Dead Secret (19 page)

Chapter 18

It had been a long day, and Neal was relieved to see the floodlit cathedral looming up out of the window on his left as the train slowed on its approach to Stromford station. They had not, after all, spent the night in London, but hitched a ride in a patrol car out to one of the suburbs and caught a train home from there. Beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, Ava was asleep as she had been all the way from the outskirts of London. A sweep of golden hair cascaded over his shoulder, staticky silken strands clinging to the lapel of his jacket. For the past half hour, Neal had been experiencing an almost irresistible urge to stroke his sergeant’s head, and he was sure that she would not have stirred, so deeply was she asleep. Only his stern professionalism stood between him and the satisfaction of this urge. Instead of finding out if her hair was as silky as it seemed, he gave Ava a poke in the side to wake her up, and then looked out of the window to save her embarrassment.

“Bloody hell. We home already? How long was I out, sir?”

“Only the best part of two hours. Glad the latest development in the case hasn’t kept you awake and fretting.”

“I suppose you’ve been mulling it over all the way back?”

“Actually, no. I’ve been listening to some podcasts. Radio 4. Melvyn Bragg’s ‘In Our Time.’”

Ava made a face, “Bit intellectual for me.”

“Why do you do that? Neal asked, curious.

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re less intelligent than you are. I’ve noticed you do it a lot. You got good results in your A levels, went to university . . .”

“And dropped out,” Ava reminded him, “I didn’t even make it through the second year.”

“Not through lack of ability, I suspect?”

Ava didn’t answer. Sensing it was a touchy subject, Neal let it go.

“So what happens now?” Ava asked, “Do we question Nancy or just arrest her outright for kidnapping?”

“Well, it won’t be difficult to establish Amy, or should I say, Emily’s true parentage,” Neal answered. “If it’s proven that Nancy abducted her from the scene of Debbie’s death, then she will have to face charges of child abduction. We still have no idea who killed Amy, or why, but this revelation certainly has the potential to open up the case.”

“Simon Foster still seems the most likely suspect. Now that we know he and Amy were brother and sister. What with his continued disappearance . . .” Ava said.

The train juddered to a halt and Ava, on the aisle seat, stood up immediately. Neal was right behind her, but he stopped to help an elderly woman with her suitcase, and they both had to wait on the platform while she thanked him from the bottom of her heart.

At last, through the barrier and outside the station, the elderly woman safely in a taxi, they were able to resume their conversation.

“So Simon’s reaction to meeting Nancy Hill at his mother’s book group makes sense now,” Ava began, “if he recognised her as ‘the angel’ who took his sister Emily it must have been a shock, not just to see that Nancy was flesh and blood, but to learn that his sister was still alive.”

“Amy. Emily. Nancy didn’t change the name much. It’s highly likely that the two-year-old Simon pronounced Emily’s name as ‘Emmy,’ and that’s where Nancy got the idea. All seems so obvious when you start to join the dots, doesn’t it?”

“Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it, brother and sister ending up in the same city, their mothers being friends, don’t you think, sir?”

“That does bother me,” Neal commented, “makes me wonder how much of what both Nancy Hill and Anna Foster have told us is the truth.” He glanced at his watch. “Too late to deal with any of this tonight. I’ll have Nancy Hill brought into the station in the morning. Should scare her into telling the truth.”

It had been a long day. He wanted to get home and say goodnight to Archie. Neal could not have known that by morning, Nancy Hill would be beyond all questioning.

* * *

As soon as she walked into the station the following morning, Ava could tell that something was up. Neal didn’t even thank her for the coffee she plonked in front of him when, unusually for her, she showed up ten minutes late.

“Where have you been?” Neal asked irritably, “leave your coat on; we need to get to Nancy Hill’s as soon as possible.”

“I thought you said we were bringing her in?” said Ava. She had half thought that Nancy Hill would already have been picked up by a couple of constables and be waiting to be questioned. Neal glared at her, though she could not possibly have known what he was about to say.

