The Other Child (8 page)

‘But do you see what's awaiting her?' exclaimed Fiona. ‘The guy will make himself at home on the farm and calmly wait until Chad departs this earthly life. Nor will he have to wait an eternity for that. I don't doubt that he'll bring all sorts of good ideas about how to make the farm into a really attractive place for people to spend their holidays. I expect he will have the drive to put his plans into action and really make something of the property. It's pathetic, how Chad and Gwen have run the B & B until now, and of course he could pep things up. But a marriage is about more than that, surely? I bet he would cheat on her right and left. He'd take advantage of the students on the Scarborough campus and at some point Gwen would find out, and her world would collapse! Should we let it get to that?'

‘She
decided to let it get to that.'

‘Because she thinks she doesn't have a choice. She's been waiting for years for Prince Charming to come galloping along on his white horse and whisk her away. Now he's come, even if not on a white horse but in just about the most dilapidated old rust-bucket I've ever seen. But no matter. He's the only man near or far. So he's important to Gwen. So important that she silences all alarm bells – and I'm sure that they are ringing inside her.'

‘She sounded different on the phone. More at ease. More cheery. I felt really happy for her.'

‘She's certainly blossoming, no question. God, Leslie,' Fiona stubbed out her cigarette aggressively. ‘Do you think I'm keen to tell Gwen the truth? Of course not! No one is. It's a difficult situation.'

‘Maybe it's not our job to tell her, Fiona. We're not even related to her.'

‘But we're the only people she has. Her father isn't happy about Tanner, but he isn't going to get involved. He was always too weak with Gwen. Never in his life would he manage to say no to her, especially not now. But I … she always saw me as a kind of mother to her. She's always relied on me. I wish—' She broke off abruptly and did not say what she wished, perhaps because the impossibility of it was all too apparent to her. Instead she looked penetratingly at her granddaughter. ‘And how are you? How do you feel – freshly divorced?'

Leslie shrugged. ‘I've got used to living on my own already. The divorce was just a formality.'

‘You're not exactly beaming.'

‘What do you expect? I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Stephen. We wanted to have children … I hadn't foreseen that at thirty-nine I'd be moving into a little flat, perfectly laid out for a working single person, and be starting from scratch again.'

‘I never understood why you separated! You two were so good together. God, because he drank too much once and jumped into bed with some young thing whose name he could barely remember the next day? You threw it all away for that?'

‘The trust was gone. Until it happened, I wouldn't have thought it could be that serious. But that loss of trust affects everything else. Everything had changed. I couldn't … I couldn't bear
him
any more.'

‘Everyone has to know for themselves,' said Fiona.

‘Exactly,' said Leslie. ‘Gwen too. Fiona, it's her life. She's grown up. Dave Tanner is the man she's chosen. We have to respect that.'

Fiona muttered something to herself. Leslie leant forward. ‘And what about you, Fiona? You don't look great. You look so pale. You've lost weight. Is everything all right?'

‘Of course it is. What shouldn't be? I'm an old woman. You can't expect me to look fresher and more rosy-cheeked every day. I'm on the downward slope of life. Pity that it is.'

‘It's not like you to be pessimistic.'

‘I'm not pessimistic, I'm just realistic. Autumn's come. The days are often humid and cool. I feel it in my bones. It's normal, Leslie. It's just normal that I'm no longer the woman you once knew.'

‘You're sure that nothing's troubling you?'

‘Quite sure. Listen, Leslie, don't you start worrying about me. You've got enough worries yourself. And now,' she said, getting up, ‘let's get to bed. It's late. I'll need my strength tomorrow if I'm going to survive the heady engagement party on the idyllic Beckett farm tomorrow – especially as I know it's the start of a tragedy!'

‘You
are
pretty pessimistic,' said Leslie smiling, watching her grandmother as she left the room. She knew Fiona. She knew her better than anybody else in this world.

She was sure that something was bothering her.

