No Escape (The Kent Fisher Murder Mysteries Book 8), page 6
“I don’t want anything to do with you. I got the measure of you the first time I saw you.”
I think back to my visits to Richard’s office. “You worked for him in Eastbourne?”
“I was at the engagement party when you walked in with your stepmother, Niamh Fisher, laughing and joking like you were lovers. You spent the evening studying the women there, like a wolf on the prowl. When Gemma made her grand entrance, you couldn’t take your eyes off her. She couldn’t stop sneaking looks at you either.” Her laugh is short and sarcastic. “I thought you were having an affair, so heaven knows what Richard thought, watching the two of you.”
“I wasn’t the only man who looked at her.”
“You were the only man she noticed.”
Amanda was the one Richard didn’t notice.
I go over to the sink and fill the kettle. “Did Richard have any idea how you felt about him?”
“Of course he didn’t. He was engaged. I’m older than him – dowdy and insignificant.” She lets out a deep sigh. “How could I possibly compete?”
“You don’t need to now.”
“Don’t I?” There’s a resigned look in her eyes that adds to my discomfort. “I’ve been competing against the memory of her since the day she ran off. Now you’re bringing her back to life. That’s why he’s keen to help you. Deep down, he still loves her.”
“No, I don’t.” Richard steps through the door and walks up to Amanda. He looks into her eyes and kisses her lips, clearly in love with her. “I knew she’d dump me sooner or later. No, let me speak,” he says, raising a finger. “When she didn’t show for the wedding, I was relieved. Not at first, but later when I was alone. I knew it was embarrassing for everyone, but it upset my parents more than me. They felt humiliated. I felt liberated.”
She wrinkles her forehead. “Liberated?”
He cups her face in his hands. “Yes, liberated. Over the months, my relief became liberation. I realised what was right in front of me. You,” he says, looking deep into her eyes. “Gemma freed me to love you, Amanda. It’s the greatest gift she could have given me.” He wipes a stray tear from her cheek. “That’s why we have to help Kent to find her.”
I sneak away and head down the brick path that runs between raised vegetable beds of parsnips, broccoli and cabbages. Columbo pauses from his sniffing and wags his tail, falling into step beside me. While he explores his surroundings, I focus on the landscape inside my head. Had I taken an interest in Gemma’s past, I’d have a better understanding of who she is, how she feels and what makes her the woman I love. I need to delve into her past and uncover what she didn’t tell me so I can love her more, no matter what I find.
Once we’re back together, I need to make time for her, for us, for what matters. I’ve spent my life chasing dreams and causes, filling every hour and minute until there’s no time left to reflect, to relax and to enjoy to what matters. If it wasn’t environmental health work, I was at the local hunts, determined to stop the cruelty and hurt, the pleasure people drew from chasing and terrifying foxes. When hunting was banned, environmental crimes like fly tipping grabbed my attention and time.
Almost seven years ago, when I started my first animal sanctuary, it was like a dream come true. With Frances to help me, we turned a couple of dilapidated barns and some rough pastures into a sanctuary for horses, goats and any other animals that needed a safe place to spend their remaining years. Over time, we began to take in injured foxes and badgers, rearing their young until they could be returned to the wild.
Finally, we did what I said we would never do and took in stray and rescued dogs. It’s how I found Columbo, the one dog I couldn’t let go. His feisty, independent nature and refusal to obey instructions reminded me of me. Now I wouldn’t be without him. I rescued him not long before my first murder investigation, which started as a fatal workplace accident and turned my life inside out.
After that, murder seemed to find me.
Gemma became an integral part of the investigations, saving my life as many times as I saved hers. It seemed we were destined to be together, but we never committed to each other until recently. When I realised how close she came to dying, I had a moment of breathtaking clarity. I knew I couldn’t live without her.
“So why haven’t I treated her better?”
Columbo gives me a puzzled look. He’s used to me talking to him, discussing what bothers me.
“When this is all over, we’re going to spend some quality time together. I’m going to find out what makes Gemma so special. What do you think, little mate?”
He barks and leaps up, looking for attention. I scoop him in my arms, knowing he doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about. But he’s sensitive to my moods and feelings, which is more than I am.
Determined to put everything right, I head back to the self-catering unit, surprised to find Amanda making tea at the breakfast bar. She gives me an apologetic smile as I enter and slides a mug towards me. “I’m sorry for being a bitch.”
“You were trying to protect Richard. He clearly means a lot to you.”
She bites her bottom lip, looking anxious. “He didn’t tell me about Gemma because I told him never to mention her name again. He took me at my word, not wanting to upset me. And all the time, I thought he remained silent because he still loved her.”
“You got there in the end. No harm done.”
“Apart from the cruel things I said to you, Mr Fisher. I feel dreadful.” Her cheeks flush as she speaks. “You must be devastated by what’s happened, not knowing where your wife may be, how she is.” Her back stiffens with resolve. “Richard and I will do everything we can to help you find her.”
“Thank you. Something in her past holds the key to her disappearance, but I don’t know where to start.”
