Hostile Witness
By Nell Peters
Copyright by Nell Peters 2011
Smashwords Edition
PROLOGUE
He lay motionless in rubble and dirt, an angry bruise sculpting his jaw.
Roughly, the girl pulled at his limbs to arrange him but her wide body blocked much of the witness’ view, so that it was impossible to tell whether she was frustrated with herself or her prey.
He stirred, groaned and struggled to move - and when he realised what was happening, he wept pitifully. Blood flowed from a cut to his forehead, mixing with snot from his nose like oil and water. The witness willed him to make a run for it, but he was still stunned and dizzy from the heavy blows and unable to get up.
He was trapped.
The girl stomped around the small building, throwing things aside and mumbling incoherently as she searched...until she found what she needed, propped near the doorway.
The boy was making more and more noise with his sobbing and pleading and she knew she needed to silence him quickly, before anyone came to investigate and discovered the bad thing she’d done. A malevolent expression twisted her face as she took aim – he understood he was about to die and with his final, snatched breath cried for his mother, just as the metal impaled his tiny chest.
Then there was nothing…except for muscle spasms that jerked his limbs in a freakish dance of death.
When she was satisfied he really was dead, the girl made to leave - but suddenly turned and dashed back to rip something from around his neck.
Though his eyes stared up at her asking why, she didn’t see.
Chapter One
A military tattoo pounded somewhere behind my eye sockets and my entire body shook involuntarily, despite the heavy blanket wrapped around my shoulders. A mug of sickly sweet tea that had been forced upon me, quivered in my grasp and slopped some of its contents onto the tiled floor, where it pooled in a muddy, irregular oval like a Rorschach reject.
Leaning across the table, the tubby policewoman frowned, “You know, ma’am, finding a dead body is a terrible shock for anyone - you should drink some of that tea and you’ll feel loads better.”
I really didn’t see how anything could possibly make me feel ‘loads’ better, ever again. “I’m trying,” I lied, wishing she’d waddle off and leave me alone.
Though we were in the middle of a heat wave, I felt icy sweat trickle its course down my spine, seep it’s way into the tight waistband of my jeans and on down to my knickers. Aware my nose was running, I couldn’t have cared less.
“Have you contacted Giles - Mr Symonds - yet?” I asked, “He travels a lot and
Dee says…said…he always forgets to turn on his cell phone…and the children - what about the children?”
“That’s all in hand, ma’am and someone from Family Liaison has gone to the school to break the news. Sarah and Tom, isn’t it?”
“Thomas…he’s always called Thomas.”
Her manner was brisk and – to me at least - irritating, “Right you are then - don’t you go worrying about no one else, everything is under control.”
More tears flowed unchecked and I slopped more tea, “Poor Giles - he left for work this morning and everything was normal…now his wife is dead. Poor Giles… poor Sarah and Thomas…” I was rambling, teetering on the verge of losing control – and I just wanted to be left alone.
She grabbed a battered tissue box from the work surface and thrust it toward me, her heavy features clenched into an ugly, no-nonsense gargoyle grimace. “But it can’t have been normal can it, ma’am - not if Mrs Symonds was planning to top herself, just as soon as them kids left for school?”
I didn’t much like her attitude, but when I closed my eyes to blot her out, all I could see were the deep gashes in Dee’s white wrists, as they bobbed in bloodied water. My stomach lurched ominously and I was afraid I might be sick again.
I had to change the subject, “What’s your name?”
She held her notebook with pen poised, anxious to start writing, “Constable Stephens, ma’am. You can call me Sally, if you want. Now tell me, did you actually see Mr Symonds leave the house this morning?”
Dutifully, I cast my mind back, “Err…well no actually, not that I remember…I just assumed.”
Sally’s lips pursed, “I see…” I think I heard her tut, or maybe it was a cluck.
Someone rapped on the open back door and entered my kitchen without waiting to be invited - I lacked the energy to turn around to see who it was.
“Callie?”
I recognised the voice…Confused, I looked up to see David. Why was he here?
Sally lumbered to her feet, “Hello, Sir. Mrs Ashton here is right shaken up about next door, but she’s refusing to go to hospital to be checked over.” In that one short sentence, I felt she’d managed to convey that everything was my fault because I wouldn’t cooperate - I imagined Sally as a creepy swot and/or teacher’s pet at school.
“Thanks constable - Callie and I are old friends, so I’ll take over in here. I’m sure
there’s something useful you could be doing elsewhere?” His direct stare allowed her little room for manoeuvre.
She bristled, stretched rolls of neck fat away from her white collar and jutted her chin. “Sir,” she snarled and then stomped off, shirt stuck to her back with sweat.
Wearily, I asked him, “What are you doing here, David - why did she just call you sir? And when did we become ‘old friends’?”
He looked uncomfortable and squirmed, twitching his shoulders, “Ah…I… um…didn’t get around to telling you before, Callie - I’m a detective.” A blush of bright crimson scuffed each cheekbone.
I really felt nothing could surprise me anymore, “Oh…okay.”
He went to the sink and ran cool water to rinse my face, which I guessed was probably not looking its best.
As he gently pushed the hair back from my forehead I whispered, “Thanks, that feels good.” But when I closed my eyes to savour the moment, I was immediately back in next door’s bathroom yet again, staring at a mutilated body - so I opened them wide, “Why CID? Dee committed suicide, didn’t she?” I felt so strangely detached I could hardly focus on him.
“Probably, but we attend any unexpected death as a matter of course, just to be on
the safe side and I happened to be in the area when the address came over the radio.”
“Right...”
I refused the offer of another tea, while he brewed a coffee for himself.
Taking the chair opposite mine, he sat Christine Keeler-style and asked, “I expect you’ve already told the other officers everything you know, but would you mind going over it one more time for me, please?”
