There were tales of folly and bravery, of interrupted weddings and miraculous escapes. Hundreds of people were still unable to get to work, to visit their businesses, retrieve their cars, return to their homes. I read it all.
On page eight a headline caught my eye. MYSTERY WOMAN AT BELLE VUE SUICIDE SCENE. I recalled the look of shock on Mrs Grady’s face, the ominous sound of flies busy at the corpse.
Local resident, Mrs Grady, 62, claimed she’d been alerted by a mystery caller ‘She wouldn’t say who she was or what she was doing there. She wouldn’t have her photograph taken. I thought that was a bit odd at the time. I’d no idea who she was. She left as soon as she could.’ I groaned. They’d had to put a spin on it. Rather than just relate the facts of Mr Kearsal’s death they’d spiced it up with a whiff of intrigue.
Mr Kearsal, 68, was found hanging at his Belle Vue home on the evening of Thursday June 13th He had not been seen since the previous Thursday. Mr Kearsal, who lived alone, leaves a sister in Harrogate. At this stage police do not suspect foul play; a note was found at the scene.
It was a non-story. Of course the police knew who I was, and a call to them from the reporter would have established that immediately, unless the police were being awkward about it. I groaned again. All I needed was some bright, bored reporter determined to uncover my identity, and the whole thing could blow out of all proportion. Local notoriety would be disastrous for my business. I needed my anonymity.
I could see it now. PRIVATE EYE HOUNDS BROKEN MAN. IS THIS WOMAN ON YOUR TAIL?
I hoped to God it would fade away.
I’d just topped up the bath for myself when I heard the phone. I let Ray answer it, hoping it would be for him. Wrong.
‘It’s Debbie Gosforth,’ her voice said, high with strain. ‘He’s here now, across the street.’
Shit.
‘Can you come?’ She was breathless.
‘Yes. Listen, I won’t come to the house -that might alert him – but I’ll wait down the street and try to follow him when he goes. What’s he wearing?’
‘His suit. He’s by the alley, where I showed you.’
‘How long’s he been there?’
‘I don’t know. I only saw him just now when I went to close the curtains upstairs. He wasn’t there earlier.’
‘I’ve got a mobile phone,’ I said. ‘I can ring you to let you know when he leaves. Stay inside. Try and keep your phone clear.’
I hate working evenings and nights but it can’t be avoided when surveillance is involved. The call can come anytime. And apart from my personal reluctance, nights are actually easier to arrange than earlier in the day because I can usually rely on Ray being there for the children.
