by Jo Allen
‘And we could look into that, perhaps.’
‘You think so? The problem as I see it, apart from the fact that I’ve been warned again, in the strongest of terms, about attracting the wrong sort of attention, is that Robert Neilson is an extremely clever man. When clever people commit murder, or arrange to have it committed on their behalf, they do it very well.’
This was true. If Robert Neilson was a criminal he was the kind Jude feared most — the kind that got away with it. He’d take as long as he needed and spend as much as was necessary to cover his tracks. ‘Yes. If he wanted it done he’d be nowhere near it.’
‘As was the case. He was in Frankfurt at the time, very obviously so. He flew out on the Sunday morning for a Monday morning meeting. That rings an alarm bell, in its way, but being prepared isn’t any more criminal than folding your clothes. If he wanted Summer killed, it will have been done by someone else, someone with no obvious connection to him, and that person will have cleared off and will never be seen anywhere near the Lakes again.’
It was the old problem. There wasn’t enough initial evidence to justify the resources which might uncover the real evidence. ‘If he paid—’
‘His finances are already trying the patience of the experts. He’s perfectly capable of laundering a hit man’s fees.’
‘Or hit woman.’
‘Exactly. I can ask others to look into that for me, but it won’t be a priority. So until you come up with something else, it rests.’
‘Okay.’ Jude turned his pen over in his fingers. Faye wasn’t the only one who’d been spending more time than was good for her worrying over it. ‘Then there’s something Luke Helmsley said. He said Summer had said she was going to talk to Miranda about her masters dissertation.’
‘She wasn’t due to start her course until the autumn.’
‘No, but she’d signed up for it and she seems to have been passionate about her subject, which was feminist politics. It’s reasonable to suppose she was thinking ahead. I got Chris to have a quick look at her academic interests. Her undergraduate dissertation was on the subject of women who kill manipulative partners and whether it should be considered murder.’
Faye nodded, intently. ‘Go on.’
‘There was case study in that about a woman called Elizabeth Bell.’
Understanding dawned on Faye’s face. ‘Ah yes. I remember that one. What was it, ten years ago? Upper-class woman killed manipulative upper-class boyfriend and was cleared of murder. There was quite a lot of chat about that one in the press, wasn’t there? It was a bit of a cause célèbre, as I recall.’
‘I don’t know if you know it had an unhappy ending. Elizabeth became the target of the wrong sort of attention and after a year or so she’d had enough. She emigrated to Australia, to Melbourne. Three years ago she died in a car crash.’
‘Was it an accident?’
‘Apparently.’ Jude doodled a tangled spider’s web on his pad. ‘Back to the present. Summer had messaged Miranda asking if she could talk to her, though she didn’t say what about. The text was sent on the morning of the Sunday and Miranda says she didn’t open it until the evening. She didn’t reply, possibly because she was angry with Summer over what happened on the Seven of Swords and she may have blamed her for leading the twins astray.’
Faye harrumphed. ‘And what would Miranda Neilson know about feminist politics?’
‘I suspect it was to do with the Elizabeth Bell case. Miranda was Elizabeth’s flatmate and best friend. It was her evidence — very detailed, and challenged by the prosecution at every step — that cleared Elizabeth of murder.’
Faye liked that. He could tell by the way she sat and thought it through with a little smile on her lips. ‘Okay. You’ve made a neat connection. But Miranda wasn’t in the dale at the time. The boys confirm she didn’t return until an hour after they’d thought Summer had gone home. And why would she be worried about talking to Summer, even if she knew what it was about?’
‘Maybe she wanted to put the past behind her.’ Jude shrugged. ‘I think I’d like to ask her about it.’
Faye thought about it a moment longer. ‘I don’t imagine it’ll do any harm. But don’t do it yourself. Get someone junior to call and pretend they’re just tying up some loose ends.’
‘Fine. I’ll do that.’
‘I’ll get on then.’
