Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows

by Shirley Wells

  Michael opened the door and stared blankly at her. It was as if he didn’t know her, but he’d recognized her at the party.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’

  ‘Jill. Jill Kennedy’

  ‘Dad’s out,’ he said. ‘He won’t be back for a couple of hours. Shall I tell him you called?’

  He clearly didn’t plan to invite her inside so Jill took a step forward, leaving him little option.

  ‘That’s OK. I came to see both of you really. To see how you were coping and if there was anything I could do.’

  ‘You’d better come in then.’

  She was already halfway in, but she welcomed the invitation.

  The hall floor was bare and her shoes clattered on the concrete.

  ‘The carpet’s - gone,’ he explained. ‘The police said erm, it’s been painted, too.’

  The air was still heavy with the smell of paint, but better that than a murder scene.

  There had been blood everywhere, according to Max.

  Not surprising. Alice’s main artery had been slashed when she’d been in a state of panic. Her heart would have been pumping blood for all it was worth.

  ‘Let’s go in the kitchen then,’ she suggested briskly, leading the way to what she hoped was the kitchen. It was.

  “I don’t know about you, but I practically live in my kitchen. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’

  A less polite boy would have told her to sod off, but Michael just mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ and began getting cups from the cupboard.

  Cups and saucers rattled in his hands. He was shaking.

  The kitchen was large, with a big, scrubbed pine table in the centre of the room. The units were old, but clean and serviceable. Tea, coffee and sugar containers sat in a neat row near the kettle.

  ‘I’d like coffee if that’s all right,’ Jill said. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Mmm? Oh, yes, coffee’s fine.’

  He wanted her gone, she knew that.

  ‘Are you back at school tomorrow?’ she asked, and he nodded. “I bet your friends are missing you.’

  ‘Er, yes. Oh, I wouldn’t think my friends ‘

  “I bet your girlfriend is,’ she put in quickly.

  ‘Girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend.’ But the hot blush that spread across his face told Jill otherwise.

  ‘Come on, you don’t have to be shy with me!’ She nudged him in an all-pals-together sort of way. ‘Besides, I saw you with her.’

  ‘Oh.’

  So he did have a girlfriend.

  “I was exactly the same at your age,’ she rushed on, knowing she had never been like this vulnerable young man. ‘If I so much as mentioned a boy’s name to my

  parents, they’d want to know it all. Then, knowing it all, they would decide he wasn’t right for me. In the end, I kept quiet.’

  He listened politely, but didn’t comment.

  ‘So what’s she like? Lovely, I bet. Does she go to the same school?’

  He gave her a suspicious look. ‘No. Er, she’s older.’

  ‘Really? I only saw her from the back. Is she pretty like your mum?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled shyly.

  Their coffee ready, Jill made herself comfortable at the table, leaving him little choice but to do likewise. Except he didn’t look comfortable.

  “I wish I’d known your mum better,’ Jill said. “I only met her at the party, but she seemed a lovely woman. Very pretty, too, and a stunning figure. I envied her that. Comes of being a dancer, I suppose. Your dad said she’d written me a note, inviting me to lunch. That was so kind of her.

  She was a kind lady.’

  ‘Yes. We miss her.’

  His immaculate manners would drive Jill crazy. He knew something, she was sure of it.

  ‘Any news?’ she asked. ‘Have the police come up with anything? What about that red van your dad saw? You didn’t see it, did you?’

  “I don’t remember seeing anything on the road.’

  ‘Your dad arrived only minutes after you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry.’

  The house was freezing and she shivered. She was glad she’d chosen to wear a thick jumper.

  ‘You must come to me for lunch one day/ she said. ‘No need to make it lunch, either. Call in any time. I’m a good listener and sometimes it helps to get away from home, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘My cooking’s pretty dire,’ she told him, ‘but I always have plenty of cakes and biscuits, tea and coffee. There’s always a can of beer or a bottle of Scotch, too,’ she added with a smile. ‘Call in, Michael. I don’t get many visitors and the cats would like the company’

  ‘Cats?’

