Person or Persons Unknown (14 page)

Having located number thirty-seven, Rona stood on the opposite pavement, staring across at it, but the bland frontage gave no hint of the traumas that had taken place within its walls. With accelerated heartbeat, she crossed the road and walked up the short path. Two bells beside the front door showed the house was still divided into flats. Rona pressed one, then the other, but neither was answered. Presumably the residents were out at work. She met a similar lack of response at the houses on either side, and it was without much hope that she returned across the road to ring the bell at number forty-two. But once again, the Joneses proved to be her sole success.

The door opened to reveal an elderly woman in a home-knitted cardigan, who peered at her uncertainly over the top of her glasses.

‘Yes?' she said querulously.

‘Mrs Jones?'

‘Yes?'

‘My name is Rona Parish, and I'm trying to trace someone who used to live across the road.'

The old eyes surveyed her suspiciously. ‘Who would that be?'

Rona took a gamble. ‘Selina O'Toole?'

The woman looked surprised. ‘
She
shouldn't be hard to find, surely?'

It was an unexpected response, and Rona raised her eyebrows. ‘Why is that?'

‘Well, with her being on the telly, and all.'

Rona gazed at her blankly, and in return received a disbelieving stare.

‘You're never saying you don't know who she is?'

Honesty, Rona reflected, would be the best policy. ‘I realize I
should
know her, but stupidly I just can't seem to place her.'

‘Well, she's on pretty regular.'

And at Rona's continuing blankness, Mrs Jones stepped aside and said resignedly, ‘You'd best come in.'

Rona indicated Gus, who was hopefully wagging his tail. ‘Is it all right—?'

‘Yes, yes, I've nothing against dogs. Haven't had one in the house since old Pip died.'

Rona followed her down the hall to the back room, where an elderly man nodded by the fire. The room was uncomfortably hot, but it was newly swept and dusted and the horse brasses on the wall gleamed in reflected firelight.

‘Take no notice of him,' Mrs Jones instructed, jerking her head towards her husband. ‘Deaf as a post – you'd have to repeat everything twice. Sit down. Now, what's all this about wanting Selina?'

‘You say she's on television; is she an actress?'

Mrs Jones clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘No, not an
actress
. She does them documentaries, doesn't she, interviewing people in the news.'

So that's why both she and Lois had heard of her; and, with enlightenment, an image came to mind of a strong-featured face topped with spiky hair of an unlikely red. Gemma's old flatmate had certainly made the big time.

Mrs Jones was watching her astutely. ‘I hope you're not thinking of raking that murder story up again?' She reached for a biscuit from the tin on the table and tossed it to Gus, who caught it in his mouth.

‘Only in passing.' Rona hesitated, then added on impulse, ‘Did you know Gemma's baby?'

The woman's head shot up, but since she didn't reply, Rona went on, ‘I'm here on her behalf, really. She's trying to trace her father.'

The transformation was immediate. ‘Little Amanda? She's – all right? Well, that's the best news I've heard this side of Christmas!'

Rona said carefully, ‘Yes, she's very well. She's married now, and expecting a baby of her own.'

‘Did you ever!' exclaimed the old woman delightedly. ‘I used to babysit her, you know. Gemma often brought her over, when she wanted to go shopping and that. Bright little thing she was, with those big green eyes and copper-coloured hair. Gemma worshipped her. “I'm so glad I kept her, Mrs J,” she used to say. “She's the best thing that ever happened to me.”'

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘And to think what lay in wait for her.'

Rona mentally crossed her fingers. ‘Did you by any chance know who she was seeing?'

‘That got her in the family way, you mean? No, she never let on. Said she'd tell me when the time was right.'

‘And she stuck to that, even when he left the country?'

Mrs Jones shook her head sadly. ‘Broke her heart, him going to
Aw
stralia, but she wouldn't name him, though we all thought he should help out. “They'd never find him out there,” she said.'

She eyed Rona with grim-faced satisfaction. ‘And if that's why you're looking for Selina, you can save yourself the trouble; she doesn't know any more than we do. After Gemma – died – we all thought Amanda should be with her dad, but we couldn't begin to look for him, not even having his name.'

