The Rotting Spot (A Bruce and Bennett Mystery) Page 9

  ‘He’s beautiful.’ Erica felt awkward suddenly. What could she say after that? What was she doing, thinking she could investigate like some kind of gumshoe? How could she explain her resolve to look into the vanishing twenty- five years ago of a girl neither of them had known?

  ‘Look, Daddy, the ducks like me!’

  Steve and Erica laughed. Toby’s smile included her. She felt choked at the sight of him; weren’t those Lucy’s finely arched brows, and didn’t the brown eyes have a greenish hazel light in them, like the sun through the peaty water of a Northumbrian river?

  ‘I took a chance mailing you,’ Steve began. ‘Lucy’d never mentioned you before that day.’

  Erica felt strangely desolated by this. ‘Oh well, we’d not been in touch since the late Nineties, I mean, I’d no idea Lucy even had a son!’

  They moved back and sat on a bench, within sight of Toby.

  ‘Look, I’m confused as well. I kind of feel I owe Lucy, and maybe I can do something for her – that her going is because of something she found out about her cousin Molly’s disappearance. It probably sounds insane –’

  ‘Not insane at all. I think you might be right.’

  ‘Wow! Sorry, it’s a shock to be taken seriously. The police think I’m a hysterical female…’

  ‘Yeah, I guessed as much. That detective, Bennett, he warned me not to encourage you, yadda yadda. But I thought I’d make my own diagnosis, you know?’

  ‘That fucker!’ Erica began, but stopped herself, worried Toby could hear. She put her rage with Will Bennett on ice for later.

  ‘So anyway, Lucy turns up Sunday late afternoon, I’m dead made up with the card and a beach towel Toby’d got me, I don’t realise at first she’s in a state. Some doctor, eh?

  ‘She was that quiet, and pale, but you know, I thought she was just knackered, with finals. Then she just said the stuff I told you in the mail, and could I keep Toby, and she went off in a hurry.

  ‘Next thing, I get a phone call from Liz, saying she’d gone. So I told her about Luce mentioning you.’

  ‘How come you didn’t mention Molly to Liz as well, since Lucy’d mentioned her too? If you thought ‘Molly’ was just a student mate of hers.’

  ‘Just didn’t think of it. I was only half listening at that point, all my attention was on Toby, I wasn’t to know Lucy was going to disappear, was I? I assumed she’d be back, same evening, you know?’

  ‘Why? If she didn’t say where she was going.’ Was it the sun, making him sweat a little? A sheen on his forehead …

  ‘I’m supposed to be in Ibiza right now, totally rat-arsed, with me mates. She knew I was going the next day. As it turned out, I had to cancel, last minute. Won’t get me money back. Anyway, when Liz rang out of the blue to say they’d found her car, yours was the name she’d mentioned last, after that weird infant murdering thing. So it stuck in my mind.’

  Or you only invented the Molly motif afterwards, thought Erica.

  ‘It was afterwards I made the connection with the cousin that went missing, Lucy hardly ever mentioned it, you see. So I think you might be right, but now you’ve told Bennett, he’ll tell Liz for sure and I’m in enough trouble with her already. She’s asked to have Toby over at Stonehead and I’ve said no.’

  ‘How come? You could go out to Ibiza then.’

  ‘Well … once I realised who Molly was, and what happened to her, I’ve not wanted Tobes anywhere near Stonehead. I keep going over Lucy telling me, ‘Keep Toby with you, ok?’ Maybe she intended coming back, and something happened … Or she’s gone into hiding, trusting me to keep him safe. Nothing’s worth risking my son for, you know? Even annoying Liz and Seymour.

  ‘Wasn’t easy telling Liz, thank god it was on the phone, she’s a powerful woman, typical consultant! She was dead upset, not to say narked, but I just said I wanted Toby here with his mum away.’

  ‘My god!’ Erica was riveted by this news. Steve, assuming he was innocent in all this, seemed to have similar suspicions to her own. ‘What you’re saying makes me more than ever sure she found out something bad about someone at home…’

  Toby trotted over and leaned against Erica’s knees.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Erica – and you are Toby, right?’

  ‘Yes! I can count to twenty! And ten as well!’

