‘We were together in the staffroom at one point in the morning. She was a bit distracted, as though something was upsetting her. But she was getting her blood pressure done . . . maybe that got her in a tizz . . . I don’t know,’ she tailed off miserably. ‘Loraine had high blood pressure, you see . . . Fighting the battle of the bulge . . .’
Noakes looked sympathetic. Poor old biddy. He remembered how it felt when the missus issued a fatwa on buns.
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘Something about a difficult conversation she was going to have later on.’
‘A “difficult conversation”? Those were her exact words?’
‘That’s right . . . I wondered if she was going to tackle whoever it was lied about their alibi.’ A shaky laugh. ‘Or she could have meant someone else entirely . . . the bank manager or a stroppy neighbour, for all I know . . .’
‘Were you on your own in the staffroom when she said this?’
‘No, people were dashing in and out for their drinks and elevenses . . . It was quite hectic, so I don’t think anyone was paying any attention.’
The DI suspected someone had been paying attention. Very close attention.
He dredged up a smile from somewhere. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Ms Bolton.’
Tremulously, she replied, ‘What Jayne said at Rebecca’s funeral was true . . . I didn’t care for her . . . She messed with people’s heads . . .’
‘People at the centre?’
‘There was something predatory about her, Inspector. I felt there was something . . . well, something “off” about the way she was with some of the sixth-formers, though I never actually witnessed anything untoward . . . It was just a vibe . . . But she was a good teacher and very hardworking, no question.’
‘What about the staff?’
‘Well, I think Tariq liked her . . . and Chris Burt acted goofy whenever she looked his way . . . though, mind you, he’s sharper than he looks and Thelma keeps close tabs . . . Poor Peter Elford might’ve fancied his chances too . . .’
Jesus, thought Noakes glumly. This was turning into some sort of Agatha Christie story where pigging everyone could’ve done it.
‘I wondered if there was some hidden attraction at the centre . . . Thelma said she caught her hanging around downstairs quite a lot when there was no reason for her to be there. Lurking, Thelma called it . . .’
‘Do you think she was seeing someone here, Ms Bolton?’
‘No idea, Inspector. Looking back on it, I think something had gone badly wrong with that girl . . . something which scarred her quite early on . . . so she became a manipulator . . . a user.’
The librarian rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet. She looked wrung out, groggy.
Markham signalled to Kate.
‘DS Burton will take you back to the staffroom and make you a cup of tea, Ms Bolton. You look as if you could do with one.’
‘Yeah, wi’ lots of sugar,’ Noakes amended kindly.
Hopefully he and the guvnor could soak up a few rays while Burton rustled up the PG Tips.
But Burton was back in double quick time.
‘Didn’t she want a cuppa then?’ her colleague grunted.
‘She said she had a really bad headache . . . okay to drive, though, so I sorted some aspirin and saw her off.’
‘Good. Somehow I feel easier with her off the premises,’ Markham said. ‘Get Doyle to arrange for a patrol car to swing by her address a few times, will you, Kate?’
‘Will do, sir.’ She paused. ‘Where do we go from here, sir?’
‘The three of us are going to run through all the witness statements again.’
Burton brightened.
Oh bloody Nora. Her fellow DS let out a strangled whimper.
‘Sorry, Noakesy, it has to be done.’ The DI was adamant. ‘Someone lied about their alibi.’
‘And Loraine Thornley was killed because she cottoned on.’ Burton’s face was intent. ‘There may be a chink of light somewhere in those statements . . . Has to be.’
‘We’ll get Doyle to bring in some takeout and make an evening of it.’
Noakes cheered up visibly at the prospect of a ‘chippy tea’.
Burton’s mobile sang out and she moved into the shade to take the call.
‘What have you got, Kate?
‘A nurse at the Newman . . . used to work in the adolescent unit at Bromgrove General . . . She’d heard we were asking around about Rebecca . . . saw her a couple of times at the Newman . . .’
‘Don’ tell me we’re going back to Creepville,’ groaned Noakes piteously. ‘I hate that place.’
‘I think this one’s worth checking out, guv.’ Burton was deaf to his pleas. ‘Apparently, Rebecca told her she had someone from the centre “in her pocket”.’
‘“In her pocket,”’ the DI repeated thoughtfully. Such a cold phrase.
