One Night (13 page)

‘The person with those cards is
Brent Sedgeworth.’

‘But in your statement you said
that at some stage in the evening, you became suspicious about things. You
wondered if they were coming back.’

‘That was because of the food.’

‘The food?’

‘It wasn’t the kind of food Mona
would have left. She was a far more fastidious person than that. And a good
cook.’

Cartwright’s eyes sharpened. ‘And one
would assume she would have prepared something only after she had ascertained you
would be coming.’

I shivered, reading his implication.
‘Yes. She called me at around eleven.’

‘Thirteen minutes past eleven.’

I gawped at him. ‘I said eleven
o’clock in my statement. How do you know it was exactly thirteen minutes past?’

‘We have her phone.’

‘Where did you find it?’

‘Where we found her clothes. In one
of the boxes of junk in the back yard.’

I had sudden black moment of
overwhelming loss and grief. I had been walking past her clothing all that
time…

I felt a rush of rage. ‘They said
she wasn’t raped.’

‘No,’ the Inspector said mildly.
‘Which leaves a puzzle. If Bunting did this, then why remove the woman’s
clothes but not rape her?’

‘Perhaps to create an impression
that was the intent.’

Cartwright’s eyes were shrewd. ‘Or
perhaps he was disturbed.’

‘There was the note,’ I said. ‘It
wasn’t in Mona’s handwriting.’

‘Yes, you said. We have the note.
But handwriting tests are unreliable if people are aware of implications. What
is key about the note is that whoever wrote it, knew you were on your way. And
possibly killed Mona.’

‘Then it could only have been Brent.’

Again that considering look.

I persisted, ‘But there’ll be
fingerprints or something. There’s always evidence.’

‘Doesn’t always give us the answers
though.’

He made to stand. ‘By the way, we
found the Russian girl’s suitcase hidden on the side of the road as you said.’

I responded hollowly. ‘Everything
that happened – none of it was her fault.’

Cartwright’s eyes at last were
kindly. ‘No, that’s true. Really a case of being in the wrong place at the
wrong time.’

I looked up at him. A tall, efficient
man, calmly sure he would resolve this. I shook my head, not sure at all. His
eyes remained steadily on mine. I grimaced.

‘Could say the same about me.’

Mrs Spears was a rotund version of Mona. She had her daughter’s slate-dark eyes
with the same intensity about them that kept you focused. She even had Mona’s
short, snappy haircut. But there was a look of defeat etched on her face that
had never been on Mona’s.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

‘I’m getting better.’

‘Your lip is bleeding.’

‘Damn!’ I tissue dabbed. ‘One cut
won’t heal.’

She looked away. ‘You’re lucky
really.’

There was a mutinous little
silence. This was going to be difficult. Not that I didn’t like Elva Spears,
but I knew how proud she had been of Mona; her bright chick, her clever kid who
put the rest to shame, and who had been brought down and slaughtered like an
animal in an outhouse. How would that horror affect a mother who had nurtured
such high hopes? What disconnected, unrelated and disparate threads of
influence would be blamed? Would my visit to the cottage be blamed? My mere
proximity to a dead body that I didn’t know was there? Grief so wild and
terrible often found solace in accusation.

She made tea with those little
lemon biscuits and a slightly stale chocolate cake.

She said, ‘You know he did it,
don’t you?’

‘If you mean Brent Sedgeworth, yes,
I’m pretty sure. It’s the fact that this lunatic rapist was on the loose that
complicates matters.’

She looked at me, hollow-eyed. ‘The
police talked as if I should be grateful she wasn’t raped.’

I leaned forward and squeezed her
hand. It felt plump and hot under mine. ‘Did you see DI Cartwright?’

‘No, somebody called Inspector Beaks
and a Dr Mensen, a psychologist. I think that was to ensure I didn’t go out
into the street and try to shoot someone.’

‘Yes, that name was mentioned to
me. I’m expecting a visit.’

‘Well, don’t get your hopes up. She
left me feeling most unsettled. Angry actually, as though there were a couple
of steps I had to follow and then I’d be all right.’ She gave me a long look.
‘How are
you
, Casey? I mean, really. How are you feeling?’

‘Mostly I feel like my bones have
been rearranged and I’m still trying to fit into the new design.’

