An Unfamiliar Murder (8 page)

“I insist, Anna.” The interruption startled her. Her hand froze. “You’ve
had a huge shock. We, that is . . . I would rather you took some time to get
yourself together and return to work when all of this is behind you.” That
explained the awkwardness.

Cookie nudged her hand, but she kept it still. “Oh.”

“Do you have any lesson plans for today?”

“In the top draw of my desk. It’s unlocked.”

“Take the week to sort yourself out.” Anna blinked. This was a command,
not a request. “Just keep me informed, will you? And let Erica know if you have
any lesson plans for the rest of the week?” Erica was the school secretary.

“Of course.” She watched as the cat wandered away into the kitchen. “Err.
Thanks Jason.”

“No problem. Take care.”

“Bye.” She switched the button to end the call and stared at the handset,
perplexed. She was beginning to feel alienated. Suddenly she remembered her
arrangement with Ross, grabbed her new mobile from her pocket and selected his
number, hoping to catch him before he left.

“Hi, Anna.” He sounded as if he were still half asleep. “I’ll be there in
twenty minutes.”

“That’s why I’m ringing, Ross. I’m not going in today. There’s no need to
pick me up.”

“Oh . . . Everything alright?”

“I’m not sure really. I was just getting ready when Randle phoned and
told me to take the week off . . .” She stuttered over her rush to deliver the
words. “Special leave. To sort out my life, I think.”

“Wow. That’s generous for Randle.”

“That’s what I thought.” She fidgeted, suspicion creeping into her head.

 
“They’re probably waiting for it
all to die down a bit. The kids are bound to have heard about it in the news.
If they put two and two together . . .” He hesitated.

“They wouldn’t know my address,” Anna said defensively.

“It’s probably just a precaution. Don’t worry. I’d better go. I’ll pop in
tonight after work.” As he rang off she heard something on the radio and headed
back into the kitchen, straining to hear the news report.

Her dad had left the room and she stared at the radio as it bellowed the
words out. “The dead body of a middle aged man was found on Friday evening in a
flat in Little Hampstead. A young woman, known to be a local school teacher, is
currently helping police with their enquiries . . .”

She leant forward and switched off the radio as realization hit home. It
was only a matter of time before the press tracked her down and connected her
with Carrington Grange. Perhaps Randle was right. The school certainly wouldn’t
welcome any disruption caused by press attention.

Anna walked back into the lounge, looking out of the front window
absentmindedly. She was starting to feel very alone. It reminded her of when
she was back at junior school, in Year 6. A group of fellow students were
penning graffiti on the back of the bike sheds. She hadn’t been keen to join
them at first, but they cajoled and persuaded, flattering her artistic talent.
Although she knew it was wrong, she believed them when they said they were in
it together and they would stand together when caught. But on the day it was
discovered she was there alone, silently putting the finishing touches to a
drawing of a rock guitar. As she was brought out into the middle of the
playground and confronted by her form teacher, she watched her classmates
stepping away as if they had nothing to do with it, leaving her to face
punishment alone. In the same way today she could feel more and more people
gradually retreating, although this time she had done nothing wrong.

And then she saw it, through the front window. The police car indicated
and turned into her driveway in all its glorious bright colors. Her stomach
bounced. Maybe they were bringing her bike back? She hoped so. She really
needed some good news today. She made her way to the front door and opened it
before the policeman in uniform had time to ring the bell.

“Morning officer,” she said brightly.

“Anna Cottrell?” The seriousness in his inflection was disconcerting.

“Yes.” She felt her face fall.

“I need you to come down to the station with me. We have some more
questions for you . . .”

*
* *

Anna watched
two detectives enter the room and close the door behind them. She was baffled.
The only contact she had had with the police since her release on Saturday was
a telephone call requesting her bike back. What on earth could they possibly
need to ask her now?

She continued to stare at them as they arranged their paperwork on the
table and fiddled with tapes and recorders. Anna recognized the oversized
detective from her first interview, but the female detective who sat opposite
her was new. She was dressed in a charcoal suit, the white shirt underneath
open at the collar, and had an air of practicality about her. She wore no
jewelry, her dark, bobbed hair tucked neatly behind her ears, her face showing
only the tracings of mascara, perhaps a little blusher.

“Good morning, Anna,” she said finally. “You’ve met Detective Sergeant
Pemberton already,” she said nodding to her colleague, “and I am Detective
Chief Inspector
Lavery
.” There was a squeak as Will
adjusted himself in his chair next to her. She glanced sideways at him. His
face suddenly looked very alert. She shot him a puzzled look, which he failed
to notice, and turned back to the detective.

