When John walked into the Jolly Farmer that night, a large crowd of regulars were huddled noisily around the fireplace. Above the chatter, John could hear someone, a man, sobbing. The landlord, Terry Dore, pushed past him with a double whisky in his hand.
‘Glad to see you, Doc,’ he said. ‘Could you have a butcher’s at one of my regulars? He’s had a bit of a shock.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got my bag with me,’ John apologised. ‘But I’ll take a look.’
He followed the landlord into the confused mêlée.
‘Here you are, son,’ said Terry holding out the whisky. ‘Get that down your neck, and then the doc here wants to take a look at you.’
‘I’d prefer it if I could look at him before he drinks alcohol,’ John interrupted.
The landlord stepped aside and John Landers was suddenly face to face with a tear-stained Reg Cox. They both blinked at each other in surprise.
Reg was very dishevelled. His hair was wild and his coat splattered with mud. The collar of his shirt was greasy and clearly needed changing.
John spoke first, his tone measured. ‘Everyone has been very concerned about you and your family, Mr Cox.’
Reg said nothing.
‘The landlord wants me to give you a quick look, if you don’t mind.’
He caught hold of Reg’s limp wrist and began counting his pulse. There didn’t appear to be anything physically wrong with the man but he was clearly distraught about something. When John had finished his examination, it took a couple of glasses of Terry Dore’s best malt whisky before Reg could stop shaking. ‘Have you come to see my Patsy?’ he asked John.
‘Yes, I have. Where is she?’
Reg’s face crumpled. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’
John struggled to make sense of what he was saying when Terry took the words out of his mouth.
‘What yer mean, you don’t know?’ Terry demanded.
‘She’s been taken.’
‘Taken? Taken where?’
‘I don’t know,’ Reg whimpered.
While the people around them murmured and shook their heads, John felt as if something had gripped the pit of his stomach. ‘I think it best if someone gets the constable,’ he said.
‘Already done, sir,’ said Terry. ‘I sent my lad Paul. He’ll be back in a minute.’
‘I’m here now,’ said a deep and reassuring voice behind them. ‘What’s up?’
PC Kipling was in civilian clothes. They were a bit scruffy and he had one or two dead leaves stuck to his jacket. He smelled pleasantly of autumn bonfire. ‘Ah, Reg. I’m glad to see you’re back,’ he said. ‘Going off like that without telling a living soul where you were going has caused a fine how d’you do in the village, I can tell you.’
‘He says his girl’s been took off,’ Terry blurted out.
‘Took off?’ Kipper snorted. ‘You been watching too many of them Hollywood films, Reg.’
Reg’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that a fact, Mr Kipling? Well, let me tell you, I’ve been going out of my mind looking for them, but I can’t find either of them, not my Patsy or Dot.’
John stared somewhere into space. Had she really left him? He’d known she wasn’t happy almost from the moment they’d met. There was sadness in her eyes even back then. Hearing she was pregnant put a whole different complexion on things. If she was having her husband’s child there must be a marriage there … and yet there was still something about her that made him want to make things right for her, make her laugh, protect her … He swallowed hard. If she had run off, would he ever see her again?
Reg downed the last of the whisky and glanced up at Terry but this time there was no response. The bar fell silent. Everything seemed rather surreal. Where was Dottie? Where was Patsy?
Reg looked down at his shoes, turning his foot this way and that so that everyone could see the mud caked on the bottom. ‘Look at the state of my shoes. I must have walked twenty mile or more.’
Kipper took out his police notebook from his back pocket.
‘But we all thought you’d gone off together,’ said Vince Dobbs.
‘We did,’ Reg continued. ‘I took them to the hotel where Dot and I went for our honeymoon. Sea View in Eastbourne. It’s only a step from the seafront. Lovely place, top notch. She’s been working so hard just lately, see – I thought I’d surprise them.’
John was conscious of the people around him exchanging sentimental smiles but he kept his eye on Reg. He wasn’t normally a sceptical person but he had a growing gut feeling the man was playing to the gallery. When Dottie sent that last letter to him, she had been troubled about something. All this talk about surprises and honeymoon hotels … Reg had never seemed the caring, tender-hearted type before.
