‘A good shot, are you?’ Max asked.
‘Good enough.’
I bet you are, Max thought. Not that one would need to be a good shot to make such a mess of a body.
Brody was a very cool, calm individual. Perhaps he could afford to be with his brother providing an alibi, but Max was convinced he’d killed Jonathan Trueman.
‘Do you think Mrs Trueman was murdered by her husband?’
Max asked him.
‘If he and young Michael are the only suspects, then yes, it’s possible.’ Something resembling a smile touched his lips and left his eyes cold. “I didn’t kill Mrs Trueman if that’s what you’re thinking. If you check with the hospital, you’ll find I was there at the time. In fact, I was there for about five hours.’
‘Yes, we’ve checked,’ Fletch told him.
‘Right,’ Max said briskly. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Brody. We’ll be in touch. Oh, and if you hear anything, give us a call, will you?’
“I will.’
As they were walking out, the collie moved forward and touched a cold wet nose against Max’s hand.
‘Funny how she’s taken to you,’ Brody murmured.
Max bent to stroke the dog’s head. ‘I’ve got a dog so I expect she can smell that one. Goodbye then, Mr Brody.’
Max and Fletch stepped out into the sunshine, and then got back in Fletch’s car.
‘Well?’ Fletch asked.
‘He’s our man,’ Max said confidently.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Fletch replied. ‘God, he’s bloody cocky, though. You really reckon he was having an affair with Alice Trueman?’
‘Yes, I do. Given all we’ve been told about the squeaky clean Alice, it’s hard to believe, but yes, I reckon he was.
And how the hell did they manage that in a place like Kelton? I want his every movement checked and double checked. We’ll have another chat with his brother, too. He has to be lying. And I want Brody’s van checked out. We need to know where it was when he was supposed to be on that London train. I’ll issue details to the press …’
Max dared to believe they were finally getting somewhere.
Chapter Forty
He loved this. He was so close to her, almost close enough to smell her, yet she was oblivious to his presence.
It was risky, too risky, but he hadn’t been able to resist. The challenge appealed to him.
He was lying on his back in her dark attic, his hands clasped behind his head as he listened to her moving around beneath him. He’d already heard the shower running and now he could hear the radio. Impossible to make out what was being said, or which record was being played, but he reckoned she was listening to the late night country music show. He often listened to that himself.
Her phone rang, and the radio was silenced as she spoke to the caller. He heard her laughing.
Make the most of it, sweetheart. You won’t be laughing for much longer …
She was going to be his next victim. That was a pity in some ways, but she wasn’t much fun. He could have greater pleasure pitting his wits against Detective Chief Inspector Trentham, a man he’d taken a great dislike to. Some days, you couldn’t switch on the television without seeing his face on the screen. Except Trentham had forgotten all about Valentine. He was busy seeking the glory from the murder of the vicar and his wife.
Valentine would have to jog his memory. Oh, yes. He could hardly wait.
It was cold in her attic, but he didn’t feel it. He’d brought a sleeping bag up here and that was keeping him snug. His exciting thoughts were keeping him warm, too.
He would have to strangle her, of course. To make sure Trentham got the message, he would remove those heart-shaped pieces of skin from her body, too. A dozen hearts.
Next week perhaps …
First, he wanted her to panic. She was cool, one of those individuals who refused to acknowledge that death could be round the corner. Perhaps she believed she was too clever for death.
As soon as she left in the morning, he would arrange the thirteen red roses in one of her vases and leave them on her kitchen table. The small, accompanying card was already written: From Valentine.
He hated having to sleep with the roses in the loft, but there was no alternative. It was exhilarating to share her home for the night, so he must concentrate on that. No need to think of competing for air with those blood red buds …
He closed his eyes and concentrated on killing her. The brief moment of panic on her face, using his scalpel to turn her body into an object of beauty, imagining Trentham finding her …
Of course, there were still the details to work out. Where would he kill her? How would he get her there? He was tempted to kill her here, in her own house. Perhaps he would. He could do it now. All he had to do was jump down from this loft, walk out through the spare room and into her bedroom. Easy!
