Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side

by Shirley Wells

  ‘Indeed,’ Jill said, taking a step in the same direction. ‘I’ll make a start on the local clinics.’

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Phil snapped. ‘I’ll catch up with you later, Jill, and I’ll expect progress.’

  ‘Right,’ she said, and she was out of the door before he thought of something else.

  ‘That was useful,’ Max said on a sigh once they were out of earshot.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘I’m out of here,’ he added.

  He looked and sounded calm, but Jill knew he wasn’t. How could he be when his own son had been threatened with the same fate as Martin Hayden?

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘I’m fine.’ He touched her chin in the lightest of gestures. ‘Don’t worry, Harry’s safe. Don’t even think otherwise.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’ll issue a statement to the press,’ he went on, ‘and then I’ll be at the school. Get the new girl what’s her name?’

  ‘Lucy?’ She named the girl who’d joined the force last week.

  ‘Yes. Get her to give you a hand with the phone calls. Although I have to say ’

  ‘You think it’s a waste of time,’ she finished for him. ‘I know. I’ve got damn all else to do, though.’

  ‘OK, I’ll see you later.’

  Jill watched him stride along the corridor, car keys jangling from his fingers. She liked a man who was calm in a crisis but she couldn’t help thinking he was too calm.

  Forgetting Max for the moment, she went in search of Lucy.

  Lucy didn’t ask questions, thank goodness. She was soon on the phone, pen in hand. Jill started on her own list. How was it possible to have so many maternity clinics in the area? There were hundreds.

  By lunchtime, they’d drawn a blank. That was either because they were only halfway through their lists or because hospital records were so sketchy. Or, she thought grimly, because she was on totally the wrong track. Perhaps Alice Potter was right and Josie had made up a pack of lies about a pregnancy.

  The more she thought about it, though, the more she believed Josie had been raped as a child. It explained a lot, like the fact that she’d been naive and not keen on sex, like the fact that she hadn’t been a virgin when George met her . . .

  Lucy brought them a coffee and a sandwich for lunch and they ate it at their desks. It promised to be a long, fruitless afternoon.

  ‘I’m going to drive out to the farm,’ Jill announced. ‘Will you carry on here, Lucy?’

  ‘Of course.’ Lucy, new to the force, seemed to be enjoying herself.

  Jill hated Lower Crags Farm. As she drove down the rutted track to the farmhouse, her spirits sank. Although she loved the surrounding countryside, she hated this particular spot. But that was due more to circumstances than anything else. With a welcoming house, cats basking in the sunshine and children playing outside, it could be beautiful.

  She pulled up next to a police car and was about to head for the house when she spotted Sarah walking in her direction from the field.

  Jill waited for her.

  Poor Sarah looked lost. She was a sad thing, and Jill’s heart went out to her. Life had never been much fun on the farm, she suspected, but now it was downright unbearable.

  ‘Hello, Sarah,’ she said. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Oh, OK, I suppose,’ she said. ‘There’s a policeman here.’ She nodded at the car. ‘Dad doesn’t want a fuss made, he never does, but it’s good of the police to bother. But there, I suppose with Mum and Martin gone, they think one of us might be next.’

  She spoke in a flat tone as if she didn’t much care what happened to any of them. Who could blame her?

  ‘I’m sure you’re safe,’ Jill said, not sure of any such thing. Who knew where this maniac would strike next?

  ‘Sarah, can you remember your mum mentioning going away anywhere as a child? When she was, say, fourteen?’

  Sarah thought for a moment, but shook her head. ‘It’s funny, but Mum never spoke much about her childhood. If I ever asked her about it, she’d change the subject. Now she’s gone, there’s loads of things I’d have liked to ask her.

  It’s too late now.’

  Much too late.

  ‘Do you think she had a happy childhood?’ Jill asked.

  Sarah looked as if she had never even considered the question before. ‘I don’t know, but no, probably not. Dad might know if she went away as a child,’ she added. ‘He’s indoors.’ She began walking to the house, then turned to Jill. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Jill said carefully. ‘We’re looking into your mum’s past, to see if we can find anyone who might have done this to her and Martin, but there’s nothing local.’

