CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
WPC Leah Jackson drove Anne to the Royal Sussex County Hospital where Lynette and her father had been assigned a small private ward. Both, she assured Anne, were being kept in merely for observation, although the policewoman also intimated that it would be far easier to provide police protection this way than at the hotel. “I’m sure they’re in no danger, but better safe than sorry till Cartwright’s under lock and key?” she told the startled Anne.
Since Charley was not in a private ward, Anne could only assume the police thought Lynette might still be targeted by Cartwright. It was a chilling, sobering thought.
Charley was asleep when she looked in and Spence was snoring loudly in a chair beside the bed. Anne closed the door gently. Leah Jackson then accompanied her to see the Taylors. A young PC posted outside the door greeted them with a smile. “You go in,” said Leah, “I’ll stay and keep Nick here company.” She waited until the door had closed behind Anne before asking her colleague, “Any news of Cartwright?”
PC Nick Farmer shook his head. “He won’t get far.”
Leah nodded but was not convinced. “Let’s not underestimate the bastard, eh?” was all she said., and it was the young PC’s turn to nod, his expression grim.
On entering, Cathy put a finger to her lips, indicating a single bed where Lynette lay fast asleep. At the same time she ran to the door and flung both arms around her friend. “Oh, Anne, isn’t it wonderful?”
“All’s well that ends well,” Anne trotted out the cliche without believing a word of it , but her relief was genuine as she returnied Steve Taylor’s broad smile over Cathy’s shoulder. Suddenly, he began coughing and reached for an oxygen mask.
Cathy flew to the bedside. “Are you alright darling?” she clutched at Steve’s hand and Anne’s experienced a pleasant, tingling sensation throughout her body. Husband and wife were clearly reconciled. She was thrilled for them both and said so. “It’s like you said,” Cathy brushed away a tear, “All’s well that ends well.”
Steve removed the mask long enough to ask after Charley.
“She’s fine,” Anne told him and he visibly relaxed.
“She’s quite something,” he murmured ruefully.
“She certainly is,” Anne agreed.
“So are you,” said Steve, much to her surprise, “I was wrong about you. I’m sorry. You’re welcome to come and visit any time.”
“I just might hold you to that,” she told him.
“Be sure you do,” said Cathy without letting go of Steve’s hand.
“But I’ll love and leave you for now,” said Anne. “I’m just so happy that everything has turned out so well for you. Lynette’s a strong willed child,” she added, “I’m sure she’ll get over this soon enough.”
The smiling faces in front of her frowned. “I hope so,” said Cathy, “It’s all been such a shock for us all.”
“Children are surprisingly resilient,” Anne told her in all seriousness, “Besides, she’ll be so taken up with seeing her mum and dad well and truly back together, she won't have time to fret about the likes of Bob Cartwright.”
The name cast a shadow over them all.
“I’m sorry about Owen,” Cathy said in a low voice. “I can’t imagine how he must be feeling. It must have been so awful, being accused of something so horrible and all the time…”
“I guess the eye doesn’t always discriminate what the heart‘s crying out to grieve over,” commented Steve Taylor with greater insight than Anne would have credited him.
“Things aren’t always as they seem,” she agreed tersely before bidding them a fond farewell. “Nor are some mistakes easily rectified,” she murmured under her breath upon rejoining Leah in the corridor. How am I going to face Owen? She could summon no interest in Cartwright, no flicker of curiosity even regarding the man’s fate. In her throbbing head, there was only room for Owen. And Patricia, of course. But on this occasion, Patrica must wait. Hasn't she waited long enough, after all? Owen had to be her prime concern. Leah seemed to think Owen would be released on bail, probably in the morning, pending further investigations.
“We have yet to hear Cartwright’s story from his own lips,” the WPC pointed out, “and there is still the small matter of a body in his shrubbery to sort out...” She faltered, enbarrassed.
“I suppose so,” Anne struggled to sound matter-of-fact as they headed for the hospital car park.
