The Bad Things (32 page)

‘Danby? That sly bugger.’ She thought about her search for the diary – how she had even got Malone to look in the caravan after she found Jackie Wood. The trip to the Forum. The paintings by the children that she’d found there. And all the while the diary had been with a bent copper.

‘Yeah. Anyway, she tried to shake me down. Wanted money to keep quiet. Everybody wants fucking money. Until I realized she hadn’t got a clue what was in the damn diary. When I told her about you and Jessop, she didn’t know a thing about it.’

‘It was you who told her about me and Martin? Just recently?’

‘She was going on and on at me about how she knew all about the diary, how she and Martin had been so close, but not lovers, but that he told her everything. On and on she went until I just wanted to shut her up. Told her she hadn’t had a clue what was going on under her nose in those flats.’ He looked across at Alex. ‘Don’t worry. I told her I could have her thrown back into jail again so fucking fast it would feel as though she’d never been out. I tell you, whoever killed her did us a fucking favour. Was it you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head, still shaken by the vehemence in his voice. ‘No, no, don’t be so bloody stupid. What do you take me for?’ Angry at him for even thinking she was capable of such a thing.

He shrugged. ‘Could have done. I don’t know.’

‘I did wonder if Sasha had stabbed her.’

‘Nah. She’d have told me. I hear the murder weapon has never been found.’

‘No.’ Alex couldn’t look at him.

‘Did you have anything to do with that?’

‘No. There’s something wrong here, something I’m not seeing.’ She put her hand over her mouth. ‘My God, maybe he really was innocent. Maybe they both were. Have we been wrong all these years?’ She felt sick at the thought.

How had her life come to this? Sitting on a bench in a churchyard dispassionately discussing whether her sister had murdered another woman. Or even contemplating that Martin didn’t kill the twins. She looked at her hands, at the skin that was just beginning to lose its elasticity and at the nails kept short to enable her to type. She thought about Jackie Wood, her loneliness and her sense of righteousness when she had come out of prison. She thought of Martin and how she thought she had loved him; the bitterness and anger that had filled her when he had been arrested. The guilt she had felt – still felt – for bringing him anywhere near her family. How she had ignored his pleas for her to listen to him, how she had thrown away every letter he had written to her.

Then she thought of Martin protecting her, not saying anything about her. Keeping her safe. But how the temptation had become too great when he thought it might help with his appeal. She tried to imagine his life in prison, imagine his fear when Jez visited. His terror when someone, somehow, made him hang himself – or did the job for him. How she had been on a relentless search for a diary that may or may not incriminate her. How her sister bounced from despair to greater despair. How she could never recover, never live with the fact her babies had died. How she, Alex, had been living a half-life for the last fifteen years.

She looked up at the church and wondered if she could believe in God.

‘Jez, were Martin and Jackie Wood even guilty?’

Her brother-in-law looked at her, and she was shocked by his haunted expression. ‘Al. Don’t even go there. They were arrested, convicted, and found guilty.’

‘On the planted evidence,’ she whispered.

He turned away from her. ‘They would have got to them eventually, I sped the process up, that’s all.’

‘And then Jackie Wood had her conviction quashed.’

‘Shit happens. All I want is to keep Sasha safe. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

‘Jez, look at me.’

He didn’t turn his head. Alex ploughed on. ‘When the twins were alive Sasha wasn’t well, was she?’

‘She had me.’

‘That’s not what I asked. I know I had my own problems so was pretty preoccupied and didn’t see her and the twins as often as I’d have liked. So tell me, was she properly ill even then?’

‘I could look after her. I wasn’t going to let anyone take her away from me.’ He jumped up. ‘I’ve got to go. I’m due at work.’ He started to walk away.

The clock struck the half hour.

‘Jez.’

He turned. ‘Yes?’

Her throat was full. ‘They had done it, hadn’t they? Jessop and Wood. You knew that for sure?’

He shrugged. ‘Hardly matters now. They’re both dead.’

She stared numbly at his retreating back. It did matter. It really did.

32

There was a buzz of anticipation in the small conference room born of optimism that a breakthrough was imminent. Kate felt a tingling in her blood. This is what it was all about, this was what she lived for. If only she could dissolve the brick of loneliness in her stomach.