  His world was disintegrating yet the mention of cats had sparked his interest. Jill supposed the subject offered him an uncomplicated, easy escape from his problems.

  “I knew you had one cat,’ he added. ‘I’ve seen it about.’

  ‘I’ve got three. One’s sixteen, a black and white female who keeps the other two in line. The other, Sam, is eight now - a big, fat, lazy torn. And the third, a pretty black and white tuxedo, adopted me. When I lived in Preston, I knew a cat was coming in at night and stealing food. Sometimes, if I crept into the kitchen, I’d be in time to see a black tail vanishing through the cat flap. After a week or so, I found her sitting on the kitchen chair. The poor thing was too tired, too ill and too hungry to escape.’

  ‘Ah, shame.’ At least she had his interest. If she could gain his trust as well, she might get somewhere.

  “I took her to the vet and he gave her a shot of antibiotics for an infection. While she was there, he found she had a microchip. I was hoping that some poor person had lost the cat.’

  ‘Did they trace the owner?’

  ‘Yup.’ Jill grinned. ‘Officially, Tojo is stolen goods.’

  ‘How come?’ He was smiling, too.

  ‘Later that day, I had a phone call from a woman who said, “I believe you’ve got my cat.” She didn’t sound very friendly. Anyway, it turned out she only lived at the back of my place. Her kitchen window was always open so the cat could have gone back any time. She asked if the cat was still with me, and I lied. I said she’d run off as soon as I’d got back from the vet’s. I even promised to call the woman if I saw the cat.’

  He laughed at that, and Jill wondered if it was the first time he’d laughed since his mother had been murdered.

  ‘It’s a special feeling to be chosen by a cat,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Anyway,’ she went on briskly, ‘you must come and see her. She’s a gorgeous little thing. Not that she’s little now. She’s fat. The others are, too. They love visitors though.’

  “I will. Thanks.’

  ‘Promise?’

  There was a long pause as he made up his mind.

  ‘Promise,’ he said at last.

  ‘Good.’ Jill got to her feet. She’d done all she could for now. There was no point alienating him. I’m truly sorry about your mother, Michael. I don’t have your dad’s faith in God, so I can’t offer any help in that direction, but I do know that time heals. It’s a trite saying, one that probably infuriates you now as everyone will be telling you that, but it really is true.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘I’ll be off then. No need to see me out. I’ll see you soon, Michael. Hey, bring your girlfriend too. The more the merrier!’

  As she walked away from the vicarage, she thought of all she’d learned. The main thing was that Michael had a girlfriend. How much older was she? Was she twenty?

  Perhaps she was in her thirties even. If that were the case, there was no doubt that Michael’s father would disapprove strongly. Alice, no matter how much she loved her son, and no matter how easy-going and fun-loving she was, would have hated that, too.

  The main thing at the moment was gai
ning Michael’s trust and she was fairly confident he’d be a visitor at Lilac Cottage before long.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘So what was she like?’ Max asked.

  Jim Brody, the Truemans’ gardener, had been interviewed before. Grace thought they were wasting their

  time, but Max thought it worth talking to him again, mainly because the cleaner had said he got on well with Alice Trueman.

  ‘Alice would spend hours talking to him,’ the Truemans’

  cleaner had said.

  No one liked to speak ill of the dead, but usually someone had something unkind to say about some member of the family. Not the Trueman family it seemed. As yet, not one person had said a bad word about any of them.

  ‘I’ve told your people all this before,’ Brody pointed out.

  Max ignored the expression on Grace’s face. “I know, but humour me, will you?’

  Brody sighed, and he was struggling to look Max in the eye.

  They were in Brody’s lounge, an untidy, cluttered room, but homely for all that. It was a homely sort of house, old and detached, with an enviable garden. One would expect the garden, Max supposed, as it was a good way of advertising a trade, yet this one was more peaceful than showy.

  Constantly in the shadow of Brody’s feet was a dog, a sleek black and white border collie that Ben would have killed for. Her eyes never left Brody’s face, and she was poised and alert for any move he might make.

