CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The weather had turned again. It was gusty on the promenade, but Anne found the wind and a drizzly rain curiously comforting. As soon as it started to rain more heavily, she ducked into the nearest shelter without realizing at first that it was the same one where she had so often sat and talked with Owen Shepherd. Immediately, she experienced a sense of grave disquiet. Feeling compelled to reject its sanctuary, from the elements at least, she got drenched hurrying towards another shelter. One section was free, its seat vacant. Shaking her umbrella, she sat down.
The beach was deserted, but for a few stragglers and a yapping dog running for cover. The sea looked grey and morose through a sheet of teeming rain.
Suddenly, it stopped raining altogether. A watery sun found a chink in the clouds and seemed to gather strength with each passing second. Tiny patches of blue sky appeared and spread indiscriminately. Heavy black clouds slowly but surely moved on, doubtless intent on causing havoc elsewhere, or so it occurred to Anne as she watched the dog, still yapping, take its cue from the heavens and dash back towards the sea’s edge.
Inevitably, her thoughts returned to the subject of Owen Shepherd’s appalling confession. Reluctant though she was, it had to be faced. Moreover, it provided a distraction of sorts from speculating as to the identity of the body, thought to be that of a child, which Kirk Spencer and Charley Briggs had discovered in the Shepherds’ shrubbery. Had Alice known about it or even suspected, she wondered? Could that be why she’s felt the need to keep tabs on her son all the time, because she suspected he was a child molester…or worse?
Anne shook her head, desperate to clear it of terrifying images depicting Patricia’ last moments as she had imagined them, hauntingly, for years. Body wracked with pain, she fought to regain self-control before the grisly pictures took hold, as they had done years earlier and almost destroyed her. She dare not let them defeat her again. Isn’t that tantamount to letting him win, the monster that stole my beautiful, innocent, Patricia and did God knows what to her?
She blinked back tears. On the long road back to what her GP and just about everyone else had called a ‘remarkable recovery’ all those years ago, she had vowed not to let what had happened leave her a nervous wreck. So her marriage was in ruins and her life a terrible parody of what it should have been, she had to find a way to carry on. It was that or…She had contemplated suicide often enough.
Had Alice Shepherd ever thought of taking her own life, Anne wondered? No, she decided. Alice would never willingly have left Owen to battle with his demons alone, if such a battle there had ever been…
Owen Shepherd, a child molester and killer? No, no, surely, not? She debated with her better instincts over and over. Yet, Owen was a self-confessed killer. Whatever his motives, he had taken his mother’s life. Presumably, he thought he was doing her a kindness. In that case, she should sympathise with, even admire him as she suspected Kirk Spencer did. She had heard and read about the case for euthanasia often enough and even leaned towards supporting it if the circumstances were right. But that was in the abstract. This was real-life. She had known Alice Shepherd. Owen was a friend, or so she had believed. Besides, who is anyone to judge circumstances right or wrong but the person suffering? Yet, Alice Shepherd had not been given the luxury of a choice. Nor is there any dignity in suffocation. It sprung to mind that even a pet in pain was usually afforded the dignity of being put down humanely.
Owen, my Owen, a monster…? Her head kept telling her one thing, her heart another. I can’t have been so wrong about someone all these years, can I? But it was starting to look as though she had been wrong about the mother, so why not about the son? “Poor Alice,” she murmured, “Her life must have been hell, whether she knew for certain about Owen or could only wonder…”
The rain had cleared altogether. A brilliant sunshine flooded the promenade, restoring beach, sea and surrounds to the delights of a typical English summer.
She was, Anne suspected, being too harsh on Owen Shepherd. But how else was she supposed to feel? “So many ifs and buts, whys and wherefores,” she complained bitterly to a longhaired moggie that had wandered into the shelter, “It isn’t fair. How am I supposed to think straight?” The cat proceeded to jump up on the seat beside her and rub its head, purring loudly, against her arm. “Mercy killing isn’t the same as murder, is it? Yet it means the capacity for it has to be there, doesn’t it?” She took the cat in both arms and it put up no resistance. But your deepest feelings for someone must count for something, surely, no matter what?
