Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

  ‘I need to bury her now,’ Cole said, and Max could hear the desperation in his voice. He understood it, too. People hated to think of their loved ones lying in a cold mortuary.

  ‘I’m having her laid to rest next to her mum,’ he went on. ‘It’s all arranged. When can I bury her?’

  ‘Hopefully, it won’t be too long,’ Max said.

  Cole nodded, but he was still agitated.

  ‘I can’t rest until then. I want them to be together. Foolish, perhaps, but that’s what I want. I’ll feel better then.’

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable, Mr Cole,’ Jill told him.

  Max wished he could promise a swift closure, but he couldn’t.

  ‘We’ll let you have these back as soon as we can,’ he said, nodding at the diaries.

  ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate it.’

  They had little else to say to him and were soon back in the car.

  ‘Poor man,’ Jill said. ‘All those regrets. All that guilt.’

  ‘Guilt?’

  ‘He’ll blame himself for not being there for Lauren when her mum died. It’s a common problem. Spouses are too wrapped up in their grief to notice how their children are suffering.’

  Max knew it worked the other way, too. When his own wife had died, he’d thrown all he had into making sure Harry and Ben were coping. It had stopped him facing up to his own guilt.

  Max had a busy morning. Busy, but pointless. In between the briefing, updating his boss, and talking to the press, he’d tried to get something from Carlisle, but the man wasn’t changing his story.

  It was almost lunchtime when he and Jill sat in the interview room with Ricky Marshall. Max wanted some answers and he wanted them fast, but Marshall was offering nothing other than a smug smile. Given the way he’d learnt how to piss coppers off by parroting ‘No comment’, he’d been watching too many TV cop shows.

  ‘Let’s start again,’ Max suggested. ‘You were seen on CCTV in Harrington with Lauren Cole two days before she was killed. Tell me what you were doing with her.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Answer the question or get charged with obstruction. Your choice.’

  Marshall looked at Max as if he wanted to kill him. The feeling was mutual.

  ‘I was talking to her, that’s all,’ he said at last.

  ‘About what?’

  Marshall grinned. ‘If you must know, I asked her if she’d seen God again.’

  ‘God?’ Jill repeated.

  ‘I told you she was bleedin’ raving,’ Marshall reminded them. ‘One night, she got really stoned and reckoned she’d seen her mum. Christ, we had tears, hysterics, the bloody lot. Her mum’s been dead for bloody years. Then she reckoned God had come to her in a vision. And get this – according to her, God told her he wanted her to stay off the heroin.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Absolutely raving she was.’

  ‘So you asked her if she’d seen God again?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And had she?’

  ‘How the hell would I know? I asked her, and she just kept saying she’d pray for me. She said she’d been to church to light a candle for her mum.’

  ‘Which church?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘In Harrington presumably?’

  ‘Dunno. So much for seeing God, eh? He must have thought he’d take her up to heaven,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Perhaps he did,’ Jill agreed. ‘It’s a good job that only the good die young, eh, Ricky?’

  ‘Piss off!’

  Max nodded at Jill and terminated the interview. They left Marshall to his boredom.

  ‘Get yourself a coffee and I’ll make a couple of phone calls,’ Max said. ‘Lighting candles is a Catholic thing, isn’t it? I’d stake my life on Lauren Cole visiting the same church as your good friend Steve Carlisle.’

  ‘If Lauren did go to St Mary’s,’ Jill answered slowly, ‘then the priest there is Alison Carlisle’s uncle.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  Max believed that, finally, they were getting somewhere. He wasn’t sure where exactly, but he was convinced they were moving forward.

  St Mary’s Roman Catholic church, a large red-brick building set back from Princess Street, was more functional than attractive, but today, with its grounds covered in pristine snow that had been falling all day, and a setting sun highlighting the colourful stained-glass windows, it could have featured on the front page of a county magazine.

  A board by the gate told everyone that the next service would be at 10.00 a.m. on Sunday morning and would be conducted by the parish priest, Father David Gosling.

  Max had phoned the priest and he’d promised to be at the church all afternoon.

  The winding path had been cleared of snow, and he and Jill walked along it smartly, eager to find some warmth in the building.

  They were out of luck. The temperature plunged as they stepped inside. The lighting was dim, and flames from a few spluttering candles didn’t do much to help. Max could see his breath as he walked up the aisle to where a priest was collecting a pile of books.

  ‘Father Gosling?’

  ‘The very same. And you’ll be DCI Trentham?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Max showed his ID. ‘And this is Jill Kennedy.’

  Father David Gosling was a short man, and looked to be well past retirement age. His face was ruddy and round, his hair thin. Perhaps what struck Max most was the fact that he was all in black, as one might expect, with the exception of brown shoes. The shoes made his feet look enormous.

  ‘Thank you for seeing us, Father.’ Max wanted this interview over as quickly as possible. It was far too cold for idle chit-chat. ‘We believe you may have known Lauren Cole?’

  ‘Not as well as I wished,’ Father Gosling answered. ‘I knew her mother very well indeed, God rest her soul.’

  ‘Mrs Cole was a regular at your church?’

