by Frank Smith
Amanda sucked in her breath. ‘He picked up the saucepan and flung the boiling hot soup straight at me. You’ve seen for yourself what it did. Most of it hit me across the chest. I’m not sure whether the shirt helped or made things worse, but it left me with what I later learned were second-degree burns.’ Amanda shuddered and closed her eyes. ‘The pain was excruciating. My legs went out from under me and I started to fall, but even as I was going down I saw the look in his eyes, and I knew that was no sudden, impulsive action. Matthew had known exactly what he was doing. He’d planned it in advance. I blanked out, although I don’t think I could have been unconscious for more than a few seconds, but when I came round I was soaking wet, and Matthew was standing over me, holding a saucepan. But it wasn’t the saucepan that had held the soup; it was larger, one I remembered seeing on the counter, filled to the brim with water.
‘I have very little recollection of the next twenty-four hours, but when I did become fully conscious, I was on the bed and Matthew was standing there looking, oh, so terribly anxious and guilt-ridden. I felt as if my whole body was on fire and I pleaded with him to get me to a hospital, but he kept insisting he would look after me, and he kept apologizing for the “horrible accident”, and saying how fortunate it was that he had the presence of mind to save me from worse burns by throwing the saucepan of cold water over me. He kept bringing me tea and Paracetamol tablets, and looking so worried and contrite . . .’
Amanda broke off, shaking her head as if even now she found it hard to believe what had happened. ‘He phoned in to work to say that I’d had a fall and it would be a week or two before I could return. I heard him on the phone. He sounded so worried and sincere. Oh, yes, he also took away my mobile phone and disconnected our land-line, because he said he didn’t want me to be disturbed, and that was when I became really scared. I knew then that he’d crossed the line, and if I didn’t play along and agree to everything he said, I could end up dead. So I pretended to be thoroughly confused and accepted what had happened as an accident.
‘I’m not sure how many days went by before I was able to get to my pen recorder and put it beside the bed,’ she continued, ‘but it was there when Matthew sat down one day and told me that I had to quit my job. That it was the cause of the breakdown in our marriage, and police work wasn’t for married women. It was too dangerous, the hours were too long, and it was affecting our relationship. And he was dead serious. He wanted me out of there. I think his idea was that I should get a job in an office where I would be surrounded only by women. No men. I belonged to him. He made that very clear.
‘So, when I was finally well enough to get dressed and go back to work, I did as he asked. I tendered my resignation. Matthew wanted me to tell them I found the job too stressful, but I was looking to the future and I didn’t want that on my record, so I said there was a crisis in the family and I had to look after a relative who was seriously ill in Southampton, and I could be gone for a long time, and I had no choice but to resign.’
‘Southampton . . .?’
Amanda shrugged. ‘I picked Southampton because it was about as far away as possible from the place I intended to go. Once everything was done, I told Matthew it would be another two or three days before they got my pension and payout money sorted, then I went off as if I was going to work next morning. Instead, I waited for the bank to open and went in and took out half of what we had in there. Most of it was mine anyway, because Matthew hadn’t had a proper job for months, but I couldn’t leave him with nothing. Then I caught a train to Southampton. Once there, I had copies made of the recordings and sent one to Matthew with a note saying I had deposited copies with a solicitor, who would send them to the police and to Jill if he tried to find me or if anything happened to me.’
Amanda looked away. ‘But that note I sent to Jill was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done,’ she said softly, ‘because I knew it would be the finish of us as friends. I’m sure you remember that, Neil?’
‘I remember it very well,’ he said. ‘And to say that both of us were stunned would be an understatement. You said you were sorry that things hadn’t worked out between you and Matthew, that it was your fault and you hoped Jill could find it in her heart to forgive you. Why did you send that note, Amanda?’
‘Because I didn’t want there to be any doubt that I’d left of my own accord. Perhaps it was my police training; perhaps by then I was more than a little paranoid. But I didn’t want anyone to start wondering if Matthew had done away with me and start an investigation. Anyway, when I left Southampton, I made my way up to Kendal in Cumbria.’
