To Catch a Butterfly Read online

  “Not at all, help yourself, I know you have to be sure that we’re not hiding him, we’ve had the police here before when he was in a spot of bother, wouldn’t stop you doing your duty.” Muriel chirped.

  Joe Macennan stepped out of the room, pissed off that his tea would probably be cold by the time he’d searched the place. Instinct told him that Samuels wasn’t here.

  Sergeant Moreland turned his attention back to Helen, while Muriel got on with making a pot of tea.

  “Helen, do you want to tell me what’s happened. Frank could be in serious trouble and I need to speak to him.”

  “You said he’s been involved in an incident, what’s happened?” Helen’s voice was soft, like her face, her hands began to shake.

  “I’m afraid his Landrover crashed into another vehicle at Fourbridge railway crossing this evening, the car he hit was pushed in front of a train.” Sergeant Moreland took a breath, “I’m afraid three people in the car died, including a little boy.” He watched Helen’s face, every drop of blood drained from it, her whole body shook and the Sergeant stood up, expecting to have to catch her, he put his hands on her shoulders, and looked up at Muriel, who was slowly turning round.

  “People died?” Muriel gasped “Oh my goodness, oh Michael.” She looked at her husband who sat down before he fell down. He looked at Helen, and put an arm around her.

  Sergeant Moreland sat back down. He licked his lips. “We think Frank ran from the scene, we’ve got officers at your house in case he turns up there. Is there anywhere you can think of that he may go to?”

  Helen stared at the table, Muriel shook her head, Michael stared at the Sergeant and the Sergeant stared at Helen.

  The room fell silent, the only noise was the big kettle hissing away on the range and creaky footsteps from upstairs as Joe Macennan searched the house in his size elevens.

  “Helen, could anybody else have been driving Frank’s Landrover tonight?” Sergeant Moreland asked gently.

  Helen shook her head.

  “Witnesses saw a man matching his description running from the scene, says he may have an injury.”

  “Injury, what kind of injury, is he badly hurt?” Helen asked, the concern in her voice surprising her parents.

  “We don’t know, he may have a head injury and he was limping.”

  “No more than he deserves.” Muriel piped up.

  “Mrs Morgan, it’s clear that Helen’s in shock, would it be possible to speak to you in another room?” Sergeant Moreland stood up.

  “Of course, Michael, finish the tea would you?”

  Muriel sat on the worn out green sofa in the tiny living room, Sergeant Moreland sat on the edge of the armchair opposite her, conscious that his clothes were soaking wet. The room smelt musky but although the furniture was mismatched and dated, the place was immaculate. Not a thing out of place. Tonight had brought chaos into what was clearly a very organised household.

  “Mrs Morgan can you tell me what happened when Helen arrived tonight, what time she got here, what she said?”

  “Well, she got here about half an hour ago, we were just going to have a cuppa and then get ourselves ready for bed, then bang bang on the door, Michael answered it, and there was Helen, soaking wet crying her eyes out.” Muriel drew breath. “We sat her in the kitchen, she was in a terrible state, she couldn’t even speak, I kept asking her ‘what on earth’s happened?’ I thought he’d probably hit her again, he’s got a nasty temper on him, especially when he’s had a drink, he bashes her about like no one’s business, I kept telling her to leave him, but she wouldn’t, told her she could stay here, got two bedrooms, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  Muriel paused as the door opened and Joe Macennan popped his head round, he looked at Sergeant Moreland and shook his head. “Can you excuse me Mrs Morgan, just for a second?” Sergeant Moreland stood up and went out of the room. “Can you take the father to one side, get his account about what happened between Helen and Frank tonight, see what time she got here, then we’ll speak to Helen, she’s pretty shook up at the moment.”

  “Yes, sure.” Joe Macennan headed to the kitchen.

  “Sorry about that Mrs Morgan.” Sergeant Moreland apologised as he came back in the room and sat back down.