‘One other thing.’ Jude half turned away from her, because he knew what she’d say. ‘There’s an old man who lived up at Martindale. George Barrett. He died of a stroke at the weekend. Ashleigh and I happened to be there just after he was found.’
‘And?’
‘It was almost certainly natural causes, but I’ve got a suspicious mind. There’s a post-mortem due and I’ve noted that he seemed unusually distressed. No more. But given the context of two deaths so close together I put a note about it on the file on Summer’s case. ’
‘Jude. Really. I know you have to consider everything, but you surely aren’t suggesting we spend precious time and resources on—‘
‘Just a note on the file,’ he hastened to reassure her. ‘It was to cover all bases. Because you never know.’
‘Hmm. I’d better let you get on.’ She swung out of her seat. ‘Let me know what Mrs Neilson says. And let me repeat. Don’t do anything up at the Neilsons’ place without running it past me first.’
As she left, Doddsy slipped in. ‘Thank God. That was a narrow escape,’ he said, as the door closed behind him.
‘What from Faye?’
‘Oh, God, no. Far worse than that.’ And there was a tap on the door, which swung open before either could reply. ‘Too late,’ he said, under his voice. ‘Morning, Lorraine.’
Lorraine Broadbent was one of their former close colleagues, a detective sergeant Jude had worked with when he was a mere constable but who’d never really had the taste for long hours when they conflicted too much with the demands of single parenthood and elderly parents. Since those days she’d shuffled sideways from one desk job to another until she’d landed up working her way to retirement in the backwater of the Professional Standards department.
Professional Standards meant trouble. A call from Lorraine could be like a knock on the door from the Grim Reaper for your career. Jude sat back and looked across at Doddsy, who seemed equally apprehensive, and the image of Adam Fleetwood swam into his mind and out of it again. Adam had a grudge but everyone knew it. He didn’t anticipate much trouble from Lorraine. ‘Morning.’
‘I love the way everyone looks terrified when I come into the room.’ She glanced from one to the other. ‘Don’t look like that, Doddsy. I’d expected you to have a clear conscience. But it’s not you I’m after.’
‘Glad to hear it. I’ll head down and get coffee then. Leave the two of you to it.’
She waited until he’d left the room. ‘I was passing, so I thought I’d save myself an email.’
And enjoy the sense of power, no doubt. ‘Who’s got it in for me this time?’
‘I won’t sit down,’ said Lorraine, as though he’d asked her. ‘I don’t have the time. Too bloody busy clearing up other people’s messes.’ She peered at him over her glasses. Lorraine was one of those people who did their best to pretend they had more important things to do than anyone else. Fair enough: keeping the law accountable was a justifiable end. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. I’ve had a complaint.’
‘I bet you have.’ He sat back.
‘Oh, are you expecting one? That doesn’t look good.’
‘Everyone who’s ever sent anyone down is expecting a complaint. You ought to know that. Is it serious?’
‘It depends what you mean by serious. From your point of view, Jude, the good news is that it’s anonymous, so we won’t be able to go back to the complainant for details. Even if we can work out who it is, and I suspect you’ll know straight away, by going out of their way not to provide contact details, the complainant has expressed a wish to remain anonymous and therefore we are unab
le to contact them unless they come back to us. The data protection laws may turn out to have done some good after all, if only to you.’
‘Right.’ She was enjoying herself a sight too much for Jude’s liking. There was no need to speak to him directly about an allegation that couldn’t proceed. ‘So someone’s making up stories and you’ve no proof. We’ve been here before.’ Everybody had.
‘If you don’t want my help and support, fine. It’s not an official notification but I thought you’d like to know. In case it gets nasty.’
He should let it go, but he couldn’t. ‘What am I supposed to have done?’
‘Do you want to take a guess?’
‘What, and incriminate myself? No thanks.’
‘Fine. It came by post this morning. If they’d sent it online they’d have had to say who they are, but oh.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Some people think they’re smart. It’s assault, and inappropriate contact with the vulnerable member of the public.’
‘What? When?’