‘Right.’ He was decisive now. ‘First we check those statements and then it’s off to the Newman.’ He looked sternly at Noakes. ‘And no whining.’
‘We can tell the DCI we’re doing stalker profiles,’ Burton said eagerly.
‘You’re getting alarmingly proficient at blindsiding, Kate,’ the DI observed.
She beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘He means you’re a shifty little bugger,’ Noakes groused.
And with that they turned their steps towards the main building.
Gradually shadows stole across the little back garden and all was still.
12. Little by Little
‘That was champion.’ Noakes exhaled with huge satisfaction at the conclusion of his chippy tea. ‘If there’s summat you c’n allus count on, it’s the Medway Fryer.’
DC Doyle grinned. ‘Actually, I thought it was time to give that joint across from the station a go. The blokes in Vice can’t get enough of it.’
‘Oh aye?’ Nothing could dent his colleague’s good humour. ‘Well I have to hand it to you, lad. They run Medway a close second.’
‘At least they offer fish in breadcrumbs,’ Burton sniffed. ‘Much better than all that batter.’
Noakes looked askance at this heretical pronouncement.
Doyle winked at Burton. ‘Bet you’d have preferred some nice guacamole instead of mushy peas, sarge.’
His colleague managed not to hear.
‘By the by, Sergeant,’ Markham put in, suddenly mindful of Muriel Noakes’s anxiety about her husband’s health, ‘I trust you’ll be rescheduling that doctor’s appointment you missed.’
The DS looked distinctly shifty. ‘Got too much on our plate right now, guv . . .’
‘I’m not such a slave-driver that I can’t spare you for a check-up, Noakes.’ The DI relented at the sudden panic in his subordinate’s face. ‘Once we get this investigation over, I want you to get it sorted . . . can’t have you flaking out during the foxtrot, can we?’
It was the right note to strike. Noakes’s face cleared. ‘I’ll make it a priority, guv.’
‘You do that.’ Markham surveyed the detritus of their meal. Like Burton, he had plumped for the healthier option and found it surprisingly good. ‘Let’s clear up and get the coffee on. Then we can review those alibis.’ The team had discussed the case in a desultory way while enjoying their takeaway, but the time had come for more rigorous analysis.
Ten minutes later the quartet sat round the conference table. The room was cool and peaceful now, the earlier oppressive mugginess having lifted. The DI left the door into the corridor open, so there was the hint of a draught. ‘The building’s quiet, so we’re safe.’ He looked interrogatively at Doyle.
‘’S right, sir. Everyone’s gone home,’ Doyle confirmed.
‘Okay,’ the DI began. ‘Shirley said that Loraine Thornley was upset because she knew someone hadn’t been truthful about their whereabouts . . .’ His fingers gently drummed the table, keeping time with his thoughts. ‘He or she told us they were in one place, but Loraine knew that wasn’t right because she’d seen th
em somewhere else . . .’
‘But then later she backtracked . . . told Shirley it was all a misunderstanding and they couldn’t be the killer anyway . . .’ Burton continued thoughtfully. ‘Maybe when she had time to think things over, it didn’t seem that serious . . . more a case of lying by omission . . .’
‘She was the kind of lady who’d think it was a big deal to keep anything back from the police,’ Doyle put in.
Once again, Markham remembered the detective saying Loraine Thornley was like his nan. He smiled encouragingly at the younger man. ‘Go on, Doyle.’
‘Well, it might just be she realized someone was off on a skive when they should’ve been working. Not the end of the world . . . but it didn’t sit right with her that they didn’t come clean about it, what with this being a murder enquiry . . . That’s what she must have meant about “having a difficult conversation” . . .’
‘Thou shalt not lie. It’s the commandments, innit?’
‘Indeed, Sergeant.’
‘Actually,’ Burton cleared her throat, ‘it’s Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour.’
Her male colleagues exchanged looks. Here she goes again . . .
‘Any road, she was the church-going type like Doyle said.’ The DC blinked, having in fact said nothing to that effect. He forbore from correcting Noakes, however, not wishing to interrupt his colleague’s flow. ‘Salt of the earth . . . honest as the day is long . . . They must all have talked about what they told the police. So, stands to reason she got a bee in her bonnet.’
