Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows

by Shirley Wells

  ‘What a combination!’

  ‘A nightmare on a narrowboat.’

  Jill still hadn’t visited Len and Daisy’s narrowboat.

  She must.

  ‘There’s a stray cat keeps coming round to my place,’

  Bob said. ‘Quite a young thing. She calls by, has some food, and then goes off for a couple of days. I’ve had cats before and I’d quite like another. We’ll have to see if she moves in on a more permanent basis.’

  This was probably the longest conversation Jill had had with Bob. He really was a man of few words.

  ‘Right, I’ll have a look at that window for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She took him upstairs and showed him the problem.

  ‘The frame’s loose, but it’ll be OK for a bit,’ he told her.

  ‘The opening light is causing all the problems, and I should be able to tighten up the catch and the hinges.

  Hang on a minute, and I’ll get a screwdriver …’

  Ten minutes later, her window had been fixed

  temporarily.

  ‘It’s not perfect,’ Bob warned her, ‘but you should notice an improvement.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No trouble. I’ll have a look at this lot, and drop in some prices so you can see what you think. If they’re OK, give me a ring and we’ll get round to starting work.’

  He noticed her newspaper opened at the racing pages and his eyebrows rose as he spotted horses’ names ringed.

  ‘Don’t tell me you like a flutter on the horses.’

  ‘Occasionally,’ she admitted. ‘You?’

  ‘I’ve been known to dabble,’ he replied, grinning. He frowned at a horse she’d circled. ‘Nemesis? I’d thought of backing that, but ‘

  “I know, the going will be too heavy’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. Are you going to back it?’

  “I might.’

  ‘Mm. It might be worth an each-way bet. Don’t put too much on it, or you’ll never afford to pay me. Right, I’d better be off …’

  Jill watched him drive away, and felt vaguely cheered. It would be good to get the cottage sorted out. Then, hopefully, she could settle down and enjoy her new life in Kelton Bridge. She couldn’t settle to anything now, though.

  What with worries about Anne Levington, Valentine’s persona to try and unravel, the shocking death of Jonathan Trueman to come to terms with .

  And just as Bob had said, the village held its breath as it waited for something else to happen.

  Bob hadn’t exaggerated too much when he’d said there were more police than residents in the village, but they hadn’t found the murder weapon. They were still searching the locality for it, as well as carrying out house-to house enquiries. It was a long, painstaking job.

  Jill had thought Jonathan must have killed Alice. Now, she wasn’t so sure. But why would anyone want to kill Alice and Jonathan? Two more harmless people it would be impossible to meet.

  Had Jonathan killed his wife? Had the same man or woman murdered husband and wife? Was it possible that Kelton Bridge had seen two killers? Surely not. It was odd to kill one person with a knife, and kill them very cleanly, and then kill another with a gun. The two murders had been completely different. Alice had suffered one swift cut to the throat and would have died almost immediately.

  Jonathan, on the other hand, before receiving the fatal shots to his head, had been shot twice in the leg. The killer had wanted him to suffer. Why?

  Perhaps she’d try to forget it all for a while. Michael might fancy a walk in the fresh air. Probably not, though.

  He was as comfortable seeing people as they were seeing him. No one knew what to say to him and, if they did say something, he didn’t know how to respond.

  Time might be a good healer, but it was a painfully slow one.

  She sat down with her newspaper and studied the day’s runners. Brixnmortar appealed to her. She smiled to herself. What was the point of studying form when she behaved like a complete ignoramus and backed a horse with a name that appealed? On the other hand, Nice as Pie had fought off the opposition and romped home with energy to spare.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Later that afternoon, Jill had a phone call from her sister.

  ‘Steve’s away this weekend and his mum’s volunteered to have the kids so I thought I’d come and have a night with you.’

  ‘Really? Oh, that’s fantastic!’ Jill felt the sudden unexpected sting of tears. A visit from her sister was exactly what she needed right now.

  ‘Can you cope with a girls’ night in?’ Prue asked “I can think of nothing I’d like better.’ And it was true.

  Jill loved her sister dearly, even if they did have nothing in common. Prue was mother to Charlotte, Zoe and Bethany - and that was it. Life revolved around her kids.

