“Geneva Hopworth, please,” Maddie asked in her ‘official’ voice.
“Which department?”
“She’s a receptionist, I think.” A wild guess for a young woman without tertiary qualifications.
“Hold on,” the voice said. “Putting you through now.”
Maddie clicked off. She grinned. Too easy.
Jade came in. “Look, I know what you’re going to say, all right? It was Freya who said he could come back for a coke. My house was closer than hers, okay? Like, it was just ordinary.” She glared at her mother.
“Calm down,” Maddie said. “Just tell me without yelling.”
“Why did you have to tell your bloody friend in the police about Brody?” Jade’s face was contorted in her anger.
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t bloody lie to me, Mother!”
“Stop swearing!” Maddie could feel her own frustration building. She didn’t need this right now.
“You’re pathetic,” Jade said, swinging away and running up the stairs. A minute later loud music filled the house. Jade’s usual protest.
Chapter Seventeen
The next morning, once Jade and Wayne had left, Maddie rang the Mayor’s Office again. This time, she allowed the call to be put through. The voice of another young woman said, “Geneva Hopworth here. How may I help?”
“Hi Geneva,” Maddie said. “Mrs Brooks here, Jade’s mother. I’m on my way up to London and Jade said you now work at that wonderful modern City Hall.”
“Yes, I do.” She paused. “Jade Brooks?”
“You two went to the same primary school although Jade was younger. But you both took ballet lessons together.” She rushed on. Jade had only lasted a couple of weeks. “Any chance I could treat you to a coffee this morning? Is there a coffee shop there?”
“Ah, yes,” the young woman said. “Okay. Ten is when I have my break. But I’ll only have fifteen minutes.”
“Great,” Maddie gushed. “How do I get there?”
Geneva proceeded to tell her to go through security at City Hall then descend the spiral staircase. She’d be waiting at the bottom at precisely ten.
Maddie’s grin faded when she realised what her next steps would involve. She’d developed interviewing skills over the years she’d been a Probation Officer and she figured she’d have to be very careful which techniques she could use when meeting up with young Geneva.
Maddie headed for her clothes closet. First, dress the part. She pulled one of her navy blue corporate suits out of the wardrobe and a crisp white blouse and put them on. Low heeled office shoes with a matching shoulder bag completed her costume. For costume it was, albeit playing a familiar role.
She hesitated once dressed and ready to leave. She was well aware she’d rushed into meeting up with Geneva as if the young woman could solve all Henry’s problems. No, this visit with her would just be to initiate contact. No pushing. No direct questioning. Friendly and sympathetic. And to watch the kind of language Geneva used. Including body language. Was it a wild goose chase? Maybe. Even, probably. But still worth it.
She headed for the train station. Taking one of the more direct trains, she soon was in Waterloo Station with only a ten minute walk to City Hall. The building was an architectural wonder, looking something like a gigantic glass helmet, slightly canted to one side. A sight to behold and one that made her smile. She’d never been inside before and felt like a tourist as she approached the entrance.
Once in, she found herself gaping at the magnificent spiral staircase that wound its way up ten or more stories in the grand atrium of the building. But she stopped gawking; she was on a mission. Soon she was through security and heading down into what she expected to be a basement. Instead she found herself in a large curved room overlooking an outdoor amphitheatre. Long tables with gaily coloured chairs were placed end-on to the floor to ceiling windows. She was pleased to have arrived before Geneva so she could orient herself.
Two minutes to ten, Geneva walked down the curved ramp. She was now a blonde with a generous figure dressed in a bright floral frock and wearing high heels that must be making her nervous she’d fall at any moment, poor girl.
Maddie waved. “Hi, Geneva!”
“Hi, Mrs Brooks!” She matched Maddie’s tone which told her this young woman was still in the process of maturing, most likely fighting a fragile sense of self-confidence. Her own self-confidence swelled. She could deal with this sort of young woman.
“You lucky thing, working here,” Maddie burbled. “You must be the envy of every young woman for miles around.”
Geneva blushed. “I guess that’s why Jade told you I worked here, is that right?”
Given that Maddie was not sure Jade even remembered Geneva other than because of the notoriety of the trial, she had to change the subject quickly. “Coffee, my dear? I know you only have limited time but I so appreciate your spending it with me.”
Once seated at the window end of one of the tables, Maddie sobered. “You do look every inch an up-and-coming, successful young lady,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but I am so pleased that awful business when you were first in high school didn’t scar you for life.”
Geneva shook her head. “Never think back on it,” she said a bit forcefully. “I hardly remember it, actually.”
“Thank goodness for that. I guess you heard about another pre-teen who was murdered out our way not long ago.”
Geneva shuddered. “Mum says, ‘But for the grace of God’.”
“Yes. Just a bit too similar.” Maddie sipped her coffee, keeping her eyes away from Geneva’s. This was the tricky bit.
“I’m so so glad Macgregor is back in prison,” Geneva said.
“So you saw the similarity, too, did you?”
“Hard to escape it. Little kid about the same age as me; the same awful crime only worse; same suburb; even the same bloody school.” She glanced at Maddie. “Sorry.” Presumably for swearing.
