Like There's No Tomorrow - Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Charley was furious at first when she discovered Spence and Anne had left without her. She calmed down, however, over several cups of fresh coffee and a chocolate chip muffin. Glancing into the garden, she could see it the sun was hard put to show its face on what was turning out to be a predominantly cloudy morning. I’ll need to take an umbrella in case it rains. Paradoxically, she loved to walk by the sea when it was rough and storm clouds were gathering. Somehow, it had always seemed to her, that the seaside lost its blandness at such times and took on a bolder, more robust character.

Later, umbrella still rolled, she found herself walking along a busy promenade in an eerie yellow half-light, perceiving everyone and everything around her in an unnatural, sharp-edged clarity. The sea was rougher than she had anticipated, huge waves pounding the beach and sending up huge clouds of spray. In spite of the weather, some brave souls could still be spotted swimming or surfing and there were even people in deckchairs, seemingly oblivious to being buffeted by high winds or the threat posed by bulbous black clouds immediately overhead.

Oddly enough, it wasn’t raining.

Charley noticed a lone figure standing at the far end of a groyne near the palace pier, standing stock-still and plainly getting soaked to the skin by a persistent barrage of raging spray. The image caught her imagination and she had to keep forcing herself to tear her eyes away from it, if only briefly, to avoid bumping into people. As she approached the pier, she stopped and regarded the windswept figure with a mixture of admiration and dismay. It had to be a man. No woman would allow her hair to get into that state. Moreover, it either had to be someone carrying a terrible burden, she surmised, or the likes of a poet engaged in a turbulent love affair with nature. Just as she was wondering which of the two it might be, the object of her fascination turned to face the ruin of the West pier; it, too, was taking an almighty battering from unrelenting waves.

She caught her breath upon recognizing the man. It was none other than Steve Taylor, whose stubborn jaw and other marked features were easily recognizable even through a screen of raging spray. Even from the railings where she stood and watched, she could see he had a wild, desperate look about him. He turned away again to face the misty, storm filled horizon…like a man determined to confront his own demons, she wondered?

Charley hesitated. It was none of her business, after all. Yet, she felt in part responsible for the poor man’s plight. It was she, after all, who had bullied Spence into digging up the grave in Owen Shepherd’s garden. She was certain the child’s body would prove to be the remains of Patricia Gates. Now Taylor’s own daughter had disappeared in similar circumstances…

Carefully and not a little nervously, Charley descended steps leading to the groyne and approached Steve Taylor.

“Mr Taylor isn’t it?”  She had to shout to make herself heard. “Charley Briggs. We met at the Shepherd’s place, remember?” As if the poor man would have forgotten the day he’d picked a fight with Owen Shepherd. Probably wishes he’d killed him now. “I’m a friend of Anne Gates,” she added hastily by way of a distraction. Taylor, though, gave no sign of having heard. Charley tried again. “Are you alright?” she asked, and then could have kicked herself for coming out with something so banal and stupid. Of course the poor man isn’t alright. “I heard about Lynette. You must be distraught. But, look, you’re absolutely drenched, and you must be freezing.  Why not come and join me in a coffee or something? You can dry out and get warm at the same time. Let’s face it. There are so many cafes, we’re spoiled for choice.”

Steve Taylor wasn’t listening. He was only vaguely aware of a woman’s presence and an unfamiliar voice humming out of tune in his left ear.

 Dear God, but I’m so tired. He hadn’t slept all night, but driven and walked around for miles looking for… ”Lynette…!” But a huge wave crashed against the groyne, made a grab for his daughter’s name and dashed it to pieces on the concrete where he stood. “Hey, God, are you listening? If you’re there and ever gave a damn about the human race…bring her back to me!” he sobbed, and then shouted again at the top of his voice, “Lynette!” Again, the sea demonstrated its contempt for human frailty, punctuated by a bitingly cold wind.

“You’d think it was the dead of winter, wouldn’t you, instead of bloody August?” Charley yelled.

Taylor turned. Charley retreated several steps. His expression was ghastly, frightening. Hair askew, light summer clothes stuck to his skin, he might have stepped out of a horror comic she had enjoyed as a child. “Who are you? What do you want? Leave me alone! I don’t need any more women fucking up my life! So what are you waiting for?  Go away and LEAVE ME ALONE.”

“I only want to help, if you’ll let me.” Charley wondered if the wide, red-black rimmed eyes glaring at her were actually seeing her as she was or some alternative, terrible vision. “I know about Lynette,” she soldiered on, “I can’t begin to imagine how distressed you must feel. But catching pneumonia isn’t going to help anyone, least of all your poor wife. Now, you can come with me or…throw yourself into the bloody sea for all the use you are to anyone like this!”

An angry Charley was a force to be reckoned with. The fierce light in Steve Taylor’s eyes dimmed.

“I know you. You’re a friend of that bloody Gates woman.”

“I’m Charley Briggs, yes.”

“Interfering bitches! Well, you know what you can do.”

“And what would that be?” Charley stood her ground.

“Piss off!” 

He would have looked away but Charley grabbed his arm in mid-turn and forced him to face her. “How dare you talk to me like that?”   She dealt him a hefty slap on the cheek. “Now, I know you’re upset and with every reason, but that’s no excuse for this pathetic performance.” She flung an arm wide, taking in a murky horizon bobbing about on massive waves. “What do you expect to find out there, eh? Not Lynette, I can assure you. Your place right now is with your wife and, so help me, I intend to see that’s where you end up, not at the bottom of a sea of self-pity!  Honestly, you men...!” she fumed, “Never around when we need them the most! But first we have to get you looking halfway human again. So it’s the first café we come to then some strong coffee while we warm up and dry out. And then we’ll go back to Hillcrest. Do we understand each other? Besides,” she added forcefully, “Lynette won’t want to see her dad looking like a drowned rat when they bring her back. She’ll need you to be strong for her, Cathy too.”

“Lynette’s dead!” he screamed above the noise of the waves. At first, she took him at his word and was struck dumb with horror. “She’s dead!” Taylor repeated, “I know she’s dead. I can feel it. No one needs to tell you these things, do they? You know, you just know...”

Relieved, Charley tried again. “You don’t know anything!” she yelled above the sea’s relentless cacophony and tugged at his sleeve. Now, you’re coming with me whether you like it or not.”  Taylor would not budge although Charley took heart from the fact that his expression was less fearsome now, more dazed and confused. “Okay, suit yourself. Be an arsehole. See if I care.”  She turned and made her way unsteadily towards the shore. At one stage, a gust of wind caused her to hang on to the arm of a wooden bench to avoid being swept into the angry sea.

She did not turn around.

Not until she reached the safety and shelter of the promenade did Charley look to see if her tactics had worked, letting loose a long sigh of relief as she watched Steve Taylor walking slowly and unsteadily towards her. The heavens chose that instant to open and a warm summer rain bucketed down.

Later, hunched over a steaming mug of coffee in a nearby cafe, Taylor was relieved to be spared further sharp-tongued admonishment by an unexpected arrival at their table.

“Why, it’s Mrs Briggs, isn’t it? Oh, but how nice to see you again...!” Charley recognized the silky voice and forced a smile as Fern McAllister seated herself without waiting for an invitation. “And who might your friend be?  He doesn’t look too good, does he?  Nor, if you don’t mind my saying so, Mrs Briggs, do you. Dreadful, isn’t it, what bad weather can do if one doesn’t take proper care?”

Charley made the introductions, adding. “Steve’s little girl has gone missing, He’s been out all night looking for her.” Fern McAllister paled and appeared visibly shaken. Charley turned to Steve. “Mrs McAllister lost her own daughter in similar circumstances some years ago.”

“Well, what do you know? How’s that for a shitty coincidence, eh?” Taylor growled.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” commented Fern McAllister dryly and turned to Charley, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Owen Shepherd I suppose, would it?”

“You know Shepherd?” Taylor’s face was twisted with rage.

“He was my neighbour at the same time my daughter disappeared. He had nothing to do with that, of course. At least, not as far as the police were able to establish...”

Taylor scrambled to his feet. “How could this happen? Now the bastard’s struck again! Is there no bloody justice in this country any more?”

“Sit down and get a grip,” Fern McAllister told him. “People are staring. I don’t like people staring at me, do you? Or does it give your precious male ego a boost?” Taylor opened his mouth, shut it again and sat down. “It does seem strange, though, don’t you think, that three children are abducted and Owen Shepherd just happens to be on the spot each time?”

“Three?”

“Apparently,” Charley murmured. Her heart went out to Steve Taylor. He looked every inch like a man kicked in the balls.

