‘Clear,’ I say.
My future lies in keeping a pact made twenty-three years ago, with two men who hate me.
‘We’ll wait for forensics. See what they find.’
I don’t like the way she says it, as if she’s expecting something other than what I’ve told them. She puts her files in her bag and looks me straight in the eye.
‘Do you know what joint enterprise is?’ she asks.
‘No.’
‘In a murder case like this one, with more than one person suspected of involvement, it means that if there was common knowledge or agreement on a course of action, which resulted in Brandon’s death, all of you are held liable, regardless of who executed the plan. You need to understand this, Julia.’
Shazia waits for me to process her words.
‘For instance,’ she says, ‘a woman lures a man to a secluded spot, with the offer of sex. But it’s a trap. Two other men, rival gang members for instance, are waiting for him with knives. The man is stabbed to death. The woman is convicted of murder, despite never having laid a finger on him. Do you see what I’m getting at?’
I’m almost flattered that Shazia can view me as some sort of sex siren, irresistible to men, bending their will against their reason.
‘That isn’t what happened,’ I say.
‘Can you tell me what did happen?’
‘I really don’t know.’
It’s the first time I’ve spoken the truth. How often have I gone over it in my mind – why it started, who did what and when? What Shazia is telling me is that none of this matters. Joint enterprise means we are all guilty.
Chapter 25
1994 – Guildford
Returning from London on Sunday evening, Julia wasn’t even through the door of Downsview Villa when Genevieve called to her. Julia found her perched on the kitchen table, dressed in a purple print jumpsuit and matching scarf, its excess fabric swishing to her waist.
‘How was your play?’ Julia asked as she made herself a mug of tea.
‘Dreadful.’ She flung herself onto the bench with the air of a wronged woman. ‘I do wish Edward wouldn’t patronise me with light entertainment. I can’t bear musicals. I’m a trained actress. I do look for a little more substance in plays.’
‘As long as it’s not Russian,’ Julia said.
‘Why shouldn’t I enjoy a Russian play? It seems Edward isn’t the only one who thinks I’m too empty-headed to watch a production without song and dance.’
‘It’s only you said—’
‘I worked with Zeffirelli, you know, and with Polanski. Macbeth.’ She sighed. ‘Wonderful times. It was only a small part, and unfortunately none of my scenes made the final cut. But the experience was priceless. Halcyon days, Julia, halcyon. You should enjoy being young. Not keep to your room. How was your night in, on Friday?’
‘Good,’ Julia said. ‘Quiet.’
‘Unlike Brandon’s then,’ Genevieve said. ‘So loud, and yet another girl. Did you hear him come in?’
‘No.’
Julia gulped her tea, so that the mug hid her face.
‘I don’t mind the girls – I mean he’s young. But I do hope she’s suitable and he’s not being led astray by some floozy.’
She gave Julia a piercing look. Julia swilled back the last of her coffee.
‘Did you see the girl?’ Julia asked.
‘No,’ Genevieve said. ‘But I know the type.’
Julia had no doubt that Genevieve knew the exact type. It takes one to know one.
‘Perhaps you should speak to Brandon about this noise?’ she said.
Genevieve looked affronted. ‘No. I haven’t had the chance,’ she said. ‘I’ve been very busy.’
Genevieve was never busy. That was part of the problem. She invented dramas to fill her time.
Julia left the kitchen and trudged upstairs, without waiting to hear any further complaints. Genevieve wouldn’t be berating Brandon about the noise. That wasn’t what had upset her. Behind her otherworldly abstraction and affectations, she was just an interfering old biddy, whose so-called maternal interest in Brandon was fooling no one but herself. Julia would rather age like her mother, prim and antiquated, than become this ridiculous woman. Guildford’s answer to Blanche DuBois, though it was doubtful if she could be more of a caricature of delusional middle age than Genevieve.
