The direct one.
‘Was she having an affair?’
‘No.’
‘To your knowledge?’
‘To my knowledge. She was happy…’ His voice wasn’t convincing. She could easily have been having an affair. He searched his mind for evidence either way. They made love perhaps twice a month, sometimes more. It wasn’t enough for him, but Ella’s interest had waned. Had it waned because she was satisfied elsewhere? The DI read him well.
‘Did she display any illicit behaviour?’
‘How would I know? No, I don’t think so. I never suspected that she was sneaking about, or making quiet phone calls, or hiding her phone: that’s the sort of thing you mean?’
‘Exactly.’
‘No, then.’
‘Thank you. To your knowledge, are you aware of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your wife?’
Past tense again. It stung.
‘No.’
‘Was she in debt, or in any kind of trouble financially?’
‘No. Definitely not. I run the house finances. We’re good.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Watson, but we’ll need access to your financial records and her phone data, as well as any PCs she used in the house.’
‘Of course. Do everything you need to do. You’re going through the house tomorrow? I’m taking my mother and the children to a hotel nearby.’
‘Which hotel?’
‘The Peaks Bay.’
The DI scribbled a note. ‘Did Ella display any unusual behaviour in the days and weeks leading up to her death?’
‘Not that I can think of. I’ve tried to recall, but I can’t think of anything.’
‘Would you be willing to give a press statement?’
‘An appeal?’
She nodded. He thought about it. It was perhaps one of the few things he could actually do to contribute to the investigation.
‘Of course.’
‘Would you consider allowing your children to join you?’
That one came from left field and smacked him in the kidneys. He felt the colour drain from his face. He had to hand it to the detective: she was ballsy. He understood the impact it could have: two teenagers begging the public for information about how their mum was butchered in broad daylight in a park.
It might make up for his ban on them coming to the hospital.
‘I would. They’re old enough to decide. I think, knowing the two of them, they’ll say yes.’
‘It will help. Someone out there knows who did this, and I’m going to find them.’
He looked at her again, and saw something in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. Not since before he retired. It was a look very few people had: pure grit and determination. For the first time that day, he felt something akin to relief.
The detective held out her hand. He shook it. She had a strong grip. She smiled warmly at him.
‘Take my card and call me – day or night – if anything comes to you. I mean absolutely anything; it could be the tiniest detail.’
‘I will.’ He took the card. ‘Thank you, Detective.’
‘Call me Kelly. How are the kids?’
‘Awful. I just don’t know what the future holds. I can’t think. Ella was everything to us. She was everything to them. She does everything for them. Did. I can’t even begin to think about filling that gaping hole.’ The tears came again.
‘Don’t pull yourself to pieces. Allow yourself to be angry, or anything you want to be. It’s early days.’ She passed him another tissue and he held it to his eyes. ‘Take it slowly; rely on friends and your mother. Take full advantage of the family liaison officers, they’re excellent.’
He nodded.
‘Have you heard of Neil Ormond?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I have.’ Kelly concluded from the question that the super hadn’t yet contacted his friend. Odd.
‘Does he work here? He’s a personal friend. I wondered if he could help us.’
‘Superintendent Ormond is overseeing the case, Thomas. I report to him.’
Thomas’s eyes widened. He tapped the table resolutely. ‘Well, we’re in safe hands then. Can I go now? I want to be with my children.’
‘Of course.’
Chapter 8
Millie Watson buried her head in her pillow. Her bedroom was her place of safety and security. But it felt different now. She kept looking to the door, expecting Mum to come in and nag her about homework, or tell her that tea was ready, or ask if she’d fed the cat.
The pain was physical.
So was the anger. Dad knew they weren’t stupid, and that they’d read about it online sooner or later. Mum had been stabbed to death. Stabbed. It made her feel sick.
