Four Silences Broken, page 7
“No, he’s gone to bed and doesn’t he already have a headset?”
“This is the latest version. It was only released yesterday. They’re really hard to get hold of. A mate managed to get me one.”
“Oh well thank you. That was kind,” replied Meera, although she was always slightly dubious about some of the business practices of Nish’s many mates. “You didn’t come all the way out here to drop it off, did you?”
“No, I’m on my way to pick up Becky. She finishes her shift at the pub at half ten.”
“Isn’t it a little late to be going on a date?” queried Meera, who would normally have been tucked up in bed by now if she wasn’t feeling so agitated.
“Don’t be such an old granny! We’re going to a club in Harrogate—nobody will even show up before midnight.”
“Oh my goodness! How does Becky ever get up in the morning to take Minty to school?”
“Give it a rest, Meera. Seriously, you’re starting to sound like Mum.”
“I’m happy for you, but I am a little surprised the two of you are spending so much time together. I wouldn’t have thought you have much in common.”
“Really? She grew up with an older sister, who always did better at school than her, who her parents always turned to first for help and advice. Sound familiar?”
Meera held up her hands. “Okay, okay, there’s no need to be so angry. I was only trying to offer some advice.” Meera paused, trying to pick her words carefully. “After all, her situation is a little complicated.”
Nish narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “Becky’s life is complicated? Take a look at your own situation. You really can be a hypocrite sometimes, Meera.”
Then he turned and stomped out. As she heard him slam the back door behind him, Meera slumped down into the nearest chair and gave a deep sigh. A second later Darwin scurried into the room and jumped up on her lap. For once she didn’t mind that Krish had forgotten to lock him in his cage for the night. Instead, she gave him a small smile and tickled his ears affectionately. “At least you look pleased to see me. I seem to have upset everyone else today.”
Chapter Seven
Jo wasn’t having a good night either. Outside the wind was rattling the window frame as heavy raindrops pelted the glass. Inside the only light was coming from the screen of her phone. It cast a pale, eerie glow across the room. Next to her Jack snored loudly, but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she was silently terrifying herself. She had begun googling cures for morning sickness. Despite the amount of abuse she’d given her body, it had never let her down before. She hadn’t taken a day off sick in her life, and she hated not knowing when this nausea would end.
The googling had led to options on how to give birth and now she was on to possible birth defects. All the things that could wrong. Genetically this and that. She’d never known her parents or any of her family. What problems might there be that she didn’t know about? All she did know was that the only thing her mother had thought to leave her with was a necklace that linked her to Hartwell. Jack was adamant that this meant her mother or father must have been from the village. A terrible thought suddenly struck her. It made her feel sicker than she had all day.
“Jack!” she whispered urgently. “Jack!”
There was no response so she delivered a quick kick to his shin. He stopped snoring.
“Wake up,” she hissed, reaching over and shaking his shoulder.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Have you been sick again?” he murmured, his eyes still closed.
Jo gave him another shake. “Could Shirley be my mother?”
Jack’s eyes pinged open. “What?”
“Is it possible Shirley could be my mother?”
Jack slowly sat up and rested on his elbow. “No of course she isn’t. Why would you think such a thing?” Then spotting the phone lying on the duvet, he picked it up and squinted at the screen. “Oh, Jo, you shouldn’t be reading this stuff. You’ll scare yourself to death.”
“I need to be prepared. Meera said so.”
“She meant getting plenty of rest and giving up the cigs. You’ll never get any sleep if you fill your head with all of this.”
“But there are so many things that can go wrong. They keep saying it could be to do with genetics or something they inherit, but I don’t know anything about my genes and don’t make a joke about me always wearing Levi’s.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“What if we are related? Closely related. That could be terrible. The baby could have all sorts of problems.”
“Jo, seriously, you’re overreacting. I think Mum might have mentioned if we were related by now.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know. Didn’t you say she went for auditions in London when she wanted to be an actress? She could have had me when she was down there.”
“That was before she got married and had me. Years before you were born.” He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Seriously, Jo, I’m no doctor, but this stress can’t be good for you or the baby.”
Jo flopped back on her pillow. She knew he was right.
“Whatever,” she sighed, “but I think it’s time I finally took your advice. I need to find out about my past.”
“Good, but can we at least wait until it’s light?”
*
The next morning, she was sitting at her desk, alone in the office. Since announcing her pregnancy she’d been flooded with congratulations from officers she hadn’t even spoken to before. She’d also been put on lighter duties. The rest of CID had gone to investigate a gang of poachers who they believed were living in a caravan up on the moors. She hadn’t gone with them. The thought of a long, bumpy drive over narrow farm tracks without any loos nearby sounded like hell right now.
Dawson had left her a report to read about a spate of farm vehicle thefts that had taken place when she was away in London. She’d flicked through it for a few seconds before pushing it to one side. Then she reached for a pad of paper and a pen and quickly started to write down the names of all the women in Hartwell she could think of who could be old enough to be her mother.