Chapter Two
Anxious to be of help in any way I could – if only to offset a worming feeling of guilt because I was still alive, while Dee was very dead - I took a deep breath; the double dose of painkillers I’d swallowed were starting to kick in, “The boys left for school at about eight thirty-five, I think – they…we were running a bit late. I made a coffee and read some of the paper. It was probably about ten, when I went to the newsagent’s on the corner and bought some chocolates for Dee.”
He looked up from his notes, “Why was that?”
“To say thank you - she did me a favour.”
He smiled, “What favour?”
I sighed, wondering how that could possibly be of any significance, “There was
a Parents’ Evening at the school yesterday and a cake sale afterwards to raise money for gym equipment. I’d completely forgotten about it, until Alex came home and mentioned it…”
“Sorry, remind me - is that your oldest boy?”
“Yes, he’s fourteen and Sam’s ten. Alex goes to the same school as Dee’s kids.”
“Okay…”
“I drove into town to buy a fancy cake at Marks and Spencer, but they were sold out, ditto the bakery…it was quite late by then. So, I did quick shop for ingredients at the mini-market - only when I got to the checkout, I realised I didn’t have any money on me.”
His grin was lop-sided. He nodded, clearly expecting me to continue.
“As usual, Dee had made and decorated several magnificent gateaux and she gave one to me.”
“That was mighty neighbourly of her.”
“Yes…I suppose…except everyone knew it was far too good to be my own effort. I brazened it out though.”
“So you took the chocolates round to say thanks - at about what time, do you
reckon?”
I thought about that, “Oh, I don’t know - after I’d tidied up a bit and put a load of washing in the machine, it must have been eleven, or thereabouts.”
He nodded again, reminding me of one of those annoying dogs OAPs drive around with on the back shelf, “Go on.”
“When I rang the front doorbell, there was no answer - I thought I could leave the
chocolates round by the back door in the shade…”
“You and Dee were on pretty friendly terms, then - if you felt comfortable doing that?”
I shrugged, “I suppose…we got on alright, but I didn’t see that much of her really. She was always off serving on some committee, working as a volunteer in the charity shop, or hospital visiting - that sort of thing. Unlike me, Dee was heavily into good works...”
He seemed to be scribbling a great deal, “I see, so you went in?”
“Yes. In the kitchen I called her name, but there was no answer and suddenly I felt very scared - I can’t explain it, but somehow I knew something was wrong. It was a horrible, eerie feeling.” My stomach was fast tying itself in knots, dreading the gory part. I asked for a glass of water both as a delaying tactic and to gulp down the taste of bile, rising in my throat.
“You’re doing really well,” he coaxed, while I drained every drop then swiped at my mouth inelegantly with the back of my hand.
Wanting to get the ordeal over with, I started to gabble, “I had a quick look round the ground floor - everything seemed normal, pristine as ever. I don’t even know why I went upstairs…there was a little voice in my head, telling me to get out of the house immediately…of course, I didn’t.” My head fell forward into my hands and I didn’t think I could continue.
Gently, he said, “Take your time, there’s no hurry - I do understand how difficult this must be for you…”
“Do you…?” I asked my voice redolent with unnecessarily spiteful doubt.
David got up and refilled my water; my knuckles turned luminous white where I gripped the glass and I had to set it down before it shattered.
He smiled reassurance, “Let me help you out here - was the bathroom the first room you went into upstairs?”
“Yes…I don’t know why I did that, either…”
“It doesn’t matter; what happened next?”
My fingernails located the flesh of my palms and dug deep, “I saw her poor body - she was submerged and the bath water was red…her blood...her cut wrists were floating on the surface…it was horrible…gross.” When a loud, involuntary sob escaped from somewhere deep within me, he reached forward and squeezed my hand to reinforce his moral support.
I inhaled in a lungful of air, “I was talking to myself…telling myself what to do…I was so frightened…And I still had hold of the stupid chocolates - I suppose I must have dropped them when I put my arms into the water and tried to lift her...I’m not sure...sorry…”
He interrupted, “Did you think there was a chance she was still alive?”
“No…yes…oh, I don’t really know what I thought. Logically, she couldn’t be.” I cuffed a drip that was dangling on the end of my nose, “She was much heavier than she looked and I struggled, so water splashed everywhere; I drenched myself - and the floor, probably. And all the time, I was trying not to look at her dead, white face...” Another hoarse sob echoed round the room; “Is this making any sense at all?”
He brushed away tears I was unaware of with cool fingertips. “Yes, it is; I’m really sorry to have to put you through this, Callie.”
I made a supreme effort to get a grip, “I’m fine…honestly - there’s not much more to tell…I knew I had to get help, so I ran to the master bedroom to use the extension…the Emergency Operator was brilliant…”
“Did you go out into the garden immediately you’d ended the call?”
“No. I’d made a mess, so I tried to dab up puddles on the bedside table with a tissue and I had a go at scrubbing the Flokati rug - the water dripping off me had stained tufts of it pink…I know it sounds crazy, but I kept thinking how cross Dee would be about that - then I felt so sick I had to get out…I’m afraid I puked in the flower bed.”
Just as I thought I might cry again he said, “You’ve done a great job, thank you -
now are you as sure as you can be that you went round to Dee’s about eleven o’clock?”
I thought back, “As far as I can remember, yes. It felt like I was in the house for ages…I don’t know…I remember I was trying to do everything right, but I was getting everything wrong…”
He put his arms around me, pulled me close so that our foreheads met, “Your 999 call was logged at 11.08, so you are probably pretty accurate about the timing.”
Something else occurred to me; I pulled back, “The water was stone cold - I suppose that means she must have been dead for a long time?”
“That’s the pathologist’s job and they are backed up with bodies because of this heat wave - but working on the time the children should have left and your arrival, she would have died between say 8.30 and 11.00am. The water temperature suggests earlier rather than later…tell me was there much water on the floor when you first entered the bathroom?”
