by Jo Allen
‘Did she say anything?’
‘No. She pretended she’d never met me.’ That cold stare, that unspoken warning, rankled. Faye championed equality and fairness in the workplace but only for others. In personal matters ruthlessness and her own interests held sway.
‘That’s…manipulative.’
Ashleigh remained silent. It was possible to intimidate without words.
‘You’ve told Jude, though? He can–’
‘No.’
Lisa folded her arms, to the grave jeopardy of her cup of coffee. Her wide eyes said everything that needed to be said.
‘I know,’ Ashleigh defended herself, too quickly. ‘I know. And he’s not stupid. He knows she came from the Cheshire force and he knows I worked there. He did ask me, once, but I pretended I hadn’t heard. It’s just too complicated.’
‘Not as complicated as it will be if you don’t put a stop to it.’
‘I know. But right now it’s in the too difficult box.’
‘God, Ash. Use that finely-tuned detective’s brain for once!’
‘My finely-tuned brain doesn’t work well with my heart, okay?’
‘No, you’re the worst judge of your own emotional wellbeing of anyone I’ve ever met. So listen to me. Jude’ll be fine about it. He’s not possessive.’
He couldn’t be, with Scott still so large a presence in Ashleigh’s life and Becca in his own. ‘He knows some of it already. I told him I had an affair with a woman.’ Some men, Ashleigh knew, found that appealing. ‘He’s already had a bit of a run-in with Faye. They took against one another straight away. I don’t want to have to explain how bad it got.’ And you never knew with Jude. He might easily take up arms on her behalf against their boss and end by making matters worse.
‘Yeah, hiding it make things easier? He’s bound to find out at some point. It’s much better if you tell him when you’re in control.’
Lisa was never short of good advice, though she never seemed to ask for it or to take it herself. Robust common sense was her stock in trade. This time, once again, she was right. ‘I will. Later.’
‘You should do it right now.’
‘He’s at work right now. But I’ll do it as soon as there’s a right moment. okay?’
‘That’s something.’ Lisa spent a moment in thought, looking at Ashleigh, at her coffee mug, at the tarot cards in their purple silk shroud. ‘She’s not a pleasant woman though, is she?’
‘No.’ Ashleigh shook her head. That might be what the cards were trying to tell her — that running away from a problem, as she had done, wasn’t the answer. The problem had come after her. ‘She looked as shocked as I was. I don’t think she knew I was here.’
‘Oh, but she must have—’
‘I don't think she did. And I’m guessing there must have been some kind of scandal after I’d gone, because she’s a ruthlessly ambitious woman and she’s got a promotion but in a smaller force. That isn’t the kind of life plan she had, so something must have gone wrong after I left.’ Ruthless individuals made enemies, and there was always someone ready to see an ambitious woman fail. That rang a bell with her, as though Jude’s half-hearted interpretation of a cheap pack of tarot cards had held a warning for both of them. ‘I don’t like her and I’m sure she doesn’t like me.’
‘Ashleigh O’Halloran.’ Hands on hips, Lisa sounded exactly like Ashleigh’s mother, exasperated with her when she’d once again failed to make the break from Scott. ‘If you don’t even like the woman, what on Earth made you get into bed with her in the first place?’
Lisa had been a distant friend when Ashleigh’s world had gone dark, when Scott’s incurable infidelity had driven her to intense isolation at home and to an almost-catastrophic loss of confidence at work. ‘I was lonely.’ She was a gregarious soul, a lover not a fighter, a woman who detested the grim echoes of silence, and the one thing she hated more than anything else was loneliness. At the end of the short affair, she’d come out of it with her soul stained with self-loathing and the knowledge that sometimes the open ocean was better than the wrong port in a storm.
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ The tentative hand that Lisa placed on her arm was a huge compliment, because her friend had never been the touchy-feely type, and in consequence it felt warmer than the tightest hug. ‘I understand. And her?’
‘I don’t know for sure.’ Ashleigh paused to think of Faye, capable of offering sympathy and tenderness and then turning the coldest of shoulders. ‘I see what she’s like but I don’t understand why she’s that way. Which is weird, because I understand most people.’