She put her papers down on the rickety table and looked at Glithro who was leaning back in his chair, a slight smile on his face. Suit as sharp as ever, shoes a soft, polished leather. ‘You look like the cat who’s got the cream, DI Glithro.’

He gave a lazy smile. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘We’ve got them, Ma’am,’ said Rogers, practically rubbing his hands together with glee. ‘We’ve bloody got them.’

‘So I gathered from DI Glithro.’ She almost laughed at the disappointed look on Rogers’s face. ‘It’s all right. He’s left the glory for you. That’s why we’re here at this godforsaken hour.’ She was, in fact, glad to be up and about by seven; she hadn’t wanted to stay in the house a moment longer than was necessary. It was lonely when the only company she had was guilt. She’d even thought about getting a cat. ‘So show us what you’ve got.’

‘Okay.’ Rogers moved the mouse on his computer. ‘This is what the guys sent over a couple of hours ago.’

‘My, you must have influence in the right places.’ This from Glithro.

‘Somebody I used to know. She owes me a favour or two.’

‘Bloody hell, Steve. Talk about a girl in every port. This is a girl in every police department.’ Eve Maitland rolled her eyes as she spoke.

Even Kate found herself laughing at this. ‘Okay, okay. Come on Rogers.’

They gathered round his desk.

‘Your instincts were right, Ma’am,’ he began, ‘there was a speed camera – not on the small road where Grainger’s house is – on the road out of the village. They’ve had a lot of problems there with speeding drivers, particularly near the school, so they lobbied for a camera and got one.’

‘And it works,’ said Glithro drily. ‘Wonders of wonders.’

‘Not only that,’ – Kate was positive she could see Rogers’s chest puff up with pride – ‘but it’s one of those new ones that takes a picture from the front. It’s forward-facing you see. No more couples getting off fines and penalty points by claiming they couldn’t remember who was driving.’

‘Oh God. The public are going to love us even less,’ said Glithro with a groan.

‘It’s all right, Detective Inspector,’ said Kate. ‘You can update our Facebook page. Tell them all about it.’ This drew titters from the other officers and a sour look from Glithro.

‘Anyway,’ continued Rogers, ‘this is what they sent over. The picture.’ Everyone leaned forward. ‘See. It’s two women.’

‘Three quarters of an hour before we found Grainger,’ said Kate, pointing at the time and date stamp on the screen. ‘If we’d been a bit quicker, Glithro, we might have caught them at the scene.’ She peered again. ‘My God.’ The younger woman in the driver’s seat was easy to identify. She’d interviewed her only the week before over the Jackie Wood murder. ‘Nikki Adams. Nikki bloody Adams. Or should we say Nikki Jessop. Or Bea Jessop or whatever the fuck she wants to call herself. And who’s the older one?’ She leaned in even closer, narrowing her eyes, thinking she might have to give in and get some glasses. A familiar woman. Older, yes, but with a resemblance to Nikki and she was familiar too. ‘Angela Jessop,’ she breathed.

‘Martin Jessop’s wife and daughter,’ said Rogers, rather unnecessarily.

Glithro whistled. ‘And doing forty-eight miles an hour in a thirty zone. Three points and no speeding course for them. Could do them for careless driving too – I mean, look at the spray thrown up.’

Kate looked at him sharply. ‘You’re showing your traffic cop credentials. If you’re not careful I’ll have you busted back there.’

Glithro looked at her, a smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. It made her feel unsettled. She cleared her throat. ‘This isn’t proof that the Jessops had anything to do with Grainger’s murder,’ she felt it best to ignore the snort of derision from Glithro, ‘but it certainly puts them close.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Right. Rogers, go and see if Nikki is hiding out in her caravan; I’ll get onto Cambridge Police and get them to send someone round to Angela’s house. We don’t want them doing a moonlight flit somewhere.’

‘And will you go to Cambridge to talk to her?’ asked Rogers.

She shook her head. ‘No. I’d rather have them both in the same place. Get the Cambridge boys to bring her here. Maybe even let them see each other. I know we should go to the custody suite at Martlesham, but I want them on our territory. Unsettle them a bit. They might give up more then. There is no way they’re not involved in what’s going on, it’s too much of a coincidence.’

‘Let’s hope we don’t get any drunks or fights in the town tonight or there’ll be nowhere to talk to them. We’ve only got two interview rooms. Suites is putting it a bit strong, I reckon,’ observed Rogers.

