Devils way, p.4
Devil's Way, page 4
‘That’s up to the doctor and the results of your next chest x-ray. You had seawater on your lungs. Seawater has all kinds of bacteria, which is fine normally, but when it gets into your lungs, it can cause many problems. We need to keep you under observation.’ Dawn flicked through Kate’s chart, and her brow furrowed. ‘Hm. You have significant scarring on the liver.’ She looked down at Kate. ‘How many units of alcohol do you drink a week?’
‘None. I’m sober thirteen years.’
‘Ah,’ said Dawn, nodding. ‘Okay, I see…’ Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline, and she murmured, ‘He’s prescribed Diazepam.’
‘I never had a problem with drugs. I’m in recovery for alcohol addiction,’ said Kate. She noticed Dawn glance at the large bottle of hand sanitiser by the sink.
‘The doctor should be round later. You ring the bell if you need anything.’ She put the chart back on the end of the bed, and the rictus grin was back on her face. Dawn swivelled her trolley and left, removing the bottle of hand sanitiser on her way out.
Kate sat for a moment, feeling despair. The nurse thinks I’m going to drink the hand sanitiser. She downed two more glasses of water and then got up to use the bathroom in the corner of the room. On her way back, she realised she was no longer hooked up to the IV line and the heart monitor. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling a little dizzy from the exertion and ran over what she could remember about her conversation with Jean the night before. It had happened. Hadn’t it?
Kate reached to her locker by the bed and opened the door to the compartment at the bottom. Her mobile phone was inside and she saw a small wash bag that Tristan had brought her. Kate switched on her phone and was about to look up ‘Charlie Julings missing’ on Google when it rang. It was Tristan.
‘Hello,’ he said, sounding happy to hear her answer. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I think so. I’m off the machines and IV.’
‘Do you feel better?’ he asked. Kate hesitated. She no longer felt unwell in her body, but her mind was a mess. She could feel a dark cloud of depression forming, and the sense of embarrassment and failure loomed large.
‘Yes,’ she lied.
‘Any clue to when you’re going to be discharged?’
‘I don’t know. I hope in a couple of days. How are things in the office?’
Tristan hesitated on the end of the phone.
‘I finally got the photo of Terrance Trent. I took a punt and got up early this morning. By pure luck, I pulled into a parking spot outside his house and bam, out he came with this young girl, holding hands. I emailed it over to his wife.’
‘Good work,’ said Kate.
‘Are you all right to talk more?’
‘Of course.’
‘We’ve just had an email query from a solicitor, Steve Dexter, based in Exeter. He represents a woman called Jean Julings. He said you know her?’
Kate sat back in the bed and felt a surge of relief and excitement. It had happened. She had had the conversation. Kate quickly outlined what Jean had told her the night before.
‘A missing person’s case. Do you want me to set up a meeting with him?’
‘Set it up for Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll be discharged by then.’
7
Kate spent Sunday sleeping, and she was pleased the bed beside her remained empty. At 8am on Monday morning, a different doctor examined her. She scrutinised Kate’s latest x-ray and deemed her fit to go home.
It all happened so fast, and by nine, Kate was up and dressed, clutching a bag of medication, and waiting outside in the warm sunshine for a taxi to take her home. Kate was thankful that Tristan had brought her an old tracksuit and trainers. Still, she didn’t have any underwear – he’d probably been too embarrassed to root through her knicker drawer.
The taxi driver was of the miserable variety, which Kate was glad for. She couldn’t face making conversation on the short journey home. When the driver pulled off the motorway and onto the clifftop road leading towards Kate’s house and office, a warm breeze floated through the window, and the sea sparkled below.
Kate usually felt at peace when she saw the vast expanse of water stretching away to the horizon, but today it made her feel uneasy. They passed the two wooden clifftop houses, which were let as holiday rentals, both with cars outside, and then further down, the caravan site. It was at full capacity, and a few campers were sitting in the sunshine. The surfers who had pulled her out of the water were renting a caravan, and she was embarrassed to bump into them. Kate leant down and busied herself with her paper bag of medication on the floor, and as they passed the campsite shop with the agency office above, she kept her head down.
