Dead Secret (16 page)

Anna seemed to have given up being defensive about her son, Neal thought. Perhaps she had rid herself of any lingering doubts about his innocence, and no longer felt the need to reassure herself as well as others.

“Simon did act a little strangely the first time he met my friend, Nancy Hill,” she said at last. “It was at my book group meeting, here in this room a couple of months ago. I can let you know the exact date if you think it’s important.”

Ava nodded and Anna reached for a notebook on a bureau by her chair. “It would have been a Wednesday evening at eight o’ clock, first Wednesday of the month. Yes, here it is, Wednesday the second of September. Simon doesn’t always attend the group, but he was at that one because he particularly liked the choice of book: ‘The Master of Ballantrae’ by a writer who is probably dear to your own heart, Inspector: Robert Louis Stevenson.” She smiled wanly at Neal, a smile that touched her lips but left her eyes unmoved. Neal responded with a faint nod.

“Can you tell us what happened at the meeting?” Ava asked.

“It was just that Simon seemed to keep staring at Nancy, as though he knew her from somewhere.”

“Could he have recognised her as someone from his past, do you think? Someone he knew before he was adopted? Before his father murdered his mother?” Neal flinched at Ava’s bluntness, but he would have asked the same question.

“No. Nancy told me she never lived in London. I remember going into the kitchen to make tea and he followed me in and asked about her. I almost thought he was attracted to her, but after that evening he didn’t mention her again. It was about that time that he stopped coming around as often. I assumed he was spending more time with his friends at uni.”

“And his behaviour?”

“As I said, he seemed distracted. I suppose I thought he was just busy with his course and his social life, like any other student his age, especially once term started up. Is this kind of information really helpful to you?” Anna Foster looked from Ava to Neal, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Ms Foster,” Ava said, gently, “Was Simon really here with you all night when Amy was murdered?”

It was so silent in the room that Neal imagined he could hear the Big Issue vendor across the street dripping in her doorway. From downstairs, muffled by the thickness of the building’s old walls, came the sound of the chimes ringing to admit a customer and Maya’s cheery greeting. Anna’s reply was so soft that Ava had to ask her to repeat it.

“No.”

“Are you sure this time, Ms Foster?” Ava asked, clearly trying to keep the eagerness out of her voice.

“Simon wasn’t here. I don’t know where he was. I’m sorry I lied to you.” The words tumbled out punctuated by sobs. Anna Foster had wasted police time, but Neal couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her. For one thing, he couldn’t be sure how far he would go to protect Archie if he were in trouble, something he didn’t like to consider too deeply. Besides, he was uncomfortably aware of his urge to comfort the woman before him. He cleared his throat.

“We’ll need you to formally confirm that you’ve changed your statement, Ms Foster. I must ask you; do you know of Simon’s current whereabouts?”

“I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry. There’s only the postcard I gave you on your last visit, otherwise I’ve heard nothing from him.”

Neal and Ava waited without speaking as Anna Foster made a list of Simon’s friends. When she was finished, she handed it to Neal, her hand shaking. Neal wanted to tell her that Simon was no more of a suspect than he had been before, but he knew it wasn’t true. Simon Foster had just moved up a notch on the list. Instead, he said, “We’ll find your son,” in a voice that was, he hoped, more reassuring than ominous.

Downstairs, Maya was saying goodbye to a customer, a regular it seemed, for she addressed him by name. “I’ll look out for Punch books coming in, Mr Dalton, and let you know if there are any from your list.”

“That was Mr Dalton. Lovely old boy,” she said to Ava and Neal, when the elderly man had left the shop, umbrella at the ready. “He collects Punch books and Anna always alerts him when we get some in. Have you come about Simon?”

“Do you know Simon?” Ava asked.

“Of course I know Simon! I work here, don’t I?”

“We still don’t know where he is. How well did you know him?” Maya’s blush brought a hint of pinkness to her white-powdered face.

“I . . . not that well . . . I don’t think he even noticed me.”

She’s not exactly hard to miss, Ava thought.

“Was there someone he did notice?” Ava asked less casually than she meant to, Neal thought.

“You mean the dead girl, don’t you?” Maya said. “Simon didn’t do that. It’s not in his nature. He’s a very gentle person.”

