But Not Forgotten – A Gripping Murder Mystery
A serialised novel
“I think I’m your sister. Our father is missing.”
After receiving a call from the sister he didn’t know existed, private investigator Barty Symonds travels to a village in the beautiful New Forest to find the father who abandoned him years ago.
Then someone dies, and all eyes in the tight-knit community turn to the newcomer, the outsider, and Barty finds himself not only in the role of investigator…
But prime suspect.
12
Cara’s clearest memory of her mother – which wasn’t all that clear – was from the day she died. Three years old, Cara sat on the hospital bed with no real idea what was happening. Only knowing her mummy was leaving her.
She could still see her mother’s face, so at odds with the photographs and other snatches of memory she still possessed. The colour had fled her skin, the sparkle had abandoned her eyes. She smiled, but the smile was weak. Her hair had lost its lustre. It was Cara’s last memory of her mother, and the only one she wished she could scrub from her mind. She wanted to remember the beautiful, happy woman her mother had been before. Nothing else.
But it was no use.
Jane returned to the small table they had taken up at one end of the café, placing two mugs of tea down and sitting opposite Cara.
“Food’s on the way.”
“Thanks.”
Reading the young woman’s misery, Jane placed her hands palm up on the table. Cara lay hers on top of Jane’s, and Jane squeezed.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said.
“I needed to know.”
Jane shook her head. “Not for that. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. And that it’s happening. Eddie doesn’t deserve this.”
Unlike with her mother, Cara had hundreds upon hundreds of memories of her dad. There had been some tough times in her youth, especially during her teens. Her father had found the birds and the bees talk uncomfortable and was hopelessly out of his depth when it came to menstruation. There had been rows. Explosive ones at times. Despite all this, the vast majority of Cara’s memories of her father were good. Were amazing.
And yet, as with her mother, the one that burned most brightly in her mind was the one she was desperate to expunge.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said, her voice as hoarse as if she’d come out of a concert, having sung her lungs out for two hours. “About finding him.”
That did it. The tears came, and Cara slumped over the table, almost knocking over her tea. Responding immediately, Jane leapt up and dragged her chair around to sit beside Cara.
“I know, I know.”
Cara had never seen Jane cry, but tears came to the detective inspector’s eyes now. Such a display of vulnerability from one of the strongest women Cara knew rocked her, made her want to pull herself together. But still, she saw herself walking into her house, calling for her father, going from room to room, almost deciding he must be out before realising there was one place left to check.
She saw herself open the garage door.
And heard herself scream.
It was this final memory of her father that dogged Cara during the days and haunted her nights. And that was before she knew what her wonderful father’s old colleagues were saying about him. This knowledge made everything much worse.
“The things they’re all saying about Dad—”
“Not all,” Jane said. “A tiny minority.”
“Only a few are saying it,” said Cara, a bitterness creeping into her tone that was reflected in her thoughts. “How many are thinking it?”
“Your father was respected and loved by his colleagues.”
“Not all of them.”
This seemed to take Jane by surprise.
“He said people had a problem with him?”
Grabbing a spoon, Cara stirred her tea and shook her head.
“Not specifically.” She put the teaspoon down and picked up the mug. “When I first became a police officer,” she said, “I was ecstatic. I know it’s a cliché, kids of cops becoming cops, but it’s all I ever wanted. I walked through the station doors full of energy, excited to make a difference.”
“I remember that feeling,” said Jane.
“My sergeant saw it. Warned me to even out. Said the job would steal my enthusiasm. He wanted me to be prepared.”
“My sergeant gave me the same speech.”
“Yeah, except it wasn’t the job that stole my enthusiasm. It was a colleague.”
Jane took this in and then nodded, encouraging Cara to go on.
“I met my team. Most were super friendly, but one… right from day one, I could tell she didn’t like me. She was never outwardly nasty, just cold, and she would sneer whenever I spoke. Probably makes me sound pathetic that I was so bothered.”
“Not at all,” said Jane.
Cara bowed her head. “This colleague’s constant coldness sapped my energy and enthusiasm. It made me miserable. I tried to hide how I was feeling from Dad.”
“Bet that went well,” said Jane with a gentle smile.
