She drove into Littlehampton and found the police station, which was where she’d arranged to meet Tania Jones. She discovered the TV producer at the front desk giving a perplexed young PC a piece of her mind.
‘Thank goodness you’re here. I can’t seem to get any information.’
Jo showed her ID and asked to speak to the duty sergeant.
As they waited, Jo faced Tania. Her sophisticated carapace was showing definite cracks. Streaked mascara, hastily wiped away, indicated she’d been crying.
‘I just— It makes no sense—’
Jo shepherded her to a chair. ‘Start at the beginning. Tell me what you know.’
‘Kayleigh, Briony’s assistant – you might remember her.’
Jo had a fleeting image of a sullen girl with dyed hair.
‘She called me this morning. Poor girl was hysterical. She said Briony had driven back from London, parked her Mini by a level crossing outside the town and walked in front of a train.’
‘How did Kayleigh know?’
‘The police got in touch. Hers was the last number dialled on Briony’s phone. They found it beside the track. I mean, can you imagine it? What a horrendous way to die!’
Jo didn’t want to imagine it.
‘Do you know anything about Briony’s state of mind?’
‘She phoned me yesterday morning. She was excited. She was on a roll. The last thing she was is suicidal. The university had agreed to let her look for Bruce in the archives. She had an appointment and she was convinced she’d be able to identify him.’
‘Has it occurred to you, Tania, that this may have all been a line? A story she invented.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘When she came to you, how desperate was she to get this film made?’
Tania wiped her face with her palm. ‘I’m not stupid, I’ve been in this business a long time. I think I read people pretty well. Briony had been looking for a break for years, she knew she’d only have one chance to get it right. She had to deliver on this and she believed she could. The two things she really needed were Nathan on board and putting a name to an alternative suspect. That was the film: Nathan’s innocent, Bruce did it.’
Jo studied the producer. She knew Briony and she sounded convincing. Jo’s thoughts skipped back to her sister’s journals. If she’d been given this as a cold case to review, wouldn’t this have been an alternative line of enquiry?
‘Okay, well, who else knew that she reckoned she was about to ID him?’
‘That’s the thing she told me on the phone. Yesterday she was having lunch with Cynthia Fenton-Wright.’
‘You mean the girl that Nathan says he could’ve met on the way to the station?’
‘Yes. You’re the detective, Jo. You tell me, isn’t that a bit too much of a coincidence?’
Jo felt an eerie sense of foreboding slithering through her. Anger and her reluctance to look at the past had blinkered her. The investigation into Sarah’s murder had the hallmarks of a bodged job. This had been her intuition since she started reading the journals, but until now she hadn’t wanted to admit it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Nathan Wade wasn’t used to taking care of anyone except himself. But he could see she was totally distraught. Walking beside him, along the riverside walk in Littlehampton, Kayleigh was tiny. An elfin figure bundled up against the February chill, a spiky blue quiff of hair stuck out at an erratic angle from under her bobble hat. He glanced across at her, her cheeks and nose were still blotchy and red from the cold and the crying.
Kayleigh rarely had much to say but Nathan had gleaned a few things about her. She was a film student. Nineteen. She was an intern, which meant she worked for Briony for nothing. He wasn’t sure how she managed that. Stan and Olly, Little and Large, it was hard to be around the two of them without noticing the comic potential of their contrasting sizes.
Tania had instructed him to keep an eye on Kayleigh while she tried to find out more details about what had actually happened. It had been his suggestion that they go for a walk. The day was bleak, a whited-out sky, snow showers and a biting wind off the sea; as they reached the mouth of the narrow estuary, choppy waves were rolling in, creating turbulence as they hit the tidal flow of the river.
Nathan found it hard to feel anything other than contempt for Briony Rowe. She was devious and manipulative, all she’d ever done was try to use him. But now she was gone there was a chance that Tania and Gordon might let him take charge of his own project. Even if the film never got made he could learn a lot from them in the meantime and it was a better start to his new life than a job in a coffee shop.
He glanced at Kayleigh. Perhaps she’d seen a different side of Briony. Her kindness? Hard to imagine, but it was possible.
‘You okay?’
Nathan knew this was a totally redundant question but it was the sort of thing people said when they were trying to be sympathetic and couldn’t stand the silence. He would have preferred silence but maybe that’s not what Kayleigh needed.
She looked up at him. ‘She was a brilliant film-maker, y’know. She could make the camera see inside peoples’ heads.’
‘Could she?’ Nathan found such a notion disturbing. The last thing he’d have wanted was a camera ogling his private thoughts.
She wiped the back of her glove across a damp nose. ‘The police piss me off. They’re so fucking smug. “Oh well,” they said, “it’s that time of year. Suicide rate always goes up.” I mean, get a fucking grip! This woman was not suicidal. I told them that. I told them they needed to preserve the scene. Too late, they said. The train company was hassling them. They had to reopen the line.’