  ‘She was. Lauren, too, when she was younger. Mr Cole …’ The priest smiled wistfully. ‘Alas.’

  Somehow, without anyone suggesting it, they all sat on the front pew.

  The building had that typical church smell, a mix of dust, damp, musty books and furniture polish.

  ‘And Lauren had stopped coming until recently?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Her mother stopped when she became ill,’ Father Gosling explained. ‘I visited her at home, of course, and at the hospital. After the Lord took her, I never saw Lauren again. Until recently.’

  A police siren was the only sound to penetrate the thick walls of the church.

  ‘How did Lauren seem to you?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Sad.’ For a moment, Max thought that one word was all they were going to get.

  ‘She was fourteen when her mother died,’ the priest went on, ‘and it’s a difficult age for a child to accept such things. I gather she was losing her way a little.’

  ‘You mean taking drugs, that sort of thing?’ Max asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that, but I gather her friends left a little to be desired. She seemed confused. Lonely too, I thought.’

  ‘How often did she come to the church?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Every Sunday for mass,’ he replied. ‘But she also called in most days. She would light a candle for her mother and then sit …’ He pointed to the far side of the church where there was a carved wooden figure of Christ looking down despairingly on the pews. ‘She would sit alone with her thoughts over there.’

  ‘Did you try to speak to her?’ Max asked.

  ‘Of course. She didn’t want company, though. As I say, she would sit alone.’

  ‘What about confession?’ Jill asked and Father Gosling shook his head.

  ‘She never confessed, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Did she ever speak to anyone before or after the service?’ Max asked. ‘Did she sit with anyone?’

  ‘No. As I said, I think she was lonely. She would slip in a few moments before the service started and sit at the back. As soon as it was over, she was gone.
I never saw her speak to anyone.’

  ‘Do you know a man called Steve Carlisle? I believe he and his wife worship here.’

  Father Gosling smiled at that.

  ‘I should know them. His wife is my niece, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Jill murmured. ‘I heard something of the sort.’

  ‘Her late father, John, was my younger brother. Alison’s mother and I were great friends, too, but sadly, Maureen passed away last year.’

  ‘Are you and Alison close?’ Jill asked curiously.

  ‘Of course. Alison is all the family I have in the world now.’

  ‘You’ll know about Steve then?’

  Father Gosling looked at her, a puzzled frown on his old face.

  ‘Know what, my dear?’

  ‘That he’s being questioned in connection with the murder of Lauren Cole,’ Max enlightened him.

  The heavy oak door to the church opened and slammed shut. They all turned to look as a middle-aged woman walked up the aisle carrying an armful of greenery.

  ‘Hello, Elsie,’ Father Gosling murmured.

  ‘Father, I won’t be in your way,’ the woman promised, smiling at Jill and Max. ‘I’ll take this lot through to the back. I’ll come tomorrow to do the flowers.’

  ‘That’s fine, Elsie. Thank you.’

  Father Gosling turned his attention back to Max.

  ‘When you say he’s being questioned, Chief Inspector, what exactly do you mean?’

  ‘He’s a suspect in a murder investigation.’

  ‘Steve?’

  Father Gosling might be old, even a little frail looking, but Max guessed he had a shrewd brain. It was almost possible to hear it ticking over.

  ‘No, I didn’t know that,’ he said at last. ‘Why Steve?’

  Max wasn’t going into details.

  ‘Did you ever see him speaking to Lauren Cole?’ he asked instead.

  ‘No. Never.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘I’m surprised Alison hasn’t told you about it,’ Jill said, hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat for warmth. ‘As you’re so close, I mean.’

  ‘I expect she didn’t want to bother me,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for it all. When it’s all blown over, then she’ll tell me.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Jill agreed. ‘When was the last time you saw Steve?’

  ‘On Sunday. After the service, the three of us went out to lunch. We often do.’

  ‘How did he seem?’ Jill stood up and towered over them. Max guessed she was trying to bring some circulation back to her feet.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Just fine?’

  ‘Yes. Quite normal. Smiling and talking.’

  ‘Would you say that he and Alison had a good marriage?’ she asked him.

  ‘Of course.’

  The atmosphere was becoming even chillier, Max noticed. Father Gosling’s answers seemed guarded, and he was taking a few moments to think before giving them.

  ‘I only ask,’ Jill pushed on, ‘because losing a child is so difficult, isn’t it? It’s hard for couples to cope with such a tragedy. Especially without other children to hold them together.’

  ‘You’re talking about Maisie,’ he said, and he seemed extremely rattled. ‘That was a long time ago, Miss Kennedy. It’s over. Forgotten. We can’t debate the right and wrongs of God’s will, can we?’

  ‘God’s will,’ she repeated. ‘Ah, yes. But even if that were the case, it can’t necessarily follow that the parents have come to terms with the loss.’

  ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. That’s how people do come to terms with such things. Christians know and accept that it is God’s will.’

  ‘But if one of them didn’t accept it—’

  ‘People do, Miss Kennedy.’

  ‘So, having accepted it, one would assume that more children would come along,’ Jill said.

  ‘One would,’ he agreed, ‘but sadly, Alison couldn’t have more children.’