“I’m sure Owen has nothing to worry about,” Leah told her conversationally, “By all accounts, he's in the clear. Cartwright’s mother called the police, you know. Apparently, she’s pretty much put the finger on her precious son for the murder of the McAllister girl and…” she broke off, instantly contrite, “Oh, Anne, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s alright, really,” Anne was quick to reassure the young police officer, “I’ve lived with the idea of murder long enough not to be afraid of the word. All I want now is to give my daughter a decent burial. That, and hopefully find a way to make amends to Owen for letting him down so badly.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“Are you? I’m not. He must have felt so horribly abandoned, not to mention humiliated and desperate. How do you put all that behind you? How can you ever forgive?”
They climbed into the car.
“You did,” Leah Jackson pointed out, “You put it all behind you and got on with your life.”
Anne rounded on her angrily. “Is that what you think? Well, you couldn’t be more wrong. Oh, I’ve got on with my life, but only up to a point, and only because I’ve had precious little choice. A life in name only, that’s all it’s been. I’ve put nothing behind me. It’s with me from the time I wake up in the morning until I grab what sleep I can at night. As for forgiving…No, I’ll never do that. Never! People like Cartwright deserve to hang by the neck until dead, and then burn in hell. Even then, their agony won’t be a fraction of what people like me have had to learn to live with.”
“I’m so sorry, I hadn’t realized,” murmured Leah Jackson.
“How could you? You see the same quiet, nondescript little woman everyone else sees. You assume, just as everyone else assumes, that I’m coping admirably. Hats off to Anne Gates, she’s an example to us all. Huh, don’t you believe it!” She gave an uncharacteristic snort that both astonished the policewoman and made her blood run cold. “I dare say we all have our share of designer masks, a different one for every occasion. They protect us from prying eyes, you see, in case people get too close and rumble us for the frauds we really are. No, Leah, the only example I am to anyone is how to live a fiction.”
“I don’t believe that,” Leah insisted lightly, “and don’t forget I’m a police officer. We’re trained to suss out frauds, amongst other scum.”
“It’s not the scum you need to worry about, my dear. They stand out a mile. It’s what lies beneath the surface of your everyday person in the street, that’s what’s really scary.”
“Truth will out, isn’t that what they say?”
“If only it were that simple,” Anne retorted as the car pulled up outside The Orion.
“Would you like me to come in with you? I can stay for a while if you like.”
“You’re very kind. But I suddenly feel very tired. Besides, you look as though you could use some sleep yourself. Go home and get some rest, my dear. Who knows what tomorrow has up its sleeve? At least, once rested, we have an even chance of surviving.”
Watching Anne climb the steps more than a trifle wearily and enter the hotel, Leah Jackson could not, for the life of her, decide what to make of the woman. She’s a queer fish, and no mistake. Even so, resolving to take Anne’s advice, she called in to base, and then headed for home.
...........................................
Anne awoke to discover she had slept on the bed fully dressed. Feeling stiff, sweaty and uncomfortable, she peeled off her clothes with less care than usual and enjoyed a long, hot shower.
Was it really only Thursday? It had certainly been an eventful ten days. She called the hospital. Spence was very reassuring, even buoyant, insisting that Charley was in good spirits but sleeping a lot. Cathy, though, sounded cross. “The police won’t let us go back to Hillcrest just yet. It’s plain daft if you ask me. I mean to say, Cartwright is hardly likely to come after Lynette again is he? He’s probably miles away by now.”
“I dare say it’s for the best,” Anne told her, somewhat absently as her mind kept turning to Owen Shepherd and what she should say when, as she fully intended, she went to the flat later that morning.
She took her time over breakfast, so much so that Mel Harvey felt bound to comment. “You’re looking very pale, Anne dear. Perhaps you should see a doctor? You’ve had such a shock, after all. Well, haven’t we all? But it’s good news about Owen, isn’t it? I mean, it does look as if he’s in the clear doesn’t it?”
Anne tried, without success, to shut out the incessant babbling in her ear.