I tried to visualise the scene, omitting Dee, “Err…no, I don’t think so.”
He rubbed his chin, “I see…” He looked around my shabby kitchen, which was well overdue for a facelift, if not demolition – I wondered if he was comparing it to Dee’s up-to-the-minute designer showcase. She had everything – why would she want to kill herself?
I glanced at the clock; “I should go and meet Sam and Alex from school today, in case they haven’t heard what’s happened – or even if they have. I don’t want them wandering home to find the place swarming with police.”
“I’ll give you a lift - we’ve got plenty of time. I expect you’d like to take a shower, maybe have a lie down first?”
“Yes…thanks.”
He smirked, “All part of the service.”
“What are you, David - rank, I mean?”
“Detective Chief Inspector.”
I rolled it round my mind, tried it out for size - DCI David Bennett.
Chapter Three
I woke on Thursday feeling a lot better, after two days in limbo.
When I still felt alright after risking a couple of slices of toast and a glass of juice, I decided to do something constructive and go job-hunting…again. Out came the sensible suit and shoes, plus a facial expression tweaked to convey my worthiness as a strong candidate for any job on offer.
But by the time my aching feet carried me into the fourth employment agency I’d visited along the High Street, I was feeling thoroughly deflated and ready for the scrap heap; I wanted nothing more than to run home and curl myself into a protective foetal ball.
I was asked, “Have you done a typing test?” by a horsy gel called (according to the plaque on her desk) Melinda.
I shifted my pose on an uncomfortably hard chair that was lower than hers, giving her a subtle psychological advantage. “No, as I can’t type there didn’t seem to be much point, when I spoke to your colleague last week. I’m afraid I forget her name.”
“Oh dear…” she loudly sucked in air through teeth uneven as a row of bombed houses - I didn’t need to be a genius to predict this would end in tears. Mine. Her lip curled, “And you’re thirty-nine?”
I abandoned all hope, “Chest or hips? I’m aged thirty-eight.”
She let out something between a sigh and a yawn, then took an obvious peek at her watch, “Are you at least au fait with a computer keyboard?”
I wrestled briefly with my conscience, deciding it wouldn’t do to be caught out in a blatant lie so early on in our relationship, “No, um…not exactly.”
“I see-ee…” Melinda was clearly regretting her kind invitation for me to go perch at her ‘work station’. I was at least becoming au fait with the lingo.
As she tapped at keys and studied several colourful screens that popped up, I became the teeniest bit excited - until she started to shake her gel-spiked head in the grave manner adopted by car mechanics, just before they proclaim your vehicle maintenance will cost the equivalent of the National Debt.
Her icy glare harpooned me to the seat, “You see…unfortunately, Caroline…”
My hackles rose; where did she get off calling me Caroline? Only my mother had been allowed to call me that, since I was about six. “It’s Callie, or Mrs Ashton.”
“Hmm…we don’t appear to have anything currently on our books that would suit your…err…qualifications and…” her lips twitched, “…um…experience. I’m sorry.” She looked around the too-bright blue office and then at the door - a rude, unsubtle hint that I was monopolising her precious time. I was itching to point out her bad attitude – just after I’d decked her.
Gulping down my pride, I opened my mouth to argue/plead with her; I’m not stupid - I could learn lots of stuff, if someone would only invest five minutes to show me how…I closed my mouth again, accepted I’d be wasting my breath and left the office, praying I’d never have to return.
I did briefly toy with the idea of drowning myself in the local canal, but since water levels were exceptionally low courtesy the unprecedented run of sweltering weather we’d been having, I knew I’d probably just sink into toxic mud and perhaps break a few bones on the abandoned shopping trolleys and other rubbish festering in there, when I landed. Plus, of course, I didn’t want the infant whore Freckle Face to get her fangs into my children, when she’d already absconded with my husband.
I mooched aimlessly about for a while, trying to persuade myself there was a job waiting somewhere out there for me - we simply hadn’t found each other yet. Feeling artificially buoyed by positive thinking, I made a detour to window-shop along a row of posh new outlets; proper retail therapy was out of the question, now the boys and I were on such a restricted budget following Nic the Prick’s departure. Instead, I indulged in self-flagellation, gazing longingly at a jeweller’s display of twinkling diamonds with obscene price tags - until a sudden flashback of Dee’s slashed body reflected in the glass caught me off-guard and I jumped back as though jet-propelled, for fear she might reach out and touch me. When I went to cross the road, I was still reeling from the horrible, impromptu vision and I didn’t even see the speeding black car with dark, tinted windows that came within a millimetre of dispatching me to join Dee in the after-life.
I flopped down heavily on the pavement, showing my knickers and shaking like a jelly. I heard running footsteps behind me.
“Callie? Are you alright?”
Still dazed, I cranked my head round, “David…oh, err…hello again.”
“Christ that was a close call!” He helped me up - my legs wanted to concertina back down, but I wouldn’t indulge them.
As I dusted myself off, hoping to appear dignified, I assured him. “It was my own stupid fault - I wasn’t paying attention.”
He gripped my arm, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Um…sort of.”
“I’m afraid I was too far away to get the damned idiot’s number.”
“It doesn’t matter - as I said, it was down to me. I was thinking about other things and I didn’t look properly.”
A small group of people were staring at me; I reclaimed my arm and made to walk away with as much majesty as I could muster. But he blocked my path, “Please don’t go yet. How are you otherwise, after - well, you know?”
I manufactured a smile, “Recovering nicely, thanks. Almost back to my old self.”
He smirked, “I’m glad to hear it. Are you in town looking for work again?”
