She felt his eyes on her as she went through into the small meeting room of the Sole Bay police station, which was jam-packed with journalists, and with cameramen and women making last-minute adjustments to their equipment. She could smell damp clothes drying out and the warm musk of body odour. There was a knot of irritation in her stomach.
Standing behind a trestle table hastily erected for the occasion, with a clutch of microphones propped up in front of her like a group of furry guinea pigs jostling for position, she waited for the flash of cameras to die down and for Helen to do her introductory speech. All she had to do was to say that she, Kate, was going to speak. Bloody protocol; she could have done without Helen listening to every word she was about to say.
Helen was sitting down, smoothing her skirt over her knees. ‘Where have you been?’ she hissed. ‘Everyone’s waiting for you.’
Kate merely nodded to her, then looked around the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ she began, putting her hands on the table and leaning slightly forward, deliberately looking down the barrel of a camera lens, ‘following a very detailed investigation I can confirm that the body of forty-three-year-old Jackie Wood was found at half past nine this morning in a caravan at the Harbour’s End caravan site in Sole Bay. She had suffered stab injuries.’ She paused for effect. ‘We have begun a murder investigation.’
A buzz went round the room like a Mexican wave.
‘No murder weapon has been found. We would urge anyone who was in the area at the time or anyone who has any information to come forward. Any little piece of information could help solve this heinous crime (For Christ’s sake - where had that come from? Heinous crime? This must all be affecting her more than she realized.)
She looked across at the array of reporters – wanting – needing their attention.
‘We know that out there is someone who wants to call us, who’s worried about something they saw. I say to you, call us now – you can be anonymous – simply tell us what you know. Please.’ She allowed a few seconds silence to let the words sink in. ‘Now, I will take some questions,’ she said.
Hands went up.
Kate pointed to the reporter from the local BBC news programme, Look East.
‘Can you confirm it’s the same Jackie Wood as the Jackie Wood who was recently released from prison?’ she asked.
‘I can,’ said Kate, nodding.
‘Did you know she was in the area?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t think you should have made that public?’
‘Why?’
‘In the public interest.’
‘No.’
‘No?’
Kate sighed. This was why she hated giving press conferences, especially about something like this, but she knew it was a necessary evil. And Cherry liked them. ‘All good for public relations. Visible policing and all that,’ he’d said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It would not have been in the public interest to know Jackie Wood was living in Sole Bay, any more than it would be in the public interest for you to know where Maxine Carr is living. Jackie Wood was given anonymity and a promise her new name and whereabouts would not be revealed. And we kept that promise. And you should know that’s the way it works.’
The reporter arched her eyebrow. How she hated that supercilious look.
‘So you would rather keep a promise to a convicted murderer—’
‘Unsafe conviction,’ she said, feeling unaccountably weary.
‘You would rather keep a promise to a convicted murderer let out on appeal than keep the people of Suffolk safe.’
Kate stared at the young reporter. She’d had enough of this. ‘Don’t be so silly,’ she snapped. ‘She wasn’t a convicted murderer. She’d been convicted in connection with the murders. Next question?’
‘Penny Pembleton, East Anglian,’ said a woman with a shock of frizzy ginger hair. ‘Have you got any leads at all?’
‘We are progressing with our inquiries.’ Now who was being supercilious?
She took more questions – Channel 4 News, Channel 5, the Guardian, Sky, several of the tabloids – they were all there, determined to make something of the fact that Jackie Wood had been living in the midst of a law-abiding community. Kate wanted to sit down. Wanted a drink. Wanted to talk to Chris.
‘Final question, please,’ she said.
‘Ed Killingback, The Post.’
‘Yes Ed?’ She steeled herself.
‘Do the Clements know?’
‘A family liaison officer is on her way round as we speak.’ She looked around the assembled journalists. ‘Now, thank you all for coming and—’
‘Detective Inspector?’
‘I said that was the final question, Ed.’
‘Could Jackie Wood’s death have any connection with what happened fifteen years ago?’
‘We will be looking into that possibility, but it seems unlikely, at this stage. Now if I could give you all—’
‘What do you have to say about the rumours that Martin Jessop had another lover? Not just Jackie Wood?’
A loud murmur went around the room and all Kate could hear was the scraping of pens on paper and the tapping of fingers on iPads.
Shit.
She wanted to rub the tension in her neck, but knew she had to nip this one in the bud or all hell would be let loose in the papers the following day. As for Killingback’s rag – it was probably their front page exclusive splash.
‘I don’t know where you got that from, Ed?’
‘You know I can’t say. Sources and all that.’
‘Well, I don’t know what “source” that is, but I wouldn’t rely on it if I were you. And I think it’s unhelpful both for this case and for the Clements family for you to bring up some unsubstantiated assertion.’ Steady. She had to be careful or else she would be seen as protesting too much.
‘But—’
Ed’s assertion had shaken Kate, but she tried not to let it show. Beside her, she could feel the heat of rage coming off Helen. ‘If you have any evidence to do with a fifteen-year-old case,’ said Kate, interrupting him, ‘I suggest you get in touch with our cold case team. They would be very interested in what you have to say. In fact, if you have any new evidence, any new evidence at all, then we would like to hear it.’ She stared at him, challenging him. ‘Perhaps we could make an appointment for you to come to the station in the near future? Share what you have with us?’