‘But our killer wasn’t prepared to take the risk of her blurting it out . . . little did they know she’d already confided in Shirley Bolton.’ To Markham, it seemed as though the small room had suddenly darkened. ‘Switch the lights on please, Doyle.’ The DC duly complied.
Burton frowned. ‘Shirley couldn’t be positive who was around when Loraine spoke about having this “difficult conversation”.’
‘Yeah, sounded like the world an’ his wife was in the staffroom. Mind you, it was time for elevenses.’ Ample justification in Noakes’s opinion for a general downing of tools.
‘Run us through the alibis for both murders, Kate — Ms Shawcross and Peter Elford.’
Burton snapped to attention, taking some papers out of a manila folder in front of her. Noakes and Doyle exchanged eye-rolls, but her summary was crisp and concise.
‘Taking Rebecca first . . . The two therapists, Jenni Harte and Tariq Azhar, were together in Azhar’s office. The ANP Maureen Stanley was giving Jayne Pickering — Loraine’s niece, the phlebotomist — a training session. Doctor Troughton was doing paperwork in his office . . . Thelma Macdonald was back and forth from reception . . . at some point she visited the library. Shirley was at her post in the sixth-form study annexe apart from a loo break and a quick coffee in the downstairs staffroom where she says she didn’t see anyone.’
‘What about Mister Loopy?’
‘Chris Burt,’ Burton was po-faced. ‘He was doing various jobs around the building. There was some sort of overflow or blockage in the ladies . . . he appears to have been sorting that out round about the time Rebecca was killed.’
‘Poor ole Dyno-Rod.’
Burton ignored the interruption.
‘It’s possible someone may have tampered with the toilets deliberately,’ she said, ‘to keep him out of the way.’
‘We still don’t know for sure where Rebecca Shawcross encountered her murderer.’ Markham’s face was taut with concentration.
‘That’s right, sir, though Dimples thinks she was killed in the minor ops treatment room where the body was stashed . . . Too risky to trundle it round the ground floor, and minor ops was a safe bet . . . nobody was booked to use it and, provided the killer moved fast, they had a clear run.’
‘What about alibis for Mr Elford’s murder, Kate?’
‘Loraine and Jayne Pickering were out doing home visits in Medway.’ Burton didn’t even have to look at her notes. ‘Shirley and Thelma were manning the library and reception. Doctor Troughton and Nurse Stanley had patients . . . though not continuously, so they took the chance for a couple of catch-ups. Jenni and Tariq were working on their research paper . . . Shelly was in late to work after discovering Rebecca’s body . . . Chris Burt was on the premises, though no one had eyes on him all the time.’
Markham’s face was a study in frustration. ‘It just doesn’t add up,’ he exclaimed. ‘For Elford, everyone was where they should have been.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Right, let’s go back to Rebecca . . .’
‘Loraine must’ve meant the alibis for Shawcross, guv,’ Noakes said. ‘An’ then she figured it wasn’t such a big deal in the end cos whoever fibbed couldn’t possibly have done Elford.’
‘D’you have a theory, Sergeant?’
‘I reckon it was that Stanley one told a whopper, boss.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, she was meant to be teaching Loraine’s niece, wasn’t she? Doing a training session or whatever it was.’
‘That’s right, sarge.’ Doyle was enthused. ‘I mean, she was the only one who was actually supposed to be doing something specific. And Loraine was old-school . . . she’d most likely take a dim view of a trainer sloping off, especially with the trainee being her niece . . . Jayne likely didn’t want to make trouble and kept shtum, but Loraine knew Stanley’d been skiving because she saw her . . .’
‘An’ don’ forget, Stanley’d be doing Loraine’s blood pressure an’ whatnot . . . mebbe that’s when they were gonna have the “difficult conversation”.’
The DI was reflective. He hadn’t particularly cared for Maureen Stanley. Felt there was something sneaky about her. But it was no grounds for accusing her of murder — they were still a long way from that.
‘Motive?’ he asked simply.
‘Fancied Doctor Trout an’ decided to bump off Shawcross either cos she thought the doc was sniffing round her,’ Noakes paused impressively, ‘or cos she earwigged that conversation about Shawcross being responsible for the doc’s stepbrother topping hisself an’ decided to pay ’er back.’ Noakes looked pleased with himself, clearly considering that his solution possessed a certain symmetry.