“Yes, but nothing doing as usual. My degree dates pre-Flintstones and I’m computer illiterate - which makes me not everyone’s idea of the perfect job applicant, apparently.” To my utter shame and annoyance, I burst into tears.
He hugged me, stroked my hair and spoke into my fringe, “Hey, things can’t be that bad… and you’re probably in shock. Will you let me buy you a coffee?”
I sniffled and rubbed my eyes with an ancient tissue excavated from my pocket - it blackened with non-waterproof mascara and I knew I must look like a panda, only not nearly so cute. “Thanks...yes, um…if you have time. Sorry about the water-works.”
“Don’t be silly - you’ve had a really rough ride lately. And some of that’s my
doing. I’d like to apologise properly.”
I’d forgotten what a sexy voice he had. I allowed myself to be led by the hand to a nearby café - all Formica, sugar shakers and tables covered in sticky rings. Iced cakes behind glass were sweating profusely in the heat - just like me, in my tight wool suit.
I used the primitive toilet facilities to clean myself up and when feeling almost human again, joined David at a window seat for two.
Chapter Four
He asked, “Is your coffee alright?”
I took a tentative sip - it tasted as greasy and as vile as it looked, but I assured him, “Yes thanks. Lovely.”
“Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
Despite a rumbling stomach, I didn’t fancy taking second pick after the wasps,
“Positive. I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”
He studied the rim of his chipped coffee mug, “Listen, Callie…”
“Yes?”
“I… erm…you’re looking much better, there’s some colour back in your cheeks,” he hadn’t managed to fully disguise a swift change of mind about what he’d originally intended to say.
I felt my shoulders ratchet down several notches, “I’m fine, really.”
“Good…err…listen…about last Saturday…”
I held up a hand, “You don’t have to explain.”
“Yes, I do…”
I felt obliged to help him wriggle off the hook, “Look, I know how conniving Ginny can be when she sets her sights on something, or someone - not many wilting Wallflowers make it to shit-hot QC, you know. Plus, we’d all had a lot to drink. Way too much, actually - I had a killer hangover next day.”
“Even so…”
“I wasn’t too drunk to notice what she was up to - she couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d lain naked across the kitchen table masturbating.”
Embarrassment turned his ears scarlet - he did a quick, nervous scan of the café to check no one was listening in on our conversation. He needn’t have worried. Of the three other patrons sitting separately - two males and one female, all of whom were probably old enough to remember the launch of the Titanic - none were remotely interested in us or our little tête-à-tête.
Sotto voce, he said, “That doesn’t excuse me taking her to bed…um…especially your bed…instead of you.”
I stuck flaring nostrils in the air, “Sex between us wouldn’t have happened anyway. If you remember, I postponed our romantic tryst because Dominic let me down as usual and the kids were at home with me, instead of staying with him.”
His ears were positively glowing now, “I feel particularly bad about that…”
“C’est la vie; I had the moral satisfaction of throwing you both out - and Sam and Alex were none the wiser.”
“I suppose you and Ginny still aren’t talking?”
“Not a word. That’s why I’m back to job hunting; she’d offered me a clerical post in her office - just basic stuff, but it would have got my foot on the bottom rung of the employment ladder. That went flying out the window the minute I took a stand against her - she’s not a very forgiving soul.”
“I’m really sorry - if I hadn’t called round uninvited and gate-crashed your girls’ night in…”
“You weren’t solely to blame.”
“Well, please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help heal the rift. Have you two been friends for long?”
“Yes, over twenty years - we met on our first day at university.”
He swigged some coffee, swished it through his teeth. Judging by the look on his face, his didn’t taste any better than mine. He changed tack, “How are the boys?”
“Fine, considering Dominic has practically abandoned them for Freckle Face.”
“Ah, the other woman?”
“Not much more than a child, actually. A child slapper, obviously.”
“I’m sorry - it must be rough. How long have you been on your own?”
“Three, nearly four months. It’s not all bad - I’ve gotten used to making my own decisions; I get to watch what I want on TV and I can now change a fuse. Next challenge, putting up shelves - and will you please stop saying you’re sorry.”
When he reached for my hand, I clenched a fist.
“Sor…ah…okay, I’ll try. Do you still want to go out with me, after I disgraced myself so badly?”
“You’re a man - your brains are congenitally in your boxers. Oh, that was almost a joke.”
He smirked and looked excruciatingly handsome, “That’s not a straight answer.”
I tried to appear super-cool, despite fancying him like mad. He had, after all, behaved appallingly with Ginny. By rights, I shouldn’t be talking to him at all, but Dee’s sudden, awful death had certainly put things into perspective for me. Calmly, I suggested, “Shall we play it by ear? I’m trying to keep a lot of balls in the air just now - and I’m really not sure I have either the time or the energy for a relationship.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that - was I completely insane?
His lips stretched to a pale straight line, “At least it wasn’t an outright ‘no’.”
As I walked back to my car - taking exaggerated care at each road I had to cross, no matter how traffic-free - I mulled over our conversation. I was mystified as to why such an attractive man would want to date me and my two-pregnancy baggy tummy. And the rest of my squat form lacked any trace of tone. Apart from that, I was unemployed, (possibly unemployable) and on the verge of forty with two kids in tow. Ginny, on the other hand, was tall with an exquisite figure, unencumbered and had a high-powered job with the freedom to do as she pleased, more or less when she pleased. She was also very experienced sexually and probably knew more seduction techniques than Mata Hari…
Chapter Five
By the time Saturday dawned, I hadn’t seen any sign of life chez Symonds for a day or so - and I hadn’t seen Giles, Sarah or Thomas at all. Even the most persistent members of the Press had given up calling, slithering off elsewhere in search of an exclusive.
