by Clare Chase
Seriously? The transition from obsessive ex to mature former lover was hard to believe.
‘She still wore your ring.’ Once again, not a question, but it was worth it to check the look in Gilmour’s eye. And that – in fact – was interesting. No reaction at all.
‘I gave it to her. She was welcome to carry on wearing it.’
‘How did you and Julie first meet, Mr Gilmour?’ This from Megan.
‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’
‘We want to check every detail we can. The more background we have, the more likely we are to pick up on something that gives us a lead.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘All right then. We met at an animal rights demo in spring last year and we both wrote stories for student newspapers too. After that we kept bumping into each other at similar events and eventually we ended up going for a drink.’
‘You’ve crossed our radar before.’ Blake glanced at the list Jez had pulled from the files. The action brought up the new DC’s image momentarily, crouching by Tara, his head close to hers. ‘Was Julie with you on any of the demonstrations where you were arrested?’
‘Sure she was. We supported the same causes.’
‘Yet we never brought her in. Was she against the more extreme direct action that you took?’ He was wondering what the dynamics had been like between them.
‘Not at all. She got stuck in. She was at the demo that got me suspended, for instance – doing much the same as I was. Even though I avoided arrest that time, the college authorities were on to me. Some arse took photos after I’d taken my mask off and circulated them on social media.’
‘You wore a Guy Fawkes mask for the protest itself?’ Blake remembered the photos on the dead student’s camera roll.
‘That’s right, just the same as Julie. And she was caught in the same photograph as me, so her college got wind of her starring role as well. Which just shows you how unfair discipline is here. Her treatment was totally different to mine. No suspension for her.’
There was bitterness in his voice.
‘Why was that particular march so contentious?’
‘She and I – and a few others – had taken baby dolls with us and we held up knives to their throats. It was to symbolise the cut-throat attitude of the company. They don’t care who they hurt and it’s often the innocents who suffer.’
Blake thought of the glint of the knife blade he’d seen in the photograph. The dolls hadn’t been caught in the image. ‘I’m surprised that was one of the occasions you escaped arrest.’
‘They were only folding knives. And we were using them for “theatrical purposes”. That’s allowed, isn’t it?’
He’d been reading up on the law. His smug expression had Blake fighting to keep his temper.
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ Megan said. She sounded calm. ‘Especially if there are several of you in a crowded area. It’s illegal to use a knife in a threatening way.’
‘Even if it’s against a doll?’ Gilmour laughed. ‘You’ve got to do these things, otherwise no one takes any notice. The company needs to be put in the spotlight.’
‘What company is this?’ Blake’s eyes met Gilmour’s.
‘Lockwood’s. And because their chairman, Sir Alistair Lockwood, is master of St Oswald’s, the university authorities were paying especially close attention.’
Blake was sure his reaction had been slight – outwardly at least. He’d thought instantly of the cat with its Lockwood coat of arms. But Gilmour had caught it – he could see it in his eyes. The student’s expression was hard to read.
‘We’ll need to know your whereabouts from Saturday evening until you reappeared this morning at your college,’ Blake said.
‘I don’t see why.’
Blake tried to keep his tone controlled. ‘You had a painful break-up with a woman who has now been found murdered. You badgered her so hard that she made an official complaint about your behaviour. You blackmailed her into seeing you. Your ring was torn from her finger on the night she died. Would you like me to go on?’
Gilmour gave a deliberate sigh. ‘I was at my lodgings on Saturday evening and overnight.’
When his landlady was off getting hammered at her hen party. Great. ‘Anyone vouch for you?’
‘I shouldn’t imagine so.’ That smile again. ‘Then, yesterday just after lunch, I went out to meet a mate about a protest we’re organising.’
‘Details?’
Gilmour rattled off a name and a number as though it was a huge inconvenience.