  “Please, call me Muriel.” She frowned, “As I was saying, Helen wouldn’t leave him, said that he could be a good husband when he wanted to.” She sighed heavily. “Then tonight she turns up here like I said, wouldn’t say what happened, so I guessed that he’d probably hit her or they’d had another row and she eventually said that they had, I asked her where he was in case he turned up here, he’s done that before when she’s come round after one of their fights.” Muriel paused, breathing through her nose. “She said that she didn’t know where he was, didn’t want to talk about it, so we just sat there, and then you turned up.”

  “Did she say what time they had the argument?”

  “No, I don’t think she did, we didn’t think to ask.” Muriel put her hands on her knees. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s not important, I was just wondering. Whose house is it, the one that Helen lives in?”

  “It belonged to Frank’s mother, she died a few years ago, left it to him, his father died when Frank was young, Frank never really talked about him, I always got the impression that he was a bit of a rogue, like Frank.” She looked up at Sergeant Moreland. “What will happen to him, when you find him I mean?”

  “It’s hard to say, we’re still making enquiries into what happened.”

  “But if it was him driving, he’ll go to prison, won’t he?”

  “Yes, he could do.”

  Muriel knew that the Sergeant wasn’t giving too much away and she respected his ambiguity.

  “Well, I think that’s all I need for now Mrs Morgan.”

  “Muriel.”

  “Muriel.” Sergeant Moreland stood up, his trousers still damp, sticking to the backs of his legs.

  They went back to the kitchen; Helen sat there alone, staring at the floor.

  “Mrs Morgan, could you give me and Helen a moment please?” Sergeant Moreland leant on the back of a kitchen chair, his backside against the range.

  “Of course, I’ll be upstairs.” Muriel slipped out of the kitchen.

  Sergeant Moreland sat down, “How are you feeling?” He looked at Helen and tried not to focus on how attractive she was.

  “So so.” She looked up at him, “So what happens now?”

  “I just need to ask you a few things, if you feel up to it.”

  “Yes,” Helen took a deep breath, “Of course” She sat up and faced the Sergeant, noticing that he had very sad eyes.

  “Your mother said that you and Frank had an argument this evening and that’s why you came round here.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Helen massaged her temples.

  “Can I ask what time Frank left the house, was it just after the argument?” He looked at the teapot and thought that he could murder a cup of tea, it must have stewed by now.

  “Would you like that cup of tea Sergeant?” Helen stood up.

  “Um, yes, if it’s not too much trouble.” Thank God, he thought, his mouth felt like the bottom of a birdcage.

  “We’d been arguing most of the day, he was in a foul mood, I can’t remember what time he left.” Helen turned around, “Do you take sugar?”

  “Yes, three please.” The Sergeant looked up from writing in his pocket book.

  Helen dragged the sugar bowl across the worktop and then burst into tears. Sergeant Moreland stood up and then immediately sat back down.

  “Did he hit you?” He asked gently.

  Helen didn’t answer and so he took that as a yes.

  ‘I know he’s hit you before.” He continued.

  Helen turned around, her eyes swollen, her face etched with pain, “The people that died, who were they?”

  “There was two year old little boy and his parents, I believe, they had a baby girl, she survived. I don’t
have their names.” He spoke slowly.

  Helen took a moment to absorb the information “Was anyone on the train hurt?”

  “Nothing serious, mainly shock I think.”

  They both looked up as Joe Macennan came in. “All done Sarge.”

  “Okay.” He turned back to Helen. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

  “Yes.” Helen swallowed.

  “I understand you got here, to your parent’s house about half an hour before we arrived?” He paused. She nodded.

  “The accident happened at quarter to nine, which means Frank must have left your house before that time, why did you wait nearly two hours before you came round here?” He sat forward, his hands palm down on the table, “Did Frank come back to the house after the accident, did he tell you what had happened, maybe he threatened you?”

