CHAPTER TWELVE
They got lost in Bristol several times. Eventually, Spence stopped the car and asked a young man with dreadlocks, who was able to give precise directions.
Not only did they find Fennimore Street but were also able to park outside number fourteen. Charley took one look at various For Sale signs by the gate and swore loudly. “Now what do we do?” she demanded exasperatedly of Spence who had already removed his seat belt.
We try next door,” said Spence coolly, “Someone must know something.”
“But who, and what?” she groaned, “It’s a long road.”
“We won’t know unless we ask so the sooner we get started the better,” Spence pointed out with an irritating cheerfulness that gave Charley an excuse to swear again while wrestling - as she always did - with her seat belt.
There was no reply from the semi-detached next door. They had to ring three more doorbells before anyone answered. “Dear me, no, the McAllisters left years ago, not long after it happened,” an elderly woman told them, “Well, you couldn’t really expect them to stay in that house, could you? I mean to say, it was so awful, wasn’t it? I’m afraid I’ve no idea where they went. Fern McAllister is a friend of yours, did you say?”
“Not a friend as such,” Charley felt obliged to say, “but we do need to contact her urgently.”
“Number fourteen is the only address we have,” Spence explained. He gave the woman a dazzling smile before adding, “What ‘happened’ exactly?”
“You don’t know?” She regarded them with frank suspicion, “You’re not the press are you? I’ve nothing to say, nothing at all.” She was already closing the door.
“We’re not the press,” Spence assured her, “we just need to get in touch with Fern McAllister.”
The gap was still closing.
The woman peered out at them. “You could try Sally Hunter at number twelve opposite, the one with the gate nearly off its hinges. Her Craig and Stuart McAllister went to school together. They may have kept in touch, I wouldn’t know.”
“Thank you,” said Spence, but the door had already clicked firmly shut.
“Well, what do you make of that?” Charley demanded.
“Not a lot,” Spence replied in a matter-of-fact tone that infuriated her.
“What do you mean, not a lot?” she cried. “It proves I was right. Fern McAllister is woman with a past.”
“So?”
“So once we find out what it is that links her with Owen Shepherd, we can…” her voice trailed off.
“We can what?” Spence stopped and confronted her. “What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my sweet?”
“One step at a time,” she muttered. “Let’s see what Sally Hunter has to say then maybe we’ll have a clearer picture.”
Charley hurried on.
Spence watched her cross the road with a despairing expression. At first he’d thought it might be fun to humour her. Now he was not so sure. Charley, bit between teeth about whatever, was a sight to behold. In the past, it had always provided a few laughs. So why should he think this occasion might turn out differently? He chuckled and felt better for it. Maybe it will be okay and I’m getting my knickers in a twist over nothing. Maybe... So why do I have this bad feeling in my gut? Oh, well, in for a penny… Spence told himself philosophically and ran after Charley. He caught up with her, only to be treated to a smile that struck him as more than a trifle patronising. He refused to take it to heart. Charley could act that way sometimes. She didn’t mean anything by it…or so he liked to believe. He found himself hoping Sally Hunter would be out.
Following Charley past the broken gate then having to negotiate some uneven paving that led to a garishly painted front door, Spence could not shrug off the feeling that they were treading on thin ice. It evaporated the instant the front door was opened by an attractive blonde woman he took to be the wrong side of fifty but exuding a good deal more sensuality than many women half her age.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“We’re trying to track down Fern McAllister,” said Spence before Charley could get a word in. “We believe your son knew hers and you or he might have some idea where they’ve gone. It’s frightfully important,” he added with an appreciative smile. “We’d be so grateful if you can help us in any way.” He held out his hand. “I’m Kirk Spencer, by the way and this is Charley Briggs.”
“How do you do,” said Charley stiffly after the woman had nursed Spence’s hand in hers for several minutes, undressed him with a single raised eyebrow and plainly liked what she saw.
“I might be able to help you,” Sally Hunter agreed.
“Might is no good,’ Charley told her. ‘Either you can or you can’t. If you can’t, we’ll find someone who can. Come on, Spence, we’re wasting our time here.”
“Hang on a minute,” Spence insisted then turned to the Hunter woman. “You do know something, don’t you? I can see it in those gorgeous eyes of yours. That pretty dimple on your cheek is behaving very suspiciously too. Am I right or am I right?”
“You’re right, you cheeky devil,” Sally Hunter laughed, “so I suppose you had better come in. Would you like a cup of tea, coffee, or something stronger?”
