by AB Morgan
‘It may have looked like that, but I was rescuing her from Wayne Fewtrell and his gang of brain-dead mates.’
‘We also have good reason to believe that you left the fairground minutes after she headed back to Lensham. She was seen packing her belongings into her car, in a hurry, later that day. After that her movements are unknown and she hasn’t used her phone since.’
Rory rolled his eyes toward the drab ceiling. ‘But I’ve just told you, I saw her on Wednesday evening. She did say she’d lost her phone at the rally.’
‘I bet she did. Of course nobody else but you heard her say that.’
‘Actually, Barney and Annette Ribble were there when she said about her phone.’
McArthur shook his head. ‘Dear me, Mr Norton. Some friend you are, implicating the Ribbles in your lies.’
‘I’m not lying.’ Rory’s eyes darted back and forth between the faces of the two detectives. ‘What about Brenda Chamberlain? Gemma visited her on Monday evening. Brenda told me herself.’
Quinn shot a look at DC McArthur. ‘We’ve spoken to hospital staff and apparently Mrs Chamberlain had no visitors other than the vicar on Monday. The lady concerned has what they call cognitive deficits as a result of her recent head injury. In other words, Mr Norton, she can’t remember when she spoke to Gemma Waterford and she had no recall of any phone conversation with you at the weekend. Having said that, your phone records will tell us whether you called or not, which won’t help you in the slightest.’ He rested his pen. ‘Now think again. Did you see Gemma Waterford at any time on the night of the Bank Holiday Monday? Did you perhaps follow her to Anna Chamberlain’s address?’
There was knock at the door. ‘Sorry, sir, I have an update you’ll want to hear right now, sir.’
Quinn left the room, coughing into his hand. The interview was suspended.
Rory had gone beyond anger to a dark place of uncertainty and fear, and he sought reassurance from McArthur. ‘What can I say to make you believe me?’
‘Just tell the truth, Mr Norton, that’s all we ask.’
‘I am telling the fucking truth. I have consistently told the truth.’
‘Do you have any idea how many times we’ve heard that? You tell us where this second girl is buried and you’ll have something to negotiate with when it comes to sentencing.’
‘What?’ Rory felt sick. His mouth dried and dizziness was threatening to engulf him. McArthur picked at his fingernails, humming.
As the door creaked open again, Rory’s stomach lurched, threatening to launch what little contents there were onto the interview room floor.
On his return, Quinn wore a troubled expression. ‘No further questions until your solicitor arrives and, with any luck, by then we might have an answer from the pathologist and forensics confirming the identity of the body. We also have a few other leads to follow up on.’
Rory felt the room concertina around him, taking him into a muffled tunnel where voices and words became incomprehensible. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he squeaked.
McArthur gave a sneering smile before he rose to escort Rory through the door and into the custody suite. ‘Then you won’t have anything to worry about, will you? Apart from the fact that Gemma Waterford is still missing.’ McArthur was gloating as he handed his charge over to the custody sergeant.
The sound of the cell door closing reduced Rory to a state of child-like vulnerability. He became all too aware how much he was trembling through his arms and legs; they felt like feeble hollow appendages that had given up their former uses, abandoning him.
Staring once more at the blue vinyl mattress, he shivered.
37
Never Alone
Annette waddled as fast as she could through the rain, across the garage forecourt with Barney bringing up the rear carrying her suitcase. He swung this into the open hatchback of Lorna’s VW Golf.
‘Good luck, you two. Drive safely and keep me informed.’ He placed his giant hands either side of his wife’s head and planted a kiss in the centre of her forehead. ‘Kon will update us as soon as he hears anything from the nick but without our help that boy will sink. Off you go.’ Annette held onto his hand as she reversed her rounded buttocks onto the low passenger seat, shuffling herself into position before reaching across for the seatbelt. Lorna waved to Barney. ‘Thanks for fuelling us up and for the snacks to keep us going. We’ll phone as soon as we get there.’ Her voice rose above the sound of the windscreen wipers as they swished back and forth.