  ‘That’s very good –’ he’d run off with a fresh supply of bread. Erica watched as he carefully ensured some bread went to a hopeful sparrow which was being comprehensively beaten up by the greedy ducks.

  ‘Steve,’ Erica said. ‘You are one hell of a guy.’ Too good to be true? ‘Here’s Lucy, leaves Toby, goes off, no word of where or when she’ll be back, leaving you to cancel your holiday. Obviously you’re worried about Lucy, but you don’t seem pissed off at all, even taking into account Toby’s your son and an absolute star. I don’t get the impression you and she are still an item…’

  ‘Well, you know how it goes with Lucy. You and her’d lost touch, but here you are, ready to bat for her, because you owe her, you said?’

  ‘She sorted my head out, I was nearly anorexic. She saved my life really, cheesy as it sounds.’

  ‘Toby owes her his life too. So I owe her, big time.’ Steve glanced at her, a smile softening his features, before his gaze, never long away, went back to his son as he went on talking.

  ‘We went out at uni, then went back into the friend zone. We were both totally committed to being good doctors.’

  Erica held her face still. Was this the Lucy she’d been expecting, emotionally blackmailed into medicine by pushy parents? For the first time she realised that investigating Molly might tell her more about Lucy. Who she used to think she knew.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on. ‘I was young, fit, brainy, going to heal the world. Then one day, I felt a lump.’

  ‘Testicular cancer?’

  ‘That’s the one. Scourge of fit young men. As a medic, I was optimistic about survival, and not ashamed, as lots of guys are, of a tumour that would leave me one-sided, but I had to have chemo, which was likely to leave me sterile. Fucking downer!’

  ‘Can’t they freeze a sample?’

  ‘Yeah. But I heard that some facility had accidentally thawed and destroyed some poor guys’ samples, and their chance of fatherhood had gone down the bog.’

  ‘I heard that too.’

  ‘Yeah, well, lads our age, just don’t want to get caught, you know? Then this happens, you’re going to lose the power to choose, and then you really, really want to be a dad. Anyway, Lucy offered to have my baby. Our baby. Hence Toby.’

  ‘That’s incredible! At that stage of her education?’ Erica couldn’t imagine doing that for an ex-boyfriend.

  ‘I suppose I should have refused, but they don’t call it the selfish gene for nothing! So, you can say I owe her, biggest of big times. And always will. So however screwy it sounds, if she wants me to do something, I’m there. I’m sure you know what I mean, from what you’ve said. So, if I can help you any way at all, just say the word. But my priority has to be keeping Toby safe, you know?’

  Toby was poking about in the water with a long fallen twig, picking up rags of green weed and dropping them again. Erica was overwhelmed with information. But she needed all she could get.

  ‘Tell me, how did her family react to her getting pregnant? Didn’t they think it’d mess up her career or even her life?’

  ‘They were great, Liz especially! She’s a really dedicated gynaecologist you know, said she sees childless couples all the time, their suffering, she fully supported Lucy. She said they’d help with Toby, and her auntie Peggy too. I think Liz tries to be kind because of Peg losing Molly … never having grandkids of her own. She’s always let her be a second mum to Lucy. Seymour, well, he raises the wrist a bit, but he idolises Lucy, she can do no wrong as far as he’s concerned. That’s what made it so hard telling them I want to keep Tobes with me … hungry, son?’

  Toby was heading their way in a purposeful manner
he obviously recognised. Erica realised with a shock that it was nearly lunch time.

  ‘Pizza!’ announced Toby with all the assurance of the adored. Erica wanted to get away to mull all this over. But one more thing, she just had to ask.

  ‘Did Lucy ever, I mean, did you ever get the impression she regretted giving up acting?’

  ‘Acting? Did she act? I didn’t know. Got to go, anyway, the littl’un needs nosh. Want to come?’

  Erica was reluctant to trespass on this relationship any longer. ‘Did she act?’ Was this the same Lucy? Erica said goodbye, and Steve gave her his mobile number.

  ‘And good luck with Liz; I hear she’s been ringing round our mates, using her consultant’s clout, but no-one’s telling her anything. Let me know if you hear anything from Lucy, or find out anything!’

