Living in the Shadows (35 page)

‘“Conclusion: A thorough search was carried out. There is no evidence that the missing person, Victoria Schormann, is, or has been, present in the above-named premises,” That’s the Granville, Uncle Peter. And look at the date … “Tuesday the 23
^rd
of September 1969.” That’s the day after Auntie Mary telephoned me.’

‘She didn’t tell me that you had searched there.’

‘She doesn’t know.’ Jackie closed the file and put it back in the cabinet. ‘It was the day of your heart attack—’

‘Small scare, that is all.’

‘Yes, well, she had enough to deal with. What was the point of upsetting you both?’

‘I think still I should go. Victoria may have gone there afterwards.’

Jackie shook her head in exasperation. ‘I doubt it. And it will only distress you; you have bad memories of that place.’

‘I already have been to look. There is a lock on the gates. So I want you to come with me,’ Peter insisted.

‘No. There’s no need. You’ll only upset yourself.’

‘I know how I will feel. It was a bad time in my life. But I need to do this. I insist, Jacqueline.’

She blew out a long breath and leaned against the counter, aware she wasn’t going to win the argument. ‘Okay. But it will have to be before my shift tomorrow.’

‘I want you to go in your uniform – show that you are official?’ His voice was strong, determined now that she’d agreed.

Jackie pressed her lips together; she knew she would get into trouble if caught. ‘I suppose I could do that, if it was right before my shift. But it wouldn’t be official, Uncle Peter. I couldn’t tell my sergeant; he’d want to know if there was any new evidence that she’s there. And there isn’t.’ It would be a complete waste of time. Jackie inwardly cursed her cousin. But she’d do this for her uncle. He didn’t deserve all the worry his daughter had selfishly put him through.

‘And I do not want your aunt to know this,’ Peter said. ‘She will only worry.’

Chapter 76: Mary Schormann

Ashford, morning: Tuesday, October 21st

Mary rested her hand on the lichen-covered pillar at the end of the drive and stared towards the large grey stone house, a whole range of conflicting emotions rippling through her: fear, anger, apprehension. She took in a long quivering breath. It looked like an old rectory with the large bay windows. Three long steps led up to a porch and double doors. Ironic that such an evil man was now living there.

A car passed behind her on the lane and she jumped, glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the black Jaguar again. Putting her hand to her throat she steadied her breathing, looking down at the ground. There were curved marks in the gravel as though the large gates were often closed, but today they were pushed back against the low walls that separated the lawns from the drive. George Shuttleworth could be out. What if his wife answered the door? Mary hadn’t prepared for that. Stupid, she berated herself; what would she say?

She looked back at the house, studying each window. There was no sign that anyone was at home but the thick white net curtains could have hidden anyone behind them.

The gravel crunched under her feet, echoed in her head as she marched to the front door. If he was inside, if he was watching her, if he even recognised her after all this time, she was determined to show no fear.

She needn’t have bothered; the slack-jawed shock on his face told her she was the last person he expected to see standing in front of him. His expression tensed, his eyes narrowed.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

Mary had practised what she was going to say from the second she knew this moment would come. She’d gone over and over it as she drove from Henshaw Street, parked the Hillman Minx further down the lane and pulled on the handbrake. Each time she stopped to read the names of the large houses she recited her speech.

But now, faced with the man she’d hated for so long she couldn’t get the words out.

‘Well? What do you want?’

‘I’ve met your step-daughter, Karen,’ Mary said, her voice husky.

She saw him half turn to look behind him, ‘Where is she?’ His voice was abrasive, coarse ‘Where’s she hiding?’

‘She’s perfectly safe.’ Mary swallowed; that wasn’t how she’d intended to start. ‘I hoped I’d never see you again,’ she continued, ‘but it was inevitable you’d crawl out from under your stone sometime.’

The skin of his face blotched; his top lip drew back over an uneven row of teeth.

Mary forced herself to speak again. ‘My son and Karen are seeing one another.’

‘Over my dead body.’ The knuckles on his fisted hands whitened.

Mary raised one shoulder, ignoring the threat. ‘It was as much as a shock for me and Peter to find out who she was—’

‘Where is the Kraut then?’ George Shuttleworth cut in, peering over her head, balancing on his toes and moving from side to side in an exaggerated fashion. ‘Oh, I see, nowhere,’ he jeered. ‘Too much of a coward to come with you?’

‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’ As soon as she spoke Mary realised her mistake. He took a step towards her, locked his bloodshot eyes on hers. She didn’t move, even though she could feel the panic tighten her scalp. ‘Think yourself lucky he’s not with me,’ she managed to say.

He smiled, casually leant against the wall of the porch, his thumbs jammed into his trouser-pockets. ‘I’m scared!’ He pretended to shiver. ‘So fuckin’ scared.’

‘I’ve come to tell you…’ Mary lifted her chin. ‘You hurt one hair on Richard’s head and I will make sure you go to prison. I will tell the police how you killed Tom. How I saw you run him down in cold blood.’

‘And how you were the only witness … hmm? Of this so-called killing?’ He looked into the hall of the house behind him and lowered his voice. ‘How long ago? Nearly twenty years? And no proof?’ he mocked. ‘I don’t think they’d be interested, somehow.’

He straightened up and, with the flat of his hand, pushed Mary, following her as she stumbled backwards down the steps. The heel of her shoe turned on the gravel, twisting her ankle. Despite the sudden pain she kept her face impassive, instinct telling her he would do no more than this – not in front of his own house.

‘Your fuckin’ brother died because he murdered Frank.’

‘Tom didn’t kill Frank.’ She’d said it without thinking, a subconscious denial. As soon as she’d spoken his eyes became slits. For a moment everything became still and quiet. ‘I mean…’

‘Yeah, what do you mean? Huh?’

She couldn’t think. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. ‘I didn’t…’ she couldn’t breathe for the fear filling up in her.

‘So?’ He stroked his forefinger along the side of his nose. ‘Tom didn’t kill Frank.’ It was a statement, an awareness of the truth. ‘But, looking at you, you know who did.’

‘No, I…’ Mary stepped back as he closed in.

With a slight movement of his shoulders, he said, ‘Don’t matter to me – must have been one of you by my reckoning. Getting rid of one bastard Howarth is one less anyway.’

He caught her arm as she swung her hand towards his face, his grip viciously pinching her skin.

‘What is it they say? “An eye for an eye”? Well, maybe killing one of you isn’t enough. Maybe I’ll want more. Something different, after all your lot did to me.’ Still holding her arm, he was so close his face was almost touching hers. ‘Your niece has grown up to be a looker. Bit different from that skinny kid I last saw. Looks like she could be some fun now. Hmm?’

Mary tried to steady herself by filling her lungs with air. Jerking her arm away, she forced herself to stay so close to him. She gritted her teeth. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

It was as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘And didn’t I hear somewhere you had a girl as well? How old will she be? Seventeen? Eighteen? Oh – now, didn’t I hear you had twins? So same age as that bastard son of yours. Good age to start learning the facts of life.’

‘Leave my family alone.’

‘Well, you see, I can’t do that. Now your son has taken my stepdaughter off me, it’s reminded me of everything else I’ve lost.’

‘Then be prepared to lose more.’ Mary’s breath came in shallow gasps, her head swam. ‘I’m not the only one who knows what you did,’ she said. ‘Your mother has nothing to lose by telling the truth. She knows you killed Tom. You told her. Remember?’

‘The old cow still alive then?’ He looked shocked, but gave a low laugh. ‘Don’t go near that crummy side of town any more so wouldn’t know one way or the other.’ He pulled his mouth into a sneer. ‘Still, I’m bloody amazed.’

‘She is, and, believe me, she’s not afraid of you.’ As soon as she’d said that Mary knew it was a mistake. She listened in dismay to his next words

‘Well, she should be. You tell her that.’

Mary straightened up, lifted her chin and met his eyes. ‘I promise you this,’ she said. ‘Touch my son, harm anyone in my family, any of my friends, including your mother … and I will kill you.’

The silence between them was dense with hatred.

Then George Shuttleworth laughed. He patted her cheek. ‘You can fuck off now,’ he said. ‘Go on, on your way. You’ve had your say.’

Despite the pain in her ankle Mary walked firmly to the end of the drive. She went cold when, as she turned on to the road, he called out, almost casually. ‘But watch your back. That goes for the rest of your bloody family, too.’

