Witch Is When It All Began (7 page)

Chapter 10

When I arrived at the hotel, the receptionist informed me that Mr Lyon had gone out. He’d said he’d be back after lunch. I could have gone back to the office, but I couldn’t face that pantomime, so I decided to pass the time by looking for a linen basket for Mrs V.

“Can I help you, madam?” An over eager young sales assistant asked. “We have several different sizes of basket.”

“Yes, so I see.”

“Does madam have a lot of linen?”

“It’s not actually for linen.”

“Oh?”

“It’s for yarn. Wool. To keep it safe.” Maybe if I smiled, she wouldn’t think I was totally crazy.

“Yarn?” She looked confused. My smile hadn’t fooled her; she obviously thought I was wacko.

“My receptionist likes to knit—a lot. Scarves mainly.”

“I see.” She obviously didn’t, and who could blame her? “And you want to keep the wool safe?”

“From Winky.”

“Winky?”

“My cat. He lives at the office. He’s only got one eye.”

“Right.” She smiled, and began to edge away. “Give me a shout if you need any help.”

Judging by the speed at which she left, I doubted that she’d respond to a request for further assistance. She was probably on her way to warn security to keep an eye on the mad woman who wanted a linen basket to keep yarn safe from her one-eyed cat. When you put it like that—I guess it did sound a little crazy.

The hotel receptionist wasn’t overly thrilled at having to store my linen basket for me. That was until I mentioned Winky. It turned out she was a cat lover, and suddenly nothing was too much trouble.

Geoffrey Lyon was back in his room. Fourth floor—room four one five.

“Come in.” He greeted me at the door. Although younger than Mr Lamb, he looked even more tired and drawn. The room was as predictable and depressing as most budget-priced hotels.

“Drink? I only have whiskey I’m afraid.” He gestured to a half-empty bottle on the coffee table.

“No thanks. I’m good.” After my morning, I’d have killed for a drink, but I needed to stay focussed. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Grab a seat.” He pointed to one of two threadbare chairs. “You don’t mind if I do, do you?” He picked up the bottle.

“No, go ahead.”

After he’d topped up his glass, he took a seat next to me. “This place is a dump, but I had to get away from the house.”

“Press?”

“Nah. I can deal with them. It’s just—” He appeared lost in his thoughts. “All the memories. I can’t bear it.”

I nodded—unsure what to say.

“Harry Lamb tells me you think Pauline’s murder might be connected to others,” he said at last.

“It’s only a theory at the moment, but one I believe is worth following up.”

“It’s more than the police are doing.”

“I’m sure they’re doing their best.” Why was I sticking up for Jack Maxwell and his cronies?

“I wish I shared your faith in them. What can I do to help?”

“Can we start with the day of the murder? Where were you when it happened?”

“I’d been to visit my mother. She’s in a nursing home. Been there a few months now. I’m not sure she’ll ever come out.”

“Sorry to hear that.” The image of my mother on her deathbed flashed across my mind. “Your wife didn’t go with you?”

“No. She and my mother didn't see eye to eye. They hadn’t seen one another for over five years. There was some kind of silly falling out. I can’t even remember what it was about.”

He seemed to zone out again. I waited for a few seconds and then prompted him, “When you got back?”

“I found her lying on the bedroom floor. There was blood everywhere.” He began to cry. “Who would do such a thing? Why would anyone want to kill her?”

“Can you think of any reason why someone would have done this?”

“No. That’s why I reckon there might be something in your serial killer theory. Maybe it
is
some psycho who has decided to kill women based upon their names.”

“How was she on the days leading up to the murder? Did you notice any change in her?”

“No. She was the same old Pauline. Except for the reunion thing.”

“What reunion thing?”

“It was nothing, really. She’d been looking forward to her school’s reunion for months, but then at the last minute, she cancelled.”

“Did she say why?”

“She said she was ill, but—”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

He finished off the last few drops of whiskey. “She said she was feeling under the weather, and didn’t feel up to going, but then she went out anyway—to visit her sister.”

“When was that?”

“Two days before—” He broke down again.

We talked for almost an hour. When I left, I promised to keep him posted of any new development. In turn, he promised to contact me if he thought of anything else that might be relevant.

“I had to throw four balls of wool away.” Mrs V greeted me with this when I struggled into the office—linen basket in tow. “They were too tangled to sort out.”

“Everything will be okay now you have this.” I slid the basket across the floor until it was next to the mail sack.

“When you transfer the wool from the mail sack,” Mrs V said, “make sure you keep the same colours together.”

“You want
me
to transfer the yarn?”

“That’s very kind of you, dear.”

Did I have
mug
written on my forehead? “I am kind of busy.”

“Me too, dear.” She held up her current knitting project—a black and purple scarf. Obviously that took precedence over a little thing like a serial killer investigation. This was no doubt my punishment for insisting that Winky stay at the office.

“There you go!” I pointed to the linen basket, which was now full of yarn. “That’s better isn’t it?”

“I suppose it will have to do until you get rid of that stupid cat.”

So ungrateful. “Did you remember to feed Winky?”

Mrs V gave me one of her looks.

“Not to worry. I’ll do it now.”

Winky was all over me like a rash the moment I walked into my office.

“Look buddy,” I said. “I need to know something.” I glanced back to make sure Mrs V hadn’t followed me. The coast was clear so I crouched down next to him. “Can you or can you not talk?”

“Meow, meow.”

