Deadly Thyme (6 page)

Ruth called out to him
, “Tell Liz thank you.”

“She
’ll say you’re quite welcome, I’m sure.” He waved and squeezed gracefully into his Bentley. The grand silver car moved smoothly down the one-way road toward High Street, which was the main road in and out of the village.

Ruth leaned against the closed door. Mr. Malone was not a comfortable man. She took the jar of soup into the kitchen, where Sally was wiping the counter. A plate of congealed fried eggs sat on the tiny table
where she and Annie usually sat to eat. The eggs were from the night before when hunger drove her to stuff food into her mouth. Rubber. Salty rubber. A few bites had been enough. She must have forgotten to clean up after herself. How had that happened?

Sally put her arms around her and pulled her into a motherly hug. “Hungry?” she asked.

Ruth’s stomach rebelled. “No.”

Sally, an expert at argument who had a temperament to match her fiery red curls, gave Ruth a look.

“I wouldn’t mind tea.” The British panacea had become just as much her own. As she turned to leave the kitchen and its heavy smells of food, she heard Sally say softly, “Bless yer heart.”

Ruth went to the computer. She had an email from someone named Charles. The subject line said
:
Tell me you love me!

That was what the man on Annie
’s phone had said. She sat heavily as her knees gave way. It was her fault, hiding as she had all these years. She was missing her parents, and the thought tore into her heart. Her parents—she needed them now.

Tell me you love me. He had said it on Annie
’s cell phone. How had he gotten her email address so quickly?

“Sally,” she called out
, “could you phone the police?”

Ruth stared at the computer screen. A tap at the front door made her jump. She got up and swung the door open to find no one there. Looking down, she found a nosegay of wildflowers on the wet doorstep. She glanced up and down the street. A few cars swished by.

A card tied around the flowers with brown string read “
Fel neidr yn y ddaear.
Sorry for your loss.” Her stomach tightened. She tossed the flowers on her hall table and stared at the card.

The night before
—after the call—she’d dressed warmly and headed outdoors into a moonlit night, mainly trying to figure the direction Annie might have gone if she had left the beach on her own. She walked to the cliff overlooking the bay. The moonlight sparkled dimly upon the waves. Silver-lined storm clouds were amassing where horizon met sea. She had paused long enough to listen to the surf before heading home again.

“Here we are, luv.” Sally brought Ruth
’s tea in the duck mug. “The police are on their way.”

Ruth smiled her thanks. Dearest Sally. The funny mug
had given Annie a laugh. Sally knew things like that. When the tea is drained, sip by sip, the duck figurine is revealed. The words on the outside of the mug read, “Who’s at the bottom of the well?”

A child
’s mug.

The phone rang. Ruth set the mug down and jumped up to answer it.

“Hello!” She listened. Nothing. “Hello?” She heard breathing. “Hello?” No response, just the sound of someone breathing, listening to her.

“Annie?” she said, unable to stop the desperate keen of her tone.

The caller hung up.

Shaken, Ruth
stared at the phone in her hand. That was the second time she had answered the phone and known someone was listening to her frantic questions. The day before, she had let it pass as a mistake. Now she knew it had been no mistake. She shivered. Things were getting more horrible by the minute.

7

E
ven with the rain, more visitors dropped by. Sally deflected some of them so that Ruth did not have to face them all.

The postmistress, a large-boned, rough-faced busybody with a strong West Country accent,
stopped by. “Andrew tol’ me the child was missin’.”

She gave Ruth the creeps. Something about her wasn
’t right, but it occurred to Ruth that today it wouldn’t be so bad if the postmistress passed the news of Annie on to everyone who dropped in to post a letter or buy stamps, as long as she didn’t embellish as usual.

She told the postmistress there was no news
and thanked her for dropping by.

She sat at her computer staring at the email.

“Mrs. Butler?”

She jumped to her feet and turned to see the wolf-eyed officer from yesterday enter
with a woman police officer trailing behind.

