A Wreath for my Sister (25 page)

‘You've been looking for me.'

‘I have?'

The girl nodded.

It was Mike who recovered first. ‘Well, who the hell are you, love?' he asked.

The girl swivelled round in her chair, shaking her head. ‘Don't you recognize me?'

They stared at her, then shook their heads.

‘The so-called good-time girl?' She sounded angry. ‘You've been hanging around my dad ... pretending to know something about me.'

And then the penny dropped.

‘Where have you been?' Joanna said softly.

The girl dropped her face into her hands. ‘To hell,' she said. ‘To hell.'

‘You left your son?'

‘I had to,' the girl said fiercely. ‘Don't you see? I was a rotten mum. It was better for him that I left him. And the longer I'd left him the harder it would be to ever return. Sebastian wouldn't know me,' she said.

‘And for you, Deborah? What's best for you?'

The girl's tears were flowing freely now.

Mike was scowling. ‘Well, where have you been?' he demanded. ‘What have you been doing? How have you lived?'

Deborah Pelham turned to face him. ‘You wouldn't believe me,' she said.

‘Try me.'

But she gave a cynical shrug and turned her attention back to Joanna. ‘Well, I'm back now,' she said. ‘So you can call off your bloodhounds.'

And Joanna found that she didn't want the answer to any of Mike's questions. She met Deborah Pelham's eyes and nodded. ‘Your father will be pleased to see you,' she said.

Deborah Pelham gave an ugly laugh. ‘You really think so?' she said. ‘He that was lost is found?' She glared at Joanna. ‘You think he'll kill the fatted calf? No way,' she said. ‘No way.' Her face looked old, ugly and twisted.

‘He wanted to bury me,' she said. ‘He wanted you to find my body, not some tired old whore who abandoned her son. Understand? I will be nothing but an embarrassment to him.'

She stood up stiffly, turned and walked out of the room.

Four days later Finnigan was finally charged with the two murders.

On the following day Joanna was sitting in her office with Mike, trying to anticipate the defence so that they could safely lob the anticipated manslaughter plea straight out of the window, together with the plea of insanity.

‘It'll be a case of diminished responsibility,' Mike was arguing.

‘No chance.'

‘Keep your hair on, Joanna,' he said. ‘I was only saying what the plea will be.'

‘I'll work to convince the CPS,' she said. ‘Finnigan was sane when he killed. A cold, calculating killer without pity for his victims who would have carried on and on until he was stopped.' The chilling vision of the neat pile of sawn-up broomsticks remained imprinted on her mind, each one representing another victim, another police investigation, another cluster of grieving relatives.

Mike was rolling a pencil between his fingers. ‘I'll tell you something that puzzles me, Jo.'

‘What?'

‘She was disappointed when she saw it was Thorr who had turned up. Who do you think she hoped it would be?'

‘I think Haworth,' she said decisively. ‘He must have seemed personable to her, polite, wealthy. Compared with Finnigan and Agnew, he must have seemed wonderful.'

He gave her a sideways glance. And what about Thorr?'

She flushed.

Mike was laughing at her.

She couldn't resist a telephone call to the children's ward to ask how Eloise Levin was. A bright, cheery nurse answered. ‘Eloise? Oh, she's fine. Her father's with her at the moment. She'll probably go home later on today.' There was a pause before she asked, ‘Who shall I say phoned?'

Joanna was stuck, but the nurse supplied the answer. ‘I'll just say a friend,' she said.

Joanna replaced the receiver.

It was four weeks later on a golden day, almost at the end of October, and Joanna was laying the circlet of flowers on the mound of earth, still unmarked by a headstone.

She didn't hear the woman approach but when she looked up she saw Doreen Priest, holding October and William by the hand.

‘What are you doing here?' Mrs Priest demanded. ‘She wasn't your friend. She wasn't your sister. You didn't even know her. She was just another murder victim to you.'

Joanna opened her mouth to speak. But she couldn't find the right words. There wasn't a platitude that existed to fill the silence. Even the two children were quiet, watching her through round eyes, their hands clutching their grandmother's.

Doreen Priest flicked the wreath aside contemptuously and replaced it with a small bunch, tied with pink florist's ribbon.

‘There's your mother,' she said to the children. ‘She's under there. So there's no use you keep askin' for her. She's gone. She won't be back. There's no use your cryin' for her. Understand?'

The two children nodded.

She gave Joanna a hard look. ‘
He's
had Ryan,' she said. ‘He were 'is dad anyhow. I'll mind these two. They've no real dad. I'll bring them up,' she said. ‘So no harm's done.'

‘And will your mourn your sister?

Will you lay a wreath on her grave?'

No, Joanna thought. The answer was an emphatic no.

She would not mourn but continue with her own life and her own work....

So she left the graveyard and drove back to the station. For now there was work to be done.