Don't Turn Around (14 page)

Jennifer waved at her to stop. ‘I’m all grown up now. I need to know the truth.’

Laura rose from her chair. ‘In that case, I need a cigarette.’

‘I thought you gave them up?’

‘I’ve got an emergency pack. Let’s go outside. There’s no point in having your uncle Ralph worrying about my lungs, bless him.’

Jennifer followed Laura to a wooden bench on the edge of the pond half way down the garden. A cacophony of whinnies ensued, as the horses demanded attention from their paddock. Jennifer stared into the shallow pond, watching the carp dart in the icy water. Laura ignited her match into a flame and sucked on the cigarette. Blowing out the smoke from the corner of her mouth, she began to speak.

‘It was a lovely summer’s evening and we sat in this very spot. Lewis asked if he could trust me and I said he could. All along my mind was racing, wondering what he was going to tell me. Then he started to cry, saying their marriage was in trouble. He loved your mother but was so upset because she was hardly ever at home.’

Jennifer shook her head in protest.

‘Oh Jennifer, he loved you. He just wasn’t able to cope on his own. He had to raise you single-handedly because your mother was never there.’

Jennifer stared at the water mournfully, feeling ten years old again. Were Aunt Laura’s views tainted by her obvious feelings for her father? ‘When Mum talked about her job, her eyes came alive. I remember thinking I wanted to get a job like that when I grew up, something that made me light up too,’ Jennifer said, a lump rising to her throat.

‘After Mum died, Dad fell apart. I had to look after Amy and put food on the table with the few pounds he threw me. I was ten years old. Sometimes he would go on a bender and disappear for days. I was so scared the social services would split Amy and me up, I never told a soul. I cut myself off from everyone in school. How could I bring friends back knowing what was at home?’

Laura stubbed out the dead cigarette and placed its remnants back in the packet. ‘Your father shut us all out, asking to be left alone with you and Amy to grieve. I didn’t realise how much he was drinking; otherwise we would never have backed off.’

‘Sometimes he would sober up and take us fishing for a treat. He would make a picnic and tell stories like other families. But by the time I was fourteen, his drinking was out of control. The local winos began coming back to the boathouse with him. I’d see them leering at me. I’d take Amy upstairs and lock the bedroom door. One night when dad was passed out, one of them tried to come in. He kept pushing on the door, trying force it open. I’ve never been so afraid.’

Laura’s face crumpled. ‘No! Why didn’t you tell me?’

Jennifer shrugged. ‘My old teacher Charlie Taylor used to watch out for me when he drank with Dad. He threw them all out and tore a strip off my father for allowing it to happen.’

‘Jennifer, we all let you down, I just hope you can forgive us.’ Laura said, wrapping her arm around her shoulder. ‘Thank goodness Charlie Taylor called social services when he did.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t know that at the time. Dad didn’t seem to care. He just started drinking again. I just couldn’t see any way out of it.’ Jennifer said.

Shaking her head, Laura realised that Lewis was not the man she had painted him to be. ‘And then came the fire. You could have all been killed.’

Jennifer’s stomach churned at the thought of revisiting the unwanted memory. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘It’s behind you now, you don’t need to upset yourself like this, dear.’

‘It was all my fault.’

‘Don’t ever think that. We should have been there for you.’

‘I wanted him to die.’ Jennifer sobbed, biting her forefinger as the tears drove down her face.

‘Oh sweetheart, come here to me,’ Laura held out her arms and Jennifer sobbed into her chest, the intoxicating smell of her perfume making her dizzy. Laura smoothed down her hair, kissing the crown of her head. Jennifer wanted to tell her aunt what had really happened that day, but as the tears flowed, the moment for confession passed.

T
he curves
of Mrs Harris’s body flowed onto the sketchpad and Frank paused to admire his handy work. His pencil moved quickly as he sketched the doughy body, limbs extended and eyes bulging in shocked silence. A sneer grew on his lips. She had deserved it and more. The tap, tap, tap of the front door interrupted his thoughts. He lay the sketch on the bed and sighed heavily. Who could it be this time of the morning?

‘I’m coming,’ he said, in his most cheerful voice.

A pretty face smiled back at him as he opened the door. The young woman’s long dark hair was neatly tied back, and she stood with self-assurance. It was unfortunate that she was wearing a police uniform, but not entirely unexpected.

‘Good morning. Are you Frank Foster?’

Frank opened the door wider and smiled. ‘Yes I am. What can I do for you, officer?’

‘My name is Sergeant Knight and I’d like to speak to you for a few minutes. Could we go inside?’

‘Why of course. I’m not in any trouble, am I?’ Frank gave an amused chuckle, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Elizabeth did not return his smile.

