One lost soul, p.17
One Lost Soul, page 17
part #1 of Hidden Norfolk Murder Mystery Series
“Strange place to keep shoes, wouldn’t you say?” he asked. Callum shrugged. “Why have you got these out here?”
“I’ve no seen them before but things get thrown everywhere. Who knows in this house and with kids like mine.”
Tamara spoke up. “Not exactly your size or style, though, Mr McCall.”
“You never know, lassie,” Callum countered, sniffing loudly. “Anything goes these days. Besides, they’re probably Sadie’s. Either hiding them from me cos o’ how much she paid fer them or… maybe they was her mother’s. How should I know? Could be any number of reasons.”
“Your Sadie, is she petite?” Tamara asked. “These would most likely fit a smaller girl.” Callum shrugged once more but it was possible that he was equally thrown by the discovery, only hiding it well. It was peculiar whichever way you looked at it. A constable opened a plastic bag and she lowered the shoes inside. They were still to locate the shoes Holly was wearing on the night she died and although there was no certainty these were the missing ones they would be negligent to ignore the possibility.
Stepping back, Janssen caught sight of Mark disappearing from view. He was some distance away walking between the trees. Then he was gone. Returning to the front of the building, he was met by one of the officers searching the interior of the property. Following him inside, they crossed the living area which by anyone’s standards was an absolute mess. Clothing was thrown all over the place, unclear whether it was clean or soiled. Dirty crockery was piled in the sink and every bit of workspace to the kitchen was stacked with something on top, either pans, bags or piles of junk mail. How anyone could live like this escaped him.
They entered one of the bedrooms. It was narrow with a single bed pushed up against one wall beneath the only window, itself shrouded by a net curtain. A shoulder high wardrobe was positioned in the corner, the only piece of furniture apart from the bed in the room. Clothes were stacked on top. By the look of them, the room belonged to a girl, Sadie. Next to the bed was a small bag packed with make-up, a vanity mirror on the floor alongside.
The officer knelt, picking up a shoebox that had been under the bed. Lifting off the lid revealed a small plastic bag containing cannabis. Also within the box was a little pipe, tobacco and some rolling papers. The contents were obviously personal and far from quantities expected by a dealer. “Is this it?” The constable nodded. This was all they had to show for their efforts. Casting an eye around the room, he opened the wardrobe, scanning the clothing hanging on the rail and piled beneath. Even without meeting her, he had Sadie pegged as someone who dressed for impact, imagining heavy eye-liner and lots of monochrome. Red heels didn’t strike him as her style.
Returning to the living room, he found Tamara inside talking to Callum. There was nothing here to warrant an arrest or give them cause to apply pressure to him and Callum knew it. Catching the tail end of the discussion he gathered Callum was suggesting they should leave and clearly not for the first time. There was little argument to counter his demand. The search team filtered outside, returning to their cars. Callum watched them from the doorway, arms folded and clamped against his chest.
Reaching the car, Janssen’s phone rang. It was Eric. Unlocking the car, he leant on the roof with the phone against his ear watching Callum as he watched them. The man was unfazed but annoyed. That was obvious.
“I’ve heard back from the DS in Canning Town,” Eric explained. “He’s got a lead on where we might find Amanda Stott but he says he doesn’t have the time to follow it up. It looks like she’s been working near to where she was last known to be living.”
“Well, you’ll need to head down there and check it out.”
“Okay, I’ll go first thing. How’s the search going?”
He took one more look around, doing his best to sound upbeat but, aside from the shoes, the results were disappointing. “Pretty much a bust but you never know.” He hung up, climbing into the driver’s seat as the other police cars drove away. Tamara enquired after the call. “Eric’s off to London tomorrow in search of Amanda Stott.” Starting the car, he applied full lock to the steering wheel and set off. Looking in his rear-view mirror, he saw Callum step away from the building and return to the bonfire just as he disappeared from view. Stopping the car, Tamara glanced across, surprised. “If you take the car do you think you can find your own way back to the station?”
“Yes. I expect so. Why?”
“I’m just going to follow up on something. I’ll fill you in later if that’s okay?”
She was curious, he could tell but she didn’t press him for detail. Unhooking his seatbelt, he got out. Tamara came around to the driver’s side and slipped past him into the seat. She looked up at him as he went to close the door for her.
“You’re an interesting man, Tom Janssen,” she said with a smile. He returned it.
“I’ll catch up with you later.” He watched as she pulled away. The wind was picking up and the clouds gathering above. Buttoning up his coat and putting his hands in his pockets, he stepped from the track and set off into the woods. He had a pretty good idea where Mark was heading.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mark McCall sat on the bank, watching the clouds rolling across the horizon. The blades of the wind turbines, far out at sea, were shrouded in a haze. Further along to his left a cargo ship was still visible as it picked its way north. He loved it here. At least, he did once. Looking over to where he used to sit, where they had on that night, he knew things had changed and the same thoughts and feelings would never return. The police officers at the house were frustrating. Going through his things, picking up anything they pleased without asking.
