Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

  When their food was eaten, she put plates and cutlery in the dishwasher, and then they carried their wine through to the sitting room.

  The room was warm, but Jill lit the stove. She liked to see the flames and hear the logs crackling. It was cosy, a place to relax, yet Jill was struggling to do that. She kept wondering if someone was outside.

  So when her doorbell rang, a quick short ring, it frightened her half to death. Yet again, she had to remind herself that maniacs rarely announced their presence.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Max was at the door before she could argue, but she followed, curious as to who might be calling so late.

  She was surprised to see Ruth Carlisle standing there.

  ‘What are you doing out on a night like this, Ruth? Come in, quick.’

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Jill.’

  ‘It’s no bother at all. We were doing nothing, just sitting by the fire. You’ve met Max, haven’t you?’

  She realized that although Ruth most likely knew Max, he couldn’t be expected to know her.

  ‘This is Ruth Carlisle, Max. Steve’s mother.’

  They went through the social niceties as Jill ushered Ruth into the sitting room.

  ‘A glass of wine, Ruth?’

  ‘Oh, no, love. Really, I’m not stopping. I wouldn’t have bothered you at all, but—’

  ‘You’re not bothering us,’ Jill assured her again. ‘Let me take your coat. Come and sit by the fire and get warm.’

  Jill wasn’t normally so pushy with her visitors, but Ruth looked a breath away from collapsing. Her face wasn’t so much white as a pale grey, and it was dominated by red-rimmed eyes.

  Ruth sat down and Rabble, the cat who was usually wary of strangers, jumped straight on to her lap. Instinctively, Ruth began to stroke her.

  ‘I only came – well, I wondered what was going to happen to Steve,’ Ruth said. ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me anything but—’ Her voice cracked. ‘Oh, Jill, you can’t imagine what a worry it is.’

  ‘I can.’ Jill sat beside her and patted her hand. ‘At the moment, Steve’s trying to tell us everything he can about the morning Lauren Cole was murdered. That’s all.’

  It wasn’t quite ‘all’, but Jill didn’t want to add to Ruth’s panic.

  ‘But why? I mean, what would make you think’ – she looked at Max as she spoke – ‘that Steve had anything to do with it?’

  While Max prepared his answer, she rushed on, ‘And Alison said something about the poor girl being killed with Steve’s axe. Surely, that can’t be true.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is,’ Max said.

  ‘Oh!’ Ruth seemed incapable of anything more than that one anguished word.

  ‘Have a glass of wine,’ Jill urged her.

  ‘Perhaps I will. If you don’t mind, Jill. I won’t stay long. I know you’ll not want me—’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Jill insisted. ‘It’s good to see you. I just wish the circumstances were different.’

  Jill went to the kitchen for another glass. The photos, safely packed away in the evidence bag, were still on the table and, once again, she wondered if the photographer was outside. Perhaps he was watching them. Perhaps he’d seen Ruth arrive. And perhaps he would see Max leave …

  ‘Here you go, Ruth.’

  With a glass in her hand, Ruth seemed to calm herself slightly.

  ‘Tell me,’ Jill began, ‘how do you get along with Alison?’

  She could see that her question had taken Ruth completely by surprise.

  ‘Alison?’

  ‘Yes. I know that, on the surface, everything is fine, but—’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Ruth said. ‘Yes, if we’re out in public, we smile and give the impression that we’re the best of friends. The truth? We’ve never really taken to each other.’

  ‘Oh?’ And that took Jill by surprise. Ruth was the typical mother hen, the sort who would welcome anyone into her family. ‘Why’s that?’

  Ruth managed a weak smile.

  ‘We’re chalk and cheese. Alison is always dressed up to the nines. Her house is the same, one of those where you have to ring for an appointment to visit.’

  She took a small sip of wine and Jill could see her considering the question more seriously.

  Max, Jill was pleased to see, was looking fairly relaxed. He was paying attention to every word, but at least he wasn’t firing questions at Steve’s mother.