  Helen wiped her face with a tissue she’d retrieved from her sleeve. “No, he didn’t come back to the house, I swear to you, I swear on my parents’ lives, on my life.” She blew her nose, “I saw headlights coming up to the house from my kitchen window, I panicked, I thought it was him coming home, I presumed he’d gone and got drunk, I was scared he’d get violent towards me, so I ran out the back of the house, across the back yard.”

  “That would have been us pulling up I guess, it was our headlights you saw.” Joe Macennan nodded.

  “Yes, I suppose it must have been.” Helen looked from him to Sergeant Moreland who was also nodding.

  “Helen, we’re going to have to have officers outside here and your house, in case he turns up, I hope you understand. Is there anywhere else you can think of that he may have gone?” Sergeant Moreland got up.

  “I really don’t know, he’s got friends but I don’t know where any of them live, he keeps that part of his life to himself.”

  “Well, we’ve got officers out looking for him. I take it he hasn’t telephoned you tonight.”

  “No he hasn’t, I swear.”

  “Okay. Um, sorry, can I use your toilet?”

  “Yes, it’s upstairs, first on the right.” Helen pointed.

  When he left the room, she poured the tea, “Do you know how badly hurt he is?” She asked Joe Macennan without turning round.

  “I don’t I’m afraid, Miss, are you worried about him?” Joe made himself comfortable at the table.

  “I just wondered if the person who saw him run away could see if he was really hurt or not.”

  “I’m not sure.” Joe Macennan was used to the concern shown by battered wives for their husbands, never ceased to amaze him, how a woman could get kicked around like a dog and then shout abuse at the old bill when they arrested their pissed up husband. But Helen Samuels seemed different, didn’t seem the type, Joe Macennan couldn’t put his finger on it, what it was about her. Probably still in shock, most of them were, this night would be talked about for years, in the station canteen, over garden walls, in school yards. He gratefully accepted his tea.

  When the Sergeant returned, he took Joe outside, the rain had eased slightly and they sat in their patrol car.

  “What did her father say?”

  “Said that she turned up all upset about thirty minutes before we showed up, she had run from her place, wouldn’t or couldn’t say what had gone on, but that she eventually said that her and Frank had had some big row and that was pretty much it. He said they’ve always worried about her being with him, practically begged her to leave him in the past, he beats her pretty badly by the sounds of it. He’s a real shit bag Sarge, I remember him trying to bite us when we’ve nicked him in the past.”

  “Well, his account’s the same as his wife’s, but I just feel like something’s not right, can’t figure it out. Do you think Samuels made it back to the house after the accident?” He looked straight ahead.

  “I wasn’t sure to start with, that Helen’s pretty convincing, but then when you went to the loo she asked me if he was badly hurt in the accident, if he had turned up afterwards at the house and she had seen him, she would know if he was hurt, wouldn’t she?” Joe looked at his Sergeant, who turned to look at him.

  “Maybe she’s just being clever.” In his heart of hearts, Sergeant Moreland wanted Helen to be telling them the truth, he hated wife beaters, and he got the impression she was and had been a victim for a very long time. Plus he thought she was bloody gorgeous.

  “I don’t think so, it all makes sense to me Sarge. They have a barny, he storms out of the house, driving like a fucking maniac, slams into the victims’ car and legs it. Helen Samuels sits at home stewing, wondering if he’s pissed off down the pub, then she sees the headlights, thinks it’s him and she runs out the back of her house which explains the mud all over her boots. Her parents both say that she turned up about half an hour before we did, which times it right as far as it was our headlights she sees and it would take her, what, ten minutes to get here from her house, we were at her place for about thirty, thirty five minutes before we left to come here. It’s spot on.” He tapped his knee.

  “Maybe you’re right, it does all make sense I suppose.” Sergeant Moreland said vaguely.

  “What’s bothering you then?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” He looked back through the windscreen, “Fucking weather.” He said.

  “Yeah, I hope Samuels is drowning in it somewhere. I hope I’m there when he’s nicked. Do you think he gave her a slap today?”