“So you also think it had to be the same bloke.”
“Of course it was the same bloke. The police must think the same. He was put back in prison. I’m glad he’s there. He can rot in there for all I care.” Her voice had risen. She became aware of it and whispered, “Sorry.”
Maddie touched the young woman’s forearm. “Nothing to be sorry about. And I do agree it has to be the same bloke. For all those reasons you just told me. However, there’s one huge problem. Macgregor didn’t do it.”
Geneva stared at Maddie. “What do you mean?”
“There are witnesses who were with him for the exact time of the murder.”
“No. Couldn’t be.”
“They saw him, talked to him for some time.”
“Probably criminals like him.”
Maddie shook her head. “Lovely people. Ordinary citizens like you and me. Not even connected with him in any way.”
“Maybe the girl was killed a little later?”
“The girl’s body was found quite soon so the doctor’s estimate of the time of death was reasonably tight. And, besides, Macgregor was picked up by his daughter from a busy café just afterwards. He and his daughter – who was getting married the next day, by the way – had lunch in a posh restaurant where loads of people saw them. He was dressed up for his luncheon that morning.”
Geneva was stunned. She stared out through the large windows of the café across to stone steps set in a long curve, the large amphitheatre immediately outside.
“But he was convicted.”
Maddie was acutely aware Geneva was now talking about her own case. Interesting she hadn’t said, ‘But I know it was him.’
Maddie let the silence grow.
“He really couldn’t have killed that girl?”
“No. He couldn’t have done it.”
“Why is Macgregor back in prison,” she asked in a small voice.
“Because the principal witness is overseas. But she told other people about her conversation with Macgr
egor before she left. At the time, she was crystal clear. She talked about it to several of us. She’ll contact the police when she’s back. And they’ll release him. For sure. It’s impossible for a person to be in two places at once.”
Geneva looked confused. She’d obviously realised the implications. If the same person who raped her, years later killed the girl, it could not have been Macgregor.
Maddie walked up the spiral ramp with Geneva and said her goodbyes, scribbling her email address on a scrap of paper. “Feel free to contact me at any time, Geneva. I’ve very much enjoyed our little chat. You do work in an amazing environment.”
The young woman thanked her politely for the coffee although she still spoke in a small voice. Maddie felt more than a little guilty about further disturbing her.
Back on the ground floor, she turned to the massive spiral staircase just as Geneva would have expected her to do. She continued walking up the sloping ramp a full ten stories to the public viewing platform at the top. There, with half a mind, she noted the glorious view and dutifully took several pictures of London at her feet but her mind was stuck on the conversation she’d had in the café below.
Had Geneva harboured doubts of Macgregor’s guilt all these years, even though she’d identified him? Guilt that had been apparently confirmed by the death of the schoolgirl in similar circumstances?
Had her doubts now been intensified?
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday morning, Maddie was half way through checking their monthly credit card statement – not that she was all that good about remembering to do so on a regular basis, but the total this month was abnormally high – and found a large amount had been paid to their optometrist. Strange. She’d meant to get her eyes checked for her reading glasses but had not done so yet. Jade had perfect vision and Wayne had an antipathy about his deteriorating eyesight, preferring cheapie magnifying glasses from the Pound Shop rather than admitting he needed to have his vision properly assessed. A harmless middle-aged vanity, in Maddie’s opinion.
“Are you finally getting new prescription glasses?” she called out to him. He was next door in their bedroom getting dressed.
“How did you know?” he asked, appearing at her home office door.
“Credit card,” she said. “Can’t sneak anything past me.” She grinned at him.
“I, um, bought some contact lenses,” he said. “So I can see when I’m working.”
She was astounded. He’d been wearing his cheapie glasses last night and complaining he didn’t have the right pair for watching television. “Are the contacts no good?” she asked.
“No. They’re great. Makes a huge dif,” he said, turning away.
“Why aren’t you using them, then?” She was curious. Hundreds of pounds for contacts and he’s not wearing them?
He looked embarrassed. “I bought them for work.”
She narrowed her eyes. He was fibbing. “Where are they now?”
“At the studio.”
“For heaven’s sake, Wayne, if they make life better for work, they’ll make life better for leisure, too.”
“You’re right,” he said, brightening. “I’ll bring them home.”
“Wear them home,” she said, turning back to the accounts.
It was only after she’d heard him leaving for the studio, she thought their conversation through. She shook her head. She must have caught him in the middle of some musical creativity and only half paying attention to her. Just wearing the new contacts in the studio indeed. Not able to admit he really did need proper glasses, contacts, whatever.
She wandered downstairs for a cup of something. Peppermint tea would do. No caffeine. Having all this spare time continued to feel odd. She mentally ticked off the various tasks she’d set herself before meeting with the HR person and the boss’s boss, Bettina. Which was, gulp, tomorrow.
First, Shirley. Stuck there. Nothing to do at the moment. Or should she have a talk to Shirley about how she should not tell Kathy that Henry was a convicted child sex offender as it could influence her judgement. How would Shirley take it? As a criticism? Or could she see how it had influenced her own attitudes? Maddie shoved that one into the too-hard basket.