‘On my way home, I saw the news about Julie.’ He paused. ‘We might have called it a day, but you can imagine it hit me in the gut. I went and bought a bottle of vodka and walked. I’d been on Hills Road, and I don’t even remember my route after I left the supermarket, but I ended up hiding out on Coe Fen. I wanted to block it all out.’
‘Do you have the receipt for the booze?’ It would at least give some credence to his story.
Gilmour stretched in his chair and dug in his jeans pocket. ‘There.’ He put a crumpled bit of till paper on the table and smoothed it out for them to see.
‘I saw Bella’s number come up on my phone but I didn’t answer. I knew why she’d be calling and I didn’t want to talk.’
‘And where did you go after that? Did you eat supper? Where did you sleep?’
That sigh again. Heaved out for effect. ‘Bella didn’t stop at one call. She kept on going. I switched my phone off for a while but when I put it back on she’d left messages and then she rang again. I picked up that final time. In the end I went to see her.’ He gave them a look. ‘I mean, she was upset too, clearly. And she knew I must be. We ate pizza in her room, finished off the vodka between us and crashed out. It was only when I woke up this morning – with a cracking hangover – that I started to connect with reality again.’
He’d stayed with Bella? Bella who Julie had thought he was seeing behind her back? Bella who they’d asked to inform them immediately if she managed to track Gilmour down… Right.
‘Nothing happened.’ Stuart’s look was withering. ‘I know the old cliché – in the heat of the moment, and all that. But I was plastered. Even if I’d wanted to have sex with Bella it most certainly wouldn’t have worked. And besides, whatever Julie thought, I still think Bella was obsessed with her, not me. She was beside herself last night. Couldn’t stop crying.’
‘Do you have access to a vehicle, Mr Gilmour?’
The young man lounged back in his chair now, his eyebrows raised. ‘Yes. Okay – I do currently have access to a vehicle. What’s all this about?’ He looked from one of them to another. ‘Wait. You mean Julie wasn’t killed where she was found?’
Again, there was something exaggerated about his reactions. Was he trying to hide the fact that this wasn’t really news to him? Or was he just someone who loved to be the centre of attention?
‘I can tell you I’d have struggled to get a body into the back of my brother’s Ford Fiesta, but if I put the rear seats down, I guess I could have managed it. And before you ask, I borrowed his car so I could shift my stuff back to my college rooms.
‘Julie and I might have broken up, but I was fond of her.’ His voice was quieter now, but Blake didn’t buy his sudden attempt at emotion. He’d seen the look his lawyer had given him. ‘I’m gutted that she’s dead.’
Blake nodded at Megan. He’d heard enough. As she wound up the interview and ended the recording a fresh wave of anger at Bella Chadwick washed over him. Keeping quiet about tracking Gilmour down made it clear they couldn’t trust her. Might they both have been involved in Julie’s death? He sure as hell hadn’t warmed to Stuart.
The lawyer was shifting in her chair. She’d probably got better places to be, and Blake felt just as impatient. There were a million and one facts to check, but as he stood up, his mind was focused on one small detail of Gilmour’s statement. St Oswald’s College had known about Julie’s involvement in the march against Lockwood’s – the comp
any managed by the master of their institution. That almost certainly meant her tutor, Lucien Balfour, had all the details, and yet he’d sat on them for some reason, when he spoke to Max and Tara. Blake wanted to know why.
Eighteen
It wasn’t like Shona to suggest a meet-up with Patrick during the day. She was normally hell-bent on her work – saving their diverting liaisons for late at night, when she’d filed all her copy. He wondered what was up.
She was late, of course. He hoped to God she didn’t just leave him sitting there, having forgotten all about their appointment. He couldn’t get up and walk out without looking like a loser. Another person entered the café, failing to close the door properly behind them. The weather had turned colder and misty overnight, and each time someone came in or went out, cool air pooled near his table, the draught working its way up his trouser legs. The door, which was now ajar, was only a couple of feet from him, but he presumed no one was expecting him to sort it out. You didn’t pay to sit in someone else’s establishment only to have to leap up every two minutes to keep the place habitable.
