your greenhouse?’
Rory’s eyes switched from left to right and back again. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea.’
31
Sense at Last
Rory wasn’t even sure why he went to the graveyard again, but for some strange reason it helped to clear his head. He stood staring at the marble headstone.
* * *
Damien Chamberlain, Major. First Royal Fusiliers.
‘For England and St George’.
Loving son and husband.
Born June 12th 1973.
Died July 25th 2012 serving his country.
* * *
Touching the cold stone, he thought about his wife’s ashes, which had been scattered by her parents at a site of their choosing. There was no lasting solid memorial to Sara, and Rory hadn’t been able face her parents any more than he could tolerate seeing work colleagues and their friends, so he didn’t go to say his goodbyes. On the day of the scattering, he had withdrawn to a bench overlooking the sea to sit in the misery of his tears and the driving rain until he could bear his own company no longer.
‘I’m a fucking coward,’ Rory murmured as he patted the top of Damien’s gravestone.
His deep personal thoughts were interrupted by a cough. The Reverend Gerald Fairbrother was standing behind him.
‘Brenda tells me you are still helping the police.’
Rory let out a short of derisive laugh. ‘With their enquiries? Yes, I am, and no, I haven’t been charged with anything if that’s what you’re trying to find out.’
‘There are so many stories that it’s hard to know what to think. Would you like to come into the church for a quiet chat?’
‘No, thanks. I don’t do God.’
‘But you do cemeteries.’
Rory’s annoyance melted a little. He tried to respond positively to the vicar. ‘So it seems.’
The Reverend Fairbrother didn’t pick up that Rory had been benefiting from the peace of the graveside and for that reason was deliberately trying to cut the conversation short. The vicar shuffled closer, pretending to examine the headstone.
‘Do you have something in particular you wish to achieve by standing here at Damien’s graveside?’
Rory wasn’t entirely surprised by the enquiry. He had to admit to himself that it must seem strange, but he couldn’t answer the question. The vicar dealt poorly with the silence. ‘I used to think I could be a good mental health nurse. It would put my listening skills to use, don’t you think? Being a quiet man of God is not as rewarding or as dynamic as the medical profession. Perhaps I’ve missed my true calling.’
Although he knew the vicar was trying to be empathetic, Rory had limited patience in reserve. ‘Listening to what others have to say can be misleading, Reverend. I find that often the facts are masked by ambiguity. If you want to be more “dynamic” then perhaps you should put some effort into fuelling the village gossips with the truth.’
The vicar knitted his eyebrows together. ‘The truth? I don’t understand.’
‘Clearly not. Look, I don’t mean to be rude but I prefer to be alone.’
‘Oh … I’m sorry, I thought you’d want company.’
‘I’m actively avoiding it. I’m keeping my own counsel for good reason.’
‘I do apologise, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.’ Defeated and dispirited, the reverend moved away through the churchyard, head bowed, pretending to examine the state of the pathways.
* * *
It was a short distance to a bench by an ancient yew tree, a matter of a dozen strides, and taking his phone from his pocket, Rory dialled Keith Grayson’s number to confess what he had done and arranged to meet him.
His friend was relaxed about being impersonated.
‘I understand why you pretended to be me, but don’t do it again; there’s a good man. Apart from that, how are things?’
‘I’m in deep shit.’
‘I have been reading the papers you know.’
Keith was immensely sympathetic but realistic. ‘You have to tell your friends what happened to Sara. Once they understand that and what the facts are about you and Anna Chamberlain, then the rumours will stop. Why be so guarded? If you don’t do something about all the allegations soon you’ll be accused of a crime you haven’t committed. Imagine how dreadful that would be. Trial by media isn’t doing you any favours and telling people that you’re innocent isn’t going to convince anyone that you’re not involved in her disappearance. If anything, it makes you look guilty. Show them. Tell them the truth.’
Rory knew his oldest friend was right in his assertions, but it would be hard to open up to his past. ‘How do I do that?’
Seeing movement in the car park, he looked up and groaned into the phone. ‘Oh no. Gemma Waterford’s here. I expect she’ll get the wrong end of the fucking stick again and assume I’m here to desecrate Damien’s grave.’
Keith sounded perplexed. ‘Where are you? In a churchyard?’
‘Yeah. I can’t explain.’
‘Maybe not, but perhaps you can take a guess why Anna’s cousin has it in for you.’