To my surprise, she stifled a
laugh. It fell away quickly enough and the dark stare returned to her eyes. ‘I
can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.’

‘I assure you I relive it night
after night.’ Blood cracked and ran at my lip.

Tears came to Elva’s eyes. ‘Oh,
God, Casey, I’m so sorry.’

‘There’s hardly need for
you
to apologize.’

‘Yes, but if Mona hadn’t phoned you
to come, you would never have experienced all those dreadful things. Those
dreadful men.’

I had to acknowledge this. ‘Perhaps
it was fortuitous in a twisted kind of way. Mona’s body wouldn’t have been
discovered for days. I’m a key witness now.’

‘Do you think this will come to
trial?’

‘If they get the evidence they need
on Brent, then, yes, of course. And my name will be top of the list to
testify.’

‘I never quite liked him, you know.
Although he was always very polite to me. I remember the only evening Mona
brought him to supper. He was actually quite interesting. Rather knowledgeable
about the value of old things – even documents. Did you know that old papers
can be valuable?’

I responded sarcastically, ‘I’m
sure if Brent Sedgeworth proclaimed something had value, then it would be so.’

She looked at me, lost. ‘Why do
think he would have killed her?’

‘Because he was a thief, a liar and
a cheat. And I think Mona finally found out.’

Elva put her hand to her mouth. ‘Why
do you think that?’

I told her about the hidden cellar
in the woods, the people brought in under cover of dark. The money. She stared
at me in shock. ‘He’s nothing but a common criminal.’

‘Exactly. Why would he stop at
murder?’

‘And Mona – my dear sweet girl who
wouldn’t steal a discarded wine gum paper – found out?’

‘That’s the way I see it.’

‘But then that explains the phone
call.’

‘What phone call?’

‘On Friday night, she phoned me.’
Elva Spears body shook, her eyes fixed, remembering that last contact, the enormity
of loss. ‘She said – she told me Sticky had broken his leg and she’d been to
the vet and would have to fetch him in the morning.’

‘Saturday morning?’

‘Yes. Then she said something
peculiar.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘You know, odd. Out of character.’

‘What did she say?’

‘She said,
Mum, I’m changing my
life. I’ve made a mistake.
Of course, I thought she meant her job which was
just crazy. She’d always wanted to do accounting. But then I thought maybe it
was just the firm she wanted to change. But she did say her
life
. So I wasn’t
sure. I didn’t know what she meant.’

‘Did you ask?’

‘Of course. But she just got a
little hushed. You know, secretive – as if someone might overhear. Said she
would talk about it when she got home. But she sounded all right. Not upset
really. Except of course she was very worried about Sticky.’ She stopped,
looking at me a little wildly as though I’d just walked into the room, her mind
striking at last on the original cause of my visit to the cottage. ‘So good of
you to take Sticky.’

‘That’s no problem. I love Sticky.’

Her eyes welled with tears. ‘Mona
loved Sticky. He was her baby.’

On the word ‘baby’ her voice broke,
her plump face crumpled with misery.

Fury overwhelmed me. It was like a
hot flush pouring from the centre of my being to every extremity; the dark
power of hatred, the deep primal desire for revenge. I’d thought about this in
the hospital, in the first days back at home. I had ticked out a plan, played
out scenarios, dreamt of violence and pain. And in each scene, I saw Brent
Sedgeworth spinning slowly at the end of a rope hung over a beam in an old barn,
broken and limp in the face of a long dying.

‘We’re going get this bastard,’ I
promised Elva Spears. ‘I’m going to find a way to pin this on Brent if it’s the
last thing I do.’

These would prove prophetic words.
I had no idea then of how close I would come to the last thing I would ever do.

Mona’s body was finally released for burial. The funeral took place in the tiny
stone church where she had been christened. People were scattered around the
pews in twos and threes like beads on an abacus, as though proximity was to be
avoided; as though the ritual of death and mourning was embarrassing. My mother
and I sat behind Elva Spears and her son William who had flown from Ireland,
and her other daughter Michelle and her husband, Adrian, who had come down from
York. Shannon and Todd snuck in just before the ceremony began. They shot me
quick looks of acknowledgement. Todd’s narrow black eyes fixed on me for a
little too long. His scrutiny made me glance at him again and his mouth
softened with a slight smile as though my attention had satisfied him in some
way. Then he turned away and put his arm around Shannon, his smile still in
place.