Police in uniform and others padding around in boiler suits had turned the house and garden upside down - their photographer recording every minute detail for posterity - looking for I know not what. Or perhaps they weren’t actually looking for anything in particular…whatever the case, swathes of stripy incident tape that forbade entry had been removed and if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume theirs was an unexceptional house, occupied by unexceptional folk - not that the bathroom had recently been given an abattoir makeover.
Alex learned via the grapevine that Sarah and Thomas weren’t expected back at school for some time, at least until after their mother’s funeral on a date to be advised. In an atypical maternal moment, I worried that Thomas would perform badly in his imminent ‘A’ level examinations and blow his chances of getting into university. He was a clever lad and up until so recently had his future all mapped out, envisaging a BSC in Environmental Science, followed by a work placement in Africa. I so hoped everyone close to him would do all in their power to keep him on track.
That was the first time it really hit home to me how selfish Dee had been in taking her own life; if I hadn’t bumbled round there with chocolates when I did, it would most likely have been one of the children who discovered her body after school - what was she thinking? The experience had been ultra-traumatic for me as a fully-grown and (supposedly) mature adult, with no emotional attachment to the deceased - just the opposite, in fact. If I, who didn’t particularly care for the woman, had been so deeply disturbed by finding her, what effect would it have had upon one or both of her children, who presumably loved their mother?
All very perplexing, though I guess when one reaches the depths of despair necessary to even consider suicide, everything else ceases to matter. But could that possibly stretch to maternal love and the fundamental instinct to protect our young? When I gave my written statement detailing the timetable of events – at least to the best of my recollection - on the morning Dee died, I took care to add that when I spent time with her the previous evening, she seemed to be her perfectly normal self. I had picked up no hint or sign whatsoever that anything was amiss. And that niggled at me more and more.
Life goes on - the latest sleaze scandal to rock the incumbent Government had taken pole position above Dee’s violent demise as favoured subject of gossip over the garden walls in our street and I was reminded of Andy Warhol’s oft-quoted fifteen minutes of fame quip. If dying horribly was what it took to achieve that, I was more than happy to remain an anonymous also-ran.
As I nursed a tepid coffee at the kitchen table - my favourite spot for mulling things over - I became ever more convinced that all was not as straightforward as it seemed. I was tempted to give David Bennett a buzz to voice my growing discomfort with what appeared to be a universal assumption that my very together neighbour had suddenly flipped her lid and decided to end it all by brutal means, for no apparent reason. What if that weren’t the case? I didn’t remember seeing a note lying around anywhere when I was in the house.But then, I might have missed it - and perhaps Giles had been able to suggest legitimate motives for his wife’s actions…
Of course, if Dee hadn’t killed herself, there was the glaring question why anyone would want to do away with someone as inoffensive (a bit of a pain in the butt, yes, but fundamentally inoffensive) as her. It definitely wasn’t a burglary gone wrong - the place had been far too tidy for that to be the case. My knowledge of such things is gleaned strictly via television and the odd detective novel, but surely forensic science is so spot-on nowadays, that any dastardly deed window-dressed to look like something more mundane, would be instantly exposed?
I inhaled deeply and self-diagnosed stress, plus dire lack of proper sleep to be the root cause of my conspiracy theories. I was wasting a lovely morning on idle speculation - not a cloud to be seen in an azure sky and it was already sizzling hot, so I decided to do get out there and deadhead some roses in the front garden. I foraged for the secateurs and thorn-proof gloves in a kitchen drawer and took an ice-cold bottle of mineral water from the fridge.
Once outside, I fell into a routine - snip, snip, slurp, snip, snip, slurp – I imagined each stalk as the neck of someone who had recently pissed me off and found I was spoiled for choice, with Nic the Prick way up the list. But I soon felt the sun singeing the back of my neck and shoulder blades, which were exposed by an unsuitably flimsy, spaghetti-strapped t-shirt. Having burned my fair skin to a crisp on too many occasions, I thought I’d massacre just one more bush before I went in to grab on a more sensible cover-up shirt. It was then I felt the creepiest sensation someone was standing behind me. Despite the heat I suddenly went cold and a violent shiver shook through me. I had to steel myself to slowly turn around, secateurs at the ready, gripped in both hands - I’ve no idea who or what I expected to see, but I knew it could only be a malevolent presence. Imagine how stupid - not to mention relieved - I felt, when I spun 180 degrees, only to find I was quite alone?
I snipped a few more stems, grumbling abuse at myself for letting my imagination run amok, hoping my heartbeat would return to normal soon-ish. As I threw my head back to glug from the bottle, I thought I saw a silhouette appear very briefly at the Symonds’ bedroom window, where I’d used the telephone to summon an ambulance. I stared some more, cupping a hand to shield my eyes from the sun’s glare. Nothing…although the curtain did seem to twitch a fraction at one stage…I thought. I convinced myself it was most likely Giles, or one of the children, come back to collect some stuff…either that, or the sun had boiled away the few brain cells I’d managed to hang onto through years of being a housewife and drudge and I was hallucinating.
Not so. Upstairs in my own bedroom a few minutes later, I glanced out of the window and most definitely saw a figure - I thought male, though I couldn’t swear to that - leave by the Symonds’ front door and run up the road. I might not have found that particularly intriguing, were they not dressed from top to toe in black, including a balaclava.
With shaky fingers, I dialled David’s number.
Chapter Six
“That was quick!” I exclaimed when David ambled in through the side gate, looking rather dapper in cream Chinos and a chocolate linen shirt. He colour-co-ordinated quite nicely with the terracotta pots planted with flame dahlias, strategically placed along the path that divided our postage stamp garden.
“I was on my way here, when you rang.” The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled - he looked utterly gorgeous and even though he was sweaty, he made me feel like a bag lady on a sartorial off-day.
I applied soppy brakes and asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Iced water would be great, if you don’t mind - it was like a sauna in the car.”
“Coming right up - slice of lime?”
He nodded, “Please.”