‘We had the best time.’ Reg went on. ‘We walked round the town and I bought my girl a candyfloss. We spent the afternoon in the pictures and on the way back to the guesthouse, I took them into a café for fish and chips.’ He stared into his empty glass.
A tall bespectacled man snatched Reg’s glass from his hand. ‘For God’s sake, give the man a drink, Landlord.’
‘Thanks, Eric,’ Reg said without looking up.
‘Go on then, son,’ said Eric, his voice low.
John started at the top of Reg’s bowed head. Something was wrong. Something was badly wrong.
Reg spread his hands and wiped his palms down the side of his trousers. ‘I loved that little girl, as God is my witness, I loved her. But
she
didn’t want me to have her, did she?
She
wanted her all to herself.’ His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. ‘When did any of you last see all of us doing something together … something as a family? The truth of the matter is, she wouldn’t include me. Jealous, that’s what she was. Jealous as sin.’
John was appalled. Dottie jealous?
Never!
How dare he? Dottie never spoke ill of her husband. The only thing she’d intimated was that Reg was the one finding it hard to adjust to being a family.
Reg looked up at him, as if reading his thoughts. His cold stare made it difficult for John to maintain eye contact. ‘She always made out like she was the perfect little housewife but Les Dixon can vouch for me,’ Reg insisted with a slight curl in his lip. ‘Turfed out of me own home to eat in his chip shop night after night. I tell you, Doc, I’ve lived a solitary life since that child came.’
John said nothing, aware that several heads were nodding in agreement.
‘That’s ’cos she never wanted me home of an evening.’
‘You was in here every night,’ Eric agreed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever known you to miss.’
‘I loved that kid. Loved her, I did.’ Reg choked back another sob.
John clenched and unclenched his fists. Fraud … Liar!
The whisky arrived. Reg gulped a mouthful and then leaned forward, supporting his head with his hand.
Kipper bent over him and said softly, ‘So where is Dottie now, Reg?’
‘I told you, I don’t know. I swear to God. I woke up this morning and she and my Patsy had gone. Look, I found this note.’ He dug in his pocket and handed a dog-eared and crumpled piece of paper to the policeman. ‘I spent the whole day looking for her. I even caught a bus up to Beachy Head. Thank God she wasn’t there but the more I think about it the more convinced I am. She’s done for her, Mr Kipling. I know she has.’
John felt himself sway. In God’s name, what had he done? Had he hurt her? And what had he done to Patsy? Never taking his eyes from Reg for one minute, John lowered himself into a nearby chair, his heart racing.
Kipper took his time unfolding the note, taking out his glasses and calling for a better light. Grim-faced, he read it and then handed it to John.
John recognised Dottie’s handwriting immediately. The paper looked as if it had been screwed up and there was a large chunk torn from the top of the page. The note itself was in ink but hastily scribbled.
Patsy seems to be happy but I can’t go on pretending everything is fine. I’m sorry to let everybody down …
‘Are you’re sure it’s from her?’ Kipper asked.
Yes, John answered in his head, it’s her handwriting. It was similar to something she wrote in the letter she sent him …
‘The chambermaid found it when she turned down the sheets,’ Reg said.
For the first time since Kipper arrived, John found his voice. ‘If you spent the whole time together, when did she write this note?
‘I dunno,’ said Reg. His tone had an edge to it now. ‘Yesterday, after we had breakfast. I went up to use the toilet and when I came down, they’d gone. I went to look for them. Like I say, I was out all day.’
As Kipper wrote it down in his notepad, Reg blew his nose, loudly.
‘Did they take their things?’ John asked.
‘The suitcase was gone.’
Someone handed Reg a lit cigarette. He drew on it deeply.
‘Did you check with reception?’
‘Nobody saw them leave.’
‘How long did you wait for them?’
‘All day and all night.’
‘And you didn’t tell anyone around here that you and your wife were going away?’
‘I told you, it was a surprise, spur of the moment.’
‘So spur of the moment, you didn’t even ask anyone to feed the chickens?’
