I don’t tell him that my mum is currently in Kent trying to find Daphne herself.
‘What about these other people that my gran mentioned? Victor and Jean?’
‘Yes, that’s harder without surnames.’
I look across at the younger detective. He is scribbling something in his notebook and looks up when he senses me watching. He gives me a sympathetic smile.
‘There’s something else,’ I say, turning my attention back to Barnes. I retrieve the card that the private detective gave me and hand it to him. ‘A man stopped me in the woods today.’ I explain our conversation. ‘He seemed very agitated by the end, like he really wanted this information, whatever it is. He said his name was Davies.’
DS Barnes frowns at the card. ‘I’ll look into it,’ he says. He scribbles the number in his notebook, then gives me back the card. ‘If you do find what you think he’s looking for please call me. I advise against calling him.’
‘Okay.’ I nod, and as I do so I have an out-of-body experience, like I’m looking down at myself talking to CID about my gran. Two months ago I would have panicked at the thought of having to talk to the police without Tom by my side.
‘We’ll need to speak to Rose as soon as possible,’ he says, standing up, and DS Worthing follows suit. ‘I’ll ring the care home and arrange it and let you know.’ I show them out. As I watch them drive away I realize I didn’t get to ask about Harrison Turner after all. It seems pointless now anyway.
Gran was the one living here when Neil Lewisham was murdered.
Her words pop into my mind. Jean hit her over the head. Are her ramblings not as innocuous as I’d first thought? Have all her mentions of Jean, Victor and Sheila been her way of trying to tell me what really happened forty years ago?
23
Lorna
‘She died?’ Lorna reels and holds on to the wall. ‘Back in 1971? But … but that can’t be right.’
‘I think I’d know when my sister died,’ Alan replies curtly.
‘Of course. I didn’t mean … I’m sorry … I just don’t understand.’
He stares at her, his bushy brows furrowed. His face softens. ‘You look a bit pale. Do you want to come in for a glass of water?’
Lorna’s parched but she remembers Euan’s words. Even old men can be dangerous.
‘Um … no, you’re okay. Thanks. I’ll … Is there a café here somewhere?’
‘Down at the front.’ He points towards the sea. ‘There’s a great place by the beach.’
‘Thank you.’
He assesses her quietly. ‘What did you say your name was again?’
‘Lorna. Lorna Cutler.’
‘I don’t really understand what all this is about,’ he says, more kindly now.
She pulls her bag more firmly over her shoulder. ‘I don’t either,’ she says, sighing. ‘It must be a different Daphne Hartall … the Sheila connection, though.’
He falls silent, as though thinking something through. ‘Do you fancy some company at the café? We could get a drink and you could tell me all about it. I did know Sheila Watts so I might be able to help.’
She brightens. She’s not being irresponsible by walking to the café with him, is she? In broad daylight in a public space?
‘That would be lovely,’ she says.
‘Come on then.’ His eyes twinkle at her and she smiles at him in a rush of gratitude. He closes the door behind him and they walk towards a main road. This is more like it, thinks Lorna, as they cross the street, heading through some pretty gardens and past a bandstand as they follow the path down to the sea front. People are meandering along in shorts and T-shirts, eating ice-creams and enjoying the gorgeous May weather. Alan talks about his walking stick and his dodgy hip that needs replacing. But he’s surprisingly steady on his feet, walking faster than her. She has to keep trotting in her heels to keep up with him.