Silent Witness (A Dylan Scott Mystery) (8 page)

“I’ll go.” The dim red light on the alarm clock showed 3:21 a.m. Unfortunately, Dylan’s daughter hadn’t yet learned to distinguish between social and unsocial hours. And this was definitely unsocial.

“She probably wants feeding.” Bev’s voice was muffled by bedclothes.

“She was only fed an hour ago.” Dylan had been awake ever since Bev had crawled back to bed and put ice-cold feet on him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Dylan groped around in the dark for his jeans, pulled them on and crept out of the bedroom. He closed the door behind him, switched on the landing light and padded into the nursery.

Nursery was a grand name for the spare room, the one that had been piled high with junk until they’d had the shock news of Freya’s imminent arrival. Dylan had been given the task, just before Christmas, of putting up wallpaper. Instead of tasteful pastel shades, the room was now a riot of scarlet giraffes, sky-blue monkeys and yellow elephants. It was no wonder the poor kid couldn’t sleep.

“Okay, Trouble, what’s the problem?” The light on the landing allowed him to see his daughter in a tangle of bedclothes. He lifted her out of the crib. “What you need is a tot of fine whisky. A wee dram of Lagavulin would have you asleep in seconds. She’d smell it on your breath though, and then we’d both be up a certain creek without a paddle.”

Freya, as if pondering his words, fell silent. She could keep this up all night. She’d scream for all she was worth until someone lifted her out of her crib. Behaviour would then be exemplary until someone tried to put her back.

“Tell you what,” he said, carrying her down the stairs, “I’ll have the Lagavulin and you inhale deeply. Maybe that’ll do the trick.”

It was cold in the kitchen and he flicked the switch on the boiler and listened to the satisfying clicks as pipes and radiators warmed up. It was amazing, he thought as he poured himself a drink, how quickly man could adapt to operating with one hand. There were few things you couldn’t do with a baby in the crook of your arm.

He pulled a chair close to the radiator and settled himself down. There were worse ways to pass the small hours than enjoying a drink in the company of a beautiful girl.

A creak on the stairs made him think Bev hadn’t gone back to sleep after all, but Luke came into the kitchen.

“Have I reared raging insomniacs?” Dylan asked.

Luke grinned and helped himself to a glass of milk and a piece of cake. “She’s great, isn’t she?”

“She’s beautiful. But why are you still awake?”

“I’ve got the room next to hers. Vicky—Vicky says she’d wake the dead.”

The hesitation made Dylan smile. His mother thought the title “Gran” made her sound old so she insisted that Luke call her Vicky. The poor kid still couldn’t get used to the idea.

“She’s probably right,” Dylan said.

“When do you think she’ll fit into her pyjamas, Dad?”

“Sooner than you think.”

Dylan had taken Luke shopping to buy a present for his new sister and all Luke had wanted to buy was a baby pair of Arsenal FC pyjamas. Even Dylan had to admit she’d look pretty cute in them. In another nine months or so.

Freya, little angel that she was, was fast asleep. Perhaps he’d bored her sufficiently. Dylan wasn’t about to risk lowering her into her crib yet, though.

“So how’s it going, Luke? Are you and your mum all right?”

“I suppose so. It’s better when Gran’s here though. Vicky, I mean. Mum’s pretty snappy.”

Dylan knew it. “She’ll soon be back to normal. Babies are tiring. She was the same when you were born.”

That was an out-and-out lie. When Luke had been born, Bev had been blessed with more energy than was decent for one woman. She’d raced everywhere, desperate to be the perfect mother, eager to show off her beautiful boy to everyone who stopped to look. Now, she had no energy whatsoever and even less enthusiasm. She was quiet, moody and irritable. In fact, Dylan had mentioned his concerns to his mother.

“My God,” she’d said, “you’ve actually noticed that your wife has problems. Wonders will never cease.”

“How long did it take to perfect your personal brand of sarcasm, Mum?”

