by Clare Chase
‘Ms.’ She looked at him through bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. ‘Julie’s father’s never been in the picture.’
He’d have to ask more about that when the time was right. Was Julie’s mother certain she never saw her dad?
‘I was meant to meet her at the house where she was lodging at eleven thirty,’ Sandra Cooper continued. ‘I rang her buzzer, and then’ – she took a great gulp of air that turned into a sob – ‘I rang her mobile. But there was no answer. I knew there must be something wrong. She was due to move back into her third-year accommodation today and I was going to help her shift her belongings in my car.’ Her head was back in her hands again. ‘I just can’t take it in. I keep thinking there must be some mistake.’
He recognised the disbelief – he’d seen it before. That hope against hope that it was all some crazy misunderstanding. For a split second, he imagined himself in the same situation – being told that seven-year-old Kitty or baby Jessica were dead. He felt his core contract. ‘Take your time.’ But urgency was swelling in his chest. It was inhumane to question her in this state, but the clock was ticking. An attacker – probably a murderer – was benefiting from every moment they wasted.
‘Are you all right to continue?’ Megan asked. Good, gentle tone. Tick.
Sandra Cooper nodded.
‘Can you tell us when you last heard from Julie?’ Blake said.
‘Earlier this week. It must have been Tuesday when I rang her and we arranged the visit.’ A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘A short while before the summer holidays she rang me to say she wanted to stay in Cambridge over the break. She’d got some part-time work on a project being run by one of the professors in her subject.’ She blinked. ‘I’d been looking forward to having her back home, but she was excited, and it sounded like a great opportunity, so I encouraged her. And I was pleased in some ways.’
Blake raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘Her teachers at school persuaded her to apply to Cambridge, and when she got her offer, it was I who talked her into coming. She wasn’t keen. She’d decided it was elitist and only for a certain sort of person. But I said if people like her turned down their places, then it always would be.’ Her eyes looked hollow. ‘It was my fault she came. If I hadn’t put pressure on her, she’d have ended up somewhere else. She’d still be alive.’
‘We don’t understand the circumstances of her death yet,’ Blake said, ‘but whatever they were, you’re not to blame. Awful things happen across the country. They’re often entirely unpredictable.’
Sandra Cooper shook her head, fresh tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks.
‘You mentioned she was staying behind to work with a professor,’ Blake went on. ‘Did she give you any more details? The academic’s name, for instance, or the exact nature of the work?’
Julie’s mother frowned. ‘She said she was doing some research to help this person out. John, I think his name was.’
In a university the size of Cambridge, there would be a lot of Johns…
Blake took a deep breath. ‘What was her subject?’
‘Human, Social and Political Sciences.’
It sounded like the sort of degree where she’d have been taught across multiple departments. The words needle and haystack sprang to mind, but hopefully her friends or others at her college would know more.
‘She didn’t tell you anything else about the project?’ Blake hated having to push, but it was essential.
Sandra Cooper’s hands were clutched together on the table in front of her, her knuckles white. ‘I didn’t ask,’ she said quietly. ‘And now it’s too late.’
‘You would have asked her today,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t know what would happen.’
The woman glanced up at him with watery eyes. ‘Whatever it was, it had got her fired up. She sounded keen to stay and get on with the work. She was very engaged with the world around her. The environment, social injustice, politics – all of that.’
‘And how did she like university in general?’ Blake asked. ‘Did she ever mention tensions with friends, or university staff? Anyone she was wary of?’
Sandra shook her head. ‘Nothing like that.’ She looked up at them with hollow eyes. ‘Though I wonder if she’d have confided in me. There was one call we had a few months back when she seemed a bit quiet. I asked her what was up, but she just said I was being oversensitive, and not to worry. She was careful of my feelings – too careful.’
‘She didn’t tell you much about her friends, and other contacts here?’ Megan asked.
Sandra Cooper frowned. ‘I got the impression she kept herself a bit separate from her course- and room-mates. She was never in anyone’s pocket. There was one particular friend I was aware of though – Bella. She was at the same college as Julie – St Oswald’s.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t take to her, if I’m honest; she put me on edge, but I’m not sure why. As for the staff, I met her tutor at the start of Julie’s second year. I was feeling a bit emotional – same as I always do when we’re about to be parted.’ She stopped short for a moment – no doubt feeling the permanent separation she was faced with now. ‘I worried aloud to him about Julie,’ she went on at last. ‘He was kind – reassuring. It made me feel better.’
Blake nodded. ‘Was Julie in a relationship with anyone, do you know?’
A sigh. ‘There was a boy – Stuart. Stuart Gilmour. I met him earlier in the year when I visited. He was good-looking, but a bit aloof with me. They split up a while back now; March, it must have been.’
Not so long in Stuart’s eyes, perhaps, Blake thought.
‘He was a student too – at St Bede’s College – but they met at some demo.’
‘Did Julie say why they broke up?’
‘Not exactly. He was politically engaged like she was, but she said in the end he wasn’t as fond of fair play in real life as he was in principle.’
‘Do you know what she meant by that?’ Megan asked.
