The Bad Things (33 page)

‘Liz,’ she said, sitting down in front of her computer, ‘I’m the only journalist she spoke to. No one else. As I said to you, it’s an exclusive.’

‘I know darling, even so. I wasn’t quite feeling it. What do you think? A bit more heart in it, maybe?’

The heart that hadn’t been in the article sank. ‘Oh,’ was all Alex could think of saying.

‘Look, let me send it back; I’ve added some thoughts to it. Have another look at it, have a tinker – I think you’ll see what I mean – then get it back to me asap.’

‘Asap. Okay. I’ll have another look at it.’

‘Good.’ Liz had her brisk, no-nonsense tone going on. ‘Send it as soon as. Later today. Don’t want to miss the boat.’

‘As soon as. Later. Right.’

‘Thanks, Alex.
Ciao
.’ The phone went dead.

‘
Ciao.
’

The doorbell sounded.

No, she wasn’t going there.

Whoever was pressing the bell was leaning on it.

‘Mum?’ Her son’s strained voice sounded from downstairs.

Sighing, she pushed back her chair and went onto the landing.

‘Alex, I’m sorry for bothering you.’

Ed Killingback. The last person she wanted to see, which, considering she hadn’t wanted to see anyone put him in a very special place indeed.

Gus, still in his pyjamas and with his hair standing in tufts hopped from foot to foot behind him in the hallway. ‘Mum? I’m so sorry, really sorry. I answered the door and he sort of barged in. I couldn’t stop him. Sorry.’

‘That’s all right, Gus. Don’t worry about it. Go back to bed. I’ll deal with Mr Killingback.’

‘May I come in?’

‘Looks like you already are in, and actually I’d like you to go out again, please,’ she said, astonished at his gall.

‘I know you’re not my number one fan, and you’re going like me even less when I tell what I’ve come for, but I am trying to be fair.’

How had she ever thought he was good-looking? He looked like a ferret, grubbing out stories from wherever he could. She came down the stairs and stood in front of him.

‘You found Jackie Wood’s body, didn’t you?’

‘You know that,’ she said testily. ‘Now, either tell me what you’re here for or get out. I’ve got work to do, a living to earn.’

‘Sorry, yes.’ He smiled. She didn’t like the look of that smile. ‘Shall we go and sit down?’

She led the way into the kitchen.

‘You may remember, when we met, before, I said it was a good opportunity for you to tell your side of the story.’

What a smarmy bastard. ‘And I told you, I didn’t want to and I wasn’t going to.’

‘You also asked me how I knew Martin Jessop had a lover.’

‘He did. Jackie Wood.’

He wagged his finger at her. ‘Now, you know what I mean, a
secret
lover. He was a busy boy.’

‘And you’re going to enlighten me.’ Alex tried to keep her face neutral.

‘Any chance of a coffee?’

‘No.’

‘Fair enough. It was guesswork, really. From an article I dug out of the newspaper archives. It was written by a reporter on
The Post
who’d talked to Jessop before he was arrested. Just when people were starting to put two and two together about him and Jackie Wood. In the article Malcolm had written – now, how does it go?’

Alex had a pretty shrewd idea that he knew exactly how it went.

‘Let me see – “People think me and Jackie are an item. We’re not. I have a lovely wife and two children at home. I’ve already hurt them once, I don’t want to do it again.”’

‘That doesn’t say anything, though, does it? He always denied the rumours of anything between him and Jackie.’

‘True. And there was never any proof of anything else. That’s the one slip he made: “I’ve already hurt them once” – “once”, he said. Because Malcolm was a bloody good hack he knew that meant something and kept digging, but he couldn’t make anything stick. But now,’ he leaned forward, ‘I do have proof.’

Alex raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ she said, trying to ignore the prickle of sweat on the back of her neck.

‘A diary.’ He pushed an A5-sized blue hardback book over the table to her; the sort of hardback notebook that could be found in any stationers.

She swallowed, trying to get saliva into her mouth. She looked at the diary, but didn’t dare touch it. This was it, then. The diary she had spent so much time looking for.

‘I see,’ she said quietly. ‘And where did you get that?’

Ed tapped the side of his nose. ‘Sources. You know.’

The diary. She thought that, if she could just find it, all would be well. She pulled it towards her and opened it. There was her name. Very first entry.