“Do you want this?” I held up a can of chicken and sardine mix.

“Meow, meow.”

“Go on, ask me for it then.”

“Meow, meow.”

What had I expected? Of course the stupid cat couldn’t talk.

“Meow, meow.”

“Okay, okay.” I scooped it into his dish, and then gave him milk from the fridge—full cream, obviously.

This is what it had come to. I was asking the cat to talk to me. I sat on the leather sofa and watched Winky devour his food. My conversation with Aunt Lucy kept spinning around in my head—one thing in particular. What had she called them? Sups? According to her, all manner of supernatural creatures lived in Candlefield. Even if I bought into the idea of witches and magic—which I definitely didn’t—not even a little bit. But even if I did, I was never going to believe there were such things as vampires, werewolves or whatever other make-believe creature she’d dreamed up.

According to Aunt Lucy, Kathy couldn’t visit Candlefield because she was human. Well, we’d just have to see about that.

It took Kathy ages to pick up. “What?”

Something in her voice told me this was a bad time.

“It’s me,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, Jill. I thought it was Pete. We had an argument this morning.”

“What about?”

“I can’t even remember. I just know I’m not talking to him. Whatever you do, don’t get married.”

“You’re the one who’s always trying to marry me off.”

“Well don’t marry Pete. He’s a pig.”

“You love him.”

“I know I do. Doesn’t mean he’s not a pig. Why did you call?”

“Are you doing anything?”

“Only the ironing, what’s up?”

“Fancy a drive out?”

“Where to?”

“Candlefield.”

“Sure. I’d love to. Anything to escape the housework. Can you pick me up in twenty? I just need to ask Pete’s mother to babysit the kids.”

“Won’t she mind?”

“Are you kidding? She’s always asking if she can have them.”

“Okay. See you in a bit. Oh, just one thing—”

“What?”

“Do you believe in werewolves?”

“What?”

“What about vampires?”

“Have you been at the bottle? Do you want me to drive?”

“It’s okay. I’m sober.” I laughed. “See you soon.”

“Did Peter’s mum come through?” I asked, as Kathy climbed into the passenger seat.

“Yeah. All sorted. So what’s this all about? Aren’t you supposed to be working on the serial killer case?”

“I am working on it, but I need to take a break for an hour or two. I thought you might like to see Candlefield. It really is beautiful.”

“Is there a pub there? I could murder a drink.”

“I didn’t notice one, but I’m sure there will be.”

“What was all that about werewolves and vampires?” Kathy asked.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

I still had the hand-drawn map, which I’d used when I’d been to the funeral. Not that I expected to need it this time because I could remember exactly where the signpost and turn off to Candlefield were.

“How’s the case going?” Kathy asked.

“I haven’t made much progress, but then I have been rather distracted with everything that’s happened recently. I did manage to interview the husbands of the first two victims though.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Not really. There’s no obvious motive for either killing. Both have the hallmarks of ‘stranger’ murder. I’m having difficulty tying either of them into the third murder.”

“Your client’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah. I could really do with seeing the police reports. According to that asshat Maxwell, the MOs of the first two murders are very different to the third.”

“I’m sure if you were to ask Jack nicely—”

“I’d rather chew Winky’s cat litter than have to go crawling to Jack Maxwell for anything.”

“I suppose I’d better cancel the engagement party I booked for you and Jacky Boy then?” Kathy laughed.

I didn’t.

I hit the brakes harder than I’d intended.

“What the?” Kathy looked back down the road. “What’s up?”

“The sign.”

“I don’t see a sign.”

“Exactly. It should have been half a mile back. Did you see it?”

“No, but then I wasn’t really looking for it. We probably missed it when we were talking about the case.”

I checked that the road was clear and did a U-turn.

“It should be up here on the right. Just after that bus stop.”

We reached the bus stop, and continued at a crawl, but there was no signpost or turn-off.

“Are you sure we’re on the right road?” Kathy said.

“I’m not stupid,” I snapped. “Sorry. This is definitely the right road. It’s only a few days since I was here. Take a look for yourself.” I passed her the letter.

“At what?”

“The map on the back.”

“It’s blank.” Kathy held up the letter. She was right.

I drove back and forth for another twenty minutes before giving up. On the way back home, I pulled into a pub called The Rainbow. Kathy thought it was hilarious that I’d been unable to find the road to Candlefield. I’d always given her such a hard time for her terrible sense of direction. I laughed it off, and agreed that I must have got the roads mixed up. What else was I supposed to say? I knew for sure that I’d been on the right road, and I knew precisely where the signpost and turn-off should have been. I desperately wanted to come up with some kind of logical explanation, but how on earth was I meant to explain this?

After a couple of drinks—I stuck to soda water, but promised myself something stronger when I got home—I dropped Kathy off at Peter’s mother’s house. Her mother-in-law invited me to join them for dinner, but I made an excuse. I wasn’t in the mood.

“Thanks, sis,” Kathy said as she climbed out of the car. “And don’t worry about Candlefield. I’m sure it will turn up.” She laughed at her own joke, and then hurried down the driveway.

The first thing I did when I got back to my flat was to pour myself a vodka. The second thing I did was to grab the book of spells, and take it to the skip. This time I double-checked that I’d locked my door. I went straight there and back. Even so, when I got back to the flat I hardly dared look inside. What if it had happened again? What if the book was back on the coffee table? I took a deep breath and stepped inside.