  ‘Ditto!’ said Erica. She watched them go, Toby’s little legs twinkling to keep up with Steve’s long strides. She heard Toby say, ‘If there’s a free gift, I’m going to keep it for Mummy.’ He looked back and waved, opening and closing his hand. She waved back. Somehow she had to try to get Toby his mummy back. Assuming she was alive. If the police wouldn’t help, she’d have to do it. Too late, she realised she hadn’t asked Steve about boyfriends. She still didn’t know if she could trust Steve, despite his ‘great dad’ schtick. I mean, Hitler had loved his dog, right?

  The breeze off the lake had cooled the thin film of sweat from Erica’s skin, but she felt colder inside. Cold, and ashamed. Steve owed Lucy, big time. So he supported her without question, though her actions seemed irrational. In contrast, Erica, despite the debt she owed Lucy, had rejected her as soon as she changed her plans, feeling let down. She owed Lucy all right. Double big time, now. For saving her sorry half-starved ass, and to make up for letting her down when she could have supported her.

  ‘Something that changed everything.’ Lucy’s words could apply to her. So much she had taken for granted about Lucy had been thrown into doubt.

  12

  Evening, Saturday 21st June

  Wydsand Beach

  Detective Inspector Will Bennett ran along the beach, thinking back to his meeting with Superintendent George, at which they had listened to the precis of the Molly Westfield case presented by Hassan Massum.

  Twenty-five years before. The lass would be about forty now.

  ‘Pretty girl, clever too by all accounts. More brainy than her mum, Margaret or Peggy Westfield, who’s not very bright, at least academically.’

  ‘Makes great scones though,’ put in Will, sticking up for Peg. His nephew’s disability made him sensitive to slights of this kind. Hassan gave him a reproachful glance, and he realised his remark had sounded flippant.

  ‘More like her auntie, Liz Seaton. She and Peg are very different characters. Anyway, Molly and her mum had been arguing. Typical teenager, sex and drugs and rock and roll, weird fashions, music, and so on. Just like nowadays. We’ve all been there.’

  Neither the Super nor Will had, but they let it go.

  ‘Trouble was, the mother was religious, bit fundamentalist, took it all more seriously than normal. Not just worried about her daughter getting into trouble, pregnant, arrested, or mucking up her school work and future career, but worried about her immortal soul as well. Molly was going out with a local lad, Paul Reed. Decent enough lad, as far as we know, but Peg and George didn’t like it. Felt she was too young, wanted her to hang out with other kids belonging to her church. And his family wasn’t posh enough, they wanted her to get into more of a Seaton-type set. Then Peg found some contraceptive pills under Molly’s bed. She destroyed them, called Molly a whore or some such. Molly stormed out. She stayed a couple of nights at her aunt’s. Then she went to stay at the hostel, on Stony Point. After about three weeks, she vanished. The parents called in the police.’

  ‘How did they get the stuff about the pill row?’ asked the super.

  ‘Most of the info came from Liz Seaton. But the notes give the impression that Peg was more concerned for Molly’s soul, the temptations she might be exposed to, than her safety. Actually talked of a fate worse than death.’

  ‘Any evidence she was abducted, or murdered?’ Will wanted to get to some hard police type work, not all this emotional gossip. ‘Even a family member could have killed her, maybe one of those exorcisms you read about.’

  ‘Come off it!’ the Super snorted. ‘You’ve been spending too much time with the hippy dippy crowd!’

  Will repressed his anger at this direct hit. ‘Just trying to cover all the bases, sir. Murder in families happens. Anything in the files about police action? She was too young to go missing without a search.’

  ‘They didn’t search at all. After a couple of days’ enquiries, Molly rang her dad’s shop from a call box to say she was ok. Clearly didn’t want to talk to her mother. Said she wasn’t coming back.’

  ‘And that was that?’ asked the Super hopefully. Will glanced at him with disdain. The Super was thinking of his lunch. The faint whiff from the canteen had set his juices running. His superior! Never had the term seemed more ridiculous. The man had made masterly inactivity into an Olympic event. He would be very different, when he’d made superintendent. Hassan Massum saw the look. His keen young Guv was snapping at the old man’s heels, alright. He ploughed on. ‘Molly made her last appearance at a Christmas party. Plenty of witnesses.’