‘Why Kendal?’
‘It was the only place I could think of that was far enough away and where I knew someone who might take me in. I had no relatives to turn to, and the only person I knew I could trust was a woman I’d kept in touch with over the years. Lillian Taggart. She was a social worker when I was in foster care, and she was very kind to me. But she and her husband had moved to Kendal, where they managed a number of holiday cottages, so I took a chance and went up there to ask if I could stay until I could find some sort of job. Unfortunately, I’d no sooner got there when my left breast became infected. The burns had never been treated properly, because Matthew would never let me go to a hospital, so it was hardly surprising when something went wrong. I tried to hide it and treat it myself, but it got worse, my temperature went sky high, and finally things became so bad that Lillian and her husband rushed me into hospital. There were questions, of course, but I wasn’t in any state to answer them. But Lillian was.’ Amanda smiled thinly at the memory. ‘She told them I was her niece and a worker in a mental health institute down south, and a patient had thrown a pot of boiling water over me. She said that once I’d been released from hospital, I’d come up there to recuperate. I don’t know if they believed her or not, but no more was said while I was in there.’
‘When did you come back down south?’
‘Almost five months later. I would have preferred a job well away from London, but I was running out of money, so when I saw the opportunity with Thames Valley, I applied and got in at Oxford.’
Suddenly Amanda looked drained. ‘When I read about the way Matthew died, the only thing I could think of was how Jill would feel, because if it hadn’t been for me . . . It never crossed my mind that he would do such a foolish thing.’
Speaking so softly now that he could barely hear the words, she said, ‘I’ve asked myself over and over again if I could have done anything differently, and I still don’t know the answer. At the time, I thought it better that Jill hate me rather than learn what her brother was really like. Was I wrong, Neil?’
Was I wrong, Neil? Sitting in his office later that morning, the words continued to echo inside his head as he pulled the memory stick from the USB port on his laptop and slipped it into his pocket. He would listen to the rest of it at home, but he’d heard enough to know that Amanda was telling the truth. And yet, even now he found it hard to reconcile his memory of big, affable Matthew with the picture conjured up when he listened to the recording. He could imagine how hard it would have been for Jill if she’d been confronted with the same evidence. So Amanda had sacrificed her own reputation rather than have Jill find out the truth about her brother.
He felt guilty for ever doubting Amanda. He tried to console himself with the thought that he had judged her on the evidence available at the time, but it brought him little comfort. And it was a sobering reminder that ‘evidence’, no matter how strong, could still be misleading.
The ringing of his phone broke into his thoughts, and he picked it up. It was Control asking if he wished to speak to a Valerie Alcott.
‘Valerie,’ he said when they were connected. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I just wanted to let you know that the inquest was adjourned, but the coroner has issued a cremation certificate, so there will be a memorial service at two thirty next Saturday afternoon at St Mark’s Memorial Chapel. Dad didn’t attend church
very often, but he was a good man in his own way, and I’d like to do this for him. Can you come?’
‘Of course I can, Valerie,’ he said. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘As a matter of fact, there is,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Dad didn’t have many friends outside work, so I don’t think there will be many people there, and I was wondering if you would say a few words?’ The request took him by surprise, and he hesitated. ‘But if you’d rather not, I’ll understand,’ Valerie added quickly.
‘No, no, I’d like to,’ he said. ‘Really, Valerie, I would, and thank you for asking me.’
‘Are you sure you want me to hear this?’ Grace asked when Paget suggested they listen to the recordings together after dinner. ‘I mean, this is a very personal thing for you; something that caused you and your wife a lot of pain. I really don’t mind if you’d rather listen to it alone.’