Detective Chief Inspector Peter Trewe
’s salt and pepper hair had an untamed massiveness to it, as if it had absorbed half again its own volume with the rain. “Did you ring the station? Have you heard anything? Has she returned?”

“No.” Ruth gulped back a sob. She fell to her seat.

“We didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Last night there was a phone call. He used Annie
’s mobile. He told me to tell him I loved him. Then this morning I opened my email. Look!”

DCI Trewe bent over Ruth
’s computer. “Is this it?”

“It
’s a repeat of what he said last night.”

“I
’m going to forward this to a safe computer where it can be opened and examined. We’ll find out who sent it. There are ways. We can’t just go marching to the ISP demanding names without justification according to the Data Protection Act. If it’s important to finding your daughter, we’ll do it. I’ll let you know. We will triangulate the mobile call from last night.”

“Another call came in on the home phone this morning. I could hear him breathing.”

“How do you know it was a him?”

Ruth looked down. “An impression.”

“I regret some people take advantage of this kind of situation. Do you know of anyone who would do that to you?”

“I don
’t.”

“Will you let us know about any of these types of communications?”

“It was the second one of those.”

Trewe caught her glance as he handed her another of his cards. “You
’ve been remarkably calm through this.”

“I don
’t know what you mean.”

“I don
’t mean anything is wrong. Just an observation.” He turned and indicated the other officer in the room. “You’ve met WPC Craig?”

“Yes.” Ruth nodded to the woman police constable
, who had her notepad at the ready.

“Mrs. Butler, we
’ll put a stop to this. Rest assured. Anything you consider worrisome in the way of phone messages, we’ll consider harassment. Ring the number on my card the minute you receive another.”

“Thank you.” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat
. Oh, to banish this weakling inside her. Should she tell? Yes, she must. “I’ve got to tell you the rest.”

At that moment Sam Ketterman stepped into the room from the kitchen. Ruth sucked in what she had been about to say. It was getting to be a regular feeling, this jumpiness. Sam was not a stranger. She
’d known him almost from the time they had come to Cornwall. He was a solicitor. Why had he entered through the rear door? Sally stood behind Sam, making faces at his back.

Sam glared at Trewe. “I
’m sorry. Am I intruding?”

“Mrs. Butler called us, sir. And your business here?”

“Pardon me. I didn’t realize … Detective Chief Inspector, I am Ruth’s solicitor. Is there any progress?”

“By progress, I assume you
’re asking after Annie Butler?”

“Exactly so.”

Trewe turned to Ruth. “Mrs. Butler?”

“Sam, I did not ask you to come.”

Sally intervened. “Sam, there’s tea if you’ll come be my company in the kitchen.”

Sam looked from Trewe to Ruth and then shrugged. “Thank you, Sall.”

Ruth stared at their departing backs. Sally was being kind under the circumstances. She hated when he called her that.

Trewe sighed and stood up. “We are doing our best, Mrs. Butler. There are forty-eight officers from the Devon-Cornwall area helping with the search. Two special officers from the Bristol Regional Crime
Office are here. We’ve had few leads.”

Their best hadn
’t produced her daughter. Ruth nodded. She couldn’t ask more of them.

“Mrs. Butler, you mentioned there was something else?”

“It isn’t important.” She choked against the lie. She cleared her throat and picked up the flowers with the odd note. “Do you know what this says?”

Trewe looked at the note. “Welsh. My gran would have known just what it meant. If you
’d like, I’ll take this with me and get someone who knows the language to look at it.”

“Yes, please.”

“Anything else?”

She couldn
’t say it, but yes, there was heaps more—tons more.

“Don
’t give up hope, Mrs. Butler. Let us know about any problems. Will you do that?”

“Yes,” she said. In that moment,
she thought Trewe actually sounded kind, despite his fierce looks. She studied his face for a moment. She had to tell him the most important thing of all—the one thing that may in fact be impeding Annie’s quick return. Could she trust him? “Can I say something for your ears alone?”