Chapter 26
2017 – Guildford Police Station
DI Warren’s corpulence overspills the interview room’s flimsy plastic chair. Both his seat and jowls wobble as he switches on the camera and states the time and date of the interview and those present.
Akande has swapped her trouser suit for a pencil skirt and bright lipstick. She appraises my new look, shaggy cardigan and shift dress, with mild disdain. Our dislike is instantly renewed, and so palpable Shazia senses it immediately. She shifts in her chair and gives me a look, keep calm.
I hug my coffee mug to my chest as Warren asks the same questions as when he came to the flat. When did I last see Brandon? Did I ever hear from him after I left the house? Did I know anything about the money? To which I give the same replies. And all the time Akande watches me with those sly cat eyes.
‘There’s another incident I’d like you to recall,’ Warren says. ‘Do you remember the police coming to the Guildford house a couple of weeks before Brandon left?’
‘Before he left?’
‘You’ve no recollection of DS Bellingham and DC Lewes coming to see you?’
I rub my temples. ‘Sort of. I can’t remember what they asked me or what I said. Genevieve was rattled.’
‘Mrs Pike?’ Akande leans forward. ‘Jennifer Pike was upset by the police presence? It had nothing to do with her. Why would she be upset?’
‘I can’t remember the details.’
Even though this is being recorded, Akande writes something in her notebook, to make herself look important, no doubt.
‘If you can’t remember, we’ll move on. I’m going to have to dig a little deeper now,’ Warren says. ‘I’d like you to tell me about the atmosphere in the house. Did you all get on, socialise together?’
‘We went out occasionally,’ I say. ‘But I was in London most weekends. At the time, Gideon, Alan and Brandon were just guys I shared the house with.’
Akande’s eyes narrow.
‘Brandon was a bit more than that, wasn’t he, Julia?’
I don’t want to provoke her, but her dislike is so decided, appeasement seems wasted. Besides, it’s not what they suspect. It’s what they can prove.
‘If you’re referring to our fling …’
‘So you admit to it now?’ Akande says.
‘I was too embarrassed before. But yes, he was more than a housemate.’
‘Tell me about this fling,’ Akande says.
‘There’s nothing much to tell, a late night, too much wine. We were both embarrassed the next day.’
‘You weren’t seeking a relationship? I understand your fiancé had recently left you for another woman.’
A stab of pain shoots through my side. For some reason, the remembrance of that first betrayal by Christian flares up, as raw and real as the day he left me for Ellie. Why here? Why now after so many years?
‘Which is exactly why I wasn’t looking for a relationship,’ I tell Akande.
‘And Brandon was OK with that?’
There’s a name for girls like you.
‘It meant nothing,’ I say.
‘Would it have upset you if Brandon had slept with other women?’
‘He did sleep with other women, and no, it didn’t bother me.’
‘Not even Genevieve?’ Akande looks straight at me. ‘It must have been difficult, another woman being preferred, right under your nose too.’
‘Really? Genevieve was old enough to be his mother.’
‘Relationships do occur between younger men and older woman – you and Hugh Paxton for instance – as your son found out.’
I’m on my feet,
leaning across the desk and somehow the coffee mug lies shattered across the floor.
‘Sam has nothing to do with this,’ I say.
Shazia places a hand on my arm. ‘Sit down, Julia,’ she says softly.
I stay standing, my face inches from Akande’s.
Shazia pulls my sleeve. ‘Julia.’
I sit back in my chair, my shoulder turned to the detectives.
‘This has no bearing on the case,’ Shazia says. ‘DC Akande is simply trying to provoke my client.’
‘It didn’t take much,’ Akande says. ‘That’s quite a temper you’ve got there, Ms Winter.’
‘Enough, Angela,’ Warren says. ‘We’ll take a break. Interview terminated.’
We’re moved to a different room while the remains of the mug are swept away and the coffee mopped up. Shazia is furious.
‘I warned you, Julia. You need to stay calm.’