He’d been glancing at the news on his phone as he waited, sipping his latte. Not much more about the death out at Wandlebury. His ex-colleagues at Parkside probably had no clue as to who’d done for the girl. He imagined Fleming in the team briefings, rapping out her predictable orders, putting all her faith in Blake to find the truth. Eventually. When he could take his eyes off Tara Thorpe for long enough to get on with the job. What with that and distractions for the DI at home, his old boss would be even more useless than usual. Thanks to a chance encounter with Blake’s wife, Babette the Babe, Wilkins knew there was something odd about that marriage. Why didn’t Fleming see him for what he was? And how was it that other members of the team stayed loyal? He knew Megan Moany Maloney had her doubts about Tara, partly thanks to some well-chosen words from him. And yet they all muddled along.
He was glad he hadn’t settled for the status quo. Some of the PI work he’d taken on since resigning had been a bit dull. Not like being involved in something really important. He’d done a couple of investigations into errant partners. For a second, he wondered about either Blake or Babette as future clients. That would be a good joke. Blake would never hire him of course – but the idea of investigating the skeletons in his cupboard was very appealing.
At that moment, the flapping door opened wider, and Shona dashed in, a bag from a designer boutique on her arm. It hadn’t been work that had held her up, then. As she moved gracefully towards him, the breeze carried a waft of her scent. Behind her, a tall guy was on his feet, closing the door properly, with an admiring glance in Shona’s direction.
Typical.
She dropped into her seat, kissing her fingers, then brushing Patrick’s cheek. He could tell the tall, door-closing guy was dumbfounded to see that he was her date.
‘What can I get you?’ Patrick caught the eye of a waiter. He’d take command of the situation and show the onlookers the reasons for Shona’s preferences.
‘A cappuccino, please.’
The waiter overshot their table and took an order from a middle-aged woman, sitting by the window. Patrick took a deep breath. In the end, he had to wait a full minute before he could request Shona’s drink – and it was a look from her that brought the waiter over.
He switched off his irritation and turned to his girlfriend. ‘So, it’s good to see you. But unusual, at this hour. Is everything all right?’
She smiled. ‘Absolutely. I’ve got something for you.’
For a moment he glanced at the bag she was carrying. This wasn’t like her.
Her smile broadened. ‘Not material goods. This is information. You’ve passed plenty in my direction in the past – I thought it might be time to return the favour.’
What on earth had she got up her sleeve? She met his puzzled look.
‘Aw.’ Her hand was on his cheek again. ‘You looked so down, yesterday at the pub. I got the impression your plans for getting even with DI Blake’s golden girl might have hit the buffers.’ Her eyes were on his. They saw far too much.
‘Not at all. It’s just slow, intensive work.’ He knew he couldn’t lie as well as she could.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s no need to explain. But – just in case it’s useful – I wanted to let you know that I had another chat with my pet police constable this morning. Purely to get more information on the Julie Cooper case, of course.’
‘Anything new?’
She took a deep breath, and he could tell she’d come away with less than she’d wanted. ‘They’re being cagey. My man claimed he’d heard very little.’
‘So what is it that you have to pass on, then?’
She leant back in her seat as the waiter delivered her coffee. ‘Information on Tara specifically. I don’t know what it means, but I found it quite… diverting.’
She was really drawing this out. He hoped it was good. He swigged his latte and waited for her to get on with it.
‘I mentioned to the pet PC that Tara and I used to work together, and so we got chatting.’ She glanced down for a moment, with mock modesty. ‘I think he’s taken to me, if I’m honest. Anyway, I managed to get him to open up about Tara’s life at the station – and Tara in general, in fact.’ She cocked her head. ‘I gather there was some kerfuffle about that case she worked on in the spring. Talk around the station about her having behaved recklessly. But overall – don’t get upset – my PC says she’s quite well respected. It might not be long before she goes for promotion.’