“So we’ve heard. Do you know where Simon is, Maya?” Neal asked, watching her closely for tell-tale signs of lying. The girl shook her head, but she also turned away.

Neal left the shop in frustration: at Anna for taking so long to confirm what they had long suspected; at the mystery of why meeting Nancy Hill had so affected Simon; at the weather which was still chucking cats and dogs down from a seemingly limitless rescue home in the sky. As they walked past the bedraggled Big Issue vendor still sheltering in a doorway, Neal bought a soggy copy of her magazine out of pity and a kind of solidarity with her mission.

There was no conversation until they reached the shelter of Neal’s car.

“Anna Foster claims she spoke to Nancy about Simon’s reaction to meeting her, and Nancy told her she had no idea why Simon would recognise her. To her knowledge she’d not met Simon before and she’s lived in Shelton for years, long before Simon arrived. Perhaps she just reminded him of someone?” Neal said.

“That’s probably it. Or, maybe he’d been following Amy and seen her with Nancy? Seeing Nancy in his mother’s flat would have given him a jolt, especially if he felt guilty about stalking Amy. He might even have been worried that Nancy knew about it.”

Eyes fixed on the road ahead, Neal nodded his agreement. He said, “I still have a feeling that Anna Foster knows more than she’s telling us. I’ll have PC PJ talk to her, just in case she’s able to give us any more information.”

He didn’t feel confident that this would push the case forward, but things were moving so slowly that they were obliged to pursue the slimmest of leads. Neither said anything for a couple of miles. It was late afternoon and already growing dark, daylight having given up the ghost in deference to the overall gloom.

“I’ll drop you at the station,” Neal said. “I’m going to pick Archie and my sister up. We’re going bowling.”

“I love bowling,” Ava said.

“Come with us,” Neal found himself saying, without having meant to. Nothing had been further from his mind than inviting his colleague along to a family outing, but he was aware that he and his sergeant had not bonded on anything other than a professional level, and he was a believer in cops forging strong relationships. Like soldiers, they needed to know that they had each other’s back. He could hear the hesitation in Ava’s voice when she answered.

“Are you sure? I wasn’t fishing for an invite. I don’t want to intrude on your family time.”

“Maggie’s keen to meet you. I’m pretty sure you two will get along. And Archie won’t mind at all.”

“In that case, sure, I’d love to come along. Thanks, sir”

* * *

Maggie and Archie were good to go as soon as Neal pulled up outside his house. He noted Maggie’s amused, questioning look as she jumped in the back seat, and he introduced Ava, noticing a grin spread over his sister’s face as he referred to Ava as his detective sergeant. Archie strained forward as far as his seatbelt would allow, to give Ava a high five.

For a heartbeat, Neal worried that his forthright son would ask if Ava was his girlfriend. Neal had been extremely discreet when he dated women, to the point that Archie had never even met any of the few he’d gone out with recently. He didn’t want his son to become attached to anyone who was not likely to be around for a while.

By the time they arrived at the bowling alley, Maggie and Ava were well on the way to becoming friends. It never ceased to amaze Neal how women seemed to have the knack of connecting so effectively and quickly on a personal level. Sometimes he envied them that skill. Neal caught a glimpse of his son in the rear view mirror and saw Archie looking sideways at Ava in admiration. Not yet, Neal thought to himself, though he knew that his son was fast approaching that moment when girls are suddenly at least as interesting as football.

At the bowling alley, they teamed up; boys against girls. The girls won by a narrow margin, and Neal and Archie had to endure a round of sisterly high fiving before the victors calmed down and they all settled into a booth for a post-match carbs boost. Over burgers and fries, Ava and Maggie exchanged contact details and arranged to meet up to go clubbing together, making Neal a little uneasy. He would need to have a tête a tête with Maggie about the need for her to be discreet. All he needed was a direct gossip line between his private life and the office.

Neal dropped Ava back at the station where she could pick up her car.

“She’s nice,” Archie said, as they drove home. “Why don’t you ask her out?” Nothing like being direct.

“She’s a colleague, and I’m her boss,” Neal answered quickly.

“So? What difference does that make?” Neal glanced at Maggie for support but to his annoyance, she was staring pointedly out of the window.