“Anna, I would like to ask you some more questions about Friday evening,”
DCI
Lavery
continued.

“I’ve already told you everything I know.”

“I realize that this is difficult for you, but it would be most helpful
if you would just help us with a few more issues.”

Anna shrugged. “OK.”
What else
could there be
?

The detective placed three sheets of paper face down on the table. One by
one she turned them over, her fingers squeaking on the glossy paper. They were
photos of the dead man, taken from various angles. Anna cringed. Her stomach
churned and she averted her gaze, just as acid bile rose into her mouth, forcing
her to swallow.

 
“Have you ever met this man before
Friday evening?” the detective asked, once all photos were face up.

“No, I’ve already told you . . .”

“Are you sure? Take a closer look.”

Anna forced herself to look at the pictures again, then looked up at the
detective alarmed. “What is all this?”

“Do you know his name?”

“Jim
McCafferty
. Your colleague here told me on
Friday evening.” Anna looked from one detective to another.
What now?

“Have you heard that name before?”

“No. Not before Friday. Never.” She started to shake her head.

“I’m afraid I’m struggling to believe you.”

Anna looked back at her defiantly. “I don’t care what you think. I’m
telling the truth.” She could feel the tone of her voice increase as she
struggled to keep her composure.

“His name has never been spoken in your house before Friday?”

“No.”
Not before Friday.
She
wondered at the significance of this.

“Then you may be surprised to discover that the DNA results are back and
they are very puzzling.” Anna continued to return the detective’s stare. It was
as if they were the only two people in the room. “They reveal a familial link
with the victim.”

“What?”

“He is a member of your family.”

“What?” Her body jolted as if it had been hit by a bolt of lightening.
She sat forward. “Do you mean …? Is that why my mother and father have been
acting strangely?”

“Excuse me. May I have a word with you, Detective?” Everyone’s eyes
focused on Will at the sudden interruption. “In private?” he continued, “It’s
important.” DCI
Lavery’s
face creased into a frown. “It’s
important,” he repeated, pressing every syllable.

DCI
Lavery
sat back in her chair and sighed. “OK.”

“Will,” Anna cried, “what’s going on?” He put up his hand to silence her.

Her face clouded over as the DCI announced a break in the interview. The
tape was switched off and both detectives rose and left the room followed by
Will, closing the door behind them. She felt outraged and, not for the first
time, as if she were being treated like a child in an adult’s world. Wasn’t
Will supposed to represent her? What was so secret that he couldn’t discuss it
in front of her?

The door opened and a WPC in uniform stepped in. She glanced over at Anna
and then looked away, standing just inside the door. Her brown hair had been
highlighted with a russet tone and she wore it scraped off her face into a bun
at the back, lifting her eyebrows slightly. She stood so still that she
reminded Anna of a shop mannequin.

Restlessly, Anna fidgeted in her chair and then looked at her watch. It
was eleven o’clock. She wondered if the police would be speaking to her parents
about Jim
McCafferty
. Perhaps they were here now?

She shuddered as she remembered the chilling look on her mother’s face
when she mentioned his name. What could have terrified her so much? And her
behavior afterwards? Usually, when Kathleen Cottrell got upset, she got angry
and shouted – she shouted a lot, but to sob like a baby? No, that was definitely
not her style. And those words, “What have I done?” Was she referring to Jim
McCafferty
when she uttered those words? Anna swallowed
hard.

The sound of the door clicking open broke her train of thought. Will
walked back into the room. He looked straight at the uniformed officer. “Would
you give us a moment please?” She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind
her.

Anna gripped the sides of the chair tightly. Anger turned to frustration
as she glared at him. “Will, what is it?”

When his eyes finally met her gaze they were sorrowful, like a puppy
pleading forgiveness for chewing the back of a sofa.

Anna could feel the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Will please?” She
stared up at him desperately. “You have to tell me what’s going on?”

He was silent for a moment, as if he were trying to find the right words.
Finally, he looked directly at her. “Anna, I need to tell you something and I
need you to be calm.”

She stared back at him with fear in her eyes, a bunny startled in
headlights. “OK.” Again she swallowed hard.

“This isn’t easy for me, so please bear with me until I’ve finished.” She
continued to stare up at him expectantly, nodding her head slightly.