Her pillow was sodden. She heard her phone ringing but ignored it. There was no point in anything. Food, drink, music, Instagram, and Snapchat: nothing interested her. Rupert, their ginger feline, snuggled up to her, and only the softness of his fur gave her any sense of reality. Every time she ran her hand over his ears and he purred gently, she felt something to hold onto, something to make sense of. She didn’t trust anything else, not even being with her dad or Jordan. Dad was trying to keep his shit together, she knew that much. She’d screamed at him to lose it, to shout and punch something, but he refused. She knew he was doing it for their benefit, but it was driving her mad. Jordan was in his own room, hiding too. Grandma was with Dad and another man downstairs. They spoke in hushed whispers and Millie couldn’t bear it.
She overheard the man telling her dad that his department was being given everything they needed. She heard Dad call him Neil. She heard Neil call her mum’s killer a bastard. That was too good for whoever had done it. They’d debated the death penalty at school and Millie had listened to both sides, taking on board the whole issue of human rights and forgiveness. But she wanted her mother’s killer to hang. No, in fact, she wanted to stab him herself. There wasn’t an ounce of doubt in her mind that she could go through with it. Easy.
She heard Grandma crying, and she wanted to go to her but didn’t have the energy to move. Grandma had hugged her and said things that Millie couldn’t recall now; she’d also made food that she couldn’t remember eating. She assumed it was shock that had made her zone out. No one could say anything to make it better.
There was a light knock on her door and she ignored it. If anyone came in, she’d roll over and pretend to be asleep. Everyone thought she was traumatised. But it wasn’t trauma; it was fucking anger. Her mum was the kindest, funniest, purest friend she had. She was her soulmate and always had been. Not three seconds elapsed before something popped into her head to tell her, and now she couldn’t. The realisation that she’d never see her again hurt in every bone. Her heart felt as though it might break, the pain was so bad, and she struggled to breathe, willing herself to find a path through the fog. There was another knock. She ignored it again, hoping that whoever it was would just give up. The door opened and she closed her eyes tightly, lying very still. They’d leave any moment, she thought.
‘Mills.’ It was Jordan. ‘I know you’re not asleep, you muppet.’
‘Fuck off.’ It was an affectionate brush-off and she turned over and smiled weakly.
‘How you doing?’ he asked.
‘Stupid question. Muppet,’ she said.
He nodded, coming to the bed. She felt a kind of calm descend over her and realised that she wanted him in there. He wasn’t behaving like Dad by pretending to be strong; he just was strong. He sat on the bed and stroked the cat. His eyes were as red as her own. She moved over and made room for him to lie down. Rupert accommodated him too. Jordan settled in a comfy position and they lay face to face, the cat between them.
‘I overheard Dad talking to a policeman who came to the house in plain clothes. He’s like the big cheese, a superintendent, and he plays golf with Dad. He said they’re questioning people on the Beacon Estate. It sounds to me like they reckon it was an initiation thing, gang-related.’ Jordan sniffed and wiped hi
s hand over his face. Millie could tell that, like her, inside he was screaming to get his hands on the fucker who’d killed their mum.
Jordan was a quiet guy. He had girlfriends, he went to the gym, he partied, like all boys his age, but he also carried himself with dignity. Mum said so. Millie’s friends all fancied him and she took the piss out of him about it. Sure, they fought, like all siblings, and they scrapped and chased each other around the house. But here, right now, on this bed, she felt like he was her world. She felt placid and safe with him and she hadn’t thought to reach out. He’d done it and she was thankful. She stopped stroking the cat and propped herself up on her elbow.
‘Initiation? What the actual fuck?’ she said. Jordan’s eyes burned with hate and Millie felt pride in him like she never had before. They could both stab the guy who’d done this, one hundred, two hundred, three hundred times, in the face, in the stomach, in the dick that he obviously thought was so big. She tasted acid in her mouth and Jordan reached out his hand to hers.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘Stop it; it will tear you apart. I feel exactly the same. That bloke will catch them, you know, and when he does, I’ll find a way to get to them. I promise.’
