Butterfly Grave (Murder Notebooks) (19 page)

Eddie, my name is Rose Smith and I knew Skeggsie well and I was with him on the night that he died?.
. .

When she’d finally composed it she pressed
Send
then sat back.

She gradually felt herself loosen up, her shoulders softening, her breathing slowing down. Being with Joshua all day had made her tense and tight. It had been full on. Sorting out the house, seeing Bob Skeggs, going to the shopping mall, going to Martin’s and then seeing Michelle. It had been a day of sharp edges, Joshua blustering into them, Rose trying to ease round the difficult parts, wanting to make things easier not harder.

But it was always going to be harder for Joshua because Skeggsie had been his friend. She’d only known Skeggsie through Joshua. She didn’t have the deep feelings that he had. She was upset, of course. The brutal way he had died had shocked and angered her but in the end she would get over it whereas it would stay with Joshua for ever.

She made herself a drink. She stood very still while the kettle boiled and listened to the silence of the house. Poppy was lying by the back door, her nose pointing towards the garden. The dog had a way of letting people know what she wanted to do. She was reminded then of the dog that she had seen in the silver SUV. When she’d been sitting in the beach shelter she’d seen the woman with the dog as she walked from the doors of the Royal Hotel towards her car.

The silver SUV that was owned by Beaufort Holdings.

It was something they’d put on the back burner while Skeggsie’s death was being investigated.

Poppy was making impatient noises so Rose stepped across and unlocked the door to let her out. It was less cold now, the snow and ice had slipped away without her noticing. The kettle was steaming and then turned itself off. The click sounded loud in the silent kitchen. She poured the water into a cup and added a drop of milk. Then she stood very still and luxuriated in the quiet of the room. The eye of the storm. Joshua had taken all the stress and upset with him. He would be back soon and then it would all start again.

After she drank her tea she settled down and looked at Skeggsie’s email history over the last few weeks. She then sent messages to each of the people that he had had regular contact with, telling them what had happened. Most people, she thought, would already know as it had been in the national newspapers but still she gave some details and said some things about how important Skeggsie’s course had been to him. She also said how much his family and friends would miss him. At this she stopped and felt her emotions rising. She sat very still for a few seconds holding the feelings down then she finished the emails.

She sat back.

She didn’t expect any replies and yet there, in her inbox, was a message from Eddie.

Dear Rose, thank you so much for this. I knew of course, I’d seen it in the papers. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t know Skeggsie very long but I thought of him as a mate and I liked his style and he was a brilliant animator. What a useless waste. Eddie.

Rose closed her laptop down. She’d sent as many messages as she felt like sending. Then she looked at Skeggsie’s screen. Among his email files there was one for Eddie. She clicked on it. There was a long list. She had no intention of looking at any of Skeggsie’s private correspondence. She was only interested in the last couple of messages. The subject line pinpointed the ones she was interested in. They both held the registration of the SUV,
GT50 DNT.

She clicked on the earliest one, sent on Sunday, after she’d told Skeggsie about the car.

Hi Skeggs, how’s it going up there in the cold north? Can you understand the accent :-(

Rose smiled. The email went on in that jokey style then at the end there was some reference to the registration number.

I’ve got your keys so I’ll go round to the flat tomorrow and have a look at the programme you mentioned (another one of your breaking and entering gizmos – you should sell it on the black market, you’d make a fortune). Once I’ve input the data I’ll leave it to search. I’ll take your word for it that it’s not traceable (at least not to me!). I trust you. I’ll leave it a day and go back and look. I’ll let you know if I find anything. Ed :-)

Eddie had keys to Skeggsie’s flat. That surprised Rose. Skeggsie had been so paranoid about the flat. When she first knew him he insisted on the doors being locked and unlocked every time someone came in and went out.

Recently he’d become less suspicious.

She sat very still, thinking of the irony of this. He’d made a friend apart from Joshua. He’d given out the keys to his flat, trusted Eddie to go in there when he wasn’t at home. He’d become keen to take on his own battles, telling Joshua to keep out of things. Then someone had ripped all that new-found confidence away from him.

She looked at the next email from Eddie on the following day.

Skeggs, checked the computer. Got info on your mystery SUV. It’s registered to a company called Beaufort Holdings Ltd, link
here
. Looks above board but you better be the judge. The programme disengaged itself after searching so there shouldn’t be any comeback. I’m with my sister for Christmas lunch but I’ll have my phone so if you want anything else just call. Ed :-)

Rose clicked on the link. There were photographs of country houses fronted by iron gates with CCTV cameras.

Beaufort Holdings is a well regarded security company which offers on-site property protection and manned security services. Working mainly in the east of England we have experience of all electronic security solutions. We serve a range of discerning customers. We provide the highest quality tried and tested security systems for gated communities and bespoke systems for individual homeowners. Our business embraces a strong focus on service and partnership.

She scanned the pages on the website. It was one example after another of burglar alarms, CCTV equipment, electronic alarm systems and well-dressed, muscular male security guards. She clicked on the ‘About Us’ page. There was a message in the form of a letter. It was in an italicised font.

Dear Householder, Beaufort Holdings aims to put your mind at rest on the issue of home security. Every home and every homeowner is individual. Our security solutions are distinctive and personal.

Then there was an elaborate signature, the name printed in plain font underneath:

Margaret Spicer, Managing Director.

It was an interesting feminine touch to an otherwise male company. Rose saw that it was based in Chelsea – Brechin Place, SW7.