She’d laughed. “It comes naturally, love. And don’t worry about Bev. I’ll do as much as I can to help. I expect she’s just tired. She might even have a touch of postnatal depression. It’s early days. Goodness, my granddaughter’s not even a fortnight old yet. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Dylan
was
worried. This was unlike Bev.

“Imagine what it’s like, Luke, having no sleep. One night without sleep is bad enough but when it goes on for a week or more—”

“I know, Dad. It’s cool. Everything’s cool.”

Dylan knew it wasn’t but Luke shared his own what-can’t-be-changed-must-be-endured philosophy on life. There was nothing either of them could do about the situation so they’d have to put up with it until things changed.

“What time are you leaving in the morning?” Luke asked.

“Not too early.” He felt guilty now. While Bev was depressed or tired or whatever she was, and while Luke had to cope with it, Dylan was swanning off to Lancashire. He’d had a long weekend at home, and that had been good, but tomorrow was a bank holiday. He felt he should be at home. “I wish I didn’t have to go, Luke, but I really need to.”

“I know. Gran—Vicky told me all about it. Did he kill her, Dad?”

Dylan groaned inwardly. Was it normal for a woman to tell her grandson grisly murder stories? Of course it wasn’t, but while Dylan’s mother was a lot of things, sadly, normal wasn’t one of them. He could picture her, high on dope, embellishing the story too. Not that he supposed she smoked suspicious substances in front of Luke. That wasn’t the point though.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Possibly. Probably. I don’t know and that’s the whole point, Luke. If there’s even a slim possibility that he’s in prison when he should be at home with his family, then I have to do all I can to help. Can you understand that?”

“Yeah. No worries. I think it’s cool, Dad. I just wish I was old enough to be your sidekick. I will be soon though.”

“I thought you were going to play for Arsenal.”

“Well, yeah. That too.”

“Footballers get paid more. A lot more. I’d concentrate on that if I were you.”

“We’ll see.” Luke nodded at his sister. “She’s great when she’s asleep, isn’t she?”

“She is.” He ruffled Luke’s hair. “And so are you. Time you were back in bed.”

“I’m out of here.” Luke had one more long look at his sister, then went back to his room.

Long after he’d gone, Dylan was still debating whether or not to go to Lancashire in the morning. Sue Kaminski was holding an open day to raise funds for her animal sanctuary and he’d like to look round and see who turned up.

And if he stayed here, what could he do? Bev didn’t trust him to do anything properly so no matter how many times he offered to help, he’d end up twiddling his thumbs while she grew more and more stressed. In any case, his mother had promised to help out.

He was pleased his Easter offering had won approval. The huge egg with its bright yellow ribbon sat on the counter, and the flowers, very carefully arranged, adorned the table. Dylan had even spotted a telltale sign of moisture in Bev’s eyes as she’d opened the card. Later, he’d read it again but he had no idea what had brought that on.

“I forgot yours,” she’d said.

“You always forget mine.”

Still looking close to tears, she’d smiled at that. “I do, don’t I?”

Dylan finished his whisky and stood up very slowly. Freya was fast asleep and he wanted her to stay that way.

Hardly daring to breathe, he carried her up the stairs to her room. He lowered her gently into her crib, covered her with the sheet and stood watching her for a moment. She didn’t stir.

Breath still held, he went back to their bedroom, took off his jeans, and slid in beside Bev. All was quiet. He hoped it stayed that way till morning.

Sue waited for the day to dawn. Another day without Alek. It was a little after six and wouldn’t be light for almost an hour yet.

Three dogs of various shapes and sizes snoozed in baskets, enjoying the unexpected early warmth of the kitchen. They didn’t stir. It was too early even for Alek’s dog, Charlie.

She’d worried about Charlie, thought he might not settle without Alek, but dogs could be fickle. Charlie didn’t seem to miss his master’s voice, the early morning walks or trips out in the van. So long as he was well fed, Charlie was happy.