But Paget wanted Grace to hear it. ‘I’ve given you a very one-sided view of Amanda,’ he said, ‘so I’d like you to hear this so you’ll understand, as I did, what she must have gone through. Not only with the verbal and physical abuse from a man she loved, but the decision and the sacrifice she made to keep Jill from knowing the truth about her brother. I know Jill would have been devastated. And although I’m sure Amanda thought she was doing what she did for the best of reasons, I wish there had been another way.’
They listened to the tape in silence, and when at last it came to an end, Paget slumped back in his chair and rubbed his face with his hands. ‘I hear it, yet I still have trouble taking it in,’ he said. ‘I know that was Matthew’s voice, but the Matthew Hambledon I knew was a totally different person, happy-go-lucky, fun to be with . . . although I must admit he could be irritating at times because he never seemed to take anything seriously.’
His face became grave. ‘You should have seen what he did to her chest, Grace. God! How she must have suffered without proper treatment, and then later, with the infection and the subsequent operation. She’s disfigured for life. And we didn’t have the slightest inkling. We had no idea about what was going on in that house.’
‘What about the time she was in the house recovering from the burns? She must have been out of contact. Didn’t you wonder about that?’
‘No, not really, because by that time we were seeing less and less of them, and it wasn’t unusual to go without seeing them for weeks at a time. We worked in different boroughs; we had no contact at work, so we didn’t suspect anything was wrong.’
‘So, how do you feel about Amanda Pierce now?’
‘I was thinking about that earlier, and I think “relieved” would be the best way to describe it. Even when I was blaming her for causing Matthew’s death, I kept remembering the Amanda I used to know, and I was deeply disappointed in her when she left Matthew and disappeared. Matthew told us she’d had a lover for some time and she’d gone off with him. We didn’t know if that was true or not, but he was very convincing, and we had no reason to doubt him.’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘And there didn’t seem to be any other explanation at the time.’
‘Will it make a difference in how you feel about working for her when the job might have been yours?’ asked Grace.
He sat hunched forward, frowning as he thought about that. ‘I must admit I was disappointed when I didn’t get the job, and even more so because the selection committee made their choice for all the wrong reasons, but I can hardly blame Amanda for that. Anyway, it’s done now, and from what Amanda told me about her session with Brock last night, we’re going to have to show him we can work together, and prove him wrong. The trouble is, we’re literally at a dead end, so unless the killer makes a serious mistake, I don’t know how we’re going to do that.’
TWENTY-TWO
Monday, 31 October
Molly checked her messages first thing Monday morning, hoping to see something back from Peter Jones, but there was nothing. She reminded herself that it had been the weekend, and that there were those who lived normal lives and took time off over the weekend. On Sunday afternoon, she’d tracked down two of the older members of the All Saints choir in the hope that they could help – they couldn’t, and neither one could tell her for certain in which year the picture was taken.
‘Meg Bainbridge might know,’ one of them suggested. ‘But she’s not here this Sunday. She’s gone to be a matron of honour at a friend’s second marriage on the Isle of Wight, but she said she’ll be back Monday or Tuesday.’ Molly left a message on Meg’s answering machine, asking her to contact her as soon as she returned, but she needed something now.
She went over everything again in her mind. She’d started out by speculating that the killer could be one of the people in the picture, but that wasn’t necessarily so. As the Reverend Fulbright had said, younger members were always coming and going, so, assuming that all four victims were in the choir at the same time – assuming for the moment that Joan Moreland might not know everything her husband had done when he was a boy – it could have been in another year. Molly searched her memory. Dennis Moreland was thirty-two years old when he died. How long had the Morelands been married? Michael Moreland had said he was ten, so, assuming they were married before he was born, and assuming that Dennis and Joan had known each other for some time before that, she needed to concentrate on a period prior to twelve years ago.
But what did that prove? she thought glumly. Even if they had all been in the same choir many years ago, there was no evidence to suggest that they’d kept up that friendship. And if it turned out that being a member of the choir had nothing to do with the recent killings, then she’d wasted a hell of a lot of her time as well as that of other people.