“I’m driving,” Spence told her with an expression of mock dismay, “or I’d take you up on the offer of something stronger…” he assured her with a twinkle in each eye that was returned in good measure.
“A cup of tea would be very nice,” said Charley frostily.
“Come through into the kitchen. We can chat while I put the kettle on.” Sally Hunter’s invitation was directed at Spence.
Charley, too, wasted no time following them. The woman plainly fancied the pants off Spence. She tried telling herself that she should feel flattered. He was her man, after all, not the Hunter woman’s. Even so, she recognized a kindred spirit in Sally Hunter. Certainly, she could not deny the woman positively oozed sensuality. It should have made her feel better disposed towards the woman, Charley reasoned. But the truth of the matter was it didn’t.
“My Craig and Stuart McAllister were best mates for years,” Sally Hunter was saying as she opened a cupboard, retrieved three mugs from a cupboard and handed them to Spence. “Put those on the table, dearie, will you? Mugs okay are they? I’ll never know why some people prefer cups. Mugs are much more user-friendly, don’t you think?”
Spence agreed, grinning, aware that Charley was looking on disapprovingly.
Later, though, Charley began to thaw. Sally Hunter plainly loved to gossip. Her revelations about the McAllister family sent shivers up and down her spine. Charley could scarcely contain either her curiosity or delight. Let her flirt with Spence, what did she care? Besides, Spence was no fool. He must have realized the long eyelashes and fingernails painted a sickly shade of green were false. So too, probably, the huge breasts and she was certain the blonde hair was a wig. Not bad legs though, she had to admit, given that the woman must be pushing sixty.
“Stuart was a nice boy,” Sally Hunter told them, “but he went off the rails a bit after what happened. Everyone put it down to shock. But you don’t stay in shock for years, do you? Maybe he would have turned out a bad ’un anyway. You just don’t know, do you? I mean…well, some kids are bad news from the time they’re born aren’t they? She paused to take several sips at her tea.”
“So what happened, exactly?” Spence asked.
“You really don’t know? But I thought you were friends of Fern’s?” Her manner changed and she got angry. “Just who are you? You wouldn’t be taking the piss by any chance, would you? I’m warning you, I don’t take kindly folks who…”
“We’ve always known there was something dreadful in Fern’s past,” Charley interrupted smoothly, “but she never talks about it.”
Sally Hunter appeared mollified and drank more tea. When she spoke again, it was in much the same tone of someone trying to convey sympathy while relishing the enjoyment of imparting bad news. “It was terrible, dreadful. The McAllisters had two children, a boy and a girl. Stuart would have been about thirteen and Carrie coming up for eleven. Well…one day Carrie didn’t come home from school. Fern and Bob were in a right state, as you can imagine…”
“Bob was her husband?” Charley was anxious to establish the facts.
“Goodness me, no, but she took up with him not long after she and the kids moved in so I suppose you’d say he was her partner. They seemed happy enough. Mind you, the police gave him a hard time after little Carrie disappeared. Oh, but didn’t they just? Questioned him for days, they did. They had to let him go in the end though. No proof, you see. He and Fern split up not long afterwards. The last anyone heard, he’d settled down with someone up North. Not that I ever suspected the man myself, you understand. He struck me as a decent enough bloke. Thought the world of Fern, he did, the kids too.” She noisily drank more tea.
“Did they ever find the little girl?” Charley asked with growing impatience.
Sally Hunter shook her head. “No one ever set eyes on the poor little mite again. Not to this day, as far as I know. Terrible it was, just terrible. My Craig was very good to young Stuart. Very supportive, he was. But it’s like I said. Stuart went of the rails. My Craig, though, he’s a good lad. He wasn’t having any truck with anything like that. At first it was just the occasional shoplifting but he got in with a bad crowd, did Stuart McAllister. Ended up in a young offender’s institution he did, for armed robbery, no less. Poor Fern, first she loses one child then the other, not to mention the partner. Such a handsome man he was too, that Bob…”
“Perhaps you knew another friend of ours, Owen, who lived around here in those days?” Charley ventured, “He lived with his mother.”
“Another cup of tea, dearie?” their hostess asked Spence, seeing that he had drained his mug. Ignoring a warning glance from Charley he nodded. Nor did he mind too much as the hand taking his mug clasped rather than brushed against his own a fraction longer that was necessary. He winked at her. She winked back. Charley saw the exchange and fumed inwardly. The woman took the mug from Spence and turned to Charley with a knowing grin. “More tea…?” Charley would have liked to tell the woman where to stick her tea. But she was thirsty. Instead, therefore, she had to settle for pursed lips and an ungracious nod. Sally Hunter gave a little titter and took her time pouring them all more tea from a brown enamel teapot.
