Death at Rainbow Cottage

by Jo Allen

  He parked the Mercedes outside his mother's house and walked the hundred yards or so back to the hall, sliding in through the doors just as someone else came out. Inside, the lights were dimmed and the wooden walls throbbed with Mikey’s eclectic taste in music as he shuffled along to the side of it, past a couple of recklessly drunk dancers, and towards his brother, who was standing next to the trestle table at the side with a can of beer in his hand. ‘Mikey. Sorry I’m late. But I said I’d be here.’

  It was the blackest of looks he got in return, one that implied the half an hour he’d managed to salvage was a worse insult than his absence would have been. ‘Good of you to make the effort.’

  ‘Something came up.’

  ‘Something always comes up.’ Mikey turned his back.

  Jude hadn’t eaten since the middle of the afternoon and the promised mass of food had all but disappeared. Picking up a paper plate, he helped himself to the few edible treasures among the remains — a curled sandwich, a distressed-looking sausage roll or two, a crumbling slice of salmon and broccoli quiche. The dishes that had contained Becca’s famous macaroni cheese had been scraped clean. He strayed over to the drinks table and helped himself to all that was left there for a driver, a can of warm lemonade.

  He didn’t even like lemonade. There was no sign either of his mother, so it looked as if he’d arrived so late she’d already gone home, probably disappointed in him, or of his father who, had he come, would definitely still have been there, propping up the bar.

  ‘You made it, Jude. Good for you.’

  The hand on his arm surprised him, but not nearly as much as the lack of sarcasm in Becca’s voice. She was balanced on a pair of heels that were far higher than she was used to, so that when he turned he found himself almost looking directly into her eyes. ‘I would have been here earlier, but I couldn’t get away from work.’

  ‘You never can, can you? But I’m glad you’re here. I told Mikey you’d turn up. I was beginning to think I couldn’t rely on you.’

  What was he to say? He wanted to explain to her just as he wanted to explain to Mikey, but even if it was professionally appropriate, would any of then have understood how important it was, how the law had to be followed and the woman who’d killed four people and tried to kill a fifth should be put through due process? He remained silent, thinking of Natalie. That was why he struggled to summon up any kind of a smile, even as everyone else around him was having a wild time. Or maybe it was less complicated than that. Maybe it just came with the territory of being the only sober man at the tail end of a party. ‘I’ve seen him and he knows I came. That’s what matters. Maybe I should head off again.’

  ‘Not without a dance.’ She grabbed his arm, regardless of the can in his hand. Left with no option he slid the plate down on the table and the can of lemonade after it, and followed her out onto the dance floor. He did it, he told himself, because it was probably the last dance they’d share. By then the playlist had moved in from the bleak, dark stuff that Mikey favoured, so obscure that he couldn’t even name its genre. Someone had got on to the oldies.

  ‘Love a dose of Elvis.’ Becca grabbed his forearm and swung him round to face her. She was drunk, and he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have welcomed a shot of the hard stuff himself, but if he had done he’d have had to stay over at his mother’s and wake up the next morning to face Mikey’s hangover and his fixation on all the times Jude hadn't been there.

  ‘Steady.’ He caught her as she stumbled.

  ‘Love a dose of Elvis,’ she said again, an echo from her own mind. ‘Remember this one? It was in the charts when we first went out. They were playing it in the restaurant. Remember?’

  It always amazed him how selective memories were. He could remember a lot about their first date, but not that. She’d been wearing black jeans and an asymmetrically-patterned top, scarlet boots with heels as high as those she was wearing that night, and her hair, which had been much longer then and blonde rather than brown, had been twisted up into a knot that hadn’t lasted the evening. They’d gone into Carlisle for a film and a Chinese and he’d kissed her when he brought her home. But he didn’t remember Elvis singing Are You Lonesome Tonight. ‘Don't be daft. The King was dead before we were born.’