Recognising the growing anxiety within, he went to his father for safety, strange as it may seem to others. His father was a permanent presence in his life despite his obvious shortcomings. To see him so rattled by the police was odd, unsettling. Anyone who didn’t know his father probably wouldn’t realise. He did though. A man of few words at the best of times, for him to offer up explanations to the police was unheard of. He’d said more in those brief minutes than Mark usually heard in a day.
Then there were the shoes. Her shoes. They suited her, matched her lipstick, dress and overall style. “You used to love that colour too, didn’t you.” His eyes drifted back to where he and Holly sat after leaving the beach party. Holly shivering against the cold and him draping his jacket over her shoulders. She had leaned into him and he thought about putting an arm around her but couldn’t summon the courage, bottling it at the last moment. “I thought she would like it here, just as you did.” He felt his eyes water and blinked back tears. Instead of picturing the vision of the two of them alone, beneath the stars, the image that came to him was of her lifeless body. Even now, the image was as clear as the morning he found her, lying in the grass, the frost covering her dress, face and her hair glistening in the sunlight. Far more serene and angelic in death than she had been in life.
Startled by the presence of another, approaching from his left, Mark made to stand. The man raised an open palm, indicating for him to stay as he was and he sat back. It was the tall detective, the one who bought him the coke and a bacon roll. Assessing the man’s smile, he seemed nice enough. You can’t trust him, remember? Dad said so. He acknowledged the policeman’s greeting. He looked past Mark, over to the bank nearby.
“This is where you found Holly, isn’t it, Mark?”
He turned away, as if not looking would make the image in his mind’s eye disappear. It didn’t. He bobbed his head. “Yeah.” The policeman sat down alongside him, somewhat awkwardly he thought.
“What brings you back?”
Mark glanced at him. What was his game? Was he trying to trick him? The policeman didn’t seem too bothered about being all proper and official, bringing his knees up and hooking his arms over them and turning his gaze away, looking out to sea. If he wanted to question him then it should be at a station, like on the telly. He chose his reply carefully. “I like it here.”
“Nice spot. Great view, quiet.”
“I come here a lot. It helps me calm down.” Suddenly feeling like he was giving too much away, he inwardly chastised himself. They sat in silence for a minute. The breeze was gentle, warm.
“Who were you talking to when I arrived?” Mark felt a flash of panic. He must have been there for a while. He felt his face flush red. “You were talking to someone, weren’t you?” The tone wasn’t accusatory or judgemental. He felt his embarrassment subside.
“My mother used to bring me here when I was a boy. She loved the sea and it was close to home.” Glancing at the policeman, he was listening not merely paying him lip service. “Sometimes, I think it was just to get away from Dad. When he was at his worst.”
“You miss her?” For a moment he worried the subject had shifted to Holly. “Your mum. You must miss her.” It was true, he did but what child wouldn’t. “Do you ever see her?”
He was saddened to think about her leaving. In his memories there was no blame, no abandonment. They were fond recollections. “No. I’ve no idea where she is. I do miss her.” The man was friendly, asking questions but without ulterior motive. He wasn’t what his father led him to expect. “I was talking to her. My mum. That probably sounds weird, right?”
“Not at all.”
Is he humouring me? He didn’t think so. There was something in his manner, firm and reassuring. “I tell her what’s going on in my life. Whether I’m having a good day or not.” Conscious of appearing mentally unstable, he sought to explain. “I know she can’t hear me. I’m not mad or anything.” The policeman smiled.
“I talk to myself all the time.” Mark looked at him, suspicious. He seemed genuine enough. Holly said that was his biggest problem, his big heart was too trusting. “Sometimes it helps me to focus my mind.”
“Coming here brings me close to her. Or I feel like I am anyway.”
“This must be a special place to you. Did you bring Holly here?” Mark shot him a dark look.
“I didn’t kill her!” Feeling threatened now, he looked around for the quickest route to run but there was nowhere. However, the thought was at the forefront of his mind now. The policeman was calm, though. His demeanour hadn’t changed at all.
“I’m not suggesting you did. Only, this is a special place for you and Holly was left here. That’s quite a coincidence. I’m wondering how that came to pass.” He sounded sincere. “Did you ever bring her here?”
“Yes.” The answer came without thinking. He shouldn’t say anything. That’s what his father drummed into him at every opportunity. Perhaps he was wrong about this one. He didn’t seem out to hassle the McCalls even if the others were. “She came with me. I wanted to be here with her. Show her what she meant to me.”
“Did she like it too?”
He found the question curious. After all, Holly had no connection with the place, just with him. “Nah. She wasn’t interested really. Not in the place or in me either as it happens.” He looked across, again wondering if he’d said too much. “That wasn’t a shock. I hoped… hoped that maybe I wasn’t misunderstanding our… friendship… but deep down I always knew.”
“That you were only friends?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes it seemed like it was more but… I reckon Holly saw me as a kid. She didn’t dress up as she did the other night for me. I don’t even know why she came to the beach party. Maybe it was for me, so I could go. The others wouldn’t invite me in otherwise.”
“Your fellow students?” the policeman asked. He nodded again. “But she came out here with you.”