She looked at the clock. Connie Rice’s mother, now Mrs Donovan, had been contacted late last evening by the Bristol police, and she’d said that she and her husband would come up to Broadminster first thing this morning. They would probably be here by ten o’clock, and, once again, Molly had been assigned to ‘do the honours’, as Ormside put it, and she wasn’t looking forward to it at all. She sighed. At least she’d remembered to call Dr Starkie’s office to let them know that Mrs Donovan would be there this morning to identify the body.
Sheila Donovan arrived shortly before ten o’clock. A short, plump, middle-aged woman, she was accompanied by her husband, Alex, also short, but lean and wiry and deeply tanned. ‘Sorry you couldn’t reach us before,’ he said apologetically, ‘but we were in Eastbourne over the weekend. Golf tournament. We didn’t know, you see. I mean, how could we?’ He eased Molly away from his wife. ‘You are quite sure it really is Connie, are you?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I wouldn’t want Sheila . . .’ He lowered his voice further. ‘She’s barely spoken two words since we heard last night. They didn’t see a lot of each other, Sheila and Connie, but they used to talk on the phone. Is it all right if I stay with her while she . . . you know?’
‘Views the body? Yes, of course, Mr Donovan. We’re quite sure it is Connie, but we still need official verification.’
Sheila Donovan appeared to be calm and in control of her emotions as she stood before the window, and her voice was steady when she said, ‘Yes, that’s Connie,’ in answer to Molly’s question. But suddenly her eyes rolled up and her knees gave way and she would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the quick reaction of her husband. Between them, they got her to a bench, and the attendant, who had seen it all before, was there in seconds to offer help. Sheila opened her eyes and started to cry, then buried her face into her husband’s shoulder and clung to him. Cradling her in his arms, Alex Donovan spoke quietly to Molly. ‘I knew it would be a shock for her,’ he said, ‘but I wasn’t quite ready for this.’ He glanced around the small room and wrinkled his nose. ‘Just give us a minute or two, then we’ll get her outside in the fresh air.’
‘If you’d like to give me about five minutes,’ Molly said, ‘I’ll go and get the car and bring it to the door, so your wife won’t have so far to go. Can you manage on your own?’
; ‘We’ll be fine,’ he assured her. ‘And thank you, Sergeant.’
‘Meet you outside in five minutes, then.’ Molly left the room and was part way down the hall when a door opened and Dr Starkie came bustling out. He stopped in front of her, frowning as he peered at her over the top of his glasses. ‘Connie Rice?’ he asked cryptically. ‘Who’s doing the ID?’
‘Her mother,’ Molly told him. ‘She’s taken it very hard, I’m afraid.’
‘It is hard on families, especially when there are injuries to the face,’ said Starkie, ‘but there’s only so much that can be done with injuries like that.’ He looked at his watch and started to move away, then stopped. ‘Speaking of families, I must say I feel sorry for poor old David and the problems he’s having with Lijuan. I really thought things were working out, but I suppose it’s understandable if you look at it from her point of view. Still,’ he continued cheerfully, ‘I’m sure it will sort itself out in the end. Things like that usually do, don’t they? Anyway, mustn’t hold you up, and I have to get on myself. Busy day ahead.’
What would sort itself out? Starkie was fast disappearing down the hall and she could hardly call after him. Had the doctor been referring to the e-mail David had sent last week, or had the Starkies heard from him more recently? She had checked her e-mail before leaving home this morning – it was always the last thing she did before leaving for work – but there had been nothing. Perhaps David had phoned them. Ellen Starkie was his aunt, after all, so he probably called her every now and then. It was just that Molly had come to think of herself as part of . . . well, not the family, exactly – that would really be presumptuous – but she had become used to being included in the e-mail loop.
Molly suddenly realized that the Donovans would be coming out any minute, and she had some distance to go to where the car was parked. She ran up the steps, but her mind was still busy replaying everything Starkie had said. He could have been talking about the things David had mentioned in his e-mail last Tuesday, but somehow Molly didn’t think so.