by Annie Weir
‘Tash will, you know Louise’s daughter. She never liked Judith and nor did her mum. Anyway, you don’t look like you should be left on your own.’
‘I’ll go round to Judith’s and drop you in town on my way.’
Judith wasn’t very forthcoming. She wanted to confide in Fiona about her financial situation but couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she drank wine and Fiona drank tea then Rosie called and said she was going home because Tash was talking about her to some others and making her feel uncomfortable. There didn’t seem to be anything Fiona could do for Judith, as usual, so she went to pick up Rosie.
Tuesday 17th February 2009
Judith got to work early again. It seemed to be the only way to avoid the eyes of Hexham. Two more phone messages, one from Stoneleigh wanting to take their business away and one from one of the applicants for the vacancy saying she was no longer interested in the job. She bundled up Stoneleigh’s file with her notes and copies of their tax returns and put it into a large envelope. She supposed she would have to go to the post office sometime, but then she had a better idea; she would drive out to Haltwhistle or even further away and post things there. She could shop somewhere else as well. She decided to let it all pile up then she would go to Carlisle on Saturday and make a day of it. She would be anonymous there.
The postman arrived.
‘Not much for you today,’ he said, trying to sound chatty but realising it was probably the wrong thing to say. Judith nodded but didn’t reply.
There was another letter from Henry Lloyd’s solicitor making enquiries as to the nature of Judith’s last visit to Henry the day before the cheque was presented for payment. Sod them, she thought and shredded the letter. Half an hour later he phoned and asked the same question. She told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t know anything about a cheque made payable to HMRC and that she would appreciate being left alone to grieve for her friend. She decided that attack may yet be the best form of defence.
‘HMRC?’ he said, ‘Did I mention that it was made payable to HMRC?’
‘Yes you did,’ said Judith, then suddenly unsure, ‘last time.’
‘I see. So you don’t know anything about it?’
‘No I do not. Good day.’
Judith wished she had kept the letters instead of shredding them. She wasn’t actually sure whether he had mentioned HMRC before. Bugger! Her head was spinning with it all.
She opened another letter which contained a cheque for her tax overpayment. Some small mercy. Maybe she could open an account in a different bank and pay it in there, but would definitely need to go to a different town. She knew all the people in all the banks in Hexham and so decided to go to Carlisle on Friday instead of Saturday.
DS Doggart answered the phone and signalled to her boss that it was something interesting. She made notes as the caller spoke. DI Gibson read them over her shoulder.
‘That was Langdale’s Solicitors, Mr. Langdale himself. He wants to make some official enquiries about Judith Dillon’s financial transactions and those of a late client of hers.’
‘Well, well, well, very interesting. Let’s give him as much assistance as we can.’
They arrived in Judith’s office just before lunch time and escorted her back to the police station, this time to enquire about Henry Lloyd’s final meeting with her, and to ask about a mysterious payment.
They asked Judith to sit where she had done last time, and they went through the same process of cassette tapes and signatures.
‘What has this got to do with Chloe’s death?’ she asked.
‘I thought I had made that clear,’ said DI Gibson, ‘this concerns the death of Henry Lloyd.’
‘So it’s a completely different enquiry?’
‘Yes.’
Judith answered the questions in the same matter-of-fact way that she had answered the questions about Chloe. DS Doggart watched her face and her body language throughout. She noticed a slight clench of her hands when asked about her last meeting with him at Mill View; she noticed Judith’s cheeks redden slightly when DI Gibson asked for the third time about the cheque to HMRC. None of that would show up on the tape, of course, and DS Doggart said afterwards that she thought Judith was definitely hiding something this time.
‘I doubt it has anything to do with Chloe Parks’ death, though.’
‘No, me neither, but a juicy fraud case might make the town feel better.’
‘There is obviously a side to you that I haven’t seen yet,’ laughed DS Doggart.
‘Indeed,’ he replied, then apparently out of character again, ‘but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.’
Friday 20th February 2009
Judith drove west along the A69 and reflected that nothing was likely to happen this day that was different to the last four. Thank God for the cheque. Once the mortgage and car payments went out next month there wouldn’t be much left for anything else. She knew she had so few clients left that she wouldn’t be able to meet the payments from then on. Getting right away from it all would help her think properly about it; to come up with a proper plan. She couldn’t think in Hexham. With her mobile switched off and no one knowing where she was going, she had taken with her everything she needed to open a bank account with the £6,000 from the Inland Revenue. Langdale’s were on to her, that much was clear, but it would be difficult for them to get access to her personal bank accounts and tax records. Henry had so much money when he died, they would probably write it off anyway. At least Martin Lloyd would be on her side. He would want everything to be sorted out and done with as quickly as possible.
Louise Holmes sat with a cup of tea. Tears ran down her face. She had just spoken to Chloe’s father in Spain. He wasn’t really well enough to travel but seemed determined to come back to Hexham for the funeral. Louise offered to make the arrangements on his behalf, which he accepted gratefully. She also told him that she would pick him up from the airport; well she had nothing else to do now. Tash came into the kitchen and hugged her mother.
