in Molly’s case, wasn’t her untimely death responsible for kicking off your stellar career?”
“Yes. And my re-enactment of Liberty’s murder got the attention of the paparazzi and the tabloids. Both these woman have plagued me every day of that career. From the grave. It’s like a famous singer having to perform their most popular song over and over. The fans can’t get enough of it but the performer goes quietly mad.”
“Every article retells your first forensic discovery,” I say. “And how it’s influenced the way insect activity on human remains is studied around the world. Then your re-enactment of Liberty’s murder made you … famous.”
“My two hit songs. And I’ve hated every minute of that publicity. The press has forgotten about me now but when I was younger – and slimmer – they wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“I’ve seen some of the headlines. The Darling of the DNA.”
“In a bikini. Even though I can’t swim. After those photos were leaked by someone on my support team – he took a bribe and lost his job – my wardrobe became overalls, boiler suits and dungarees, accessorised with rubber boots and face-masks. I made myself as dull as I could and the paparazzi got bored. Eventually.”
And I read nothing about the men in her life. Or children. She’s kept her private life tightly hidden ever since.
“Why pick me, Helena?” The question pops out.
“Beyond sharing Greek names?” She laughs. “I read about how you inherited the boathouse while you were on a camel trek to research Dead in the Desert. And I’ve loved the puzzles in your books. When I knew I needed a researcher to dig up this forgotten moment, I remembered that trek.”
“The camel trek sounds heroic,” I say, “but that was a 30-day expedition of packaged research and a confined plot. Most of my books run away down rabbit holes and I have to lasso the research and reel it in.”
Along with managing the mixed metaphors.
“And my matter,” she says, “would have been a maze of rabbit holes. I’d get flashes of lucidity, but never the actual thing. Each time I got a random spark, I scribbled it down. I typed them up and put them on a flash drive in here.” She taps the box.
I’ve escaped the shoebox. But could I use those snippets to create a character based on Helena?
“What reactions did you have to these thoughts when they flared?” I ask.
“Extreme exasperation. A highly significant thing and I just couldn’t remember what it was. I’d wake in the middle of the night thinking I’d just remembered it, that it was hovering there like a ghost waiting for me to let it in. But … it was always gone.”
Now she’s overcome with relief but the emotions were strong enough to justify involving a stranger to undertake ‘research’. And it looks like the doorstep insight was a one-off, unlikely to be repeated. I hope she doesn’t mislay that scribbled note.
Helena looks at her watch and Raider is at the glass door, wagging his tail. Our job here is done.
“Lovely to meet you, Helena. Thank you for the morning tea.”
I start to gather the dishes but she won’t let me help.
After I visit the bathroom, she sees us out and we walk across the park to my car. It’s when I’m putting the pooch into the back that I see he has something in his mouth. Did he pick it up in Helena’s courtyard? The irony strikes me. A forensic scientist who specialises in finding traces has them in her own courtyard. She said it herself in an interview: ‘Everything leaves a trace. If you haven’t found it you have to go back to the loose ends.’
“What surprise have you got for me, boy?”
Expecting an old button or an interesting pebble, I glare at what he drops into my open hand.
A flash drive.
I want to scream. Did Helena drop the shoebox this morning when she brought it home and this fell out in the courtyard? Of all the things for the pooch to retrieve, it had to be something I can’t ignore. It might contain confidential information.
Leaving the spotted sleuth in the car, I run back and knock on Helena’s door. No response. I phone her number but it goes to voicemail.
Has she gone out again? So quickly? Could I catch her as she’s reversing into the rear lane?
Back in the car, I emerge from Serpentine Crescent just in time to see her red car disappearing down the next street. What to do? As I start after her, I run through my other options.
Go back and push the stick through the mail slot? She might tread on it on the timber floor and slip. If she has home help, it might bounce under the hallstand for her cleaner to find. And look at. Even if I had an envelope, which I don’t, it still might not get back to Helena. And I don’t think posting it is safe enough.
It was my dog who found it and I need to put it into her hands.
“Arrrgh! You’re too good at finding things, Raider!”
He woofs at my appreciation.
I keep going, hoping to catch up to her at the local shops but she doesn’t stop. She drives straight through and joins the traffic ahead. Heading into central Exeter? I’ll stick with her a little longer and try to catch her there. We’re on the two-lane road that becomes the A377 with the Exe River on our left and a passing parade on our right of stone walls then compact terrace houses opening right off the footpath. As we veer away from the river, I keep hoping she’s going to turn off or stop but then she’s entering a wide busy intersection and I have to pay attention to keep her in sight.
When we cross the river and leave Exeter behind, I tell myself it’s too late to turn back. But really, I’m intrigued. I’m officially undertaking what Baxter would rightly call ‘auto surveillance’ or ‘spying’, following a woman I’ve only just met on her private expedition to places unknown.
An expedition that’s none of my business.
But I think Dr Loxton left in a hurry to act on the memory flash I caused her to have.
About a young woman who I resemble.
I want to know more about that.
Luckily, Raider cocked his leg in Helena’s courtyard and I took that trip to the loo just before leaving her house. My tummy is full of pikelets. And I filled up the tank yesterday after our trip to Merton Mire. No stopping needed for a while.
And my author’s mind is conjuring up scenarios involving the young woman I look like.
She’s Helena’s daughter. They’re estranged and Helena doesn’t know where she is or how to contact her. But a while ago she engaged a PI to track her down, got a verbal report on her location and didn’t want a written record for some reason, then forgot the details. This morning the sight of me jarred her memory and she scribbled down the address.
We’re heading towards Barnstaple. I remember reading that Helena’s study site for the Wolf Weevil was north of the town. Another WW name. Woolley Wood? That was thirty-five years ago but it means she’s familiar with the town. I ask my phone to tell me about Barnstaple and listen to the potted spiel.
‘Located on the River Taw, Barnstaple is the largest town in North Devon. It was once a major port and is still a thriving market town with its historical Pannier Market offering fresh local produce, flowers and other goods. The town centre boasts many narrow pedestrian-friendly streets and alleys.’
We arrive at the outskirts. It’s much harder to follow someone in stop-start traffic. She’s unlikely to notice me in a white Skoda but traffic lights and cars cutting in might separate us. Today I’m in luck and I keep her in sight all the way to the town centre but if she parks and I can too, I’ll have a problem: Raider. If I have to set out on foot he’s too easy to recognise, even from a distance, and I don’t want to leave him in the car with the window open a crack. It’s a sad fact that any dog, and particularly a Dalmatian, is a thief magnet.
But I keep on her tail, hoping for more of that luck that’s been smiling on us today. Including the flash drive? Because without it, I wouldn’t have known Helena had taken off down her back lane and I would never have dreamed of following her.
“You’re a stick aficionado, aren’t you Raider? Any stick gets the slobber treatment, even an electronic one, eh?”
As I glance in the rear-view mirror, he lolls his tongue.
When Helena turns down a side street into a residential area, we follow. She keeps to suburban streets, making my tail easier but also more obvious as the time lengthens. There are no other cars between us and, forgetting I originally wanted to catch up to her and return the flash drive, I bring down the sun visor to hide my face. Suddenly a car pulls out and I brake to avoid him. Now he’s following her too. I relax.
A bit too relaxed.
She turns onto a grassy verge beside a large park and I sail past.