“Our relationship needs to stay professional, not personal. It wouldn’t be appropriate,” he said, at last, “Even if I wanted to — which I don’t.” This time Maggie did look in his direction, her eyes full of amusement. As for Archie, he’d caught sight of a new registration Porsche in his side window and his interest switched to cars.

Sleep eluded Neal that night. He lay awake going over the morning’s meeting with George Lowe in his head. Lowe was a reasonable boss, but there were pressures on him too. An investigation that threw up so few leads as this one was frustrating for all. It was a relief that media reports about Amy’s death had been so low-key. She was just the sort of victim journalists liked to hype up — young, white, attractive woman. It could so easily become a high profile national case. Lowe was eager to avoid this happening.

To her credit, Nancy Hill had shunned all publicity to the point of becoming a semi recluse. Just how long their luck would hold out on this was a matter for concern, and Lowe had made it clear that he wanted results. He’d been particularly critical of Neal’s failure to track down Simon Foster. Hence the trip to London. Just what interviewing Simon’s father would accomplish, Neal was not certain. From what Anna Foster had told him, Simon had never contacted him, but parents don’t always know what their offspring are up to. And children sometimes keep secrets in order to protect their parents.

As always, thoughts about other people’s children led him to his own. Archie was a great kid at the moment, doing well at school, no behavioural issues, a little on the quiet side but that wasn’t a bad thing. Neal wasn’t fool enough to think that it was all his doing. He had seen too much in his line of work to be naïve about the lasting effects of good parenting. Was he even a good father? His job often meant long hours away from home and he was a single parent. No, not going there, he thought, mindfully redirecting his thoughts. Eventually Neal worried himself into a restless sleep. Outside, it was still raining.

Chapter 15

Ava’s mobile vibrated against her thigh and she pulled it out of her trouser pocket to check her latest text. Christopher Taylor. Again. He had texted her countless times since their date two days ago, and as yet she had not responded. To tell the truth, she was at odds with herself over how to proceed with their relationship.

That she had been attracted to him in the beginning was forgivable; the man was gorgeous to look at, but right from the start, he had caused alarm bells to sound in her head and Ava feared that she might have exercised bad judgement in going to bed with him.

It was not that she felt guilty about exploiting his attraction to her, nor did she regret their night of passion; it just made her uneasy to think that she was the kind of person who was ready to use another as a means to an end. Then there was the fact that she had no really concrete evidence that he was guilty of anything but vanity and arrogance. Most of all, she wondered that she could have sex with a man who both attracted and repulsed her in equal measure. Whichever way you looked at it, her behaviour appeared shoddy, particularly for a police officer.

Since her visit to the community centre in Sheffield, Ava had tried unsuccessfully to track down Rohina. Stromford did not have a large Asian population, and Ava had made some enquiries, but so far she had drawn a blank.

It had occurred to her that Rohina might be a student at the university. She might even have known or been in contact with Amy Hill. If so, there was a possibility that she was in danger. And there it was again, a line drawn in Ava’s mind between Amy’s death and Christopher Taylor, even though he had been out of town the night Amy died.

If Rohina believed Taylor had killed Amy, she might have gone into hiding. She might also have been the sender of the anonymous note alleging Taylor was having an affair with Amy.

Ava’s mobile felt hot against her leg and she took it out and placed it on the table in front of her. Camden flexed a lazy paw and flicked it as though it were a mouse he was too tired to toy with. Tutting at the cat, Ava caught the phone as it skidded towards the edge of the coffee table. This time she read the message. Why hadn’t she been responding to his texts? Could he see her again? Call him soon. Ava put the phone down and got up to make herself a drink.

It was dark outside and the only noise was the familiar patter of rain against her kitchen window; the sounds of small nocturnal creatures going about their business in the woods around her cottage were undetectable to the human ear. Usually, in the peace of her own home, Ava could work or read uninterrupted for hours, but this evening Taylor was so much inside her head that she couldn’t concentrate.

Camden had followed her into the kitchen and begun winding his lithe body around her legs. Ava scooped him up and held him against the side of her face, feeling his soft fur on her cheek and listening for a few moments to the contented purring that seemed to come from deep within his being. Then, he wriggled free and jumped out of her arms to land sure-footedly on the tiled floor. A moment more and he was gone, out through the cat-flap and into the night, driven by some primal instinct to prowl the darkness, like the predator he was.