She shook her head. ‘Either way, I don’t think the break-up can have been that acrimonious. She was still wearing the ring he gave her when I saw her last.’
The ring that now seemed to be missing. Blake’s glance slid sideways for a second and met Megan’s. Stuart Gilmour was one to watch. And who was John, the academic behind Julie’s decision to stay in Cambridge over the summer?
Four
Tara was with Max at Julie Cooper’s summer lodgings. It was a rambling college-owned Victorian house out on Chesterton Road. A lot of the students had already vacated the place, ready to start the new term, and it felt half abandoned. Gloomy rooms stood empty, old-fashioned iron keys left in the doors for the cleaners. Everywhere they went floorboards creaked and their voices echoed in the sparsely furnished corridors. The CSI van was outside and, where students remained, Tara could hear their whispers as they talked about what had happened in hushed tones behind closed doors.
And then, from one of the rooms, Tara heard a gasp, followed by crying, as though the occupant had been trying to regain control, before giving in to grief again. They were hoping to speak to someone who’d known Julie well, and the raw emotion she’d heard made Tara pause at the door. She glanced over her shoulder at Max for a moment and he nodded, giving her the go-ahead. The crying had subsided to a series of sobs again, and she knocked gently.
‘Who is it?’
Tara gave their names and titles. ‘We’re hoping to speak to someone who knew Julie well.’
After a moment, a young woman answered the door. ‘I’m Bella Chadwick. I’ve known Julie since our first year.’
Tara took in Bella’s appearance and felt her skin prickle. What she wore closely mirrored the outfit Julie Cooper had died in. A T-shirt and short denim skirt. They could almost be twins, even though they were non-identical. And yet there was a difference. The dead woman’s clothes had all looked familiar to Tara – the kind she might have chosen herself as a student from somewhere affordable, like Camden Market. What was it about Bella’s skirt t
hat said designer? The subtle shaping? The stitch work? Tara wasn’t sure but her actress mother, Lydia, had wafted around in front of her in enough haute couture gear for her to recognise it. Blake would understand – if he were there. One of the many unexpected things about him was that he had a fashion designer for a sister. It had finally explained the smart suits he wore, despite being an inveterate scruff.
Bella Chadwick’s pale pink T-shirt left Tara wondering too. It had a slogan on it – championing feminism – but again, it shouted expensive. What kind of friendship had she and Julie had? And who had been imitating whom?
‘Come in.’ Bella stood back to allow them access to her high-ceilinged room. As soon as she’d closed the heavy panelled door behind them, her tone became agitated. ‘What do you think happened to her? Who could have done such a thing?’
‘We’re still trying to piece together the details.’ Max’s eyes were friendly. At last, the student nodded.
‘So, you’ve been here for the whole summer too?’ Tara asked. She always preferred to begin with incidentals. When questioning seemed like a casual conversation, people tended to open up more.
Bella nodded. ‘I’ve been doing shifts at the Eagle.’
One of the most famous pubs in town; it was where Watson and Crick had gone to celebrate when they’d worked out the structure of DNA. It irked Tara that people often talked about them without mentioning Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray imaging had put them on to the truth.
Bella frowned. ‘I could have gone home, worked there and saved on rent, but that would have meant three months with my parents, quizzing me about my academic achievements. They’d want to know why I wasn’t studying the whole time.’
Tara could understand her being fed up with parental supervision and wanting independence. She guessed it was Bella’s parents who funded her wardrobe, though.
She smiled, all the same. ‘I know, right?’ And she did. Put her under the same roof as Lydia and her stepfather Benedict for more than five minutes and the cracks started to show. As for her father, Robin, who’d wanted Lydia to abort her… ‘Nice to be able to stay in college accommodation.’ Tara knew the poshest lodgings on the central St Oswald’s site would have been given over to summer conference delegates, paying handsomely for the privilege. Bella’s room had seen better days. The paint was peeling in one corner and in the background, behind a whiff of cigarette and what must be Tiffany & Co (she could see the scent bottle on a shelf), there were undertones of must.
‘It was good to find a room in the same house as Julie.’ As she mentioned her friend’s name, Tara watched Bella’s eyes fill with tears again.
‘You saw a lot of each other over the summer?’ Tara asked.
The young woman hesitated. ‘As much as possible. But we were both very busy, of course.’ She spoke quickly. ‘It was the same for Julie as for me. She was out earning money, working lots of hours. She had a job at Clifford’s in town.’
A vegan restaurant.
‘But I guess you caught up between shifts? We were wondering what Julie did in her free time.’
That pause again. What was on Bella’s mind?
‘She was doing other stuff too, so we ended up seeing less of each other than we would have liked.’
‘Do you know what kind of “other stuff”?’ Max asked. ‘Was it more work?’
Bella frowned. ‘I was busy as well,’ she said after a moment, ‘so I didn’t manage to ask.’
Tara didn’t believe that. Bella had the air of someone who’d have quizzed her friend. Had she been shut out for some reason?
But as if to prove the situation had been beyond their control, the student added: ‘Julie was dashing around so much she even missed one of her shifts at Clifford’s last month. Almost got the sack, so she said, but a colleague covered for her. Told the management she’d called in sick when she hadn’t.’
