In Bitter Chill (22 page)

Rachel woke up and, for a few seconds, didn’t know where she was. This had happened to her before and she’d learned not to panic. She lay still and, as she looked around the room, the objects made themselves known to her and her brain slowly identified them. At last able to recognise her surroundings, she turned and looked at the back of Richard Weiss’s head. His pale blond hair was flattened after a night’s sleep and she could see the imprint of the pillow on one of his cheeks. She lightly touched his head and he stirred slightly but didn’t wake. She leaned forward and kissed him gently on his temple, eased herself out of bed and made her way towards the toilet. As she passed the bathroom mirror she took a look at herself. She hadn’t washed her face before going to bed and her mascara lay in a sooty smudge under her eyes. That apart, she didn’t look too bad for woman past forty.

She sat on the toilet and wondered how much caffeine she would need before her brain started working again. When she arrived at Richard’s last night she’d said nothing about her discoveries in the records archives. Something had made her reticent about this anomaly in her family. She was willing to accept her mother’s lie about the identity of her real father, but the duplicity of her grandmother Nancy left her breathless with shock. Nancy, her gay, carefree grandmother, devoted to her mild-mannered husband, Hughie, had given birth four years before having her mother, Mary, in 1946.

According to the records, the baby born to Nancy had been a boy, which assuming he was still living meant that she had a half-uncle somewhere. But why would that bring about Mrs Lander’s death and what role had it played in her own kidnapping? As she flushed the toilet, she heard Richard next door stir and rather than speak to him straight away, she stripped off her T-shirt and stepped into the shower. It was a mistake. She had forgotten the ancient plumbing needed at least five minutes to warm up and she was left gasping as the sheet of cold water hit her body. But it had the effect of bringing her to her senses, which allowed her tired brain to assess the evidence. There was clearly a link to the kidnapping and it was hers to discover.

When she stepped out of the shower, she peeked into the bedroom and saw that Richard had got out of bed and was standing in his pyjama bottoms looking out of the large bay windows.

‘The neighbours will see,’ she shouted through the door as she dried herself. As she walked back into the bedroom he turned round, smiling at her.

‘Nothing much here to excite the ladies of the neighbourhood.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Are you feeling OK?’

She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Can I ask you something?’

He nodded and opened a drawer, grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it on over his head. He sat down beside her. It was a strange tableau. She with a towel that was slightly too small for her thick body. He in a T-shirt and striped pyjama bottoms. Hardly the time for confidences.

‘Your father wasn’t adopted, was he?’

He turned to her and stared with astonished eyes. ‘My father? Why are you asking?’

‘It’s just when I saw you at the woods. I thought maybe your father could have been involved . . .’

She was trembling and he reached out to her. He pulled her towards him and she felt the warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around her.

‘We need to sort this out. Let me have a shower and then we can have breakfast. We’ll talk about it then.’

In other men, Rachel would have taken this as prevarication, but in Richard it was oddly comforting. She sat watching the local news while he had a shower, then cooked breakfast and brewed the coffee. It was a heady mix and by the time she sat down she realised that she was nearly faint with hunger. Richard watched her start eating and then began his own breakfast.

‘We’re not related, Rachel. Whatever is going on in your head, you can discount that. And my family wasn’t involved in your kidnapping.’

She was surprised by his lack of anger. ‘Nancy had a child. Before my mother. I’m not sure if Mum knew or not. But she definitely had a child. It’s in the hospital records.’

‘And you thought the baby might be my father. What do you think that would make us, first cousins?’ He seemed amused now and Rachel felt anger surge through her.

‘It’s not funny. I nearly passed out when I thought of it. What makes you so sure?’

‘Rachel. Think about it. My family’s Jewish. All right we’re not very devout and we don’t make a fuss of it. But that’s what we are. Jews. Family is important to us and so is our heritage. I can categorically say that my father was the natural son of my grandparents.’

‘But I suppose maybe the father of the child might be important. Do you think your grandfather . . .’