‘Is he coming back?’
‘Yes. I’ll pick him up from Newcastle on Wednesday then he’ll have all day Thursday to rest before the funeral on Friday.’
‘Will she be coming to the funeral?’
‘I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Rosie?’
‘I haven’t spoken to her.’
‘No, I suppose you haven’t seen her, with it being half-term. Why don’t you give her a call?’
‘I have seen her, the other night, but I didn’t speak to her. I don’t want people to think I’m on their side.’
‘Tash! That’s not fair. It’s not Rosie’s fault.’
‘Judith’s her auntie. Everyone knows she’s weird. I don’t want to be, you know, associated in any way.’
‘Stop that right now.’ For the first time in over a week, Louise thought about someone other than herself.
‘Mam, you said she was a weirdo as well.’
‘Not in public, I didn’t, and I don’t want you saying it either. What we say here is between us. I certainly don’t want you telling anyone else that’s what I said.’
The look on Tash’s face gave away the fact that she’d already told all her friends.
‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ she said, ‘everyone else is saying it too.’
‘It’s not fair on Rosie and her mam. They’re lovely; and this is turning into some old fashioned witch hunt. We’ll be running the family out of town soon. It has to stop.’
Tash shrugged and took her coffee up to her room. Ten minutes later she came back down.
‘I called Rosie. I have been mean to her lately and I’ve said sorry.’
Ivy Shipton sat on her son’s bed and rubbed his back. He had barely moved except to eat and go to the bathroom.
‘I’ve heard from the police,’ she said,
‘the funeral’s next Friday.’
He nodded.
‘Do you want to go?’
He nodded again. ‘I have to, Mam.’
‘We’ll come with you.’
Fiona went to visit her mother after lunch. She thought Rosie seemed a bit brighter, which was a relief. Teenage girls could be quite cruel to each other. If Tash was making a point of being her friend, then others would soon follow.
Mill View was an ordeal, though. It was clear that the care staff blamed Judith for Chloe’s death and for the torment of the driver’s family and although they didn’t say anything to her directly, Fiona could feel their accusing eyes on her as she moved from one part of the building to another. Her mother ‘wasn’t very good’, to use their terminology, so she sat next to her in silence for nearly an hour. On the way out she stopped to speak to Tina.
‘Did you have to ban Judith?’ she asked. ‘She really is having a bad time with all this.’
‘Your sister is not the only one having a bad time,’ said Tina. ‘Look, I know it isn’t your fault, or Judith’s probably, but that’s the way it seems to Shelly Shipton. She’s a strong character and makes her feelings known. It’s best for Judith if she doesn’t come here, especially until after the funeral. And the last thing we want is for your mother to get wind of it.’
‘I suppose funerals have a way of settling everyone down. Shall I tell her that; that she can come back after the funeral?’
‘Don’t be too definite. Can you say not before the funeral then we’ll see how everyone is?’
Judith opened her new account and paid in the cheque. At least she could afford to eat while she thought about how to manage the sale of her flat. She couldn’t see where she was going to get any more clients from at the moment. This would all blow over soon enough and then she could pick up the pieces. She went for a coffee and a sandwich in a cafe in Carlisle. It called itself a ‘cafe bar’, whatever that meant. She was fairly sure that such an establishment didn’t exist in Hexham. It was a bit tatty but the coffee was strong and fresh, and the brie and avocado filling absolutely delicious. It could do with a makeover, she thought, and then it would be a really nice place to eat. She stayed there as long as she could without someone demanding that she bought something else, and then drove up to Cost-Save to do a big shop while she still had credit on her visa card. They were advertising for staff; maybe she needed to get a job. She thought about who might employ her in Hexham, and couldn’t think of anyone.
Judith pushed her full trolley across the car park and as she opened the boot, she noticed that someone had bashed into the passenger door. She cursed. If she had been in Hexham, she would have thought that someone had done it deliberately. Expecting to see someone she knew laughing at her out of a car window, she looked around. There wasn’t anyone. That dent would cost money to put right, and she was nearly out of fuel; another fifty quid. Where would all this end?
By the time she got home it was dark and starting to get frosty. Judith sat in her car for a few moments before getting out in case any reporters were lurking there. They had clearly moved on to more interesting stories. God, I am so paranoid, she thought, and carried her shopping upstairs a few bags at a time. She had bought enough for a siege.
When everything was put away, she opened a bottle of Rioja. I don’t have to lower my standards quite yet, she said to herself, and after half a glassful, switched on her mobile phone.
‘Ju, it’s me. I spoke to Tina. She thinks the funeral on Friday will settle people down so you should be able to see Mum soon after. Ring me if you want, or come round.’
So, the funeral is on Friday, is it? Time enough to decide whether or not to go to it. She pressed the flashing button on her house phone.
‘Ms Dillon? DI Gibson. Please contact me as soon as you get this message.’
Bollocks, thought Judith, not bloody likely.
The next message was a woman’s voice. The accent was more Geordie than local and she thought she recognised it.