Unintentionally, her grasp on the cat tightened. It uttered a ferocious mewing noise, lashed out with its claws, leapt to the ground and ran off.
For want of anything better to do, Anne made her way back to the hotel. Perhaps there would be news of Lynette. Several times she had thought of calling Cathy on the mobile. Each time, she had decided against it. Good news or bad, she felt as though she could not cope with either just now. She prayed the child was safe, of course she did. But news of that other child, found buried in Owen Shepherd’s shrubbery, kept intruding upon every thought, using her every emotion as a punch ball, leaving her with little or nothing to say. She did not even look up as a seagull dipped and dived immediately above her head and then rose in a graceful arc to head out to sea, shrieking like a banshee.
Within seconds of entering the hotel lobby, she was hailed by Mel Harvey who instantly gestured to another member of staff to take over at Reception and hastened towards her. “Anne, my dear, how are you?”
“A little tired,” Anne admitted, “I think I’ll go and have a cup of tea and then lie down for a while.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea. I only wish your friend Mrs Briggs was as sensible.”
“Oh?” Anne was only mildly curious and continued to make her way towards the lift, the hotelier keeping pace.
“She seems determined to make two and two make four…” Mel was saying. “As if Bob Cartwright could possible have anything to do with that poor child’s disappearance. He’s such a nice man, and I’ve known his mother for years. Jessie may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but she’s a straight as a die and that goes for the whole family…”
Anne stopped in her tracks. “Bob Cartwright?”
“That’s right. He helped us out yesterday when the plumber I called didn’t turn up. I remembered he was in town so I called his mother and he came immediately. Mind you, we had a similar problem today, as you know. I guess Bob didn’t fully appreciate the scale of the problem. He was only popping in to do us a favour, after all. Thankfully, our regular plumber was available this time…”
“What has any of this to do with Lynette’s disappearance?” Anne interrupted sharply.
“What? Oh, yes. Well, Mrs Briggs reminded me, or rather she claims I reminded her though I don’t recall doing any such thing, that Bob helped us out in much the same way the last time she was here. You must remember all that bother with the showers and how Colonel Gibson made such a fuss? Well, perhaps not, in the circumstances. It was such a dreadful weekend….”
“Bob Cartwright was working here at the same time Patricia went missing?”
“Well, yes. But coincidences do happen, don’t they? Why that Briggs woman should make so much of it is quite beyond me. I know the type of course. You get to read people like a book in this business. She’s a stirrer, that one, if ever there was. But what else can you expect from a woman sleeping with a man half her age?”
“Spence is alright,” Anne told her firmly, “and I dare say neither you nor anyone else would be rushing to judgement if it was the other way around and he was the older of the two. If you ask me, I think they make a lovely couple. I hope they make a go of it. As for Bob Cartwright…”
“You will have a quiet word with her won’t you? I mean to say, we can’t have her making any more trouble for us than we have already can we? It’s bad enough that Owen Shepherd should turn out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, for heaven’s sake…”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Anne was quick to point out yet again.
“Well, maybe and maybe not. But we have to face facts, Anne. Things aren’t looking good for Owen. When I think how I liked and trusted that man while all the time…It makes my blood boil. As for Bob Cartwright, the very idea that he might be involved in anything so terrible…It’s outrageous, Anne, outrageous. You must tell that dreadful woman to put a lid on it and stop spreading malicious gossip. I have my other guests to consider. They come here for a holiday, to relax. I won’t have them upset, Anne. I won’t have it.”
“I’ll speak to her immediately,” Anne promised, her mind struggling to grasp with this latest revelation.
“They’re out,” the hotelier informed her, “I saw them get into a cab about an hour ago, her and the toy boy.”
“They didn’t take the car?” Anne expressed surprise.