Richard burst out laughing. ‘You never knew my grandfather. There’s no way he’s involved. He was five foot tall, quiet. He loved books, the solicitor
’
s practice and ornithology. You’ve told me about Nancy, remember. No way. She’d have eaten him alive.’

Rachel smirked and looked down at the empty plate. Like most times she ate a cooked breakfast, she felt guilty straight away.

‘There is something that I need to tell you, though,’ said Richard.

‘What?’

‘Rachel, you need to take it easy. I know it’s difficult, but I’m telling you this because I don’t want there to be any secrets between us.’

‘Go on. Tell me.’

‘This case has been preying on my mind too. I’m sorry that I laughed when you asked if my father was adopted. It’s just not the question I expected. But you remember when you met me that day in the woods? And I mentioned that I’d gone there after meeting my father in the office.’

‘Of course I remember. What are you trying to say?’

‘I didn’t tell you the whole truth. The reason that I went there was that when I spoke to Dad about you, he mentioned your mother. He remembered the case, of course. But he also told me that he had met her grandmother too. She came to the office.’

‘
Her
grandmother? Not mine? Mum’s.’

‘He definitely said
her
grandmother. So after he’d gone, I went to have a look through the old files just to see if we had had any interaction with your family.’

‘And had you?’

Richard sighed. ‘It seems that Mair Price, your great-grandmother, came in for a one-off consultation in September 1974. It was fairly easy to find the file.’

‘And what did the file say?’

‘This is where it’s really strange. My father was a very methodical man too. There were no problems when I took over the business from him. I could go to a file and everything about a particular case would be there.’

‘But not this one.’

He was avoiding her eye. ‘No. It’s pretty unprofessional, actually. There’s the date of the meeting. The phrase “advice given” and the fee.’

‘And that’s it.’

‘Yes.’

She stared at him. ‘Mair went to see him? And you’ve no idea what it was about?’

‘It
is
strange. And I needed to think that day, which is why I went to the woods. Everything was happening so quickly. You and I getting together, then I find out about the odd record.’

‘And didn’t you ask him about it?’

Richard stared unhappily at her. ‘I did. But he wouldn’t tell me. Said it was a professional consultation and it was best to leave it. He got angry when I tried to press it. He won’t tell me, Rachel. I know my father. The harder you push the more intransigent he becomes.’

Rachel folded her arms. ‘This is my past that you’re talking about.’

‘He did say one thing.’

Rachel could see that he was embarrassed. ‘What?’

‘He said that the advice given was the best he was able to give at the time. And sometimes you don’t realise the ramifications until much later.’

‘Ramifications? Like my kidnapping? He does know something.’ She was shouting at Richard and she saw a look of pity flash in his eyes.

‘Rachel. Whatever happened, it wasn’t my dad’s fault. He’s right. You give advice to the best of your knowledge at the time and sometimes you don’t get to see the whole picture. I’m not saying it’s to do with your abduction. But something happened in September 1974 for Mair to go and see him.’

Something clicked in Rachel’s head. ‘She died in the November. Of cancer of the spleen. She must have known she didn’t have long.’

Richard held out a hand and touched her hair. Rachel tried not to pull her head away. ‘You need to speak to Nancy. Talk to your grandmother. She’s the only one alive who might be willing to say something. Please talk to her, Rachel. I think she might have some of the answers that you need.’

Connie and Sadler left the wedding in full swing. The obligatory photographs had been taken, the meal eaten and guests were now turning their attention to drinking and dancing for the rest of the evening. The sign outside the Maytree care home declared it to be a ‘skilled nursing facility’, which, in Connie’s opinion, could have meant anything. The reception was empty when they walked in, although from a distance they could hear sounds of muted conversation.

‘Can I help you?’ A small woman emerged from a side office and briefly flicked her eyes over their formal clothes. Sadler looked at Connie and she took her ID from her handbag.