  Sarah led the way into the kitchen. George Hayden was standing by the window, a huge mug of tea in his hands.

  ‘Miss Kennedy,’ he greeted her.

  He still looked lost and totally bewildered. Jill suspected he was filled with regrets, too. Josie hadn’t had a fun-filled life with him, and he knew it.

  ‘Hello, Mr Hayden,’ she said. ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘We’re coping,’ he replied automatically. ‘What can we do for you?’

  He was still bluff, but there was a softness to the edges now.

  ‘We’re looking into your wife’s past, Mr Hayden,’ she began, not wanting to give too much away, ‘and we’re wondering if she mentioned going away anywhere as a child. A holiday, an unexpected trip something like that.’

  ‘Not that I know of. She never spoke much about life before she met me. She worked in a solicitor’s office, and she spoke of that sometimes, but nothing else. She rarely mentioned her mother at all. They didn’t keep in touch.’

  It had been a long shot, Jill knew that. They were busy checking the local clinics, but Josie could have been booked into a private clinic anywhere in the country. She and her mother might have caught the train to London and been back in forty-eight hours. Yet Alice Potter claimed that Rose had gone away for a few months.

  ‘Religious differences,’ George said suddenly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I think that’s why they didn’t get along,’ George explained. ‘Her mother were Roman Catholic and Josie would have nothing to do with the Church.’

  ‘Catholic?’ Jill had no idea. She was convinced she’d read C of E on the paperwork.

  If Josie had been brought up as a Catholic, there definitely wouldn’t have been a termination. If Josie had been pregnant, there would be a child somewhere.

  ‘Why was that?’ Jill asked curiously. ‘Why was Josie against the Church?’

  ‘Who knows?’ he replied. ‘Apart from calling them a load of hypocrites once, she never talked about it.’

  There had been scant conversation in their marriage.

  ‘Will you have a cup of tea?’ he asked.

  Jill was completely taken aback. Of all the people to offer refreshment, George Hayden would have been last on her list. ‘Thank you. That would be very welcome.’

  ‘Sarah, love,’ he said, nodding at the kettle.

  While Sarah made the tea, automatically handing another huge mug to her father, they chatted about Josie. It saddened Jill to think they had no real happy memories of her. Josie’s life had been a drudge. There were no laughing anecdotes.

  ‘Hey,’ Sarah said suddenly, ‘she did go to Ireland once.’

  ‘Ireland?’ George repeated, frowning. ‘I never heard of that.’

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said, sifting through her memories. ‘One day, me and Mum were sorting out rubbish to take to a charity shop. Mum were a hoarder and she wanted the spare bedroom emptied. In the midst of a load of old junk plates, china animals, and stuff I’d never seen before I found a dish. It were an ugly thing a souvenir from Dublin. When I laughed and asked her where she’d got it from, she said, “Dublin. Where do you think?” She were quite snappy with me. I asked if we were going to throw it out and she said no. Later that day, and s
he’d been strange and snappy all day, she went and threw it in the dustbin.’

  Dublin? Was it just possible that Rose had taken Josie to Dublin to have her baby?

  ‘When did she go, Sarah? Do you know?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I asked her about it, but all she said was that she’d been there years ago and could hardly remember the place.’

  ‘Did she have family in Dublin?’ Jill asked George.

  ‘Not that I know of,’ he said. ‘Like I said, she never talked about her family. She didn’t say much at all about her life before she came here.’

  ‘It were a horrid dish,’ Sarah said. ‘It were white with a green shamrock on it, and it said Good Luck at the top and Dublin at the bottom. Real ugly it were.’

  The sort of thing a child might like to remind them of a place, Jill thought. Having said that, the entire farmhouse was filled with ugly china dogs and chipped china birds.