‘Them?’
‘Yeah, the police guy said they reckon there were two of them.’
‘Oh my God, no!’ She buried her face in Jordan’s chest. The cat moved. Millie’s shoulders shook and the sobs returned. Jordan held her as she cried, her whole body spasming with fresh waves of agony. She felt as though it would never end. Visions of her mother, surrounded by two strangers, knowing she was powerless to fight back, lying bleeding on the road on her own, with no one to help…
It was too much. If only she could wake up and start the day all over again. She’d never leave her mother, never allow her to go running alone; she’d force her to stay home…
Jordan never loosened his grip and she sank deeper into him, feeling his body, hot and tense, next to her. The image of battering whoever was responsible for murdering their beautiful mother burned in her head. She closed her eyes and howled.
Chapter 9
Kelly opened the front door of her small cottage in Pooley Bridge. Johnny had said he’d cook tonight. Josie, his daughter, was at her boyfriend’s house. She spent more and more time with him. Callum was a thoroughly genuine young man, and both Kelly and Johnny liked him.
Her body was weary. It was gone 9 p.m. and there was nothing more she could do at the office. The night shift, patrolling the streets of Penrith, around Potton Park and the surrounding estates, were under strict instructions to call her should anything change, or a significant witness statement come in. It had been a harrowing day.
She dropped her bags and coat onto a chair in the hallway and stretched. She needed a shower. Johnny came from the lounge and opened his arms. He knew what she’d faced today. They’d spent three whole weeks sailing around the Florida Keys and it had been a time of pure intrinsic happiness. Everyday life was spent doing chores, work and other duties, but now and again, if you were lucky enough, a holiday came along that enabled you to completely switch off and rewind, to a point of bliss.
It had happened in Florida.
November was an excellent time to go, and the weather had been superb. Every day, they sailed, moored up and swam, then rowed ashore to find an idyllic restaurant or food shack and eat seafood and the freshest salads and fruit cocktails. Her body felt thankful and her mind even more so. She didn’t take her work phone or her iPad and had almost completely forgotten about Eden House for three damn weeks. Three weeks. It had been divine.
It could never last, that kind of perfection. Their relationship had been tested before they went, when Josie and Callum had witnessed their climbing instructor fall to his death. Kelly and Johnny didn’t talk about it now. The holiday helped; they were grown-ups after all. Kelly’s guilt over the accident was subsiding, and Josie didn’t hold her responsible. Fortunately, Josie had never known about the whole thing being planned: the instructor had been a piece of a murderer’s puzzle and Kelly had figured it out too late. She’d spent plenty of time beating herself up about being unable to save him. The killer had been drawn to the climbing centre because it fitted with their plans, and Josie had been caught up in it. Johnny had spent more time with Josie after her horrific ordeal, and she was undergoing therapy for her panic attacks. The funny thing was, for all the money spent on counselling, she was at her calmest with Ted.
Now, news was out about the murder in Potton Park, and Johnny said Josie was nervy. Like all woman in Penrith, young and old, she felt vulnerable in light of the shocking events. It made Johnny even more protective, and he’d texted Kelly a couple of times during the day to see if any progress had been made. Kelly thought about Thomas Watson’s face. She had yet to meet the children. Of course, she would go to the funeral if Thomas approved. She always did. It would be a tough one: two teenagers. Christ.
Johnny smelled clean and welcoming. She was tempted to drag him upstairs with her, but she had little energy left, other than to eat and chug a glass of wine.
‘Shit day?’ he asked.
‘Fucking terrible. The victim has two kids, aged fourteen and sixteen.’
‘Jesus. I’ve been watching the news: there’s a lot of scared women out there tonight.’
‘Rightly so.’
‘Is it true that the Beacon Estate is involved? Everyone is talking about gangs.’
Kelly was irritated, because the theory was derailing her focus.
‘I don’t know where that started; we have no evidence of motive yet at all.’