  ‘Alice was always good to me,’ Brody said at last. ‘Not like some I’ve worked for. She was one who’d invite you inside to shelter from a sudden downpour, or bring you a cold drink on a hot day. Some folk look down on you, but not her.’

  ‘Are you married?’ Max asked, and Brody stared at him in amazement. ‘Just curious,’ Max explained.

  ‘No/ Brody told him.

  ‘How did Alice get along with her husband?’ Max asked.

  ‘All right, I imagine. Look, I was only the gardener.’

  “I know that, but you must have formed an impression.

  I didn’t know her, yet I’ve been given a picture of a fun loving woman who used to love dancing.’ He scratched his head. “I can’t imagine a woman like that living with a man like Jonathan Trueman.’

  ‘Because he was a vicar?’ Brody scoffed.

  ‘Partly, I suppose. But vicar or not, he doesn’t strike me as a party animal.’

  Brody shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘According to the cleaner, Mrs Trueman used to spend a lot of time talking to you.’

  ‘So what? Plenty of folk have an interest in their gardens.

  Not much point me putting an area to grass when what they wanted was a rose garden, is there?’

  None at all, Max thought, but surely they wouldn’t have spoken only of the garden. Max was no gardener, far preferring to have a big lawn that only needed mowing once a week, and he couldn’t believe there was that much to discuss.

  ‘You must have talked about other things. She must have said something in passing. People do.’

  ‘No.’

  Call it intuition or gut instinct, but Max was convinced Brody knew something.

  He wished people would talk, it would make his job much easier. This case should be cut and dried by now.

  They didn’t talk, though. Villagers looked out for their own. They knew all there was to know about their neighbours, but wouldn’t divulge anything to outsiders. And Max was an outsider. Worse, he was a copper. He’d have liked to get Jill more involved, but even she was an outsider.

  As the new woman, she wouldn’t be trusted. Bloody villages. Max hated them.

  ‘You must have liked her,’ he pushed on, ‘so you must want her killer put where he belongs.’

  Brody didn’t comment.

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me? Someone who disliked her? Some family problem?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Max knew he would get nowhere. ‘Give me a call if you think of anything,’ he said.

  “I will.’ Brody was quickly ushering them out of the house, eager to get rid of them, but Max stopped in the open doorway.

  ‘Lovely garden,’ he remarked.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Kelton Bridge is a decent village, isn’t it?’ Max persisted, turning to look at him. ‘A friend of mine has just moved here, Jill Kennedy. I assume you’ve met her?’

  ‘Kennedy?’ Brody shook his head. “I don’t think so.

  Where is she? Up on the estate?’

  ‘No. She’s along Pennine View. Her place, Lilac Cottage, is at the end of the lane.’

  ‘Ah, that’ll be Mrs Blackman’s old place. I knew someone had moved in there. How’s she settling in?’

  ‘She loves it,’ Max said, wondering why Brody was friendlier and easier to talk to when he wasn’t discussing the murder of Alice Trueman.

  Brody’s dog nudged Max’s hand and licked his finger.

  ‘Lovely dog,’ Max said, bending to stroke the animal’s head.

  ‘Holly’s a good one,’ Brody agreed. ‘She doesn’t usually take to strangers. I suppose she’s a one-man dog. I’ve had dogs all my life, but never one like Holly. I don’t know why she’s like that.’

  Max, feeling honoured, fussed the dog some more before leaving.

  ‘While we’re here, Grace,’ he said, ‘we’ll have another word with the Truemans’ cleaner. She works mornings, and should be at the vicarage till twelve.’

  ‘Right,’ Grace replied, voice clipped to register her feelings on the matter.

  Molly Turnbull was indeed at the vicarage.

  ‘There’s only me here,’ she said as she opened the door to them.

  ‘It’s you we’ve come to see,’ Max told her.

  There was an exception to every rule and, in Kelton Bridge, Molly Turnbull was that exception. She loved to be the centre of attention. The other villagers might close ranks, but Molly loved to talk.