“May he rot in hell,” Taylor groaned and tried to get up again but fell back in his chair, exhausted, his expression betraying excruciating pain.

“I couldn’t agree more,” murmured Fern McAllister.

A light in the other woman’s eyes not only gave Charley the creeps but also brought about a flash of intuition.  “You didn’t drop that letter, you planted it!” she accused Fern McAllister.

“Letter, what letter…? Oh, yes, that letter. So careless of me, wasn’t it? I take it you’re familiar with its contents.  Make a habit of reading other people’s private correspondence, do you?” She neither expected a response nor waited for one but continued in the same silky smooth voice, “I can see you’re the curious type. They do say curiosity killed the cat, of course. Only, I’m not so sure. I like to think it contributed to pussy’s nine lives. Let’s face it. Where would we be without curiosity? Nothing would ever be settled. Give me a large dose of good old-fashioned curiosity any day.”

That’s why you came for Alice Shepherd’s funeral,” Charley murmured, “To settle things.” It was not a question, nor could she be certain that Fern McAllister’s head inclined, very slightly, in the affirmative. If a curious light in the other woman’s eyes changed at all, it became a fraction brighter. Charley raised her voice. “Is that why you’re still here, to see what happens now? Well, take a good look!” Charley glanced at Steve Taylor and back to the object of her scorn. “Another child has disappeared and Owen Shepherd has been arrested. I hope you’re satisfied.”

Fern McAllister rose to go. “I hope your daughter turns up safe and well, Mr Taylor, I really do.”

Steve Taylor continued fix a tiny pool of spilt coffee under his nose with a tragic expression.

“Give my regards to the boyfriend,” Charley remarked acidly.

“Oh, you mean Bob? Your friend Mrs Gates told you how we all met up in Lewes the other day, did she?  Poor Bob, another lost soul, I fear. To be honest, I hesitate even to call him a friend any more. I can assure you it was pure coincidence that we happened to bump into each other again.”

“Oh, I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences?” Charley was quick to remind her, and had the satisfaction of seeing Fern McAllister’s purse her lips and wince. She had clearly hit a nerve.

“Goodbye.” Fern McAllister treated Taylor and Charley in turn to a polite nod. Briefly, she and Charley locked horns, the one conveying a sense of quiet satisfaction, even triumph, the other sending out a clear signal that this wasn’t endgame. Not yet. Not quite.

“I think we should go back to Hillcrest,” Taylor mumbled.

“Yes,” Charley agreed, “I think we should.”

………………………………

At the police station, Anne and Spence remained seated and kicking their heels in a crowded area where they had already been waiting a good hour and a half.

A hefty, broad shouldered inspector they had seen earlier emerged from a long passage through a door usually kept locked.  He caught Anne’s eye and came towards here. She leapt to her feet, expectantly. “Ah, Mrs Gates, you can see Mr Shepherd now. But you’ll only have about ten minutes at the most I’m afraid, as he’ll be appearing in court shortly.”

“In court…?” Anne should not have been surprised but was stunned nevertheless.

“You’ve charged him then?” Spence was keen to establish the facts. The sergeant nodded.

“Charged him with what?” Anne found she could not speak above a whisper.

“Murder, abduction, you name it.”

“Is there any news?”

“As soon as we have a positive identification of the body found in Shepherd’s garden, we’ll let you know.”

“I meant is there any news of Lynette?” said Anne.

“None, I’m afraid. Shepherd insists he has no knowledge of the child’s whereabouts. Perhaps you can persuade him to be more forthcoming, Mrs Gates?”

“In ten minutes? I doubt it inspector. I doubt it very much. But I’ll ask him, naturally. I’m very fond of Lynette. So is Owen,” she added defiantly. “He would never harm a child, any child.” The inspector shrugged, plainly unconvinced by this brave show of loyalty, and gestured for her to follow him.

Anne turned to Spence, “You heard the inspector. I won’t be long.”

“Don’t expect too much,” he told her and his warning look took in the inspector as well.

Once past the security door, another officer joined them. It could only have been a few minutes before they reached Owen’s cell, but to Anne, it seemed an eternity. 

“We’ll have to lock you in, I’m afraid,” said the inspector apologetically.

“I quite understand.”

“Sergeant Bell here will be right outside. He will collect you in exactly ten minutes. If you wish to leave before then, you only have to call out and he will unlock the door immediately.”

“I understand.”

Seconds later she stood in the cell, hapless, dishevelled Owen staring unhappily up at her from a bed fixed to the wall.  Neither spoke, even after sergeant Bell had locked the door behind her.

“I hoped you’d come, Owen mumbled, and got shakily to his feet, “Only, I wasn’t sure. I thought perhaps you might think…” He burst into tears. “I haven’t done anything, Anne, I swear it. I haven’t done anything. But they won’t believe me. They won’t believe a word I say. They think I…Oh, Anne, it’s a nightmare, a nightmare!”

She went to him and hugged him for a long, intimate moment during which she felt reassured that Owen Shepherd was a good man.

They sat down on the bed.

The desk sergeant had retained her handbag for safekeeping, although she had well understood the reason. Did they honestly think she would try and smuggle poor Owen a hacksaw?  Even now, the very idea made her lips twitch with a wry humour she was far from feeling. All the same, she had merely nodded politely and kept a tactful silence. It wouldn’t do, as Spence had found occasion to remind her more than once, to ruffle any feathers.

Absently, it crossed Anne’s mind that she had misjudged Spence. Without consciously rushing to any judgement, she had formed first impressions of a pleasant enough but naïve, shallow young man. On the contrary, there were no flies on Kirk Spencer. Anne smiled. She was glad and felt partially vindicated by the fact that she had liked him instantly, despite her reservations.

“Have they found Lynette?” Owen was saying and Anne hastily focused on the business in hand.

“No. They say you were seen with her in the foyer at Hillcrest. I told them it couldn’t be true. I delivered the child safe and sound to her mother myself. She must have wandered off or something.”

“She turned up at the house….” Owen told her everything. “I couldn’t face another scene with Steve Taylor. I suppose I should have made sure she got in the lift but who’d have thought any harm could come to her walking across a hotel lobby, for heaven’s sake! Perhaps she changed her mind and went looking for you and…got lost?” he suggested.

“Let’s hope so,” said Anne. “So the man seen leaving the hotel with Lynette definitely wasn’t you?”

“No, I swear.” A heavy silence followed then, “You do believe me? Say you believe me, Anne, I beg you.”

“Of course I believe you Owen…”

“But…?”

“I have to ask you. The body they found in your garden…”

“I know nothing about it, I swear. I can imagine what you’re thinking and I can’t blame you for that. God knows it looks bad for me. But I swear to you Anne, I would no more have harmed Patricia than I would Lynette or any other child. Please believe me. Please, please, believe me. I’d know if I had…surely?”

“What do you mean you’d know if you had? Of course you’d know, you stupid man!”

He told her about the sleepwalking. “Mother always used to say that a sleepwalker would never do anything out of character. So I can’t have done anything to those children can I?”

“By children I take it you mean my Patricia and Carrie McAllister,” she said quietly.

Owen’s face, already pale, turned ashen. “”You know about that? But…how?” He sounded faintly incredulous and deeply disturbed.

Anne was quick to reassure him. “It doesn’t matter how I know. I know. But that doesn’t matter either. I have to say, I wish you’d trusted me and told me yourself but there’s no point in dwelling on that now. We have to look to the future. Do you have a solicitor?”

“The duty solicitor seems to know his job.”

“He’ll have to know it through and through if he’s going to get you out of this mess,” Anne retorted without thinking. “I’ll have a word with him myself. Spence will come with me, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“The toy boy…?” Owen was dismissive.

“There’s more to Kirk Spencer than meets the eye, believe you me,” Anne told him firmly.

“Nowhere near as much as that Briggs woman, that’s for sure,” commented Owen and managed a weak smile.

“Charley’s not so bad,” Anne murmured, “But never mind her or Spence. What are we going to do about you? I gather you’re in court later?”  Owen nodded. “I don’t suppose there’s much chance you’ll get bail?”

“None, I imagine.”

“I suppose not.  But you must take heart, Owen dear.  You’re innocent until proven guilty, remember. If you haven’t done anything, no one can prove you have.”

“Finding a body at the bottom of my garden doesn’t exactly help my case,” Shepherd groaned.

“True, but…innocent until proven guilty,” repeated Anne doggedly, “and I’ll be a character witness for you. If that doesn’t carry some weight in the circumstances, nothing will.”

You’d so that for me?”

“I said so, didn’t I? I’ve known you a long time, Owen. You balk at killing flies. You’re incapable of murdering anyone.” He looked away. An expression of terror on his face aroused both pity and alarm in her. “Owen, what on earth is the matter? It will be alright, Owen dear, you’ll see.”