“When you were three years old you were adopted by Edward and Kathleen
Cottrell. Jim
McCafferty
was your biological father.”

“No!” Anna shook her head in disbelief. “This isn’t happening.” She could
hear the sound of her heart pounding in her chest.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I’m very sorry to have to be the one to tell you.” He
looked around the room in despair. “In here . . . Like this.”

Anna opened her mouth to say something, but her voice caught in her
throat. She closed it again. She shook her head as if it were wrong, as if he
were mistaken. She focused on the linoleum flooring which was speckled in black
and grey, put together in a mock tile effect, wondering who would create such a
design.
Were there companies who focused
on designing flooring for police stations, cells, interview rooms?

She suddenly became aware of Will’s face in very close proximity to hers
and turned her head to face him, her hands still gripping the sides of the
molded chair. He was crouched beside her.

 
“Can I get you anything?” he asked
tenderly.

“I need to go to the ladies room.”

“Of course.” He stood up. “I’ll take you there. It’s just at the end of
the corridor.”

One by one, Anna peeled her fingers off the plastic and stood. Her legs
felt shaky and her eyes were set in a wide, trance-like state.

Anna couldn’t
remember the walk down the corridor. It was like a whirlwind.
She
walked into the empty toilets and immediately headed over to the basins,
turning on the faucet and splashing water on her crimson face. The cold water
soothed her burning skin momentarily. She lifted her head to look at her
reflection, staring at herself for several minutes. The face looked familiar,
but she didn’t know who the hell she was looking at.

Chapter Seven

They returned
to the interview room to see two Styrofoam cups of coffee on the table, steam
rising out of them, diffusing into the cool air around. Anna hadn’t spoken to
Will since they had left the room. She had no desire to speak to anyone. At
this moment she felt as if she were piloting a plane which had descended into a
tailspin, unsure of her surroundings or how to correct her position.

She sat down as the door opened and the detectives re-entered, seating
themselves opposite. Placing her hands around the white cup, the warmth
providing some bleak comfort, she lifted it to her lips, not noticing the lack
of sugar usually craved by her sweet tooth. She gazed at the grey wall behind
them, staring at nothingness, hoping her gesture may provide a few more
precious minutes of respite.

It was as if both detectives were telepathic. They sat and waited
patiently until she replaced the cup on the table before they restarted the
interview. She was aware of tapes being switched on again, voices in the
background.

Finally, Detective Chief Inspector
Lavery
spoke
up. “Anna.” She waited until Anna looked her in the eye. “We understand that
you’ve had quite a shock.” Anna looked away instantly, feeling her face flush
in anger. “But we need you to stay focused,” she continued gently, tilting her
head in an attempt to regain eye contact. “We just have a few more questions to
ask you.”

Anna bent her head, rubbed the fingers of her right hand hard up and down
her forehead and then looked up at the detective, allowing her hand to drop
loosely onto her lap. More than ever, she really wanted to get out of here.

“Can you tell me whether you recall hearing the name Jim
McCafferty
before today?”

Anna stared at the tape for a moment, watching the spools wind around
slowly. She lifted her eyes and spoke directly at the DCI. “I’d never heard his
name until your colleague here,” she nodded at Pemberton, “mentioned it in the
interview on Friday night.”

“Have your parents’
ever
mentioned
the name
McCafferty
to you?”

“Never . . . Well, not until Saturday.”

“Oh?” The detective leant in towards Anna.

“When I mentioned his name they seemed to sort of know him - said he was
an old acquaintance.” She felt herself cringe. “It kind of makes sense now. I
wondered why they were being so cagey.”

“How do you mean
cagey
?”

“As soon as I said his name, they both looked as if they had seen a
ghost.”

“Did you have any idea that you were adopted?”

“What!” Her face screwed up in horror. “No,” she said. “I thought I was
just . . . Well, you know, I thought they were my real parents.”

“You never suspected anything?”

“No, why should I?” She shook her head incredulously. They brought me up
as their own. I don’t remember anything different.” Silence saturated the room
for several minutes. Anna could literally feel the cogs turning in her own
brain. “That explains it,” she concluded finally, as the penny finally dropped
into place.

“What?” Detective Pemberton asked.

“They’ve never said things to me like – ‘You’ve got your father’s smile’
or, ‘you take after your mother, she was good at swimming.’ My friends’ parents
would say things like that to them and I always wondered why my parents never
did. When I was young, I asked them several times, like when I won an award for
my reading in Year 3 – ‘Do I take after you Daddy?’ And my father would just
say, ‘You’ve always been a clever girl Anna’.”

