Family Drama 4 E-Book Bundle (89 page)

‘I’m not,’ said Sylvie. ‘There was a rubber johnny in the bathroom and a bottle of perfume on the dressing table. Pretty
powerful stuff, and very expensive. Dottie would never use that.’

John Landers pushed the treble Scotch in front of Reg.

‘Thanks, Doc,’ said Reg with a familiarity which immediately annoyed John. He took a gulp and set down the glass. ‘Ah, that’s good. Goes down a treat.’

It was as much as John could do not to let his lip curl with disdain. For a man whose wife was about to be charged with attempted murder, he was far too relaxed.

John began with small talk. ‘Are you going somewhere for Christmas?’

Reg shook his head. ‘I’m not bothered about Christmas.’

John had spent the afternoon with PC Kipling, hoping that he might have found out something which might help Dottie. The only new development had come from the Eastbourne police. They had discovered that Patsy had been drugged before she was gassed.

‘Auntie Dottie gave me some tea and it tasted funny,’ Patsy had told them.

‘Sleeping pills,’ Kipper had explained to John. ‘The bottle was still in the room.’

‘How does that help Dottie?’ John had asked.

‘It doesn’t,’ Kipper had said as they left the police house together. ‘The bottle belonged to Elizabeth Thornton – Aunt Bessie – which means that Dottie could have drugged Patsy herself.’

‘Fingerprints?’

‘Wiped clean.’

‘Bit odd,’ John remarked. ‘I mean, if she planned to die herself, why bother?’

Kipper nodded in agreement. ‘Personally I think someone else could have drugged them both but what we need is real, undisputed proof if we’re going to convince anyone of her innocence.’

Now, sitting in front of Reg, John wished he could throttle the truth out of him, but he had to keep calm. ‘How are you coping, Reg?’ said John, bringing his thoughts back to the present.

‘Bearing up,’ said Reg. ‘When it’s all over, the trial and all, I’m leaving this bloody village. Too many bad memories.’

John nodded. ‘Have you heard from Dottie?’

‘Don’t talk to me about that woman,’ Reg spat. ‘She tried to kill my Patsy.’

‘How is Patsy?’

‘Fine,’ said Reg.

John was only too well aware that Patsy hadn’t had any visitors apart from himself.

‘When are you seeing her again?’

‘To tell the truth,’ said Reg quickly. ‘I was planning to go tomorrow.’

You wouldn’t know the truth if it bit you on the bum, thought John.

‘Very nice, you giving me a drink and all, Doc,’ smiled Reg. ‘But was there something you wanted?’

‘This is a bit awkward, Reg,’ said John. Reg downed the rest of his drink and stared at his glass. John waved an arm at Terry.

‘Fire away, Doc.’

‘I think it might be a good idea to put Patsy up for adoption,’ said John. ‘What she needs right now is a mum and dad and a good home. I could handle all the arrangements for you, if you like. You needn’t be involved at all. All you’d have to do was sign on the dotted line, so to speak.’

Reg stared ahead, unblinking. Terry placed another whisky in front of him. Reg looked up at him and then at John.

‘What’s the alternative?’ asked Reg.

‘I can’t really see one, Reg,’ said John. ‘With a full-time job and no wife at home how would you look after Patsy? No, under the circumstances, if she wasn’t adopted, Patsy would have to spend the rest of her life in a children’s home.’

John saw something in the man’s eye; just a flicker, but it chilled him to the bone. It was a look of triumph.

Reg picked up his glass. ‘Nobody’s adopting my Patsy,’ he said maliciously. ‘Not no-how.’

Dottie sat perfectly still, her cup of tea in her hand. She and Sylvie waited until the nurse left the ward with the tea trolley then Sylvie handed her a small bundle and Dottie climbed out of bed and padded to the toilet. She changed very quickly. As soon as the staff nurse rang the visitors’ bell, Dottie emerged, looking every bit as smart as Sylvie always did.

The two women hurried down the corridor with the rest of the visitors and a while later they were both in Sylvie’s car and on their way back to Worthing.

‘He’s probably put all my things in Aunt Bessie’s room,’ said Dottie when Sylvie told her all her own things were gone. ‘He doesn’t like going in there and he doesn’t like me at the moment, so I reckon that’s what he’s done.’

By the time they arrived at Myrtle Cottage, it was very late in the evening.

‘Do you want me to go in?’ asked Sylvie drawing up outside.

Dottie shook her head. She froze as she thought she saw Reg coming towards her, pushing his bike, but it was just a piece of red cloth flapping on the post guarding the old well.