‘I don’t know. You’re the one who was there. Allegedly.’ Lorraine had always found it easier to meet her targets inside the organisation for minor misdemeanours than outside for serious crimes.
‘I was there.’ There could be only one thing she was talking about. ‘But I don’t recognise this description of events.’ Fury rose within him, with Lorraine, with Becca, wth himself. He should have sent Ashleigh back with Becca and stayed behind himself. Becca might have got just as angry but at least she couldn’t have accused Ashleigh of behaving inappropriately. ‘This has to be from my ex-girlfriend.’
‘Oh, very tricky for you, then.’ Lorraine’s delight was obvious.
‘There’s nothing tricky about it. She found her uncle dying and Ashleigh and I were around so we went to help.’
‘Right. So she’ll be able to back up what you say.’
‘No. Because Becca — my ex — was upset so I took her home. That’s when she got mad with me and attacked me. I held her off, that was all. ’
‘Uh-huh. Hence the bruising she claims to have sustained on the wrists.’ At least Lorraine sounded a little more sympathetic about that. She should be. She must have been in situations where sudden grief manifested itself in fury at the nearest person, and that person was often a police officer. ‘What about the inappropriate contact?’
‘That was her, not me. She apologised and gave me a hug and that was it. Or I thought it was.’
‘She gave you a hug. Okay. That doesn’t sound great, either, if I’m honest.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ It didn’t matter whether it was Lorraine’s smugness or Becca’s contempt for him that made him angry, but something did. ‘I’ve known her since she was a kid. We were neighbours. I thought we were friends. And I wasn’t even on duty.’
‘And that makes everything okay?’ Lorraine shook her head at him. ‘You don’t need me to tell you the trust-me-I’m-a-policeman line is no excuse. I’m sure you meant well, but hey. Sometimes you have to learn to let your exes go. You know?’
‘I’ve let her go. I was being neighbourly, Next time she calls me for help — and she did call me — she can just keep calling. I’ll walk away.’
‘Maybe you should have walked away this time, too.’ Lorraine turned towards the door. ‘I’ll leave you with that, but we won’t pursue it. We can’t, unless our complainant gets back to us with their contact details. It’ll stay on file. So in the meantime, think yourself lucky.’ She paused. ‘Just as well we can’t act on it, eh? But you might want to watch your step with ex-girlfriends in future.’
Fifteen
‘The police called me again this afternoon.’
Aida’s little red hire car had barely left the driveway of Waterside Lodge, the day’s work done, before Miranda appeared in the hall beside Robert. ‘Oh?’ He turned to her, his thin face sharp with suspicion.
‘Yes.’ She lifted a hand to calm him. ‘It’s nothing serious. It was just something they were checking up on, a tiny detail. But it bothered me and now…’ She steeled herself to do something she should have done years before. ‘Now I feel I should make a confession.’
One of the most comforting things about Robert was that he never jumped to a conclusion and therefore rarely reached the wrong one, and though he was notoriously tough in business, he was anything but at home. Even his bouts of fury with Ollie and Will were nothing more than a game he felt he had to play out, a curb chain on their rush to manhood, a constant check on their wilder impulses. ‘Intriguing. Shall we go and get a drink?’
‘Don’t you have any work to finish?’
‘No. I sent Aida away early because I’m tired of her company and far more interested in spending some time with you. I haven’t forgotten you were the one who had to pick up the pieces those boys left behind and that I wasn’t there to help you. I owe you a lot for that, and my time and a sympathetic ear are the least I can give you in return.’
Ollie and Will were playing some loud video game in the family room, where at least there were limited opportunities for mischief, so Robert and Miranda drifted by mutual agreement into the dining room. From there, armed with a gin and tonic apiece, they went out onto the terrace and settled side by side in two wicker chairs. The warmth had gone from the sun and the lights had come on on the other side of the lake, streaming out towards them from the houses and hotels. A few birds rode the rollercoaster wind for one last time before settling down to roost in the rustling trees. With a shiver, Miranda pulled her cardigan around her.