  ‘It was rereleased.’ She laughed at him, not realising it was a joke.

  Three minutes of Elvis passed in a few seconds, or so it seemed. ‘Brilliant. Thanks for the dance, Becca. I’m going to head off now. I’ve done my duty.’ He headed for the door.

  ‘Duty?’ She came tottering behind him. ‘I’m coming out, too. I need some fresh air. Is that all it was? Duty?’

  Jude stepped out into the chilly night. ‘No. It was important. What do you want me to do? Walk out on my job? I got myself in enough trouble getting here. I don’t need any more from you.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of myself,’ she said, as though that was what he’d accused her of. ‘I’m thinking of Mikey.’

  ‘Yes, and so am I. I came. For God’s sake, what more do I have to do?’

  They were outside, in the fresh March air, and he stopped, turning to face her. ‘I try, okay? I try my hardest. If my best isn’t good enough, then that’s too bad. It’s all I’ve got.’

  She stared at him for a second longer, shaking her head. ‘Oh, Jude.’ She reached out a hand and touched his cheek. ‘Oh, Jude.’

  He lost his mind. Maybe it was Elvis after all, coursing through his blood in a way he hadn’t remembered, or maybe it was tension, or maybe it was the memory of a dead woman’s shoe in the darkness of the churchyard and the overwhelming, irrational fear that Becca was dead.

  But she wasn’t dead. She was alive and looking at him as she used to do, with the open eyes of a lover. He leaned down towards her and kissed her.

  The hand that had touched his cheek slid around to the back of his head and pulled it down towards her. Almost at the same time, her other hand pushed him away. ‘Jude. No. We mustn’t.’

  ‘Why mustn’t we?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want to. But you have a girlfriend. Stop.’

  It was the word ‘stop’ not the mention of Ashleigh that made him pull away. Thank God she’d stopped him. ‘Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Is he bothering you, Becca?’

  ‘No.’ She swivelled on her high heel and wobbled off back towards the hall.

  ‘My fault,’ Jude said, though it wasn’t. He didn’t like and didn’t trust Adam Fleetwood and he knew the man he’d once called his best friend well enough to have good reason for it. He backed away, justifying his behaviour. ‘She’s maybe had a bit too much to drink.’

  ‘It’s a party,’ she called back over her shoulder, but she was smiling as she carried on her way.

  Jude was left eye to eye with Adam, in a way he hadn’t been, and hadn’t wanted to be, for years. ‘It’s probably time I went.’

  ‘It probably is, Judas. Glad you worked that out for yourself. Or I’d have had to make you.’

  Adam wasn’t that drunk, certainly sober enough to spin a line and see if his prey was foolish enough to bite but Jude had too much to lose. It was worth his while to allow Adam to humiliate him. ‘I expect I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Oh don’t worry. You will.’ Adam trailed him to the Mercedes, just far enough from him not to be too obvious a threat. ‘Just as well Mikey’s got me to keep an eye on him. You’re not doing a great job.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s grateful to you.’

  ‘What kept you away tonight? More blood on your conscience?’

  Jude opened the car door and slid inside, but Adam’s hand flashed out and closed on the side of the door before he could shut it.

  ‘One more thing, Judas.’ He leaned inwards, eyes narrow, breath heavy with beer. ‘I’m watching you. One step out of line, one tiny mistake. You’ll be inside like I was. See how you like that.’

  ‘Let go of my car, Adam’ Jude brought out the sharpest tone he had, and it surprised Adam long enough fo
r him to let go of the door and for Jude to drive away.

  It was no surprise when blue lights flashed in front of him as he drive onto the roundabout that joined the A6 to the A66. Just off it, he obeyed their instruction to stop and got out of the car. PC Charlie Fry, an old acquaintance, was regarding him with grim horror, and the young female PC who was with him was looking rather more enthusiastic. ‘Sorry to stop you, Sir. We’ve had a report of this vehicle being driven under the influence of alcohol.’