Shirley, Joan, Mary, Caroline. Then with a shudder she added Nora’s name.
“Please don’t let it be her,” she said under her breath. Next, she added all the names of Rachel’s aunts she could remember, then paused and stared at the list. There were a dozen names, but it was quite possible that none of them was the right one. If her mother had ever lived in Hartwell she could have moved away long ago. Surely, if she was still in the village, she would have realised who Jo was and said something?
She shook her head impatiently. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She needed to distance herself, treat this like it was an investigation. To have given her baby away, her mother must have been desperate. What was the reason? Was she young and unmarried? That could apply to at least three of the aunts, but the Foxtons were such a close family she could only imagine them all rallying around if one of them was in trouble. Sending one of their clan down to London to have a baby and making her give it away seemed highly unlikely.
Perhaps her mother was married, but her husband wasn’t the father. She knew Caroline, Joan, Shirley and Mary would all have been married when she was born. Three of them were widowed now, so there would be no reason to keep quiet still. At that moment, her phone pinged. It was a text from Jack.
Checked with Mum. We are def NOT related but she now thinks I’ve totally lost the plot.
Jo smiled to herself as she drew a line through Shirley’s name. There was another text.
Don’t worry. We’ll find out who your parents are. Promise xx
Jo sighed. She knew Jack would do anything he could to help her, but she also knew the people of Hartwell could be very good at keeping secrets. She was about to text him back when she heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the corridor. She quickly tore the page out, folded it and slipped it into her pocket as the chief constable appeared in the doorway.
“Sergeant Ormond. Good to see you back. Feeling better, I hope?” he asked.
Jo quickly got to her feet. “Yes. Thank you, sir.”
“Sit down, sit down. We have been contacted by the Met and Inspector Wallace personally asked for your assistance.”
“What with, sir?” asked Jo. She could feel her heart racing. Wallace was her old boss. Ironically, it was when she was off on maternity leave that Jo had been sent up to Yorkshire, after an operation had gone wrong under the direction of Inspector Palmer, who was covering for Wallace and had taken an instant dislike to Jo. If Wallace was back, maybe there was a chance she’d get back to London after all, but she couldn’t let herself get carried away. The chief constable was talking again, and she needed to concentrate.
“It seems her team are investigating a possible connection between two suspected armed robbers and the death of Lord Hanley,” he explained. “The guns they used were registered to him.”
Jo nodded. She already knew all this thanks to a visit from Simon Spencer, one of her ex-colleagues.
“But Lord Hanley wasn’t shot, sir.”
“No but, as I’m sure you remember, there was a slight fracture to the skull. The pathology report couldn’t determine whether it killed him. The officers in London are working on the theory that he may have been hit with the butt of the gun. I get the impression they want another charge to bring against them in case they don’t secure a conviction with the first. Between you and me, I think it sounds a little far-fetched. However, if there is enough evidence, we could reopen the investigation into Hanley’s death and work alongside Wallace and her team.”
Jo felt a rush of excitement. An official joint investigation with Scotland Yard. Was Rupert’s death going to be her way back to London after all?
“What do you want me to do, sir?” she asked, trying to sound calm.
“It could take a while, but seeing as you are desk-bound for the time being, I didn’t think you’d mind. The two suspects are saying they bought the guns from an auction. Unfortunately, they can’t recall which one, nor do they have any paperwork to support this claim. I recall you visited Hartwell Hall and discovered the guns were missing, so you have all the details. I want you to contact all the auction houses that specialise in firearms sales and see if there is any truth in what the two suspects are saying.”
“I’ll get on it straight away, sir,” she replied eagerly.
Four hours and far too many cups of weak, milky tea later, Jo was finally making progress. She had found an online catalogue for a small but prestigious specialist firearms auctioneer in Marylebone. There were no pictures, but the description sounded like Rupert’s guns, though she needed to be sure. After a little more digging she discovered that the same auction house had been robbed before the sale the guns were listed in. She phoned the director of the company, but so far he was proving to be less than helpful.
“You must understand, our customers expect the highest level of discretion, Sergeant Ormond.”
Jo raised her eyes to the ceiling.
“All I need is their name,” she insisted.
“Perhaps I could contact the seller and request their permission to speak to you.”
“There isn’t time. Can I remind you this is a criminal investigation? I just need a name.”
There was a long pause.
“Lady Hanley asked us to sell the guns.”
Jo froze her pen in mid-air above the notebook. This was the last thing she’d expected. She’d been working on the assumption Rupert had tried selling the guns to raise some cash to feed his habit.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, but the silence at the other end of the line told her he had already gone. She dropped her pen on to the notepad and leaned back in her chair. Her mind went back to the day she’d first visited Lucy at Hartwell Hall. She had been sent to the village to check all the licensed guns in the village. Lucy had opened the gun cabinet to find it was empty. She’d seemed completely shocked. Was it possible she’d been lying all along? If she’d sold the guns, couldn’t she have told Jo that?
