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.