He turned to face her, tears running down both cheeks. “You’re so wrong Anne. I am capable.”

“Capable of what…? What are you taking about?” He looked away again, hung his head, making no sound but for a hideous sobbing noise.  “Owen, look at me. Talk to me, Owen. W hat is it you think you’re capable of? Say something, Owen. You’re frightening me? What have you done?”

He looked up at her and spoke in a croak whisper. “I killed Mother.” Anne could only stare, appalled. “I couldn’t bear to see her in so much pain. So I waited until she was asleep…then I held a pillow over her face until…until she was dead. It was over very quickly. She didn’t suffer. At least, I like to think so.” He lifted his face to hers, “So you see, Anne, I am perfectly capable of murder.”

Anne opened her mouth but found she couldn’t speak. She leapt up, ran to the door and found her voice. “Let me out of here!” she cried in a blind panic, “Let me out of here!”

To be continued.

Like There's No Tomorrow - Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

In spite of tossing and turning in bed all night, Anne overslept. It was nearly 9.30am by the time she was awoken by a vaguely familiar voice softly calling her name. To her astonishment, Mel Harvey was standing by the bed carrying a breakfast tray.

“I thought you might appreciate a little privacy,” the hotelier explained as she placed the tray, a trifle precariously, on the bedside table. “How are you?” Mel sat on the bed, regarding regarded her friend and paying guest not only with concern and sympathy but also ill-disguised curiosity.

Anne sat up and wiped her eyes clear of sleep residue. “I’m fine,” she lied, “But you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. I hadn’t planned to take breakfast. There is so much to do.” An instant of panic hit her, but quickly passed. “I must go and see Owen if the police will let me. And Cathy, I must go and see here, and…Oh dear, it’s all so dreadful!”

She took deep breaths, determined not to cry. If I cry, I’ll fall apart and I mustn’t do that. I must be strong for Owen, Cathy too. She stubbornly blinked back tears, blaming weepy eyes on a shaft of brilliant sunshine where Mel had flung open the curtains.

“Cathy?” Mel’s tone told Anne that she knew nothing about the missing Lynette. Should she say anything? The news would get out in no time so…

Mel’s expression was one of sheer horror. “But they can’t possibly think...not of Owen, surely? He can’t have anything to do with the girl’s appearance. The very idea, it’s preposterous. But I suppose, what with the body they found in his garden, it’s only natural he’d be their prime suspect. Oh, my poor Anne, how terrible for you! All these years and now to discover that Owen, of all people…”

“Innocent until proven guilty, Mel.” Anne could have hit her, not least because she was weary of having to keep resorting to the much over-worked phrase awake and asleep. She was somewhat relieved, however, when a yawn took the sting out of her tone. Mel means well, of course she does.

“Of course, but…Well, you have to admit it’s not looking good for Owen, is it? I mean…I’m as fond of Owen as you are, but…They do say these people are experts at pulling the wool over people’s eyes, don’t they? I’m the last person to cast aspersions, but…You have to agree it’s all very…”

”Circumstantial,” said Anne emphatically.

“That’s as maybe, but there’s some will say the facts speak for themselves. First a body in the man’s garden and now young Lynette goes missing. I can’t believe it. I just cannot believe it, not of our Owen. I suppose I can say goodbye to fresh eggs for the foreseeable future too,” she added and gave a resounding groan as the afterthought hit home.

“I’ll see what I can do. But I know nothing about hens. I’ll have to ask Owen,” Anne told her friend with mounting impatience tempered only with dismay. “In the meantime, you’ll have to forgive me if I have rather more on my mind than eggs.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Oh, how thoughtless of me.  I’ll leave you to have your breakfast in peace. Everything is just as you like it. I prepared it myself.  Be sure to eat it all up. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. A good breakfast will see us through …whatever. Now, I must love and leave you. There’s a problem with some of the showers. Yesterday it was the top floor, today this one,” Mel wailed, “I must go and see if Joe has managed to sort out a plumber. Oh, why is it that it never rains but it pours?” she wailed again. “But you don’t want to hear about my problems. Now, you absolutely must feel free to call on me any time. If you want to talk, I’m here for you. You do know that, don’t you?” She leaned forwards and kissed Anne on the cheek.

“Thank you,” said Anne, fervently wishing that the other woman would just go away and leave her peace.  If only Mel wouldn’t fuss so, especially first thing in the morning…

Mel left the room.

Anne regarded the breakfast tray with precious little enthusiasm for anything but the little teapot. She did, however, manage a slice of buttered toast before discovering, thankfully, that the shower was working. Although she would have preferred to take a long, hot bath, she enjoyed the shower and emerged refreshed and revitalised from it some ten minutes later. Wrapped in a towel, she sat on the edge of the bed, poured another cup of tea and sipped at it thoughtfully. Whatever should she do next? She desperately wanted to speak to Owen. At the same time, she was no less desperate to see Cathy.

Her eyes alighted on the mobile. Should she send Cathy a text just to let her know she was in her thoughts? That might be better than telephoning, mightn’t it? “Oh, but text messages are so impersonal,” she cried out passionately and felt oddly reassured by the sound of her own voice.

A sharp tap on the door was followed instantly by Charley Briggs sweeping into the room oozing concern and consternation. “Oh, my poor Anne, Mel has just told me. Poor little Lynette, and she’s such an adorable child too. My heart goes out to the poor parents, truly it does.  Oh, that dreadful man. It makes my blood boil to think how he has deceived you all these years!” She sat down on the bed and engulfed Anne in an embrace.

“Are you okay, Anne?” A dishevelled Spence appeared in the doorway. 

Anne managed to nod while, at the same time, attempting to exercise diplomacy as well as resolve in extricating herself from Charley’s not inconsiderable bulk. The more she tried to wriggle free, the tighter the grip of muscular arms around her. It crossed her mind, fleetingly, that Charley Briggs may be fat but no one could accuse the woman of being flabby. “I’m fine, Charley, really.” She found herself fighting for breath. “Now, let me go before I suffocate,” she added, but not unkindly.

Charley released her with an expression of abject apology. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said more than once although noticeably refusing to elaborate. “Is there anything, anything at all Spence and I can do?”

Anne couldn’t help herself. “Haven’t you done enough already?” she snapped and was immediately repentant. “Sorry. I know you meant well and perhaps it’s for the best. But I’ve been coming to this hotel for over twenty years. This is your second visit and already…”

“I know,” Charley interrupted, “But I had no idea things would happen the way they did, and once the ball started rolling it just wouldn’t stop.” She looked Anne in the eye. “I didn’t mean to stir up a hornet’s nest, honestly. If I’d known…”

“You’d have gone ahead anyway,” said Spence from the doorway.

“Who asked you for your opinion?” Charley retorted without even turning her head.

“I only meant…”

“I don’t care what you meant.”

“Have you two quarrelled?” Charley’s uncharacteristic coldness took Anne by surprise.

Charley’s hard expression softened. “Don’t mind Spence. He’s got the hump because the shower isn’t working. Looks a mess, doesn’t he?” She laughed but Anne was not convinced. In spite of everything, she had grown fond of the unlikely couple and hoped it was nothing more than a lover’s tiff.

Had Charley disapproved of her outing with Spence the previous evening, Anne wondered? Did she feel they had gone behind her back, deliberately excluded her? Anne experienced a twinge of guilt. It was true, after all. “I’m grateful to you for bringing things to a head,” she told the fat woman and realised she meant it. “You mustn’t blame yourself for anything, certainly not this terrible business with Lynette. Let’s pray she’ll turn up safe and sound, eh?”

“Oh, yes!” Charley cried but her face brightened.

It was, Anne reflected and not for the first time, a very attractive face, almost beautiful. “I need to get dressed…” she murmured.

“Then what…?” Charley could not resist asking.

“I need to go and see Cathy, and then Owen.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? I mean…won’t Cathy feel worse for seeing you? It will only remind her, surely? I mean…your Patricia and…what might have happened to poor Lynette, although God forbid anything has!”

“My turning up won’t make Cathy and Steve feel any worse than they already do,” Anne said with feeling, “Nothing will. Believe me, I know.”

“I realize that.  I only thought…and Owen…do you really think it’s a good idea to go and see him?”

“Of course she has to go and see him, you stupid woman,” said Spence, “She needs to ask him…whatever…” he finished lamely, blushing a near beetroot colour.

Anne flung him a grateful look. Someone, at least, understood. “I won’t be long,” she told him, “I may have another cup of tea downstairs before I leave. I’ll give you a shout when I’m ready and you’re welcome to use my shower.”