He sat down, a slight smirk on his face.
Kate tried not to show any emotion at all. After giving out the phone number for the great British public to ring if they had any information, against a background of shouted questions and general hubbub, Kate gathered up her papers once more. ‘I think that’s all for now, ladies and gentleman. Meanwhile, we will put further updates on our website and Twitter feed. Any major news and we will call another press conference.’ And she swept out, with Helen scurrying behind.
‘That went well, Kate. Not.’ Helen’s mouth was in a straight line as she opened the door to the Portakabin for her.
‘Quite.’ Kate stopped and Helen almost cannoned into her. ‘What was all that about Jessop and a secret lover?’ She deliberately made her tone sharp.
‘I have no idea,’ she said.
Kate heard her press officer’s voice shaking. ‘Seemed to come from left field.’
‘I thought you were supposed to cover all bases, know what the press is going to ask?’
‘I’m not a mind reader, Ma’am,’ she replied, her shoulders stiffening. ‘Besides, are you sure you didn’t have any idea about the lover development? Because if you know anything, I need to know. I’m going to have the press on my back from now until God knows when, so I would appreciate any heads-up from you. Ma’am.’
‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it. And if it were true, then it would have come out by now, wouldn’t it? I suppose it’s possible – just about – the investigating team had kno
wn something about it but decided it had no bearing on the case.’
‘That doesn’t help me, Ma’am.’
Kate just wanted to get rid of her. ‘I’m sorry.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time you were off home now anyway. The press can wait, or they can call whoever the duty officer is – for all the good that’ll do them.’
‘Thank you, Ma’am. Though the messages will still be there for me in the morning.’ She turned on her heel and walked away.
Kate went through the door into the incident room and collapsed onto a chair. ‘Bloody hell, why can’t press officers face that lot, answer all the bloody questions, not just introduce you and leave you to take the flak. Isn’t that what they’re there for?’
‘Because they’d be eaten alive,’ said Rogers, looking up from his computer screen.
‘You still here? Why aren’t you knocking on caravan doors, finding our killer?’ Kate eyed the doughnut on his desk wondering whether she could ask for a bite out of it.
‘Waiting for you, Ma’am. You said you fancied an evening out.’ He stretched, rubbing the small of his back. ‘Need some new bloody chairs here.’
‘It’s your age.’ Kate drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘Rogers?’
‘Ma’am?’
‘You were around when Jessop and Wood were arrested, weren’t you?’
‘I was, yes. It was one of the biggest stories at the time.’
‘And you helped on the case?’
‘I did, but I was quite junior then – not as junior as you were, though Ma’am.’
‘No, well.’
‘Though you have climbed up the greasy pole a lot quicker than me.’
‘Because I’m cleverer than you.’
‘More clever. And a woman.’
Kate grinned, enjoying the banter. ‘Now then, Rogers, I hope you’re not going to go all resentful on me and play the sexist card?’
‘As if I would, Ma’am.’
They both smiled at one another, having indulged in the game many times over the years.
‘Back to the Jessop and Wood case – had you ever heard that Jessop had another mistress, not just Wood?’
Rogers looked down at his paperwork, picked up a pen. Kate watched as he ticked a box, then another. He turned a page over. Read it.
‘Steve?’
‘I wouldn’t like to say, Ma’am.’
His shoulders were stiff, back rigid.
‘Steve, I’m asking you as a friend, not as your superior officer.’
‘Ma’am.’
She bit down a sigh. ‘It could be important. And I won’t say it came from you.’
Rogers put his pen down, carefully lining it up with the pad on his desk.
Kate looked around the small room. Eve and John were shifting in their seats, keeping their eyes glued to the telephone handsets in case they should miss them ringing. Or in case they should miss what Steve Rogers was about to say.
‘I did hear something, yes.’ He kept his voice low. ‘Probably just office gossip.’
Kate’s heart beat faster. ‘What did you hear?’ She knew gossip could have a kernel of truth.
He clasped his hands together. ‘There were rumours – very quiet ones, you understand – that Jessop might have been involved with someone that we didn’t know about. But they were squashed pretty quickly.’
‘Squashed? Who by?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But one day one of the officers on the case said he had evidence, the next day he didn’t. The whole line of inquiry was shut down.’
‘What? That’s nonsense. You must have some idea.’
He blew air out through his mouth. ‘Word was that the mother’s husband had something to do with it. And the officer in charge.’
‘Wait a minute.’ Kate held one finger up. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re saying that during the investigation of the murder of Harry Clements and the disappearance of Millie Clements, there was a rumour that Jessop had a secret lover and nobody looked into it?’
‘Something like that.’
‘No one looked into it because someone shut the line of inquiry down, and that someone was the detective inspector in charge?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the children’s father – another police officer – colluded in this?’
Rogers nodded, looking uncomfortable. ‘Jez Clements, yes.’
‘Bloody hell.’ She banged her fist on the table. ‘He was here, just before the press conference. Asking about the case. Bloody hell.’ Kate sighed. ‘And no one questioned it? No one on the inquiry?’
‘Well, you didn’t, did you? Not at the time. You reckoned there was a good reason. And as I said, it was only a rumour. No one was sure that it happened. Perhaps there was no such line of inquiry. I don’t know, Kate. It was just something that reached my ears after Jessop hanged himself.’
‘Oh, I’m not blaming you, Steve.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Edward Grainger was in charge, wasn’t he?’ She remembered him well; a bluff copper who liked to do everything by the book, but with a reputation for basic honesty and a desire to see right done. ‘I remember him. And I remember he left Suffolk as soon as Jessop and Wood were convicted.’
‘Yes,’ said Rogers. ‘He was shipped off to Guernsey after that. I think he’s retired now.’
‘Still in Guernsey?’
‘No. Came back somewhere round here I believe.’
‘Hmm. And why would Jez Clements not want every avenue looked into? Want any line of inquiry investigated thoroughly when it was his children involved?’
‘I don’t know, Kate.’
There was certainly plenty to look into; now, there were other things to do.
‘All right, Steve. I’ll have to sleep on it, or something.’ She gave him a tired smile. ‘Now it’s time to go and caravan-knock.’
She saw Rogers open his mouth to speak, and lifted a hand to stop him. ‘I know it’s late, but we’ve got a murderer to catch.’ She took her coat off the back of her chair.
‘So you’re still coming with us, are you, Ma’am?’ He shifted on his chair.
‘Yes. Is that all right with you?’
She walked out of the door before he had a chance to reply.
18
‘Here you go.’
Malone’s voice pulled Alex out of a deep sleep that had been disturbed by dreams of Martin Jessop’s bulging eyes as he hung from his top bunk, a knotted shirt around his neck. Jackie Wood had been in the dream too, smiling at her, blood dripping from her lips, hands beseeching. Alex was running away from them, down a corridor with a large, old-fashioned key in her hand. The corridor was endless, and Alex could feel panic rising in her throat. She was glad to wake up. ‘Thanks,’ she said, as he put a cup of tea on her bedside table, the feeling of terror gradually dissipating, her heart slowing down. ‘You off out?’ An unnecessary question as he had on his thick coat.
‘Yep. Got a couple of bits and pieces to do.’
She struggled up and leaned back on the headboard, wishing her head didn’t feel so foggy. The trouble was, when she got home she’d downed several glasses of white wine to dull the edges of the day. After meeting Killingback, she’d hesitated outside the police station, wondering whether to use her NUJ card to get into the presser, but had decided it was too dangerous. It was being held in a small room and she was bound to be noticed. Then, when she had got home, Malone was waiting for her. One drink led to another, one kiss led to another, and before she knew it, Malone was staying the night. She put a hand to her forehead. Had she given him a front door key, too? Oh God. She was never going to drink again.
Alex damped down a wave of nausea and concentrated on stopping the room pitching and rolling around her. ‘What sort of bits and pieces?’
She knew it sounded as though she was quizzing him, and she probably was. Malone wanted to move in with her, said they belonged together; fitted together. Alex wasn’t sure he was right – how could she be – she’d only known the man for thre
e months. But only a couple of days ago she’d been thinking he might be the one for her, so why was she hesitating now? There again, an in-depth interview for a magazine was hardly an application form for the role of boyfriend and surrogate father to Gus, was it? Because that’s what she wanted as well. Not just someone to share things with, talk over things with, laugh with, but someone who could keep Gus on the straight and narrow. Or just any path, as long as it didn’t involve the police.
And that was another problem. She knew, from the way Malone always evaded any poking into his past, that he wasn’t exactly squeaky clean. Not such a good role model, then. On the one hand, she was so desperately lonely. On the other, she had always sworn she wouldn’t introduce a man to Gus unless it was somebody she was serious about.
She could remember very little of Gus’s father, had only a fuzzy recollection of his face, which she thought had been tanned and handsome. For that, read bland. She’d been in Ibiza with a dozen other hacks on her first press trip and spent the first twelve hours in a club high on vodka cocktails and freedom. She’d just dropped a tab of Ecstasy when he came up to her and began to chat. He might have been the DJ at the club, he might not have been. But she’d had a sort of recklessness about her at the time that made her go back to his flat and do things girls like her shouldn’t. The next morning she tiptoed out of that flat without saying goodbye. Feeling a failure.
She hadn’t even known she was pregnant for three months, and when it had finally dawned on her, made an appointment with a clinic in London to ‘deal’ with the problem. Then she was commissioned to write a piece about attacks on abortion clinics in the States and she’d had to look into the whole issue. What she found out made her cancel her date with the clinic, pack up the job, and go home to Suffolk.
Gus was the most important and precious thing in her life.
After he was born she vowed she would avoid relationships like the plague, but not long after, Martin Jessop had come along. She’d never really figured out what had made him different, why it had seemed right at the time, she just lived with the regrets.
The Bad Things Page 14