  “Probably. Why would she care so much if he was injured, you’d think she wouldn’t give a shit wouldn’t you?”

  “They do though don’t they, these victims, they go back time and time again, I tell you, if I laid a hand on my missus she’d fucking have my balls for ear rings.” He chuckled.

  “Yeah, I’ve met your missus.” They both chuckled, and then sat and watched the rain coming down in sheets across the road.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

  The days and weeks that followed brought the police no nearer to finding Frank Samuels, the case now lay with the transport police to investigate. Helen and her parents made official statements and helped the police with every part of the enquiry that they could. The house was searched again and it appeared that Samuels had taken nothing, his wallet, personal effects and clothes were all there, firming up Helen’s account of what happened that night and satisfying the investigating officers that she had been truthful about him not returning to the house. Helen had moved in with her parents, often spending days on end in her bedroom, hardly speaking, hardly eating. She was painfully thin and painfully withdrawn, her parents were just pleased that she was away from Frank, although the reason she was there brought them no comfort. Police cars drove by regularly and Sergeant Moreland made a point of visiting when he was on duty.

  The police kept Stevie’s family updated with the investigation, not that there were ever any new developments. Frank Samuels had disappeared. Off the face of the earth it would appear.

  And so it was, Stevie was adopted by William and Marie and the family agreed that they would wait until Stevie was old enough to understand before telling her about the accident. After Will died, Marie insisted that she would be the one to tell her, in her own time, when she was ready. The problem was, she was never going to be ready. Will had so loved Stevie and Marie had so loved Will, she knew that when she did tell her that she was not in fact her mother and Will was not her father, that Stevie would probably be gone, off to make her own way in life. There would be nothing to keep her there. And Marie couldn’t cope with that. The thought of being alone frightened her.

  Her delay in telling Stevie who she really was and where she had come from had caused argument after argument within the family. Hushed conversations when Stevie was asleep, rows down the telephone, whispered disagreements, Marie always refusing to budge.

  Stevie looked around at everyone as a silence fell in the room. She had listened intently to every word and when the story was told she looked at everyone in turn. They looked, just for a moment, like strangers to her. So many sec
rets, so much forced deceit. She didn’t feel resentment, but she was surprised at how her grandparents and Marie for that matter looked different. She felt distant from them, as if she had wandered into the room by mistake, eavesdropped on their conversation and should now politely leave. Except this was her family and for a second Stevie wondered if she would ever look at them quite the same again. The silence didn’t even seem awkward to her, she felt disconnected from them all. And then she felt a pang of guilt. This was her family and they had kept this awful secret to protect her. She inhaled loudly. So that was it, that was all they could tell her. Stan and Cynthia looked at Marie, who had sunk back into her armchair. Harry and Elizabeth looked at each other. No one spoke, no one moved. No one knew what to do now, and none of them expected the reaction from Stevie.

  “I’m going to find him.” She looked at Marie. Nothing.

  “How are you going to do that?” Stan sat forward. “He’s gone Stevie, wherever he is, he’s long gone, he’s probably not even in the country anymore.”

  “Well, I’ll find out won’t I?” She continued looking at Marie, who didn’t move. “Where’s his wife now then, maybe she knows where he is?”

  “Like I said, the last we knew, she was still with her parents, but we don’t know if she’s still there, people move on Stevie.” Stan looked sympathetically at her.

  “Is that it?” Stevie finally looked around the room, getting the same reaction from every one, the slow nod, yes, that was it, that was all they could recall, all they could confirm, all they could bear to remember. Every one except Marie.

  “Have you got anything to add?” Stevie cocked her head to one side, “Marie?”

  Marie looked at her, “No.”

  “Okay.” Stevie nodded. “Excuse me, I need a minute on my own.” She stood up and quickly left the room, running upstairs and into her bedroom.

  And so they all sat, waiting for something to happen, waiting for Stevie to come back downstairs, waiting for someone to speak.