“Yes, for a bit. Then she left. She said she had to be somewhere. That she had to leave.”
“Did she say where?”
He couldn’t say for he didn’t know. Holly hadn’t told him. He was so disappointed… no, angry with her for leaving that he hadn’t even asked where she was going. He chose not to share those feelings. The man was nice but even so, he was still looking for a murderer. “She left me here. I stayed for a while, until I got cold and then I went home.”
“Who else knew you were bringing Holly up here?”
Mark thought on that for a moment. As far as he was aware, no one could have known. They slipped away without saying anything to the others and because Holly kept them away from the fire, and therefore the group, no one else would have noticed once the beer was flowing and the party was in full swing. He shrugged. “No one.” He hadn’t meant for his reply to be so meek but it sounded feeble in his head.
“Was she wearing shoes, do you remember? Only she wasn’t wearing any when we found her.”
“Yes, of course she was. I wouldn’t be able to carry her up here and it would hurt to walk without them.” His mind went to the red heels found back at the house and he fell silent, trying not to look like he was hiding anything or appearing defensive.
“What did they look like?”
This time his response was immediate. “Just shoes,” he shrugged, accompanying the gesture with a shake of the head to indicate he didn’t know. Was that convincing? He wasn’t sure. The policeman didn’t pursue it.
“You’ve not been going in to the sixth form much.” It was said as a statement, not a question. Now he was being nosey, interfering. His father was right after all. “The kids, are they giving you a hard time?”
“They all think I did it!” He couldn’t help it, the reply tripping off his tongue before he could stop himself. They may not have spoken the words aloud or to his face but their expressions said it all, even some of the teachers. He was a McCall and a strange one at that. “They think I killed Holly.” The fact that he loved her, would never intentionally harm her and would give anything to see her again didn’t cut much ice with people at the school. They were looking for someone to blame and not one of them would believe him, so why would the police. “I wasn’t truthful with you before.” He heard his own voice, barely audible.
“About what?” The policeman was interested, his eyes brighter now. Focussed.
“About Holly… and her life. I knew she was going to see the artist.”
“Ken Francis?”
“Yeah.” There was no need to lie about it. If the police didn’t know already then they soon would. Provided they did their jobs right, anyway, and this man looked serious, someone you would rely on if you were ever in trouble. His father told him this one was different, he would give as good as he got, his father had said. “Holly loved drawing, art… painting and stuff. That was what she wanted to be, an artist, but it was never going to happen around here. She thought he would help her to do it. To get away from here.”
“Was she planning to leave?”
“I think so. I mean, she didn’t say when but now… after what happened to her… I think she might have been saying goodbye to me that night. When she said she was leaving.”
“And you reckon Holly thought Ken was going to help her?”
“She thought so… but he used her, much like everyone else.”
“You say everyone else. What do you mean by that?”
Thinking about it, he realised he wasn’t sure. “That’s just what Holly used to say.”
“How did you feel about her relationship with Ken? You could be forgiven for being annoyed.”
He didn’t want to answer that question. Nor did he wish to reveal how he would follow her sometimes when she went to see him, watching from the nearby woods. As angry as it could make him, he also found those occasions exciting. “I think she loved him.”
“You know, someone’s been making threats against Ken Francis. They’ve trashed his studio and, yesterday someone set fire to it. We’re thinking it’s quite likely to be the same person.”
The policeman was staring at him now. He wanted to know if it was him. Had he already made up his mind? I can’t tell you what I know. I just can’t. “It wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do anything like that.” He felt the eyes upon him, assessing him, judging. Bracing for the next question, he waited patiently, wondering what it would be but the policeman asked nothing further and slowly returned his gaze to the sea.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Tom Janssen’s mind was preoccupied with thoughts regarding Mark McCall as he came to the end of the path, reaching the main road. A small lorry rumbled past, the branding denoting it as one making deliveries to small food stores. Trotting across the road in between two oncoming cars he headed to his left. Tamara had offered to pick him up which he was grateful for, although the thirty-minute walk back to the station was perfectly manageable. Glancing at his watch, there was some time to kill though. The agreed meeting place was a small convenience store on the edge of the village, a landmark that she should be able to find easily enough. If not, there was always the sat nav.
He found Mark McCall a strange young man. Not a view garnered by his illness, though. It was far more than that. The family were well known amongst those who worked and lived locally. Their reputation well earned, if overstated sometimes by the locals. Stories and descriptions of events could be magnified over time making the participants appear darker, the events far more unacceptable than perhaps they were. Not that the McCalls needed much elaboration. Mark was different to his father and siblings. That was clear to him and yet Mark’s distrust of those in authority was equally as strong. Thinking back to his own childhood, perhaps that wasn’t so odd. As much as your thoughts and feelings towards the world could be shaped by your peers, more often than not it was your family who nurtured your world view. The arguments he used to have with his own father, infrequent though they were for they had a wonderful relationship, only came about once he reached an age to form his own opinions along with the courage and conviction to voice them. This was a rite of passage to adulthood, something everyone goes through. However, thinking on it, he still grew up to be a pretty decent carbon copy of his father with similar values and outlook.