“Probably just as well. To be honest, the pair of them looked the worse for wear. It wouldn’t surprise me if they weren’t both alcoholics on the quiet. It would explain a lot…Like attracted to like and all that. Oh, Mrs Kolinsky!” she called out to a woman passing who did not pause or even glance in their direction. “You’ll have to excuse me Anne. I must have another word with Mrs Kolinsky. You will do something about Mrs Briggs won’t you?”
Anne nodded absently and was grateful to escape into the lift. Once in her room, she made a cup of tea and was sitting on the bed mulling things over when a sharp rap on the door made her jump and spill tea into the saucer. “Oh, no!” she groaned and went to the door, expecting to find Mel Harvey. To her astonishment, it was Jessie Cartwright who stood there, managing to look sheepish, determined and defensive all at the same time.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Jessie Cartwright began then, to Anne’s consternation, burst into tears.
“Come in and have a cup of tea,” murmured Anne kindly, ushered the distraught woman inside and sat her down in the wicker chair.
“I’m sorry,” Jessie Cartwright apologized brusquely, wiped her eyes with a tissue and stood up. “I must go. I should never have come, it was stupid of me.”
“Sit down and wait while I make you a nice cup of tea,” Anne told her in a tone with which even the likes of Jessie Cartwright dared not brook any argument. “Look at the state of you. You’ll feel heaps better for a cup of tea, and then go if you must. In the meantime, since you’re here anyway, you might as well tell me what’s on your mind. It wouldn’t have anything to do with your Robert, by any chance, would it?” she added almost as an afterthought.
Jessie Cartwright’s expression made Anne cringe.
“Your friend Mrs Briggs and that young man of hers came to see me,” she said after a long, awkward pause. “They were looking for my Robert. I can’t think why,” she protested. “Robert is a good man. He’d never…” her voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “He’s not like his brothers. He was always the odd one out, even when they were children. The dad and me, we did our best but…Your best isn’t always enough, though, is it? The dad used to say he’d be a disappointment to us all. Even after…Not that I ever told the dad why Robert didn’t go into politics as he’d always said he would. He’d have done well too. He’s got the gift of the gab, my Robert. I can’t believe he’d hurt a fly, let alone a child!” she groaned, and flung Anne an anguished look.
“But you think he might,” said Anne flatly. It was not a question.
Jessie felt inside a jacket pocket, produced a piece of paper and held it out with a trembling hand. “That’s the address I gave them. If Robert is anywhere, that’s where he’ll be. I’m worried sick that Briggs woman will go off at half cock and...Well, anything might happen. I could hardly go to the police, could I? So I thought, well, as they’re friends of yours...”
“And you think your son may have taken Lynette there?” Anne barely glanced at the piece of paper even as leaned forward to take it, but continued to stare at the other woman, appalled.
Jessie Cartwright stood up and carefully placed the cup and saucer on the bedside table. “I don’t know. I’m just saying that’s where you’ll most likely find him. As for the rest…I can’t, won’t believe it!”
“But…?”
“If there’s the slightest chance of finding that child, I can’t just sit back and say nothing, can I? Not…” She walked towards the door but Anne grabbed her arm
“Not this time, is that what you were going to say? There have been other times then?”
“Let go, you’re hurting me!”
“Hurting you, am I? Count yourself lucky, Jessie Cartwright, because right now I could kill you as soon as look at you.”
The two women regarded each other with mixed emotions; Anne in a cold fury, Jessie Cartwright tearful and frightened, yet determined to preserve what precious little dignity was left to her.
“I’m sorry,” said Jessie Cartwright. Anne let go of her arm. She left the room, shutting the door quietly and firmly behind her.
Anne’s knees began to give way. She only just made it to the bed before collapsing on the duvet. Her first thought was for Owen Shepherd. Had she, too, rushed to judgement? Was it possible her basic instincts had not deceived her after all? Lynette! She must call Cathy. She reached for the mobile and then changed her mind. The police, I must call the police? Still clutching the mobile, she changed her mind a second time. She would go to the police station. Yes, but she must go immediately. There was no time to lose. Pulse racing, she ran towards the door, and then froze. No, no, they would keep her hanging around for ages.