‘We’re DI Sadler and DC Childs from Bampton CID. We’ve come to visit Nancy Jones, if she’s up to seeing us.’

The woman took the ID off Connie and looked concerned. ‘Everything’s all right, isn’t it? It’s not Rachel?’

‘Not at all.’ Connie wondered if this was a good idea, after all, turning up on a Saturday evening to interview a woman well into her eighties. ‘We just need to ask her a few questions.’

The woman didn’t look reassured but nevertheless led them down a long corridor and knocked on one of the doors.

Nancy Jones was sitting in a chair beside a single bed. She was dressed in a pale mauve cardigan over a light grey dress from Marks and Spencer that Connie had tried on earlier that week and had decided was too young for her. The woman’s hair was styled into rigid curls that licked around her face, suggesting a recent perm. She had no make-up on as far as Connie could see, except perhaps some powder on her cheeks. Even with the wrinkles and the helmet-style hair Connie could see she had once been beautiful.

‘Two police detectives are here to see you, Nancy. Are you feeling up to visitors?’

‘Police?’ Nancy brightened at the thought of visitors, even official ones. She looked Connie up and down and smiled. But the warmth she reserved for Sadler. She pointed to the chair at the end of the bed.

‘Take a seat, won’t you? No need to stand on ceremony.’

I’ll just stay on my feet
, thought Connie. The woman didn’t seem to notice that they were both dressed for a wedding, Sadler in a blue suit that must have cost him a packet. She in the wraparound dress from Marks and Spencer’s, thankful she was not wearing the same one as the octogenarian Nancy Jones.

Sadler, ignoring Connie, went and sat in the wing-backed chair.

‘Has Rachel been to see you recently?’

Nancy looked at him in surprise. ‘She comes every week. Without fail. Why did you want to know?’

Sadler was choosing his words carefully. ‘Has she mentioned anything about a crime committed recently?’

‘You mean the murder?’ Nancy was clearly enjoying herself. ‘I know all about that. She used to be a teacher in Rachel’s school. It was in all the papers and, anyway, the nurses here can’t keep any local gossip to themselves.’

‘So you knew who Penny Lander was?’

‘Only that she had worked in St Paul’s. I’d never met her and I don’t think she ever taught Rachel.’

‘Did Rachel say anything about her?’

Nancy’s mouth pursed in a thin line. ‘Say what? What’s all this about? Rachel’s suffered enough from that kidnapping. What’s this got to do with her?’

‘What I suppose I want to know is whether Rachel has asked you anything about the murder.’

Nancy started laughing, and once more Connie could again see the vestiges of the beauty she must once have been.

‘Me? Have you seen the state of me? I can hardly stand. It wasn’t me, I can assure you. You’re barking up the wrong tree, I’m afraid.’

‘The reason we’re asking is that your name is in a notebook that we found at Mrs Lander’s property. It has your name with a circle around it.’

‘Mine? What she doing with my name in her notebook?’

‘It was actually your maiden name. Nancy Price.’

Nancy looked confused. ‘I haven’t been called that for years. Nancy Price. That takes me back. I married Hughie in 1945. That’s over sixty years ago. She wouldn’t have known me then. I doubt she was even born.’

‘We know that she had been undertaking research into the old Bampton cottage hospital. We were wondering if there was a connection there.’

‘The hospital? What’s that got to with anything? I had Mary, my daughter, there after the end of the war. Not that I stayed there long. I couldn’t wait to get out of the place.’

Sadler was regarding a Nancy with an amused expression. ‘Why? Why couldn’t you wait to leave?’

Nancy turned to him. ‘It was just like this place. Too warm. They think because we’re old we need to be roasted in our rooms. What’s the temperature outside?’

Connie shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Zero degrees, I guess. It feels like it.’

‘Exactly. And I’m here in my short-sleeved dress and I’m still hot. It was the same with that hospital when I went in to have Mary. And it wasn’t even cold out. A nice warm day and they had the heating on. I remember sitting there thinking it was a waste of the fuel rationing.’