Sue read through her letter. So far, she’d managed four pages and had made her words upbeat and lighthearted. As she’d written them, the tears had trickled down her cheeks, but Alek didn’t need to know that.

She longed for him. Ached for him.

It was an age since she’d seen him and, although she was grateful to Dylan Scott for agreeing to visit him, it meant that one of Alek’s precious visits had been used up. She wished, too, that Dylan had sounded more convinced of Alek’s innocence. When she’d phoned him after his trip to Strangeways, he hadn’t even been sure he was taking the case.

She picked up her pen again.

I’ll send you photos from the fundraiser
, she wrote.
It’s going to be good, even if I do say so myself.

It was no use. If she wrote to Alek in this mood, she’d simply sound pathetic. Maybe later, when the day was over and they’d raised a lot of money, she’d feel better. She must keep reminding herself that at least she had the animals and a purpose in life. When Keith had been killed in that motorway pileup, she’d had nothing.

“You’re young, love,” her dad had tried to console her then. “You’ll be okay. One day, you’ll meet someone else and fall in love…”

She hadn’t believed him but, amazingly, he’d been right. It saddened her that he hadn’t been able to meet Alek but she knew her dad was up there somewhere, watching over her, watching over Alek.

What Sue hadn’t known when she was grieving for Keith was that, in under two years, she would have lost her dad as well. Ever since she was nine years old, when her mother ran off with an Italian waiter, Sue and her dad had been everything to each other.

Her mother’s fancy man hadn’t really been Italian. He’d worked in an Italian restaurant and called himself Giuseppe, but that was as close to Italy as he’d ever been.

From then on, it had been Sue and her dad. Sue hadn’t minded. In fact, she’d rarely wasted a thought on her mother. Life was good and, when Sue took Keith home for the first time, her dad said he felt as if he’d gained a son.

But now—Sue often thought her life was a long procession of loss. She’d lost Keith, she’d lost her dad and now she’d lost Alek. Everyone she loved went away.

Feeling sorry for herself would achieve nothing. Besides, Alek wasn’t dead. He’d been taken away from her, locked up like an unwanted animal, but she hadn’t lost him. One day, and she would wait as long as it took, he’d come home to her. Maybe, if Dylan Scott was as good as everyone claimed, it would be sooner rather than later.

Meanwhile, Sue would cope. She always had and always would.

She had plenty of friends. Anne was always inviting her out and Jamie was someone she could rely on. It was fine.

Having talked herself into a more positive frame of mind, she carried on with her letter to Alek. Maybe tomorrow, she’d get a letter or two from him. Not today, it was a bank holiday, but maybe tomorrow.

It was almost two o’clock when Dylan arrived at the Pennine View Animal Sanctuary, and he was surprised to see so many people braving the weather.

A family of three blocked his way to the front gate. The parents were trying, with little success, to explain to their inconsolable daughter that they couldn’t take a dog home.

“We’re out of the house all day, sweetheart,” the father said. “It wouldn’t be fair on an animal.”

Dylan gave them a sympathetic smile as he inched past. It was difficult, if not impossible, to say no a child.

Sue Kaminski and her helpers had transformed the centre from drab to colourful. Red, white and blue bunting fluttered from everything that stood still. Brightly painted signs, dotted with cute pictures of animals, showed the way to the kennels and the cattery. Other signs pointed to a long, low barn and promised cut-price pet supplies, secondhand books and freshly baked goods.

The sun was doing little more than peep out from behind the clouds now and again. Rain was holding off for now, but people wore waterproof coats to be on the safe side.

A lot of children were in fancy dress. Dylan spotted a couple of ghosts, a pirate and an astronaut.

A young woman headed his way with Trudy, the enormous Rottweiler, trotting at her side. The dog carried a wicker basket filled with small chocolate Easter eggs in its mouth.