  ‘When Steve first met Alison,’ Ruth explained, ‘I thought she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wore a smile as big as Lancashire. He was so deeply in love that it touched my heart. I couldn’t wait to meet the girl responsible.’

  ‘And?’ Jill prompted.

  ‘She only came from Harrington, but it might as well have been a thousand miles away. She simply didn’t have time to meet Frank and me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘We saw her twice before the wedding, and then only briefly. She called at our house both times to tell us of the wedding plans. Of course, as I wanted to welcome her, I’d prepared a big spread. I know she likes to watch her weight, but she wouldn’t have so much as a cup of tea. I felt, well, we both felt a bit uneasy with her. It was as if we weren’t good enough for her. We felt – on edge.’

  On edge and deeply hurt, Jill guessed. She could imagine Ruth fussing for days over Alison’s impending visits. Everything would have been done to ensure Alison had the warmest of welcomes to the family.

  ‘A year later,’ Ruth went on, ‘little Maisie was born.’ She smiled at the memory. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen a prettier baby. She was just beautiful.’

  ‘Alison and Steve were happy, yes?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And you were chief babysitter?’ Jill guessed with a smile.

  ‘No.’ Ruth stared into the depths of her glass. ‘No, Alison preferred to leave her with a young woman called Valerie Easton. She’s left the village now. Left Kelton about ten years ago. She was a qualified child minder, you see. It didn’t matter that I’d managed to raise four children. Alison insisted that an expert looked after Maisie.’

  It was no wonder Alison and Ruth didn’t get along too well. Jill could imagine her own mother’s reaction if Prue left her kids with anyone but their grandmother.

  ‘I had such hopes,’ Ruth said, her expression wistful. ‘I thought it would be wonderful to have Steve and his wife living in the village. I thought we’d be close, you see. I imagined me and Alison going round the shops together, planning Maisie’s birthday parties together – you know the sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The reality is that I rarely visit the house without phoning to see if it’s convenient. That’s the way Alison likes it. She’s polite enough, of course, and she always buys me something nice for Christmas and on my birthday.’

  Something ‘nice’. That one word summed up the relationship perfectly. Ruth wouldn’t want a silk scarf or the latest fragrance. She would prefer something that a little thought had gone into. Homemade biscuits would have given her more pleasure.

  ‘What about Alison’s uncle, Father Gosling?’ Max asked. ‘How do you get along with him?’

  ‘I don’t,’ she answered simply. ‘I’ve only met him twice. Once at the wedding, and once when he visited Steve and Alison.’

  ‘Alison is close to him,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘She would be, wouldn’t she?’

  Jill was alerted by something in Ruth’s tone.

  ‘What do you mean by that, Ruth?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered quickly. ‘It’s nothing. Just something that me and Frank say.’ She sighed. ‘Her uncle, the vicar, priest, whatever you call him, is very well off,’ she explained. ‘He’s had people leave him a lot of money in their wills. Perhaps we’re being unkind, but me and Frank both reckon that’s why she keeps so friendly with him.’

  She emptied her glass.

  ‘I shouldn’t say such unkind things, true or not,’ she said a
s she stood up. ‘Put it down to worry about Steve. And now it’s time I left you two young people alone.’

  ‘I’ll drive you home,’ Max said, already on his feet as Jill went to fetch Ruth’s coat.

  ‘Thank you, but there’s no need. Really.’

  ‘It’s no trouble.’ Max had his car keys in his hand to allow no argument.

  Ruth smiled at Jill. ‘You’ve got a real gentleman here, love.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it!’

  Jill gave her a quick hug, watched her being helped into Max’s car and then closed the door on the night to think over what Ruth had told them about Steve and Alison’s marriage. It was preferable to thinking that someone might be lurking outside her cottage, someone who had seen Max leave and knew she was alone.

  Five minutes later, Max was back and Jill was glad of that.

  ‘Ruth OK?’ she asked him.

  ‘Probably.’

  He looked at the empty wine bottle, picked it up and went to the kitchen for a full one.