‘She had no right bringing Sam into this – none at all. It has nothing to do with him.’
‘She has the right to ask you anything she wants, and if she gets a rise out of you, she’ll keep doing it. Do you know what that looks like on camera?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t apologise to me – it’s not my liberty at stake. You do want to see your son again, I presume,’ she says. ‘What if you react like that to a question about Brandon?’
‘I won’t,’ I say.
‘We want the CPS to drop the case and right now it’s fifty-fifty. Maybe less, depending on what Gideon and Alan say. I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.’
‘Fifty-fifty? You said there’s only circumstantial evidence.’
‘They’re either waiting on forensics, or more likely holding evidence back, hoping you’ll contradict it. Tell me that’s not about to happen.’
‘I’ve told you, it’s not.’
‘Make sure it doesn’t,’ she says. ‘We’re resuming tomorrow. Maybe a night in the cells will serve as a reminder as to why you need to keep your temper under control. Artificial light and bad coffee will be your life for the next twenty years if you don’t get your act together.’
She leaves and I’m taken to a cell. I know why thinking of Christian hurt. Because his loss led here – going to Guildford, my fling with Brandon, what happened later with Gideon. It all stemmed from Christian leaving me for Ellie. They’ve been married for nearly twenty-five years, have three adult children and still live in Flaxley. While I’m here in a Guildford police station, on suspicion of murder.
Chapter 27
1994 – Guildford
Julia managed to avoid Brandon until Tuesday evening. She had entered the house via the side door and was coming through the garage when she heard raised voices from the kitchen. She opened the door to find Brandon standing in front of Genevieve’s sister, Ruth, his arms crossed, his legs astride. He towered above her. Ruth stood with one hand on her hip and the other raised, a single finger pointing into Brandon’s face.
‘And don’t you think—’
She stopped when Julia entered. Brandon glanced at her briefly, then looked away, a little ashamed, before taking the opportunity to push past Ruth into the hall. Moments later the front door slammed. Ruth dropped her pointing hand to her other hip.
‘Did you know he doesn’t pay rent?’
Ruth made it sound more like an accusation than a question.
‘It’s none of my business,’ Julia said.
She thought Ruth was about to berate her for indifference, but her face relaxed and she said, ‘I suppose not. It’s not mine either really. Jenny should be old enough to look after herself. Only she’s not. And that boy …’
Ruth gave a sharp exhalation of annoyance. Up close Julia could see the likeness between the sisters, which was not obvious at a distance. Without the affected mannerisms, the hairpiece and the theatrical clothes, they weren’t so dissimilar. Ruth had the same high, rounded cheekbones, the slight upturn in the nose and cleft chin, not unattractive, but ordinary when set in a short crop of curly hair and a burgundy body warmer.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,’ Ruth said. ‘It just makes me so angry. My ex-husband was just like that, could sniff out any weakness at fifty paces then move in to exploit it. And Jenny’s always needed a bit of looking after, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Julia said.
She just wanted to get some food and escape to her bedroom. She pulled a loaf from the cupboard, only one thick crust remained. It would have to do. There were a couple of slices of pre-packed cheese to go with it and a squidgy tomato. She should have gone shopping.
‘Genevieve’s been lending him money too,’ Ruth said.
Julia had a vague recollection of a conversation about money on Friday night. What was it Brandon had told her?
‘Perhaps I should speak to Edward about it. What do you think?’ Ruth asked.
‘Maybe,’ Julia said.
Her food looked minging. She threw the bread, cheese and tomato in the bin. She’d order a pizza.
‘See you, Ruth,’ she said and moved towards the door.
‘Julia, would you do something for me?’
‘What’s that?’ Julia asked cautiously.
‘Keep an eye on Brandon and let me know if he’s up to anything, especially if it’s to do with money.’
‘I can’t spy on my housemates,’ Julia said.