Rona's heart plummeted. Illogical though it was, she'd been counting on Selina; now it seemed even that frail thread had disintegrated. They were silent for a while, watching the logs redden and collapse in the hearth. The old man stirred and muttered something in his sleep. Eventually, Rona said tentatively, ‘After he went, did Gemma go out with anyone else?'
Anyone who might have murdered her?

‘That's what the police kept asking, but I couldn't help them then, and I can't help you now.'

Rona rose to her feet. ‘Well, thank you very much, Mrs Jones. I won't hold you up any longer.'

‘Not what you wanted to hear, I'm afraid.'

‘I'll just have to think of another angle.'

The old woman preceded her back down the hall and opened the front door. ‘Give Amanda my love. She won't know who I am from Adam, but tell her I was fond of her mum.'

She bent to give Gus a farewell pat and closed the door behind them.

‘To what do I owe this honour?' Tess Chadwick enquired, clasping her coffee mug with both hands. ‘You were pretty cryptic on the phone.'

They were sitting in a little café next door to the offices of the
Stokely Gazette.
Rona, looking at her friend across the table, reflected that Tess's appearance hadn't altered in all the years she'd known her. She was dressed, as always, completely in black – polo-neck sweater, short skirt, leggings and boots, and her chestnut curls appeared to defy any comb to penetrate them. She must be in her forties, but looked at least ten years younger.

‘I want you to do me a favour,' Rona said. ‘I don't know how you can work it, but I'm sure you'll think of something.'

‘Go on.'

‘Do you remember that murder back in '79, when a girl was strangled in her bath while her baby cried in the next room?'

‘Gemma Grant,' Tess said promptly. ‘Of course I remember it; it was the first case I covered for the
Gazette.
'

‘Well, that baby has asked me to trace her father.'

Tess sat back in her chair. ‘And how many impossible things do you usually do before breakfast?'

‘That bad?'

‘You must know it is.'

Rona toyed with her spoon. ‘I wondered if perhaps you could run a para or two asking for information? Say, under a heading “Did you know Gemma Grant?” or “Murdered girl's baby seeks father”?'

Tess raised an eyebrow. ‘You wouldn't by any chance like to write it for me?'

Rona smiled. ‘Sorry. Just trying to be helpful.'

‘I think I can manage, thanks.'

‘But could you do it?' Rona pressed.

Tess considered. ‘Will there be a follow-up?'

‘I hope so; I'm intending to write one for
Chiltern News.
It's a different readership, though, so it shouldn't be a problem.'

Tess sipped her coffee. ‘You'd get a lot of cranks replying, and we'd have no means of vetting them.'

‘I wouldn't expect you to.' Rona hesitated. ‘Without wanting to teach my grandmother, there are two particular points I'd like covered.'

‘Shoot.'

‘Well, “Amanda”, as she was then called, was born in November '78, so her father would have emigrated in the spring of that year. I'd like to know if anyone remembers a local family leaving for Australia around that time. It might at least give us something to work on.'

‘True. And the other point?'

‘Any memories of Gemma herself. Her daughter knows nothing whatever about her.'

‘Folks might be a bit chary on that one, for obvious reasons.'

Rona shrugged. ‘We can but hope.'

‘I'll see what I can do.'

‘Thanks, Tess, you're a star. How soon could you run it?'

‘Provided I get the OK, it should squeeze in this week. Thursday's press day and the paper's out Friday. What about a name or number for contact?'

‘No name, on Max's instructions. I thought I'd use my email. That way the information would be written down, and I could follow it up at my leisure.'

Tess chewed her lip. ‘One drawback – not everyone's on the Internet. If the only means of contact is by email, they mightn't bother. If I were you, I'd go for your mobile.'

‘Good point. I hadn't thought of that.'

‘We'll sort it out when we've finished here. What else have you tried?'

‘Not much; I only embarked on it last Friday. All I've done so far is look at registers and track down ex-neighbours. I hadn't realized her flatmate was Selina O'Toole. She's the one I'd really like to speak to.'