“Not that one ever knows for sure, does one?” Mel Harvey continued, bit well and truly between her teeth. “No smoke without fire and all that. But Owen Shepherd is such a nice man. I was only saying to Joe before breakfast, Owen Shepherd is such a nice man…and so transparent. Let’s face it. You can practically see right through him. Oh, he may have been under his mother’s thumb far too long and more the pity, but…Well, it’s hardly a crime is it? No, I said to Joe, Owen Shepherd isn’t the type to have a dark side. He’s simply too nice. Oh, a bit odd, perhaps. Let’s face it. Who else would dream of keeping hens in Brighton, bless him? I swear some of my guests return year after year just for the pleasure of enjoying Owen’s eggs for breakfast. I’d even go as far as to say Owen Shepherd is one of life’s few remaining gentlemen…”
Shut up, shut up! Don’t you think I feel guilty enough without you rubbing my nose in it? Anne screamed inside, but said nothing. A faint stain on the white tablecloth caught her attention. What was it someone had spilt, when and who? Had it been an accident or deliberate, an act of rage or plain old fashioned spite perhaps?
“Everyone has a dark side. Don’t you agree, Mrs Gates?” Anne looked up to find Fern McAllister smiling icily down at her. “May I sit down?”
“Breakfast is for guests only,” said a flustered Mel Harvey.
“It’s alright Mel,” said Anne, “Mrs McAllister is a friend of mine. I don’t suppose you could find us another cup? Oh, and perhaps another pot of tea…?”
“Well, I…”
Anne put a hand to her forehead. “Oh dear, I do believe everything is starting to catch up with me.”
“I’ll find another cup.” Mel Harvey scuttled away.
“I understand your inquisitive fat friend is in hospital. Nothing serious, I trust?” Fern McAllister spread immaculately manicured hands on the tablecloth.
Anne ignored the question. “You’ve been talking to Jessie Cartwright.”
“She’s distraught.”
“I’m sorry, I really am. No mother wants to believe her son is a child killer.”
“Alice Shepherd did.”
“Clearly, she was mistaken.”
“Really…?” Fern McAllister appeared to brace herself as a waitress came and laid a cup and saucer in front of her and another teapot within arm’s reach. The waitress left. She poured herself a cup of strong black tea. “More tea…?”
Anne nodded “Milk, no sugar.” Fern McAllister leaned across, milk jug in one hand, teapot in the other. “Why have you come, Mrs McAllister? Somehow, I don’t think it’s for tea and sympathy.” Fern proceeded to pour without speaking. “If you want someone to blame for the fact that your mischief making has badly misfired, I’m afraid that has very little to do with me.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You meant for someone to find that letter. How satisfying the chain of events it set in motion must have been for you. You can’t have had the faintest idea. It must have come as a dreadful shock how things have turned out, Owen vindicated and your ex-lover on the run for kidnapping a child…among other things.”
“Believe me, Owen isn’t off the hook yet, not by a long chalk,” the woman sitting opposite her hissed. “If Bob is guilty of anything, it’s of being taken in by that monster. He was always easily led. Owen found a weak spot and used it to his own advantage. That’s what bullies do, isn’t it? Not that you’d expect much else from a man dominated by his mother. I tried to tell Alice she was being over-protective, but she wouldn’t listen. I warned Bob his friendship with Owen was… unhealthy, to say the least. When Carrie disappeared, I knew it had to be down to Owen. I also suspected Bob knew more than he was letting on. So did the police. They interviewed him for hours on end. But where was the evidence?” She shrugged. “No body, no proof.” She leaned across the table again, her face close to Anne’s. “But I knew. Oh, yes, I knew. Don’t ask me how. I just…knew. If Bob Cartwright is a monster, it’s because Owen Shepherd made him one.”
“You hate Owen that much?”
“And so should you.”
Anne shook her head. “It isn’t Owen you hate, Mrs McAllister, it’s yourself. You slept with a man who abused your daughter and you can’t forgive yourself for that. But you should, you know. We all make mistakes. We’re only human, after all. Hate ourselves for that and we might just as well have strangled ourselves on the umbilical cord. Oh, I dare say some people can live with hate, even guilt. But what kind of a life is that, Mrs McAllister? No life at all, wouldn’t you agree?”
“How can you be so…calm?”
“Oh, I’m far from calm Mrs McAllister. I’m angry that I’ve let my feelings get the better of me, and as a result, possibly lost a good friend.”
“You can’t mean Owen?” Fern McAllister sneered. “Do you honestly believe he’s innocent?”
“Recent events speak for themselves, wouldn’t you say?”
“Damn recent events.” Fern McAllister stood up. “It’s the past that concerns me, and it should concern you too. If you ask me, it’s high time you did let your feelings get the better of you, Mrs Gates, high time for both of us. The pity is you can’t see it. You’re a nice person. The trouble is Nice always gets to carry the can. Nice never quite gets to the bottom of things.”