She took a seat on the three-piece white leather sofa near the window, which faced a full length bookshelf against the far wall. The remaining walls were decorated with dark prints of bleak landscapes, and the smell of bleach tainted the strangely sterile room. Elizabeth had been briefed that Frank was twenty-five years old and had lived alone since the death of his mother a couple of years previously. She had expected someone weedy, but his intimidating stature and creepy demeanor made her wish she hadn’t come alone. Scanning the room, she felt Frank’s eyes bore into her.

She stiffened as her gaze met his. ‘I’m sorry to impose on your day, but I’d like to ask you some questions by means of an informal interview. You’re under no obligation to answer my questions, and you can consult a solicitor if you want. Should you prefer to speak to me at the police station where your interview will be recorded, you can also do so.’

Frank’s eyebrows raised as he took a seat across from her. ‘This all sounds very official, Sergeant Knight, but I’m happy to help in any way I can.’

‘In that case I’ll carry on. There’s been an incident involving a female by the name of Mrs Barbara Harris at one of the homes you’ve attended.’ Elizabeth ran through the caution with steady ease before carrying on. ‘Do you understand, Mr Foster?’

Frank sat back in his chair, casually resting his ankle on his knee. He smiled. ‘Of course. You have the most striking eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?’

‘No,’ Elizabeth said, in response to the unexpected compliment. If he was trying to put her off, he was wasting his time. Shuffling in the chair, she slid her police notebook from her jacket pocket and pulled a pen from under the rubber band, which held it all together.

‘Sadly, Mrs Harris of 42 Harold Road was found deceased at her property yesterday. I believe you were one of the last people to talk to her. Do you recall attending the address?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. She didn’t seem in very good health when I saw her.’

‘So you did attend the address yesterday?’

‘Yes I did. But where are my manners? Can I get you a cup of tea, Sergeant Knight?’

‘No thank you,’ Elizabeth said, clenching her jaw as her patience ran thin. ‘Can you tell me about your visit? How long it lasted? Anything she said?’

‘You say it’s informal yet you’re questioning me about the death of a person whom I was last to see. Am I to understand that I am under suspicion of murder?’ Frank said, offering a bemused smile.

Elizabeth reddened. ‘As I said, we’re just making enquiries.’

‘Enquiries about what? Was she murdered or not?’

‘There’s nothing to suggest she was at this stage. But I’m sure you understand that when there is a sudden death, we have to ensure we follow all lines of enquiry.’

‘Of course I understand, I have nothing but admiration for the police. My father is a Chief Constable. I often felt like following in his footsteps, but I had to care for my mother, who was terminally ill.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. What force does your father work for?’

‘He works in Australia. Anyway, listen to me wittering on when you have a job to do. You were saying I am a line of enquiry?’

‘Yes, you could say that. We’re trying to trace her last movements.’

‘The only movements she made were to put her groceries away. She was wheezing and her complexion was not very good. I offered to call her a doctor but the old dear can be quite … erm, abrupt at times.’ Frank chuckled, then his face saddened. ‘I wish I had known just how ill she was, I would have insisted. But instead I went, wishing her a merry Christmas.’

‘I see.’ Elizabeth said, scribbling his response into her notepad. ‘Did you know her very well?’

‘No, not at all, it was the second time I had met her.’

‘Did you see anyone else around?’

‘No, she just had her little dogs, funny little things they were.’ Frank crossed his long legs, and his foot began to bob up and down.

‘They created quite a racket after you went. You can’t have been gone long when Mrs Harris was discovered deceased.’

Frank shook his head, his foot bouncing faster. ‘Oh dear, poor woman, if only I had known. How very sad indeed.’

Elizabeth stared at the man as seconds passed in silence. She was trying to gauge his reaction and he knew it. He followed her gaze to his foot, now bobbing frantically, and he jumped up from the chair. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you that cup of tea?’

‘Actually yes, that would be lovely, thank you.’

Frank rose and stood over her. ‘In that case I’ll just put the kettle on.’

‘Thank you, white with no sugar, please. Is it OK if I use your bathroom?’ Elizabeth said, as Frank walked towards the small open plan kitchen.

‘Of course. It’s the door at the end of the hall.’

Frank slid a bread knife from the block on the counter. ‘I’ve got carrot cake, would you like some?’

Elizabeth paused. ‘No thank you, I’m fine.’

‘You’re not one of these women always on a diet are you? You certainly don’t need to be.’ Frank said, taking the cake from the fridge and slowly cutting himself a slice.

’No, I don’t eat on duty.’ Elizabeth lied, giving one last glance to the knife on the counter before closing the door behind her.