“Traitor!” Ava called after him. “I feed him and fuss over him and what happens when I want a little comfort in return? He’s off like a shot.”

Just then, her mobile vibrated again, but this time it was a ring tone she recognised.

“Hi bro’,” she said, pleased to hear from Oliver, her younger brother.

“Hey, sis,” Oliver said in a breezy voice, “What’s up? Got time to talk?”

“Always got time for you, you know that. Actually your timing couldn’t be better; I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, and Camden doesn’t want to know.”

“I keep telling you to get a dog. They’re more empathetic.”

“It wouldn’t be fair, leaving it cooped up indoors all day while I’m at work. Cats are independent, they can look out for themselves.”

They had had this debate countless times, of course; it was almost a convention of their telephone conversations to banter on about the relative merits of canine versus feline. It served as a warm up; and this evening, the topic was dropped more quickly than usual. Ava had detected a note of unhappiness in her brother’s tone.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, knowing that with Ollie, things were seldom okay. There was a silence that told her he was deliberating.

“What’s happened, Ollie? You being bullied again? If it’s that bastard, Jack Anderson, I—”

“It’s not Jack Anderson. He’s been expelled for doing drugs in the playground. I don’t have to worry about him anymore.” Ava waited.

“Can I come and stay with you for a while, Ave?”

That took all of two minutes, Ava thought. They had been here before. Ollie was fifteen years old and emotionally immature in many ways, but intellectually, he was something else again. Gifted and talented they called him at school. Borderline autistic, the psychologist had told their parents when they had sought a professional opinion on their son’s combination of high intelligence and low social skills. Clever, geeky, a bit clueless about the kinds of things other kids his age took for granted or just seemed to know about, Ollie was an easy target for bullies. And until recently he had been small for his age, poor kid, although that was definitely changing. On her last visit, Ava had been amazed to see that he had grown two inches in a month, and he was refusing to tell her how much he had grown since then, so she suspected a lofty surprise when she saw him again.
What’s worrying him
, Ava wondered, suspecting she already knew the answer.

“Take your time, bro, tell me what’s worrying you.”

“Mum’s got a new boyfriend and I can’t stand him.” So that was it. Their parents, Carla and Steve Merry, had divorced years ago and Steve had moved to the States with his new woman, an American high school teacher he had met on a school exchange visit. Carla had been single for a couple of years, but recently she had run through a succession of men, some less savoury than others.

Ollie needed order and routine, not the constant disruption and chaos that accompanied a new partner in his mother’s life every few months. Then again, Ava thought, wasn’t her mother entitled to a life after divorce? Six months ago her brother had come up with the idea of coming to stay with her, and he had been pestering her about it ever since.

Ava’s objections had been similar to those she gave for not wanting to have a dog. She often worked long hours. She couldn’t be there for him. Moreover, she couldn’t be there to sort out Ollie’s problems at school . . . the list went on.

“Ava?” Ollie said, waiting, no doubt for the usual excuses and explanations but Ava was having an unexpected rethink.

Ollie was going to be sixteen in a couple of weeks. He had just started on his A-level work at school, but he was bright enough for a short disruption to his studies to make little difference. There was a good FE college in Stromford. What was the problem?

“Okay,” Ava replied. There was a silence on the other end of the line, “Olllie? You still there?”

“Do you really mean it?”

Ava could hear the doubt and hope in Ollie’s voice.

“Yes. When do you want to move in?”

“This weekend?”

Ava laughed, “It might take a bit longer than that to sort things out, but we’ll need to move quickly to avoid disrupting your school work any more than necessary. I take it you want to continue with your studies? I can call the college in town in the morning and find out if they’ll take you. Is mum there? Can you put her on?”

Oliver was ecstatic. Ava could hear him calling their mother at the top of his voice, and she knew he would already be upstairs packing the contents of his bedroom. She almost felt sorry for Carla.

“Ava? What’s this all about?”

“Ollie’s moving in with me. Can you take care of all the arrangements at your end?”