Anna stared at the walls, her brain searching through its depths,
examining memories from her youth. “And they never had any early photos of me.
When I was in Year 4 we had to take in baby photos of ourselves. You know, a
game so we could guess which one belonged to whom?” Anna was gazing into space
now, talking to nobody in particular. “Mum didn’t have any of me. She said a
whole box of photos was lost when they moved to Worthington, so I had to take in one of her instead.
I was really embarrassed at the time because it looked so old fashioned.” Anna
dropped her head realizing, with chagrin, that these were going to be the first
of many memory recollections over the next few days. Many occasions when the
clues were there, screaming out at her, but she had always failed to notice who
she really was.

*
* *

As they drove
into Worley Close the rain was coming down in a steady stream, blurring the
windows. So much so that she almost missed the police car heading out.
Almost.
Will pulled up outside number 12
and cut the engine. Anna undid her seat belt and swung round to face Will who,
it seemed, was deliberately avoiding eye contact, instead staring up at the
road ahead.

“You knew, didn’t you?” she asked finally.

He turned to face her, resting his right hand on the steering wheel. He
didn’t need to speak. It was written all over his face.

“How could you have kept it from me?” she pleaded. Will had been a family
friend for as long as she could remember. His son, Julian, was the same age as
Anna and, at gatherings, Will would always play footy in the garden with the
two children, or roll around on the grass, pretend fighting. He was like a fun
uncle. Since adulthood, she had always seen him as a friend, an equal, not
simply one of her parent’s friends. This made the disappointment and betrayal
all the heavier to bear.

“It wasn’t for me to say,” he answered finally, looking back at the road.

“Who else knew?” she asked, but as soon as the words left her mouth she
regretted them. Once again, his face displayed all the answers. Everyone:
family, of course, and their entire circle of friends, she guessed. All of
them, closely guarding their precious little secret. She imagined them talking,
huddled in bundles at parties and gatherings over the years. “Poor little Anna.
She has no idea where she comes from.” She could taste sick in her throat.

He looked back at her. “I’m sorry, Anna, truly I am. But your parents do
love you. You must know that?”

“Don’t lecture me about happy families. You know mine well enough to know
what we have been through over the years, walking around on hot coals trying
not to upset my neurotic mother. In fact, you know more about my family than I
do.” She noticed his mouth move as if he were about to speak, respond in some
way, but didn’t hang around to listen. Pushing the door open, she leapt out of
the car, muttering, “Thanks for the lift,” before slamming it shut and marching
up the pathway and around to the rear of the house.

Anna never heard the sound of Will’s engine, his car turning and pulling
away down the road. She walked doggedly in through the conservatory and into
the kitchen. Relieved to find it empty, she headed straight up the stairs to
her bedroom and her white bedside table, opening the top drawer. Here were the
remnants of her old stuff, things that she hadn’t used in years, belongings
that she hadn’t seen the need to take with her but always intended to sort out,
sooner or later.

The top drawer contained a couple of old magazines. She carefully lifted
them out. Underneath was an instruction manual for an old mobile phone and some
cookery recipes. Her fingers searched urgently and, frustrated by the bare
wooden bottom, she pushed everything back in the drawer haphazardly, closed it
and moved onto the next one down.

She lifted out her old exam certificates, beneath which was a favorite
essay from university, the diary that she started keeping in her first year at
uni
, but only managed to write daily entries until the end
of the second week in October. There were some old receipts which were curled
up at the edges. Eventually, in amongst the fluff and bits of glitter at the
back of the drawer, she found what she was looking for - a pile of photographs.

Anna pulled the photos out of the drawer, brushed the dust off the edges,
and sat on the bed flicking through them, one at a time. These were old photos,
taken in the pre-digital age, when people actually developed and kept all the
copies. She’d retrieved them from one of her mother’s clear outs, memories that
told the story of her life which she meant to put in an album some day. There
was one of her playing the violin, very poorly she recalled, in her final
concert at primary school; another of her and her parents on a sun scorched
beach in Corfu, one of them all on her graduation day, another of her and her
father holding a huge pumpkin they had grown in the vegetable patch, when she
was ten.