‘So,’ Robert prompted her, shifting his chair a few inches closer to hers so he could reach out to her hand if he needed to. She knew that was what he was planning because he stretched out his hand a fraction as if to judge the distance and then he let it rest. But that was Robert. He planned everything, even his apparently spontaneous gestures, in the most minute detail and as a result everything was always perfect. ‘Your confession.’
‘Yes.’ She placed her hand exactly where his eye had rested, to see how long it would take him to follow up. The sooner he did it the more sympathetic he would be. In the slipping sun, her diamond engagement ring picked up the sunlight and flung it back up into the air with the sparkle of a mighty star. ‘Summer Raine texted me on the morning of the day she died. She said she wanted to talk to me.’
‘What about?’ His expression gave nothing away.
‘She didn’t say, and I didn’t open the message until after she’d…after she must have died. But when she — the policewoman who called me. Ashleigh O’Halloran, a detective.’ She was stumbling over her words now, even without the gin and tonic. ‘She called me as a matter of routine, she said. Because they’d found the text on Summer’s phone.’
Robert’s sympathy unfolded sooner than she’d ever imagined. His warm hand over hers indicated that he’d help her. ‘Go on.’
‘Of course, I told them. I have nothing to hide. They said Summer was interested in feminist politics and they think she wanted to talk to me about someone I once knew.’ She sipped her gin. His silence was comforting. ‘I’ve never told you my whole story, though it happened not long before we first met.’
She paused to remember that first meeting with Robert, the moment of eye contact across a smart bar near her flat in Canary Wharf, the smile she’d come to know so well. He’d been waiting for a friend who’d been kept late at work, and she’d been drinking alone. ‘Perhaps you remember. There was a woman named Elizabeth Bell who was arrested for killing her boyfriend. His name was Drew Anderson. I was Elizabeth’s best friend and I gave evidence on her behalf in court.’
Those warm fingers tightened over hers. When she looked at her husband, his lips had curved upwards in what was almost pleasure. ‘I know.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes. I knew before I asked you to marry me. The whole story. I’m glad you’ve found the courage to tell me and I’m only sorry you couldn’t tell me before. But I knew you would, in the end.’
With her fre
e hand, she lifted the glass to her lips. ‘Now I want to tell you everything. You know that. About what it was like.’ About how she’d come to be alone in that bar, because she’d attracted so much hatred she’d become toxic and no-one was prepared to take on the burden of her friendship. After everything she’d done for Elizabeth.
‘Standing up to speak out for your friend was a wonderful and courageous thing to do. I know you were made to suffer for it.’
He couldn’t know how much. ‘Drew’s family tried to intimidate me. They told lies about me. His friends threatened me. I reported them to the police and it didn’t stop them. I didn’t sleep for weeks when the trial came up and I almost didn’t give evidence, but I knew I had to do it. If I didn’t, Elizabeth would go to jail. He’d treated her shockingly, appallingly. He was violent and controlling.’ She heard her voice shake.
He leaned in towards her and brushed her cheek with his lips. ‘I know what he was like, too.’
‘There was no-one else who would speak up for her because he was so powerful and charismatic and charming, in that way that sociopaths have. No-one would believe the things he did and no-one else would speak out against him, speak up for her.’
‘Except you.’
The sun had dropped a little further, plunging the slopes of Gowbarrow Fell into darkness. Down on the lake, a fish popped up to snatch at a fly and descend into the depths with its prey. A present relief mingled with a past fear. ‘Yes. And that’s why I was so scared when I thought Summer might want to talk to me. It brought it all back.’
‘But everything you’ve told me is a matter of public record. Anyone can find you. You aren’t pretending to be who you aren’t.’
‘I’ve never done that.’ Sometimes she wished she had.
He looked down at his glass. ‘I should confess, too. I knew who you were the first time we met. I recognised you across the bar, from the news coverage, and I was drawn to you straight away. You looked so vulnerable, almost hunted. I wanted to protect you then, Miranda, and I want to protect you now.’