There was a dim peacefulness in the
old building. Insulated from traffic, it seemed to hum in silence. I had worn
my only pair of black shoes, patent leather and pointy-toed, and they were
hurting now, unbearably. I was aware of my mother beside me, trembling slightly
throughout the service, a piece of lace on her sleeve fluttering continually, a
little patch of dark-vein webbing reminding me of that leaf floating out of
Mona’s hand on that warm day in the woods. Something seemed to stick at the
back of my throat and I couldn’t swallow. It felt as though my throat was
closing. I couldn’t take a proper breath. The heavy stone walls of the church seemed
to undulate, the floor sliding up to the coffin which stood wreathed at the
base of the sanctuary.

I looked up, trying to steady
myself. There was a window with a halo of light, and beyond that a sway of
green leaves in the sun and the wind. All the bright busyness of normal life
while here we were caught in the suffocating ritual of death and grief. My mind
reeled around all those tiny, disconnected moments of remembrance: Mona on the
first day of school, offering me half her lunch; Mona waiting for me after
detention; Mona painstakingly helping me with homework; Mona dragging me to
those ‘green’ meetings; Mona at my 21
^st
birthday. Mona. Mona and
Brent.

Brent and Mona.

And the final guilt.

I should have spoken. I should have
expressed my concerns and to hell with her feelings. I should have told her
what I thought. She would have listened – I was sure of it.

It was my fault. All of it.

As the last hymn was sung, it felt
as though everything was moving away from me. I was in shadows in a sheltered
darkness. Somewhere in this muffled quiet something was moving, creeping
towards me, covered in a black cloak, coming through the night woods with
stealthy intent. If I stood up – if I let it see me – I would die. The sense of
threat and fear was overwhelming. I sank down and my burning cheek met the cool
old wood of the church floor.

Somebody was carrying me. A big man walking easily with me in his arms to a
white-rimmed portal, taking me away. I began to struggle, then I screamed. I
saw faces coming towards me, mouths open, a babble of voices. Then blackness.

When I opened my eyes I was looking
into a familiar face.

‘Stephen,’ I murmured.

My mother pushed into view. ‘Casey!
For God’s sake. Are you all right? You gave us all such a scare!’

‘What happened?’

‘You fainted.’ Stephen’s voice.

I sat up. People murmured. Somebody
offered me a tissue. Obviously something had smeared – mascara or lipstick. The
group parted and the priest appeared with a glass of water. Dutifully, I drank
it. It seemed to work. The seesaw pains in my stomach eased. I closed my eyes, leaned
back and met the warm, solid base of a church buttress against my back. It was
comforting. Gradually I returned to normal. Comments floated around me like
scraps of conversation across a chasm: …
a terrible experience… should talk
to someone… was her best friend… such a shock… very traumatic…have to give it
time…

I opened my eyes. Elva Spears and
Michelle were talking to my mother. The priest had herded people towards the hall.
Shannon and Todd were standing some distance away and appeared to be arguing. The
wobbly heads of two pink roses danced in front of me.

Beside me, someone moved. ‘Casey?
You okay?’

Stephen’s face came round to mine,
green eyes glinting with concern.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked
stupidly.

‘Well, you forget I got to know
Mona pretty well through you. Of course I came.’ He paused, let a slight smile
through. ‘And I won’t deny I hoped I would see you.’

‘This is hardly the way to pick up
old girlfriends.’

He looked solemn. ‘I’m aware of
that. But I wasn’t sure how else to approach you. I’m so sorry, Casey.’

‘For what?’

‘For everything you’ve been
through. Your mother told me. That fucking Brent Sedgeworth! He can be glad I
didn’t get my hands on him.’

‘My mother! Why didn’t you just
talk to me?’

‘I didn’t think you wanted to talk
to me. I was a bit – I don’t know – a bit nervous, I suppose.’

I gave a huffing laugh which still
had the power to hurt my ribs. The word
nervous
had taken on a whole new
meaning for me. Something as simple as opening a cupboard could set my nerves
jangling. ‘Well, you can talk to me. I don’t bite. I just blow people’s heads
off.’