Kate Atkinson - Case Histories

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Case Histories: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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The scene is set in Cambridge, with three case histories from the past: A young child who mysteriously disappeared from a tent in her back garden; An unidentified man in a yellow jumper who marched into an office and slashed a young girl through the throat; and a young woman found by the police sitting in her kitchen next to the body of her husband, an axe buried in his head. Jackson Brodie, a private investigator and former police detective, is quietly contemplating life as a divorced father when he is flung into the midst of these resurrected old crimes. Julia and Amelia Land, long having given up hope of uncovering the truth of what happened to their baby sister, Olivia, suddenly discover her lost toy mouse in the study of their recently-deceased father. Enlisting Jackson's help they embroil him in the complexities of their own jealousies, obsessions and lust. A woman named Shirley needs Jackson to help find her lost niece. Amidst the incessant demands of the Land sisters, Jackson meets solicitor Theo Wyre whose daughter, Laura, was murdered in his office and, now that the police case has been closed, is desperate for Jackson to help him lay Laura's ghost to rest. As he starts his investigations Jackson has the sinister feeling that someone is following him. As he begins to unearth secrets that have remained hidden for many years, he is assailed by his former wife's plan to take his young daughter away to live in New Zealand, and his stalker becomes increasingly malevolent and dangerous. In digging into the past Jackson seems to have unwittingly threatened his own future.This wonderfully crafted, intricately plotted novel is heartbreaking, uplifting, full of suspense and often very funny, and shows Kate Atkinson returning to the literary scene at the height of her powers.

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"The tiniest scrap of something that no one thought to mention," Jackson persevered. He wondered if another manhattan would help or hinder, and whether he should be plying young women with alcohol and then letting them go and fend for themselves out on the mean streets of London. Was Marlee going to do this, get a good education, go to university and end up in a crappy job with the BBC, drink too much and go home alone on the tube all the way to a rented flat in Crouch End? He suggested coffee to Emma Drake and was relieved when she agreed.

"I'm sorry, I really can't think of anything," she said, frowning at the pianist who had moved on to an Andrew Lloyd Webber medley. "I suppose there was that thing with Mr. Jessop."

"Mr.Jessop?"

"Stan." Her frown grew deeper but it didn't seem to be related to The Phantom of the Opera. "Her biology teacher."

"A thing? As in a relationship?" He had seen the name of Stan Jessop before, it was written on another of Theo's wall charts – teachers at laura's college. He had been interviewed by the police two days after Laura's murder and eliminated from their inquiries.

Emma Drake bit her lip and swirled the dregs of her manhattan round the glass. "I don't know, you'd have to ask Christina. She was much closer to Laura than me, she was in Mr. Jessop's class as well."

"She's on a sheep farm in the middle of the Australian outback."

"Is she?" Emma said, brightening up for a moment. "That's amazing. We all seem to have lost touch. You wouldn't think you would, would you?" Oh, you do, Jackson thought. You lose touch with everyone eventually.

The coffee arrived and Jackson thought he should have ordered a sandwich for her as well. What did girls like her eat when they finally made it home? Did girls like her eat at all?

"We all promised to meet up ten years to the day after we left school," she said. "Outside the Hobbs Pavilion, a couple of weeks ago. Of course, no one came."

"You went?"

She nodded and her eyes filled up with tears. "Stupid. I felt stupid, standing there, waiting. I never thought anyone would come, not really, but I thought I should, you know, just in case. It wasn't that no one turned up, it was that Laura didn't turn up. I mean I know she's dead, and I didn't expect her to appear, it was just that it brought it home to me – there was no 'ten years' time' for Laura, no future. Everything stopped for her. Just like that."

Jackson handed her a tissue (he always carried tissues, half the people he met seemed to end up in tears). "And Mr. Jessop?"

"It was a rumor, really. Laura wasn't secretive, exactly, but she was very discreet, kept herself to herself. God, I sound like my mother. I don't think about Laura. That's awful, isn't it? Awful that you end up being forgotten and when people do remember you they talk about you in cliches. I mean, I thought about her when I was standing in front of Hobbs Pavilion, because I knew there was a chance mat the others might come, but there was no hope at all that Laura would turn up. But the rest of the time…" She chewed on her lip and Jackson wanted to stop her because she was going to make it bleed. "It's as if she didn't exist," she concluded flatly.