It did not surprise Ava that her mother did not protest for long. It disappointed Ava, but in the years since her father’s departure, she had come to realise that neither of her parents had been particularly suited to child-rearing. Her dad had abandoned his family at the earliest opportunity and her mum’s heart had never been in it, though she had done her duty by her children, more or less. Ava had been under no illusions when she left home that only Ollie would miss her.

Of course, Oliver, coming along ten years after Ava, had been an ‘accident.’ Ava could still remember her mother’s dismay at finding herself pregnant with a second child after a one-night stand with her ex-husband on one of his transatlantic stopovers. She had been only too happy to hand little Oliver over to Ava whenever she could. That was the reason why the bond between Ava and Ollie was so strong. The loving relationship that grew between brother and sister had compensated for what their parents failed to provide.

It had broken Ava’s heart to move away. After school, she had gone to university in her home town so that she could live at home and be there for Oliver but, after her first year, she had decided to drop out; all of a sudden, studying a subject that had no relevance or importance in the grand scheme of life seemed wasteful and indulgent. She had felt she could employ her talents better elsewhere, in a career where she could make a difference, and when she met the detective in charge of investigating a friend’s assault case, she had suddenly found her vocation.

For a couple of years she had managed to stay within commuting distance of home, but sooner or later she knew that if she were to advance in her chosen career, she would have to move further afield. Her transfer to the Stromford force, and her subsequent promotion, had meant that she managed to return home less frequently, but she and Oliver emailed, skyped and texted regularly.

What have I done
? Ava asked herself after she put the phone down. To tell the truth, it had not been an entirely random decision. She had been considering the possibility of Oliver coming to stay for a while; meeting Neal’s family had nudged her a bit closer, seeing how well it seemed to work, all of them together in their slightly unconventional household.

Ava poured herself a drink and stretched out on the sofa, TV remote in hand. For a while she flicked idly through the channels. Her mind was occupied with all the plans and arrangements that would need to be made prior to her brother’s arrival. But as the alcohol began to relax her, she found her thoughts drifting back to Christopher Taylor again.

At least the local news hadn’t mentioned Amy Hill’s murder investigation. That was strange, given that Amy had been a student and the autumn term had just started, but it was something to be grateful for. How much longer the story would stay out of the papers was anyone’s guess, but Ava would have bet money that it was only a matter of days. Then it would be open season for reports of police incompetence.

She was still convinced that Taylor was somehow involved. The only way to investigate him further was to resume her relationship with him, though she had all but promised herself that wasn’t going to happen. On a sudden impulse, she picked up her phone and speed-dialled the professor.

“Ava! What a pleasant surprise. I was wondering if you were ever going to answer my texts.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been hectic at work for the past week, what with the murder inquiry and other stuff. I’ve had to put my personal life on hold.”

“I understand, Detective. But everyone needs to take a break sometimes, unwind. I think I could help you unwind and release some tension. How did I do last time? You rushed off without even saying goodbye.”

Was he asking her to rate his performance? Ava felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her.

“Sorry, work again. It gets in the way of pleasure. You’re right; I really do need to unwind.”

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.” Taylor spent the next couple of minutes describing exactly how he would relax her, and Ava was shocked to feel a thrill of excitement shoot through her, as well as a shiver of revulsion. She slipped her phone back into her pocket having arranged to meet him at his place in an hour, distinctly uneasy about the dark side to her character that seemed to be emerging of late.

There was little time to get ready; Ava was grateful that she could look good in practically anything. This was not vanity, but long experience of how others reacted to her looks. Sometimes she dressed down, underplayed her looks, other times she used her attractiveness to her advantage, and this was one of them. There was a low-cut clingy red dress in her wardrobe that she knew looked sensational on her.

Ava wiggled in front of the mirror, trying to make the skirt cover a bit more thigh but it simply wasn’t designed for modesty. Red lipstick and a pair of killer heels, which made her ankles ache before she even put them on, completed her look. A short black cashmere jacket and she was ready to go.

* * *

Exactly one hour after her conversation with Taylor, she was parking her car outside his town house and experiencing a sudden stab of nerves that made her feel physically sick. Then, just as suddenly, it passed.

Taylor had evidently been looking out for her. His door opened inwards before she could ring the bell and his eyes travelled over her in appreciation, lingering on her breasts, making Ava feel like a cheap prostitute.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked.