Murder in the Fens: An utterly gripping English cozy mystery novel (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 4)

by Clare Chase

  She imagined him, sitting at the table, staring out of the window into his dark garden. Had he been consumed with guilt after killing Julie, or overwhelmed by sorrow on hearing about her death?

  ‘One more thing,’ the CSI said. ‘When we came in, we noticed the phone had been dropped or knocked to the floor. Possibly thrown even. It’s cracked. We’ll report back on anything else we find.’

  Maybe someone had called to let him know Julie was dead. ‘Can we try dialling 1471?’ Tara asked.

  But the CSI shook his head. ‘We did that, after we’d photographed it in situ, but whoever called last withheld their number.’

  But they could get round that. It would be more than interesting to find out who had contacted John that night, and why they’d wanted to avoid leaving a record of their number on his phone.

  After they’d finished at the house, Tara drove them towards Castle Hill, to see the man’s doctor, Ava Schwarz. She sensed Max’s restlessness next to her.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I could hear you huffing.’

  ‘Huffing?’

  ‘Or, well, sighing maybe.’

  He told her what Megan had said the evening before. The news that Stuart Gilmour might be keeping an eye on them all made her catch her breath. ‘Has she told Blake now?’

  ‘She’s going to, this morning. She’s still not sure, but I said it was worth him knowing she’d got her suspicions.’

  ‘I should say so.’ She’d have told Blake the moment she’d had the thought. Why had Megan held back? Was it their boss or herself that she didn’t trust? ‘So you and she were having a little chat after work, were you?’ She let her eyes slide towards him for a split second as she made the turn onto Chesterton Road. A moment later she was fully focused on the traffic. Mitcham’s Corner demanded one hundred per cent concentration. Its weird layout meant cars, buses and cyclists were changing lanes at the last minute, squeezing into gaps that looked impossibly small.

  Max was quiet for a moment. ‘We just nipped into the Free Press for a quick drink on our way home.’

  Tara smiled, despite her mixed feelings about Megan. Max sounded so bashful. ‘That’s nice.’

  He sighed again now. ‘I know you two don’t get on well.’

  ‘What, since she tried to get me disciplined for actions that led to the arrest of Freya Cross’s killer?’

  ‘Well, she—’

  ‘I’m joking.’ She couldn’t do it to him. She knew she’d got a lot of things wrong on that case, even if she’d managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat at the last minute. ‘I’m not surprised she was angry. She’d been shaken up.’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to spell out her own failings, but she’d apologised to both Megan and Blake in person.

  ‘She’s great when you get to know her.’ Max’s words came out in a rush. It might only be early days, but at that moment Tara could tell it was important.

  ‘I trust your judgement. Megan and I are just on different wavelengths, that’s all.’

  Max was quiet, and Tara wondered what he was thinking. A moment later, she seemed to have her answer. ‘What about you and Jez?’

  ‘What about “me and Jez”?’ She glanced at him, to see if he was winding her up in return for her comments about Megan, but he wasn’t smiling.

  ‘I got the impression he was about to make his move – and then when he hung around yesterday evening…’

  It was true, Jez wasn’t the most subtle of people, but in some ways it was nice to deal with someone who could be straightforward about what they wanted. After months of wondering about Blake, it made a change. ‘We just cycled back from the station together, as far as my house. And then he went off home.’

  ‘I trust your judgement too.’ There was something about the way Max said it. He might have added so don’t let me down onto the end of his sentence. He sounded almost as protective as Kemp. But after her comments about Megan, she couldn’t really pull him up for interfering.

  They met Dr Schwarz in a second-floor consulting room across the road from Castle Mound – the site of a fortification built by William the Conqueror but now no more than a low grassy hill.

  The doctor pushed dark-rimmed glasses up her nose and turned her swivel chair away from her computer screen so that she was facing them. They sat on the plastic chairs reserved for patients and explained their reasons for being there.

  ‘John Lockwood’s death didn’t come as a surprise,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He could have gone at any time.’

  ‘Can you tell us more about that?’ Max asked.

  ‘Under the circumstances, I’m prepared to.’

  ‘So, he was unwell?’ Tara took out her notebook.

  Schwarz nodded. ‘He was depressed. His mental health affected his physical health and it had done for years.’

  ‘Did you know him before he got ill?’ Max put in.

  The woman shook her head. ‘His family is from Cambridge – I know that much – but I didn’t take him on as a patient until eight or nine years ago.’ She turned to her screen. ‘I can tell you who he was registered with before that though.’ She called up his records and made a note on her pad, before ripping off the sheet and giving it to Tara.

  ‘I wanted him to get help,’ Schwarz said. ‘Specialist help, I mean. I thought he would benefit from talking therapies and I could have referred him, but he was dead against it. I went so far as to push a little in that direction once, but he got angry and I had to leave it.’

  ‘Was he aggressive?’ Max asked.

  ‘He shouted. I suspect he’d been drinking. But he wasn’t physically aggressive.’ She sighed.

  ‘We found this packet of sedatives at his home, on his desk next to an empty bottle of whisky.’ Tara took out her phone to show the doctor the picture she’d taken. ‘Did you prescribe him these?’