“And you, Mrs McAllister, are you a nice person?”
“I fear so, Mrs Gates. Shitty, isn’t it?” She turned on her high heels and walked away, a model of poise and posture.
Anne stared at the untouched cup of tea. Part of her felt sorry for Fern McAllister while another part identified only too well with some of the feelings the other woman had voiced with such bitterness. She permitted herself a wry smile. “If love is blind then heaven help those of us who hate,” she murmured, and gave a guilty start. Hadn’t she hated Owen, for a while at least? It was time to face up to that mistake. I must, I must. But what on earth do I say? Should I beg his forgiveness? Do I expect it? Some things don’t deserve forgiveness. Betrayal is one of them.
She rose and left the lobby, choosing to walk to the Shepherds’ house rather than catch a bus. She always found walking a very effective therapy. It wasn’t until she was standing on Owens’s doorstep that Fern McAllister loomed ominously in her mind’s eye. Why had the woman come? What had she wanted? It struck Anne only then that she hadn’t received a satisfactory answer to either question.
The flat was in darkness, heavy curtains closed.
Pressing an ear to the door, Anne listened for the tell-tale sounds of a presence within. She sighed. Owen was there, she was certain of it. In the circumstances, though, she could hardly blame the man if he chose not to see her.
Owen took his time coming to the door and then only opened it a fraction.
“Please Owen, let me in. We need to talk.”
“Go away, Anne. We have nothing to more say to each other.”
“I’m so sorry Owen. Can you ever forgive me? I was upset, distraught. Believe me, I value our friendship. I can’t blame you for thinking I betrayed it. But…”
“You did betray it and you betrayed me, just when I needed you most.”
“I know and I’m sorry, Owen, I really am. I’m so, so, sorry. Please let me in. Let’s at least try and put things right between us. I should never have thought the worst of you.”
“But you did, just like mother. She thought the worst of me too.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. She loved you very much and you loved her. I dare say that’s why you took it upon yourself to end her suffering. I judged you too harshly for that too. I realize it now. Come on, Owen, please. Open the door.”
“Go away, Anne, just…go away. I can’t trust you any more. Whatever you say, how can I be sure it’s not a lie?”
“No Owen, I won’t go away. We need to hear each other out or both of us will live to regret it. Then, if you still want me to leave, I’ll go. Owen, please. We can’t leave things like this, not after all we’ve been through together.” She hesitated before adding, “…and all we’ve come to mean to each other over the years. Or has that been a lie too?”
In the gloom Owen had the grace to blush.
“Owen Shepherd, you can be so stupid sometimes. Now, open this door or do I have to force my way in?”
“It’s too late, Anne. It’s all…too late,” he groaned. Even so, he opened the door.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you, it’s never too late till the fat lady sings?” Anne pushed past him and made her way into the sitting room. She knew the way well enough. The gloom did not bother her although she was thankful when one hand groped for and found a light switch on the wall. “I won’t suggest putting the kettle on, Owen. On this occasion I think we deserve something stronger, don’t you?” She crossed to the wine cabinet, poured two large brandies and took a deep breath before turning round. “Now, I think we need to…” she began gently but authoritatively then stopped short.
“Funny, I was just thinking that myself,” said a voice in the doorway, “...and mine’s brandy too while you’re at it.”
The cry on her lips froze as she looked disbelievingly from Owen Shepherd’s tearful face to Bob Cartwright’s smug expression. It took several more seconds before her eyes finally rested on the handgun in Cartwright’s perfectly still hand, pointing directly at her.
“He made me, Anne, he made me...” Shepherd began to moan as if in pain.
“Made you, did I?” said Cartwright without taking his eyes off Anne, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Not unless it wants to, that is. Isn’t that so, Mrs G?” He did not wait for an answer. “And you did so want to, didn’t you, Owen? Me, I just wanted to look, but you always had to have it all. Never could resist it for long, could you Owen, that feeling abusing little girls gives you of being in control for once in your miserable life?”
“No!” Anne screamed, covering her ears with both hands only seconds before the room swam before her eyes and went pitch black.
To be concluded on Friday.