“Really…? That would be great.” His boyish enthusiasm endeared him to Anne more than ever.

“I wouldn’t mind a shower myself,” murmured Charley

“You’re both very welcome,” said Anne.

“Bags I go first!” insisted Spence.

“Whatever happened to ‘ladies first’…?” Charley hurled at him.

“You wanted equality, you’ve got it,” Spence tossed back at her before leaving the room.

“Sometimes I wonder about that boy,” muttered Charley with a weak smile.

“He’s a very nice man,” Anne told her in all seriousness, “You’re lucky to have him.”

“That’s the trouble,” Charley admitted ruefully, “I know I am.” She got to her feet. “I could use another cup of tea myself.” She beamed, and Anne was relieved to see the old Charley back. True, she could be irritating, but she was also a feel-good factor for which, in the circumstances, Anne was grateful.

Charley left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Anne dressed, only marginally less apprehensive about the day ahead, but more confident that she could handle and confront head-on whatever it might choose to throw at her. Later, after a strong cup of tea in the café downstairs, she was surprised to see Spence coming across the lobby towards her. He had a newspaper tucked under one arm, was smiling and…on his own.

“Charley’s taking a shower. Thanks for the use of, by the way. I feel a lot better for it. Hopefully, the Harveys will get things sorted before too long. So…I’m ready if you are. I’m all yours.  Just say the word and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go. I collected the car earlier, so no worries.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Charley?”

Spence grinned. “Do you really want to? Don’t get me wrong. I adore every inch of Charley’s voluptuous flesh, but she will make a habit of shoving those big feet of hers where they’re not always appreciated.”

“She’ll be cross, upset even.”

“She’ll get over it. Shall we go?” he offered Anne his arm. She took it with immense relief. She hadn’t realized just how much she was dreading having to face the day ahead alone. 

At Hillcrest, Spence shook his head when Anne invited him to accompany her inside. “I’ll wait in the car. It’s no problem. I’ll just sit here and read the paper, in peace and quiet for a change.” He flung her a rueful grin. “Charley thinks newspapers are a load of capitalist propaganda…in other words, bullshit.”

“She may well have a point,” Anne observed smiling.

“True. But just because people like me enjoy reading a daily newspaper doesn’t mean we have to believe a word it prints, does it?”

“I suppose not,” Anne agreed, laughing. The sound came as something as a surprise to her but helped settle her nerves, for which she was very grateful to the young man sitting beside her.

“Take as long as you need,” he told her, “and if Charley takes it into her head to gatecrash, I’ll toot on the horn three times. You can make a quick get-away down the back stairs and I’ll meet you at the rear.”

“Hollywood should get to hear about this,” she joked nervously.

“I wish!” Spence exclaimed, grin stretching from ear to ear, “I’ve always fancied myself as a movie star.”

Still chuckling, Anne climbed out of the vehicle and climbed the few steps to the hotel entrance. Once inside, her good spirits evaporated and she could feel her heart pounding against her chest. She felt in a pocket for her mobile phone. Should she call first, she wondered? Or ask the woman at Reception to warn the Taylors she was on her way?

Deciding against either course of action, she headed for the lift and consulted a floor plan on the wall. She frowned, recalling how it was when Patricia disappeared. She had so wanted to see people, talk to them, be comforted. But a demon had settled on her shoulder. She had refused to see anyone, pushed everyone away…including Tom, she reflected guiltily.

Outside, in the car, Spencer started at the sound of his mobile ring tone. The tiny screen told him it was Charley calling. He turned it off. This was no place for Charley and he hated lying to her, although she had probably have guessed their whereabouts.  No, Anne needed to see this through on her own. Charley must be patient. Her time would come. “God knows, poor Anne will need a shoulder to cry on before this day is through,” he told a splash of rain on the windscreen.

Meanwhile, at room number forty-two on the fifth floor, Anne struggled to compose herself.

She knocked.

A tall woman Anne did not recognize opened the door and stared enquiringly at her.

“My name is Anne Gates…” she began.

“Anne!” a cry exploded in her ears and Cathy appeared at the tall woman’s side. “I knew you’d come. Didn’t I tell you?” she told the tall woman who looked slightly disapproving but stepped aside.

Cathy flung herself into Anne’s waiting arms. “It’s so awful,” she kept saying as Anne led her gently into the room. It was a much larger room than hers at the Orion and included a separate bedroom. After sitting Cathy down on a sofa, Anne settled herself next to her, the distraught mother’s arms still clinging to her neck. 

The tall woman hovered uncertainly. “Shall I order some tea?”

“Oh, sorry,” Cathy mumbled, “Leah Jackson…Anne Gates…Leah’s here to keep an eye on me, make sure I don’t jump out of a window or something…” she laughed and Anne winced. It was a horrible sound.

“If there are any developments, my colleagues will let me know at once so I’ll be able to pass on any news as it happens,” the tall woman explained with a shy, nervous smile.

Anne decided that she liked the policewoman and smiled back. “Where’s Steve?” she asked Cathy tentatively.

“Out looking for Lynette,” Cathy sobbed, “He’s been out all night. We had a terrible quarrel, about nothing really.  I went to check on Lynette and…she was gone! Oh, Anne where is she? Where is she? Oh, I wish Steve was here. He got angry when he found out that Owen had been spending time with you and Lynette. I didn’t tell him because I knew how he’d react and things were starting to go so well between us. Well, you know all that. Now he blames me, I know he does. But Owen seemed such a nice man. How was I supposed to know he was capable of something like this?”

“We don’t know for sure,” Anne mumbled ineffectually.

Cathy broke away abruptly and stared at Anne, tear-stained eyes blazing. “You’re not defending him, you of all people? You can’t. The man’s a monster. Oh, Lynette, Lynette!” she sobbed, jerking her heaving shoulders away from Anne’s touch as if scolded by it.

Anne looked enquiringly at the policewoman.

“Lynette was last seen leaving the hotel with a man,” DC Leah Jackson told her. We don’t have a positive identification yet though,” she added.

“It has to be Owen,” Cathy sobbed, “Who else would it be? My Lynette wouldn’t go off with just anyone. She wouldn’t, she just wouldn’t…”

The sobs began to cease, only to be replaced by a pitiful moaning noise that cut Anne to the quick. She longed to offer comfort, reassurance. But how could she, she of all people? Everyone had insisted Patricia would be found alive and well. She mustn’t worry, they said. Not worry? She had wanted to wring their necks. Instead she had clung to false hopes, clutched at whatever straws she could…and hated every kind face she saw with such intensity it had finally driven to that place where the surreal breaks away from the real and the mind takes refuge in cartoon fantasy. She had been sectioned for six months.

“I’ll be in touch,” Anne murmured helplessly.

“You’re not staying?” Leah Jackson seemed surprised. If she’d had reservations about the Gates woman’s presence initially, she had none now.

“Do you want me to stay?” Anne asked Cathy.

“You’re going to see him, aren’t you?” Cathy flared, “You’re going to see that beast, that monster Owen Shepherd?” She was on her feet now, screaming accusingly at Anne. “You’re as bad as he is. If you hadn’t come along and barged into our lives, none of this would have happened. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” She turned away and stumbled, sobbing hysterically, into the policewoman’s arms.

Over Cathy’s shoulder, Leah Jackson gave Anne a warning but sympathetic look that clearly said suggested she should leave.

Anne left.

Cathy would have been offered a sedative, Anne reflected grimly. Obviously, she had refused to take anything. It was all so perverse. You long for oblivion, for the nightmare to end. But then you only have to deal with it all over again when you come to. It seems the lesser evil to see the nightmare through to the bitter end. Only, the ending, if it comes at all, is not always a happy one. Oh, eventually, nature would take its course and Cathy would collapse with exhaustion, find some brief respite in sleep. Then she would feel guilty for sleeping, guilty for not staying awake, guilty for …just about everything.

Anne dived into a toilet at the stop of the stairs and just made it to the washbasin before being violently sick. Pull yourself together, Gates, or you’ll be no use to anyone, yourself included, she reprimanded herself without a trace of humour. 

By the time she returned to the car, she was shaking but relatively calm.

“You look terrible,” Spence told her with a wicked smile that instantly reassured her. “Was it bad?” Anne nodded. “Are you sure you want me to run you to the police station? We could find a pub instead. You look as if you could use another large brandy.”

“Later,” Anne told him, “First, I need to see Owen. Then, if the offer’s still open, I just might take you up on it.”

“They probably won’t let you see him,” he felt obliged to warn her although he suspected she knew the score well enough.

“Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. Whatever, I have to try,” she said with a certainty Spence found very moving. “...before I go mad,” she added between clenched teeth as they drove off.

To be continued on Friday.

Like There's No Tomorrow - Chapter Twenty-Two

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Anne felt ill. Weary of worrying and wondering about Owen, the only alternative was to dwell on the body discovered in his shrubbery. She preferred to think about Owen. Besides, she felt increasingly if irrationally responsible for him. For the first time ever she felt a strong affinity with Alice Shepherd.

      Police were already swarming all over the house and garden by the time she and Spence arrived. A tape cordon meant they were forced to stop some distance away. A grim-faced policewoman informed them there would be no public access all the while a thorough investigation of the flat and garden was being carried out.   They could just about spot a few hens strutting about unconcernedly as the WPC refused to be drawn on the subject of Owen Shepherd’s whereabouts.

      “But I must see him. I’m an old friend,” Anne explained in vain.

      However, another officer was more forthcoming and told them Owen was in custody, but advised against going to the police station. “I’d leave it until tomorrow if I were you,” he suggested. “I doubt whether you’ll get to see Mr Shepherd before that, if then…”

      “Do you want to go straight back to the hotel or shall we drive around for a bit?” Spence asked.

      “Could we drive around for a while? I can’t face being on my own just now,” Anne admitted.

      “No problem,” Spence assured her.  He drove into Hove, found a quiet pub and insisted Anne drink a large brandy. “It will help, believe me,” he told her with such a look of concern on his face that she hadn’t the heart to refuse. In the event, she had to concede that his prescription for her growing dismay was spot on. The golden liquid not only warmed the cockles of the heart but also helped ease the mind. Everything that had seemed such a muddle since their visit to the Shepherd’s house earlier began to clear. “Better?” he was anxious to know.

      Anne nodded. “It was clever of you to realize it was just what I needed,” she told him with a quiet smile.

      “Sherlock Holmes at your service,” Spence replied with a mock bow. Both laughed, albeit dryly, and it helped ease the tension.

      “I still can’t believe Owen would do such a thing,” she said after a long pause.“I won’t believe it,” she reiterated. “All this time…all these years…I’d have known, surely? I’d have sensed something. How could I think of someone as a friend who was even capable of such a thing?” She took another welcome sip from her glass.

      Spence gazed uncomfortably into his beer.

      “They will let me see him, won’t they? I must see him. I need to ask him. I’ll know if he’s lying…or will I? Suppose he’s been lying to me all these years and, like a fool, I never suspected?”

      “For what it’s worth,” Spence tried to reassure her, “I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of human nature, and I certainly don’t have you down for a fool. You’re upset, that’s only natural. But don’t let that screw up your instincts. If they tell you Owen Shepherd is on the level, trust them, and don’t let anyone change your mind. Not unless…”

      “He confesses.”  She finished the sentence for him with a dry, humourless laugh, hands shaking as she drained her glass.

      “I’ll get you another.”

      “No,” Anne protested.

     “I’m a beer man myself,” he told her, “But I think I’ll join you. This whole business is doing my head in.” He went to the bar. He liked Anne Gates, but what could he say to the woman? He didn’t dislike Owen Shepherd but…”Bloody hell, there’s a child’s body in his garden!” he murmured inaudibly before summoning a wicked smile for the barmaid and ordering two large brandies. On returning to his seat, Anne’s expression gave him further cause for concern. Her face was grey. This is one tired, scared, unhappy woman, he reflected as he took her hand and placed the glass in it. “Drink up, Anne.  Brandy never put anything right, but at least it makes bad times a lot more bearable.”

      They drank.

      “You shouldn’t drink and drive,” she scolded him as if suddenly remembering.

      “Don’t worry. I had a word with the barmaid and she says it’s okay to leave the car in the car park. She’ll call us a cab when we’re ready to leave.”

      “Charley will be wondering where you are,” she observed.

      “I sent her a text before we started out. Besides, she’s not my keeper. I’ll do as I damn well please.”

      “Oh dear, have you two had a row?”

    “Not as such. I love her to bits, you know. But she makes me so mad sometimes. It’s like she has to do what she has to do, no matter who gets hurt along the way. Oh, she means well. She honestly thinks she’s done you a good turn.”

      “She has if it’s my Patricia in that grave,” said Anne in a hoarse whisper.

      “Maybe,” Spence agreed, “But she hasn’t done it for you. She’s enjoyed having the bit between her teeth and running away with it. That’s Charley all over, forever rushing in where angels fear to tread and all that.”

      “She’s a character and no mistake,” Anne commented and sipped again at her glass.  “Do you think Owen is a murderer?”

      Although he had been expecting the question, Spence felt ill prepared to answer it. “It’s like I said,” he repeated, “You have to trust your instincts. If you can’t do that, what’s left?” He reached for the glass. You know him better than anyone, I imagine and…well, if it it’s your daughter…” He drank, spluttered, and instantly drank again. “I’d say what you think counts for more than any conclusions other people choose to jump to…” A fit of coughing was almost welcome. “Excuse me,” he mumbled and promptly made a beeline for a door bearing the legend ‘Gentlemen’ above the cartoon figure of a man.

       Hours later, Anne recalled her conversation with Kirk Spencer and took some encouragement from it. He hadn’t condemned Owen as she had expected him to. Nor, she reminded herself, had he failed to condemn poor Owen either. He had, in fact, fairly and squarely dumped the verdict in her lap.It’s all very well to say trust one’s instincts, she brooded, but how can one ever be sure?  She must ask Owen face to face, of course she must. But he’ll deny it, surely? Would she really know if he were telling the truth? Would she really, really know, beyond all reasonable doubt?  Did she really know Owen that well…or herself for that matter?

      “Oh, Patricia!” she moaned softly into a pillow. “Patricia, Patricia, let there be an end to it all at last…” But even as she spoke the words, she knew it was a false hope. There would be the media to contend with, at least until any trial was over. Would they let her bury Patricia before then, she wondered? She would leave the funeral arrangements to Tom, she decided. He was so good at that sort of thing. “Poor Tom,” she told the impassive, indifferent, impersonal hotel room, “He’ll be devastated all over again…” Will there, can there ever be closure.

      Involuntarily, her thoughts returned to Owen Shepherd. She shivered, in spite of the evening’s clammy heat. Again, she tried to examine her emotions and gave up the attempt for a lost cause. It had become a habit of sorts, the unspoken anticipation that had punctuated their friendship in latter years. Only once Alice Shepherd was dead would the need arise to confront their true feelings for each other. It’s not as if we‘ve ever deluded ourselves it’s love. But companionship isn’t to be rejected outright at our age. She shivered again and reached for a cardigan. How could she have considered, however inarticulately, spending the last years of her life with someone who might be her daughter’s killer?

      “No!” she told the room emphatically, “I won’t believe it…not unless I hear it from Owen’s own lips,” she added tearfully, crossed to the bay window and peered behind a curtain. Lights on the seafront failed to stir her imagination as they usually did. Nor did shadowy figures, in all shapes and sizes, coming and going, make any impression on her consciousness. Only a wicked moonlight, riding white crests of surly waves, insinuated her darkest thoughts as if seeking to offer teasing glimmers of reassurance.

       “No, no, no!” She could not have been so wrong about Owen Shepherd all these years. Could I?

      A sudden urge to talk to Cathy came over her. On impulse, she retrieved a mobile phone from her bag. She rarely remembered to switch it on and now stared indecisively at the dead screen. Instead, she replaced it and undressed.

      A sharp rap at the door was almost welcome although a glance at her watch told her that it was nearly 11.30 pm. Her heart sank as she hastily grabbed a dressing gown hanging on the door and slipped into it.

“Mrs Anne Gates?” a uniformed police officer, a sergeant this time, asked politely. A WPC stood close behind.

      “Yes. Is it Owen? Has something happened? It has, hasn’t it? Oh, no, what now? Oh dear, oh dear…” She stepped aside to let a young policeman and his female colleague enter the room.

       “We’re investigating the disappearance of a child Mrs Gates.”

     “Yes, yes, I know, my daughter, Patricia. They think they may have found her don’t they, in Owen Shepherd’s garden? I’ve been expecting you. But you can’t be certain yet, surely?  Couldn’t it have waited until morning?” She tried to stay calm but, to her dismay, became increasingly distressed.

      “The child reported missing is a Lynette Taylor,” said the WPC in a clipped tone that made Anne dislike the woman intensely.