  Jill spent the next two hours cleaning and generally setting the cottage to rights. It was amazing, she thought, how one person could get a place in such a mess.

  At just after seven that evening, Prue entered the cottage like a whirlwind. Bottles of wine clanked as she put carrier bags on the floor and Jill glimpsed a huge box of Thornton’s chocolates. Oh, yes, this was going to be a real girls’ night in.

  ‘This place is the back of beyond,’ Prue said, giving her a hug. “I got lost twice.’

  Prue had only visited the cottage once before, and she’d got lost then.

  ‘But isn’t it gorgeous?’ Jill said.

  ‘Well, yes, but what happened to civilization?’

  ‘This is civilized enough for me.’ Jill had never understood how Prue could live on River View, how she’d never longed for escape. She hadn’t, though. Despite their mother’s pushing, Prue had left school at sixteen, walked straight into the local salon to train as a hairdresser, set her eyes on Steve, a lorry driver, married him and started breeding.

  ‘Civilized? Two people have been murdered here within the last month. That’s one a fortnight.’ Prue pulled a face.

  “I know you reckon River View’s rough, but better that than a village like this. All the residents are inbred in these back-of-beyond places. You take a look at their feet, and I’ll bet they’ve got six toes.’

  Jill burst out laughing. ‘It is so good to see you, Prue.

  You talk complete rubbish, and I love it. Right - glass of wine after your journey? How’s Steve and those gorgeous nieces of mine?’

  ‘They’re fine, thanks, and yes, a glass of wine would be welcome.’ Prue picked up the carrier bags and followed her into the kitchen. ‘Steve’s working all the hours God sent so no change there, and the kids couldn’t wait to be rid of me. It’s a treat to get away, though. I’ll just go and freshen up …’

  Smiling to herself, Jill took their wine into the sitting room. It was wonderful to see her sister, but she guessed it would be just as good to wave goodbye to her.

  ‘Nothing interesting in your bathroom, I see,’ Prue complained as she joined her.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh, aftershave, razor, that sort of thing.’

  Jill rolled her eyes.

  ‘You’re not turning into a hermit, are you, Jill? Ever since you and Max split - well, you’re like one of these frumpy old ‘

  ‘Thanks very much!’

  ‘You know what I mean. How’s that estate agent chap, by the way?’

  “I assume Andy’s very well. We had lunch a couple of weeks ago and he was fine then.’

  ‘Lunch?’ Prue’s interest was grabbed. ‘And?’

  ‘And nothing.’ Jill knew that a vivid description of an afternoon’s wanton, abandoned passion would earn her a few Brownie points, but she resisted. ‘He does nothing for me.’

  ‘But you said he was nice. Good job, and good-looking, you said.’

  ‘Yes, he has a good job and he’s pleasing on the eye.

  There’s more to life than that, though.’

  Prue, clearly unable to think of anything more, shook her head in a despairing w
ay. ‘What about Max? I assume you’re still giving him the cold shoulder?’

  They’d been through this before, too. The way Prue spoke, it was obligatory for a man to have an affair. Jill would like to see her face if Steve had one. Second thoughts, she wouldn’t. It was too painful to wish on her worst enemy.

  ‘Actually, I’ve seen quite a bit of him lately,’ she said.

  ‘I’m back at work, temporarily, on the serial killer case.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Prue threw herself down in the armchair, and groaned. ‘So you discuss murder and mayhem together?

  That must be so romantic/

  Even Jill had to smile at that.

  ‘Seriously, love,’ Prue went on, ‘all these murders in Kelton Bridge ‘

  ‘Two,’ Jill pointed out quietly.

  ‘That’s about two per cent of the population.’

  It wasn’t, there were over four thousand people in Kelton Bridge now, but she did take Prue’s point.

  ‘And when you’re not living in a place where people are getting murdered on a daily basis, you’re working in a job where people would be out of work if all the killers were locked up.’ She sighed her frustration. ‘It’s unhealthy!’

  ‘I’m happy enough.’

  Prue gave her that all-seeing gaze of hers. ‘Are you?’