  ‘Sure.’ He should have known. Adam had been out of prison for six months and it had been only a matter of time before he’d pounced. ‘That’s okay. Whatever you need to do.’

  He breathed into the tube Charlie offered him, not bothering to look down. His conscience was clear but for the breath of warm white wine he’d somehow harvested from Becca’s kiss. On the A66 the traffic hummed and somewhere, a few hundred yards away, Natalie would be lying in her cell, playing back the chain of events that had led her to kill.

  ‘That's all in order, Sir. Sorry to have stopped you.’

  ‘That's okay, Charlie.’ Jude moved back to his car. ‘That didn't surprise me, after the night I’ve had.’

  ‘Got on the wrong side of someone, have you?’

  ‘Looks like it.’ Jude got back into the car and sat for a moment while Charlie and his partner headed off to apprehend some real wrongdoer. Adam had laid down a marker and it was one he’d do well to take notice of. This was what it was going to be like, every step of the way, until Adam’s bitterness ran out of steam or Jude had enough of it and left.

  He could cope with Adam Fleetwood, because he no longer cared about him. But as he started the car and headed on towards home, he kept on thinking of Becca.

  THE END

  More by Jo Allen

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  It's high summer, and the Lakes are in the midst of an unrelenting heatwave. Uncontrollable fell fires are breaking out across the moors faster than they can be extinguished. When firefighters uncover the body of a dead child at the heart of the latest blaze, Detective Chief Inspector Jude Satterthwaite's arson investigation turns to one of murder. Jude was born and bred in the Lake District. He knows everyone... and everyone knows him. Except his intriguing new Detective Sergeant, Ashleigh O'Halloran, who is running from a dangerous past and has secrets of her own to hide... Temperatures – and tensions – are increasing, and with the body count rising Jude and his team race against the clock to catch the killer before it's too late...

  The first in the gripping, Lake District-set, DCI Jude Satterthwaite series.

  Death at Eden’s End

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  When one-hundred-year-old Violet Ross is found dead at Eden’s End, a luxury care home hidden in a secluded nook of Cumbria’s Eden Valley, it’ not unexpected. Except for the instantly recognisable look in her lifeless eyes…that of pure terror. DCI Jude Satterthwaite heads up the investigation, but as the deaths start to mount up it’s clear that he and DS Ashleigh O’Halloran need to uncover a long-buried secret before the killer strikes again…

  The second in the unmissable, Lake District-set, DCI Jude Satterthwaite series.

  Death on Coffin Lane

  DCI Jude Satterthwaite #3

  DCI Jude Satterthwaite doesn't get off to a great start with resentful Cody Wilder, who's visiting Grasmere to present her latest research on Wordsworth. With some of the villagers unhappy about her visit, it's up to DCI Satterthwaite to protect her – especially when her assistant is found hanging in the kitchen of their shared cottage.

  With a constant flock of tourists and the local hippies welcoming in all who cross their paths, Jude's home in the Lake District isn't short of strangers. But with the ability to make enemies wherever she goes, the violence that follows in Cody's wake leads DCI Satterthwaite's investigation down the hidden paths of those he knows, and those he never knew even existed.

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  Acknowledgements

  There are too many people who have helped me with this book for me to name them individually: I hope those I don’t mention will forgive me.

  I have to thank my lovely beta readers – Amanda, Frances, Julie, Kate, Katey, Liz, Lorraine, Pauline, Sally and Sara – who not only read and commented but also produced support and suggestions throughout the process.

  Rebecca Bradley kindly commented on aspects of police procedure; and Julie Cohen spent time and effort on a sensitivity read – something necessary on such a tricky subject. Julie, I hope I have managed not to allow the unpleasant views of some of my characters to take over too much!

  Finally, I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the eagle-eyed Keith Sutherland, for the most thorough and detailed piece of proofreading I have ever experienced!