      “Lynette?” Anne was incredulous at first. Then she remembered her conversation with the Taylors earlier. How could she have forgotten?  “I did get a call…” She tried to explain but panic was starting to take over. “When no one called again, I assumed Lynette had been found. It seemed likely the porter had made a mistake. She’ll be with her little friend, won’t she? Oh dear, oh dear. Everything is such a muddle, such a muddle…”  Her lips seemed to lose control of the words tumbling out of her mouth and she began to feel feverish.

      “Suppose you sit down and let me pour you a glass of water,” the sergeant insisted and led her gently to the bed.

      “What? Oh, yes, thank you. A glass of water would be nice.”

      “I believe you spent some time with Lynette earlier today, you and Mr Shepherd?” said the sergeant a little later, by which time he was relieved to see the woman had got her act together and was much calmer.

       “Yes. Yes, we... Oh, my God, Cathy! I must go to her, she’ll be frantic.”

      “My colleagues are with Mr and Mrs Taylor even as we speak,” said the sergeant gently. “With all due respect, I suggest they might prefer to be left alone for the time being. You could call them in the morning perhaps? I’m sure they’d appreciate that. Meanwhile, we need to ask you as few questions. But only if you’re quite sure you’re feeling up to it. We can come back in the morning if you like?””

      “Feeling up to it?" Oh, yes, I am. I am, really. I want to help all I can, of course I do.  I can’t think what came over me earlier. You must forgive me. There’s just so much to take in, you see, so much to…take in.” She could feel her self-control starting to fold but took several deep breaths and quickly rallied.  “Now, how can I help you?”

      “Take your time,” the sergeant told her reassuringly, “and tell us everything you can remember about this afternoon, from start to finish, however unimportant it may seem.”

      Distraught though she was, Anne was relieved to oblige. Again, she found it perversely easy to talk about Lynette and Owen and their trip to Lewes. It had to be better than speculating about the body Kirk Spencer had dug up only hours before in Owen Shepherd’s shrubbery.

She remained sitting on the edge of the bed. The sergeant sat in a chair next to her, occasionally taking notes as she spoke. The grim-faced WPC had positioned herself by the door.  Nor was it so much the interview as the constable’s relentless shifting impatiently from one foot to the other for the duration that dragged on Anne’s already frayed nerves.

…………………………………..

“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Owen Shepherd protested. Two plainclothes detectives wearing dour expressions confronted him across a bare table in a stuffy, poorly lit interview room at Brighton police station. “I have no idea where Lynette Taylor could be. The last time I saw her, she was heading for the lift in the hotel lobby where her parents are staying. Why don’t you ask them? They must know, surely?”

     “It was they who reported her missing, remember?” one officer responded with a sardonic smile that made Owen’s flesh crawl.

      “So why didn’t you go with her?” the other demanded for the umpteenth time, “Why not deliver her to the parents yourself, make sure she arrived safely?”

      “I had no reason to believe she wouldn’t arrive safely,” retorted Owen, “and I’ve already told you why I didn’t want to see the parents. Her father doesn’t like me.”

      “I wonder why?” the first officer murmured in a tone heavy with innuendo.

      “I want a solicitor,” Owen mumbled unhappily.

      “The duty solicitor is on his way,” the first office growled.

       “Look, why not make it easier on yourself and just be straight with us…” the second officer reiterated.

It was a very frightened Owen that glared into a round face, almost as shiny as the high forehead and balding pate above an arch of incongruously bushy eyebrows. A pink tongue kept licking at full, feminine lips. Wearily, Owen closed his eyes. But to no avail. The image pursued him, dangling in his mind’s eye like a grotesque parody of the Cheshire cat in Lewis Carroll’s classic tale.

      He had called in at a corner shop to buy some tea bags and bread after leaving Anne and Lynette then gone straight home. “Mother, it’s me!” He had opened his mouth to shout the usual greeting, before remembering…

       It had been a wonderful day. He had always enjoyed Anne’s company and the little girl, Lynette, was a joy. Worried that Anne was becoming too attached to the girl, he had nevertheless put his concerns to one side and, yes, it had been a wonderful day. The house, by comparison, was oppressive. Even watching a favourite soap on TV could not assuage a sense of abandonment; a feeling, he was inclined to judge, even more engulfing than loneliness. So when the doorbell rang, he had answered it with a spring in his step, expecting Anne. To his surprise, Lynette stood on the doorstep somehow managing to look determined and distressed at the same time.

      “Please, Grandpa Owen, can I come in?”

      “Of course you can. I can’t keep my favourite little girl standing on the doorstep, can I? He showed her into the sitting room, went to turn off the TV and thought better of it as he saw her glance at the screen and caught the glimmer of a smile. “Can I get you anything? A sandwich, a cup of tea?” he felt awkward, had no idea how to talk to children. I wish Anne was here. She was good with children and had given him the confidence to establish a good rapport with the child on previous occasions.

      “Have you got any sparkling mineral water?”

      Owen nodded and went to the fridge, Lynette trailing behind. They sat at the kitchen table and drank. He wasn’t thirsty but it was something to do while he struggled for something to say. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit young lady?”

      Lynette scowled. She liked Grandpa Owen but hated being patronised. “I couldn’t remember the name of Grandma Anne’s hotel so I came here instead,” she announced gravely.  “I remembered the way, you see,” she added with a glow of pride in her face that made Owen smile.

      “Do your parents know you’re here?”

      “Not likely! They’ll throw a wobbly when they realise I’ve left the hotel. Serve them right. I am so fed-up with their quarrelling all the time. I couldn’t stand it any more, you see. Can I stay here tonight?”

      Owen began to panic. “Your parents will be worried sick. What’s your mother’s mobile number? I must call her at once.”

      “I can’t remember,” Lynette told him, drained her glass and went to the fridge to fetch a half empty two-litre bottle without asking.

      “I’ll have to call the hotel then,” muttered Owen.

     “There’s no need,” said Lynette, “I expect they will still be arguing. I doubt whether they will even have noticed I’ve gone. I can find my own way back. But I’d much rather stay here with you,” she added.

      The hotel number was engaged.

     “Well, you can’t,” said Owen with growing consternation, “I’ll take you back to the hotel myself. You shouldn’t have come here.”

      “Why?” Lynette wanted to know, “I wanted to see the hens. You too, of course,” she added hastily. “Can we go and see them now? I expect they’ll be asleep but I’ll be ever so quiet, I promise.”

       “Well, alright, but only if you also promise to let me take you back to your hotel immediately afterwards.”

       “Okay.” Lynette scrambled down from her chair and together they went into the garden.

Time flew, as it does. By the time the pair had arrived at Hillcrest it was already getting late. “Can you make your own way from here?” Owen asked as they paused just inside the lobby entrance.

      “Of course I can. But don’t you want to see Mummy and Daddy? Oh, sorry, I forgot. Daddy doesn’t like you, does he? Mummy does, though and she’d love to see you, I know she would. Daddy’s probably in the bar by now, anyway,” she told him with all the precocious wisdom of a ten year-old.

      “Let’s say goodbye here, okay, just to be on the safe side? We don’t want to start another argument, do we?”

      “Okay.” Lynette shrugged, resigned to not getting her own way, and then held up both arms while he bent his head to receive a kiss on the cheek. The arms lingered around his neck and he couldn’t help but wish, as he often had, that he’d married and had children of his own.

       Lynette ran towards the lift.

      Owen had not gone straight home this time but taken a leisurely stroll along the promenade. Twilight was already fading. The sea resembled a green tablecloth edged with white lace where it lapped at the pebbled shore. There were lots of people about. Men, women, children, noisy teenagers…they all provided company of sorts and succeeded in lifting his spirits far more than any soap opera. This was real life, after all, he reminded himself with a wry smile.

      At the peace statue, he stood a while, watching the setting sun paint and re-paint the angel’s wings in various shades of pink and gold, its orb and olive branch held out wistfully, or so it seemed to him, but in vain since no one but himself was taking any notice.

      His thoughts turned to Iraq, Afghanistan. “Fat chance of peace in the world!” he muttered, felt suddenly maudlin and proceeded to make his way home with brisk, determined strides in a desperate attempt to shrug off a rapidly descending spiral of discontent.

      The police had been waiting for him...

      “You were the last person to see the child,” Baldy was saying.

      “Why should she come to see you in the first place?” snapped the colleague.

      “You were seen in the hotel lobby with her…”

      “I told you, I took her back to the hotel myself,” Owen sobbed.

      “Took her back or went there to fetch her?”

      “Where is she, Shepherd? Where is Lynette Taylor?”

      “I don’t know!” Owen screamed.

      “You’re lying.”

      “I’m not!” Why should I lie?”

      “You tell us…”

      “Whose body did you bury in the garden?” Baldy flung at him abruptly.

      “I don’t know anything about that, I swear.”