After all it wasn’t so strange when she couldn’t understand herself. She could divine other people’s minds but when her own heart was invested her judgement failed her, every time. So it had been with Scott, so with Faye. So, surely, it would be with Jude.
‘Maybe she was going through something, too’ Lisa offered, a charitable attempt in Faye’s defence. ‘Maybe she was fighting with her husband all the time and wanted to show him she didn’t need him.’
‘I don’t know. I don’t care.’ The sympathy Faye had offered her had been short-lived and the moment a whisper of the relationship had emerged at the office coffee machine she’d washed her hands of her junior officer and retreated behind a lofty and distancing coldness. Ashleigh’s face flamed scarlet with humiliation. ‘If she’d been a man I would have slapped her face and reported her for inappropriate behaviour, but I was stupid enough to think that because she was a woman it made a difference, and it didn’t. I trusted her.’ As she always did, and always only harming herself.
Lisa, like Ashleigh’s family and close friends, like Jude, knew about the affair, something she wasn’t ashamed to admit to. It was the crashing misjudgement that had surrounded it, that had led her into a relationship only because she was tired of lying alone at night, that was what she’d kept quiet from everyone. ‘I learned a terrible lesson. I’d never been afraid to look at myself in the mirror until that happened, and then I couldn’t do it without seeing myself as a fool. And you can’t afford to be a fool in the police, can you?’
‘Well, I dunno.’ Withdrawing the hand as if the measure of comfort she could offer was fully dispensed, Lisa consulted the dregs of her coffee cup. ‘It seems to me a lot of people manage it. And in fairness to you, you’re only ever an idiot when it comes to your own interests.’
Tears had been creeping up on Ashleigh, but she diverted them into a watery smile. ‘Yes. I’ll give you that. But most of them don’t realise. I knew. I minded. That’s why I left. I couldn’t have stayed and come face to face with Faye every bloody day.’ Now the terrain had changed but this time she was familiar with it, the one established with colleagues and friends. The moment of pessimism passed and defiance reasserted itself. ‘And you know why I was so upset? It’s because I don’t want it to happen again. I don’t want it to end in tears and I don’t want to have to be the one who leaves.’ It was over six months since she’d arrived in Penrith and in that time she’d revived her ancient and comfortable friendship with Lisa. ‘I’ve got new friends. I’ve got Jude.’ And she’d shed all thoughts of Scott, save for the laughing echo that kept reappearing in the cards.
Faye Scanlon could, wittingly or otherwise, change all that but as long as she presented that unrelenting ferocity Ashleigh could have no idea what the woman thought, or what kind of position she was so determined to defend.
*
The chilly morning had turned into a brave one and Lisa had headed off to the gym before Ashleigh set off to walk the short distance into town. On the other side of the road when she left the house a woman sat parked in a car, reading a newspaper. With an eye for everything, no matter how trivial, Ashleigh gave her a second glance. She wasn’t surprised to see the woman walking purposefully behind her when she reached the supermarket car park.
There was nothing covert. Her actions were brazen, blatant and determined and, to Ashleigh, spelt only one thing. This was Marsha Letham, the journ
alist whose cryptic and unwelcome message still lurked unanswered on her phone.
Journalists with a sniff of a story never went away. If Ms Letham thought she’d get something out of Ashleigh she was wrong, but ignoring the message wasn’t going to work.
At the pelican crossing she lingered to wait for the lights but the woman, waiting for her, kept a distance. Her pulse raced a little, not with fear but at the possible recriminations if she failed to be sufficiently discreet, or if she was but someone else wasn’t. Bugger. She’d have to talk to Jude before she was ready, and it would look as of someone had forced her hand. That, in its turn, made her look guilty and there was no doubt in her mind that if anything came out that Faye didn’t like, she’d answer for it.
She cut down the hill into the town centre and doubled back into Little Dockray — a roundabout route, but one that confirmed that Marsha Letham was following her, and not in any way concerned about being spotted. Fine. There would be a confrontation. Ashleigh dropped into a café, strolled to the counter and ordered a coffee and a bacon roll. It wasn’t until breakfast had arrived in front of her that the journalist closed in. ‘Sergeant O’Halloran, is that right?’
‘Hello, Ms Letham.’ No point in pretending, and boldness might make the woman think twice. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t answer your message. I’m not back on shift until tomorrow.’
‘I did wonder. Sorry to have alarmed you.’ Marsha Letham was in her thirties, with a mannish face and a strained expression. In a mad moment of speculation as the woman leaned forward like a cat scenting a mouse, Ashleigh wrote her off as a journalist challenged to produce a story to justify avoiding redundancy.
The very idea that such a being could have alarmed her was risible. It was a local newspaper. No-one who read it would care, and the story that Faye was scared of was one that no-one would do more than snigger at. A bisexual policewoman? What was new in that? If there was a story it was in the way she’d warned Ashleigh off and finally bullied her off her turf. That would do her more damage than an ill-judged affair; it was the secret she’d want to protect. ‘I wasn’t alarmed, Ms Letham. I saw you in the car and worked out who you were. But I’m afraid I don’t have anything to say to you.’
‘You were with Cheshire Police at the same time as Superintendent Scanlon, though? Is that right?’
‘Yes, and at the same time as thousands of other people. I did meet Detective Superintendent Scanlon, but I didn’t work with her, so I’m afraid I can’t help.’
The woman’s disappointment was palpable. For the first time, Ashleigh sensed that her secret was safe even if Faye’s was teetering dangerously in the edge of the public domain. ‘I’ve heard rumours that Superintendent Scanlon left her previous job under something of a cloud. I wondered if perhaps you’d heard anything—’
‘I left last August. If anything happened after that then I wouldn’t have heard of it.’
‘Aren’t you in touch with any former colleagues? Perhaps you could give me a lead there.’
‘Only for a few drinks when I’m back down. And obviously I can’t pass on details.’ Thank God, she’d clawed her way onto the high ground. ‘I wish I could help you.’ That much had a grain of truth in it, though it would have been more than her job was worth to guide the woman to the conclusion that Faye was unfit for office. Reminded, she covered her back. ‘If I did know anything I couldn’t discuss it. But I don’t.’
Silence. Marsha’s big scoop, possibly the biggest headline she’d envisaged since vandals picking the daffodils from the town’s churchyard, bit the dust in front of her. ‘There must be–’
‘The Press Office would be a good place to start.’ Thank God, her phone rang, a number she didn’t recognise. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’ She turned her back and answered the phone, engaging in a futile conversation with an ambulance-chasing insurance company, and when she turned around Marsha had given up and was strolling along Little Dockray in the direction of the Market Square.
If only every battle were as easily-won as that one. With a degree of relief, Ashleigh ended the call and returned to her coffee and congealed bacon roll.
Chapter 10
‘So, now I’ve outlined the objectives of this session. We’ve identified areas where we may be showing subconscious bias. We know what the law requires of us in terms of appropriate — and inappropriate — behaviour in the workplace. The first question — exactly what does inappropriate mean? Actions? Words?’
Jude’s neighbour, an inspector from the community services team who almost certainly knew everything Claud was telling them and more, hid a discreet yawn behind her hand. She wasn’t alone. Aware of Faye’s judgemental gaze roaming the crammed conference room from her carefully-chosen seat by the door, Jude took care to keep his body language neutral, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to fake enthusiasm.
‘The clearest way to help you to know when behaviour is inappropriate is, of course, to show you.’ Claud Blackwell, positioned in front of the dozen or so middle-ranking police officers who were the first participants in Faye’s new project, raked them with his glance and paused to dwell severely on the yawning offender. ‘Natalie and I will act out a scenario between two co-workers and we can discuss whether any element of the scene amounts to inappropriate behaviour. Then we’ll try some role play.’