  When their glasses had been filled and they were, once more, enjoying the warmth from Jill’s stove, she thought how civilized this was. She still didn’t know if Max planned to stay the night, but the later it became, the more optimistic she grew.

  ‘She seems nice enough,’ he said.

  ‘Ruth? She’s a lovely woman. Completely genuine. What you see is what you get. She has a nice family, too. Steve, believe it or not, is just the same.’

  ‘When he’s not lying through his back teeth,’ Max pointed out and Jill knew he had a point.

  ‘I expect a lot of it is due to low self-esteem,’ she excused Steve. ‘He’s probably spent twenty years blaming himself and being blamed for the death of his daughter. Add to that the fact that he’s lost his job. He’ll be feeling totally useless and inadequate, far too worthless to imagine that anyone will believe his story about finding Lauren Cole like that.’

  Max could think what he liked, but Jill was convinced of Steve’s innocence. What’s more, she was determined to prove it. With or without Max’s help.

  ‘Ruth’s views on Father Gosling were interesting,’ Max murmured. ‘Well, her views on Alison Carlisle keeping well in with the bloke.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that. It makes sense, too. Alison isn’t the type to trot off to church every Sunday.’

  ‘We’ll have to delve into his finances.’

  Jill leaned back on the sofa and lifted her feet to rest on the footstool. ‘Give me an alternative, detective,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘In very different ways, using different methods, we both believe we can get inside a killer’s mind. So give me an alternative. Tell me how someone could murder Lauren Cole and pin the blame on Steve.’

  He smiled at that. ‘You think Steve’s been set up?’

  ‘Stranger things have happened.’

  ‘True, but not much.’ He kicked off his shoes and rested his feet beside Jill’s. ‘OK. Someone somehow manages, and God knows how, to get to the shelter without half of Kelton Bridge seeing him. He knows Steve walks that way each morning, and he knows that Lauren sometimes does, so he lies in wait with a lamb chop in his pocket.’

  ‘What?’ She spluttered with laughter.

  ‘He’ll have known that he can’t call Lauren’s dog,’ Max explained, ‘so he’ll try and entice the dog without being heard.’

  ‘Hey, that makes sense.’

  ‘Hm. So he produces his lamb chop and, according to plan, Lauren’s dog goes to investigate. He grabs the dog and ties it up. Oh, he gags it, too, so it can’t bark.’

  Jill knew he wasn’t taking this very seriously, but she was determined to find something, somewhere, that was feasible.

  ‘So he lies in wait,’ Max continued, ‘with the dog bound and gagged until Lauren returns to the spot where she’s agreed to meet Carlisle. He then takes the axe from Steve’s sack. Did I mention he has X-ray vision? That’s how he knows the axe is there. He kills Lauren with one swift blow. He then unties the dog and scarpers without a single soul in Kelton Bridge seeing him.’

  Put like that, it sounded absurd. Impossible.

  ‘There has to be an explanation,’ Jill insisted.

  ‘No one else was seen in the area,’ he reminded her.

  ‘But they wouldn’t be, would they? Everyone saw Lauren and Steve because they were walking their dogs as they often did. They had no reason to hide. The killer, on the other hand, would have made sure he wasn’t seen.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘There are plenty of stone walls to hide behind. And trees.’

  All the same, it didn’t make any sense and she was too tired to think. Either that or the wine had turned her brain to mush. She closed her eyes and listened to the crackling of the logs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Frank Carlisle lay in the bed he’d shared with his wife for more years than he cared to remember and longed for the first hint of daylight. At this time of year, it was slow to come.

  For once, Ruth was sleeping soundly. Perhaps the glass of wine she’d had at Jill Kennedy’s had helped.

  She needed sleep. They both did, but Frank’s mind refused to switch off. The last thing he wanted was to wake Ruth, but his body ached from holding it so still.

  Not, he decided, that an aching body was anything new. At seventy-eight years of age, he was used to that. The slightest movement out of the ordinary always brought with it a painful reminder of his age.