Second, Brody. Ethan now had that one firmly under control. Did she have any tag ends to untangle? Jade and her belief her mother had talked to Ethan – one of a series of too many things Jade believed that had little or no substance to them. Maddie would clear it up if ever an opportunity occurred. But she wasn’t holding her breath.
Oh. It stopped her cold. She’d forgotten about the stepfather. Had Brody made up the story to divert the attention of the police away from him? But something niggled. A thirteen year old girl who was presumably having sex with an older boy. Not something that happened in middle-class suburbia, or, anyway, not that often because of parental oversight. Or something.
When a child has been sexually abused, she knew, sometimes the child becomes hyper sexual. Not that she knew very much about it. Was it a truism that a child who was sexually active at thirteen was hyper sexual? Not a topic she wanted to think about. But one she really should not ignore.
Her tasks. Yes. She was up to the third. What was her third? Something about the weekend Freya stayed … oh, yes. A romantic weekend away. Good for a marriage. She reached for the telephone.
After filling in her friend Caroline, a psychologist with the Probation Service in Ealing and a long-time friend, on all the shenanigans concerning Romania, Maddie asked about the cottage Caroline had inherited from her grandparents. What was it called?
“Briar Cottage,” Caroline said. “I’ve just spent a weekend there. Mostly doing housework – it’s ages since I’d been up there, but still it feels like I’ve had a weekend away. Thinking of accepting my offer?”
“Yes, actually. It was triggered by something I heard recently, about how any marriage needs a romantic weekend away every now and again. My acquaintance was talking about a short holiday in New York, of course, but it did put me in mind of your Woodley Bottom hideaway.”
Caroline laughed. “Kind of stretching it, my friend, comparing my cottage in the depths of Oxfordshire to flying off to a glamorous location like New York. But tell me the dates and I’ll see if I can fit you into its extremely busy schedule.”
“I haven’t even broached the topic with the Musical Genius,” Maddie said, “but with no work, it will not be too difficult to fit whatever is available into my own extremely un-busy schedule. Around spending my time weeding the garden and waltzing off for coffee dates with friends, of course.”
“Talking of coffee dates….”
After arranging to meet up on Thursday, the day after the dreaded meeting at work, both if she were still off work or back, Maddie, with some trepidation, rang Shirley.
“Shall we meet for coffee?” she asked in a soft voice.
“Usual place, three o’clock?” Shirley answered, equally quiet.
“See you there.”
Maddie changed her shoes for her coffee date and put on some lipstick. She gazed at her hair. Needed a cut. And she had Bettina in the morning. Did she have time before meeting Shirley?
Maddie rang her hairdresser. No, she was busy right now, but, if only a cut, she could squeeze her in at, say, four-thirty. Maddie made the appointment.
She hung up the phone and looked at the time.
The stepfather. It niggled. She walked into her home office to consult Mr Google. She remembered the Gainlys last name, but what was his first name? She googled Linsey Benton and up came several news sources. While scanning them, she finally found an interview with the parents, Janine and Trevor. Trevor Gainly. She googled him and the same recent news items came up but below them she found a nugget. A Trevor Gainly – there couldn’t be more than one, surely – was awarded car salesman of the year several months ago. The photograph confirmed it. So Trevor Gainly sold cars. In Kingston-upon-Thames. And she knew where that car yard was located.
When Maddie arrived at t
he coffee shop, Shirley was already seated with her coffee in front of her. Maddie waved and smiled before ordering her cappuccino at the service desk.
When she sat down, they both talked at once.
“Sorry…,” Shirley said.
“My fault…,” Maddie said.
The moment was perfect and they both visibly relaxed.
“You first,” Maddie said.
“I was out of order last time,” Shirley said. “It was the shock. I’d followed that case and been relieved when the man was sent to prison for some time. I’d obviously not recognised him when he came into the shop. Truly, when you said who he was, I almost fainted.”
“I should have made it clear from the beginning,” Maddie said, reaching over to lightly touch the back of Shirley’s hand. “It’s sort of a ‘need-to-know’ situation. We usually don’t tell anyone what crime had been committed unless totally necessary, which is not often.” She sighed. “I should have realised it was necessary this time. My fault entirely.”
“Do you think he murdered the second child?”
“He couldn’t have,” Maddie said, looking Shirley in the eye. “The murder took place when he was in the shop, being served by Kathy.”
“Strange,” Shirley murmured, her eyebrows raised.
“You mean two nearly identical crimes in the same area not committed by one and the same person?”
Shirley’s blue eyes widened. “He did do that awful thing to the first child, didn’t he?”
Maddie gazed out the large window, watching cars manoeuvre through the streets, school children walking in twos or fours and more, cluttering up the footpath. She saw none of it. “He was convicted,” she said, “largely because the child identified him.”
“A truthful child?”
Maddie shrugged. “The jury believed her.”
Shirley, the former teacher, looked at her sharply. “I see.”
Maddie threw out her previously constructed introduction to the delicate problem of Kathy’s reaction to Henry’s crime. Instead she leaned forward and spoke directly to Shirley. “What shall we tell Kathy?” she asked.
Death in Cold Waters Page 11