"You know, she wasn't a virgin," Jackson said tentatively, and Emma sighed and said, "Well, no one was. She wasn't a saint. She was just like everyone else, she was normal."

"But she didn't seem to have any boyfriends. The police didn't interview any."

"She never really went out with anyone. Slept with a few boys, That's all."

Was that normal behavior? Was that what girls did ten years ago? If so, what were they doing now? And what would they be doing in ten years' time? When Marlee was the age at which Laura Wyre ceased to exist. Jesus.

"She was really thick with Josh. They were at primary school together. I never liked him much. He was always full of himself. He was very clever."

"I can't find out where he is," Jackson said.

"He dropped out. Now he's a DJ in Amsterdam, apparently. Laura lost her virginity to him."

"Her father thought she was still a virgin," Jackson said, and Emma Drake laughed and said, "Fathers always do."

"Even when there's evidence to the contrary?"

"Especially then."

"And Mr. Jessop?" Jackson prompted.

"Oh, we all fancied him." Emma smiled at the memory. "He was really cute, far too good-looking to be a teacher. Laura and Christina were in his A-Level class. Laura was definitely his favorite, star pupil and all that. There was nothing in it, he had a wife and a baby." (As if that ever stopped anyone.) "Laura used to babysit for them. I used to go and keep her company. Laura didn't think she was good with babies, but she was okay with Nina – the Jessops' baby. Laura liked his wife, Kim. They got on well. I always thought that was funny. Kim was really common." Emma Drake's hand flew to her mouth in horror. "Oh, God, that's a dreadful thing to say. It's so snobbish. But, you know what I mean, she was really sort of blond and tarty. A Geordie. Oh dear. I should shut up."

This girl was a mine of information. And yet she'd never been interviewed. Kim Jessop had never been interviewed either. "No one mentioned anything about Mr. Jessop and Laura at the time,'' Jackson said.

"Well, they wouldn't. He wasn't the crazy guy who stabbed her. was he? Look – it was just a rumor, nothing more than a crush. I feel bad just talking about it."

"Having a crush on your teacher's hardly unusual. I'm sure Laura wouldn't mind us talking about it." As if she were alive, as it she were real. Laura "Wyre didn't care about anything anymore.

"Oh, no, no, I don't mean Laura had a crush. It was Mr. Jessop who had the crush. On Laura."

Jackson put Emma Drake in a cab and gave the driver a ridiculously generous twenty-five pounds to take her back to Crouch End and see her into her flat. Then he made his own, cheaper, way to King's Cross and spent the whole journey home staring out the window at nothing.

"There you go, Jackson, all patched up and ready to go." Sharon pulled her mask down and smiled at him as if he were three years old. He almost expected her to give him a badge or a sticker. "Let's make an appointment to take out the root, shall we?" He thought she'd been speaking metaphorically when she'd talked about the root of the cause, not an actual root. In his head.

Out in the street he checked his phone. There was a voice message from Josie, asking him to look after Marlee for the afternoon and informing him that his daughter was waiting in the office for him. Except that she wasn't. There was no one in the office and it was unlocked. A message on the door in handwriting that he recognized but that was neither Deborah's nor Marlee's said "Back in ten minutes." He had to think for a moment before he realized it was Theo's handwriting (God knows he'd seen enough of it in the last few days). This time it was in neutral black ink. "Back in ten minutes" meant nothing when you didn't know when the ten minutes started. Jackson felt an unexpected twinge of panic. What did he really know about Theo? He seemed like a good guy, seemed completely harmless, but evil psychopaths didn't have "evil psychopath" tattooed on their foreheads. Why did he think Theo was a good guy? Because his daughter was dead? Was that a guarantee?

Jackson ran down the stairs and onto the street. Where was she? With Theo? With Deborah? On her own? With a stranger? He'd wanted to buy Marlee a mobile phone but Josie objected (when had she become the only one who got to make decisions about their child?). Think how useful it would be now. Jackson caught a glimpse of Theo coming out of the burger bar along the street. He was so big that you couldn't miss him. And Marlee was with him. Thank you, God. She was dressed in a tiny skirt and a crop-top.

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