Jealousy on the one hand or revenge on the other. Markham could see it was feasible.
‘But what about Elford, sarge?’ Burton pressed the oracle. ‘Assuming he discovered Stanley was the killer and tried to blackmail her, how’d she manage to take care of him? She couldn’t be in two places at once . . .’
‘Must’ve had an accomplice.’ Noakes was reluctant to see his theory go up in smoke.
‘Who, sarge?’
Her colleague was stumped. ‘Dunno,’ he said dejectedly. Doyle too looked deflated.
Time for a shot of encouragement, the DI thought.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘you could be right about there being two people involved.’
‘Really, boss?’ Doyle looked hopeful once more.
‘We’ve come across double acts before, haven’t we?’
Too right. Burton shuddered as she recalled previous investigations.
‘What about the drama teacher?’ Noakes asked. ‘I'm too sexy for my shirt, Too sexy for my shirt, So sexy it hurts,’ he crooned in a mock falsetto.
Doyle grinned at Burton’s aghast expression. Could be worse, he semaphored. At least Noakesy’s not throwing shapes.
The DI grimaced. ‘Leo Cartwright’s in the clear for Rebecca’s death,’ he said. ‘Filming GCSE assessments all day, remember.’
‘What about Elford’s?’ his subordinate persisted.
‘Well, he’s a form tutor and it’s registration at 8:30.’ Markham spread his hands, palms turned upwards. ‘Too big a stretch, Sergeant.’
‘A student — a sixth-former, then. Someone else Shawcross had messed with . . . an’ Stanley got ’em on board somehow . . .’ Noakes’s voice petered out.
‘Bit of a push, sarge.’ Burton echoed the DI’s misgivings.
Noakes’s
underlip shot out. ‘Look, Shawcross was a screwed-up kid,’ he said contumaciously. ‘She messed wi’ folks’ heads.’ He ran greasy fingers through his wildly rumpled hair. ‘What about that creative writing shit — the PTSD hoojah . . . Could’ve been her own little playground for psychos . . . mebbe one of ’em hooked up wi’ Stanley . . . that lad we met at Hope . . . Tyrone . . .’
‘Tyrone couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, Sergeant,’ Markham pointed out.
And anyway, he was fairly certain Matthew Sullivan or Mary Atkins would have picked up on anything hinky like that.
‘On the other hand,’ the DI mused, ‘it won’t do to overlook the creative writing angle . . .’
‘What about that book she was writing — the one about traffic lights . . . ?’
‘It wasn’t The Highway Code, sarge.’ Burton sounded exasperated and Doyle smothered a grin.
‘Okay, okay . . . Well, you tell us then, since you’re up on all that crip crap.’
‘The Amber Tells,’ Burton had it off pat. ‘A novel about psychotherapy . . . the manuscript’s gone missing and they can’t find it.’
‘The Case of the Missing Book,’ Noakes mugged. ‘Jus’ like summat out of Agatha Christie.’ He looked meaningfully at Doyle. ‘You’re a fan, ain’tcha?’
The DC cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, but I don’t see how Shawcross’s book ties in,’ he said.
‘Me neither,’ Noakes concurred. ‘Too bleeding fantastic by half.’
‘What about those appointment books?’ Doyle asked suddenly. The other three looked at him. ‘You know, the ones nicked during that break-in.’
‘What about ’em?’ Noakes shot back truculently.
‘We thought Shawcross might’ve had an appointment with someone in the centre and that’s how Peter Elford made the connection with the murderer . . . cos he’d been snooping and put two and two together.’
‘That’s right, Constable.’
‘She could’ve been having therapy here on the quiet . . . unofficially, sir.’ Doyle’s eyes kindled with excitement.
‘Why would she need to keep it a secret?’ Noakes was mystified.
‘Dunno, sarge . . . P’raps there was something dodgy about it . . . maybe something unethical . . . Or maybe she just liked the idea of nobody knowing.’ The DC’s ingenuous, open countenance was comically at odds with his murky speculations. ‘She was the sort of person to get off on having secrets.’ His face fell. ‘Mind, I don’t see Jenni Harte or Tariq treating her on the sly.’
Detective Markham Mysteries Box Set Page 142