Later, as she set down her cutlery and picked up her wine, Lucy smiled over the rim of her glass. ‘That was fantastic, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it. I thought you might be busy with your exhibition at the moment, so I made extra for you to take home.’
‘Really?’
‘That’s what those two empty takeaway containers are for over by the sink.’
Dimples punctured her cheeks. ‘I thought those were there because you only cooked dinner on special occasions.’
‘That, too.’
They laughed, and then Lucy set her wineglass down, turning the stem between her fingers.
‘What do you want in life, Mark?’
‘Pardon?’
She sighed. ‘I mean, the divorce and everything. Does that mean you’re going to stay? Here in the Vale, I mean?’
He pushed back his chair, picked up the wine bottle from the worktop, and wandered back to where she sat. He topped up her glass before setting the bottle on the table.
‘It means I’m staying.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Me too.’
‘Your voice is starting to sound better. It doesn’t sound so rasping.’
‘It’s getting there.’
She reached out for his hand. ‘I worried that it hurt you, every time you spoke when we first met.’
Mark shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But it’s more like a very sore throat. And, only when I get tired.’
‘Has the case come to court yet?’
‘About the drugs bust? Not yet.’
‘I suppose those things take time, don’t they? I mean, if—’
A loud whine from under the table interrupted her, and a moment later two brown eyes peered out from under a shaggy fringe next to Mark.
‘How’s Hamish settling in?’
‘Better than I thought. I wondered if he might miss the freedom he had living rough on the towpath, but he seems happy to have left it behind.’
‘Maybe he’s older than we thought. I imagine he’s going to have a better winter living here with you.’
‘Did he sleep rough last winter?’
Lucy squeezed his hand and picked up her wine glass as Mark began to clear away the plates. ‘I don’t know. I hope not. He didn’t stay at mine, but he never looked like he’d lost weight. A couple of mornings he turned up with a bit of frost in his fur but I put that down to him being out early.’
Mark looked down at the dog who was now lifting a paw, one ear up, the other flat.
‘I think he knew he was onto a good thing when I turned up.’ He picked off a small piece of meat that clung to a leftover bone and held it out to Hamish.
The dog didn’t hesitate, licking Mark’s fingers before running back to where Lucy sat.
She laughed. ‘Scrounger. Some things don’t change, do they?’
Chapter Forty-Three
The next morning, Jan dropped off her twin boys at their primary school in the leafy northern suburbs of the town with clear instructions to wait in the school yard after the final lesson until their dad appeared, and then accelerated away.
Berating herself for the hurried goodbye, she vowed under her breath that she would make it up to them by treating them to an afternoon at Oxford’s ice rink as soon as the current investigation was over.
By the time she was steering the car through the security gate to the police station, guilt had transformed into determination to find out if Nigel White had been telling the truth about his role in Jessica’s murder.
She locked the vehicle and made her way across the car park; the bustle and roar of rush-hour traffic on Marcham Road filled the air, accompanied by the blast of truck horns from the A34 as drivers jostled to exit the busy dual carriageway.
An early morning rain shower had passed, leaving shallow puddles that she sidestepped to avoid before swiping her security card across the panel next to the back door.
She heard Alex’s voice at the top of the stairs and paused at the first-floor landing as he and Caroline passed.
‘Where are you two off to?’
‘Oxford. Gillian’s doing the post mortem,’ said Caroline. ‘We were in first, so the guv is sending us.’
‘Anything you need me to do while you’re out?’
Caroline stopped halfway down the next flight of stairs, her hand on the banister. ‘Actually, yes. Would you mind making a start on Nigel White’s bank statements? They came through this morning.’
‘Blimey, that was quick.’
‘The benefits of him banking with a building society, and not with one of the big institutions. I’ve logged them into HOLMES2, but knowing what the guv is like at the moment, he’ll probably want a progress report at this afternoon’s briefing. Alex has already been through Jessica’s statements – there’s nothing untoward there.’
‘No problem. Leave it with me.’
‘Thanks, Jan.’
Caroline threw a wave over her shoulder and hurried after her colleague.
Fifteen minutes later, Jan had a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a sheaf of warm paper in the other having printed off all the bank statements Caroline had obtained.
Given that the investigation now hinged on Gillian’s post mortem and the expertise of the handwriting analyst, Jan found herself trying to corroborate White’s suicide with the information they had managed to glean about the man’s background.
She flicked through the old new stories and photographs that had been logged into HOLMES2 as she blew across the surface of the hot tea, but it was as MacKenzie Adams had told them – once his riding career had come to an end, White had seemed content to work in the yard. There was even an article in which he had appeared in a magazine about country living six years ago where he had extolled the way Adams ran his business.
Jan frowned as she looked at the photo of the man smiling out at her from the computer screen, unable to correlate it with the surly man she had interviewed last week.
What had changed in the relationship between White and his employer?
Or, was it something else entirely that was worrying the man?
Such as being found guilty of killing Jessica Marley?
She locked the computer screen, pushed the empty mug out of the way, and set to work on the details provided by White’s building society.