  Jill rarely thought about it. People might complain about being depressed or fed up, but it was rare that someone decided they were happy. Thinking about it, though, she thought she was as happy as could be expected, considering the man she’d once loved had betrayed her and

  considering that some crank, possibly a serial killer, was making use of her letterbox …

  ‘Yes, I am,’ she said firmly. “I enjoy my work, I love my cottage, I love this village and the people in it, I love the cats - yes, I am happy.’

  ‘You’re not getting any younger, Jill ‘

  ‘Oh, God.’ Laughing, Jill got to her feet. ‘I’d better bring the bottle in. You’re right, Prue,’ she called from the kitchen, ‘I’m not getting any younger, but the British Museum isn’t interested in me just yet.’

  “I was thinking of children,’ Prue said when she returned.

  “I know what you were thinking. We’ve had this conversation before. Perhaps I don’t want children.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Prue scoffed.

  She was right; Jill did want children. The trouble was, whenever she imagined those children, they were all miniatures of Max.

  A sudden thought struck her. ‘Why is Steve’s mum having the kids? How did she beat off Mum?’

  The expression on her sister’s face had Jill’s stomach churning. ‘Prue?’

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Prue began.

  ‘Oh, my God! What is it?’

  ‘She hasn’t been feeling well,’ Prue explained, eyes firmly fixed on the rim of her wine glass as if she were having to concentrate on a well-rehearsed speech. ‘You know she can’t shake off that cough? Well, now she’s got a pain in her shoulder.’

  ‘Oh, no. Those bloody fags of hers!’

  ‘It might be nothing,’ Prue insisted.

  ‘And it might be -‘ But she couldn’t say the c-word.

  Couldn’t even think it. Certainly couldn’t think of life without their mum.

  ‘It might be a muscular thing,’ Prue said firmly.

  Jill guessed that, like her, Prue was too frightened to think otherwise.

  ‘She went to the doctor’s yesterday,’ Prue told her.

  ‘Lord, she must be ill.’

  ‘He’s sending her for an X-ray. I was impressed. She’s having that on Monday’

  Jill wasn’t impressed; she was terrified. To move so quickly, the doctor obviously thought it important.

  “I keep meaning to visit,’ Jill murmured.

  ‘She knows how busy you are.’

  ‘I’m not that busy’ How could she be too busy for her own mother? The thought disgusted her.

  ‘Let’s talk about something else,’ Prue said firmly. ‘Zoe’s got a boyfriend, did I tell you? He’s four years old and he gave her a birthday kiss.’

  They talked about the children, even managed to laugh, but Jill knew they were both thinking of X-rays and the overflowing ashtrays that had been a part of their childhood.

  The phone rang and Jill got up to answer it.

  ‘Hi, it’s Bob. Bob Murphy. Just wondered if you’d backed Nemesis?’

  Jill laughed. “I didn’t.’

  ‘Phew. That’s OK then. I still stand a chance of getting paid.’

  ‘You do,’ she told him easily. “I backed Brixnmortar.’

  ‘Never! The outsider? 25-1, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yep. I just wish I’d put a couple of grand on it.’

  “I wish I’d put my business on it,’ Bob said, ‘but as it was, I backed - let me see - Blue Mountain ‘

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Flame Thrower ‘

  ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear.’ She spluttered with laughter.

  ‘And a couple of others who should reach the finishing post before midnight.’

  ‘I’d better be careful then or you’ll be upping your estimate.’

  “I might at that,’ he said with amusement. ‘Perhaps I’ll have better luck next week. I’ll be in touch anyway. Night.’

  ‘Night, Bob.’

  She was still smiling as she replaced the receiver.

  ‘Bob? Who was that then?’ Prue asked curiously.

  ‘Bob Murphy - the builder who’ll be doing this place.’

  Before she could go into detail, someone rang her doorbell and then hammered on her door.

  On her way to answer it, Jill wondered if Prue had noticed the way she’d jumped in shock at the sound.

  Probably. Prue didn’t miss much.

  ‘Oh, hi, Andy.’ Had her sister’s willpower brought him to the cottage?

  “I thought I’d drop by with the brochure you wanted,’ he explained.