Dottie ran up the garden path and round the back of the house. She fumbled for the spare key she always kept under the mangle. It was still there but when she tried the door, it was already unlocked.

Dottie crept inside. All she had to do was grab a few things and Auntie Bessie’s picture and then she’d go – but when she put on the light, she gasped in horror. Sylvie was right. The place had been stripped bare. Nothing of hers remained. All her jams and jellies, her lovely cushions and her pretty chairbacks, even they were all gone. There was a coat hanging on the nail behind the door but
it wasn’t hers; a coat with a pretty filigree brooch on the lapel. Dottie’s blood ran cold. That was the brooch she’d found all that long time ago in the drawer in Reg’s shed.

She crept into the sitting room, Aunt Bessie’s picture wasn’t there either. In fact, none of her photographs were here.

Back in the kitchen, Dottie heard a footfall upstairs. Someone else was here! Grabbing the bread knife from the table, she went to the foot of the stairs and looked up. A tarty blonde woman dressed only in a silk petticoat stood at the top.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’

‘Who are you?’ said Dottie. ‘You don’t sound very surprised to see me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘I remember that perfume,’ said Dottie slowly. ‘You were staying in the B&B, and …’ she frowned, ‘you were in the bungalow.’

‘I’ll be more careful next time,’ said the woman.

‘You tried to kill me,’ said Dottie bitterly.

The woman smiled and leaned back against the doorframe. ‘You mean you tried to kill yourself and the kid.’

‘You and Reg tried to make it look like that, but I have witnesses … proof.’

The woman stood up straight. ‘Rubbish! No one will believe you. You’re only playing the innocent to get hold of Reg’s money.’

‘Reg has no money,’ said Dottie coldly. She stared at the woman again. ‘I know you from somewhere. I’ve seen you before.’

‘I’ve never seen you before,’ said the woman tossing her head defiantly. ‘Except in a photo.’

‘That’s it,’ cried Dottie. ‘You’re the woman in the photograph. Reg has a picture of you in his shed.’

The woman smiled. ‘The dirty dog,’ she said. ‘He told me he’d got rid of those.’

A picture of the woman, some years younger, it was true, and apart from a little more weight, looking much the same,
floated before Dottie’s eyes. It was the one she’d seen the night she found the hammer in Reg’s shed. The woman in the photo had fewer clothes on than she did now and she was posing provocatively, but it was her all right. Dottie shuddered.

She turned away in disgust. ‘Where are my things?’

‘He got rid of them, chucked them away,’ said the woman. ‘This is his place now. There’s nothing here for you, Dot Cox.’

Dottie’s head swam. Chucked them away? What, all her clothes? What gave Reg the right to do that? It was all falling into place now. Being nice to her, taking her and Patsy on the trip to Eastbourne … second honeymoon, my eye. They’d planned it all together, hadn’t they? Get her and Patsy to some isolated spot and make it look as if Dottie had planned to commit suicide and ended up killing Patsy. Two birds with one stone. Neat. And it had worked. They’d almost done it. And right now she was left with nothing, not even the clothes she stood up in.

‘What the hell are you doing here anyway?’ the woman said.

Dottie had never felt so angry in her whole life. She put one foot on the bottom stair and the bread knife glistened in her hand. The woman went white and Dottie could see her trembling through her transparent petticoat.

‘Haven’t you heard?’ said Dottie coldly. ‘Poor mad killer that I am, I’ve escaped.’

The woman snatched at her own throat.

‘Oh yes,’ Dottie went on. ‘They’ve found enough evidence to prove it wasn’t me who killed Patsy. They know Reg did it. And what’s more, they know he wasn’t alone.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I have never lied to anyone,’ said Dottie.

For a second or two, the woman stared at her, then turning away she said, ‘I’m getting out of here,’ and the bedroom door slammed.

Putting the bread knife back on the table, Dottie hurried back
down the path. It wouldn’t be long before Reg came back and the last thing she wanted was to be arrested in her own home.

She paused halfway to the gate, sensing something menacing behind her. Her feet were rooted to the spot. She turned slowly. He was standing by the shed door and took a step towards her.

‘Don’t even think about it, Reg,’ she said in a voice so full of strength it surprised even herself.

He hesitated. ‘Yeah, you’re right. You’re on your way to a long prison sentence. Maybe they’ll even hang you.’

He laughed softly. Dottie heard Sylvie open the car door.

‘As soon as you’re safely locked up,’ Reg carried on, ‘me and my Patsy are going to be together.’

‘Over my dead body,’ Dottie spat.

‘My Joyce knows some people who would pay good money for a nice little totty like her. They won’t worry that she’s a darkie.’