Rose closed it down. It was time she put the silver SUV out of her head. Joshua certainly had. He had put everything but Skeggsie out of his head. She opened the back door and called out to Poppy. The dog came running up the garden and bounced into the kitchen. Rose gave her some food from a tin.

She went upstairs and ran a bath. She needed a rest and her hair hadn’t been washed for days. She had no idea what time Joshua was coming back but she wanted to make the most of the quiet and calm that was in the house. She put her phone on charge and saw that she had a couple of missed texts from Anna. She read them through and sent a short text back telling her that they were all right.

Then she went into the bathroom.

She was in the kitchen washing some plates when Joshua returned. He stood across the room from her. She noticed his jumper was fraying at the bottom.

‘The police are looking for Sean Spenser,’ he said.

She nodded, drying her hands.

‘Also, I found out some stuff from Bob about the attack,’ he said slowly.

Rose stared at him, sensing that he was going to say something awful.

‘Skeggsie was robbed. He had no wallet or phone on him.’

She waited. What was next?

‘And he lost a lot of blood. A lot.’

Rose remembered Joshua’s coat, the bloodstain that seemed to eat up the fabric.

‘Which means he didn’t die straight away. He might have been conscious for a while.’

‘How do they know that?’

‘If the victim dies the heart stops so there’s not much blood. But if the victim is
alive
the heart is still pumping the blood round the body so more blood is lost.’

‘So he was just lying there. If only someone had found him sooner,’ Rose said.

‘I walked down Jesmond Road, past the alley on my way back to the pub. Maybe he was moaning then and I just didn’t hear him.’

Joshua had the flat of his hand over the lower half of his face. His fingers gripped his jaw, his other hand fiddling with the bottom of his jumper. His eyes were steely and hard, staring straight ahead. He was like two people. One was in the grip of suppressed rage; the other was a damaged boy whose clothes were unravelling.

She walked across and leant against him. She pressed her face into his ribs so that she could hear the slow pounding of his heart.

‘He bled to death,’ he said. ‘I could have saved him.’

‘Ssh . . .’

She looked up at him. She put her fingers up to his mouth to stop him speaking. His face had a look of utter desolation. It filled her with emotion. She put her hand behind his head and touched his hair. Then she pulled him towards her.

‘Rosie,’ he said, holding back.

But she reached up and kissed him on the lips. He closed his eyes and let his mouth brush hers. She pushed herself against him and felt his arm go tightly round her back, pulling her closer to him as he kissed her harder. She clung on to him. His mouth was hot and his lips were dry. After a few moments he stopped.

She let her face rest against his neck.

He was burning up as if he had a fever.

‘Rosie,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m lost.’

Rose didn’t answer. It wasn’t the first time they’d both been lost.

TWENTY-ONE

When she woke the next morning Joshua was already up. The bed beside her was cold. She turned over and put her arm into the empty space where he had slept. She rubbed her face on his pillow and wondered where he was. She could hear no sounds from downstairs. She threw back the duvet. She was wearing Joshua’s old pyjamas and socks. She stretched out her arms, yawning widely, looking round his room. On the bedside table she saw a piece of paper.

Rose, Got a text from Bob. The police found Sean Spenser in South Shields. They’ve got him at Farringdon Hall Police Station. Bob’s going there so I thought I’d tag along. See what’s happening. See you later. Josh x

She got up and walked into the box room. She looked out of the window. It was a bright day. Looking at the cars Rose could see a layer of frost. Skeggsie’s Mini was still parked outside so Bob must have picked Joshua up on his way to the station in South Shields.

She hugged herself.

Something was happening between her and Joshua.

The previous evening they’d sat sandwiched together on the sofa and watched one television programme after another until they were both dropping off to sleep. Joshua had taken her hand and pulled her up the stairs and when he got to his room he’d rummaged around in a drawer and thrown some pyjamas at her. He’d turned off the light before she was quite ready so she’d had to stumble towards the bed. Once under the duvet he’d kissed her over and over. He held her tightly so she was hardly moving. After a while he seemed exhausted with the kisses and fell back on to the pillow. They didn’t speak but lay wrapped around each other. More than anything she’d wanted to ask him if
this
was what he really wanted. Or was it just grief pushing him towards her. She didn’t say it, though. It was not the right time. Not while he was
hurting
.

Now Rose got dressed. She sorted out some of her clothes and decided to put them in the washing machine. At the same time she made some breakfast. Poppy followed her around the kitchen in the hope of scraps. The sun was shining in through the windows and the radio was playing music that she liked and for a few moments it seemed like an ordinary day – a day when there wasn’t a great shadow hanging over her.

An ordinary day.

Could life ever be like that for her and Joshua?

Poppy wanted to go out so she opened the back door. The front doorbell rang. Timidly. For a moment Rose wasn’t quite sure what she had heard. Then it rang again and she went out and opened it. A woman was standing there. She was wearing a long coat over a suit. She was carrying a briefcase and a carrier bag.

‘Is Stuart Johnson’s nephew in?’

‘No, he’s not. Can I help? I’m . . . family . . .’

‘Look I’m . . . My name is Barbara Greaves and I am a friend of Stuart’s. I wanted to say on behalf of my family how sorry we were to hear about his accident.’

‘Why don’t you come in?’

Rose held the door open. Barbara Greaves looked as if she wasn’t sure but then she walked in.

‘The kitchen’s straight through,’ Rose said and Barbara headed towards it. Her coat floated around her, almost coming to her ankles. In the kitchen she took it off and draped it over the back of a chair. Her carrier bag was on the seat and she put her hand in it and pulled out a large wrapped present. It sat on the table.