Sadler was regarding Nancy and Connie could see the amused look had disappeared from his face. ‘A warm day? But Mary was born in December, wasn’t she? We don’t get many warm days around here in the winter.’

Something flickered in the woman’s eyes. It was gone in a moment but Connie wasn’t deceived. She had seen it and so had Sadler. A silence settled between the three of them opening out while the sounds of the nursing home continued unseen outside the door.

‘I’m tired. You’re going to have to leave me alone.’

Connie leaned forward. ‘I need to ask you again, Mrs Jones, if you can think of any reason why Penny Lander might have had your name in a notebook. Anything in your past that might have a bearing on the case.’

Nancy Jones refolded her hands in her lap and said firmly, ‘I can’t think of anything.’ Connie looked to Sadler. He was assessing Nancy with calm eyes which the elderly woman was resolutely refusing to meet.

‘I think you need to leave now. I don’t have anything else to say to you.’

Back at the wedding, Sadler watched Connie making a good attempt at dancing with Palmer and his new wife. Nobody was bothering him, which was just as well as he’d never been much of a dancer, even in his student days. The DJ clearly knew his audience and the floor was packed when Connie and he returned from the nursing home. The music was now a medley from the 1980s. Connie would have been a child then, as had Justine Lander. Rachel Jones would have been a teenager. Sadler felt a shift inside him when he considered those three names: Connie, Rachel and Justine. What was the connection?

He looked at Connie on the dance floor. She wasn’t the link. Connie was brought up in Matlock, not far from Bampton, but hadn’t been born in 1978. He thought of Rachel Jones, slightly overweight but with an attractive face and an appealing offhand manner. According to Connie, it looked like she was in a relationship with Richard Weiss, which, although not earth shattering, was possibly of interest to them.

He saw Connie realise that he was looking at her and become self-conscious. He turned his back on her and glanced around the rest of the room with unseeing eyes. His thoughts turned to Justine Lander. She was taller than Rachel Jones and differently built with long solid limbs and an ordinary freckled face which made his heart jump. Sadler suddenly had an urge to see what her mother had looked like in her prime. He swung round and Connie stopped dancing and stared across the room at him. He made towards her, squeezing past Palmer’s friends and relatives as she too came to him.

‘Do you have a photo of Penny Lander?’

Connie didn’t bother to ask him why. She led him over to a chair where her handbag lay and started to flick through her iPhone.

‘I took some photos in the house the day Penny was killed. Here we go.’

She waved the phone at him and he took it out of her hands. Penny Lander, as a young woman, had the same heart-stopping fair looks that her daughter had inherited. Down to the freckles on her nose and the Germanic blonde hair tied back in a clip. From what Sadler could remember of the post-mortem, she was shorter than Justine, though. Around five foot six to her daughter’s extra three inches. Justine must have inherited her height from her father.

Connie was looking at him curiously. ‘I took a photo of all the family snaps. You can have a look through them.’

Sadler used his finger to slide the photos across the screen. Most of them were of Justine growing up over the years. There were two photos of the three of them. The first had been taken at a distance on what looked like a Mediterranean holiday. All three were squinting at the camera. They had probably grabbed a passer-by and got them to take the photo. They looked happy. The second one was a more formal setting, taken before or during a wedding perhaps. Justine looked about seven years old in a satin turquoise dress and was giving a gap-toothed smile to the camera. Penny Lander looked unchanged from an earlier photo. And James? Well, James Lander looked unsmiling at the camera. Now it was Sadler’s turn to squint at the image at the phone.

‘What are you doing?’

Without looking up he moved nearer to a wall light. ‘I’m trying to get a clearer look at his face.’

Connie reached over. ‘You enlarge the image like this.’ She slid her thumb and finger over the phone and sure enough the image got larger but more blurred. And then in an instance the pixels settled into their pattern and cleared. Sadler looked at the face in the picture on the phone and felt his heart, for a moment, stop beating.