Deciding that it would be prudent to begin her review of the statements at the beginning of the current month, she flipped the older ones aside and ran her gaze down the list of transactions.
It appeared that MacKenzie Adams preferred to pay his full-time employees on a fortnightly basis and she wondered if this was a way to help with his cash flow rather than theirs.
White appeared to use his debit card on a regular basis rather than make cash withdrawals, so when she reached the previous Monday’s transactions, her heart rate increased.
She looked up as Turpin entered the incident room with a bounce in his step and whistling under his breath.
‘Someone got lucky last night, then.’
The whistling stopped. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Bullshit. Who is she?’
He laughed, draped his suit jacket over the back of his chair and rolled up his sleeves before pointing to the bank statements she’d laid out across her desk. ‘Lucy. She came over for dinner, that’s all.’
‘The hippie from the narrowboat?’
‘She’s an artist, I’ll have you know. Got the bank statements, then?’
‘Yes – they emailed them over late yesterday afternoon. Caroline’s logged them into the system but she’s busy with Alex at the post mortem this morning so I said I’d take a look.’
‘How’s it going?’
‘I was just about to check something when you turned up, actually. Take a look at this.’
She passed him the statements and pointed at two large cash withdrawals made the previous week. ‘He had a habit of using his debit card to pay for every
thing, except when he was at the Farriers Arms. These two here, and similar large amounts the previous four months around the same date.’
‘He could have been paying his bar tab.’
‘I wondered that, but then why wouldn’t he use his debit card?’
Turpin scratched his chin, then leaned forward and signed into HOLMES2.
‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘Checking those amounts against the ATM withdrawals the night Jessica was killed. We’ve already ascertained they weren’t made by Jessica – Alex updated the system last night after he finished going through her statements.’
She held her breath as the DS clicked his way through the data in the system, and then exhaled as he tapped the screen.
‘Bingo,’ he said. ‘Same date, same amounts. It was White who made those two large withdrawals from the ATM in the pub. But, why?’
‘And he had four hundred quid cash in his bedside table.’ Dread seeped through her veins, sending goosebumps shivering over her arms. ‘Mark? What if he was trying to bribe Jessica with that money?’
Fury flashed in his eyes. ‘For sex, you mean?’
‘It’s just a thought. What if he propositioned her after taking out that first lot of money, and when she turned him down he thought that by offering her more, she’d change her mind? What if he killed her because she refused him again?’
‘Get onto Noah at the pub, and tell him we need to speak to him urgently,’ said Mark.
Jan was already reaching for her mobile phone, dialling the number for the Farriers Arms as her colleague barked into his desk phone and tried to wangle the use of a pool car from Tom Wilcox on the front desk.
After four rings, a harried Sonia Collins picked up the phone.
‘It’s DC Jan West. We need to speak to Noah about our ongoing investigation – is he there?’
‘He can’t come to the phone at the moment,’ said Sonia. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to call you back later – we’ve got thirty in for lunch, and we’re on our own.’
‘I thought Bethany worked on Fridays?’
‘She hasn’t turned up, and she’s not answering her phone. No-one’s seen her since she left here on Wednesday night.’
Jan tapped Mark on the shoulder before fleeing down the stairs towards the car park, her phone held to her ear.
‘We’re on our way.’
Chapter Forty-Four
‘Any luck?’
Mark glanced over to the passenger seat as Jan redialled Bethany’s mobile number, and then forced himself to concentrate on the narrow winding lane that led from the pub in Harton Wick to the girl’s home.
‘She’s not answering.’
‘Why is she on her own, anyway? I thought she shared a rental property with someone else.’
‘Sonia said they’re away on holiday at the moment – the Canadian Rockies or something. They won’t be back until next week.’
‘Christ.’
He gritted his teeth as the back wheels slewed across muddy streaks from a tractor’s tyres, and then pressed his foot to the floor as the road straightened out. ‘Keep trying. We’re nearly there.’
Jan’s phone trilled.
‘Hello? Sonia? We’re pulling up outside her house. Have you heard from her? All right – phone me if she turns up.’
By the time Mark locked the car, Jan was already pounding her fist against the frosted windowpane of the front door and ringing the bell.
Mark moved to the front window and shielded the glass from the sun’s glare as he peered inside.
The living room was a shambles – remnants of a Chinese takeaway and an empty pizza box were stacked on top of a low table in front of a sofa, and four beer cans had tipped onto their sides next to an open magazine of indeterminate content.
‘The television’s on,’ he said to Jan as he returned to the front door. ‘The sound isn’t up loud, though – I can hardly hear it.’
Jan’s mouth twisted as she raised her fist to knock again.
Before she could do so, the door swung open and Bethany Myers glared out at them.
‘Keep the bloody noise down,’ she said. ‘Next door’s baby’ll wake up otherwise, and then I’ll never hear the end of it.’
On cue, a child’s wail reached a crescendo from a top-floor window of the neighbouring property, and Bethany’s shoulders slumped.
‘Too late.’
‘Can we come in?’ said Mark.