Kate paid the driver and then hurried inside her house. The hallway led into a vast living room. A picture window ran all along the back wall looking out to sea. The other walls were covered in bookshelves stacked untidily with novels. The furniture was old and heavy: a battered sofa, coffee table, and an upright piano, which Kate didn’t play, against one wall. The house had initially come with Kate’s job as a lecturer in criminology at Ashdean University. Her friend Myra had owned the campsite next door, and when she died two years ago, she’d left it all to Kate on the condition that she follow her dream and start up her own detective agency.
Myra had been Kate’s sponsor in Alcoholics Anonymous as well as her friend, and right now, in her vulnerable state, she missed Myra more than ever. She moved to the kitchen and stood silently, listening to the clock ticking.
You know, you could have a shot of whisky? said the voice in her head. The one that seemed to be getting louder over the past few days. Think how good you’d feel if you fixed yourself a nice hot toddy. You’ve proved to yourself that you can do without. It’s virtually medicine – and you’ve been ill. Take it. Kate looked out of the side window. The campsite shop sold alcohol and lemons… And there was a jar of honey in the back of the cupboard.
Her phone rang, and she was glad for the distraction. It was Jake on Facetime.
‘Hi Mum,’ said Jake, his face filling the screen. It looked like he was in his dorm room.
‘Hello, love. What happened to your hair?’ she asked. When they’d spoken a week ago, his brown hair had been shoulder length, and he’d had a beard. His hair was now cropped very short, and he was clean-shaven.
‘I fancied a change,’ he said, running his hand over his head. ‘More importantly, are you okay? Grandma has been keeping me updated. I tried to call you a couple of times.’ His brow furrowed, and Kate felt the balance shifting for the first time in their relationship. He was fixing her with the same concern she’d often had for him as a small boy.
‘I’m home.’
Jake nodded. He looked good, but the scruffy tousled boy was gone. He looked like a man. It threw Kate for a moment.
‘What happened, Mum? You’re such a strong swimmer,’ he said.
‘I am a strong swimmer. It was a riptide, and I wasn’t paying attention.’
‘Are you still going to meetings?’
‘Of course. This doesn’t have anything to do with that,’ said Kate, hearing the defensive tone in her voice. Jake put up his hands.
‘I’m just asking.’
‘And I’m just telling you, it was an accident. I am allowed to have an accident. It doesn’t have to be connected to… anything else.’
Jake nodded.
‘I know. But I’m far away, and I worry. I tried to call you a couple of times. Grandma said you had your phone in the hospital, but I haven’t heard from you.’
‘Jake, you can stop telling me off. Did Grandma also say that I was in intensive care? And that I stopped breathing?’
‘No.’
‘Well, there you go. I didn’t know what day it was. However, I’m home now and on the mend.’
Jake nodded, and they were silent. She heard some noises in the background, people laughing.
‘Do you need me to come home?’ he said.
‘No, but I thought you were coming back for the summer?’
His brow creased.
‘I’ve been offered a summer internship here in LA… It’s at a film company. A very prestigious one. And it’s paid, too. I know I’m majoring in English Lit, but being in Los Angeles amongst all these film people and creatives, I think I’ve caught the bug. Or at least this internship will help me make up my mind if I want to pursue a career in film and TV.’
Kate could feel her heart sinking, but she kept her face neutral.
‘That’s brilliant. Of course, you must take it.’
‘Really? I worry about you, and after what happened…’
‘You shouldn’t. Things are going well here. I’m busy and happy. I would have loved to see you, but you’ll be home for Christmas?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And we’ll talk lots, as usual. And I might be able to come back for a week or so at the end of the summer.’
‘Jake. It’s your future.’
‘Can you promise me one thing?’
‘What?’
‘That you’ll take care swimming. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you’re getting older.’
‘You’re right. I don’t want to hear that. I’m forty-seven, not seventy-four!’