Barney watched as the car pulled out onto the road, and he waved again. As he turned to face the workshop he spied a familiar figure hovering just inside the shop door. The Reverend Gerald Fairbrother was pacing back and forth, one hand on his chin, deep in thought. ‘Ah, Kevin,’ he said as Barney approached.
‘Kevin? Nobody calls me Kevin.’ Barney took only moments to work out who had revealed his real name. ‘Brenda. I suppose she told you. How is the old duck? I take it she sent you to see me.’
The vicar stared in mild disbelief, stopping suddenly and dropping his hands to his sides. ‘How did you work that out so very swiftly? Yes indeed, Brenda begged me to ask you for help. The police have been to see her and she says that Rory has been arrested. She’s in a dreadful state.’ The vicar’s voice wavered leading Barney to become concerned at how breathless the elderly man seemed to be.
‘Please, come on in to the house. I’ll put the kettle on. June can manage the shop without me for a while,’ Barney said as he stepped through the glass-fronted shop door. ‘You’ll cope for fifteen minutes, won’t you June?’
‘I usually do,’ came the flat disinterested tones of his unenthusiastic shop assistant as she placed packets of crisps in a neat row on one of the shelves.
Once safely settled into a kitchen chair, Barney encouraged the Reverend Fairbrother to finish imparting news from Brenda who remained in hospital because of her hip fracture. She had taken to calling the vicar on a daily basis and he saw it as his duty to listen to her repeating the same stories, often muddling her facts. She had called him earlier that morning to complain about the weather being so dreadful, but he had made a personal visit in the afternoon at the request of the hospital staff. When police informed Brenda that a body had been found she had been devastated. ‘Her mind is not as sharp as it was, but she’s not a stupid woman. She knew immediately that it would be Anna and poor Brenda buckled at the news. Quite literally.’
‘Why did the police tell her? Couldn’t they have waited?’ Barney asked.
‘The nice nurses at the hospital told me that the police wanted to ask questions about the disappearance of Anna’s cousin. They say Rory has killed her too.’
‘Bloody hell, Vicar!’ Barney shouted, slamming the sugar bowl onto the kitchen table and causing the old man to jerk his shoulders upwards in fright. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you or swear, but I thought you, of all people, would have respect for justice. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? For your information, Gemma bloody Waterford has gone missing alright but not for long. Netty and Lorna think they have traced where she might be, and they are on their way right now to prove that she is very much alive and kicking. So you can stop your nasty rumours before they spread anywhere else. Got it?’
Gerald Fairbrother lowered his gaze. Glancing up briefly, he apologised. ‘You’re right. I should be ashamed for assuming guilt before there is proof but it does sound very much like Rory has killed Anna, doesn’t it?’
Barney was wrestling with his urge to blaspheme in the extreme when his mobile phone saved the vicar from further furious reproach.
It was Kon.
‘Hello old mucka, old pal, what news is there?’ Barney moved from the kitchen, leaving the Reverend Fairbrother to stare at his tea, depriving him of fuel for further gossip. Closing the door between the kitchen and the garage workshop, Barney held the phone to his ear tightly.
‘They’ve called the FME.’
‘What’s one of them?’
<
br /> ‘A police doctor. My source tells me Rory’s not coping too well in the cells. DS Quinn has it in for your young friend and he’s been kept in a dry cell to preserve evidence but he’s going a bit berserk so they’ve asked for an assessment of his mental state.’
‘Fuck me, Kon. The lad will be beside himself.’
‘He’s been creating merry hell, so I’m reliably told.’
‘Did your source say whether the police have caught up with Gemma Waterford yet?’
A sigh emanated from the phone. ‘Lorna will get there well before the police even bother looking. She passed on the information we have so far, but local plod have to liaise with another force and can’t spare the manpower because of the size of the operation surrounding Fewtrell’s Yard. I’m sure we’ll find her and when we do DS Quinn will have to release Rory. Until then we have to hope the kid doesn’t crack under the strain.’