We took our frosted glasses and sat on a wooden bench in the shade.
“So, what can I do for you, Callie?” He did the smirk thing - this time it oozed suggestion.
“This is strictly business – you’ll probably just think I’m daft, but for a while I’ve been thinking that there’s a lot about Dee’s supposed suicide that doesn’t add up…”
He raised one eyebrow a millimetre, but remained silent.
“…What I wanted to tell you first was I saw someone next door not long ago. Initially, I thought it was one of the family come back to get clean underwear - but later I saw this person leave, dressed all in black and wearing a balaclava.”
He almost spat out a mouthful of water, unable to disguise his incredulity, “A balaclava? You can’t be serious…in this heat? And it’s hardly what you’d describe as inconspicuous.”
“I saw it with my own two eyes - first of all, I was deadheading some flowers in the front and caught sight of a shadowy silhouette up in the bedroom. Actually, I wasn’t really sure if I saw that, it was so quick. I thought I saw the curtains move too, but I could have imagined that as well…”
“The heat does strange things to peoples’ perception.”
I couldn’t quite work out if he was winding me up, or not. “But I absolutely, definitely saw this person, balaclava and all. A male, I think, though I can’t be sure…” He asked the obvious question with an incline of his head and a twitch of his cheek. “No, I didn’t look at their crotch - whoever it was left by the front door, bold as brass, then scarpered up the road.”
“Did they get into a car?”
“Not that I saw.”
“And you can’t give any further description, other than most likely male, dressed all in black, with cutting edge head gear?”
I screwed up my eyes as a memory aid, “Well, I assumed it was a male because they were tall - I could tell that against the height of the front door. And slim hips most women would die for but never achieve. Actually, he was probably more or less your height and build.”
He aimed visual daggers at my forehead, offended by the unintentional inference.
We sipped in silence and I was determined it would be him who spoke first. Jasper - Sam’s pesky cat - jumped up onto my lap and spilled some of my water. As I removed him, he shot me a look redolent with feline disdain, as if to say ‘serves you right for having my balls cut off’.
“Why on earth would he keep something like that on, when it’s sure to attract attention?” David mumbled at last.
Even though I thought he might be talking to himself, I joined in, “Exactly - but if people round here might recognise his face and question what he was doing, that could explain it…Actually, that’s the only reasonable theory I can come up with.”
“Mm…” he tapped his stubbly cheek with the tip of an index finger. “Perhaps he needed to conceal his identity generally, nothing to do with being recognised around here specifically. Have you noticed anything else strange, since it happened? Dee’s death, I mean.”
“Err…no. Nothing comes to mind.”
He shifted in his seat, sighed, “Okay, well thanks for letting me know.”
I didn’t want him to leave, which was annoying – even so, I quickly added, “Actually, there’s so much that doesn’t make sense; the more I think about it, the more doubtful I am that Dee did kill herself.”
He arched the expressive eyebrow, “So, Miss Marple, are you going to share these snippets of observational wisdom with me?”
I pouted, “Only if you start taking me seriously.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look it; there was an unmistakeable glint of amusement in his eye.
“Well, I saw Dee at the school on Monday night - I told you there was a Parents’ Evening…”
He nodded slowly, grinning.
“I can honestly say she was perfectly normal - normal for her, that is. She is…or I should say she was one of those terribly organising people, a bit Jolly Hockey Sticks, I suppose - but the sort of go-getter good egg that no parents’ committee can thrive without. I saw her at various times during the evening, chatting away to all and sundry, getting them to part with their money. She was just as she always is - sorry, was. There was absolutely no hint of what she must have been planning to do, if her death was self-inflicted.”
“You’d be surprised how many suicides can fool others into thinking everything in the garden is rosy. The first hint friends and associates get that there’s a problem is when the body turns up on the railway lines, so to speak. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Well yes, actually. Dee was a tremendously good mother - she lives…Shit! I must stop doing that! Dee lived for her kids. She left me standing in the maternal stakes, which I have to admit isn’t all that difficult. My point is, she died some time after Sarah and Thomas left for school - and in normal circumstances, it would probably have been one of them who found her. She had no way of knowing I’d be coming round. I simply can’t believe she would risk them witnessing a horrific scene like that, no matter how round the bend she may have been feeling.”
“You didn’t like her much, did you?” he asked.
A little thrown by his spot-on instinct, I deliberated on whether to tell the truth and thereby speak ill of the dead. “No, I didn’t really like her…well, maybe that’s a bit strong - I just found her irritating. She was so into good works, terribly house proud, always well-groomed, had a perfect husband, perfect children - and I suppose she made me feel inadequate.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I’m hardly a great success story, am I? My husband felt the need to shack up with someone still in diapers, I’m too fat because I have no self-discipline so none of my clothes fit properly - plus, I couldn’t even land a job filling shelves in Tesco. They said I was non-suitably qualified in their Get Lost letter.”
“Their loss - and I like your body.”
I ignored his valiant attempt to boost my flagging ego. My throat felt parched because I was talking too much and the sun had moved so that we were no longer sitting in the shade. I took several long sips of water. David did the same and got up to stroll around, stretching his legs.
My thoughts returned to Dee, “Was there a note? I didn’t see one, but I wasn’t my most observant self at the time.”
He shook his head, “I’m really sorry, Callie, I can’t share that sort of information with you.”
Mentally, I was back in the bathroom with Dee. If she’d killed herself, why would she inflict that sort of injury? Why not take sleeping tablets and eliminate the gore factor?
“Callie, are you feeling alright? You’ve gone very pale.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, “it’s a ghastly memory, that’s all and I can’t get the image of her death out of my mind…Which only goes to reinforce my belief that she wouldn’t want her kids to experience that.”
“I take your point.”