‘Sorry, Mum. I’m only saying this because I love you.’
* * *
When Kate came off the phone, she made herself a cup of tea, went upstairs and crawled under the covers. She lay staring at the ceiling and tried to process her conversation with Jake. I should be happy, she thought. Isn’t this what I always wanted for Jake? For him to be successful and happy? He’d had a rough start in life, and he had to carry the legacy of his father. Despite all that, he was studying abroad and making a life for himself.
However, there was a selfish part of Kate that wished he’d come home. She shook the thought away and tried to get some sleep.
8
The next day, Kate and Tristan met with Dexter Solicitors in Exeter. The solicitor’s office comprised two small rooms above a bakery on a quiet street a few hundred yards from the city centre. It was a hot day, and it felt stuffy in the office.
‘Jean was due to join us on speakerphone, but the mobile phone signal is bad at the nursing home where she’s convalescing,’ said the solicitor, Steve Dexter. He was a tall, skinny man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. His black hair was styled in a greased quiff and he had on thick-framed glasses. His black suit had seen better days, with shiny elbows and frayed cuffs. His office was a tribute to disorder. Every wall was filled with bookshelves packed with sagging lever arch files, and his large desk was stacked high on either side with paperwork. His desktop screensaver was an image of Roy Orbison. He had a cardboard folder on the desk in front of him.
‘Could we open a window?’ asked Kate.
‘Sorry, they don’t open,’ he said. ‘Jean has asked me to apologise for her absence today. It’s all happened rather fast.’
‘We’re pleased to be here and working for Jean,’ said Kate, still feeling out of sorts and sickly. Only the day before, she’d been lying in a hospital bed, and now she was zipped up in her best trouser suit to discuss a new case. She unbuttoned the black jacket and cleared her throat, hoping she wasn’t about to have another coughing fit.
‘Jean is more than just a client to me,’ said Steve. ‘I was close friends with her late daughter, Becky. And I dealt with Becky’s funeral and the paperwork when she passed…’ He took a deep breath and looked at them keenly. ‘If I’m honest, I’m sceptical about Jean spending what savings she has left on this investigation. The family has suffered so much with the loss of Charlie, and then Becky’s death.’
‘I’m just as surprised as you,’ said Kate. ‘I’ve only spoken to Jean once, and that was when we were in hospital beds.’
‘And I’ve never met Jean,’ added Tristan. ‘I hope you’ve taken the time to look at our agency website and google the cases we’ve worked on.’
Steve looked between Kate and Tristan.
‘You understand that the likelihood of finding Charlie alive is almost zero.’
‘Yes, we know,’ said Kate. ‘But if we can find out what happened to Charlie, it would give Jean closure and peace. This is delicate, but can I please ask how Becky passed away?’
The door opened and hit the wall with a thump. An older woman came bustling into the room carrying a round tray of mismatched coffee mugs, all filled to the brim and steaming. She wore a boxy grey trouser suit, a white blouse and a pair of flip-flops. A pair of spectacles hung over an ample bosom, and she had a second pair balanced on her nose with thick greasy lenses. She looked like she was suffering in the heat more than Kate. She was breathing heavily as she walked over, trying not to spill the contents of the overfilled mugs.
‘It was Jean who found Becky. She’d hung herself from the light fitting in the living room,’ said the woman, steering herself and the tray towards the table. ‘The fitting collapsed. The crown mouldings gave in with the weight of her. Not that she was fat. Becky was a slip of a girl, weren’t she, Steve?’
Steve didn’t look pleased with the interruption. The woman put the tray down and carried on talking.
‘Just before she died, Becky was deep into drugs.’ She tutted and shook her head at the memory. ‘Jean tried to help her so many times. And Steve, he was a real rock for her… And I did what I could. I hosted the intervention.’
Something about how she said ‘hosted’ made it sound like a catered event.