“For the children,” the woman said, nodding at the eggs. “But can I sell you a raffle ticket? You’ll see the prizes in the barn. There’s wine, a basket of fruit, a voucher for a meal at a local restaurant—all sorts of things.”

“Yes, of course.” He exchanged a five-pound note for a strip of tickets. “Hello, Trudy.” He patted the enormous head.

“Have you two met?”

“Yes. When I came to see Sue on Monday.”

“Oh. So you’ll be—”

“Dylan. Dylan Scott. And you are?”

“I’m Anne. I’ve been working here for four years now.” She cocked her head on one side to appraise him. “You’re the private investigator then.”

“That’s right.”

“I couldn’t believe it when she said you were going to try and get Alek released. Do you think there’s any real hope of that?”

“I don’t know, Anne. You obviously know Alek?”

“Yes. I used to quite like him, too. He was always a bit quiet, but Sue doted on him and he made her happy so I thought he was okay. Now, though, I don’t know what to think. I still can’t believe he could cheat on Sue like that. What a rat. Not that she sees him like that. She still dotes on him, despite everything. The bloke can do no wrong in her eyes. Sue’s very…” she sought for the right word, “…trusting. She sees good in everyone. She’ll never believe he killed that woman. Never in a million years.”

“Do you believe it?”

She was a long time answering. “Yes. I mean, he must have, mustn’t he? The police said he did it and they’d know, wouldn’t they?”

Such faith in the country’s police force was touching. “They might have made a mistake.”

“They might.” She sounded doubtful. Trudy tugged on the leash. “I’d better get moving. I need to sell raffle tickets.”

“Perhaps I’ll see you later.” He nodded at Trudy. “That’s a good trick with the basket.”

Anne smiled. “One she hasn’t been taught. I don’t know what it is with her but she has to pick up things and carry them around.”

“I know. She took a fancy to my briefcase when I first met her.”

“It’s a nuisance at times. If someone puts their handbag down, Trudy takes off with it. Anyway, go and spend some money, Dylan. I’ll see you later.”

He headed for the barn and saw someone he recognised. The vet. Jamie, was it? He, too, had a dog, a shaggy black-and-white one, on a leash.

“Hello, I’m Dylan Scott. We met briefly on Monday. You’re the vet, aren’t you? Jamie, is it?”

“It is. I remember you. You’re the private investigator.”

“That’s it.” Dylan gave the dog a stroke. “Is this one yours?”

“As from today, yes. Someone abandoned him at the gate. People do that all the time. We had a cat and seven kittens dumped here last week.”

“Better here than on the motorway, I suppose,” Dylan said.

“Marginally.” Jamie ran a hand over the dog’s head. “I used to have one like him as a child and I thought it was time I had another. He’s eight or nine, I’d guess, but he’s a good dog and there are still a few years left in him.”

“It’s lucky you can take him. It must be a nightmare finding homes for them all.”

“It is.”

Jamie’s trousers still weren’t speaking to his shoes. He was wearing the same green wax coat but today his jumper was red, green and yellow stripped.

“Are you on duty today?” Dylan asked.

“No. I’ve only come to offer Sue some moral support. She works hard on these fundraisers.”

“So I see. It must be hellish expensive keeping these animals, what with food bills, wages, vet’s bills.”

“It is. People have to make a donation when they re-home a dog or cat,” Jamie said, “but it’s a small token gesture and doesn’t go far. Other than that, and a small profit from the sale of pet supplies, Sue relies on other people’s generosity.”

Jamie’s attention was caught by a mobile rainbow. “Here she is.”

Around fifty brightly coloured balloons moved in their direction. A gust of wind dragged them sideways, allowing Dylan to see Sue Kaminski.

“Dylan, what a lovely surprise.” She was breathless from trying to hang on to her balloons. “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

They’d spoken on the phone since he’d seen Alek, but he hadn’t told her he was coming today in case something cropped up and kept him away. Or in case he couldn’t be bothered.