Alex. I just like saying her name over and over in my head. I daren’t say it out loud in case someone asks me who she is. And how could I say that she is the love of my life, that I’d give anything to be with her.

She shut the book quickly and bowed her head. She didn’t need to see any more. He had protected her. No matter what she thought about him and his betrayal of her, and of his wife and children, he had protected her. And she had done nothing for him.

‘So what do you want from me?’

He smiled. It looked like a shark’s smile. ‘Nothing.’

She jerked her head up.

‘Nothing?’

‘No. This is just a courtesy call.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’m publishing it.’

‘What? You can’t.’ She tried to snatch the diary off the table but he was too quick for her.

‘No you don’t, this is mine now.’

‘No it’s not. If anything it belongs to the Jessops.’

‘Exactly. They, the Jessops – well Jessop’s daughter, actually – said I could use it how I wanted.’

‘Daughter? Bea? I thought no one knew where she was?’

‘Bea? No, she’s here all right.’ The shark’s smile again. ‘Though you know her as Nikki.’

She closed her eyes for a moment, exhaustion filling her bones. What a fool she’d been. Nikki Adams or Bea Jessop or whatever her sodding name was must be laughing all the way to the bank. ‘How much do you want? And how much does Nikki want?’ she asked wearily, wondering how she could manage it.

‘Money?’ He shook his head. ‘Bea doesn’t want money. She wants justice.’

‘She was happy to take money when it was offered. Now she wants justice – also known as revenge – and you? What is it you want?’ She looked at him carefully. ‘You want a chance to make your name. The big story. The one everyone wants.’

‘It’s not a bad one though, is it?’ He grinned and Alex wanted to punch his sneery, smiley mouth.

She drew patterns on the table with her finger. ‘You’ll destroy me. And my family,’ she said quietly.

‘You destroyed Jessop’s family.’

‘How did I do that? He did it all by himself.’

Ed sat back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other. ‘Are you sure about that?’

‘What do you mean?’ Her heart began to beat faster.

‘Look, as I told you before, I’ve made a study of this case and something doesn’t add up.’

‘Now you’re sounding like someone in a bad movie.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe, but think about it. Why would your brother-in-law go to so much trouble to cover-up the fact that you had an affair with Jessop?’

‘He wanted to protect me and his family.’

‘He went to great lengths to do that, didn’t he? Did you know he bribed a senior officer to shut down any investigation into rumours that Martin Jessop had another mistress, lover, call it what you like?’

Alex looked at him.

‘Edward Grainger, his name was.’

‘Was?’ She was not going to give him anything.

‘Dead. Killed himself. Recently. But you see where I’m coming from? A lot of effort went into “protecting” you, and I wonder why?’

‘Not just me. To protect the family. And my sister. Which is why you mustn’t use the story. It’ll crucify her. She didn’t know I was in a relationship with Martin.’

Alex jumped as Ed banged the table. ‘Oh, wake up and smell the coffee, will you!’

‘There you go again, sounding like a bad actor in a bad movie.’

‘Listen to me. There’s more to it than that, there has to be.’

She pounced on his words. ‘“Has to be”? Because you want it so, is that it?’

‘No. Listen. Did you have any idea at all that Martin – already the father of two children – would be capable of killing your sister’s children?’

‘Evidence was found—’

‘Evidence can be planted. False evidence found. Look at what happened to Jackie Wood. I’ll ask you again, did you have any idea?’

‘No. None. I was more than surprised when he was arrested.’

‘If you read the diary you’ll see that there is no evidence at all in there, no evil thoughts towards children. All he writes about is that he loves you. He details the places you go, the things you do. Then, when he’s arrested, on remand, he talks about prison. His wife. His children. Hardly the ramblings of a murderer.’

‘How would you know what the ramblings of a murderer would be?’ She felt desperate now, was trying to push away thoughts of Martin, of Jez, of the doubts starting to overwhelm her.

‘Look.’ His voice was gentler now. ‘I just want the story. And I’ll write it, whatever. I’m giving you the chance to give your side of it, that’s all. I don’t expect to unmask the real killer, not now. Though you never know.’ He got up. ‘Think about it.’

The door slammed.