  She tried to jog their memories, to see if they could recall Josie mentioning any other towns, but they could think of nothing. Jill knew more about her milkman than they knew about the woman they’d lived with for so many years. It was a sad thought.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Max was beginning to believe he’d end his days in this interview room. This afternoon it was stuffy and airless, and Grace, questioning Alan Turner with him, had a stinking cold. Even when she wasn’t coughing and sneezing, it was almost impossible to catch what she was saying. Max would bet his life he’d catch her confounded germs.

  Alan Turner was a cool, arrogant individual. What would he make of Donna Lord’s description? Geoff Morrison’s bit of skirt, she’d called him. He was medium height, and had dark hair that was messed up. Max suspected it cost a fortune and took time to keep it looking that untidy. He had very full lips, and was inclined to pout.

  ‘How do you earn your living, Mr Turner?’ Max asked curiously. ‘I know you’re in a band, but I can’t believe that pays the mortgage. Or does Mr Morrison keep you in luxury?’

  He smiled at that. ‘No, he doesn’t. And no, the band doesn’t keep me, either. It brings in a bit, though, and I write songs which some big bands have recorded. Added to that, I produce records.’

  ‘I see. So what is the average day like for you?’

  ‘Well, I’m usually up around six thirty.’

  ‘Why so early?’

  Turner sneered at that. ‘It’s the best part of the day. I usually prepare breakfast for us both, and then Geoff goes for a run. If our newspaper’s been delivered by then, I sit and read that with a couple of cups of coffee. I need my coffee in the morning.’‘

  And Geoff Mr Morrison goes straight to the school after his run?’

  ‘Usually, yes.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then, if I’m not in the recording studio, I play my guitar for a couple of hours before starting work on the song I’m currently writing. I stop for lunch, and usually do the crossword, and then work until Geoff gets home at around five thirty.’

  ‘You’re in the house alone a lot then,’ Grace said, snuffling.

  ‘Not really. I’m often in the recording studio and I’m out in the evenings.’

  ‘How do you feel about Mr Morrison’s job?’ Max asked him. ‘Don’t you mind him being around young boys good-looking young boys?’

  ‘Why should I?’

  Max tried to remember what Jill had said. She’d thought Turner might be jealous, but he couldn’t recall her theory.

  ‘No reason, I suppose,’ Max said. ‘When you and he were out together, did you ever see any of his pupils?’

  ‘Sometimes. Harrington’s not that big a town.’

  ‘True.’

  Max had had enough. He needed coffee, and he needed air that Grace hadn’t coughed and sneezed into. In any case, it would do Turner good to sit and worry for a while.

  If Max could drag Jill away from her phone calls to every Tom, Dick and Harry in Dublin, he’d like her to talk to Turner.

  He got himself a coffee and set off to find her.

  As he walked along the corridor, he wondered what it must be like to have a normal job, in a normal office, where everyone watched the clock and chatted amiably as they waited for five o’clock to arrive. Here, it was frantic.

  Phones didn’t stop ringing, people didn’t stop shouting to each other because it was the only way to make yourself heard, people dashed in and rushed out again

  He heard Phil Meredith talking to some unfortunate just ahead of him and quickly doubled back. He could do without updating him on the lack of progress. He could also do without another bollocking regarding his lack of delegation skills.

  He was almost back at the interview room when he found Jill. She’d also got a coffee in her hands.

  ‘How’s it going?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing so far, but I’ve left a message for a friend of mine. Babs and I were at uni together’ She broke off suddenly. ‘You met her.’

  Babs? The name meant ‘Oh, yes. Big woman? Can talk for England?’

  A smile lit her eyes briefly. ‘That’s her.’

  When he and Jill had lived together, Babs had stayed with them one weekend. She was almost as wide as she was tall and hadn’t given two hoots about that.

  ‘A nice woman,’ he added. ‘She enjoyed my spaghetti bolognese, I seem to recall.’

  ‘She did,’ Jill agreed, her eyes on the carpet. ‘Anyway, she works in Dublin now. She might be able to help.’

  Max thought it doubtful, but he didn’t say so.