The young woman shrugged, and turned away. ‘S’pose so.’
‘Are you all right?’ said Jan, closing the door.
They followed Bethany into the living room, where she stopped, her hands on her hips, and stared at them with bloodshot eyes, her face stark without the careful application of make-up. ‘What’s it to do with you?’
‘Why aren’t you at work? Sonia’s worried about you,’ said Mark.
Bethany snorted. ‘No, she’ll be worried she’ll make a mistake and won’t have anyone to blame.’
‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?’ said Jan. ‘I’ve been trying to call you for the past half an hour.’
‘I didn’t hear it. I was upstairs, asleep.’
Mark raised an eyebrow. ‘Bethany, people are worried about you. We’re worried about you––’
‘You can’t do anything.’
The teenager flounced across to the sofa, pulled her feet up underneath as she sat, and adjusted the thick woollen cardigan she wore.
He locked eyes with Jan for a moment, then wandered across to the armchair opposite Bethany, perching on the arm.
‘If someone is threatening or has harmed you, we can help,’ he said. ‘Don’t be scared.’
A tear rolled down the young woman’s cheek, before she wiped it away and sniffed. ‘He said it was all my fault, that I’d been stupid.’
‘Who are we talking about, Bethany?’ said Jan. She eased onto the sofa next to her, keeping her voice even.
‘Nigel.’
Mark blinked. ‘Nigel White?’
‘Yes.’
‘When?’ said Jan.
‘He came around here on Wednesday afternoon – after I’d finished my shift at the Farriers. In a right mood, he was.’
‘What happened?’
Mark moved away, content to let his colleague take the lead with the questioning. It was evident that the teenager was uncomfortable talking to him, so he crossed to the window and extracted his notebook.
Bethany continued to stare straight ahead. ‘I’d just said goodbye to a friend who popped in when I saw his car turn up. I asked him what he wanted. I couldn’t understand why he came here. We… we’d had a row, y’ see.’
‘About what?’ Mark moved closer, his interest piqued.
‘I was only trying to help. I went to the Farriers on Tuesday night. I figured people might talk to me more than you. They know me better, right?’ She looked at each of them, her eyes desperate. ‘I just wanted some answers. Why Jessica was killed. Nigel got all funny then – telling me I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.’ She choked out a sob, then took the paper tissue that Jan retrieved from her bag and handed out.
‘Did he threaten you?’ said Mark.
‘I’ve never seen him like that before. He was… so intense. I-I told him he should be careful about threatening me, ’cause I knew stuff about him.’
‘Like what?’
‘Nothing – I was bluffing, all right? Anyway, I left the pub and came back here.’
‘So, why did Nigel come here on Wednesday?’
‘He apologised first, saying he didn’t mean to frighten me, but then he asked what I meant when I said I knew stuff about him. I tried to tell him I didn’t mean it, that I was joking when I said that, but he grabbed me by arm and shook me really hard. Jesus, I was so scared…’
She broke off as another sob wracked her slight frame, and Mark gave her a moment to compose herself before continuing his questioning.
‘What happened next, Bethany?’
&nbs
p; ‘He said there were some things I shouldn’t stick my nose into. I – I asked him why, but he wouldn’t tell me. He just said that I’d regret it if I didn’t stop asking questions about Jess. I managed to get away from him, and locked myself in the bathroom until I heard the front door slam shut.’
‘Have you told anyone what happened?’ said Mark.
The girl’s eyes opened wide. ‘Of course not. I don’t want this to happen again, do I? Not after what happened to Jessica. What if it was him who killed her? That’s why I couldn’t go into work today – they would have asked all sorts of questions, wouldn’t they?’
‘What did you do when you realised he’d gone?’ said Mark.
‘Not much. I think I was in shock, to be honest. I made sure the doors were locked, and stayed in here all night.’
‘What did he mean about you asking questions?’ said Jan. ‘What sort of questions?’
Bethany held up her hands. ‘Like I said, all I did was pop into the Farriers on Tuesday night. It was my night off, so I thought I’d see what I could find out.’ She looked from Jan to Mark, then back. ‘I was going to tell you if anyone told me something that could help you find out who killed Jessica, that’s all.’
‘And did you find out anything?’ said Mark.
‘No. Nothing.’ She shrugged, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. ‘At least I tried, anyway.’
‘Bethany, where were you between the hours of three o’clock and seven o’clock on Wednesday night?’ said Mark.
‘Here. Why?’ Bewilderment flashed in her eyes. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nigel White was found dead on Wednesday evening.’
The teenager’s mouth dropped open. ‘He’s dead?’
‘Hasn’t anyone texted you to tell you?’ said Jan.
‘No…’ Bethany pushed herself off the sofa, staggered, and then held up a hand as Jan moved towards her. ‘H-how did he die?’
‘It looks like he hanged himself,’ said Mark.
Bethany raised a shaking hand to her mouth. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
She brushed past him, her footsteps thundering up the stairs before he heard a door slam shut, followed by the unmistakable sounds of retching.
Her Final Hour Page 19