34

Kate shut the door of the interview room behind her. As rooms went, it was a bit newer than most, less graffiti on the magnolia walls, but it still had the smell of defeat permeating the air; the window was set high up in the wall and the plastic table and chairs bolted to the floor. She put the coffee down in front of Angela Jessop, who was dressed in a black, long-sleeved jersey dress, quite expensive from the look of it. She had silver studs in her ears and a long, bright orange and cream scarf around her neck. Her hair was swept up into a bun, her make-up was enough and not too much.

‘Do I need a lawyer?’ Her tone was even, but there was intent behind her eyes.

Kate smiled pleasantly. So, Angela was on the offensive. Not uncommon for people when they end up in the interview room, but still. ‘I don’t know. Do you?’ She didn’t want her to say yes, not yet, otherwise she wouldn’t get anything out of her.

‘What am I here for then?’

Kate indicated the plastic coffee cup. ‘Sorry about the coffee, but it’s the best I can do. I’ve tried bringing my own coffee maker but health and safety wouldn’t let me plug it in. So we’ve had to make do with the vending machine.’ She set her own cup down and sat opposite Angela Jessop. ‘And if you don’t mind, I’ll just turn on the recording. Is that okay Angela? May I call you Angela?’

Angela nodded.

‘And standing in the wings over there,’ she pointed to Eve Maitland who was by the door, ‘is Detective Constable Maitland.’ Kate turned on the tape machine, and gave her name, together with Eve’s, and the date and time.

Angela put both her hands around the coffee cup. ‘Why have you brought me here?’

‘For the tape, Angela, could you state your name please.’

‘Angela Jessop.’ She sighed. ‘I ask you again, why have you brought me here?’

‘Just for a bit of a chat, really. You’re free to go if you want, you’re not under arrest or anything—’

‘You could have fooled me. Those plods in Cambridge made me feel like I was some bank robber.’ She ran her hands through her hair. ‘They told me they wanted to clear something up and it would be easier if I came to the station. I didn’t realize I was going to have to come here. I thought I would just go to Parkside. I’ve been there often enough in the past.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. It must all bring back memories.’

‘It does. And not good ones, as you can imagine.’ She looked up at the strip lighting, then around the room. ‘They all feel the same, smell the same, these places. And although I’ve spent fifteen years trying to erase them from my memory, it’s all come flooding back.’ She shuddered. ‘They questioned me for hours, you know.’

Kate did know, she had read the transcripts. Some of the questioning had seemed brutal, as if they truly believed she had helped her husband kill the babies. How she held out, Kate didn’t know, especially when they’d gone down the road trodden by some of the tabloids at the time. How could you live with a murderer and not know? was the easiest of the things she was asked. For a minute Kate felt sorry for her, then she remembered the sight of Grainger’s face in the plastic bag – the swollen tongue, the bulging eyes – and she didn’t feel sorry for her any more.

‘Sorry about that.’

‘Sorry? That’s not much comfort, you know.’

Kate nodded. ‘Things are a bit different today.’

‘Really? You could have fooled me.’

‘I saw my daughter here too. Just now as I was coming in. PC Plod wouldn’t let me talk to her though. What is she doing here?’

Kate made a show of opening up a cardboard file and looking through some papers. ‘You mean Bea Jessop?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Yes. Though we seem to know her as Nikki.’

‘Why do you want to talk to her? She’s done nothing wrong.’ She began to pull at her scarf with her free hand.

‘I’m sure she hasn’t,’ Kate continued smoothly, ‘we just wanted to talk to you both. As I said, clear something up.’ She looked down, as though considering her notes. ‘Actually, that’s something that’s puzzling me. Why did she change her name?’

Angela gazed at one of the magnolia walls. ‘Why does anybody? To become someone else. To get away from the shame of being her father’s daughter.’ She looked at Kate again. ‘When they questioned me – then, I mean – it felt like days. I’m sure you lot were convinced that I had to be his accomplice. When they found those clothes in Martin’s bin, that’s when they really went to town. Showed me pictures, terrible, terrible pictures.’

Kate remained still. She knew those pictures, too. Had looked at them often over the years, though in reality she didn’t need the photos; she had a perfect, sharp photo of Harry in her head.

‘Who questioned you at the time? Can you remember?’

Her mouth twisted. ‘How could I forget. Grainger. Detective Inspector Edward Grainger. Self-satisfied sod that he was.’