“She never said much about her time in London, but after her father died, she moved to Brighton. That’s where we first saw her, in one of the big hotels. She was a waitress, serving during the refreshment breaks at a legal seminar on lease extensions, or something equally dull. We had no idea who she was at the time, but she made quite an impression on Mr Compton, Richard’s father.”
She pauses for a sip of tea, looking thoughtful. “He was rather taken with her. Then again, she was flirting with most of the older men.”
Thirteen
“I’m sorry,” Amanda says, “I didn’t mean that in an insulting way. She’s a beautiful woman – slim and shapely, flawless complexion, big eyes – the kind everyone notices.”
It sounds like she’s comparing herself to Gemma. Maybe she wonders why Richard chose her after being with Gemma.
“She couldn’t have been more than eighteen,” Amanda continues, “but I envied her poise and confidence. She looked like the kind of woman who could get anything she wanted. Why was she waiting tables at some stuffy seminar?”
“Was Richard there?”
“No, he was in the final year of his law degree. He met her three years ago when she applied for a job as a receptionist, but you probably know that.” She pauses as she looks at me. “Didn’t you know?”
I shake my head, realising this could be the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
When Gemma came to work in Environmental Health at Downland District Council, her uncle and Chief Executive, Frank Dean, found her the job. It caused plenty of unrest and antagonism in the team when a post was created for her. For months, we’d pestered for an additional environmental health officer without success. Then, of all the people we could have employed, it was a woman I’d dated and abandoned seven years before.
Not that Gemma seemed to mind. She was a quick learner and ended up helping me with my first murder a few months later.
“Small world,” I say, turning back to Amanda. “Did you interview her?”
“No, Mr Compton and Richard did the interviews. On paper, she had plenty of experience with the public and customers, having worked in catering and hospitality. I think she had a spell as a hotel receptionist and worked at the Brighton Centre for a while. But it was her work for Sussex Police that caught Mr Compton’s eye.”
“He remembered her from the seminar,” Richard says, walking in with fresh towels in his arms. He places them on the breakfast bar. “She got his details from the attendance list and rang him up, looking for a job. My mother caught him checking her Facebook profile and told him under no circumstances was he going to employ her.”
“She didn’t get the job.”
“No, but she asked me out to dinner, keen to learn about what we did, what opportunities there might be in the legal profession. She wanted to leave the police, though she didn’t say why.”
“She didn’t stay in any job for long,” Amanda says. “I think she was easily bored.”
“She was with Sussex Police for just under a year. She worked in HR as an administrative assistant. She wanted to work in crime scene investigation, but didn’t have the qualifications to do a degree.” He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m sure she applied for a clerical job in the team, hoping she might start there. Then she changed her mind and went to work for Brighton and Hove Council instead.” He gives a helpless shrug and laughs. “I could never keep pace with her job changes at the council. She seemed restless, not sure what she wanted to do until she came to work for you.”
He takes the mug of tea that Amanda passes over and falls silent.
I make a mental note to see if I can take a look at her application for the job in my team – if she applied, of course.
“Would you still have a copy of her application, Richard?”
“I doubt it, but I could check with my father. But I’m not sure he’d release it – data protection and all that.” His forehead creases with concentration as he becomes lost in thought. “I helped her improve her CV. I might still have a copy on my PC. Is it important?”
“If I know where she worked, I can track down people who knew her. It’s needle in a haystack time, from what you’ve told me, but I have to start somewhere.”
He drinks the rest of his tea and nods. “I’ll go take a look.”
“Would you like to lunch with us?” Amanda asks. “It’s only sandwiches, but you’re welcome. If you’d prefer to eat out, we have some excellent hostelries in town.”
Now I have some leads to explore, I’m itching to return to East Sussex. First I need to speak to my father and find out what progress he’s made. I could ring Sarah to find out if Gemma left any personal belongings at home when she moved in with me. Then there’s Frank, the benevolent uncle, who may know a lot more about Gemma’s past than her mother.
Why didn’t I ring him?
“Sandwiches sound fine,” I say, “if it’s no trouble.”
She follows Richard back to the main house, leaving me to make plans. Unless something major happens, I’ll return to Tollingdon tomorrow and ring Constable Dunn when I’m back at my animal sanctuary.
I’m not looking forward to telling everyone at home what’s happened, repeating the details again and again as the part timers and volunteers return during the week. By then, I’ll have reduced my tale to a couple of bullet points.
Gemma’s missing. I don’t know where she is.
At least I know where she worked before she joined Environmental Health. At some point she became tired of waitressing and hospitality. She wanted to become a Scenes of Crime Officer, yet she abandoned the dream to work for Brighton council. I know a few people there. One of Downland’s Licensing Officers used to work for Sussex Police until she took early retirement last year. She may remember Gemma.
Now I’ve left Downland District Council, I can’t pop into the town hall to talk to colleagues. Not so long ago, I considered becoming a private investigator. It looks like my chance has arrived.
Back in the holiday unit, I open my laptop and work at the breakfast bar, my notepad and pen close by. Standing there, looking through the window at the rows of raised beds in the vegetable garden, I sort my thoughts into neat columns – Gemma’s time in London, in East Sussex, and the current situation.