He nodded for Constable Craig to step across the room.

She drew the chief inspector aside and whispered, “Ruth Butler is not my name.”

8

T
he detective chief inspector’s eyes went wide. He cleared his throat. “If you are in this country using an alias, you will be asked to leave.”

Though he had whispered, Ruth glanced at Constable Craig who was watching without expression. She looked back into the icy eyes. “Please wait and hear me out.”

He didn’t respond but he was still listening.

“Could we step into another room?”

He studied her face for a moment before nodding.

They stepped from the open living area to the hall where she could close the door. She kept her voice to a whisper. “The day after graduating high school, I married. I was pregnant with Annie and thought I was doing the right t
hing. And … and it wasn’t horrible in the beginning. Then when Annie was seven months old I noticed the bruises and took her to the doctor. There was a criminal investigation. My husband’s family had connections with the county’s visiting judge and my husband was found innocent of the sexual abuse the doctor discovered.” She rubbed away hot tears. “I ran away to my parents’ home, but he dragged us back, locked us in, began systematically beating me.”

Trewe cleared his throat
, obviously uncomfortable. “Mrs. Butler—”

“Let me finish.
Please. I escaped. One night … he was passed out drunk. A neighbor took us to a women’s shelter.
She
believed me. From there, they hid us. By night we were shuttled between Texas towns and then sent to Houston. Months passed like this. I couldn’t contact my own family in any way. He would have found us. He knows people, you see. The Women Helping Women organization helped me change my identity. He is a sexual predator of the worst kind, and he was not convicted. That made him free, and me in violation of the court order to allow him visitation.”

She waited for Trewe to say something. She
’d confessed, and now she was in his hands.

Trewe stood back, not meeting her eyes.

She pressed a hand out, touched his chest, briefly. “Please. I think my identity has the sanctity of the law, but I’m not sure. I have all the paperwork. It came at great sacrifice, you know. I haven’t visited my mother in ten years.”

“I assume you
’ve told me this because …”

“He
’s found us.”

“
… you believe he’s found you.”

“I do.”

“This is quite serious.”

“I realize that.”

“What do you want me to do, Mrs. Butler? You’ve placed me in a damned hard place.” The cold eyes again.

“Please.”

“I’ll be totally honest. I don’t know what I need to do first: call out all the king’s men to find this monster or call on immigration to find out what my culpability will be defined as if I don’t report you.”

She forced her hands to unclench. Her breath caugh
t before she found sound again—loud enough to be carried into the next room. “I don’t wish to get you in trouble, sir.” She slammed her hands together. “
I’m
not the important thing. Finding my daughter is.”

Trewe leaned away from her. His voice still low, he said, “She is my first priority
, and as such, I will put out the word while protecting you, for the moment, from exposure. I need you to help me with a full name and description, and I must bring Constable Craig in on this. We will investigate your—is it ex-husband?”

“Yes.”

“So, Mrs. Butler, I will need to find out more about him to check whether he has entered the country recently. I don’t know how this will affect your status. We will try to keep you out of it. But then, rocks will fall where they will, won’t they?”

Her racing thoughts stumbled over the misquote. “I understand.”

Trewe went back out to the constable and carried on a brief conversation in low tones. He beckoned Ruth closer. “You’ll share all the information you can about … this man. I want a picture, age, last known address. Constable Craig shares your concern as deeply as anyone else in the force does. You can trust her. The information will be given out as to a possible person of interest only, not as Annie’s father. But if this secret of yours comes back to bite me, I won’t be pleased.”

After relaying her new information
to the WPC, Ruth stood with them at the door as they prepared to leave. Someone had pulled the plug on all her feelings. She rubbed away tears. “Take me with you. I’m useless here.”

Trewe held up one hand. “We
’ll locate your daughter.”