The hall was as clinical as the rest of the flat, and the magnolia walls and drab brown carpet did nothing to enhance it. Frank Foster spoke eloquently, but Elizabeth had done her homework and he certainly didn’t come from money. She silently pushed on the handle as she opened the door to the left to reveal a linen cupboard, with blankets and towels neatly folded inside. Cursing under her breath, she approached the door on the right. Poking her nose inside, she took a couple of cautious steps into the brightly lit bedroom. She would never risk her career by carrying out a hasty illegal search as it would deem any evidence found inadmissible. But something inside drove her onwards, and it was the same urge that had driven her to lie to Frank about the details surrounding Mrs Harris’s death. It was irresponsible and foolhardy, but the pull to probe further was too strong to resist. Something about him unnerved her. And something about the death of Mrs Harris wasn’t quite right.

Her heart drummed a beat as she spied the heavy weights in the corner. That was no surprise, judging from Frank’s broad frame. Drawing shallow breaths, she opened the wardrobe door, which revealed nothing but listless rows of pressed shirts and trousers. She strained to hear any noises from the hall, and winced as the wardrobe door loudly creaked shut. Turning to leave, she noticed a sketchpad on the far side of the single bed, flanked with an array of pencils. Elizabeth took a step forward to pick it up.

‘Your tea is ready.’ Frank’s voice made her jump out of her skin. Turning on her heel, she swallowed back her fear.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I came in the wrong door,’ she said, a flush creeping from her shirt collar to her cheeks.

Frank eyed the sketchpad behind her on the bed. The blade of the knife scratched the skin under his shirtsleeve as he considered his next move.

Elizabeth looked at her watch. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Foster, but I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome. My colleague is waiting outside in the car.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ he said, tilting his head to one side as he stood in the doorway. ‘I was enjoying your company.’ Reluctantly, he moved aside to allow her past. ‘So what happens now? Do I wait to hear from you?’

Elizabeth pulled a dog-eared card from her pocket. ‘I don’t expect you will hear from us again. If you have any enquiries, you can call me on this number.’

He reached for the card with his free hand, turning it over in his fingers, ‘Eli-za-beth,’ he said, accentuating the word as he followed her to the front door.

F
rank bolted
the front door after she left, fighting the urge to drag her back inside. She was a lot smaller and weaker than him. It would take only seconds to clamp a hand over her mouth and overpower her. He bit hard on his lip, bringing himself back to reality. The knife slipped from his sleeve and clanged to the floor, the moment lost. He walked to the window overlooking the street below. Elizabeth was sitting alone in the police car. Lying little bitch, he thought. He watched as she stared ahead before starting the engine. He had rattled her, all right. If she’d picked up those sketches, it would have ended up a whole lot differently and he would have a dead police officer on his hands. He had been careless leaving them there. He marched to his room to tear up the pictures but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he picked up his sketchpad and began to draw Elizabeth as he wanted her, with her hands cuffed behind her back. Frank became aroused as he drew the restraints on her legs. Helpless, he held her beautiful black hair, wrapped around his fist. Oh, the things he could have done to her. It would almost have been worth the risk. He finished the drawing and his hand released the buckle on his trousers as his imagination took over. He went through the scenario as the ecstatic drug of power and control led to her pleading for her life. That would teach her for lying to him. If only he could make it real.

H
e expected
another knock at the door, but it never came. Frank looked down at the empty parking space and dissected the visit. The dog must have disturbed the neighbour, who went to check. But would they have checked so soon? Wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, he picked up the phone and called his boss.

‘Hello, it’s Frank. Have you heard about Mrs Harris? I’ve just had the police around.’

‘Hullo, Frank. Yes, I’ve just had Mrs Johnson on the phone, very upset she is. She’s going to stay with her daughter over Christmas.’

‘It must have been a terrible shock, finding her like that,’ Frank said, not wanting to sound too curious.

‘Terrible. It was the dogs that alerted her. She went in this morning and found her dead on the sofa. One of her asthma attacks by the look of it, she hadn’t been well at all.’

‘No, she didn’t seem right when I left her. I just wish I could have done more.’

‘It’s not your fault, Frank. The house was rotten with damp, but she was too tight-fisted to heat it. I don’t know why the police were asking me about you. Mrs Johnson heard you say goodbye to Mrs Harris when you left. She told them as much.’

‘From what I gather it’s nothing to worry about. Just tying up loose ends. It’s a real shame.’

‘I think you’re being very kind there, Frank. Truth be told, she was a difficult woman with a sharp tongue. Anyway never mind, these things happen.’

‘Of course. OK then, I’ll see you Monday evening.’

‘Will do, Frank, bye for now.’

Frank dropped the phone on the receiver and cracked his knuckles as he paced. Sergeant Knight was bluffing, and she an officer of the law! How dishonest. Back and forward he paced, going through it one more time. The bitch, she was trying to flush him out. How amateurish. She didn’t know who she was up against. But she would find out soon enough.