“Now, where was I?” Sally Hunter sat down at the table again.
“Owen Shepherd and his mother, you knew them?” Charley sipped at her tea and tried to sound nonchalant.
“Oh, yes, I knew them alright. Alice King was like a surrogate mother to Fern. As for Bob and Owen, thick as thieves they were. I’d say just they were well known to just about everybody, not least the police. Owen, that is. But maybe I shouldn’t say, what with his being a friend of yours…”
“More of an acquaintance,” Spence hastily enlightened her.
”Well…it was a rum do and no mistake. It turned out that Owen King had once been questioned about an assault on a young girl near where he and his mother lived before. That’s why they moved here, you see. It was in all the papers. Apparently, he was never charged. But it makes you think, doesn’t it? It certainly made poor Fern McAllister think, believe you me. She and Alice King were good friends, you see. No surprises there, since they lived next door to one another. But after Carrie disappeared and it all came out about Owen…Well, not a good word passed between the pair of them ever again. Can you wonder? I mean to say…Would you have wanted anything to do with the Kings after that? Guilty as hell, he was, if you ask me. Written all over his face, it was. Nothing ever came of it, though, and they moved away about a year later. He was a nasty piece of work, Owen King. The heavily pencilled eyes on Charley narrowed with renewed suspicion. “Why are you so the interested in him anyway?
“He’s just an acquaintance,” Spence repeated, “We met him while we staying at a hotel somewhere. I can’t even remember where now. He lived nearby, seemed a nice enough bloke.”
“Which is more than can be said for the mother,” Charley could not resist adding.
“Alice King was a good sort,” Sally Hunter contradicted sharply. “Shrewd, she was too. There were no flies on Alice. You can ask anyone. But she had a blind spot where that son of hers was concerned. Doted on Owen, she did, poor cow. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I dote on my Craig. But you have to keep a sense of proportion, don’t you? You have to let them go, for a start. It’s like they say, kids with domineering parents are likely to end up as fucked up as Lucifer. Not my Craig, though. No way. But how come you’re so interested in the Kings? I thought it was the McAllisters you were after?”
“No one is ‘after’ anyone,” Spence reassured her, “Charley only mentioned Owen in passing. Didn’t you, my sweet?” Charley nodded.
“Huh! In passing, my eye…” Sally Hunter was sceptical. “But whatever your little game is, it’s no skin off my nose. Just don’t take me for a fool, okay? As for the McAllisters,” she went on without waiting for a reply, “I haven’t a clue where they are now. Frankly, I don’t give a toss either. That Stuart only wanted my Craig to give him an alibi, the little toe rag. As for Fern, well, I felt sorry for her, as anyone would. But she was a stuck up bitch, if you want the truth. How Alice King ever took a fancy to her the way she did, heaven only knows. More tea anyone…?”
Spence shook his head.
Charley rose to leave. “There’s no way your Craig might know where we might find Fern?” she felt compelled to press Sally Hunter.
“If he knew, I’d know. But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask him when I see him. How can I contact you?”
“Here’s my card,” Spence produced one from his wallet and handed it to her.
“Well, well, my luck is in. It’s been a while since a handsome young man gave me his phone number.”
“It’s my mobile number. Call me any time,” said Spence and winked again.
“Don’t worry, dearie, I shall,” Sally Hunter giggled and returned the wink.
“Only if you have any news for us of course,” added Charley icily.
“Why, dearie, of course. It’s not as if I’d have any other reason, is it?” the other woman responded cheerfully and with such an overtly lusty wink at Spence that he laughed outright. Nor did a warning look from Charley have the desired effect. Soon, he and Sally Hunter were rolling about the kitchen in fits of laughter and finally fell into each other’s arms.
"When you two have quite finished…” Charley declared.
“Sorry dearie,” Sally Hunter apologized, producing a tissue wiping tears from her eyes, “but you have to laugh, don’t you? He’s a card this one, and no mistake. If you ever finish with him, send him to me” She caught Spence’s eye and the pair of them went into a second bout of raucous laughter.
Charley had heard enough and saw herself out. Even after she had managed to fasten her seat belt, it was a good five minutes before Spence arrived, grinning broadly. “Did you have to be so…juvenile?” she demanded.