38
No Place to Call Home
Raising the beaker to his lips, Rory realised how thirsty he had become and gulped the water down. It was lukewarm. He stared suspiciously at the grey cardboard container he had been delivered by the one of the custody officers. The food within it was unappealing and nondescript. Rory supposed it could have been a cottage pie but there were few clues other than the mashed potato that lay to one side of a sloppy portion of pale minced meat in watery gravy.
Instinctively, he raised the tray to his nose but without sniffing he lowered it again, eyeing it with dissatisfaction. With no appetite he had to convince himself to take the first mouthful and, as he swallowed, he briefly appreciated his inability to taste anything. The texture was bad enough.
Once the police surgeon had seen him, about two hours previously, there had been a notable change in his treatment by the police. He had been taken to a different cell, allowed to wash his hands and face, and now was given food. Rory took a good guess at why this was the case.
If anything, Doctor Khan had been over-thorough in his examination as far as Rory’s state of mind was concerned and had taken some convincing that Rory’s anosmia was not a form of delusion. Guiding the assessment in his favour, Rory called upon years of experience in mental health services to provide the doctor with reassurance as to his level of rationality. Much to Rory’s immense relief, once he had reached a safe conclusion, the doctor became a proactive ally.
After he finished his tasteless meal Rory propped himself against a cell wall and tried to manage his breathing. Anxiety management strategies, which he had once imparted to others, came much harder to implement when he was the one with rising waves of panic to get under control. The endless waiting was eating away at Rory’s resilience - what he had left of it. Each time he closed his eyes he had visions of standing in a hot shower, scrubbing at his skin with soapy lather, his face held into the stream of flowing water. He was desperate to feel clean and to be in his own home, safe.
When he shook himself free of those agonising visions, irrational fears began to gnaw away at his resolve to remain positive. Did DS Quinn have evidence that implicated him in Anna’s death?
Would he be charged with a crime he had not committed? Would he survive in prison?
* * *
Footsteps, firm and purposeful could be heard and, soon enough, the cell door was opened. ‘This way, Norton.’
‘What time is it, please?’ Rory asked as he wiped his clammy hands on the elasticated trousers he had been given to wear.
‘A little after nine thirty. Your solicitor is waiting for you.’
‘I’ve been here seven hours? It feels longer than that.’
When the door to the interview room opened it revealed a middle-aged woman in a crumpled business suit. Not who he was expecting. She stood to introduce herself as the duty solicitor. Rory wasn’t impressed. She looked as tired as he felt and, because her voice resembled that of a man who smoked forty fags a day, he hadn’t paid attention to her introduction thus missing her name completely.
He hesitated before sitting next to her where the rising anxieties about body odour began to take its toll, making him nervous. However, watching her face closely, he didn’t see a reaction and she didn’t shy away or wrinkle her nose. The nicotine stains on the fingers of her right hand had confirmed his assumptions about her being a heavy smoker. He let out a short puff of air through his nose, amused at the irony. She probably smelt a lot worse than he did.
‘You’ll be out of here in a short while,’ the solicitor growled, raising a grin and exposing brown stained teeth.
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘You have some fine friends.’
This comment perplexed him, but before he had chance to enquire further the door opened and DS Quinn walked in, a hand held up in the air.
‘We are releasing you, Mr Norton.’
‘With an apology?’ asked the solicitor.
‘With a very large apology. Please be assured that we had no choice other than to arrest you while we investigated further, Mr Norton. Now that we are fully satisfied that you are not implicated in the death of Anna Chamberlain, these charges will be dropped. All of them. Gemma Waterford is not missing. She’s been traced to a hospital in Devon where her mother is undergoing some emergency treatment. This explains why Miss Waterford wasn’t found at home or at work, and why she hadn’t realised what was going on in the news and national press, until someone at the hospital told her. I’ve spoken with her directly and she confirms your story. She wasn’t packing her car in a hurry - she was clearing up the mess in her cousin’s house and had filled the car ready for a trip to the tip the next day. After calling her mother from a landline, she left on Wednesday late evening and quite a while after she saw you. I guess I have to apologise again.’