“Nancy Hill is dead. Our uniforms found her when they called to pick her up. When she didn’t answer the door they looked around outside the property and discovered the back door unlocked. Found her in the bath with her wrists slashed.”

Ava did not dare take the lid off her coffee cup. Neal had not so much as glanced at his, and his urgency and vexation were palpable.

“If that damn train hadn’t been delayed . . .” he began.

“ . . . We wouldn’t have gone to the Trafalgar estate and discovered that Nancy had a big secret. And we wouldn’t have had a reason to call on Nancy. The outcome would still be the same; Nancy would still be dead,” Ava said bluntly. Still, she understood that part of Neal’s anger stemmed from his frustration at not having brought Nancy in the evening before, thereby saving her life. “I know that, Sergeant,” Neal snarled, then, less irascibly, “look, I’m bloody frustrated about all of this . . . just when we seemed to have a chance to move the case forward, this happens. Four deaths now. At the rate the bodies are piling up, we’ll have exhausted all our suspects soon.”

Ava had seldom seen him so wound up. She did not share his sense of guilt. Neal was feeling bad because he had failed to save Nancy. It caused Ava a moment’s concern that she did not seem to care as deeply as Neal, then she dismissed the thought; it was not that she did not care enough, but that sometimes, her Chief cared too much. Perhaps she was learning professional detachment after all. She felt sorry for Nancy’s terrible loss and for the despair that led her to take her own life, but that was all. No doubt one day there would be a case that would get to her and unravel her, but she was determined it wouldn’t be this one.

* * *

It took less than half an hour to drive out to Shelton. The village was one of a cluster that lay within a six-mile radius of the city, and was popular with families because of the good schools and easy commuting distance from Stromford. Ava drove. Only ten minutes from town, they were already in open countryside, but now, off the A-road, it felt as if they had left the city a hundred miles behind. The road was lined on either side with fields, ploughed over at this time of year, brown and flat and stark, and in many areas, still flooded with water from the recent rains. The bleak November landscape was relieved by hedgerows and copses and the odd farm building, and crows flapped their scrawny wings over ridges in the fields, looking for food.

“Ever thought of moving out of town, sir?” Ava asked as they neared the village and a radar speed sign flashed out a warning to her to reduce her speed. “Nice cosy cottage in a place like this?” Shelton was postcard picturesque. As Ava spoke, they passed a pretty fourteenth century church on their right and the restored village pump on the green to their left. A cluster of traditional cottages surrounded the green, all topped with orange pan-tiled roofs and built out of the same cream-coloured local stone. It made Ava think of chocolate boxes and jigsaws.

“Quite happy where I am for the time being, and Archie’s settled in school. Besides, Stromford isn’t really a city, is it, more like a big town? I hear you’re a bit of a country girl?”

Ava smiled, “Not exactly. I’m a bit out in the sticks but I’m only three-and-a-bit miles from town. And of course, there’s a hamlet about half a mile away.”

“Doesn’t it feel a bit isolated?” Neal asked.

“I have neighbours. Sort of. Nearest one’s about five minutes’ walk away.”

“Is your place alarmed?”

Ava snorted, “You’re kidding, aren’t you? My landlord’s a bit on the tight side to say the least, but the rent’s low — mostly because there are few amenities nearby. I do have Camden — he’s as good as any guard dog.”

Neal did not comment; they had arrived at Nancy Hill’s cottage.

* * *

A uniformed officer stood by the door. He said good morning to Neal and smiled at Ava, self-consciously puffing himself up as she came close.

“Hi Ava — I mean, Sergeant.” A friendly voice greeted her inside Nancy’s small hallway.

“Hi Dan,” Ava answered, “How’s life?”

“Busy,” Dan said, his smile instantly transforming him from geeky to handsome. “This one’s straightforward enough, I think. Obvious suicide according to Hunt.” Ava nodded soberly.

“Partner’s in the sitting room. He’s in a bit of a state.”