Chapter Forty-One
Jill’s eyes were tired. It had been a long day, spent poring over statements, and it was good to get away.
The Green Man was almost opposite headquarters so it was inevitable she’d recognize a lot of people in the bar.
‘What are you having?’ Cornwall asked her.
‘A long, cold lager, please. I’d have something more exciting but I’ve got to drive.’
“Me too.’
She found a table while he queued for the drinks and she was amused to see him, a minute later, bringing a glass of lager and an orange juice to their table.
‘You’re allowed one drink, Don.’
‘It’s not worth the risk.’
Cornwall wasn’t a risk taker. She wasn’t either, but she did know she could have one drink without being found drunk in charge of a motor vehicle.
She’d like to think she was getting along better with Cornwall, but she wasn’t. He might be able to tolerate her more easily these days, but they weren’t getting along. His views on psychologists were well known, and she felt he didn’t give her all relevant information. It made for a tricky relationship.
‘Look who’s here,’ he said, nodding at the door.
Max and Grace spent a large part of their working day together so it wasn’t unusual to see them having a drink occasionally. Jill wondered if their relationship went beyond work these days. She didn’t think it did, but who knew?
Max often needed a female officer with him to offer support to people he might be questioning or to protect himself from accusations of impropriety. They made an attractive couple, Max and Grace. Grace was much younger, but she was striking, intelligent and as hard as nails. She was laughing at something Max had said.
Jill dismissed all jealous thoughts from her mind and put a smile on her face as they joined them.
‘Anything new?’ Cornwall asked Max.
‘Nothing. What about you two?’
‘Nothing I consider significant,’ Cornwall said, and again, Jill was irritated. Either he’d learned something new or he hadn’t.
He looked across at the quiz machine. ‘Anyone fancy trying to win a tenner?’
‘No, thanks,’ Jill said.
‘I’m quite good at these,’ Grace said, rising to the challenge.
‘Best of ten, Cornwall? Loser buys the next round?’
‘Sure,’ Cornwall replied.
Jill watched them go, but she had more important matters on her mind. ‘Anything more from Janie Fisher?’
‘No, not a whisper.’ Max nodded towards the quiz machine. ‘How did Cornwall take it when you told him you’d seen her?’
‘How do you think? He’s convinced there’s nothing in it and, even if there were, she can’t tell us anything. But if it was Valentine she saw,’ Jill said, voice low but confident, ‘he’ll kill again and probably soon. Escaping like that, she will have robbed him of control. He won’t like that. He’ll probably be angry. This next one might be more vicious.’
‘There’s not much I can do about it. I have to concentrate on the Truemans’ murders.’ He took a swig from his half pi
nt of beer. ‘What’s Cornwall doing about it?’
Jill tapped the side of her nose, just as Cornwall often did. ‘He has his methods.’
Max smiled at that. ‘And you still reckon Valentine lives in the Rossendale area?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Jill hated the thought of that, but it was what the computer believed.
‘What about Hutchinson, Jill? Could he have anything at all to do with sending you photos and Valentine cards?’
“I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘He’s not killing prostitutes, though. Tony’s been married for years, and seems to be used to the odd affair. Valentine isn’t in a long-term relationship, I’m sure of that.’
‘Yes, but these photos and cards. The more I think about it - firstly, it only started when you moved to Kelton.’
“I don’t know/ she said again. ‘He likes the idea of my work - not that he has a clue what it entails - and I’m sure he believes it’s far more fascinating than his own job. And he does like to impress people with his knowledge. He might, but it’s a big might, be keen to remind me that I’m not as great as I like to think I am.’
‘Mm.’ Max nodded. ‘And how about Andrew Collins?
He isn’t in a long-term relationship, he’s been accused of rape in the past, and he has to keep reminding people that he’s not gay.’