Saturday, 11th October

1

‘But you've already asked me about all of that,' complained Linda Gardner. She sounded not so much irritated as exhausted. She had been just about to go shopping with her daughter when Detective Inspector Almond called and asked if she could pop by. The wiry little policewoman she had talked to for hours in July. The whole nightmare came back to her in an instant. Not that she could often free herself completely from it.

‘I know,' said Valerie Almond. She sat opposite Linda in her living room. She could see how difficult her appearing again in the flat was for the young woman. ‘I have to tell you, Mrs Gardner, that we're completely in the dark about this terrible crime against Amy Mills. That's why we're working our way through everything we have – and that's not much – one more time. In the hope that we've overlooked something. Or that one of the people we interview remembers something extra. Something they'd forgotten to say until now. Doing that's given me real breakthroughs sometimes.'

Linda looked out the window, as if there was something to see there, something to hold her attention. A brilliant blue sky, a golden October day. ‘It's just that … I always blame myself for it,' she said quietly. ‘If I hadn't been so set on having a good time, if I hadn't lost track of the time … maybe Amy would still be alive. Do you know, since my husband left, my day can be such a grind. As a single mum with a kid, I don't have many opportunities. I often feel chained to the flat. And to my child. The evening French classes were something special for me. Men and women my age, whom I could go to the pub with afterwards, drink some wine, have a laugh, chat … and know that my little girl was in Amy's good hands. I could afford a babysitter once a week. Those Wednesday evenings were … I looked forward to them all week.'

‘You're talking about them in the past,' said Valerie. ‘Don't you teach any more?'

‘Oh yes. But I don't go out afterwards with my class. I just couldn't.' Tears welled up in her eyes. She pursed her lips, trying to calm down.

Valerie looked at her sympathetically. ‘Don't be too hard on yourself. We don't know that things would have been any different if you'd been back at the time you said.'

‘But that … fiend was at the Esplanade Gardens just when Amy got there. If she'd have been there earlier—'

‘That's just one of the alternatives,' interrupted Valerie. ‘A criminal who was lurking in the park grounds and then found his victim by chance. The other possibility is that someone was out to get Amy Mills in particular. There's still no plausible explanation as to why the way up was blocked by two mesh fences. Right after the incident we talked to the workers from the construction site and they swore that none of them had placed the fences there. Nor had the park rangers. There was no reason to block the path. It was usable. Of course it could just have been some stupid boys' little prank. But it could also have been that someone was blocking Amy's shortest and quickest way up on purpose. She had no option but to take the long way round, deep in the park. Her murderer waited for her there – maybe after he saw her cross the bridge. That could have happened two hours earlier too. Maybe you being late only meant that the guy had to wait longer than he expected.'

‘If it was planned …'

‘We certainly can't rule out the possibility. That's why I asked about who knew that Amy babysat for you.'

Linda Gardner looked confused. ‘But … what did this person want? I mean, it wasn't a sex crime, was it? And nor did the culprit take any money. Apart from that, Amy didn't have much.'

‘If someone is crazy enough, they could have many reasons for killing someone,' replied Valerie. After she had seen the horrifically mangled corpse of Amy Mills, she was convinced that hatred was the culprit's motive, but seeing Linda Gardner's troubled expression, she did not want to say so. It was either a personal hate directed at Amy Mills, or a general but no less violent aggression against all women.

She returned to her original question once more. ‘Who knew that Amy Mills babysat for you?' She threw a glance at her notes. ‘When we talked in July you named the students on your French course. At the time you said that you had eight students in total on Wednesdays. Six women and two men. They were all at the lesson that Wednesday.'

‘Yes. But …'

‘We've talked with all of them. It doesn't look as though any of them could be in any way involved in this, although I'm not going to exclude any possibility for now. Is there anyone else?'

Linda thought about it. ‘The old lady in the flat below me might know. I'm not sure. I mean, I've never told her, but she might have realised, what with Amy coming and going. Amy has to go past her flat.'

‘What's the lady's name?'

‘Copper. Jane Copper. But it would be crazy to suspect her. She's small and weak and almost eighty.'