  Jill had forgotten all about it. A nearby farm was being sold and the farm’s contents were being auctioned separately.

  According to Ella, there were some lovely pieces going under the hammer. ‘The Wrights are giving up farming and retiring to Spain,’ Ella had told her, ‘and most of their furniture is being sold. They’ve some lovely knickknacks …’

  ‘Thanks, Andy’

  She would have to ask him in, yet he looked exceptionally handsome this evening in a dark suit, pale blue shirt and silk tie. Prue would probably eat him.

  ‘Come in. My sister’s here - we were having a natter over a glass of wine.’

  She’d hoped he would refuse the invitation, but he didn’t. On the other hand, it would at least show Prue that there were a few decent men in Kelton Bridge. Well, one at any rate, and even Prue wouldn’t think of counting Andy’s toes.

  ‘This is Andy,’ she introduced him. ‘He’s the wonderful chap who found this lovely cottage for me.’

  Prue, she could see, was mentally calculating the cost of his suit and shoes and eyeing up his broad shoulders. He passed the test quickly, and Prue soon had him sitting on the sofa next to her, a glass of wine in his hands. She then proceeded to fire questions at him.

  “I couldn’t live anywhere else,’ Andy said in answer to one of them. ‘It’s a great place. Everyone’s very neighbourly, people look out for each other.’

  ‘If someone had looked out for the vicar and his wife,’

  Prue pointed out quietly, ‘Kelton Bridge wouldn’t be mentioned on every news report.’

  “I can’t argue with that,’ Andy replied. ‘A terribly sad business all round. In all the years I’ve lived here ‘

  ‘How many is that?’ Prue wanted to know.

  “I lived here for a year when I was a kid - my mother liked to move around a bit - and I came back here when I was twenty-five. So that’s eleven years in total. In all that time, we’ve never had so much as a Mars bar stolen.’

  ‘What did your mother do, apart from move around a lot?�
�

  Heavens, Prue was nosy.

  ‘Oh, this and that. Any job that took her fancy really.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Prue said. ‘A friend of ours was like that. You remember Diane, don’t you, Jill? She picked grapes in France, waited on tables in Spain, and became a lifeguard in Australia. So romantic’

  Smiling, Andy nodded.

  ‘You’re not married then?’ Prue pushed on, knowing full well he wasn’t.

  ‘Take no notice of her, Andy,’ Jill told him. ‘Before you arrived, I was on the receiving end of the high time you settled down and had kids lecture. Personally, I think she’s just jealous of our freedom.’

  They chatted for another hour or more. Andy was driving so he stuck to one glass of wine, but Jill and Prue made up for it.

  Eventually, Andy glanced at his watch. ‘It’s time I was off. Lovely to meet you, Prue, and I hope we meet again.

  I’ll look forward to seeing you at the auction, Jill, and thanks for the wine.’

  As soon as he’d gone, Prue threw her arms wide in a dramatic, and slightly tipsy, gesture. “I have died and gone to heaven. He is drop dead gorgeous, Jill. Dear God, girl, get a doctor to check you out. You must be dead from the neck down. He’s ‘

  She broke off as Jill’s mobile phone rang.

  Jill welcomed the distraction until she saw who was calling.

  ‘It’s me,’ Max said. “I think we’ve found Anne Levington.’

  ‘Alive?’ But she knew the answer to that from Max’s voice.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘An old ruin of a farmhouse on the Burnley to Todmorden road. Cornwall’s out there, but it’s on my patch so I’m on my way there now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  On Monday morning, Jill was at work in the small, windowless office. The traffic noise was constant, and welcome. At least it hinted at signs of life outside.

  Cornwall strode in. ‘Well?’

  He always greeted her with that ‘Well?’ Never ‘Good morning’ or ‘How are you?’, always ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m writing up a brief report,’ she told him. ‘According to my reckoning, our man lives on this side of Lancashire, either Todmorden, Rochdale or Rossendale.’ He might even live in Kelton Bridge, she thought, and the knowledge brought an involuntary shudder. ‘The most likely area, according to this, is Rossendale. I also reckon he’ll live out in the wilds. He won’t live on an estate, but on the edge of a village or a town. He’ll be close to open countryside.’