As she flicked through the photos her eyes searched desperately for
similarities, small signs of a resemblance between her parents and herself,
frantically holding on to her own thread of reality. She wanted more than
anything to find something. Some kind of connection to dispel the science,
prove the experts wrong. But the more she searched, the more the stark
differences jumped out and slapped her across the face. In his younger years
her father had shared the same hair color, but not chestnut like hers, more a
light sandy brown. Her mother had fair features and blue eyes, unlike her own
which were dark brown. Her father was average height and build, her mother a
pear shaped size 14, both in stark contrast to her petite frame. As she scanned
each photograph her frustration grew and tears pricked her eyes.

She stopped when, halfway through the pile, she reached the photo of her
mother that she had taken in for the game at primary school. Her nostrils
flared and she clenched her teeth angrily. Defeated, she tossed the pictures to
one side and reached into her pocket for her mobile phone, her fingers working
the keys with a sense of urgency.

“Hi, Anna, what’s up?” Ross’ soothing voice felt therapeutic, relaxing
the tense muscles in her neck.

“Ross, sorry to bother you at work. Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure. You only just caught me. I’ve a class in a few minutes.”

“Can I come and stay with you for a few days?”

“Yes, sure you can. But what’s happened? I mean . . .are your parents OK?”
He sounded concerned.

“They’re fine, just doing my head in. I’ll explain everything later.”

“OK.” She could feel him nodding at the other end of the line. “Do you
want me to pick you up?”

She glanced at the red digital numbers of the alarm clock. It read twenty
five minutes past two. So much had happened since she spoken to him that
morning. It seemed like days had passed, rather than several hours. “No. No
thanks. I’ll make my own way over. I’ll see you back at yours.”

 
“No problem.” He didn’t sound
particularly surprised. “I’ll be back around five thirty.”

“See you then. And thanks.” She pressed the button to end the call,
straightened her body and went downstairs.

It took Anna a while to locate her parents. They weren’t in the kitchen,
which was their normal haunt, and she couldn’t see her father in the garden
through the conservatory window. Rain had been falling softly all day and the
windows were masked with scattered patterns of water droplets. She was still
straining her eyes to search through the wet windows when she heard murmurs coming
from the lounge.

She stood in puzzled silence for a moment, as if any movement would block
her hearing. Her parents rarely ever sat in the lounge during the day. She
heard another voice, quiet, almost a whisper. Yes, somebody was definitely in
there. She headed for the lounge door and opened it.

Kathleen and Edward Cottrell sat together on one of the large sofas, her
left hand enveloped in his. The shadows under Kathleen’s eyes had grown darker
in contrast to her pallid complexion. Her cheeks were sunken and she looked as
if she had lost half a stone in the last few days. Edward, usually so calm and
in control, looked tired and worn, older somehow.

They startled Anna and it was several seconds before she realized why.
This was the first time she had ever seen them hold hands. Her parents looked
up at her sheepishly, like a pair of toddlers interrupted whilst drawing on the
walls.

Kathleen was the first to speak. “Why don’t you sit down, Anna?” It was
more of a command than a question and it felt like a red rag to a bull. Anna
balked, a lifetime of domestic repression fuelling a rage within her.

She creased up her whole face and lent forward. “What?” she said,
incredulous, nostrils flared, eyes boring into her mother. Kathleen jolted her
head back, affronted.

“Sit down, darling.” Edward’s soft, silky voice spoke now. But Anna was
not in the mood to be disarmed.

“How dare you tell me what to do!” she snarled.

“Anna, you need to calm down,” Edward said, arching his forehead, a look
of deep concern in his eyes.

“I’ll make a cup of tea,” Kathleen said, rising from her seat.

“Oh yes, you do that, Mum. Make a cup of tea. A cup of tea,” Anna
repeated, “that’ll sort everything out.”

“Anna!” Edward stood now and stared at her. She glared back at him as her
mother left the room.

“Just tell me why?” she said through tightened teeth.

He looked at her and blinked, as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Go on, I’m dying to hear it. Tell me why you decided to keep the grand
secret from me all these years. Poor little Anna, the desperate, adopted girl.
How come everyone knew but me?”

“Anna. Sit down. Please?” She could see his eyes were watering. A lump
rose in her throat and she moved across to the other sofa, tripping over the
rug and finally falling into the seat. Her teeth clenched indignantly, her ears
burning in clumsy embarrassment which only served to exacerbate her anger.

Over the years it seemed that her parents had mastered the art of
sticking a plaster over problems and moving on, always treating the symptom
instead of the cause. The problem, whatever it was, would then never be
mentioned again, swept under the carpet as if it never happened. She was
determined it was not going to happen this time.