No Help For The Dying

Chapter 19

Minsmere Lodge was a squat Edwardian building sitting at the end of a narrow, sandy lane which appeared to have run out of tarmac and destination within earshot of the sea. Other than the faint wash of a close tide and the occasional shriek of gulls dipping and swooping across the dunes, it wore a cloak of tranquillity beneath the thin morning sun, as if nothing here could possibly disturb its end-of-nowhere remoteness. The air was sharp with the tang of salt and a faint undertone of something not quite fresh.

Riley parked to one side of the gravelled drive, which was vacant save for a rotting old Rover with flat tyres parked to one side. A cat curled up on the bonnet and a bicycle leaning against the side seemed to confirm that the vehicle wasn’t about to go anywhere soon. She approached the house and touched a bell in the wall next to the front door, partially covered by a hanging growth of ivy. The colour of the original green paint was faded by the salt sea air, and around her feet the flagstones were all but covered in a layer of fine, wind-blown sand.

The door clicked open to reveal a small, neat woman in a starched blue overall. Riley guessed this was the woman who had called her.

‘Miss Gavin,’ the woman said softly in confirmation, and stood to one side. She didn’t offer to shake hands, but closed the door and led the way silently across the small reception hall into a cramped study. It was a masculine room, cluttered and stuffy and smelling faintly of old paper. All that was missing was the heavy tick of a grandfather clock. The woman indicated an armchair and said, ‘I’m Mary Francis. I live in with Susan. Thank you for coming. Would you like some tea?’ She smiled and disappeared before Riley could decline, closing the door softly behind her.

Riley took the opportunity to check her phone for messages. She had called Palmer’s mobile before leaving, to tell him of her trip to see Susan Pyle. Unless Mrs Francis possessed an unfortunate sense of the dramatic, her brief explanation had left little doubt that Katie’s mother wasn’t long for this world.

‘She might know something useful,’ Palmer had agreed. In spite of the early hour, he’d sounded surprisingly awake, and Riley thought she detected the noise of traffic in the background. Somehow the idea of a dawn jog round the park didn’t quite fit her vision of Palmer, but she decided not to enquire. ‘What about the father?’

‘He died some years ago.’ Riley went on to tell him about Nikki’s call and what she had picked up about the Church of Flowing Light and their charitable activities. She also mentioned remembering the van she had seen outside the Scandair hotel.

‘How sure are you?’

‘It was there, but I don’t know how significant it might be.’

‘Be handy if we could get confirmation — even if only to eliminate it.’

‘I was thinking I might ask my friendly hotel employee if he can help. It could be entirely innocent, of course.’

Palmer was more pragmatic. ‘It was there, so worth checking. In the meantime I’ll see if I can get a closer look at the two boys who’ve been following you. Remember to watch your back.’ He rang off, leaving Riley wondering what would happen if Palmer and the two men came too close. They might discover that he wasn’t quite as laid-back as he liked people to think.

She wondered what she would find when she finally got to see Susan Pyle. The last time they had spoken had been some time after Katie’s disappearance, when the most obvious mechanics of the search had begun to scale down. The posters had produced no response other than one or two crank calls, and short staffed, and with no obvious evidence of foul play, the police had been forced to move their attention to other cases. Even Riley had been forced to call it a day by then, and had called on the couple to explain her position. It had been a difficult meeting; John Pyle had been stiff and resentful, although his wife had seemed more understanding. Or maybe, thought Riley with hindsight, she had been too weighed down with grief and internalised sorrow at life’s wickedness to put up much of a fight anymore.

The atmosphere in the house had been heavy and sombre, not much helped, she now recalled, by the dark décor — especially in Katie’s room — and the lingering smell of incense. It hadn’t meant much at the time because of the circumstances, but now the new occupant of the house had reminded her, she found herself reliving those first impressions. Odd, really, because neither John nor Susan Pyle had seemed the sort of people to use incense, nor had they come across as naturally sombre in their everyday lives, in spite of the tragedy which had suddenly overshadowed them.

And now it looked as if it had called yet again, with the discovery of Katie’s body.

‘How long is it since you last saw Susan?’ The study door had opened without a sound, and Mrs Francis’s voice dragged Riley sharply back to the present. The older woman was already juggling cups and saucers on a side table, and she paused until Riley nodded, before adding milk to a cup.

‘Nine years — maybe ten.’ Riley wondered to what extent Katie’s mother would have changed in ten years.

‘Susan’s condition,’ Mrs Francis began carefully, as if reading her thoughts, ‘has not been good just recently. I know something of the history, but she has never been too keen to talk about the circumstances surrounding her daughter. I just wanted to clarify that.’

‘I understand. How long has she been here?’

‘She bought the house about four years ago, following the death of her husband. I was taken on as a residential companion a year later.’ She looked at Riley over her cup and a flicker of distaste touched her face. ‘They prefer the term ‘carer’ these days. Such a horrible word in my view. It sounds so false. My role is — was — more as a companion than anything.’

‘You’ve done this before?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m a qualified SRN, so it usually involves a degree of nursing as well as companionship. But some people are better served by having another person about the place.’

‘Like Susan, you mean?’

‘Yes. She told me a little about Katie, but it was very difficult for her. It must have been a sad business… but I suppose you’d know more about that. In spite of that she’s been happy here, Miss Gavin. Very happy… until recently. She has had cancer for some years, you see. We thought it was in remission, but then she went downhill very suddenly.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘No need, my dear. It’s part of life. I do know she never got over losing Katie.’ She stared out of the window. ‘In a way, it was as if she tried walking away from the past instead, hiking along the coast day after day. I never knew anyone who could walk the way she did. I couldn’t keep up, so I stopped going. After a while she seemed to take a better hold on things; she settled and seemed to find some peace. Then one day about three months back, she was out walking on the shore and got caught out in a storm. She fell and broke her ankle, but managed to make her way up the beach. She began to get well, then about four weeks ago something upset her terribly and she suddenly got worse.’

‘What happened?’

Mrs Francis took a sudden deep breath, and flicked an imaginary crumb from her overall before folding her hands into her lap. ‘She was home here, doing really well. Still weak, of course, but improving. The consultant at the hospital said she simply needed plenty of rest, although, to be honest, I think we all knew it couldn’t go on indefinitely. Then, one day when I was out, two men arrived.’

Riley felt a chill of apprehension. ‘What men?’

‘Susan described one as thin, as if he didn’t eat much. And very hard-faced. Dressed in dark clothing, like those characters in the movies. Like… what was it, Matrix or something. We watched it on video once. The other man stayed in the car.’

‘What did this man want?’

‘He demanded to know where Katie was.’