‘Does she live on her own? Does she often have relatives or friends over? A son? A grandson? Anyone?'

‘Not as far as I know. She seems pretty lonely.'

Valerie made a note of Jane Copper's name, but did not hope much for a lead there.

‘My ex-husband knows,' said Linda suddenly. ‘Yes, I told him.'

‘Where does he live?'

‘In Bradford. So not around the corner. He doesn't know Amy though, not even her name. One time on the phone I told him that I was teaching French to put a little extra money in the kitty, and he asked what I did with our little girl. I said that I'd found a girl who was studying to look after her. But I don't think he even knew that the class was on a Wednesday. We don't have a lot of contact, you see.'

‘I'd still like his name and address,' said Valerie.

Linda gave her both.

‘Why did you break up?'

Linda's face contorted into a bitter grimace. ‘Young girls, very young girls. He just couldn't keep his hands off them.'

‘Minors?'

‘Not that young.'

Valerie jotted something down in her notepad. ‘We'll talk to your husband. Anyone else you can think of?'

‘I don't know …'

‘Anyone else from Friarage School, perhaps?' dug Valerie.

Linda wracked her brains. Who at the school did she really talk to? She was not close to anyone there. She did not have the time or flexibility to strike up any kind of friendship.

But there was a vague memory … After Amy Mills's murder she had talked with any number of her colleagues about the tragedy, had owned up to being the person for whom Amy had babysat and who had been so careless about the young woman's leaving time. But
beforehand
… She thought that she had mentioned it
beforehand
in some context. At the school.

Suddenly she remembered. A good-looking guy who also taught French. With whom she compared notes before the beginning of each course. The first time she had been questioned she had not even thought of him.

‘Dave,' she said, ‘Dave Tanner, I think, knew.'

Valerie leant forward. ‘Who is Dave Tanner?' she asked.

2

From the very first moment the evening was heading for the catastrophe it ended in. Everyone agreed on that later, and everyone said that the atmosphere was as if they were sitting on a keg of gunpowder.

As usual it was Fiona who could not hold her tongue. Looking at Gwen, she had raised her eyebrows. Gwen was wearing an unusually pretty dress of peach-coloured velvet, drawn in at the waist with a black, plastic belt which revealed what no one present had known: Gwen had a much more slender figure than anyone could have guessed as long as she wore her usual baggy clothes.

‘Lovely dress,' said Fiona finally. ‘Is it new? It suits you!'

Gwen smiled, happy to receive the compliment. ‘Dave found it for me. He says it wouldn't do any harm if I let my figure show a little more.'

‘He's quite right,' Fiona agreed gently, before getting her claws out: ‘And did he pay for it too?'

Gwen froze.

‘Please, Fiona, that's not your business,' mumbled Leslie in deep embarrassment.

Dave Tanner pressed his lips together tightly.

‘No,' said Gwen, ‘but I didn't want him to.'

‘A man could do worse than give his future bride something special as a present,' said Fiona, ‘but that's just my opinion, of course.'

Her words were followed by an uneasy silence. In the end Jennifer Brankley saved the situation. She had helped Gwen to cook and lay the table, and so she had something of the status of a co-hostess.

‘The food's ready,' she said with forced cheer in her voice. ‘Would you all please come through to the living room.'

The living room served as a dining room too. They had sat round the large table and struggled painfully to find things to talk about. Colin Brankley, who barely took part in the stilted conversations, was observing everyone. He thought that they all wanted one thing: to be far away. Especially Dave Tanner. Colin Brankley was the branch manager of a bank in Leeds. He knew that people would not have thought of him as imaginative or as someone who understood people well. They saw him more as a grey, boring pen-pusher, someone who lived for his files and balance sheets. As it happened though, books were his passion. He read in every free minute and plunged more than other people into his own dream worlds. He spent a lot of time pondering the characters he found in novels, and behind his round face with its thinning hair and thick-lensed glasses, he understood more about what went on in people than anyone would have imagined.