“I thought I’d stop by and see what was happening,” he said. “It’s going well, isn’t it?”

“I hope so. There are plenty of people here. I just hope they dig deep in their pockets or fall in love with one of the animals.” She bent to stroke Jamie’s dog’s head. “I’ve been telling Jamie for ages that he could take a dog. I’m so pleased he’s fallen for this one.”

“I’m calling him Monty.”

“Aw, that’s a lovely name. Isn’t it, Dylan?”

“Perfect.”

“I need to go and judge the fancy dress competition,” Sue said. “I’ll catch you later.”

The balloons tugged her across to the barn and it took her a couple of minutes to drag them inside. Two children—one dressed as a Roman centurion, and the other, a girl of about five, wearing a black cat’s outfit—quickly followed.

“I hope you’re not raising Sue’s hopes unnecessarily,” Jamie said.

Dylan had no evidence to back it up, and they’d only spent a couple of minutes in each other’s company, but he had the impression Jamie didn’t like him. Perhaps it was because Sue was his friend and he didn’t want to see her let down.

“I hope not, too.”

“But you think you can get him out of jail?” Jamie’s gaze, behind those rimless glasses, was intense.

“I don’t know.” It was unlikely and Dylan didn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes. “Alek swears he’s innocent, Sue believes he’s innocent, Alek’s parents believe he’s innocent. There’s a possibility, a slim one perhaps, that they’re right. If that’s the case, Alek deserves every chance, don’t you think?”

“He isn’t likely to confess to murder, is he?” His tone was scoffing.

“In his situation, I would have,” Dylan said. “I expect some sort of deal could have been struck and he would have received a shorter sentence.”

Jamie shrugged as if that was neither here nor there. “His family believes him, that’s all. It doesn’t make him innocent.”

“It doesn’t,” Dylan agreed.

“I don’t think it’s fair for you to convince Sue that Alek will come home—”

“I’ve told her it’s unlikely.”

“She hasn’t listened, though, has she?”

Dylan had the uncomfortable feeling he was right. As far as Sue was concerned, Alek was innocent and it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world knew it.

“Is that why you don’t want me investigating it?” Dylan asked. “You’re worried that what I find out could hurt Sue?”

Jamie rocked back on his heels. “Who said I didn’t want you investigating it? I’ve never said a word about it.”

This guy was touchy. Very touchy.

“It’s just an impression I get,” Dylan said. “And it’s understandable. Sue’s a friend of yours and you don’t want to see her hurt.”

“Yes, well, that’s right.”

“And you think her husband’s guilty of murder?”

“Yes, I do. It stands to reason he is.” Jamie looked around, presumably to make sure Sue hadn’t materialised beside him. “I don’t say as much to Sue because I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but the truth is, he was sleeping with that woman. He made threatening phone calls to her, or so it said in the papers. Someone saw him leaving the house too. And his fingerprints were all over the place. It’s obvious to a blind man that he’s guilty. The man’s a killer and Sue’s better off—we’re all better off—without him.”

“I can see your point.” Dylan could also see that Jamie was no fan of Alek’s. “But if there’s the slightest chance he’s innocent, he deserves help. Don’t you agree?”

Jamie clearly didn’t, although he managed a reluctant nod. “I suppose so.”

“But you’d rather see Sue settled down with a nice young man who deserved her?”

Preferably you.

“She deserves that much so, yes, I would. Is that wrong?”

“Not at all.”

Jamie was as tense as a tightly coiled spring. He also looked as if he was hoping for an argument, but he merely nodded. “I need to see if there’s anything I can do to help. Goodbye, Mr. Scott.”

“Be seeing you.”

Jamie, with the dog trotting meekly at his side, strode over to the kennels and disappeared from view.

Dylan walked into the barn just in time to see the winner of the fancy dress competition announced. The astronaut look-alike accepted his prize of several activity books and an Easter egg with suitable pride. Other contestants happily accepted small eggs as consolation. Sue’s balloons were safely tied to a table leg.

