‘Yes. I’ve got a job for you.’
‘A job?’
‘Uh huh. It’s a long story.’
12 KITTY
Jim Thoroughgood, editor of the publication that provided the bulk of Kitty’s income, was in a Celtic strop. His broad Glaswegian accent boomed in the cubicle he referred to as his office. ‘So glad you’ve decided to put in an appearance.’
‘Well, you don’t seem that glad.’ Kitty reached over and patted Jim’s cheek. ‘In fact, you look positively furious.’
Jim grunted. ‘I don’t appreciate getting calls from your nearest and dearest because you’ve disappeared wi’out telling anyone.’ His angry expression melted, and he sighed and flopped back into his seat. ‘I was worried. But here you are, daein’ fine, and no explanation.’
‘Give me a chance, I’ve just walked in.’ Kitty dumped herself in a worn, black office chair opposite Jim and held onto the edge of his desk to stop it scooting backwards. Jim was her greatest ally in the world of journalism. He had supported her through crises of every hue, trusted her when she said she had a story worth printing and even, occasionally, advanced her money. In return, she produced startling and emotive local stories that had helped the digital newspaper hold its head up among larger publications. As Jim pressed his lips together, Kitty leant forwards and interlocked her fingers under the desk. ‘I’m investigating something exciting. Something that could expose an injustice, or at worst, will be the intimate profile of a murderer. Either way, it’ll make a great piece.’ She watched Jim’s face for the tell-tale twitch of his left eyebrow. And there it was. Confident now, she continued, ‘There’s a load of stuff to cover. I’d like to take on an assistant.’
Canny Jim narrowed his eyes and demanded to hear more, but Kitty held up her hands.
‘You need to trust me on this one, Jim. It’s close to home for me, but I promise it’ll be a hot story.’ They both knew the editor would capitulate and advance her the money she needed.
As Kitty left the building, she was dialing Sam’s number.
13 SAM
‘Woah.’ Kitty halted inside Sam’s door and gaped at his new decor. ‘Woah and wow. That’s amazing.’
‘Thank you,’ Sam muttered staring at his toes, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Yes please, but don’t put that disgusting honey in it.’
‘Honey’s good for you.’
‘Maybe, but not in tea. Not in my tea anyway.’ She was still admiring in the ceiling. ‘How long did this take you?’
Sam filled the kettle and turned over two mugs on the draining board. ‘Oh, a week, about.’
Kitty collapsed into an armchair and rested her head on its back to get a proper view. ‘You can sure paint, but I wouldn’t want this lot staring down at me every evening.’
‘You said you had a job for me.’
‘Yep.’
He dropped a tea bag into each mug and waited to hear his fate.
‘I need help with an investigation. Something big.’ Kitty hesitated, and Sam’s curiosity was piqued. Kitty was not in the habit of reticence. She went on, ‘I wondered if you would help with some research.’
‘Research into what?’
‘Well…’
Sam discharged steaming water onto their tea bags. ‘Milk?’
‘Please; a splash.’
A few months ago, Sam would have leapt at the opportunity to work alongside his beloved Kitty. But since painting the high-profile commission for the mayor, he was in demand. ‘How long would you need me for?’
Kitty shrugged, ‘No idea, maybe a few days, maybe weeks - even months.’
Sam passed over a mug, and Kitty put it beside her on the bare floor. He sat on a metal camping seat and studied her. She was hiding something. ‘Sounds like quite a project.’
‘Yes.’ Kitty averted her eyes. ‘It’s about Max Rutherford.’
It took a moment to comprehend. Max Rutherford, the man who ruined all their lives, who murdered his mother, an event that sent his father, Maurice, into such a state of depression that he refused to leave the house for months. ‘Why would you want anything to do with that?’
Without a word, Kitty handed him the letter.
~~~
Water streamed from Sam’s hood and into his eyes blurring his view of the ground, but he marched on, sure-footed on the familiar pathway. Below and to his right, just visible through low cloud, lay the town of Chelterton. On his left, the Lymeshire Downs faded into a grey mist. As he stomped over the uneven ground, his mind roiled. It was unthinkable that Max Rutherford should be on the streets again. And Kitty wanted to re-investigate his case? What purpose would that serve?
His recall of family life when his father and mother lived together was as cloudy as the surrounding scenery. When he was five, he, Mum and his brother Josh moved in with Fee and little Kitty at their house in Crispin Road. After that, family life changed, and his father, Maurice, became more involved in Sam’s life. Maurice did not have a clue how to look after children because grim-faced Granny did most of his housework and laundry. Although she was not unkind to the boys, she was not a grandmother who would get out the Monopoly or take them to jump in puddles.
Later, after falling out with her husband, Mick, a third friend, Millie, brought her children, Lucas and Olivia, to also live with them at Crispin Road. Soon, Millie was following her heart by opening the restaurant she named Feast. One morning, Millie entered the premises early and switched on the light. It ignited a massive gas leak that blew the roof off the building, taking Millie with it. That was Sam’s first experience of death.
When Sam was eight, his mother disappeared. The sudden change caused by her absence resulted in confusion and worry for Sam and Josh. Maurice was hopeless; pretending everything was fine when it was not, and Sam tried to