‘I hate you, Judith Dillon. I fucking hate you. If you could see my brother you’d hate you an’ all. Don’t come near me or my family – ever.’
Shelly from Mill View. She wondered how she had got her home number. She was ex-directory. Tina would have to be informed about that.
Saturday 21st February 2009
Judith didn’t feel like facing the wrath of Hexham on another Saturday morning so she looked at the headlines of the local paper on-line. Damn it, she was still in the news. To be fair it said that Chloe’s death was officially an accident, but also that there was a groundswell of public opinion against a local accountant who was following her that afternoon. She supposed that was the best she could hope for.
Her doorbell sounded and she glanced at the CCTV screen by the door. It was the two detectives. Bugger; she had forgotten to ring them back. She didn’t let them in, but put her coat on and went downstairs to see them. Sure enough they wanted her to go back to the police station for more questioning, once more about the cheque that Henry Lloyd had written a few days before he died. She stuck to her story of total ignorance and after an hour they brought her back home.
‘We are making more enquiries,’ said DI Gibson as he pulled up at the imposing building, ‘and I will be seeking permission to have access to your bank accounts.’
‘You won’t get it from me,’ muttered Judith.
‘I didn’t mean from you,’ he said.
Back in the flat, Judith made a list of everything that was bad in her life, fully intending to counter each item with what she was going to do about it. She found it to be a depressing activity. It was likely that she would lose more clients who would not be replaced very easily. It would be a miracle if anyone around here were to offer her a job at the moment or in the foreseeable future. She wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage after next month, except with Henry’s cheque, and couldn’t force the sale of her flat. Even if she could she would be left owing money on it. She had no friends left in Hexham and her family were either embarrassed by her or oblivious to her. She could give up the office but would have to give three months’ notice. She could return her car. Bloody marvellous.
It was only four o’clock but she opened another bottle of the Rioja she had bought in Carlisle the day before. By seven, she was part way through the next one, but with a new list written.
Sunday 22nd February 2009
Judith didn’t wake up until after noon. Her head ached and she felt more than a little sick. Twenty minutes under the power shower helped, and after two strong cups of coffee sitting in the alcove looking out over the fields, she felt strong enough to read the two lists she had written the day before. Nothing had changed. She would have to go through with it. The phone rang. She ignored it.
She packed everything she could carry on a train. She wrote a note to Fiona and Rosie asking them to take all the food and drink, and anything else they wanted from the flat as she wouldn’t be coming back. Fiona had a key; she would come round eventually. She wrote a letter to Mr. Clements asking him to arrange to have the flat repossessed.
By three she felt well enough to eat, so made herself a huge fry-up and more coffee. She also made sandwiches and packed them neatly in a plastic box along with a banana, a yoghurt and a Twix, then washed up for the last time in her spacious north-east wing of a grand country house and loaded up the car.
Judith didn’t cry often, but leaving like this was ripping her heart out and it was all she could do not to break down. She drove down the long driveway, forcing herself not to look in the rear view mirrors.
She was in her office within ten minutes and she looked round critically. She couldn’t really carry anything else, but there was nothing that she wanted anyway. She wrote a note to a rival accountancy practice offering them all her remaining clients and enclosing the key so they could collect the files. Sh
e also wrote to her landlord, the bridal shop downstairs telling them that she had gone and where the key was. She didn’t leave a note for DI Gibson or DS Doggart or Langdale’s Solicitors. If they wanted to press charges, they would have a way of finding out where she was.
So that was everything, except to look up the times of trains on Sunday evening and to choose whether to travel east or west. Fate could decide and she would get on the next one stopping at Hexham. She considered, just for a moment, jumping under the next one that didn’t stop at Hexham but discarded the thought as quickly as it had come. Something had to be better somewhere; surely it did.
At seven o’clock Judith sat in her car in the station car park. The train to Carlisle would be there in fifteen minutes. She had bought a ticket and had one more job to do before dragging her two suitcases, back pack, holdall and handbag onto the station. She called the BMW garage and left a message.
‘Judith Dillon here. I’ve left my car at the station. The keys are hidden on top of the front wheel on the driver’s side. Please take it back.’
Friday 27th February 2009
The day of Chloe’s funeral dawned crisp and bright but by the time of the service at the crematorium there was a light drizzle of rain falling. Chloe’s father walked down the centre aisle following the coffin containing his only daughter. He leaned on a stick with his right hand and on Louise who had linked arms with him on his left side. He looked straight ahead with no expression on his lined and tanned face, but his eyes look glassy and red.
The crematorium was almost full, mostly with people Chloe had known in Newcastle, but there were a few friends from Hexham as well. Tash sat on the front row with her dad waiting for her mother and Mr. Parks to join them. Pauline sat in the row behind with her mum and dad and some people that Chloe had met through her business. Fiona and Rosie sat near the back on the other side. They hadn’t known Chloe at all but felt a need to be there to show respect, and in a way, to represent Judith. They were acutely aware of people looking at them then looking beyond them, as if to see whether Judith was there somewhere. A local reporter and photographer sat at the back, watching everything and making notes.