“Exactly. He noticed and asked me what was going on. I resisted, but he got the truth out of me. Once he had, he sat me down and told me that if I wanted everyone I met to like me, I’d always be miserable. There’d always be people who didn’t take to me, who decided for no reason that I wasn’t their” – Cara raised her mug – “cup of tea”. I’d seen what Dad was like with the people who worked with and for him and couldn’t imagine anyone not liking him. He said some didn’t, and their number increased every time he got promoted. All you could do, he said, was treat these people the way you hoped to be treated and hope they’d one day come around, but accept they might not.”
“Good advice,” said Jane.
“Yeah, except, do you reckon he imagined these people would spread awful rumours about him when he died?”
“I doubt it. Your father liked to see the best in people.”
“Maybe that was a mistake.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“Don’t I?”
“No. You’re angry. Understandably so.”
“I am angry, but not just at the rumour spreaders. I’m mad at myself. I should have seen this coming. I should have known when people heard he’d… when they heard what he’d done, they’d want to know why. And if they didn’t find out, they’d make it up. That’s what people do, isn’t it?”
“Some people.”
Cara gulped tea and slammed the mug down.
“And this makes sense, doesn’t it? Why would a high-ranking police officer kill himself?”
“Cara—”
“Because he’s corrupt. Because he was taking payouts from bad people and couldn’t live with himself anymore. They think his conscience killed him. That he sat around thinking about all the crooks who were out because of him, of all the blood those crooks had spilt, and he, and he…”
It was too much, and she lost it again, breaking down in tears.
“It’s not fair,” she said. “He’s not like that. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.”
“It’s not.” Jane pulled Cara into a hug. “It’s not fair on him, and it’s not fair on you.”
“They’re going to destroy his legacy.”
At this, Jane pulled away from Cara. She took the younger woman’s head in her hands and made Cara look her in the eye.
“No. Cara, you need to listen to me. This is a few people whispering. That’s it. Most people know who your father was, what he’d achieved and what he stood for. A few jealous gossips will not ruin his legacy. I promise you that.”
While staring at Jane, struggling to control her emotions, another thought came to Cara.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“The whispering.” She didn’t know how to say it. Luckily, Jane saw where her thoughts were going.
“You mean are the gossips whispering about me? Everyone knows how close Eddie and I were.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t want you to worry about me.”
“But I do. Are they… are they saying stuff about you?”
Jane pulled away from Cara but kept her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. Cara looked into the eyes of this woman she so admired as Jane considered her next words.
At last, she said, “There’s been some whispers.”
The tears came again.
“No more of that,” said Jane. “No more. It’s nothing I can’t ride out.”
“But…” Cara bit her lip, then ploughed on. “If they knew why he’d killed himself they’d leave you alone.”
“But they don’t,” said Jane. “He wrote a note, didn’t he? Your dad. You showed it to the investigating officers?”
“Yes, but it didn’t say anything. I mean… not about why.”
“Exactly. Cara, you can’t obsess over this. I know I’m not corrupt, and we know the man your father was. That’s what matters.”
“Yeah.”
But Cara’s mind was racing as she thought of the gossips, whispering about Jane, causing her problems.
If only they knew the truth.
“Jane—”
A server appeared carrying two plates of food and wearing a disinterested smile.
“Thank you,” said Jane. She told the server which meal was for which place and smiled as the woman walked away. Once they were alone again, she returned her gaze to Cara.
“What is it?”
“What?”
“You were going to say something.”
Cara was back in the garage. When the screaming stopped, and she’d called the police, she had gone to her father and kneeled beside him, not caring about the blood as it soaked into her jeans – not caring about anything.
She had folded over him, pressing her face into his chest as she sobbed. Only once she heard the sirens did she pull her head up. As she was doing that, even through the film of tears that obscured her vision, she saw what was clasped in her father’s hand.
Sitting opposite Jane, their food untouched, Cara had the chance to tell her father’s protegé what she had seen. To reveal the truth she had kept to herself, not knowing if it would help Jane or break her heart. Or both.
“It’s—”
She saw herself taking the paper from her father’s grasp and knew she hadn’t the courage to reveal her darkest secret to the woman who had adored her father.
Instead, she said, “I’ve decided.”
“You’ve decided?”
“Yes. I’m going back to work.”
Jane smiled and squeezed Cara’s hand as Cara pictured herself looking at the paper she’d taken from her father’s grasp.
His two notes.
The one she’d given the police, on which he had written: TO CARA
And the one she hadn’t, on which he had written: MY CONFESSION.
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