Ava cringed, recalling Nancy’s distress when she’d received the terrible news about Amy. It seemed like there was no end to the fallout of grief and tragedy from Amy — or Emily’s — murder. With a feeling of trepidation, Ava entered the sitting room where Neal and a police constable stood over a bewildered-looking Richard Turner. Richard was slumped in a chintz armchair, head in hands. He looked up at Ava as she entered the room and shook his head, saying, “I can’t cope with all this now. You’ll all have to come back later. All I can think of is Nancy lying in that . . . that . . . bloodbath.”

“Mr Turner,” Neal said gently, “we understand you are upset but there are a few questions we need to ask. I’m sure Nancy would want you to cooperate with us in our investigation into her daughter’s death.” Neal signalled to the police constable to make some hot, sweet tea. He sat down in the other armchair and Ava took a seat on the sofa feeling awkward and voyeuristic.

“What about Nancy? Who’s going to be looking into her death?” Turner asked in some confusion.

“Mr Turner, it seems very likely that Nancy took her own life,” said Neal.

“Why would she do that? She would have recovered from Amy’s death given time and with my support. A couple of nights ago she asked me to marry her. Why would she do that if she intended to . . . to . . . kill herself?”

Neal sighed, “Grief makes people act irrationally sometimes. They don’t know their own minds. Nancy was suffering from a reactive depression. Another evening she might just have picked up the phone and called you. Last night, she responded to her feelings in a tragic way. It makes no sense to a rational mind, but Nancy wasn’t thinking rationally when she stepped into that bathtub. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr Turner.”

Ava mumbled her own condolences, and she did feel for Richard Turner, but at the same time, she felt impatient with him for holding things up. She wondered how Neal was going to proceed. Was it possible that Richard Turner had no inkling that Amy was not Nancy’s natural born child? To her surprise, she saw her boss nodding at her to take the lead. She cleared her throat,

“Mr Turner. We have recently discovered that Nancy may not have been Amy’s birth mother. Were you aware of this?”

Richard Turner’s astonishment dispelled any doubt. Ava would have bet money that he was as shocked as she and Neal had been to discover that this was the case.

“That’
s preposterous,” Turner said. “Why would you even suggest such a thing? Is this some kind of sick joke?” Anger had temporarily replaced grief. For a moment, Ava thought him capable of striking one of them.

Evidently, the constable preparing tea in the kitchen had the same thought, for he appeared suddenly in the doorway, asking, “Everything alright in here?”

“Quite alright, constable,” Neal assured him, “Mr Turner has just received some disturbing news.” With a look that questioned what could be more disturbing than to discover your partner in the bathtub with both wrists slashed, the PC returned to the kitchen.

“Please be calm,” Neal said to Richard. “We wouldn’t be asking this if we didn’t have a good idea that it might be true. It may be important in finding Amy’s killer. Take your time and think; did Nancy ever give you reason to suspect that Amy wasn’t her flesh and blood daughter?”

“Of course not!” Turner exclaimed, but his face said otherwise. It was as though a penny had suddenly dropped and he had found the answer to something that had been puzzling him for a long time.

“Mr Turner . . .” Ava prompted. He had suddenly gone quiet.

“I . . . I . . . Amy wasn’t conceived in this country. Nancy had a . . . had more than one sexual encounter whilst living in France and Amy was the result, or so she claimed. She said she didn’t know for certain who the father was and registered Amy under her own name when she was over a year old. She . . . she said she gave birth to Amy by herself and kept her hidden for a while to avoid what she perceived at the time as the shame of not being able to name the father.”

As he spoke these words, it was obvious from Richard’s face that he realised how improbable they sounded. Ava resisted the urge to ask him if he had ever questioned Nancy’s version of events. Turner put his head in his hands again,

“She was always so protective of Amy, over-protective. She wouldn’t let me in, wanted to keep Amy to herself. I always suspected there was something she wasn’t telling me, something big that stopped her accepting my proposal. She was going to tell me, I think. After the funeral, when she asked me to marry her, I felt that there was something else she was on the point of saying but changed her mind at the last moment. I was too stunned by the proposal to question her.”