Anger blazed up in Dottie’s chest. Behind her, Sylvie called out her name sharply. Shaking with pain and frustration, Dottie turned on her heel and headed for the car.

By the time Tom came downstairs after Mary had called him, Dottie was sitting at the table, with her head in her hands.

‘Just look at the state of her, Tom,’ cried Mary. ‘That Reg is a wicked, wicked man.’

Sylvie threw herself into a chair and tapped a cigarette on her holder. ‘She insisted on going in for her things,’ she said as if Dottie wasn’t there. ‘I told her it was all gone, but she would go.’

‘It’s all right, Sylvie,’ said Dottie, sitting up and blowing her nose. ‘It’s not your fault.’

Tom sat down and took her hands in his. ‘It’s good to see you, Dottie. We’ve been so worried.’

‘I’m so lucky to have friends like you,’ she said softly.

‘Couldn’t you find anything, hen?’

Dottie shook her head. ‘Oh, yes, I found something.’ They all looked up expectantly. ‘Reg’s fancy woman.’

Sylvie groaned.

‘You knew?’ Dottie said.

‘I knew he’d had a woman there,’ said Sylvie, ‘but I didn’t expect her to still be there.’

‘None of us have seen her,’ said Mary. ‘Not even Ann.’

‘Who would have thought …?’ Tom began.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past Reg,’ said Dottie. She gave her friends a wry smile. ‘The trouble is, I can’t prove a thing.’

‘Sylvie and Dr Landers have been really trying to help you,’ said Mary eagerly. ‘They both went back to Eastbourne again yesterday.’

‘I found the owner of the bungalow,’ said Sylvie. ‘It wasn’t for sale. It’ll be demolished.’

‘And the doctor found the car hire company,’ Mary interrupted. ‘And Patsy’s roller skates on the back seat.’

Dottie wiped a renegade tear from her cheek.

‘Ah, hen, don’t,’ soothed Mary.

‘I don’t deserve you,’ said Dottie.

‘Course you do,’ said Tom. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same for them if they were in trouble?’

‘Where are the children?’ Dottie asked.

‘All in bed, hen,’ said Mary. ‘It’s all arranged. You’ll be staying the night with us so you can see them in the morning.’

Dottie lifted her hand in protest as Sylvie said, ‘Then I’m taking you home with me.’

‘I’ll just nip down to the pub,’ said Tom all at once. ‘See if the doc is still here.’

When he’d gone, Mary leaned over the table and took Dottie’s hands. ‘He’s done it because he loves you, hen.’

‘Who?’

‘Dr Landers, of course.’

‘It’s no use now, Mary. It’s all gone wrong,’ Dottie sighed. ‘I had proof that the Reg Cox who was Patsy’s father wasn’t the same Reg Cox I married, but it’s gone. He got rid of it when he chucked out all my things.’

The kitchen door burst open and there stood Billy. He was in his pyjamas, his hair was tousled and his eyes puffy with sleep.

‘Go back to bed, Billy,’ said Mary.

‘Auntie Dottie!’ Ignoring his mother, Billy ran over to Dottie and gave her a hug. ‘I knew you’d come back.’

Dottie held him tight, aware that Billy wasn’t usually so free with his affections.

‘Are you coming to live here with us?’ asked Billy eventually.

‘I can’t, I’m afraid,’ said Dottie. ‘I have to go away. Have no choice. I’m in a spot of bother, Billy. I haven’t got a home any more.’ She laughed with irony. ‘I haven’t even got any clothes.’

Tom came back indoors. ‘No sign of the doc in the pub,’ he said. ‘He must be back at his mother’s.’

‘What am I thinking about?’ cried Mary. ‘Anyone want a cup of tea? Let’s put the kettle on, shall we?’

No one noticed Billy slipping outside. It took him only a minute or two to nip down to the shed. Tact told him to leave Patsy’s pile of things but he grabbed all of Dottie’s clothes and raced back up the garden path. His face shone like a belisha beacon as he leaned across the kitchen table and placed the neatly wrapped bundle in front of her. ‘There you are, Auntie Dottie,’ he said proudly. ‘Here are your clothes.’

Dottie gasped with pleasure. ‘But how …?’ she began.

‘I collected them when we were carol singing,’ he said.

‘What!’ Tom thundered. ‘You went into Myrtle Cottage and helped yourself?’

‘No, Dad,’ Billy protested. ‘Uncle Reg put them out by the gate and me and Paul Dore and Dennis Long found them.’

‘And they’re wrapped in Edna’s new curtains,’ said Dottie.

‘How on earth did you get them back here?’ asked Sylvie.

‘The pram,’ said Billy.