Though I waited, he didn’t elucidate. I tried again, “Judging by the water temperature, she’d been dead a long time when I found her; it was really cold, not even tepid.”
“You said.”
I accepted defeat - he wasn’t going to spill anything at all about the investigation. “More iced water?”
“I’m good, thanks. Where are the boys?”
“Gone swimming with their dad and Freckle Face. He’s managed to spare them a few hours.” I remembered, “You said you were on your way here when I called - why was that?”
“Nothing in particular, I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”
“Sweet.”
“That’s me - and to prove it, I’ll take you to lunch. Call it a sort of peace offering?”
I should have played hard to get, or even refused - but that would have been biting off my nose to spite my loins. I peered at him, trying not to seem too keen - or indeed desperate.
“I don’t know…well alright. Let me get changed out of my gardening gear.”
In the bathroom mirror, I was mortified to see my nose was burned red. Please God, I thought, don’t let it start peeling. Not until after lunch, at least.
While I locked up, a light bulb dinged in my head.
Back in the garden I said, “Of course, I may have forgotten to mention that the back door was open. As I said, I went round to the back of the house and I was going to leave the chocolates somewhere in the shade - it was only because the door was open that I went into the house.”
“Well why didn’t you say so before?” he snapped, his demeanour all Inspector Morse. “That’s important, very important indeed.”
Chapter Seven
We drove very fast in palpable silence to a riverside pub, where we managed by sheer fluke to get a table - with coveted stripy umbrella - right down by the water’s edge. It would have been idyllic, had I not been sitting there alone…although I did have a large glass of perfectly chilled Chablis to talk to.
David had morphed into hotshot policeman, the instant I told him about Dee’s back door being ajar - so I only had myself to blame, I suppose. I watched him pace up and down the towpath, well away from anyone (including me) who might fancy eavesdropping, talking in a highly animated fashion into his mobile.
Finally, he started back in my direction, pressing the end call button as he walked. “Sorry,” he said, with that lop-sided apologetic look I was beginning to detest, “I had to speak to my sergeant about something. Drink okay?”
“Great thanks - cool, refreshing and alcoholic. What more could I ask for?” Curiosity got the better of me, “Are you going to confide in me now? After all, I told you about the door.”
That look again, “I know, Callie and thanks for that, but I can’t divulge any details. Sorry I was a bit sharp with you earlier, but I think it’s probably a highly significant factor in the case and I couldn’t believe it had just slipped your mind.”
“Well, you didn’t ask me. Besides, it was what happened after that, that’s ingrained on my memory forever.”
He sat down at our table, took hold of his pint of bitter and drank. With a thin moustache of froth glistening on his top lip he said, “I know, I’m sorry…”
“Will you please stop apologising?” I spat, wondering if my nose glowed brighter when I became angry.
“I’ll try. We haven’t got off to a great start, have we?” Smirk alert.
“Nonsense, all the men I’ve ever known have allowed themselves to be seduced by my ex-best friend - who just happens to be a sexual predator, but that’s absolutely no excuse - right in front of my eyes, less than three minutes after I introduced them.”
“Ouch - you’re not very generous with your forgiveness and mercy, are you?”
“Nonsense again - I’m second only to Mother Teresa when it comes to doling out absolution.”
“She’s dead.”
“Well then, I must have made numero uno on the podium at last. Pass me my crown and sceptre.”
He took hold of my hand, sending involuntary shivers of delight around my needy body, “Arise, Saint Callie - now what do you fancy to eat?”
“I don’t know yet, but your desert is going to be a huge dollop of humble pie.”
Lunch was good - I could have stayed there all day and all night, if I didn’t have to get back for Sam and Alex. After an initial awkwardness dissipated, we got on rather well and in my mind I gradually re-instated him onto my short list of potential mates for life. He slotted in nicely between Prince Harry (William having given up waiting for me) and Hugh Grant, who was getting a bit seedy and no longer deserved to be runner-up. I even forgave him for having to rush straight back to the office, when he dropped me off.
The kids were snoring in their beds and I was slouched in front of the television, dozing through an old movie I’d seen so many times, I practically knew the script. I hadn’t even enjoyed it all that much the first time, when I saw it at the cinema with Dominic, pre-parenthood. It was coming up to eleven o’clock and my body told me I could do with an early-ish night - it’s pretty exhausting, sitting in the sun doing nothing but drinking and eating…
I made a half-hearted attempt to clear up the rubbish I’d accumulated around me on the sofa and thought I’d wander into the kitchen, have a glass of water and do the usual checks before I went up.
When I switched on the kitchen light, I saw Balaclava Man staring through the back window directly at me.
Thinking back, I’m not sure which of us was most shocked - but for my part, I dropped the mug I was carrying so that it exploded into a zillion pieces on the quarry tiles, and then screamed blue murder loud and long. For a split second, he stayed there like a rabbit caught in headlights during the final seconds of its life (possibly transfixed by the beacon of my luminous nose), before he backed away and appeared to run off in the direction of the Symonds’ empty house. Fortunately, I was clutching my phone and speed dialled David’s number, only to hear that pesky ‘you have reached the message service of…’ woman droning on. Shit! I wanted to scream again, just in case BM was planning a comeback, but told myself not to waste any more time and ring 999. I’d only managed two of the digits, when an unidentified missile came smashing through the window, scoring a direct hit on my temple.
I heard myself croak, “Where am I?” as I hovered in the twilight zone of almost-consciousness.
A female voice I didn’t recognise said, “She’s coming round.”
“Thank goodness.” I thought that one might belong to David and tried to prise open an eyelid to check. Damn, someone had glued them together and, double damn, my head hurt like hell - far worse than any hangover I’d ever experienced. By then, I could remember being in the kitchen…and something hurtling through the window before hitting me, which eloquently explained the sore head. Without being invited, a hundred feasible scenarios - not one of them with a happy ending - charged through my imagination without applying brakes. Right at the top of the list was that something awful had happened to Sam and Alex. That did it. My eyes flew open at the same second I sat bolt upright - and the look of iron determination on a nurse’s face did nothing to dissuade me from trying to leap off the gurney and head home immediately.