      “Is it Patricia Gates? Did you abduct her too?”

      “No!”

      “Like little girls, do you?” the first officer asked in a deceptively mild voice.

      “Yes. That is, no…not in the way you mean.”

      “Oh, and what way would that be?”

      “I want a solicitor,” Owen groaned. But the interrogation did not let up.

      “Did you kill Patricia Gates?” Baldy demanded.

      “No!”

     “Where is Lynette Taylor? Have you killed her too? Rape her first, did you?” The first officer made no attempt to conceal his disgust.

      “No, no!” Owen Shepherd placed both hands on the table and partly rose from his chair, looking first one then the other officer full in the face. “I last saw Lynette at Hillcrest going towards the lift. I have not abducted anyone. I know nothing about any body in my garden. Nothing, do you hear? Nothing, nothing, nothing! I am innocent. Why won’t you believe me?”

      “Suppose you tell us the truth? Then we just might,” Baldy shouted.

      “Where is Lynette Taylor?” his colleague yelled.

      Owen Shepherd closed his eyes again and willed the nightmare to end. He was back at the peace statue. Suddenly, the angel took flight. He was on its back, being carried far, far, away into a warm, comforting darkness. In the distance, he could see a pinpoint of golden light. As they approached it, he saw that it was the angel’s orb. What is that doing here? What am I doing here? How did it get here?  How did I get here? Dear God, why me, why me? Suddenly, he was past caring, not afraid any more. Relax, Owen, relax. It’s not as if Mother would ever let anyone hurt you. 

      “Shit! The bastard’s fainted!” exclaimed Baldy.

To be continued on Monday.

Like There's No Tomorrow - Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Do you recognize this?” a young policewoman showed Anne a filthy piece of red and yellow rag.

Anne shook her head and looked away in horror. She did not need to be told where it had been found.

      “Are you sure?”

      Anne forced herself to look again, more closely this time. Beneath the dirt and mud, she could just make out spots that might once have been yellow.“Patricia was wearing red and yellow polka dot pyjamas,” she managed to whisper. “You don’t have to stay,” she added. more forcefully. “In fact, I’d much rather you didn’t. Besides, you and your colleague must have other things you need to be getting on with.”

“I’m happy to stay. But if you’d really rather I didn’t…” the WPC hesitated then produced a card and handed it to Anne. “Call me any time. We’ll let you know the minute we have a positive identification.”

Anne paled, nodded and instantly sat down.

They were in her room at The Orion, the kind policewoman, a male colleague, Charley Briggs and herself. She wished they would all go away and leave her alone.

“What about Owen Shepherd?” Charley wanted to know.

“My colleagues are at his house now. We’ll need to question him, obviously.”

“Obviously,” boomed Charley in a self-satisfied manner that grated on Anne’s nerves.

The two police officers left.

“A nice woman,” Charley commented as she returned to a chair next to the bed. “He didn’t have much to say for himself though. Mind you, that’s men for you, not much help in a crisis.”

“Yes, she was nice,” Anne absently agreed.

Charley regarded her friend with dismay. “Poor Anne, all this must be such a shock. I don’t know what to say. But if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, you know you only have to ask.”

Anne glanced wearily at her companion. “It seems to me that you’ve said and done more than enough already,” she remarked, the words spoken softly but with an unmistakeably accusing edge.

“What else could I do but go to the police?” Charley shifted uncomfortably in the wicker chair, “We’d found a body, after all…” she protested.

“Yes, a body…” Anne closed her eyes.

“One thing led to another. I got carried away. Spence warned me not to interfere. I took no notice, Charley always knows best,” she cried with self-deprecating candour, “I didn’t mean any harm by it, honestly I didn’t.  But I couldn’t just sit back and do nothing, could I, not once my suspicions were aroused? If you must know, I was frightened. Not for myself, you understand, but for you. I mean to say…well…who knows what Owen Shepherd might do next? Oh, that man! To think he has pretended to be your friend all these years, and all the time…”

Anne sat up. “And all the time, what…?  For your information, he has been a good friend. No pretence there, I can assure you. As for what he’s supposed to have done, he deserves the benefit of doubt, surely?”

“What doubt?” Charley demanded, “What conceivable doubt can there be when a body is discovered at the bottom of his garden? How can you defend him, Anne, you of all people?”

“I’m not defending him, I’m just…”

“Giving him the benefit of doubt, so you said,” interjected Charley irritably. She took a deep breath. Poor Anne was in shock, she reminded herself, and immediately adopted a gentler tone. “Time will tell. We must wait and see. You’re quite right of course. We mustn’t judge Owen too harshly until we hear what he has to say for himself. I have to say, Anne, your loyalty does you credit. If I were in your shoes, I’d be howling for blood.”

“And what good would that do? Would it change anything? No. Would you prefer I got hysterical?  Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. Oh, I can do hysterical. I had plenty of practise years ago. I could have made everyone happy and become a bitter, twisted woman. Instead, I decided to get on with my life as best I could, no matter if people think I’m weird.” Charley started to protest but Anne continued in the same quiet, chilling voice. “Oh, yes, they thought that and worse. My husband, friends, they all thought I was deluded, making out as if nothing had happened. As if nothing had happened! Did they really think I could forget I ever had a daughter?” Anne got up and went to the bay window. “One by one, they made more and more pathetic excuses to avoid me. I embarrassed them, you see.” She rounded angrily on Charley. “Would I have embarrassed them any less if I’d stayed a nervous wreck, I wonder? Oh, yes, I do that too. Believe me. I do nervous wreck to perfection.”

“You’re upset,” Charley murmured, wishing that Spence were there to give her moral support. “I’m so sorry, I really am. It was that damn letter, the one Alice Shepherd wrote to Fern McAllister. It made me curious and…well…”

“We all know curiosity what did,” said Anne.

“It’s for the best, surely?  If it turns out to be Patricia, and the chances are it will, at least now you can give the poor child a proper funeral, say goodbye,” adding as an afterthought, “Maybe Owen will do the decent thing and let Fern McAllister do the same for poor Carrie, now he has nothing to lose…”

“Once she’s finished dancing on Alice Shepherd’s grave,” Anne retorted, “She obviously has it in for Owen.”

“Can you blame her?”

“Did Alice know, I wonder? Maybe that’s what she meant when she told me she was frightened for him, why she kept him on such a tight leash all those years. Oh, poor Owen…!”

“Poor Owen, my foot…!”  Charley heaved herself out of the chair. “You have to face facts, Anne. The man is…”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Anne fumed, “but you don’t care about that, do you? All you care about is being right. Not just about Owen, either. You’re right and everyone else is wrong, so they can go to hell. I saw it in your eyes the first time we met. I can see it now, just as I saw it in Fern McAllister’s yesterday. God forbid the pair of you should ever be in the wrong.”

“You saw Fern McAllister yesterday?” Charley was intrigued in spite of the character assassination to which she was being subjected. Poor Anne was in shock, after all.

“Owen and I bumped into her and Bob Cartwright in Lewes. She could hardly bear to look at Owen.”

“Can you blame her?” Charley fought to keep her temper. “So have they got back together again, Fern McAllister and Cartwright? How weird, and after all this time...

“I didn’t get that impression. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other. It’s none of my business or yours.”

Charley blushed at the jibe. “I think I had better go.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“If there’s anything, anything at all…”

Anne crossed to the door and held it open. Charley left, close to tears. Anne shut the door and returned to the bay window.

Although early evening still, the beach was still crowded. The tide was going out. Watching a gentle rise and fall of waves leaving behind stretches of almost pebble-free sand, she could but wish much the same for the worst thoughts and feelings rushing at her from all directions. How could she expect Charley, or anyone else for that matter, to understand? If she believed Owen capable of…evil…” She shuddered. What did that say about her instincts, not to mention her judgement or her fondness for Owen Shepherd all these years? “Can I really have been such a blind fool all this time?” she demanded of her shadow on the opposite wall.

Another knock at the door made her jump.

On this occasion, it was Mel Harvey, in panic mode. “It isn’t true, is it? Tell me it isn’t true. It can’t be true!”

“Come in,” said Anne.

“This is terrible. You know how bad news travels fast. The place will be swarming with reporters in no time. I don’t think I can bear to go though all that again.  The police can’t honestly think Owen would do such a thing, can they? The whole idea is outrageous. Owen wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone…”

“They seem to think the body discovered in Owen’s garden is that of a child,” Anne felt obliged to tell the hotelier, “We’ve yet to wait for a positive identification. As for Owen, the police will want to question him of course.”

“But he couldn’t have…done that…could he? You can’t really think he could have…?”