“Call me,” Constable Craig said, handing her another card
, “if there’s anything you’d like to talk about. And my name’s Allison, by the way.”

“Thank you, Allison.” Ruth clenched her arms around herself. Her teeth clattered.

“Wait for me, sir.” Allison ran after Trewe as he climbed into his car.

Ruth turned as Sam bounded from the kitchen to rejoin her. He must have been sipping his tea with one ear at the door.

“Why have you come?” she demanded. She tucked both the officers’ cards under her computer’s keyboard.

“You may need me as a s
olicitor, but … You know how I feel.” Wandering around the room, he fussed and straightened furniture. As he moved, he made an irritating moaning sound.

No, Ruth didn
’t really know how he felt. Not really. He was too closed up inside. She couldn’t get through all the walls he put up. Good looking? Yes, he was a blond god. Ruth had been very attracted to him, so much so, something may have come of it but for his enshrouded core. Never mind that she was hiding something from him, as well.

She could not live with his inability to make a firm decision. He couldn
’t even decide what film to watch on the television. She had ended their relationship months ago. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

Now, watching him putter around the room being useless with her, she wondered what she could possibly have seen in him. She would
have told him she didn’t want him there, but he had disappeared into the kitchen. Then he was in front of her with a bowl of something that smelled suspiciously of fish.

“Look what I made just for you. You should eat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

He set the bowl down and sank to his knees. “I
’m only doing what a friend would do. You should eat. What will happen when they find Abby and you’re too weak to go to her?”

“Her name is Annie! Why can
’t you ever get her name right?” Looking away, she shook her head. “Please leave.”

Sally watched their exchange. When Sam left, she mimicked him. “I
’m only doing what a friend would do. For Abby!”

The rain had passed. Bright sun filtered through the rain-dabbled window. Ruth could sense the
spring freshness outdoors and instantly wished to walk, but the trouble it would take to don a jacket and wellies seemed exhausting. She found herself drifting in and out of the quiet sunlit room until exhaustion finally caught up. A stray chill kissed her neck and jerked her awake. She could see by the way the sun glowed from behind a mountain range of clouds darkening the western sky that it was late afternoon. Was he feeding Annie? What was he feeding her? Was it enough? When would he make a move to give her back? She would admit to anything—plead guilty, do whatever it took—if he would only bring her back.

She called her mother in Texas. Someone had to tell her about Annie, but her mother must have gone to bed. She left a
short message, the first she’d left in years. It was all she could choke out.

More people
dropped by. Good people. They gave news about what the police were doing. The full force of the law with officers from all over Cornwall and Devon—and even Wales—had been and presently were still searching.

Evening
brought more visitors, flowers, and teddy bears. Her daughter’s school chums came in small waves. They tittered all the way to the front stoop where they morphed into a single, silent entity. Memorials sprang up across her front garden with flowers, candles, dolls, and letters.

The
Women’s Auxiliary dropped off two meals to heat up when Ruth wanted, and she found that her hunger became more insistent and gnawing with each passing hour. When pressed, she did eat. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t appease the monster in her gut, but she ate. Sally answered her phone for her. It grew dark, and still people brought flowers. None would come past the entry. “Don’t want to impose.” “Just know we’re thinking of you.” “Had to stop and let you know we care, must run.”

There were three categories of people in Cornwall: the Cornish, the incomers and
the foreigners. The Cornish had lived there for generations born and bred. Anyone visiting was a foreigner—including any other English. Incomers were people who had moved here as more-or-less permanent residents—incomers were incomers for twenty years or more.

Ruth and Annie had graduated from foreigners to incomers as soon as they purchased Riverside. Most of the villagers were slow to talk at first, but when they figured out she was friendly and interested in learning about Cornwall, th
ose same villagers could become quite talkative. On the whole, the villagers were decent, hardworking people who were proud of their heritage, as well they should be. She and her daughter had loved living here.

It had felt safe.