Rory watched as Gemma approached, sunglasses on her head, carrying flowers. ‘I have no idea why, but she’s labelled me as the bad guy. She seems determined to prove that I have abducted her cousin and that now I’m stalking her instead. She tells Brenda, Brenda mentions it to the vicar, the vicar blabs to all and sundry, and suddenly I’m the biggest villain the village has eve
r seen. Look, I’d better go.’
Gemma had spotted him. She faltered and the bunch of flowers dropped to her side as her arms fell loose. ‘So, you found out about me and Damien then?’
Rory held his nerve. ‘It would appear so.’ He had no idea what she was referring to.
‘I forgave her … eventually.’ A desolate look in Gemma’s eyes allowed Rory a glimpse of psychological pain. She walked forward and sat beside him on the bench, placing the flowers between them as a barrier, and started picking at non-existent wayward threads in her short shift dress. ‘But I most certainly never forgave him, until today that is. Today is the day I decided to make my peace.’ She stared blankly at the headstone. ‘Do you know why? Because, while I was clearing out her house, I went over and over all the shit he and Anna have put me through, until I exploded. He was a bastard and she used me as an emotional punch bag, for years. However, today, I came to thank him for saving me from his foul, selfish temper and his philandering, by marrying my cousin instead.’ Gemma spoke as if reminding herself of the sad facts.
‘They were well suited. In the beginning Damien assumed he could have us both, whenever he felt like it, and it was a good six months before I realised what was going on. He’d told Anna that we were finished and she couldn’t get her knickers off quickly enough. She’d spent a great deal of effort looking for a more stable older man to make up for the sins of her father, of course.’
Rory listened, allowing the story to unfold. ‘It was Anna who told me in the end. She had delayed and avoided the confession, appreciating that I wouldn’t take too kindly to hearing that she’d taken up with my ex-boyfriend. Except he wasn’t my ex. He was still stringing me along. Lying was easy for him. My theory is he kept us both dangling with promises of a future together while he decided which one of us would suit him best. I withdrew from the competition and I never mentioned it to Anna. She would have won anyway. She always had men hanging round her, drooling - even after they got married. He was as bad. So, I forgive them both.’
Gemma pulled her cardigan sleeves down towards her wrists and fixed her eyes on the flowers. ‘I don’t know why I’ve brought these. For show, I suppose. I saw them in the supermarket when I was buying a temporary replacement for my phone. Why are you here?’
‘I don’t have a simple answer,’ Rory replied. ‘I’ve just been released by the police again and I’m hiding where the gossips can’t find me.’
‘Still looking for Anna?’
‘I’m hoping she’s found soon, that’s for sure.’
Gemma sighed. ‘I’ve been going over and over everything in my head and I can’t work you out. Please tell me that what I think about you is wrong.’
This was an unexpected request and confused Rory. ‘As I have no idea exactly what you think about me, I’m not sure what to say that will help.’
Gemma took a deep breath. ‘Indulge my theories about you and Anna before you reply. You have a key to her house, which is how you got in. You were teaching her to ride a motorbike and yet she’s never had the remotest interest in bikes until she met you. You befriended Brenda and you have not stopped searching for Anna even though she’s clearly mentally unwell. It turns out you used to be a mental health professional, according to the papers - so you know what’s wrong with her.’
‘I’m still not clear.’
‘She told me about you, weeks ago. She said she’d been investigating something, I assume it was the Fewtrell family, and that everyday she’d seen a tall man riding a motorbike. She saw you on the garage forecourt in Lower Marton without your helmet on and that was when she decided to take bike lessons. To get close to you. She was practically stalking you. She watched you at work, she followed you to the pub and stared at you through the window. She would bore me with the details on the phone at least three times a week, mostly fantasising about your magnetic hazel eyes.’
Gemma checked by staring at Rory. ‘Hmmm. She has a point. Anyway, when I searched her house your name - amongst others - came up on those pieces of paper, the rubbish thrown on the floor. The descriptions were quite … explicit.’ Gemma was looking at Rory again, weighing up his response. ‘You didn’t know.’
‘No, of course I didn’t.’ Rory clamped his hands around the front edge of the wooden bench. ‘I’d seen her around in her car following the Fewtrells and parked in various places where they were likely to pass by, but I’d no idea she was doing the same to me. I saw her locally, in passing, but I would never have had a relationship with her. She was my wife’s patient … I knew her from Devon.’
Gemma visibly perked up. ‘Your wife?’ Her hands shot to her mouth, fingertips pressed against closed lips. She stared into Rory’s eyes again before declaring, ‘Oh my God. Sara. Sara Norton is your wife? I’ve been so incredibly insensitive. I met Sara when I visited Anna in hospital. She was amazing. Are you two not together anymore?’