Dylan spent a few pounds in the barn, bought yet more raffle tickets, then wandered outside. A lot of people—volunteers, he soon realised—were walking dogs.

“I’ve been coming every weekend and bank holiday,” one lady told him. “My husband’s allergic to pets so I can’t have one at home. This is the best I can do. It’s nice for the dogs and it gives me a bit of exercise.”

Sue wasn’t short of helpers. Dylan wondered if people volunteered for the animals’ benefit or if they simply liked Sue.

He chatted with as many people as he could. Everyone commended Sue’s hard work for the centre. No one really knew anything about her private life, though, or about her husband.

He met a woman in her sixties who was being dragged along by a young German Shepherd.

“I’m thinking of adopting him,” she told Dylan, “but I don’t know. He’s a bit headstrong.”

She was obviously well versed in the art of understatement.

“I rescued an old dog from here four years ago,” she said, “but sadly, he died just before Christmas. I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s too soon to think about another dog. Then I see all their sad faces and I know I have a good home going begging.”

“It’s difficult.” Dylan sympathised but he was pleased to have met someone who’d known Sue, or the sanctuary at least, for so long. “I expect Sue will persuade you to take him.”

“Yes. She’s cunning like that, isn’t she?” She laughed a little ruefully. “And she knows I’m a soft touch.”

“She certainly works hard, doesn’t she? Still, I suppose it takes her mind off things.”

“Exactly.” She lowered her voice a little. “Hopefully, she’ll be able to put it all behind her and move on.”

“Let’s hope so. Do you know her husband?”

“Don’t.” She put a hand to her chest. “He did some work for me. It was about a year before—you know. I wanted a kitchen extension and, because I knew Sue, I thought he’d be the ideal person for the job. God, to think I had him in my house. I was alone with him a lot of the time, too.” She shook her head and shuddered as she imagined what might have been.

The young dog hadn’t learned the meaning of patience and was eager to be moving.

“I’ll have to go. Nice talking to you.”

Dylan watched her being pulled along and wondered if the dog would win itself a new home.

He looked around him. The place was still busy. Across the grass, Jamie was watching him. Their eyes met. Jamie lowered his and went on his way.

Sue was holding the balloons once more but she’d obviously off-loaded a few. She was drinking from a plastic cup and Dylan wandered over.

“It seems to be a roaring success,” he said.

“It’s busy, and that’s good, but I’ll wait until I’ve added up the takings. Fingers crossed.”

“I was talking to Jamie earlier and he was telling me how expensive it is to keep the animals.”

“It’s all outgoings.” She took a sip of what looked like weak tea. “People give a donation when they take an animal, we insist on that, but otherwise we rely on fundraisers like this. Having said that, a lady remembered the centre in her will last year. She left us five thousand pounds so that was an enormous help.”

“It must be a worry for you.”

“It is.” She gazed across at the house. “When my dad died, I sold his house and my flat, and bought this place. It’s what I’d always longed to do.” She smiled suddenly. “But just when I start to panic, something turns up. Like the lady leaving us that money in her will.”

“Yes, life’s like that. And you have good friends. Like Anne. And Jamie, of course.”

“Anne’s a star,” she said. “She can’t do enough to help. Jamie’s a good vet, too. Very thorough. We’re lucky to have him.”

Jamie would like to be more than the centre’s vet, Dylan was sure of it. Jamie wanted Sue.

“You don’t see Jamie socially?” he asked.

“Good God, no.” The idea amazed her. “To tell the truth, this place doesn’t leave much time for a social life. I visit Aunt Joyce, of course. Well, she has no one else now. When I’m not with her, or working with the animals, I’m writing to Alek. He’s brave and doesn’t complain, but I can’t bear to think of him locked up in that place. At least my letters are a way for him to not feel so left out.”