Then another thought hit her. Lucy wasn’t the only Lady Hanley in Hartwell. Grabbing her coat and car keys, Jo headed for the door. If she was going to speak to Caroline, she wanted to do it face to face. In her experience, it was rare for the older Lady Hanley to show any emotion, but she wanted to be there to catch any slight reaction she might have when Jo asked her about the guns.
It was growing dark when she pulled up outside the dower house. The outside lantern above the front door cast a golden glow over the gravel path. She was about to push open the wrought-iron gate when she saw Shirley step out of the door and come towards her. She stopped with a start when she saw Jo.
“Hello, love, what are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to Caroline about something. Is she in?”
“Yes, we’ve been having a bit of a natter.” She came forward and gave Jo a hug before stepping back and looking at her. “How was work today?”
Jo shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Well don’t overdo it. You still look a little pale.”
As Shirley crunched away down the path, Jo approached the front door and, after lifting the brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head, knocked loudly twice. A few seconds later, it was opened by Caroline. She looked surprised and at first she didn’t say anything—she simply stared at Jo.
“Hello,” said Jo, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“I thought you were Shirley coming back,” said Caroline, regaining her composure.
“Yes, I’ve just seen her. Can I come in?”
Caroline moved to one side and Jo stepped into the hall. Caroline led her through into the drawing room. Jo had only been here once before when she was checking the gun that Caroline owned. Oil paintings in gilt frames covered the walls and the place was crammed full of well-polished antique furniture. A Siamese cat was stretched out asleep on the rug, in front of a roaring fire.
“Please take a seat,” said Caroline, gesturing to the sofa as she sat down in the armchair opposite. Jo perched on the edge of the cushion. The place felt like a museum—one wrong move and she was sure to break something. She decided to dive straight in.
“I want to ask you about a pair of guns that belonged to your son.”
“Guns?” Caroline stared at Jo. If she’d had to describe the look on her face, Jo would have said she looked relieved more than anything.
“Yes. When I first arrived here, Lucy told me they were missing. We believe they were given to an auction house to be sold. When I spoke to someone at the auction house, they told me they received instructions from Lady Hanley, but they didn’t say if it was you or Lucy.”
“It was me,” Caroline said briskly, suddenly looking and sounding more like her usual self.
“May I ask why?”
“As I am sure you are aware, Rupert had become addicted to drugs. When under their influence, he had a tendency to become violent. I thought it better for all concerned if the shotguns were removed from Hartwell Hall.”
“You thought he might shoot Lucy? Had he ever threatened her? Did she ask you to take them?”
“No, she did not. I’m not sure if he ever threatened her with them directly. Lucy tends to see the best in people. I doubt she would have taken him seriously. She spent a long time making excuses for him and his behaviour.”
“Why didn’t you tell her you’d removed the guns?”
“I didn’t want to worry her.”
“But surely…” Jo began, but Caroline interrupted her.
“How do you suggest I should have broached the subject, Sergeant Ormond? I am taking your husband’s guns so he can’t shoot you, Lucinda? To be quite honest, I didn’t expect her to notice they were missing. You know how vague she can be. And I was right—she didn’t notice until you paid her a visit.”
Jo thought back to that day. “I came here after I’d been to Hartwell Hall. I asked you about the missing guns. Why didn’t you tell me you’d taken them?”
“I am not in the habit of telling strangers my business.”
Jo didn’t waste her breath warning Caroline that she had been withholding evidence.
“Why sell them? Why not keep them here?” she asked instead.
Caroline glanced down at her hands and adjusted her gold wedding band.
“That was my idea initially, but when Rupert disappeared, it seemed more sensible to sell them. They were quite valuable, and I thought the money they would raise could be put to better use maintaining the hall.”
“You didn’t think Rupert would come back? Get over his addiction, and maybe want them back?”
Caroline fixed her pale blue eyes on Jo. “No, I did not,” she replied without further elaboration.
Jo tried a different tack. She had the feeling Caroline was holding something back, but she didn’t know what. “Don’t you lot usually hold on to stuff like guns? Pass them on to father and son.”
Caroline arched an eyebrow and her lips twitched into something close to a smile. “You lot? My goodness, you make me sound quite alien, but yes, it is true that had Rupert lived, I’m sure Freddie would have inherited the guns at some point; however, my grandson has shown absolutely no interest in shooting and his mother has positively discouraged it.”
“Don’t you approve?”
“Actually, I do. Allowing the Hanley tradition of males killing things to die out is one of the few things Lucinda and I agree on.” Her face softened a little. “Freddie adores animals. If he ever takes aim at the local wildlife, I feel sure it will only be with a camera.”
Not for the first time, Jo was struck by the thought that Caroline only really sounded human when she was talking about her grandson.
“I assume you know the auction house was broken into?” she asked.
“Yes, I was informed. I have to say, I would have hoped a place in central London crammed full of valuable weapons would have had better security arrangements in place, but at least our guns were covered by their insurance so the estate will be reimbursed, although they do seem to be dragging their feet rather.”