  ‘Will you come and talk to Alan Turner?’ he asked. ‘He’s an arrogant so-and-so, and I think he’s hiding something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I still think he’s lying about being with Geoff Morrison the day Martin Hayden vanished. It’s too convenient.’

  ‘OK. I could do with a change of scenery, and a rest from the phone would be good.’

  She was about to set off.

  ‘Have your coffee first,’ he said. ‘It’ll do him good to stew for a while.’

  ‘Is he stewing?’

  ‘Most people do when they’re in that interview room.’

  ‘True.’ She met his gaze. ‘You look shattered, Max.’

  He felt shattered.

  ‘Being dead on your feet won’t keep Harry any safer,’ she pointed out.

  ‘You don’t look so great yourself. Have you slept?’

  She shrugged, and he knew she hadn’t.

  ‘Jill, when this is over ’

  ‘But it’s not, Max,’ she cut him off. ‘Come on, let’s go and see Turner.’

  She refused to discuss a future. All Max had been going to suggest was well, he didn’t really know what he’d been going to suggest. They belonged together though, and he wished she would give them a chance.

  He caught her arm to halt her flight. ‘You will see us see the boys at Christmas, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said softly.

  ‘Christmas Day?’ At her hesitation, he said, ‘Don’t tell me you could survive Christmas with your parents. Or with your sister and her brood.’

  ‘Probably not,’ she agreed, smiling.

  ‘Good. So I’ll tell the boys you’ll spend the day with us? Kate’s already planning the menu so no worries there. Although what there is to plan, I have no idea. Call me a bluff old cynic, but I bet it’ll be turkey and –’

  He broke off as he spotted the shimmer of moisture in her eyes. What caused that? Memories of Christmas spent together? Fears for Harry?

  ‘Harry’s safe, love,’ he promised her.

  ‘I know.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Come on. Let’s go and talk to Turner.’

  They walked to the interview room, which was just as stuffy as when Max had left it. Alan Turner looked as calm as he had when Max had left, too.

  Max switched on the tapes and named those present.

  ‘Why have you brought a shrink along?’ Turner sneered.

  ‘I’m a forensic psychologi
st,’ Jill corrected him, bristling as she did every time someone called her a shrink. ‘Have you ever seen a shrink, as you call them?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Why should I?’

  ‘Why not? Plenty of people do.’

  ‘Not me.’

  ‘How about your boyfriend?’ she asked. ‘Has he seen one?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Oh, I just wondered. He’s had trouble in the past, hasn’t he? A few what shall we say? misunderstandings? Young boys thinking along sexual assault lines.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘One boy thought he was masturbating in the park. He was having a slash, that’s all.’

  ‘So he told you,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You’re his boyfriend. He’s hardly likely to tell you he had the hots for one of his pupils, is he? Why should he? People have affairs every day. They don’t tell their partners about them, do they?’

  Why did Max always cringe when she got on to the subject of affairs? And why did she always get on to the blasted subject?

  ‘Of course they don’t,’ she pressed on. ‘They lie, they pretend, they buy gifts and they carry on having affairs. They don’t confess to them until it’s all over.’

  Max cleared his throat, and she swung her face in his direction.

  ‘Are you all right, DCI Trentham?’

  ‘Fine.’

  She returned her attention to Turner. ‘What about you?’ she asked him. ‘Do you have affairs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘He watches the boys in the swimming pool, you know,’ Jill went on affably. ‘One boy said he always made sure he had an erection when he went swimming just to get your boyfriend going. He called him a pervert.’

  ‘Look –’ Turner lashed out with his fist so viciously that, for an awful second, Max thought he was going to land one on Jill. Instead, he hit the table.

  ‘You were about to say?’ Jill prompted, as he clamped his jaw shut, biting back on the abuse he’d been about to give her.

  ‘Forget it,’ he snapped. ‘You shrinks are all the same. It all comes down to sex, doesn’t it? Why’s that? Don’t you get enough? You wanna take a look in the mirror, sweetheart, and ask yourself why.’