‘Is this supposed to be helping?’ At least if she went for DS, she’d probably have to move away. There was no opening at Parkside, as far as he knew.
‘I haven’t finished yet. He also said that, back in the spring, her personal and professional lives collided. He mentioned about how she was stalked, and sent weird packages, way back when she was a teenager – which of course we know. But apparently, she got a delivery recently. In March. From the same stalker, as far as anyone’s aware. She called the police in, and they started an investigation, but it didn’t go anywhere. Apparently, Tara told them to leave it after a couple of weeks. She didn’t want to waste their time, and there’s been no delivery since. They assume it was a one-off.’
Patrick’s heart was beating faster. ‘And she was sent this latest package in March, you say?’
Shona leant forward, her eyes sharp. ‘Apparently so. Why? Is the timing significant?’
He was thinking hard. ‘Did your contact mention a message with the delivery?’
A satisfied smile crossed his lover’s face. ‘He did. He couldn’t remember exactly what it was, but he said it was a threat. Something like: “Remember me? If you don’t want me back, call off the dogs.” Nice and dramatic. It made me wonder if she’s been doing some digging – making a fresh attempt to identify her tormentor.’ Her eyes were knowing. ‘Unless someone else was doing that, of course.’
She waited.
My God, she sees it all. She’d guessed what he’d been up to and his reactions would have confirmed it.
Patrick watched the reflection of the café’s overhead lights in Shona’s eyes. ‘To think, you might have found all this out months ago.’ The fact that the information about the March poison pen letter had been sitting there on the police files all that time rankled. Shona was apt to ask her contacts on the force about Tara. Their status as sworn enemies meant she was always keen to get the latest dirt on her. It was a shame she hadn’t put the effort in sooner; it would have saved Patrick an awful lot of time and disappointment.
Shona raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds a little ungrateful. I’ve no doubt I would have unearthed it earlier, only there’s been no big police case to take me onto their territory until now. But this is a breakthrough. At least you know that… if someone was looking into the matter of Tara’s stalker’ – she gave him another meaningful glance – ‘they got a definite reaction. They must have been on exactly the right track.’
He felt a wave of heat rush over him. From being certain he’d never identify her stalker, the field was suddenly narrowed down to a single suspect. All he needed to do now was to find proper evidence – something he could hand over to both Giles at Not Now and to the police. Okay, so it still wouldn’t be easy, but it was entirely possible. And if he succeeded, he’d be the hero of the hour. Solving a case that the force had bungled would be a shot in the arm to his new PI business, to say nothing of the other emotional satisfaction involved. He’d be able to put Tara in an unwanted spotlight after all – rake up her painful past and every ounce of dirt he’d ever managed to get on her.
He grinned to himself as he imagined the carefully crafted headlines in the magazine that used to employ her. It was helpful that she’d made so many enemies there.
He’d resume work on her case the very next day – reinterview the suspect, and go in hard, armed with this extra knowledge. And, when he’d got what he wanted, he’d invite Giles out for a drink. The editor had written him off, convinced he’d been all talk. Patrick was about to regain the man’s respect.
Shona looked at him, a smile playing round her lips, one eyebrow raised. ‘Darling! You do look cheerful. Now, one good turn deserves another. I’ve told you what my pet policeman said. How about you tell me exactly what you’re planning?’
She leant forward. Information was like a drug to her.
Wilkins sat back in his chair and returned her look. ‘All in good time, Shona. All in good time.’
Nineteen
‘Everything about Gilmour makes my skin crawl.’ Tara watched Blake, who was perched on a desk at the front of the incident room, bringing them up to date. ‘But there’s something odd going on. On paper he sounds like the classic obsessive ex who wouldn’t let go. In that role, I’d imagined him pestering Julie yet again, striking her when she rejected him, then locking her up in a confined space and waiting for her to run out of air.’