That was interesting. Julie had clearly built up loyalty – even amongst temporary workmates. What had taken up her time? Tara reckoned she must have been reliable usually – if her colleague had been prepared to stick their neck out for her like that.
‘Did you notice if Julie had any visitors here?’ Max asked.
Bella looked down at her beautifully cut skirt. ‘I think her ex, Stuart, came over once? But they finished with each other ages ago.’
‘They were still on friendly terms, then?’
Bella gave Tara a quick look. ‘Just in a casual way. She instigated the split, but he’s well over it now. Julie wouldn’t stop wearing his ring, which I thought was provocative. She said she liked it, and why should she chuck it away just because he’d behaved like an idiot. But it didn’t seem to bother Stuart, so he must have put it all behind him.’
So, Bella might have wanted to be around Julie – and maybe it was she who’d emulated the other student’s choice of clothes – but she hadn’t approved of everything the dead girl had done. As for Stuart’s reported recovery after the break-up – well, he wouldn’t be the first man to hide his true feelings.
‘Did you see Julie leave the house yesterday, Bella?’ Max asked. ‘Did she talk to you about her plans?’
‘I…’ She paused once more, and pulled a tissue out of a box on her desk. Her eyes were welling up again. ‘I did happen to spot her go out. It was – I don’t know – maybe eight forty-five p.m.?’ She was being very specific, Tara noted. ‘My shift at the pub yesterday was over lunch, so I was around. But I’d only just dashed in myself, so I didn’t go out and speak to her. I don’t know where she was going. We’d chatted briefly on the phone a short while earlier, and I knew she was busy.’
The room Julie had occupied was at the top of the house, as far away from Bella’s as you could get. Yet Bella seemed up to date on the state of her friend’s relationship with Stuart. Had Julie filled her in, or could Bella have come by the information some other way?
The CSIs were still busy, checking Julie’s belongings. Boxes were dotted about the student’s room, and a large rucksack was propped up in a corner, the contents half in, half out. Max and Tara put on overalls and gloves before they entered. Once again, Tara wished she’d taken the time to change – she’d been anticipating a quiet Sunday at home when she’d selected her outfit that morning. But when you were on call, you could never be sure of your time off.
‘She’d already packed up,’ the investigator nearest the door said. ‘Everything was ready apart from her night things, make-up bag and wash kit.’
She must have done it all ahead of time, to be ready for her mum. Tara guessed they’d been close. She swallowed back emotion. As a child, she’d mostly been looked after by her mother’s cousin, Bea – a stalwart and the best stand-in anyone could wish for. Tara couldn’t help thinking of how each of them might feel if they lost the other to violence.
Now, thanks to the unpacking the team had done, small signs of the young woman Julie had been lay about the place. An incense burner – you could still smell it in the air too – a decorative tile with a design that looked North African, and a mug with the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament logo on it.
Tara spotted an upturned object in an evidence bag on one of the tables in the room. She went to look and the CSI who’d spoken to them followed her.
‘It’s one of those Guy Fawkes masks, like they used in V for Vendetta,’ she said.
Tara recognised it. She’d seen people wear them on various protests, including one in town recently which had focused on freedom of speech. People wearing them en masse looked eerie and threatening – you could feel the force of their feelings, without knowing their identity. The barrier meant you couldn’t interact with them in the way you normally might. Tara knew it was illogical, but it felt as though they’d set you up as the enemy – even if you shared the same ideals.
Julie had customised her version of the mask. She – or someone – had added blood-red tears to its cheeks. They flowed freely near the blank, cut-out eyes, then extended down the mask’s face, thinning out in
to drips as they reached its broad moustache. The additional decorations were effective. She must have used acrylic paint – or something with some texture to it. Tara shivered.
Julie had wanted to make the world a better place, using everything in her power to create a lasting impression. Had her strong feelings clashed with someone else’s – equally strong, but without a shred of morality?
‘Have you found anything that might give us a lead?’ Max asked.
The investigator shook her head. ‘Nothing personal that provides a clue as to who she met up with last night. It’s a shame there’s no revealing correspondence – all we found was a single postcard. But that’s the way of it these days. Hopefully the contents of her phone will help, once you’ve accessed it. Most of what’s here is just what you’d expect – except one oddity.’
She turned to pick an evidence bag out of a crate and lifted it so that Max and Tara could see. It contained scarlet paper, cut into bits.
‘You can’t tell, now that it’s in there,’ the CSI said, ‘but we took a photograph before we bagged it. It formed a complete heart shape, until it was sliced to pieces.’
The news sent Tara’s nerves jangling. Of course, Julie might have been given the heart by a boyfriend and cut it up herself, in a fit of anger. But it could have been the other way round. Had the heart been destroyed and then delivered to Julie as a message? Tara thought back to the packages she herself had been sent as a teenager – by a stalker who’d never been caught. The first envelope, which arrived on her sixteenth birthday, had been stuffed with handfuls of dead bees. At one point her tormentor had sent a pig’s heart – and there’d been maggots too. Things had escalated, and when they felt they were being ignored they’d killed her cat.