‘I warn you, she's very prickly on the subject. Her standard reply is, “No comment.”'

Rona, about to take a drink, put down her mug. ‘You
know
her?'

‘I did, when she lived here. Not well, but we often found ourselves covering the same story, she for radio, me for the
Gazette
.'

‘Are you still in touch?'

‘The odd phone call now and then, but she's far outstripped me professionally; I'm still a local hack and she's on prime-time TV.' Tess surveyed Rona sceptically. ‘And now I suppose you're going to ask for an introduction?'

‘Tess, I'd be so grateful.'

‘I can't guarantee anything. As I said, she's sensitive on the issue. You can mention my name, and I'll give you her private number if you swear not to divulge it, but that's as far as I can go. Believe me, you'll need all your powers of persuasion on this one.'

‘Have you got her number on you?'

Tess shook her head. ‘I don't use it often enough to carry it around. I'll give you a buzz this evening.'

‘You're a gem.'

‘And if she gives you an interview, you can buy me a meal on the strength of it.'

‘It's a deal.'

The conversation switched to more personal matters. Tess asked after Max, and Rona, rather cautiously, after Tess's latest partner. It was seldom the same from one of their admittedly infrequent meetings to the next, and, as she'd expected, a different name came up this time.

‘I lose track!' she confessed. ‘All I ask is, don't get yourself murdered; it would be a case of
cherchez les hommes
, and there'd be so many, they'd never find the right one!'

‘I'll bear it in mind,' Tess replied.

‘I received two letters this morning,' Max announced on the phone that evening, ‘both of them addressed to you, and one on House of Commons stationery. No prizes for guessing who that's from.'

‘And the other?'

‘Again, a typed envelope, thick and creamy. Expensive-looking.'

‘How intriguing. Open them for me, will you?'

‘Both of them?'

‘Certainly; I can't bear the suspense.'

There was a pause, and the sound of tearing paper reached Rona down the phone. ‘This is James's: “Dear Ms Parish, Many thanks for the copy of my youthful manifesto, which I read with great interest. It shows a touching faith in the ability of politicians to perform miracles: more a question of
If I Ruled the World
.

‘“However, I'm advised it contains nothing politically inappropriate, so by all means make whatever use you will of it. I enjoyed meeting you at the constituency evening, and trust that the pleasure will soon be repeated.

‘“With regards to yourself and Max, Yours ever, James Latymer.”'

‘Good,' Rona said with satisfaction. ‘That means I can complete the final Buckford article and get it off to Barnie. What's the other letter?'

More paper-tearing, then: ‘As we might have guessed from its being sent here, another Latymer missive, this time from the lady, and in the form of a printed invitation. “Mrs James Latymer at home for luncheon. Thursday, 14
^th
October at twelve noon. RSVP.” You
are
honoured!'

‘Just me?'

‘It seems so. Must be ladies only.'

‘She mentioned wanting to discuss my books, but I wasn't expecting a full-blown lunch.'

‘Luncheon,' Max corrected slyly.

‘I beg your pardon –
luncheon.
If it's a load of Conservative ladies in twinsets, I shall be out of my depth.'

‘Nonsense, you'll enjoy seeing how the other half live. So, what have you been up to today?'

She sketched in her visit to Stokely. ‘Tess Chadwick agreed to run a para for me,' she told him. ‘And what's more, she knows Gemma's ex-flatmate, who turns out to be an eminent TV journalist, no less. Tess has her private number, and if she agrees to meet me, I'll dash off to London post-haste.'

‘Not this week, if you've any sense.'

‘Why not?'

‘There's a threatened rail strike, remember.'

‘Talks are continuing, aren't they?'

‘Yes, but not making much headway.' He paused. ‘I trust you didn't include your name in these newspaper snippets?'

‘Don't worry, I shall be completely anonymous.'

‘Mind you keep it that way,' he said.

Tess phoned half an hour later with the required number, and as soon as she rang off, Rona called it. The ringing continued for several minutes, and she'd just decided Selina must be out, when a husky voice in her ear said, ‘Hi.'