At some point during my deliberations, Amanda calls from the back door of the house. Lunch is being served in the conservatory. Then Richard pops across to advise me he can’t find Gemma’s CV, but will keep searching. He glances at my notes.
“It must be challenging, investigating the disappearance of your wife. It’s difficult to remain detached and objective, I imagine.”
“Early days,” I say, my reaction automatic and predictable. Hide the pain, pretend I’m invincible. I set my pen down, knowing I owe him more than this. “You’re right, Richard, it’s not easy. It’s a struggle to concentrate. My mind wanders down unwanted avenues, imagining all kinds of horrors that don’t help me at all. It takes only the slightest provocation to set my thoughts meandering.”
“I can imagine.”
“It took me too long to find Gemma and in no time at all, I’ve lost her.”
He pats my shoulder. “You need to find the person she’s hurt or wronged. It may have been unintentional, but beautiful women can leave ugly scars. The timing of her disappearance during your honeymoon is significant.”
“You mean someone with a personal grudge.”
“Not necessarily.” He gives me a wry smile. “What if I wasn’t the first groom she jilted on her wedding day?”
Fourteen
Richard nods towards the conservatory. “Let’s park the thought until after lunch. Then you can return to it with a clear head.”
Lunch won’t make me believe Gemma makes a habit of jilting lovers on their wedding day. She went ahead and married me, didn’t she? No, this is someone with a grudge. Whether it’s against me or my wife, or both of us, I’ll find out. Halliday-Jones and Eddie may be aliases, but I’ve started enquiries with less.
“Would you mind if I ate in here while I worked?”
“You need a break, Kent, even if you think you don’t. Your brain’s filled to capacity, bursting with ideas and theories, things you need to do, people to talk to. Give it a fighting chance to make some sense of it all. Release the pressure and maybe you’ll spot something you’ve missed.”
Columbo barks and looks up at me. No doubt he can smell the sandwiches.
“Would it be okay if Columbo joined us? I’m not sure he’s endeared himself to Amanda.”
“She was bitten by a dog when she was a child.”
This is the kind of detail people should know about their partners.
“Once Amanda realises how cute he is, she’ll be fine. She might even agree to having a Springer puppy. Now you know why I wanted you to visit.” He raises a finger to his lips. “Not a word.”
I nod and we follow him across to the Victorian conservatory that covers half the rear of the house. Aware of Columbo’s eagerness to explore houses, I pick him up before we reach the French doors. On the wicker table between the sofa and two chairs, Amanda has set out several plates of triangular sandwiches without crusts, some wraps, a plate of bite-sized sausage rolls and a bowl of crisps. She steps through the patio door of the house with plates and napkins, eyeing him with caution.
She hands the plates to Richard, picks up a sausage roll and walks over to us. “Is he allowed?”
When I set him on the floor, he sits, knowing the sausage roll is for him. His tails wags, sweeping over the vinyl flooring.
“Ask him for his paw,” I say.
She drops to one knee in front of him. “Paw.”
He immediately raises his left leg, panting in anticipation.
Tentatively, she takes his paw. Then she grins, as if it’s the best feeling in the world. “Good boy,” she says, offering him the sausage roll. To my surprise, he doesn’t snatch it. He takes it gently and then retreats into the corner to devour it.
Richard smiles at her with obvious delight and pleasure. “Well done, darling.”
She mouths thank you to me and urges us to tuck in. Columbo soon returns, licking his lips, ready for more food. He sits beside her, looking up at her with those dark eyes that would melt anyone’s resistance.
“He can wait,” I say, cautioning her. “When we’ve finished, let him have another, but no more or he’ll follow you round for the rest of the day.”
While we eat, I ask them about their life here in the Cotswolds. Business is booming, fuelled by soaring property prices and stamp duty breaks. They want to take on another solicitor and expand beyond conveyancing, property and wills into areas like litigation and divorce. Another solicitor in town, who specialises in these areas, wants to retire and they sense an opportunity.
“Have you given any thought to becoming a private investigator?” Amanda asks. “Or do you have your hands full with the animal sanctuary?”
“The plan was to be more hands on at the sanctuary, but it runs fine without me. Frances, my manager, has it down to an art. We have a pool of trusted volunteers to share the work. I’ll only get in the way, even though she keeps saying she needs help.”
“You could deal with the bigger issues, like raising money, wowing sponsors, that kind of thing. With your contacts and reputation, you could make such a difference. Then there’s the website, your social media presence.” She pauses, as if she’s crossed a line. I can see why she’d be invaluable to Richard. “I’m sure you know all this.”
“I’m always open to ideas, Amanda.”
Richard’s prediction that I would return to Gemma’s disappearance with a clear head after lunch turns out to be accurate. Before I get back to my lists, I make some notes based on Amanda’s observations and suggestions. She’s suggesting I take an executive role at the animal sanctuary, setting the goals and priorities, working out the strategies.
I wince, aware I’ve slipped into management-speak. During the short time I spent managing Environmental Health as an acting service head, I hated the meetings, paperwork and endless emails, not to mention performance monitoring, appraisals and mixing with a breed of people who spoke a different language.
