The Detective's Daughter

64

Monday, 24 January 2011

His hand hovered an inch from her face, tracing her flawless smile. Her teeth gave him joy; he kept this to himself because she would tease him. He did not like to be teased.

He had once told her this.

His voice broke their reverie: ‘Darling, do you remember me going down to the garage to fetch a gas canister for the heater?’

Her smile, as ever, was encouraging.

‘I was about to leave when the strangest thing happened. I heard a telephone. It could not be mine as I had left it with you, so I was stumped.’

‘This has a happy ending.’ She was anxious; he hastened to allay her worries. If he were to stroke her skin, it would be soft and smell of sunshine.

‘I found a mobile phone by the garage doors. Now this is where I don’t want you fretting, but I found the canvas cover thrown back. It could not be you as you never go in there. I’m right about that, aren’t I, darling?’

Her teeth were even, no gaps, no shrinkage in the gums; good and strong. They looked capped, but he knew they were not.

‘It was still ringing when I got to it. The caller was one ‘Stella mob’. I waited for it to stop then went through the previous calls. I know this is weird to you, but there is a list of Received calls and Dialled calls, then there are messages, some sent, some received. A whole history – yes, it’s terribly clever. I began with the sent messages.’

It did not vex him that he was losing her attention. As long as he had told her, she couldn’t accuse him of keeping it from her. It helped him to go over everything and get it clear.

‘I found two messages on the detective’s phone. They were both to this Stella. One read: Meet me at the Ram 8pm. The next contradicted this with Can’t make it. Will call. Dad xx.’

She was gazing at him, still smiling. Naturally she expected him to have a solution and was not interested in detail. He did not have a solution.

‘I couldn’t find the details of the owner. What I want to know is why they were in our house and if whoever it was came up here.’

The intruder could not get into the house without breaking the front door. He told her to keep it bolted. They must have got into the garage because although he found the garage door open, it was unbolted from the inside. This meant the back door had been unlocked. She was maintaining her smile.

‘So you see, I think they had guessed about us, which means they will be back. Nothing has been moved or stolen, I am sure you would have told me.’ Still she did not respond.

Her shoes had moved; they were at the foot of the bed and not where he had put them, under the chair. She had promised never to betray him.

‘The intruder left in a hurry. Perhaps you remember teasing me for forgetting to bring the gas canister? You said I would forget you next!’

She had laughed. Her laughter shrill and mocking, her head thrown back, her teeth white and flawless in the sunshine.

She had known he had found the phone, but said nothing. From that day the house was no longer a refuge. They were under siege.

There had been nothing in the phone’s Inbox. ‘Stella mob’ had not replied, or if she had the owner had deleted the message. He found her in the contacts list along with lots of numbers referenced only with initials. The owner of the mobile had a lot of secrets, he told her.

We just have one.

‘I did toy with telling Mrs Willard I was ill, but didn’t want her telling Sarah. You know how they hate each other. Mrs Willard can’t resist showing off about me and, whatever you say, it is useful that she is like that; she protects me from patients. I am never sick; they would both be concerned so I had to ride it out.’

The candlelight made the liquid in her wine glass a rich crimson. He couldn’t remember what they had been drinking; she had liked Merlot. It must be Merlot.

‘The next afternoon it was on the local news that a Met detective had died of a heart attack in Seaford. I knew immediately it was that detective, Darnell his name was. “Smart arse”, you would have said. I went on the internet and my suspicion was correct: the man had a daughter named Stella. It’s all there: she owns a cleaning company. She arrived at the Royal Sussex County Hospital in Brighton too late. Don’t look like that; it was always too late. The man died in the street. I went up there and found her van in the car park and since then I’ve kept an eye on her for you. I gave her little gifts, the flowers, a book to flatter her, not that she reads. She’s not like you, my darling.’

He could not decipher her expression. Did she already know about the detective? Had she talked to him or, worse, had she been expecting he would return? In case she had, he repeated: ‘The detective is dead.’

‘For half an hour – and it was literally that time – I was on top of the world. At last we were free. But then a woman from Clean Slate rang to book an emergency appointment for her boss: Stella Darnell. With two “L”s, she said. I know, I nearly said. I took the call because it was too early for Mrs Willard. I acted cool, of course. You would have been proud.’

She lay on the bed, the glass in her hand, poised for a sip, listening now.

‘The detective had told his daughter and she came straight to me.’ He had reached the tricky part and heard himself picking up speed, trying to sound normal. He had nothing to be guilty about.

‘She needed a filling, so I got her back in again and invited her for a drink to trap her. Her teeth were in terrible shape – not like yours. She was boring. I’m sorry, but there is no other word. I talked about the boy and she was suitably interested. She would have seen nothing in the flat, although she checked it for cleanliness. I saw her through the hinge gap.’

‘After I invited her upstairs and she said nothing, I thought, incredible as it seems, that it was coincidence she had come to me. She has not the imagination to pretend. She is like her father, no care for people, just intent on getting the job done. She did rather seem to enjoy my company, but believe me, darling, it was purgatory.’

He had her attention so he kept going. He would tell her everything.

‘It’s been stressful. Stella Darnell had this lovesick man in tow. He is gone. An unfortunate accident – I know you understand. He went down like a ninepin. He recognized me; bloody patients get everywhere. The problem is, I think Sarah suspects, my lovely little sister is not as much with the fairies as we think.’

He never got sick of looking at her teeth, their perfection made his job worthwhile even though it left him redundant.

‘Stella Darnell has a new man – one of her cleaners. He cleans for me. Fickle madam: if I were truly a widower, she would be leading me a merry dance. Yesterday she went to the police station about her dead boyfriend. She didn’t mention the cleaner to me. I am disappointed; people let you down.’ He smiled at her. ‘Except you, my love.’

She smiled.

She continued smiling. Ivan was encouraged: ‘She sent her boyfriend on a wild-goose chase; she has not told the police she spoke to Bramwell; she thinks he did it. We will remind her about her lapses in honesty, starting with the twenty-pound note at the automatic teller in Seaford; failed that one, Ms Darnell!’ Ivan raised his glass to her and drank some wine. He had let it breathe and it was at the right temperature: it was delicious.

‘Darling, we needn’t concern ourselves with Mr Bramwell or the detective any more. There’s just the daughter now.’

She toasted him, toasted them both.

‘Luckily Stella is keen to confide in me because my hard work listening to stories about commercial floor care have paid off. What she has told me is good and bad so I want you to pay attention.’ She was still smiling. He did not trust the smile. Did she already know what he was about to say?

‘I invited Stella Darnell here tonight. No, don’t look like that; I know what I’m doing. We would have dealt with her but she refused to come. However, it’s a matter of time. Her new man cleans for me. I haven’t met him but I heard her talking to him by that statue; the night you told me off for taking a risk. Aren’t you glad I did go out on a limb? Who else loves you like I do? They are weaving a web, my darling; one that you and I will not be caught in. I will have to get another cleaner – a shame – this Mr Harmon is terribly good.’

An owl hooted from the direction of the church. The lattice windows were opaque with fog. Ivan was lighter for unburdening himself; she had put the problem in proportion. He could deal with Stella Darnell and Jack Harmon. He would not allow them to ruin a life that had taken thirty years to build: Fullwood House was sacrosanct. Bramwell had been easy; the detective’s daughter would be too. They would soon be safe.

He ran nimbly down to the basement, which he called the surgery, for that was what it had been in his father’s day. He had the only key so he knew it was unsullied by the detective’s intrusion.

The surgery was soundproofed and for this reason once he closed the door he did not hear a floorboard creak in the utility room, nor did he hear someone going up the stairs to the bedroom.