An Unfamiliar Murder (20 page)

“Where were you born?”

“

“Where are you parents now?” Dark cut in.

She glared at her again. “Dead.”

“Did you see your parents again, after you went to live with your aunt?”

“No. They decided that they couldn’t cope with me. So we made a clean
break. Aunt Kate became a mother to me.”

“And where is your aunt now?”

“She died 2 years ago. But I don’t see what relevance . . .”

“Were there any other members in your immediate family?” Townsend
interrupted.

Kathleen shot him a suspicious stare. The picking started again, a faint
sound of a nail working away at the skin could be heard which she appeared to
ignore. “No, just my aunt and myself. She didn’t have any children of her own.
And she never married. We moved around a bit – with her work, you know.” She
gave a small nod.

“What about when you lived with your parents at,” he hesitated to look at
his notes, although the address was ingrained onto his brain, “

She picked away at the skin harder now. “I had a brother,” she admitted
finally. “He was a baby when I went to live with my aunt.”

“What is his name?”

“Aaron.”

“His full name?”

“Aaron
Gravell
,” she coughed mildly, the words
sticking in her throat.

 
“Did you see him again?”

“Not whilst I was growing up. No.”

“What about recently?”

“What . . .” Kathleen hesitated and took a deep breath as her nostrils
flared. “What is all this about?” she asked. “I had a difficult time in my
early childhood and I have undergone years of therapy to help me recover and
put it behind me. Why reap it all up now?”

“I’m sorry if this is difficult,” Dark said, “but I need you to answer
the question.”

“I’ve seen him once,” she snapped. “You can check with Edward. He was
there.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes.”

“And when was this?” Townsend cut in.

“I can’t remember the date exactly,” she tossed her head, “earlier this
year.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“A few months ago – August maybe. He sent a letter saying that he wanted
to meet up, have a reunion. How he found me, I’ll never know.” She shook her
head dismissively. “There are no secrets these days.”

“What did you do with the letter?”

“Ignored it, obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Then he turned up
on the doorstep.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.”

“September?”

“Yes, around the middle of September. Said he wanted to get together,
meet my family. I turned him down flat, explained that it was a painful part of
my life that I wish to forget. I have made my own life and it doesn’t include
him.” Explaining her resolve appeared to relax Kathleen and she sat perfectly
still staring back at Detective Dark.

“How did he react?”

“I’m not sure really. He seemed a bit taken aback.” She looked away and
wrinkled her forehead. “He actually seemed quite nice. In different
circumstances . . .” She broke off, staring into space for a moment. “Then he
noticed a photo of Anna on the side.”

 
“Oh?”

“He asked who she was and when I explained she was my daughter he said he
would like to contact her. Seemed to think he had a right to see her, that she
was his niece, his own flesh and blood. He demanded that I tell her about him
and gave her the choice of whether or not to meet him.” The picking started
again, more vigorously this time.

“And did you?”

“Tell Anna – absolutely not! She has no inclination of my early life and
I prefer to keep it that way.”

“So how was it left?”

“I told him he had no rights to Anna, that she didn’t share his blood
because we adopted her. He seemed to lose interest then.”

“Did you hear from him again?”

“No, nothing. And I don’t expect to either.” A muscle twitched in her
jaw.

“Kathleen. Do you still have the letter?” Townsend asked.

She looked across at him. “No, I ripped it up and put it in the recycling
bin.”

“You don’t happen to remember the address do you?”

“Why would I? As I have explained to you, I have absolutely no intention
of either myself or my family being in contact with him again,” she said
tightly.

As Townsend
stared at Kathleen Cottrell, he noticed a smudge of blood on the skin beside
her nail. It was as if her past had clung obstinately to her for all these
years, sitting just beneath the surface, inexorable to all the therapy a purse
could buy. Counseling had provided some respite but nothing could make the pain
disappear completely.

Chapter Sixteen

Anna wasn’t
sure how long she had been walking. She reached the end of her parent’s street
before turning sharply right and climbing a stile, then making her way over the
fields behind her parent’s house, down to the river.
Ross loved it down here,
she thought to herself. A rope was still
hanging from the large Aspen
beside the water. The same rope that she had played on as a child, that Ross
always swung on when they walked this way. She ambled along the riverbank for a
while, looking longingly at the areas where they had picnicked last summer. All
those long, balmy afternoons filled with sausage rolls, crisps, wine, before
paddling in the river, then falling asleep on the clear areas of the bank. But
today there was no sunshine, just bare branches moving mournfully around in the
cold, November wind. It seemed the trees shared her desolate mood.

She reached a large, weeping Willow, its bare branches hanging to the
ground, and climbed underneath. Leaning up against the gnarled trunk, she drew
in a deep breath, which rattled around in her lungs. This was where they had
made love, invigorated by the warm summer sunshine, the tree in bloom providing
the perfect curtain, blocking out the rest of the world.