‘Well the town drunk can go to Martlesham. He won’t know he’s born when he sees that luxury.’

Rogers’s phone rang. ‘I’ll just get that, Ma’am.’

Glithro sat back down and folded his arms. ‘All we’ve got, Detective Inspector, is two women being caught by a speed camera. How can you leap from that to them killing Grainger? Another fact we haven’t actually established?’ He picked an imaginary piece of fluff off his immaculately pressed trousers.

Kate looked at him, feeling tired and crumpled. His black eyes bored into hers. She ran her tongue over her teeth. Furry. Her mouth tasted of stale coffee. ‘Don’t spoil the party, Glithro, I do realize that.’ Now she was cross with him, showed it in her voice. ‘I’m just wanting to talk to them, you know? See if they’ve got anything to say for themselves. That’s all.’

‘Be careful.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I know how to do my job,’ she replied.

Rogers put down his phone. ‘That was news from Jane Blake. Grainger had enough drugs in his system to kill a dozen horses. Antidepressants or something, some long name anyway. Plenty of drink, too.’

‘So, no evidence of murder?’ Kate could scarcely hide her disappointment. Perhaps she was on the wrong track after all.

‘Not as such.’ He grinned. ‘But she did find fresh bruising on his chin and dried saliva on his face. That’s gone to forensics for DNA. She also puts the time of death about an hour before you found him. And the computer guys said there was no evidence of him having bought the helium and all that stuff on the internet. Or anywhere, for that matter. Nothing on his computer, nothing on his bank statements or credit card bills to suggest it. So unless he paid cash—’

‘Someone else bought it,’ she finished. ‘Thank you Steve, I could kiss you.’

‘Steady Ma’am,’ he said, turning a deep shade of beetroot.

33

The fog had lifted by the time Alex reached home, her head full of Martin and everything he had meant to her. Everything she must have meant to him. She thought back again to those days when he had been like a drug in her system; nothing and no one else mattered. He had filled her head and her life revolved around him – wondering what he was doing, being jealous of the people who could spend time with him openly, hating his wife, and planning the ways and means of seeing him secretly. What a selfish person she had been. Still was.

Before she did anything else, she ran up the stairs and quietly opened the door to Gus’s room and peered in. As her eyes became accustomed to the gloom she could see a Gus-shaped body snuggled under the duvet and hear the reassuring snuffly sounds he made when he was asleep. Thank God, there was no sign of Carly.

In the kitchen the toast she had made earlier, before Jez arrived, lay congealing on the worktop, her half-drunk cup of coffee cold beside it. She filled the kettle again. What she could really do with was a drink, but therein did lie destitution and madness. Any more thoughts like that and she would have to join Alcoholics Anonymous. Actually, not a bad idea for a series of features – Addictions of the Famous. Probably been done before though.

The kettle boiled and she put a teabag in the cup before pouring the water onto it. The not quite boiling water, which would mean a not quite good enough cup of tea. She put down the kettle and leaned over the worktop, her heart feeling sore, quite literally sore. She hadn’t known that was possible.

Could she have been wrong? Could Martin have been an innocent victim in all this? Could she have had a part to play in his death? And Sasha. Poor, weak vulnerable Sasha. Everything done to protect her. For a moment she felt a shaft of pure rage that she damped down quickly. She couldn’t allow herself to go there. The protection of Sasha had always been the number one priority for her parents, and by way of osmosis and necessity had become number one priority for her too. If she stopped to analyse it too much she would go mad.

Bad choices. From Gus’s father to Martin to Malone she had made bad choices.

And the diary. The fucking diary. Even though she knew where it was she was still no closer to getting her hands on it. Nothing about Millie in it. Her affair with Martin exposed – she had been right to be worried. Now what?

She jumped as her phone suddenly rang out its grungy tune. Her editor, Liz. Calling this early did not necessarily mean good news. She wouldn’t answer it.

‘Hallo,’ she said.

‘Darling,’ gushed Liz. ‘Loved your Jackie Wood article. Well thought out. Well written.’

Alex could sense a ‘but’.

‘But I’m not sure you’ve quite managed the personal touch. It’s a little…detached.’

She wedged her phone under her chin, picked up her tea, and started up the stairs to her study.