“Mrs Ashton, please,” she whined. With muscular arms she tried to pin me back down on the skinny mattress – but I would not be pinned.
“Balaclava Man has my children,” I yelled, right in her face – so close I could count the hairs sprouting from her nostrils.
Her lips creased so deeply you could slot pencils in the grooves, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs Ashton - you must be delirious. Now please lie back and rest - you’ve had a very nasty bang on the head.”
“No!” I insisted, still yelling, “I must get home!” My arms and legs flailed ineffectually, as I tried to rid myself of the thin white cover that protected my modesty. Suddenly, the sludge green cubicle curtains swished apart and there stood David, with a startled Sam and sleepy Alex either side of him. I think I burst into tears at that point.
He grinned, “Calm down, Callie - the boys here are fine, except they are really worried about you.”
Chapter Eight
In the wee small hours of Sunday morning, Sam and Alex were back in bed asleep and I was tucked up in mine - solo, but David was downstairs, cleaning up after both Balaclava Man and SOCO. He’d made the kitchen window secure, a temporary fix until I could get a glazier in to do a proper job.
He came back into my room, carrying a drink, “There you go, I’ve made you a hot chocolate - my mum always swears by it as an antidote to any crisis. Drink up, it’ll relax you.”
“Thanks,” I took the steaming mug carefully. Funnily enough, I’d never thought of him as having a mum - or a dad. “It’s very hot - I’ll give it a few minutes to cool.”
He positioned a well-sculpted buttock on the edge of my bed, “How are you feeling now? Head still thumping?”
“Like mad, but apart from that I’m okay. And the painkillers are helping.”
“You really should have stayed in hospital overnight, so they could monitor for any signs of concussion.”
“No need, honestly. But I do appreciate your concern - both of you.”
He smiled, “Funny. No, I mean it - just as a precaution. You were unconscious for some time and that nurse was only doing her job, trying to make you stay.”
“Hmm…I think tonight has been traumatic enough for Sam and Alex, I wanted to get everything back to normal for them as soon as possible.”
He smiled, “A policeman sleeping downstairs on the sofa is an everyday occurrence here, is it?”
I wished that policeman were in my bed. “You haven’t explained how I got taken to hospital - did one of the boys call an ambulance?”
“No, that was Mrs Patel a couple of doors down. She told an officer at the scene she heard your screams first of all, but thought it was someone’s TV on too loud - then came the breaking glass and she ventured out with a torch to investigate. She eventually came across your broken window, then you. Sam and Alex were still sleeping, when I arrived.”
“That was very brave of Mrs Patel - she’s a frail, tiny lady and she must be at least a hundred and two.”
“Seventy-eight. She told me so several times.”
“I don’t suppose she saw any sign of Balaclava Man?”
“No, he was probably long gone - all that noise, he’d know that someone would come looking.”
“I’ll have to take her a box of chocolates to say thanks…ah…on other thoughts, I may make that a bunch of flowers.”
“Would you like me to give Ginny a ring tomorrow? When she hears you’ve been hurt, she’ll be round here like a shot, no question.”
“I wouldn’t bank on that. Best leave it.”
“Well, you threw me out too and I still talk to you. Anyway, we’ll discuss that in the morning - try and take a couple of sips of the chocolate and then I’ll tuck you in. You look exhausted.”
For once, I did as I was told and slept soundly for several hours.
“Hey, hey, boys - keep the noise down will you? Remember your mum’s poor aching head.” David had dug out his voice of authority.
Alex looked shamefaced and Sam beamed, showing off gaps where various teeth were missing, as they mumbled in unison, “Sorry, Mum.” With exaggerated care, they replaced the pillows they’d commandeered to pummel each other senseless and stood by my bed looking uncharacteristically angelic.
“Okay, give her a gentle cuddle, then you can hop it downstairs for brunch - I’ve made you a pile of French toast and it won’t taste so good if it’s cold. Maple syrup is on the table, in a jug - not too much of that.” They didn’t waste any eating time in my arms after he mentioned the food.
“It’s very sweet of you to take charge like this, David - I hope you’re not spoiling them?”
He looked comically aghast, “Of course not, perish the thought. I’ll take them to the park later on - we can kick a football around, run off some of that stodge they’re about to consume.” I must have looked concerned by the thought of him leaving, as he was quick to reassure me, “Don’t worry, I’ve arranged for a PC to come and baby-sit while I’m not here, just in case. That’ll be a permanent arrangement by the way, until we find Balaclava Man.”
“I see…did your crime scene people turn up anything interesting?”
“Not really. They found traces of latex, so he wore gloves - no handy fingerprints on the glass. There were a couple of possible footprints, but don’t hold your breath - they might even be mine.”
“I thought that bad guys always leave something at the scene and take something away?”
He chuckled, “You must get a life, Callie, you watch far too much television.”
I smiled - which hurt - and changed tack, “Do you think I should ask Dominic to have the boys stay with him?”
He shook his head, “I wouldn’t make that decision just yet; I can’t see that they are in any danger - our man seems to be after you for some reason. Perhaps he’s twigged you saw him in the Symonds’ house; I don’t know why that would be a problem, when he was wearing that mask, but it’s silly to speculate at this stage. Anyway, I thought you try to avoid Sam and Alex spending too much time with Freckle Face?”
“Her name is Polly Fosdyke. And I do, yes - but not at the expense of the boys’ safety.”
“Callie, you have the long arm of the law to protect you 24/7 for as long as it takes. You’ll all be quite safe, trust me.”
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