With a heavy heart she headed back towards the main road. Whilst waiting
to cross she looked down into a large puddle. A small streak of oil had leaked
into it and was sitting on the surface. It reminded her of Ross’ battered old
escort, just the sort of car that would leak oil. Had Ross been here? She
looked up and down the street as cars zoomed past. They always drove too fast
on this stretch. For years the residents of Worthington had campaigned for speed
cameras, but all they had been offered was the odd speed revelation dial and a
couple of mornings with traffic cops and speed guns. A gust of wind blew,
cutting into her face, forcing her to blink and move on. She would be warmer if
she walked.

As she made her way out of Hampton’s
leafy suburbs and into the country, her phone started to ring. She dug deep
into her pocket, looked at the screen, sighed disappointedly and answered.

“Hi, Anna, how are you feeling?”
Rab’s
voice
was flooded with concern.

“Like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. How about you?”

A momentary silence followed, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “You
sound distant.”

“I’m on my way into town.”

“Oh, want to meet?”

“Not at the moment, thanks. I’m just heading back to the flat, wanted to
pick up a few things.”

“By foot?”

“Need the exercise.”
And I need to
look for Ross.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“No, I’m fine really. I need to clear my head. I’ll call you later.”

“Take care.”

She rang off without saying goodbye. It was good of
Rab
to be concerned, but right now she just wanted to be alone.

Anna continued on into the country, walking past empty houses with bare
drives, the owners out at work. Every now and then she would see movement in a
house and her head would turn instantly. Was Ross in there? Every time a car
passed she scrutinized the driver, the passenger too if there was one, but her
search proved fruitless. She was grasping at straws and she knew it.

Why Ross? Why now? It didn’t make sense. She felt like she knew him
better than anyone, maybe even his parents right now – it just wasn’t like him
to run away, to go missing.

What is it that thing that animals
tune into? When they won’t enter a home because it’s haunted?
Anna didn’t
believe in ghosts, but she didn’t disbelieve either. She just hadn’t seen one
to confirm the theory so the door was left open. Like with religion, she had
seen no evidence yet to show that God existed – she was still waiting for her
own miracle to convince her own inner jury that he was real.
Sixth sense – that’s it.
Anna did
believe in a kind of sixth sense, in trusting one’s own intuition. And now her
own gut was crying out to her. Ross hadn’t disappeared, gone off somewhere of
his own free will. He had to have been taken. But by who? Why? And she just
hoped with all her might that he was still alive.

The light was starting to fade as she reached the sign for Little
Hampstead. She suddenly felt cold, as if the temperature had dropped
dramatically. Her legs were beginning to ache, but the familiar sight of her
home village felt very welcome, encouraging her to pick up speed. More than anything
now, she needed to get back to the flat. Even if she couldn’t see Ross in
person, couldn’t touch his face, she could look at an image of him.

Anna turned the corner of

She could smell fresh wood as she made her way into the flat, the new
lock working like a charm. She left the front door open behind her. The sense
of quiet which she used to revel in made her feel suddenly uneasy and she
crossed into the kitchen and flicked the switch on the radio.
Chasing Cars
by Snow Patrol blared out.
Anna closed her eyes and swallowed. Typical – it was one of her favorites, one
of
their
favorites. Only last week
they were checking the tour dates on the internet. Last week, before this
nightmare began.

 
Leaving the radio on, she forced herself
to walk through the open door into the lounge and switch the light on. It
looked very clinical, just as it had the previous day, the absence of pictures
and soft furnishings removing its soul. As she moved through the open doors to
the bedroom the radio faded into the background.
 

At least her bedroom still felt personal. She sat down on the edge of the
bed and looked around at the wine red drapes that framed the window against a
background of white walls, the mock red chandelier hung from the ceiling over
the top of her black wrought iron bed, the black and white photos of Audrey
Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe on the walls.

She had read somewhere that a woman’s house was like a window into her
soul and it wasn’t until she had placed her individual and special mark onto
it, that it really felt like home. In contrast, a man regarded his house as a
practical base where renovations and maintenance may be required, but not
decorating for the sake of changing a color scheme.

She thought about Ross. He hated this room. He teased her, calling it a
boudoir. He disliked the gothic, fringed drapes over the window most of all.
Right now she promised herself that if she got through this, if she got Ross
back, she would compromise and change them. Her small concession to him.

Anna felt uncomfortable, as if her organs were twisted into a mess inside
her like a tangled ball of string. Her gut told her that everything led to her.
Somebody was punishing her, but she didn’t know who or why.

She considered the people close to her. The kindness in her father made
him incapable of committing an act as brutal as murder. Her mother? Mentally
unstable, yes, but capable of murder? She couldn’t comprehend it.

Then there was Ross. The man with a zest for life that she had
practically lived with for the past two years. He was missing. But he couldn’t
kill a human anymore than Cookie could.

What about
Rab
? She had only known him for two
days. Such a short time, but it felt like she had known him for so much longer.
Could
Rab
be a manipulative killer? A psychopathic
murderer? Was he charming her, biding his time before she became his ultimate
victim? Was he playing a game, enjoying the chase? But DCI
Lavery
had said he wasn’t a suspect. And why would he want to kill her after spending
all this time trying to find her again? It didn’t make any sense. None of it
did.