‘Does he?’
‘Yes. He reckons he had a long-term relationship in the past, but it could be a figment of his imagination.’
‘He’s told me about that. They were together for about six years, I gather.’
‘Not usual, is it?’
‘What? To have a long-term relationship?’
‘To keep reminding people of your heterosexuality.’
‘It doesn’t make him a killer.’ At least, Jill hoped not.
She’d been invited to the manor for drinks tomorrow night and he was sure to be there. ‘These days, lots of people choose to stay single. Marriage isn’t what it used to be.
People choose careers over marriage and kids.’
‘Yes, but ‘
‘Cornwall’s around the same age as Andy and he isn’t married,’ she pointed out, gazing across at the quiz machine where he and Grace were frantically jabbing but tons. ‘No one gives it a second thought. You certainly wouldn’t suspect him of being gay’
“I suppose not,’ Max murmured, thoughtfully. ‘No, you’re right, I hadn’t given it a thought. Until you just told me, I wouldn’t have known if he was married or not.’
“I only found out because I asked.’ Jill took a swallow of lager. ‘He doesn’t talk about himself - something of a loner. He’s not the easiest bloke to get along with, either.
He’s ambitious, but I don’t think he considers himself part of a team.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard a couple of people say that. Anyway, do you want another drink?’ Max asked.
She did, but she couldn’t. ‘I’m driving.’
“Me too, and I have to collect the kids from a party’ He picked up her empty glass. ‘You can have another. Leave your car here and I’ll give you a lift home.’
‘Hey, great. In that case, I’ll have a gin and tonic.
Oh, and don’t let them put the tonic in the glass. They’ll drown it.’
He smiled, and wandered off to ask Cornwall and Grace if they wanted more drinks.
Jill watched him chatting to them. He was laughing. She guessed he answered a question correctly for Grace before leaving them to it.
‘Cornwall is an oddball, isn’t he?’ he remarked, when he returned with her drink.
“I think so, yes. But what makes you say that?’
‘He’s ambitious, no doubt about that, and doing well for himself, but you have the feeling that he keeps his ideas and his methods to himself. I’m not sure what he wants more - Valentine arrested or the glory for being the hero of the day by catching him.’
Jill knew exactly what he meant. ‘He’s very critical, too,’
she mused. ‘He spends a lot of time telling you how much better life was in Newcastle - the place, the people he worked with. I’ve been tempted several times to ask him why, if it was so great, he doesn’t piss off back there.’
Max chuckled at that.
As he was in no rush to leave the pub, probably because he had time to kill before he needed to collect Harry and Ben from their party, Jill had another gin and tonic.
It didn’t take Cornwall and Grace long to lose their tenner on the quiz machine, and they soon joined them.
‘My round/ Grace said with a grimace. ‘Don had some lucky questions.’
Cornwall shrugged modestly, but he was clearly delighted with his win. He was petty.
Jill watched him closely and decided that it wasn’t only a case of not liking him. There was more to it than that.
There was something about Don Cornwall that raised too many questions in her mind. She didn’t trust him.
‘You ready then, Jill?’ Max asked eventually.
She was. All she had planned for the evening was a long, leisurely bath with lots of foam, stretching out on the sofa with a good book, and then an early night. Bliss.
They said their goodbyes to Cornwall and Grace who were about to have another game on the quiz machine, and walked back for Max’s car.
Jill could easily have fallen asleep as Max drove. The glare of oncoming headlights had her eyes closing on several occasions. Perhaps she did doze off. It came as a surprise when Max stopped the car outside her cottage.
He followed her inside, just as she’d known he would.
Jill saw them immediately - glaring triumphantly at her through the open door.
‘Oh, God!’ She grabbed Max’s arm.
‘What is it?’
Still with her hand on his arm, she extended a finger in the direction of her kitchen table.
‘Fuck!’ His voice was very low, barely audible.
