Deborah Crombie - A Share In Death

Under Helen North’s chatter Gemma detected more than a spark of malice. Edward Lyle must have snubbed her pretty thoroughly. “How did you and Janet get to be friends?”

“We’re the only two women on the street who stay at home. You get desperate for some adult conversation.” She cocked her head and looked thoughtfully at Gemma. “Sometimes I envy women like you, out in the real world with the grownups.”

“Probably not as much as I envy you,” answered Gemma. She touched the wandering baby’s hair and he gurgled at her.

“Well, it was my choice, after all, to stay at home and make do with a bit less. I shouldn’t grouse. But Janet, now, that was a different story. He wouldn’t let her work, not even when her Chloe went to school. Didn’t think it fitting, I ask you! And she trained as a nurse. God, what a waste.”

Helen subsided, a look of disgust on her face. “Though I suppose,” she continued thoughtfully after a moment, “her nursing came in handy when he moved his old mum in with them. Oh, yes,” she went on as if Gemma had doubted her, “the old thing got to where she couldn’t be trusted on her own, and who better than Janet to have the full-time job of looking after her? The old lady drank, you see. Started when her only sister died young, or so Janet thought. Overmedicated, too. She went to some old quack who insisted on filling her up with pills. It made Janet livid, but she couldn’t do a thing about it.”

“A dangerous combination,” said Gemma.

“Oh yes,” answered Helen, “it was.”

“Was?”

“You don’t know about the accident?” Gemma’s blank expression answered her question. “Tragic.” Helen clucked a little and shook her head. “The old woman took Janet’s car one day when Janet had walked to the shops. Smashed herself to Kingdom Come. She was tanked up with booze and pills, they discovered afterwards.”

“How terrible.” Gemma leaned forward in her chair, ready sympathy in her voice. “Janet must have felt awful.”

“She was sick with guilt. She should have done this, she should have done that. As if she could have watched the old woman every minute of the day. And didn’t he carry on, the grief-stricken son. He never had the time of day for her when she was alive. I went to the funeral, for Janet’s sake. He stood at the graveside, all dignified and proper with a little tear trickling down his cheek. Made me sick, I can tell you.” Helen drew her brows together in consternation. “Why does she put up with him, can you tell me that?”

The question seemed rhetorical, but Gemma shook her head. “No. I wish I could. Has it been long since old Mrs. Lyle died?”

“Last winter. And it wasn’t long after that he came up with this holiday scheme. Said it was to cheer Janet up, but she wasn’t a bit keen. More likely he meant to impress his boss. Janet said he had to borrow the money to buy their week, and then he couldn’t get a time when their Chloe was out of school and could come with them.”

The little boy began to fuss and pull at his mother’s shirt, having suffered inattention long enough. Gemma finished her tea and began to make leave-taking motions. “Thanks for the tea, and your time.”

Helen North suddenly became embarrassed, the aftermath of too much confession. “I shouldn’t have said… it’s not really fair to Janet…”

Gemma reassured her. “You haven’t said a thing I wouldn’t have said myself. I have a neighbor who looks after her husband’s mum-you wouldn’t believe the things she puts up with from the old lady…” By the time she’d finished her anecdote Helen had recovered her equilibrium, and Gemma took her leave as smoothly as a surgeon removing a knife.

Kincaid stood on his balcony, as had become his habit when he needed to think. He turned up his shirt collar against the chill little wind that played around his ears. The weather, damp and formless, suited his mood.

He was finding it very difficult to accept the idea that Hannah could be Patrick’s mother. He’d never have thought her old enough to have a grown son. And he had seen them together, seen some spark kindled, even felt a faint stirring of envy. Had Hannah seen it as well? No wonder she had been so distraught.

Dear god, what had he driven Hannah to do? He’d meant to shock her into giving him evidence she might be withholding, not to send her off into some rash confrontation with Patrick. For they were both gone, he’d made sure of that. Hannah had bundled him out of her suite with such urgency that he’d had no choice but to go. When he’d returned a few minutes later to try once more to persuade her to talk, he’d seen from the landing window the flash of tail lights as her car turned into the road.

Marta Rennie, sober and sullen, didn’t know where Patrick had gone and didn’t seem to care. “Sightseeing,” she said with derision. “God, it makes me ill.” She’d shut the door on anything else Kincaid might have asked her.

It seemed to Kincaid that everything he had done from the beginning of this affair had gone wrong. Every turn and feint he made came up blank, shadow boxing with an unseen enemy. He should have listened to Penny. He should have kept his ideas about Patrick Rennie to himself.

He should never have let Hannah out of his sight.

The burr of the telephone sounded through the French door, interrupting his recriminations. He dived to answer it, his life line to the outside world. Gemma’s voice came over the line. “Just what sort of a wild goose chase have you sent me on?”

Kincaid laughed, cheered by the asperity in her voice. “I wish I knew. What’s up?”

“My backside’s welded to the car, that’s what.”

“Angling for sympathy again, are you? Well, you won’t get it from me. At least you’re doing something.”

“True. I paid a call on Mrs. Marjorie Frazer at her office in Finchley, bright and early this morning. She was not pleased to see me, I can tell you. Very on-her-dignity solicitorish to begin with. Then she seemed to think about it and decide she didn’t mind painting her ex-husband black. Says she had custody of the daughter, Angela, in the beginning, but got tired of playing the villain. Decided that if Angela had to live with Graham she might decide the sun didn’t rise and set over him.”

“I’d say it’s certainly had that effect. I’m surprised Angela ever did feel that way.”

“It seems Mrs. Frazer has changed her mind. Angela got herself expelled from her fancy boarding school last term. Drugs, I’d say, though Mrs. Frazer didn’t specifically say so. Well, enough is enough, she says. She’s determined now to get full custody, deny him access.” Gemma paused a moment. “I didn’t get the impression that Mrs. Frazer particularly cared for her daughter. More angry at him, and irritated with her.” Gemma sounded both puzzled and incensed at such lack of maternal feeling.

“Poor Angela,” said Kincaid. “So that’s how it is. No wonder she’s desperate for any kindness.”

“He doesn’t sound a very savory character. I’ve done some checking with some contacts in insurance. He’s not well liked. A bit heavy-handed, I take it. And there are whispers-nothing concrete-about fraud, some deals that just skate the line.” She paused for effect, and Kincaid waited patiently, having learned that it was best to let Gemma tell a story in her own way. “He also has a reputation for being pretty heavily into cocaine. Do you suppose Angela borrowed Daddy’s stash?”

“Could be,” Kincaid answered, running over the idea in his mind.

Gemma spoke hesitantly. “Do you think there could be sexual abuse involved as well?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.” It certainly was, considering the unhealthy nature of what he had seen of Graham and Angela’s relationship. What if Angela had confided in Sebastian? That would account for Sebastian’s venomous dislike of the man. What if Sebastian had threatened Graham with exposure, either to Cassie or his ex-wife? Gemma cleared her throat and he realized he’d left her hanging. “Sorry, Gemma. What else?”