Ruth sighed. ‘I know it’s not fair to ask you. But if you knew what Jenny went through after Dominic was killed. She was never exactly grounded, always had some hare-brained scheme that was about to turn her life into one of permanent bliss – going to live in Athens, travelling to Bulawayo – no visa, no injections, no money. She came back from Laos penniless and half dead with malaria. Yet another man she was convinced was her soulmate. Downsview was our parents’ house, left to us jointly. If it wasn’t, she’d have given it away to one of her lovers. Edward’s the only decent one. The rest were all the same – take, take, take. She thinks it’s love, when it’s just exploitation. She never learns and she’s just so, well, fragile.’
Ruth looked at Julia, her eyes pleading with her. ‘There were times after Dominic died, I thought she might do herself a mischief. Getting in lodgers was as much about keeping her occupied as the money. Do you see why I’m so concerned?’
‘I guess so,’ Julia said, reluctantly. She really didn’t want to get involved.
‘And quite apart from his scrounging, I don’t want Jenny to get too attached to Brandon,’ Ruth said. ‘I mean, he’ll be off back to New Zealand one of these days. She mustn’t turn him into some sort of substitute for Dominic.’
Genevieve obviously hadn’t repeated to Ruth her assertion that Dominic had come back to her in the form of Brandon. And Julia wasn’t going to tell her. She didn’t want to get drawn into their drama further than she already had.
‘Maybe talk to Genevieve about it,’ Julia said, trying to edge out of the door.
‘She won’t listen. Just like with the wretched pills. They’ll be the death of her. I keep taking them off her and she keeps getting hold of more. God knows how.’
‘I just can’t see how I can help,’ Julia said. ‘Even if I knew she was giving him money, what could I do?’
Ruth turned her palms upwards in a gesture of despair.
‘I’m at my wits’ end. Maybe I’ll call Ronald, our cousin. See what he has to say about this Brandon. Can I at least give you my phone number? Not to spy, but if Jenny’s in any trouble.’
She scribbled it down and pushed it into Julia’s hand. She was irritated that Ruth was forcing this onto her. None of this had anything to do with Julia.
And something else about Ruth’s reaction troubled her, the comparison between Brandon and her ex-husband who could ‘sniff out any weakness at fifty paces’. Brandon had barely had to do any work to uncover Julia’s weaknesses. She’d laid it all before him, her fears and insecurity, detailed to the nth degree. But it hadn’t been money he’d wa
nted from her – not even sex. What had it been – influence, traction, an assistant handling Genevieve? Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to get it.
He was in bed when she left for work and out drinking when she came home. Avoiding him wouldn’t be too difficult, especially if she flouted Genevieve’s rule about using the side door. If she’d come in the front door today, she wouldn’t have had to see him at all. She’d been foolish, naïve. It wouldn’t happen again.
Her plans to avoid him fell flat the next morning.
Nearing midsummer, daylight lasted eighteen hours. The thermometer was hitting the high twenties and Julia left not only her blinds, but her windows open too.
She had risen early and left the house before the others were awake. The air was cool and the streets empty. Fresh air filled her lungs and pushed out the nagging flashbacks to her night with Brandon and her worries that he would tell Alan, or even Genevieve, what they hadn’t already guessed.
Julia had reached the bend in the road that turned steeply downhill and took her out of view of the house, when she heard footsteps running behind her. Not the rhythmic strides of a jogger but an uneven, stumbling gait. She turned to see Brandon, in scruffy shorts and a greying T-shirt that no longer covered his belly. He was panting heavily and starting to sweat. A man in his twenties shouldn’t be so unfit. What would he be like in his forties or fifties? The image of their night together slid across Julia’s vision. She shook her head in an attempt to drive it away. Why was Brandon here? He never got up this early.
If similarly uncomfortable thoughts troubled Brandon, they didn’t show.
‘I was hoping to catch up with you,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘Thought we could walk together. You go past the station, don’t you?’
‘Are you going somewhere?’
‘London. Job interview.’
The Verdict Page 12