“What shall I do?” she cried aloud. But there was no one to advise her. She hadn’t felt so alone and helpless since that awful moment she had looked in on her only child and discovered Patricia missing. “Pull yourself together, woman!” she admonished herself aloud with such force that her whole body shook.
Returning to sit on the bed, Anne took several deep breaths. It helped clear her mind. Moreover, she could feel the panic that had threatened to overwhelm her start to subside. She remembered the police liaison officer assigned to Cathy and Steve. What was her name…Mia, Leah? Yes, Leah, that was it. Leah would know what to do.
Within twenty minutes, Anne was being ushered into the Taylor’s room at Hillcrest. Cathy was sitting on the bed, a concerned, haggard Steve hugging her protectively. It crossed her mind, fleetingly, that they seemed reconciled, and she was glad.
“Sit down. You look exhausted,” the policewoman told her, “I’ll make us all a cup of tea.”
“No, no.” Anne shook her head. “We haven’t time for that,” she gasped, “We must go here immediately.” She handed Leah the same piece of paper Jessie Cartwright had given her. “There’s a chance, just a chance, Lynette might be there with a man called Robert Cartwright. He used to be a friend and neighbour of Owen Shepherd’s although I believe he was known as Owen King in those days. Cartwright was living with Fern McAllister when her little girl went missing some twenty odd years ago.”
“What?” Steve Taylor jumped up.
“It may mean nothing, nothing at all,” Anne told them, “but Cartwright’s mother seems to think…” She paused, suddenly aware of the confused expressions on their faces, and that she was talking too fast. They must not think she was hysterical.
After taking several deep breaths, she continued more slowly. “Jessie Cartwright, Robert’s mother, came to see me. We’d met once before, but never mind about that now. The important thing is she believes there might be a chance Lynette is with her son. Well, she must think so, mustn’t she, or why come to see me? Apparently, Charley and Spence went to see her and she gave them this address. I suspect they’ve gone looking for Cartwright and…” Panic began to grip her again. “Oh, I’m so afraid for them and I’m not even sure why.” What am I saying? Of course I know why? We all know why.
“Come and sit down,” Leah steered Anne gently but firmly towards a chair by the window.
“Give me that!! Without warning, Steve Taylor snatched the Portslade address from the policewoman’s hand.
Leah instantly let go of Anne’s arm. “Hand it over, Steve, and don’t go getting any stupid ideas. This is police business. I’ll call my colleagues and get someone over there immediately.”
“Stuff your police business. This is my daughter we’re talking about!” He ran to the door.
“Wait for me, I’m coming with you!” Cathy shouted.
“This is madness. Leave it to the police!” Leah yelled and placed herself between Taylor and the door.
“Get out of my way!” Taylor told her in an ominously steely voice.
“This is not the way to get your daughter back,” the policewoman protested, “On the contrary, if you go barging in like a bull in a china shop, you could be placing her in danger. You don’t want that, do you?” she demanded.
“She might not even be there,” Anne wailed. “It could all turn out to be a terrible mistake.”
Her attention distracted, Leah only glanced in Anne’s direction but it was long enough for Taylor to seize his chance. He heaved the slim figure of the policewoman to one side and rushed out of the door, Cathy in hot pursuit.
Leah Jackson went flying.
“Are you alright?” Anne went to the prostrate officer and knelt anxiously by her side.
“I’m okay,” the WPC told her, scrambled up and ran to the door. “Shit!” she swore, and promptly called police headquarters.
Anne barely heard Leah Jackson read out the address. “What do we do now?” she asked as soon as she realised the younger woman had finished.
“We wait,” Leah Jackson told her grimly, “and pray for a good result.”
“Shouldn’t you go after them?”
“No point. They’ve got a head start. With luck, my colleagues will get there first. Besides, someone needs to be here in case the child turns up of her own accord.”
“Oh dear, I’ve gone and made matters worse haven’t I?”
“It’s like I said, we can but wait and hope for the best. Now, let’s have that cup of tea, shall we? You look as though you need one, and I certainly do.”
To be continued. on Friday