Reg looked up. His eyes grew dark. ‘What is this?’ he snapped. ‘I come here to tell you my wife and child are missing and all you can do is talk about bloody chickens?’ He appealed to PC Kipling. ‘Look here, Constable Kipling, I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the last two days searching the whole of Eastbourne for them. I’ve walked right along the seafront. Miles, I’ve walked, but I couldn’t find her. I couldn’t find either of them.’
‘Did you contact the police in Eastbourne?’ Kipper wanted to know.
‘I didn’t think they’d help,’ said Reg looking away again. ‘I mean, they’d have to have something to go on, wouldn’t they? A body or something …’ He choked back a sob.
John fixed his eyes on the floor.
What have you done, you bastard …
‘Now, now, don’t go jumping to conclusions,’ said Kipper. ‘I reckon in a day or two, she’ll turn up, right as ninepence.’
‘You all right, Doc?’ Terry suddenly asked. ‘Only you look a bit peaky.’
John gave him a fleeting smile. ‘I’m fine. Just trying to work out the scenario, that’s all.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You’d better go home and get some rest, Mr Cox,’ he advised. He kept his voice as even as he could but in truth he was so angry it was as much as he could do not to hit the man. ‘You’ve obviously had a shock.’
‘I think we all have,’ said Reg looking directly at John. ‘My wife and daughter mean a lot to a lot of people.’
John felt a shiver run down his spine.
‘Michael Gilbert might still be round your place,’ said Terry as everyone began drifting back to the bar.
‘Michael Gilbert?’ Reg looked puzzled. ‘What for?’
‘To fill in the well,’ Terry explained. ‘Oh of course, you don’t know, do you? It fell in on itself Monday. We couldn’t leave it like that. Too dangerous.’
Reg recovered himself. ‘Has it completely gone?’
‘And half the garden,’ said Vince. ‘One time, we thought your Dottie was in it.’
‘That’s right,’ piped up someone else. ‘We saw something sticking up in the rubble.’
John noticed that Reg had gone very pale.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Eric quickly. ‘When the police finally got hold of it, t’were only a few dead chickens.’
Reg’s eyes darted from one to another but he showed no real surprise.
‘You knew the chickens were in the well, did you, Mr Cox?’ said John.
Reg looked at him coldly. ‘Of course I did,’ he snapped. ‘Bloody fox got them. Chewed all the heads off. I chucked them in the well without telling her because I didn’t want Dot getting upset.’ He stood up and walked towards the door. As he reached it, he turned back with his hand outstretched. Grasping John’s hand and shaking it vigorously he added, ‘Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey, Doctor.’
As he let go of his hand, it was as much as John Landers could do to resist the temptation to wipe his now warm and clammy palm down the side of his trousers.
Everything seemed really far away. Dottie struggled to make herself wake up. She could hear someone banging on the door but her body wouldn’t move.
And that awful smell was fading but something told her something was dreadfully wrong but she couldn’t think. What did it mean? She couldn’t remember. It wasn’t as strong as it had been but it was still there. It reminded her of rotten eggs. She coughed but it clung to her throat and her head hurt. Oh, how her head hurt.
The banging was getting more violent. She had to make herself move but her limbs felt like lead. Her mouth tasted of vomit and there was a sort of crust around her lips. What was that smell? She could remember a heavy perfume, but it wasn’t that …
Gas!
Her eyes flew open. Where was Patsy? They had to get out of here, but where were they? She couldn’t remember that either.
She had to turn off the gas.
She could hear voices but they sounded as if they were at the far end of a long tunnel. And that banging … was it never going to stop? She had to sit up but when she tried to move, it felt as if someone was sitting on her chest. She thought she was in bed but she wasn’t. She was lying on something hard and unyielding. Should she switch on the light and see?
Turn the gas off. Turn it off! That must be why she had such an awfully bad headache and her brain wouldn’t work …
Now it sounded like someone was kicking the door down. Someone was breaking in and she couldn’t do anything about it. She wanted to vomit again.
Mary? Help me, Mary.
Is that you, Sylvie … Get Patsy out …
Are you there, Reg …
She could hear the voices more clearly now. They were getting closer. Someone was trying to get in the room but Patsy was lying too close to the door.
‘Patsy … move over, darling …
A man’s voice, one she didn’t recognise, cried out, ‘For heaven’s sake, get a move on. There’s a child in here!’