  ‘We’ve been chatting to Mr Brody, the gardener,’ he explained, ‘and thought we’d have another chat with you while we were in the village.’

  ‘You’d better have a cup of tea then,’ she said.

  While she clattered around, she talked non-stop. None of it was of any interest to Max, but he let her ramble on for a while.

  ‘Mr Brody says he and Alice only used to talk about the garden,’ he got in eventually.

  ‘Is that so? Well, it’s not my place to contradict him but I can’t believe that.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper.

  ‘The only times I heard Alice laugh were when she were in the garden with him. Can’t see that talking about the garden would make her laugh, can you?’

  ‘Not my idea of a joke, Molly’

  ‘Quite. She had a soft spot for Jim Brody, you mark my words.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  “I suppose there’s only her would know that,’ Molly allowed, ‘but she were always eager to go and chat to him and, like I said, he used to make her laugh. The rest of the time, she were quiet - lonely, I always reckoned. Of course, Mr Trueman were out and about all the time doing his good deeds in the parish. Perhaps she were different when he were home. Perhaps he made her laugh.’

  ‘Perhaps he did,’ Max agreed.

  Molly pushed a plate of biscuits in front of them, and Max took a couple of chocolate ones.

  ‘How big a soft spot do you think she had for him?’

  Grace asked.

  ‘A big one, I reckon,’ Molly said. ‘Not that she would have done anything about it. She wasn’t the flirty type if you know what I mean.’

  Max and Grace nodded to indicate that yes, they knew what she meant.

  ‘What about Brody?’ Max munched on a biscuit. ‘How do you think he felt about her? Did he realize she had a certain fondness for him, do you think? Did he look forward to their chats?’

  “I always thought so. I never saw anything improper, but I reckon they had a certain way of looking at one another.

  Put it this way,
I wouldn’t want my Ronnie looking at a woman like that.’

  ‘Really?’

  As Molly told them all about her Ronnie, Max’s mind went through the possibilities. How would Michael have felt if he’d seen the glances between his mother and the gardener? Would he have been angry with his mother?

  Angry enough to kill her? Was there more than a certain fondness on both sides? Was Michael jealous? He was a strange kid, no doubt about that.

  ‘My Ronnie reckons I read too many Mills & Boons,’

  Molly was saying. “I told him I thought Alice were a bit too friendly with Jim Brody, and he laughed at me. Said I were talking nonsense, and that I were too much of a romantic.

  Perhaps he’s right.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with a touch of romance, Molly,’

  Grace said.

  Max, surprised the word romance even existed in Grace’s vocabulary, helped himself to another biscuit.

  ‘A friend of mine’s just moved to Kelton Bridge,’ he remarked casually. ‘Jill Kennedy. Have you met her yet?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard all about her. Moved into old Mrs Blackman’s place, used to be one of them psychiatrists but gave it up.’

  ‘Psychologist,’ Max corrected her.

  ‘All the same to me,’ Molly said, and Max had to smile.

  It was all the same to most people.

  ‘Andy Collins sold the cottage to her,’ Molly added.

  ‘Nice spot there, so long as you don’t mind being a bit cut off.’

  ‘It is,’ Max agreed.

  ‘Anyone new comes to the village and people talk about them until the next person moves in,’ she said. ‘So yes, I’ve heard all about her.’

  ‘And what are people saying about her?’

  ‘Pleasant enough, clever, keeps herself to herself. Nothing scandalous,’ she added with a laugh, ‘but that’ll come later. If they can’t find any skeletons in her cupboard, they’ll invent a few. That’s village life for you.’ She was about to pour them a second cup of tea, then paused. ‘Ah, I remember now. It was her were in the news when you lot thought you’d caught that serial killer, weren’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now who were telling me about that?’ She poured them each a cup of tea. ‘Can’t remember. Perhaps it were Tony Hutchinson. Yes, I reckon it were him. I clean there, too. A couple of afternoons a week.’