Role play. Jude was sure he wasn’t the only one to suppress a shudder, but there was always something he could learn — not necessarily about equality and diversity, but about the Blackwells, so recently the focus of his attention by their proximity to murder. Claud, brisk and bumptious, dominating the room, seemed to have bounced back, but Natalie was quiet and withdrawn in a way that struck Jude as uncharacteristic. The routine background check he’d had run on her had thrown up a complex and varied career, pointing to a talented woman with no staying power. She’d trained as a ballet dancer, excelling as a teenager but giving up on the career before she could pay too high a price in that bruising world of late nights and hard physical work. After a spell as a secretary she’d found the bright lights of the stage irresistible and turned to acting, played a few parts in repertory theatre and made a minor success of it. That, too, ended, this time when she’d run into Claud Blackwell five years before and settled down. When Claud had given up his charity job and branched out on his own she’d taken up a post as his assistant.
‘So, first.’ Claud motioned to his wife, who stood up and went to the side of the room. ‘You’re a man. You’re a touchy-feely man. You hug people, for whatever reason. Maybe it makes you feel accessible. Maybe you genuinely like people. In your line of work, maybe you think you’re offering comfort to someone who’s shocked and bereaved. Or maybe you think a hug with a pretty girl is a perk of the job. Most importantly: you mean well. But how do your co-workers see it?’ He rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands on his hips, like a peacock displaying. ‘Let’s begin. Okay, Natalie.’
A pause. ‘Natalie,’ said Claud again, a touch of impatience in his tone.
This time she responded, walking across the small space at the front of the room, with her eyes focussed somewhere over Claud’s shoulder. ‘Good morning Claud,’ she said, obediently.
‘Well, hello Natalie. My you’re looking good today. What a lovely top.’
The room shuddered under a collective wince. Jude watched. Claud, with his bright, all-seeing eyes and his sharp mind, was a master of communication. He knew exactly what he was doing – a clumsy, cringe-worthy performance that would have his audience thinking and talking about their real-world experience even as they mocked his examples.
It was astonishing that he’d been looking out of the window for the whole of the period during which Len must have died, and yet had seen nothing.
‘Whatever the reason, the key thing isn’t whether you hug or not. It’s whether your hug is welcome and how you respond if it isn’t.’
No-one else had seen anything, either. That was the problem. The checkpoint on the A66 the previous day,
a week on from the murder, had yielded nothing but shaken heads from those who’d been crawling along in slow traffic on the day of the incident. So maybe, after all, there had been nothing for Claud to see.
That being the case, where had the second set of tyre tracks come from and how had Len Pierce’s killer made their escape? By way of the river? It would be no great challenge for a strong swimmer but a risky one for anyone else. Tammy’s CSI team had checked the riverside path and there had been no signs that anyone had been there, but a smart operator would know how to leave as little evidence as possible behind.
‘Any thoughts?’ Claud demanded of his audience. ‘That little scenario Natalie and I acted out. How did you read the body language? Was she happy with that hug or not?’
‘Waste of bloody time,’ someone muttered behind Jude.
He shifted in his seat. A tap at the door attracted everyone’s attention and Faye Scanlon’s best scowl. The door opened, letting a welcome breath of fresh air into the crowded room, and Ashleigh peered round it. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I need to speak to Jude. Urgently.’
He pushed back his chair. ‘Wish I’d thought of getting someone to do that,’ someone else muttered, indiscreetly, as he stepped towards the door and out into the corridor.
‘Has something come up?’ He closed the door behind him.
‘Yes.’ Ashleigh turned and began walking back down the corridor, as if to imply that whatever it was was, indeed, urgent. ‘A man just walked into the police station at Hunter Lane. He says he met Len Pierce in the farm lane last Sunday and that Len was alive when he left him. I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.’
‘Damn right.’ It was a lot later than he’d hoped, but the lead had come. ‘Do we know any more?’
‘Only his name. He’s called Giles Butler. According to the duty officer he’s sitting there with a cup of coffee, waiting patiently for someone to come and talk to him.’ Her smile indicated that her relief at the breakthrough matched his. ‘At least it gets you out of that workshop.’