The Sister(98)

‘That’s right, sir, they pushed out a few tiles and just squeezed in.’

‘That means they went out through the window downstairs,’ he spoke slowly as he considered the evidence. There was something wrong. From what his father had told him, he thought someone might have been in the house before and left the window open. ‘I didn’t want to worry your mum with it, Johnny. I thought it was me going senile.’

Whoever it was, had been wearing latex type gloves, so apart from a few smudges and the boot print, they found nothing they could use.

Kennedy puzzled over the intrusion at his office with some concern. In both cases, there had been a boot print and in both cases, he appeared to be the common factor. Access or apparent access from above; once is chance, twice is coincidence. It had to be that, just a coincidence. There was a third part to the saying, what was it?

Being on newspaper, the other footprint was not so distinctive, but from what he could recall, they looked the same. He shook his head at the thought, chastising himself. You can’t say that, Kennedy, all boot prints look similar.

He couldn’t run the risk of implicating himself by mentioning the similarities of both incidents to anyone else, because he hadn’t reported the original occurrence. He’d compromised his position. If anyone asked questions, he’d struggle to explain. Deciding he didn’t want to be part of the next big police scandal, or newspaper headlines, he made another bad choice; he kept quiet about it.

Kennedy tied off the loose ends one by one; who knew where his parents lived and who had a motive to get at him. The thought shimmered like a phantom taking form. Tanner? For the first time, he considered the possibility someone might want him to think it was Tanner and, if that were true, he needed to know why.





Later that morning, a couple of thoughts struck him. The call he’d taken the week before, the single word: Jack. He assumed it had been a wrong number. The newspaper left in his office. It couldn’t be the same one. Could it?

Climbing back into the loft, he looked through his boxed up magazines. The glassine sleeve that contained it was still there, the newspaper was not.





Chapter 80



Monday, 12 March





Theresa spent the whole evening in a high state of anxiety. Every time the phone rang, she made a mad dash for it. Each time it was someone else calling. She was relieved Terri was out with a boy; at least she didn’t have to worry about her. He was a friend of the family, and she knew he’d make sure he bought her home safely.

She sat in her favourite chair. The telephone on the coffee table next to her was plugged into an extension cord. It was now almost bedtime and still she’d not had the call. Why do people say evening, when they mean night?

Unable to concentrate on the television any longer, she found herself staring at the phone as if she were somehow able to transfer her force of will down it, to connect to him, to make him call her. It was ridiculous; she decided, so she prepared for bed. Unplugging the phone, she wound up the extension lead and put it away; she didn’t need any awkward questions from Terri when she came in. Plugging it back in, it rang immediately. Her heart stopped. She grabbed for it.

The front door opened. It was Terri. She thought she’d burst as she forced herself to say, ‘Hi,’ as if nothing were wrong. Terri waved with her fingers as she walked by. Theresa half smiled as she echoed her gesture.

‘You sound relieved to hear from me. Last but not least,’ he said it with an air of finality, but as though he was bored, and the whole thing was a chore to him. ‘I want the file on Kathy Bird.’

‘I can probably get you a copy.’

‘That’s all I want. An updated copy of the file, contact details, everything; and once you’ve done that for me, Trie – you’re off the hook.’

A deep sigh subconsciously escaped her. The caller’s next words held her remaining breath in check. ‘You sound relieved, Trie, but you’re not off the hook just yet, not until you deliver. You have until Friday this week.’

He was gone before she could say anything.

She slowly replaced the phone in its cradle. From the very first time he’d telephoned, something about his manner bothered her, now she had an inkling of what was. He sounded like Kennedy.

‘Hey, Mum, you okay?’

She nodded, smiled and excused any potential suspicions aroused by saying, ‘I’m just really tired; that’s all.’

The rest of the conversation was carried out in a state of automation; a throwback to how she coped in the days and weeks following her husband’s death, one of her friends called it safe mode, functional, but not in possession of all the faculties normally at her disposal.

They watched television together until Terri went to bed at eleven o’clock. Five minutes later, she came back down. ‘Aren’t you going to bed, Mum?’

‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Earlier, I was tired, but now, I don’t feel tired at all. It must be my age.’

‘You know you’re getting old when you start making excuses like that!’ Terri said with a smile. ‘Goodnight, Mum.’

Stooping to kiss her on the cheek, Terri caught a glimpse of the worry in her mother’s eyes. ‘Mum, are you sure, you’re okay.’

‘I’m fine, honestly. You go on up; I’ll have a little nightcap, and then I’ll go to bed.’