  The woman opened her eyes wide. ‘Good God, no – I’d never have risked it in his state. It would be dangerous to combine them with the amount of alcohol he habitually drank. And I’d have worried he might have taken too many, too.’

  Where had he got them from then? Had a friend passed them on to him? And maybe given him the unusual whisky too?

  ‘Thank you, Dr Schwarz,’ Max said. ‘Before we go, did you ever get the impression John Lockwood had something specific troubling him, beyond his illness?’

  The woman sat back in her chair. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Every so often he’d allude to it an oblique way. He felt guilty about something. But I never found out what that was.’ She hesitated for a moment, her eyes haunted. ‘I think it was something big. I often wondered whether he’d tell me the truth in the end. And if he did, whether I would have to tell the police about it, patient confidentiality or no.’

  Thirty-Seven

  Lucien Balfour looked around his group of students. He’d invited them all in together, and closer to the start of term than usual, given what had happened to Julie. All of the third years had known her, but there was one in particular of whom he was wary. One who might have picked up on certain things he’d rather keep quiet. Of course, there was a second who knew everything there was to know about him. But she was under control. He smiled for a moment, but then altered his expression to fit the occasion.

  ‘This has been a terrible start to a new academic year. I know you will all be as devastated as I am at the news of Julie Cooper’s death.’ He slid his eyes around the group. ‘She was an incredibly intelligent, driven student who cared deeply about the world around her.’

  Bella Chadwick’s eyes were on him, red-rimmed. He wasn’t worried about what she thought, but he found her show of emotion irritating. Had she really minded about her friend, despite her two-faced actions?

  But it wasn’t Bella who was giving him sleepless nights – not any more, at least. It was the mousy girl sitting behind her. Truth to tell, he always had trouble remembering her name – but not her face. When he’d looked up that day, and seen her scared hazel ey
es on his, her features had imprinted themselves on his brain. He glanced down at the calendar entry on his computer and scanned the names of the students his PA had invited. Louise. That was it.

  He’d already prepared his speech: worked out what spin to put on the interaction she’d accidentally witnessed.

  ‘I myself feel deep regret that my last words to Julie were impatient and hasty. Talented and bright though she was, many of you will realise that some of the student protests she took part in were – well – risky. Her actions could have put her future on the line – if they’d come to the attention of the police. You can’t carry a knife through the streets of Cambridge – even as a dramatic prop – and not expect consequences.’ He got up from his chair and paced up and down the room next to the window. It would be easier to do this convincingly if he didn’t have to meet Louise’s eyes. They’d been forgettable for so long. Not any more.

  ‘As Julie’s college tutor, her future was of the utmost importance to me. But also, of course, I couldn’t ignore the effect her rash actions might have had on the reputation of St Oswald’s, and indeed the whole university.’ He glanced briefly over the room before looking away again. ‘And that kind of damage would affect each and every one of you, indirectly. So’ – he heaved another sigh – ‘I had words with her about it. I pointed out that I’d done her a good turn by not reporting her to the authorities. And in return I asked her to curtail her political activities until she’d finished her studies here.’

  He went back to his seat now and allowed himself a brief, nostalgic smile as he shook his head. ‘Of course, you can imagine how she reacted to that. Fury is probably too weak a word.’

  There was a gratifying response from the students: gentle, sad amusement – rueful expressions. Nods. They hadn’t known Julie well, but her reputation had preceded her.

  He turned his head slightly to check mousy Louise’s reaction. It wasn’t as reassuring as he’d hoped. She looked uncertain. And what’s more, she’d seen him check her response. But there was nothing for it. And she was one of the weak ones. He’d have introduced doubt in her mind – it ought to be enough to stop her from doing anything dangerous.

  ‘Even though we had that exchange, I honestly admired her for her convictions. I can only hope she realised that I was trying to protect her, and that underneath it all, I understood. You must all come to me, any time you have any concerns about anything – but especially at the moment if you want to talk about Julie. The counselling service is also available – they will free up emergency appointments as required. Does anyone want to talk now?’

  Pathetic Louise was looking down and picking at her nails – a most unattractive action. Not that anything could have saved her from mediocrity in the looks department anyway.

  One or two of the others shook their heads. They seemed incapable of simply answering his question by speaking up.

  ‘In that case, I won’t take up any more of your time, but my door is always open.’

  Louise was the first to get up from her seat, and second to reach his doorway. Once the room had cleared, Balfour went to look out of his window. The gaggle of students under his care trailed off round the court below, heading in different directions.

  The mouse had her head down against the rain that had started to fall. She wasn’t talking to any of the others. That was good. At last he moved away, back into the shady interior of the room. Further action might be riskier than holding back.

  He’d have to watch and wait.

  Thirty-Eight

  Bella Chadwick was standing on the rain-washed pavement outside Fitzbillies as Tara made her way along Trumpington Street. The student’s hood was down and her hair was plastered to her scalp, tendrils of it sticking to her cheeks.

  Tara had worn her wool coat that morning, thanks to the recent drop in temperature. She would have been in the same boat but for a black umbrella Max had lent her. She dashed forward with the thing held out until Bella was under cover too.