Anna sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the photo of Ross that
sat on her beside table. It had been taken last year, on a trip to Venice, both standing on the Rialto Bridge.
He was behind her, his arms encasing her as if she may try to get away, his
head resting on her shoulder. And there it was that same, boyish grin.

She pressed her lips together, expecting tears which didn’t come. The
effects of the last week felt like someone slowly letting the air out of her
lungs, so much so that now she almost felt completely deflated.

She picked the other photo up of her parents and thought back to when she
had been a child. She had hated going to bed before them, being the only one
upstairs, insisting on all of the doors being left open.

“What if something happens?” she would say.

And her father would try to reassure her, “I’m only seconds away, you
only have to call and I’ll be there straight away.”

“But what if you don’t hear me?”

“Of course I will. If you shout loud enough, people will always hear you.”

A thought struck her. Standing up and placing her hands around her mouth
for maximum effect, she opened her mouth and hollered at the top of her voice, “Ross!”

 
The silence was almost deafening. Nobody moved,
nobody came running.
He lied.
Sometimes
you can shout as loud as you like but nobody paid any attention. She sat back
down on the bed.

And then she heard it, a scratching noise, the sound of a door swinging
slightly, then footsteps.

Anna caught her breath in her throat and jumped up again staring at the
door.
Ross!
Her heart was racing as a
head appeared around the door frame. Then it sank rapidly.

“What are
you
doing here?”

“I was worried about you. Was that you shouting?”

 
“Umm. Yeah.”

“Are you OK?”
Rab’s
forehead creased in
concern.

“I think so.” She looked up at him. “How did you know I was here?”

“You told me, remember? On the phone.” He smiled comfortingly.

They stood in silence for a moment. “How did you get here?”

“I borrowed a friend’s car. I can give you a lift home if you like?”

She nodded nonchalantly and looked around the room. It felt so familiar.
She wasn’t ready to go back to Worthington,
back to her parent’s meticulously tidy house. Not yet.

He seemed to sense her mood and sat down on the edge of the bed, opposite
her. “Did you know that you left the front door open?” She shrugged and watched
as his eyes darted about. “Great room.”

“Thanks.” She gave a half smile and drew a huge breath through her nose.
As she exhaled she sat back down on the bed, swinging her legs around and
tucking them under her, so that she was sitting cross legged, facing him.

He leant over and picked up the photo, which lay next to her. “This Ross?”

She nodded.

“He looks nice, decent.”

Anna looked at him and wondered how you could tell that from a photo. But
it was true. Ross was sound. “You’d really like him,” she said.

Another silence followed. She stared at him for a moment. Once again, he
seemed to sense her curiosity. “What?” he asked.

“I was just thinking that I hardly know anything about you,” she replied.

“What do you want to know?” His face looked like an open book and slowly
her body started to relax.

“What happened to you when our mother died?”

“I was put with a family on the West side of Hampton. The
Roxleys
.”
He gave a small grunt as he remembered.

“You didn’t like them?”

“No. Well, yes. They were actually very nice. They already had two boys.
Richard was two years older than me – really academic. Strange lad, always in
his room listening to music with his nose in a book.”

“Not like you then?”

“You could say that. Oh, I liked books, don’t get me wrong. But I was
also eight years old and into anything as long as it included a ball. I don’t
think he even noticed I was there; until I took his Walkman to pieces.”

She glanced askance at him and he grinned. “I put it together again
afterwards,” he said, “just wanted to see how it was made.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “What about the other boy?”

“Charlie?” His eyes widened. “He was only four, sweet really.”

“What were their parents like?”

“When I think of them now, I realize how nice they really were, how much
they tried . . .”
Rab’s
words trailed off. He was
lost in thought.

“What happened back then?”

“Then? I hated them. I hated the world. I had lost my mum, my dad, you,
moved across town so I couldn’t see my friends and started a new school. My
world had turned upside down and I blamed everyone for it.”

“What did you do?”

He rolled his shoulders. “I can’t remember much – just that it was a
nightmare . . . I broke things, was rude to everyone, missed school. They tried
for six months until they let me go.” He stopped for a moment, staring into
space. “She cried on the day I left.”

“Who?”

“Mrs.
Roxley
.” He shook his head, “In spite of
everything. I couldn’t work out whether her tears were due to fondness or
failure . . .”

“Where did you go then?”

“I was moved around a bit for a few years, then went to the Taylors in Weston. Janet
and Ron. Landed on my feet there.”

“Back on home turf?”

He smiled, happy memories. “Exactly. And Janet and Ron were . . .
different.”

“How do you mean?”

“They seemed to kind of understand. However angry I got, however
frustrated, they’d sit me down and talk to me. And they really listened. Nobody
had done that before.” They sat in silence for a moment before he continued, “Strange
really. They never had any children of their own. Don’t know why. But they’d
fostered loads over the years. There were always adults coming back to see them
that they had cared for at some stage. Janet made you feel part of a family,
her family, and everyone mattered.”