Chapter 77: Mary & Peter Schormann

Ashford, afternoon: Tuesday, October 21st

‘You should not have gone on your own.’ Peter was agitated; he sat on the bed, then got up and paced the room. Up and down. Up and down. Rubbing the palms of his hands over his head when standing and over his thighs when he sat.

‘Well, I did.’ Mary knotted her fingers together. The enormity of what she’d done frightened her, but she was stubborn enough not to admit her fear. Still, the thoughts played over and over in her mind. In her arrogance she’d believed she could put a stop to anything George Shuttleworth planned. Now she’d fired him up until heaven knows what he would do. She’d put her family in more danger, told him Tom hadn’t killed Frank, and let him know that Nelly would be prepared to tell the police what she knew about the day her son had murdered Tom.

But worse than anything else, she’d lied to Peter: she hadn’t told him about Karen’s relationship to the man, that the whole family knew George Shuttleworth was back in their lives. She’d kept it secret that she was going to see him, to tell him to stay away from their son.

And she still hadn’t told him that Linda knew the truth about Peter’s part in Frank Shuttleworth’s death. That Peter was the one who’d killed Frank.

And it was that which would hurt him the most. She pressed her knuckles to her mouth. Peter idolised Linda. From the day he’d rescued her from that dreadful place in the old camp, he’d had a special place in his heart for their eldest niece. For her now to see him as someone who’d killed in anger would hurt him bitterly.

And was it even fair to expect Linda to keep a secret that really only belonged to their generation? What if she couldn’t? What would Richard and Victoria think of their father?’

‘You should have told me what you were doing.’

Mary hadn’t even been aware that he was standing in front of her. ‘You would have stopped me.’

‘Yes. Or gone alone to talk to him.’

‘Fat lot of good that would have done, Peter.’ She spoke wearily, the throb of a headache increasing. ‘The man’s dangerous.’

He gave her an impatient look. ‘And you have not made him more so?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She closed her eyes, waited until she was sure her voice was even. ‘There’s something else.’

‘
Ja
? What is it?’

‘I told him Tom didn’t kill Frank.’

She watched him from under her lids, unwilling to meet his eyes.

He sighed. ‘So…’

That was it. That was all he said.

The minutes passed.

Tentatively Mary moved her hand from her lap, held it out to him. When he took it her relief was intense. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘So, tell me again what it was he said.’ Peter sat at the side of her. ‘So that I know what we must do.’

She leaned against him. ‘He said for us to watch our backs.’ She whispered. ‘In other words, Peter, he was threatening us. All of us.’

Chapter 78: Linda Booth & Jacqueline Howarth

Bradlow, evening: Tuesday, October 21st

From the moment she’d walked into their flat Linda knew her cousin and her partner were, in Gran’s words, “tiptoeing around her”, exchanging anxious glances. She waited for them to speak while she studied the plaques and cases of medals hung on the wall.

‘You managed to find room for them all then?’ She smiled at Nicki.

The tall woman rolled her eyes. ‘Just about. From the minute she moved in here she mithered me until I nailed the last hook in.’ She had her arm slung affectionately over Jackie’s shoulder as they sat together on the settee.

They made an odd couple, Linda thought; her cousin, plump with black curly hair, and her girlfriend, almost skeletally thin, with a mass of ginger hair and the most amazing green eyes. Chalk and cheese they might be, she corrected herself, but their love for one another was evident.

She wondered how her uncle and aunt were dealing with the news that these two were a couple. All she’d heard, and that was from her dad, was that there’d been a commotion after Jack had told Patrick in the pub last week. Linda gave an inward smile at the picture her thoughts had conjured up, of Ted scratching his head and saying he was flummoxed that they didn’t already know.

There was a clump of footsteps on the stairs outside the flat, the low murmur of voices as people passed.

Nicki lit two cigarettes, passing one over to Jackie. The exchanges of looks, the silent mouthing of words were enough for Linda. She took another sip of the lager they’d poured for her. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘I know there’s something going on. There’s something you’re dying to tell me so spit it out, one of you at least.’

Jackie extricated herself from Nicki’s arm and moved to sit on the buffet next to Linda.