  ‘There you are then.’ The Super would be feeling the empty space in his belly like an ache. Will heard himself saying, ‘So there’d be no point in reopening the case of Molly Westfield, then. Despite her age, and the fact she’s not been heard of since.’

  The Super stared at him. ‘Give the man a coconut. Quite right. The only reason we’ve wasted valuable time having this conversation is to shut the Seatons up. And now there’s been that email from Lucy’s ex, we can forget the whole thing. What’s the matter, Will? Looking for work? You can come and dig my garden, if so, my wife’s been on at me for weeks to make her a herbacious border. Now, I’m off to the canteen.’

  As he ran, Will felt uneasy. And there was the blood – hers, they’d established. His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of Erica Bruce cycling along the cliff path above him, her bright hair streaming behind her. She suddenly skidded to a stop, staring intently at something. He followed her gaze, catching up now she was still. Two birds with rosy chests swayed on long grass. As he drew level he saw her smiling. Over birds! Obviously some kind of twitcher. Skulls, birds, homeopathy. You wouldn’t think a fit lass would bother with all that crap. Then she was off again, in a hurry. The sea on his right was a slaty blue with violet shadows, a lacy edging of foam pawing gently at the sand. But Bennett kept his eyes on Erica’s bottom, imagining it cupped in his hands, until he almost tripped over a small dog.

  Erica had noticed Will, but no way was she going to show any sign of it. Little did he know she was carrying a bird’s head in her rucksack. He wouldn’t understand skull-hunting. That mania which Mickey passed on to her, (though not Lucy, ironically in view of her later work with bones), to scour the shingle beaches near the Point for dead birds, and the roads for roadkill. Using the rotting spot to accelerate the natural processes of decay, to reveal the skull which, clean and dry, could be kept in the house with no whiff of putrefaction. As her feet pumped the pedals, she thought about it, imagining Will’s face if she tried explaining it to him. Maybe he could read the blog.

  Extract from the Skull Hunter’s Blog

  We are hunter-gatherers. We gather roadkill, beachkill; we also hunt. We find our trophies where the world says we should not look. We hide them away, in our rotting spots, in our secret hearts. There they glow, tempting us to bring them out, display them with a hunter’s pride, and we fight the urge, lest we have them taken from us. The dog buries its bone; the butcher bird impales its prizes on the highest thorns. Which are you, what secret have you buried, that longs to come out and show its ivory planes and contours to a world that can’t understand?

  From http://w
ww.theskullhunter.wordpress.com

  Cycling into Stonehead, Erica spotted a woman, shoulders drooping under the weight of two full carrier bags. She pushed open the front door of a terraced house with her shoulder, then swung the bags inside. She looked hard done by, her flabby body and face redolent of suffering. Erica carried on to the headland and Stony Point hostel, feeling glad that she was not that woman.

  Julie Reed tackled her door like an ordeal. When would Paul fix it? How many times had she nagged him? Her poor back … The door flew open, ricocheted off the hall wall and bounced back into her as she entered. A cramped hall. Pile of junk mail on the floor. Telling her she’d won some wonderful prize. As if, as her kids would say. She looked for foreign stamps, hoping for fat envelopes from them. A postcard from Davey in America. A quick scrawl. Her heart lifted at the sight of his handwriting, but sank again as she scanned the few words. ‘Hi mum and dad, got here ok, great weather, take care, Daveyx.’ Why had they both gone away to university, when there were places nearby? Had they wanted to leave home? And then, come the summer, a few days at home, the washing machine going non-stop, and they were off again. Travelling. Working abroad. Did they just want to get away from her? Julie tottered into the kitchen. Get the kettle on. And there was a nice packet of Jaffa cakes in one of the bags. She could feel the longing coming over her, as she imagined the chocolate melting away, the orange jelly disc dissolving in her mouth … food never left you.

  Now Lucy had gone, let Liz have a taste of having your efforts derided, as the ones you’ve given your all move on and leave you behind. She couldn’t resist talking to Paul about it, making him squirm. Peg Westfield was in a right state when she visited her poor old mum. Lily just went on and on about some painting Toby took her. But Paul would be back late again. He was never here to see how hard she worked to keep the house nice. In and out, just like in bed. If at all.