‘I’m in the clear?’
‘You’re most definitely in the clear. Here.’ DS Quinn slid a piece of paper across the table. ‘It’s Miss Waterford’s new mobile number. She asked if you could call her. She wants to say sorry in person for all your trouble.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Rory replied, his tone flat, too overwhelmed to do anything other than take the paper in his hand and stare blankly at the row of digits.
DS Quinn finished wiping his nose with a used tissue before speaking again. ‘Your friend Barney Ribble is on his way to pick you up. You can’t go home, I’m afraid. The crime scene is sealed off.’
39
What Sense?
Rory needed to talk to Annette over breakfast, but before speaking he waited until Barney had left to serve early morning customers on the garage forecourt.
‘I can’t thank you and Barney enough for putting up with me. I’ve paid my deposit, so I’ll be out of your hair in a week or two.’
‘We’ll miss having you around.’
‘No, you won’t. I use up too much hot water and I hog the washing machine.’ He paused before gathering the courage to ask her a question. ‘Do you think Kon and Lorna could look into Anna’s parents for me?’
Annette placed her mug of tea on the table. ‘When you say, “look into” what do you mean?’
‘There’s a bigger picture to Anna Chamberlain’s death than the one we’ve been led to believe. I think it deserves investigating. Ever since her funeral, I’ve been ruminating about the role her parents didn’t play in her life. No matter how hard I try to forget the whole sorry affair, the itch cannot be scratched.’
Annette sat upright, reached across the table and placed her hand gently on top of Rory’s. ‘It’s about time. I take it your friend Keith had relevant information to divulge on the same subject when you met with him on Saturday.’
Rory leant forward, staring into Annette’s earnest eyes. ‘What he told me was in strictest confidence. I can’t disclose all of my sources to Kon and Lorna. People will lose their jobs. But do you think Kon would be interested enough to investigate?’
Annette laughed and rose from her chair with an unladylike grunt. ‘Interested? Are you kidding? He and Lorna have been busy at
work on the same subject for quite a few weeks, in fact ever since Anna Chamberlain first disappeared. You’d be amazed at what has been uncovered.’ Rory watched her in stunned silence as she plodded across to where she had left her mobile phone on the kitchen dresser. ‘Right, let’s arrange to get our heads together. We work better as a team, so welcome on board.’ She pressed the phone to her ear and made the request to Lorna, looking over at Rory to confirm arrangements. ‘Yes, it’s great to have him working alongside. He’ll email you an encrypted document with the information he has so far. Password will be “stench” lower case. Yes, clever. We already know something stinks about this don’t we?’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Lorna wants to know if we can all meet up for a chat on Wednesday and she asks if you can still get in touch with Gemma.’
Rory had tried to write down, word for word, what Keith Grayson was telling him as they sat together in a small café in Witney. The bike ride through part of the Cotswolds had allowed Rory to clear his mind and prepare himself for the long-awaited reunion with his friend. He needn’t have worried. It was like old times but without the beer. Keith was an affable barrel of a man, who delighted in making other people laugh and he kept Rory amused with quips and anecdotes before they got down to the serious business of exploring Anna Chamberlain’s medical records and the unusual family history contained within them.
‘I scrutinised the notes several times,’ Keith said. ‘And it seems that much of the information came from Anna’s family rather than from herself. Her parents visited only briefly when she was admitted, shortly after her transfer from your unit. They gave the necessary medical history then buggered back off to Spain but most of the other information seems to have been gathered by Sara when she did one of her splendid assessments.’ Keith checked with Rory about how safe it was to include Sara in their discussions and was rewarded by a genuine smile.