He put his arm around her. ‘Come on, dinner’s ready.’
‘I need a shower.’
‘Why don’t you eat first? I’ll get you a glass of wine and run you a bath.’
‘You’re spoiling me,’ Kelly said.
Johnny went to the kitchen and busied himself with plates and cutlery, while Kelly sat down at the table and peeled off her vile tights: the worst invention in the history of agonising fashion choices for women. He placed a large glass of red wine in front of her, and she sipped it, closing her eyes and letting go. For half of the year, the four French doors to the rear of the property that led to the terrace overlooking the river were thrown open. But now, in November, they were shut tight, and it changed the atmosphere of the place. Bright, fresh and breezy was replaced with a cosy glow from the fire in the living room.
He placed a plate in front of her and she stared into a baked sweet potato stuffed with chilli and topped with sour cream and chorizo. She didn’t speak for the next ten minutes. It was delicious, and she left nothing on the plate. She began to feel revitalised, and Johnny refilled her glass.
‘Why don’t you take that into the lounge and I’ll call you when the bath is ready?’
Instead, she got a blanket and went out onto the terrace overlooking the River Eamont. She closed the door behind her and snuggled into the blanket, lying on a recliner, listening to the river and allowing her thoughts to return to semi-normal. When running a serious investigation, it was easy to let it take over and never touch earth, instead sinking further and further into the work-hole, where she ate, slept and breathed the case. It was what she’d always been like before she met Johnny.
Light from the bathroom shone over the terrace and she stared into the distant blackness, trying to empty her head of images that shouldn’t be there. She was jolted when Johnny called out of the window that her bath was ready, and reluctantly peeled herself away from the recliner.
The water smelled perfumed, and she stripped her clothes off in front of him and got in, sinking into the bubbles. He sat beside the bath.
‘Wanna talk about it?’ he asked.
She slid under the water, and re-emerged wiping her hair back and rubbing her eyes, smudging mascara everywhere.
‘Can you pass my face wipes?’
He did so and she started cleaning off her make-up.
‘It’s early day
s. Ted reckons there were two attackers.’
She thought of Jordan and Millie Watson and how young they were to lose their mother. It was an unspeakable tragedy. No father ever expected to have to tell his children that Mum was never coming home. She thought of all the milestones in a young girl’s life: periods, boyfriends, breasts, hormones, tantrums, make-up and waxing; all the things where you needed your mother.
It was heartbreaking. She missed her own mother every day. Moments came to her with searing agony, when she remembered a smell, or a song, or a birthday gift. Even after a year, it didn’t seem to be getting any easier.
‘God, I feel for those kids,’ she said.
She slid under the water again. It felt cathartic chatting to Johnny about her day. She discussed all her cases with him. She’d never done that with a boyfriend before, except for when she’d dated a colleague, and that was rare. But Johnny took an interest. He was also hugely capable and intelligent, so sometimes she put a quandary to him and let him mull it over as if he were part of her team. It helped. He often spotted something that brought new energy to a case. She guessed that technically she shouldn’t be discussing sensitive information with him, but it made her feel better and she knew he’d never tell a soul.
‘Oh, this is bliss,’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely knackered. I went soft in Florida. What about your day?’
‘It was pretty quiet, just one job on Haystacks.’
‘Haystacks?’ The peak wasn’t difficult, but it was rocky. It was Alfred Wainwright’s favourite and his ashes were scattered over Innominate Tarn at the top. It was about as peaceful a place as one got in the National Park. The view across to Pillar was jaw-dropping.
‘You know at the top, where the craggy rocks jut up and down?’
She nodded. The walk followed paths all the way to the top, where a short scramble could catch a walker out, no matter what your level of fitness. The grey rock was unforgiving until you were over the summit, where it grew boggy again.
‘A woman got her foot caught in a crack, and when she tried to step up, it twisted and she fell.’
Little Doubt Page 5