“Come off it, my sweet. Your high horse, that is. Surely you could see she was winding you up? A good thing for me she was, too. Her husband might have taken the same dim view of things as you did.”
“Husband…?”
“Married all of thirty years apparently, she told me so herself. You have to admit she wears well for a fifty-something. But that’s what having a man around does for a woman. It keeps her youthful and desirable, like you, my sweet.” He leaned across and kissed her on the mouth.
“Don’t flatter yourself. If I manage to stay youthful and desirable, it has more to do with a healthy approach to life and damn all to do with you,” she murmured in his ear but with a throaty chuckle that told him he was all but forgiven for playing along with the engaging, not to mention voluptuous, Mrs Hunter. She sighed, pushing him gently away. “How are we going to tell Anne?”
“Why should Anne be interested in Sally Hunter?”
“Now you’re being obstreperous.”
“I might well be if I knew how to spell it,” commented Spence wryly.
“Be serious, Spence. Obviously, we have to tell Anne what we now know about Owen Shepherd. Not only is he masquerading under a false name but he clearly has something to hide.”
“She knows about change of the name business,” Spence pointed out, “It was in the letter. It didn’t seem to bother her unduly then so why should it now?”
“But she doesn’t know the rest, about the other little girl, Carol, who went missing.”
“Carrie,” Spence corrected her.
“What?”
“The little girl’s name was Carrie, short for Caroline I presume,” he added inconsequentially.
“Oh.”
“And we don’t know that Owen had anything to with the child’s disappearance.” Spence reminded her.
“Sally Hunter plainly thought so.”
“The police obviously didn’t or they would have charged him. Besides, Sally Hunter is a gossipy mare. You, my sweet, have more sense than to start accusing anyone without a shred of evidence against them.”
“I’m not accusing him of anything. I’m just saying that Anne has a right to know.”
“She may know already.”
“Come off it, Spence, even you can do better than that. Her daughter disappeared, for heaven’s sake. Do you honestly think she’d want anything to do with a man who’s been questioned by the police about the abduction of another child?”
“I suppose not,” admitted Spence, “But I forbid you to say a word of this to Anne. Do you hear me? I absolutely forbid it.”
“She has a right to know,” Charley argued.
“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“She has a right to know,” Charley insisted.
“Oh, yes? And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what is she supposed to do with the information? It’s not even information, just gossip. You’ve seen them together. She clearly thinks a lot of Owen and it’s obvious he’s potty about her. Why ruin a beautiful friendship between two very nice people and cause them heartache? No, Charley. There are occasions when it’s better for everyone concerned to let sleeping dogs lie and this is one of them.”
“But…” she started to protest.
“I mean it Charley. Breathe a word of this to anyone and that’s it, we’re finished. I adore you, you know I do, but I will not be a party to malicious gossip.”
Charley fell silent. The tension between them grew unbearable. She hated it. This was a side to Spence she hadn’t seen before. She had no idea he could be so assertive. She might even have quite liked it if it hadn’t meant his opposing her. Briggs, she reflected with a quiet smile, had been assertive. Nor had he hesitated to take issue with her when he she thought she was in the wrong. But I’m not in the wrong this time, she told herself with utter conviction. “Anne deserves to know,” she announced with the air of someone coming to a final decision. “I’d certainly want to know if someone I thought of as a friend was really a… Wouldn’t you?”
Spence rounded on her angrily, “You can’t even say it, can you? You can’t say it because you don’t even know a word that fits. You just can’t bring yourself to admit that you’re being so bloody unfair…to me, Anne, Owen and not least yourself. Yes, yourself. You’re better than this, Charley, you know you are. Either you see sense or…we’re finished.”
“So you said.”
“I meant it too.”
A longer, silence followed, more stressful even than before, during which Spence reached for the ignition key several times. Each time, he drew back and continued to scowl at the windscreen while Charley ransacked her brain for a compromise.
Her face lit up.
“Don’t tell me. You’ve had an idea,” Spence observed between gritted teeth.
“As a matter of fact I have,” Charley enthused, “and you’re absolutely right. We can’t possibly enlighten Anne until we have a lot more to go on regarding our friend Owen King, alias Owen Shepherd.” Spence turned the key in the ignition. The engine leapt into life. “All we have to do now is…find it.”
Spence sighed resignedly as the sleek Jaguar gathered speed, purring like a cat that’s found some cream and enjoyed a sneaky lick, in search of the motorway.
To be continued on Friday.