“Abducted my daughter, killed her and hid her body in his shrubbery?  I really have no idea. Innocent until proven guilty, isn’t that what the law says?” Oh, yes, innocent until proven guilty? Who am I kidding? Of course the man’s guilty. How could I have been so stupid, so wrong all these years? You fool, Gates, you stupid, stupid fool.

“That’s all very well but…it doesn’t look good, does it…for Owen, I mean? Joe will go ballistic when he finds out. It isn’t easy, you know, running a small hotel. Guests think it’s a piece of cake and people like Joe and me are raking in the profits. The truth is we barely make ends meet. And now…the publicity could ruin us.”

“It didn’t ruin you twenty-three years ago,” Anne pointed out, “So why should it do so now? A spot of notoriety will probably see bookings soar. You survived before, and you’ll survive again, just as we all will, one way or another.”

“How can you be so…calm?”

Before Anne could answer, there was another knock at the door and the young policewoman re-entered the room without waiting to be asked. She looked directly at Anne, frowning. Anne’s heart skipped a beat. “Sorry to intrude again, but it seems my colleagues haven’t been able to track down Mr Shepherd. Apparently, he’s not at home. Do you have any idea where he might be?”

A wave of nausea almost knocked Anne off her feet. “I have no idea,” she managed to say, swallowing bile. “But he doesn’t have the use of his van at the moment so I’m sure he won’t have gone far. He’ll probably be home soon.”

“Let’s hope so,” said the WPC sternly and left the room without another word, leaving Anne to review her previous impression of the young constable.

“You don’t think Owen has gone on the run, do you?”  Mel Harvey became excited. “I mean to say, if that isn’t an admission of guilt, what is?”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Anne reminded her dryly, “Now, if you don’t mind. I’d like to lie down for a while.” She gestured towards the door.

Mel Harvey was quick to take the hint. “Feel free to call my extension any time, day or night,” she assured the guest she’d had thought of as a friend for years. But Anne was in the queerest mood. It seemed kinder to leave her alone, for now at least. Deep in thought, she inadvertently left the door ajar as she exited and headed for the stairs (she hated lifts).

Anne went and closed the door. Again, she crossed to the bay window. On this occasion, though, she could not bear to contemplate its splendid view.  Instead, she closed the curtains and was soon stretched out on the bed again, wondering where on earth Owen could be?

The telephone rang. It was Mel Harvey. “Shall I call a doctor? A sedative might help…until we know for certain…”

Anne replaced the receiver sharply.  Immediately, she regretted it but ruled out calling the hotelier back. Mel meant well. People invariably did. Even so, she had been hooked on sedatives for years and wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

She closed her eyes but could only see that filthy piece of red rag the young policewoman had shown her, faded spots barely visible beneath the grime. They may not have been yellow, after all, she reminded herself. It had been barely possible to tell. Nor could she be sure it was Patricia’s body they had found. But what if it was? What if it was her Patricia left to rot in a grave at the bottom of Owen Shepherd’s garden?

Will they expect me to view the remains? Without any promoting, her legs made a frantic dash for the toilet, reaching the hand basin just in time for her to be violently sick. Later, dry -eyed, she followed the slow progress of a fly across the ceiling.

What is the matter with me? Why can’t I cry? Why don’t I feel anything?  Has it really come to this? Have I become so dried up a creature of habit that, after all this time, I can’t even take pleasure in any sense of an ending? But what am I saying? What ending? There can be none. All we can do is wake up in the morning, go to bed at night and try to make the in-between as bearable as possible. And what of Owen, what would become of him? “What of Owen?” she repeated aloud and continued to address the fly. “It can’t be true. It just can’t...can it?” But her eyes closed of their own accord and she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

The fly, oblivious to the woman’s despair, flew to the bay window, fond a chink in the curtains and escaped into the sunshine.

Woken by the sound of her mobile phone ringing shrilly in her ear, Anne groped for it on the table beside the bed. “Yes?”

“It’s Cathy. I’m just calling to let you know I’m on my way. I hope Lynette hasn’t been any trouble. It’s very naughty of her to foist herself on you like this. Steve and I had no idea. We’ve only just found out…”

“Lynette? Found out what?” Anne struggled to regain her senses.

“The porter told us she was coming to see you. It really is too bad. But I’m on my way, so...”

“But…”

“Steve and I had an almighty row, you see. Lynette must have heard us and that’s what decided her to take herself off like that. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“But…I haven’t seen Lynette. Not since I saw you earlier. She certainly isn’t with me.” An ominous silence followed. “Cathy? Cathy, are you still there?”

“You’ve not seen Lynette at all?” Steve Taylor’s voice crackled down the network.

“Well, no, not since...”

“So where the hell is she?” he interrupted, and she could hear the rising panic in his voice. “The receptionist thinks she may have seen her leaving the hotel with a man I can only assume was Owen Shepherd. Oh, yes, I know all about your little caper this afternoon so there’s no need to act the innocent about Shepherd.”

Anne swallowed the protest on her lips with some difficulty. “The receptionist must be mistaken. Why would Owen go to Hillcrest? He went home specifically to avoid seeing you. Better be safe than sorry, I told him, given that nasty temper of yours, Steve Taylor. She’s probably with that little friend of hers at the hotel. Now, what did she say the child’s name was…?”

“You could be right. Kids, eh? They have all the fun while you worry yourself sick.”

“You will let me know when…?” But the phone was already dead. Anne swung her legs over one side of the bed and proceeded to pace the room in utter consternation. She must have tried calling Cathy’s mobile number twenty times. The result was always the same, an irritating female voice suggesting she leave a message after the tone. In desperation, she went and knocked on Charley Briggs’ door. It was Spence, however, who answered. “Is Charley there? I need to speak to her. Something awful has happened. That is, I don’t know yet. I can’t be sure. Cathy phoned. It’s Lynette. Steve thinks Owen and Lynette…” She burst into tears. 

Glad of Spence’s comforting arm around her trembling shoulders, Anne let him guide her to a chair. Nor did it even occur to her to decline a generous portion of brandy he insisted she drink a short time afterwards 

“You mustn’t worry about Lynette. She’s a sensible kid. You know how kids are when they hear the parents arguing. They take off. I did that myself when I was her age. Well, maybe a bit older but Lynette’s very mature for her age. So stop worrying. You have more than enough on your plate right now. Take it from me, Lynette will be fine. I’m sure Cathy will call again if there’s any need. She’s probably giving Lynette a big hug and a telling off even as we speak.”

“I suppose so,” Anne responded wearily.

“I know so,” said Spence with a self-confidence she envied. “Look, about this other business, I can only guess what you’re going through. I’m only sorry I didn’t stop Charley in her tracks before things got this far. If there’s anything I can do to help, anything at all…”

Anne hastily collected herself. The brandy helped. “Where’s is Charley?”

“She’s at the hairdresser’s.”

“But she only went a few days ago.”

“Yes, well, you know Charley. She likes to make sure she’s looking good. Besides, it’s her favourite therapy, especially when she’s feeling hard done by,” he added with a grin that Anne found curiously reassuring.

Anne glanced at her watch. “It’s nearly eight o’clock.”  It struck her, irrelevantly, that she had missed dinner.

“Let’s face it, just about everywhere stays open late at this time of year. They need the tourist trade, I guess.” Spence observed. “Look, Anne, if I can help in any way just say the word. I feel sort of responsible. If I hadn’t let Charley persuade me to dig up that grave…”

“A child’s body would never have been found,” she reminded him bluntly.

“Yes, but…”

“Would you mind terribly, walking me to Owen’s flat? I can’t face waiting around for a bus and, to be honest, I don’t want to go on my own.”

“We’ll take my car." 

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I thought a walk might do me good.”

“It’s no trouble,” he assured her, “and, if you don’ mind my saying so, those pins of yours look on the shaky side to me.”

“Well, perhaps, if you’re sure…” she flashed him a grateful smile and was rewarded by a confident grin.

 “You’re very kind.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he told her then, “Will we be able to get in once we get there? I mean…the police…they’ll have sealed the place off by now and taken Owen in for questioning…” His voice tailed off miserably, confidence visibly ebbing fast.

“We have to try, please.” Her eyes focused pleadingly on the handsome face, its broad grin still in place but reminiscent of a waxwork model she’d seen only recently in a shop window.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh?” He grabbed his car keys, reached out a hand and was reassured by the sureness of her grip. She was tougher than she looked, Anne Gates.

Meanwhile, Owen Shepherd was being grilled at the police station. Moreover, not only about a body found in his garden but also concerning the whereabouts of Lynette Taylor, aged ten years, reported as missing by the child’s distraught parents within the past half hour.

To be continued on Monday.