  It seemed no time at all since he’d been able to run up these hills and think nothing of it, or race the length and breadth of the football pitch for an hour and a half and barely be out of breath.

  All that was a long time ago. Now, he often wondered how long it would be before even climbing the stairs was too much for his old body.

  To hell with it. Coaxing his stiff limbs into an upright position, he sat on the side of the bed for a moment, waiting to see if the movement had woken Ruth. Pleased that it hadn’t, he stood up and padded barefoot to the door where his dressing gown hung from the hook.

  He shrugged that on and tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Perhaps a hot mug of tea would settle him. At least it would give him something to do until the light finally ushered in another day.

  With his tea made, he carried it into the sitting room and sat by the window in the upright wooden chair. The chair had belonged to his father and his grandfather and, what it lacked in looks, it made up for by easing his aching back.

  On the sideboard, on the opposite side of the room, were several photographs, all showing members of the family on important days. There were birthdays and graduations. The one that held Frank’s gaze showed Steve and Alison smiling for the camera on their wedding day. He felt like flinging it across the room. What hurt most was the broad smile on Steve’s trusting face as he stood next to his young beautiful bride. Sometimes beauty was only skin deep, Frank thought as he tore his gaze away.

  For years, ever since young Maisie had been snatched from them, Ruth had been worrying about the state of Steve and Alison’s marriage.

  ‘Don’t be daft, woman,’ Frank had scolded at first. ‘They’ve lost a baby so of course they’re unhappy. But they’ll have more. It’ll all come right in the end, you’ll see.’

  No other children had come along though, and Frank had begun to wonder if perhaps Ruth was right. But Steve had seemed happy enough with his lot.

  Frank had chosen to believe that all was well in his son’s marriage until, six weeks ago, he’d seen that it wasn’t. Although he could remember things that had happened sixty years ago, he often struggled to remember what he’d done yesterday, but he could remember everything about that day with a perfect clarity.

  His friend, Bill, had been going into Burnley to get his car serviced and Frank had said he’d go along to keep Bill company while he waited. They planned to walk into town and have a look round.

  As Bill drove them over Deerplay Moor, they spoke about Burnley’s football team and
how their recent success had given the town a much needed boost.

  It had been drizzling, and the windscreen wipers had screeched their way back and forth. While Bill was complaining about that, Frank spotted a car like Alison’s in front of them. He paid it no real attention. He was too busy talking.

  It was when they were a couple of miles further on, where roadworks had narrowed the road near the lay-by, that he realized it was Alison’s car.

  As Bill’s car was stationary at the temporary traffic lights, Frank watched, a sick feeling thudding in his stomach, as Alison parked her car, jumped out, and ran a couple of yards to another car. The owner of that car got out to meet her.

  Bill was easing the car forward when Frank saw his daughter-in-law kiss the driver of that other car. It was a long kiss. The man had been sliding his hands over Alison’s buttocks …

  Frank hadn’t said a word to Ruth about it. Nor Steve, nor Alison. He hadn’t mentioned it to a soul, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

  That Alison could cheat on Steve – and what other explanation could there be? – sickened him to the pit of his stomach.

  More than anything, Frank hated liars and cheats, hated people running around behind their partners’ backs.

  And now, Steve was alone. He was being held in a cell while the police quizzed him about the murder of a young girl. And it was tearing his mother apart.

  It would be sorted out, Frank had no doubt about that, but what did Steve have to come home to? A cheat and a liar, that’s what.

  For two pins, he’d go to their house and tell Alison exactly what he thought of her. He wished to God Steve had never set eyes on the blasted woman.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jill opened her eyes, sat up with a jolt and felt a stab of pain in her neck. She’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Max had too but, as she moved, he woke up.

  ‘What time is it?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Early enough to go to bed, I hope.’

  Max rubbed his eyes then checked his watch. ‘Hell’s teeth. It’s almost eight. Time for a quick shower and then I need to go.’