She didn’t let him go. Together, they walked into the kitchen.
One of her vases had been filled with roses. Thirteen dark red roses. On each side of the arrangement was a tall white candle. Lit.
Thirteen? Why thirteen? And why, she wondered, had she counted the bloody things?
‘The candles,’ Max said, voice still low. ‘How long have they been lit? Ten minutes? Half an hour?’
Not expecting a reply, he lifted the small card that was with the roses and she read it at the same time he did.
From Valentine. Not your Valentine …
‘Don’t move,’ Max whispered, but Jill wasn’t staying on her own.
She was right by his side and together they checked every room in her cottage - the sitting room, the bedrooms and the bathroom. Max even had a look in the attic.
Everything was as it should be.
‘Right,’ Max said, ‘get on the phone. Ring Tony Hutchinson and thank him for the flowers.’
‘What? Are you mad? What if Liz answers? I can’t ‘
‘Just do it, Jill.’
She hesitated, but only briefly. Perhaps Max was right. If Tony Hutchinson was playing a sick joke on her, it was time she put a stop to it. But if he wasn’t - and she honestly didn’t think he was - she’d be making a fool of herself. Still, better a fool than a nervous wreck.
She had to look him up in the phone book and, after hesitating again, tapped in his number. He must have been right by the phone because he answered it on the first ring.
‘Tony? Tony, it’s Jill Kennedy’
‘Hello there, this is a nice surprise,’ he said jovially.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘To tell the truth it’s a little delicate. Is Liz there?’
‘She’s isn’t, no.’ He laughed softly. ‘Now you’ve got me intrigued. What is it, Jill?’
‘The flowers,’ she said. “I wanted to say thank you, but really, I’d rather you didn’t. Liz is ‘
‘Hang on a minute,’ he cut her off. ‘What flowers?
I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
/>
‘Oh, erm …’ She gave a light-hearted laugh. ‘You mean it wasn’t you?’
‘Unless you tell me what you’re talking about, I can’t say, can I?’
‘You didn’t send me flowers?’
“I didn’t, no.’ He sounded uncomfortable with the idea.
‘Jill, I don’t know what gave you that idea, but if you have a secret admirer - well, I admire you - but if someone is sending you flowers, I’m afraid it isn’t me. Were they sent through Interflora? If so, I believe you can contact them and’
‘No, it wasn’t Interflora. Sorry, Tony, I’ve got completely the wrong end of the stick. Something on the card made me think of you and I thought - well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Forget it, will you? Please? I’ve made enough of a fool of myself.’
‘Not at all. Really, Jill, if I weren’t a happily married ‘
‘Please, no more about it. Thanks, Tony. Goodnight.’ Jill cut the connection.
She looked at Max and shook her head. ‘He didn’t know anything about it. I believe him, too.’
‘OK, but you’re not spending the night here/ Max told her. ‘Shove the cats in their cages and put them in the back of my car. Then pack a bag. Tomorrow, we’ll get all the locks changed, but tonight you’ll have to stay -‘ He broke off. ‘Somewhere else,’ he finished.
Dear God. Did he really think someone was listening to their conversation?
For Jill, that was the final straw. She went to her bedroom, and packed an overnight case. Then she put three protesting cats in boxes.
That maniac, whoever he was, had been in her cottage. He had touched her things, and walked through her rooms. The knowledge made her feel sick, and she didn’t start feeling better until she was sitting in Max’s car again.
‘Who has a key to your cottage?’ Max demanded as he drove.
‘No one. Not a soul.’ She was struggling to talk, and she knew her teeth were about to start chattering. ‘Unless someone has one from the time Mrs Blackman lived there.
She was elderly and neighbours might have kept spare keys in case she needed anything. Helpful neighbours don’t make killers, though.’ She tried to think. “I asked Bob Murphy, you know, the builder, if he wanted one, but he didn’t. He said he didn’t like having people’s keys.’
Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows Page 22