‘She died. I don’t really talk about it.’
During a heavy silence, Rory glazed over, his focus remaining firmly on the middle distance.
Gemma gulped and stood up. She faced Rory.
‘I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot. I saw your ring and after what she said, I thought you were having an affair with Anna, taking advantage of her vulnerability. You know. When I met you at her house, as far as I was concerned and beyond any question, you had something to hide. You were so shifty, furtive.’
‘Was I?’ Rory was still puzzled. ‘You said something earlier about sins. Anna’s father and sins. What did you mean?’
‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘What about it?’
Gemma took a deep breath, allowing her shoulders to relax. She sat back on the bench, leaning against the rear slats, eyes towards the evening sky glimpsed though the dark green foliage of the yew tree. ‘When I was about twelve, Anna came to live with us. Her mum and dad moved to Spain and her mum resigned her job as head teacher at a school, somewhere near here, before anyone knew the reason why. I was always told they had to move because of Uncle Scott’s job, but there’s more to it than that. Something happened to Anna when she was little. I don’t know what, but it has a lot to do with her father.’ Gemma let out a lengthy sigh.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so rude. I knew who you were as soon as I saw the bike and the sidecar outside Anna’s house and, ever since, I’ve been dead set on exposing you as a predatory womaniser with a motive for tracking her down. I’m not sure how I feel about you now.’
Rory started to laugh, gently at first, then louder as the irony struck him as funny.
‘A womaniser? I haven’t touched a woman with affection since the night Sara died.’ The laughter stopped as suddenly as it had begun. ‘I think you may have failed. I’m not viewed as a womaniser, Gemma. The population of Lower Marton and half of Lensham have me labelled as a psycho-pervert who has probably buried Anna under my floor and is pretending to care about her by searching for her high and low with obsessive single-mindedness. You’ve excelled yourself. I’ll leave you to it.’
They both stood and faced each other. He placed his hands on Gemma’s shoulders keeping her as far away as he could, pushing her backwards. ‘And just so you know, I don’t have a key to Anna’s house and I haven’t had any sort of relationship with her. I wish I’d never come across her because she’s managed to ruin my life for a second time without even knowing it. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you are trying to do the same. I can only hope that the press conference tomorrow can straighten things out.’
‘What do you mean she’s ruined your life for a second time?’
32
The Big Guns
The Reverend Fairbrother was regretting his visit to the hospital.
‘So they did acknowledge that they are still looking for Anna?’
‘Yes. According to Barney, the police think she may have been one of the girls caught up in the modern slavery and exploitation shenanigans.’
He had sat at Brenda’s bedside for forty mi
nutes, being cross-questioned by her, even though she had already phoned the police herself. Additionally, Scott and Joyce Pardew had visited not an hour before and by the sounds of things they too had endeavoured to placate her.
‘What I can’t understand is why the police have spent so much time questioning Rory? You said none of the girls were in Fewtrell’s Yard when the police arrived to arrest Leonard and Carmel. You and the police confirmed that the other men were arrested and yet that young man has been questioned three times now. He was only trying to help.’
Stopping her train of thought, she drilled into the vicar’s eyes. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’
The Reverend Fairbrother shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’
Barney palmed a set of keys taken from the side in the kitchen. ‘I’ll only be a few minutes.’
‘No, wait a moment. You haven’t explained what the big hoo-ha is about Rory and why Kon is so eager to meet up?’ Annette’s hand was poised in mid air, holding a generous slice of crusty bread that she had spread thickly with coarse paté. She sat at their kitchen table surrounded by the accounts paperwork.
‘All right, I confess. I couldn’t stand by and listen to the endless gossip and tittle-tattle, especially when folk haven’t got their facts straight. I confronted June about it and she blabbed without thinking. Not content with accusing him of the abduction and murder of Anna Chamberlain, the latest theory is that Rory has killed Gemma off as well. Apparently, she hasn’t been seen since the Bank Holiday Monday at the steam rally, but I’m pretty certain he told me he’d seen her only yesterday. That man has been through enough, without people talking behind his back. I stuck my fat nose in, that’s all.’
‘What else have you done?’ Annette put down her knife and inclined her head towards her husband.
‘I asked Rob to find out about Rory’s wife and asked Kon for some help. He did offer, in fact he said Lorna’s already been doing her stuff.’