  ‘Ah, I didn’t know that. So poor Steve—’

  ‘Accepted that,’ the priest snapped.

  For a Christian, Father Gosling was showing very little goodwill to all men. Well, Jill at least. His answers were becoming increasingly short and terse.

  ‘Then they’re well blessed as a couple,’ Jill said, giving him a smile that would chip ice. ‘I think many men in Steve’s position, men who wanted children, would have difficulty with that. They might grow to resent their wives. They might feel trapped in a sad, poor excuse for a marriage. They might even look elsewhere for—’

  ‘Now look here, I was under the impression that you wanted to talk about Lauren Cole. I can’t see that my niece’s marriage has anything whatsoever to do with the poor girl. In fact, if there’s nothing else, I have things that I need to be doing.’

  ‘You’ve been most helpful,’ Max told him, eager to get outside where it would be warmer. ‘Thank you for your time, Father Gosling.’

  ‘A pleasure.’

  It had clearly been anything but that.

  Outside, darkness had fallen and the wind strength had increased. As soon as they were in the car, Max turned the heater on full.

  ‘I don’t think you made a friend back there, kiddo.’

  ‘Miserable git,’ she muttered. ‘Why is it so wrong for people to have problems with life? And what the hell was it with the brown shoes?’

  ‘God’s will?’

  ‘Ha. If I thought God wanted me to look a complete prat, I’d start questioning my faith.’ She took off her gloves and rubbed her hands together for warmth. ‘It’s odd, though, that Alison hasn’t spoken to him. Them being so close and all that. And he was rattled when I mentioned their dead daughter, Maisie. I wonder if he’s had problems with Alison, or Steve come to that. I wonder how he’d react if they didn’t accept that it was God’s will quite as easily as he thinks they should.’

  ‘You think they have problems in their marriage, don’t you?’

  ‘I think it would be odd if they haven’t. The loss of a child, and the inability to have more children, isn’t the best foundation for a happy life, is it? And if there were problems – no love, no warmth, no fun, no sex – Steve might have found a young pretty girl very appealing.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Jill pushed open the door of her cottage that evening, with Max right behind her carrying their takeaway, the first thing she saw was a brown envelope lying on the mat. There was no other mail and, although she didn’t know why, she had an ominous feeling.

  She picked it up, let Max inside and shut out the darkness. The envelope was thicker than the average bill and, when she turned it over, she saw that there was no address. It had been delivered by hand.

  ‘Max?’

  He’d gone straight to the kitchen and she followed him, holding the envelope in front of her.

  ‘Hand delivered,’ she explained, and he took it from her with the tips of his fingers.

  Scowling at it, he took a knife from her cutlery drawer and, very carefully, slit it open. With even more care, still using the knife, he inched out the contents. There were five photographs of Jill. One showed her opening her front door, another getting into her car. In another she was gazing out from her window. In one she was standing at the back door and, in the last, she was bending to fuss a cat.

  ‘Bastard!’ she muttered.

  ‘When were they taken?’

  Jill looked more closely and tried to remember what she’d been wearing yesterday.

  ‘At a guess, I’d say those three were taken yesterday. These were taken this morning.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Today was the first time she’d worn her long grey coat.

  She’d known he’d been close, of course. Close enough to kill a cat. To know he was hanging around long enough to use a camera was unsettling, though.

  At least her cats were safe. They were sulking because they coul
dn’t come and go as they chose, but they were pleased to see her and would be even happier to see the tin opener.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ she suggested, ‘before it gets cold.’

  She didn’t want to think about cranks phoning her in the small hours or taking photos as she went about her day.

  Max went outside to his car and returned with an evidence bag. The envelope and photos were put inside and Jill hoped they could forget it for a while.

  She was trying to enjoy her spicy chicken wings, without the appetite she’d had before arriving home, when Max brought up the subject again.

  ‘At least we know Steve Carlisle isn’t stringing up cats,’ he said.

  ‘Well done, Max, you’ve managed to narrow it down to sixty million suspects minus one. No wonder you’re a detective.’

  He ignored her sarcasm, and she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

  ‘We need to get you away from here,’ he said instead.

  ‘No way. I’m not being frightened out of my own home. Besides, I can take care of myself.’

  He rolled his eyes at that.

  ‘For all we know, Lauren Cole had a few Thai boxing lessons, too.’

  ‘I can take care of myself, Max.’

  She could tell he wasn’t convinced.

  In truth, she was beginning to feel a little anxious herself. Looking on the bright side, though, she knew that this particular nutter was merely trying to frighten her. Phone calls were the act of a coward. As was hanging an old frail cat. He’d been near enough to take photos, so near enough to put an axe through her head.

  ‘We’ll get a couple of cameras rigged up,’ Max said and she nodded.

  She watched him start his second glass of wine. She wasn’t going to suggest he stayed the night but she had to admit that she’d feel a whole lot easier if he did.

  ‘Why was that priest so antagonistic this afternoon?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t like us prying into the lives of his family members.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  But Jill wasn’t convinced. She thought it went deeper than that. Then again, hearing that a family member was being questioned in connection with a murder would be a shock for anyone.