‘I’m Sadie, by the way, office manager and Steve’s mum. It’s nice to meet you.’ She held out her hand. Kate and Tristan shook hands with her, and Kate liked her instantly. She was a real contrast to her snooty son. ‘I’m so pleased that you’re going to investigate what happened. Charlie, he was such a dear little boy. The apple of Jean’s eye. After everything she’s had to cope with in her life, it’s just cruel what happened to Charlie. You read about those cases where children go missing, and you never expect it to happen to someone you know so well. I’ve told Jean for years that she should hire a private detective. The police have been next to useless… You’d think that children go missing every day.’
‘Well, sadly, they do,’ said Kate. ‘Did you know over 112,000 children are reported missing in the UK every year?’
‘You’re kidding?’ said Sadie, appalled.
‘Lots of them are found, but it’s still a horrifying statistic.’
‘What are the chances of you finding Charlie?’
‘I’m not going to lie. Slim. But we have a strong record with finding missing people,’ said Kate. There was silence. ‘Do you know Jean outside of work?’
‘Yes. Me and Jean go way back. We were both in the dreaded children’s home together. That bonded us, and here I am. I was fifty last year, and we’re close. Steve and Becky used to play together.’
Steve pursed his lips and gingerly lifted one of the dripping mugs off the tray.
‘Thank you, Sadie,’ he said. Kate and Tristan exchanged a glance. Was he one of those odd people who call their parents by their first name?
‘Sorry about the mess. The capsule machine is broken. I hope you don’t mind instant?’ Sadie added, picking up the mugs and blotting them underneath with a wad of tissue.
‘Instant is fine, thank you,’ said Tristan.
‘I read that National Geographic article about you both online. It’s so impressive how you found out who killed that journalist. And I like that you’re a local boy,’ she said to Tristan. ‘Jean’s made the right choice with you two. I just hope she’ll be better soon and able to go home. She has terrible trouble with ulcers. You should see them. Have you ever seen venous ulcers?’
Kate and Tristan shook their heads. Sadie put up her hand.
‘Awful they are, so painful, and sometimes they never heal! Jean has terrible varicose veins. She won’t mind me saying, I’m sure. All the jobs she’s ever done have had her on her feet all day; cleaner, barmaid and what-have-you. And she got these ulcers from the veins on the backs of her thighs breaking. Can you imagine? She can barely sit or move when they erupt.’
Steve gave Sadie a look.
‘Anyway. It’s nice to meet you both. I’ll see if I can get Jean on the blower. She wanted us to put her on speakerphone so she could join this meeting, but there’s terrible mobile reception at The Lawns, and the nursing staff are funny about her using the landline.’
Steve cleared his throat, and his look of annoyance almost made Kate laugh.
‘Well, I’ll be outside if you need me.’ She backed out of the room with a smile. Steve waited until the door was closed before continuing.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, sliding the two chipped Smarties-branded coffee mugs to Tristan and Kate and keeping the Cadbury’s Crunchie-branded one for himself. ‘Sadie… my mother is a good secretary. It’s just keeping the boundaries sometimes is, er…’ He picked up the folder.
‘What’s Joel, Charlie’s father, doing now?’ asked Kate.
‘He runs a pub on the other side of Dartmoor near Belstone.’
‘Is he married?’
‘Yes. He has two young girls with his second wife. He’s on holiday in Spain with his family.’
‘Does he know that Jean is hiring us?’ asked Tristan.
‘I don’t know. This has all come together so fast.’ He took a piece of paper from a pile next to him. ‘Now. I received a copy of your business contract. Everything looks acceptable, but you’ll be dealing with me regarding finances.’ He took a silver pen from his inside pocket and signed the contract with a flourish. ‘Jean kept some newspaper clippings and the photos she took during that fateful camping trip. It’s not much to go on, but I thought you should have them.’
‘What about contacts? Are there any details of the police officers who worked on the case?’ asked Tristan.
Steve shook his head.
‘Jean hates the police. If I’m honest, she never had a good relationship with any of the police officers who worked on the case. She even told the lead detective to eff off.’ He slid the folder across the table to them. When Kate picked it up, she could feel it was very slim.