  ‘Thanks for coming.’ The young woman spoke slowly, and her eyes were glassy and unfocused. It was almost as though she wasn’t aware of the rain, or of the lack of it now that she had some shelter.

  ‘No problem.’ Tara nodded towards the steamed-up window of the café. The lights inside looked bright and welcoming, in contrast with the leaden sky. ‘Shall we?’ She manoeuvred them towards the glass-doored entrance.

  It was warm inside, and Tara found them a table as far away from the door as possible, to keep out of the draught as people came and went. Bella looked as though she could do with drying out. As Tara stuffed Max’s umbrella next to her chair, she wondered how long the girl had been standing there in the rain.

  ‘Hot chocolate? Coffee?’

  ‘Coffee, thanks.’

  Bella refused the offer of something to eat, so Tara put in their order for drinks. ‘How can I help?’ She leant in towards the student, so that they could talk quietly and not be overheard.

  Bella looked around her for a moment. It was the first time she’d seemed to focus on her surroundings. ‘I wasn’t completely honest with you when we spoke yesterday.’

  No kidding. Her admitting it was unexpected, though. ‘It’s not always easy when something traumatic has happened. All sorts of competing thoughts and worries go through your head.’ She waited, not wanting to influence the way Bella passed on her information.

  The waitress arrived with their coffees and a small jug of milk.

  Once she’d gone again, Bella took a deep breath. ‘I heard this morning that John Lockwood is dead.’

  Tara nodded. ‘I wasn’t holding out on you when we spoke. I didn’t know myself, until I got back to the station. And then, of course, we had to notify his next of kin before we could make the news public.’

  Bella nodded. The action looked mechanical. ‘I understand.’ She let out a sigh. ‘This seems so wrong, but it makes a difference.’ She picked up her coffee cup and took a tiny sip. ‘I didn’t say too much about him yesterday because I was scared.’

  Tara remembered the way the student had flinched when she’d mentioned John’s name.

  ‘Why were you frightened, Bella?’

  ‘I thought he might somehow find out if I told you things. And that there might be… consequences. But now that he’s dead, I feel safer. He can’t reach me any more.’

  She was shivering. She didn’t look like someone who’d suddenly relaxed.

  ‘So, what was it you didn’t tell me about John? You said you’d never met him.’ And that still struck Tara as odd; the idea that Bella only knew of his existence because Julie had confided in her.

  But the student nodded. ‘That’s true.’

  ‘You never even saw them together?’

  She looked down into her drink. ‘No.’

  If that was the case, then why avoid Tara’s eyes? ‘Bella – I get the impression you felt left out sometimes, when Julie went off with her other mates. If Julie regarded you as a very close friend, someone she could absolutely rely on, then she might have taken you for granted. Been a bit cruel even – without meaning to be – when it came to how much time she spent with you, and how much with her boyfriends and other contacts.’ She leant in closer. ‘If that happened, I wouldn’t blame you for having chased after her maybe, to see who she went to meet – or to try to have a word with her. If that’s how you came to know about John, there’s no shame in it.’ Could she get the woman to trust her?

  Bella raised her eyes for a moment, but then dropped them again. ‘Thanks, but that’s not how I knew about him. Julie told me.’

  Tara took a deep breath. She still found it hard to believe – and if it were true, there must have been something special that made Julie want to offload. Everyone kept saying how independent she was.

  ‘So which bits of what you told me weren’t quite accurate?’ Tara asked. She kept her voice gentle.

  ‘It wasn’t that I lied, but what I said was incomplete.’ Bella gazed down into her coffee again.
‘Some of what Julie told me made me worry about John – about his state of mind. Julie liked her good causes, and it seemed to me that John had become one of them.’

  ‘Even though he came from a powerful, wealthy family?’

  ‘I think there was plenty of distance between him and them.’ She paused. ‘From what Julie said, that is.’

  ‘Did Julie ever say why that was?’

  Bella shook her head. ‘I assumed it was because John had rebelled. Julie admitted he drank a lot and—’ She stopped abruptly.

  ‘And what, Bella?’

  She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Well – judging by him and Julie, I guess it looked as though he was into younger women. He broke the rules.’

  Why that pause? ‘Was Julie ever frightened by him, do you think?’

  Bella shook her head. ‘That’s the thing, she was blind to the fact that he might be a danger to her. Even though she said he behaved erratically sometimes.’

  ‘Erratically?’

  ‘She said he was close to the edge, and occasionally his temper would flare.’

  ‘Did she mention him threatening her? Or attacking her physically?’

  ‘She implied she’d had to calm him down once or twice.’

  ‘And what about their relationship? How much do you know about that?’

  Bella looked down into her lap. ‘She said they were having sex.’ Her eyes rose slowly to meet Tara’s. ‘I think maybe he was obsessed with her.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  The waitress arrived to ask if everything was okay. It was a moment before she could follow up her question. ‘Bella?’

  The student was twisting her hands together. ‘Julie was sent a few odd things in the fortnight before she died.’

  Tara thought back to the contents of the dead girl’s bedroom, anticipating the details. But Bella might know more than the police. ‘What kind of things?’