This was the most Nathan had ever heard her say. Rage was whirling off her tiny frame. It made her curiously attractive, a pint-sized Valkyrie. And he was drawn to her all the more.
‘You don’t think she was maybe a bit prone to depression?’
Kayleigh laughed. ‘Briony? She’d been dumped on her whole life. Including by you. She figured there was a choice: give up or get over it. She chose the latter. I learnt so much from her. She got it. She understood how this world works, how people treat one another. And what it takes to make it.’
‘When did I dump on her?’ He frowned. This was totally unfair.
‘When you were students.’
‘I hardly knew her.’
‘She was in love with you, Nathan. The boy poet who wore his sunglasses in the library. And you picked her mate.’
He took a deep breath and shook his head. ‘I had no idea.’ This was certainly true. Briony in love with him? The notion was alarming.
She gave him a scathing look. ‘Yeah, but you were a complete numpty back then, weren’t you? Which is how you ended up getting fitted up for Sarah Boden’s murder.’
Nathan stared at her. The mouse had finally roared. He was impressed.
The phone in his pocket buzzed. He pulled it out and read the text. ‘It’s Tania. She wants us to meet her.’ His face fell. ‘Seems Jo Boden’s turned up.’
‘Lucky for you.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Kayleigh took a deep breath, released it in a sigh. ‘Briony always said: the key to this is Jo Boden. When Jo decides to find out what happened to her sister, then we’ll have a case.’
Nathan wasn’t sure he liked the sound of this. The Bodens had been weird when they’d met up. They certainly hadn’t given the impression that they were likely to cooperate. The mother had simply stared at him, she seemed borderline deranged, but it was Jo, now the image of her sister, who’d really unnerved him.
It felt as if he was meeting Sarah’s ghost and that had thrown him completely. But it wasn’t only the physical resemblance. Jo had her dead sister’s manner; her chin was slightly raised as she gazed at you, giving the impression of a critical and superior attitude. Nathan had felt judged. He’d also felt aroused. He certainly needed some more time to adjust before another encounter. He wanted to be ready for her.
‘You sure you want the hassle of a load of questions? It won’t bring Briony back. Why don’t we just go to the pub?’
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
I want to tell you about my feelings, Jo. The honest truth is I’m confused. I think most men feel like that nowadays. We don’t know what’s expected of us. What women expect. Oh, I know what to say, how to tell you the sorts of things you want to hear. What we all assume you want to hear. But, let’s face it, we’re only skating over the surface.
At a deeper level we’re all dissatisfied. Our primal wants and cravings don’t just get wiped out by a hundred-odd years of so-called enlightened Western values. Equality may be a nice idea. But Homo sapiens killed off the other hominids because they could. Empathy doesn’t really extend beyond our own tribe. Maybe we’re living in a historical bubble that’s about to burst.
A mother needs to know that she and her offspring will be protected from predators and that they’ll eat. She has to pick the right man for that. It’s got little to do with desire and a lot to do with need. Safety comes before satisfaction if you want to survive. Traditional roles haven’t been all bad. And girls like you and Sarah would perhaps benefit from considering that. Trying to bring up three kids and be the CEO is exhausting.
Okay, I’ll admit I’ve my own biases. We’re all moulded by our background. I like order and organization. I like to do things my way and that means I prefer to be in charge. For me, it’s easier. And some women let you assume that they want that too. Then you realize that you’re being managed and they’re using you.
I watched my mum and dad as I was growing up. She was so much smarter than him. She played the housewife and mother, pretended to be the meek woman, but she had him wrapped round her little finger. He drove his bus and brought home his wages. He never had the final say about anything in our family. He thought he did, poor bastard, but she was in control. She always got to choose.
And your sister was the same: an ace manipulator. The difference was she didn’t even bother to disguise it. She was arrogant enough to assume she could do as she liked. She didn’t tell me what she was doing. She thought she could just lie and I wouldn’t find out. But it should’ve been me, Jo. It should’ve been me, not her. I should’ve been the one to decide. I should’ve been the one to choose. It would’ve been better for everyone. You have to understand that.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
They met up in the coffee shop where Nathan worked. Lech, the manager, arranged a couple of tables for them at the back. Curious locals gave them covert glances, which turned into blatant gawping when Gordon Kramer and his sidekicks turned up.
Gordon was dressed for action, olive green combat jacket with matching scarf and aviator shades. He strode into the shop, Phil the cameraman following in his wake, steadicam rig strapped to his body, filming the veteran reporter from behind. A researcher juggling three bags and an iPad brought up the rear.
Kayleigh had refused to go to the pub, as Nathan suggested. They sat in a corner. She turned to him with a sad smile. ‘Briony would love all this.’
But he ignored her. He had a wry look on his face. Maybe he could turn back the clock if he had those sunglasses?
Jo Boden simply watched in disbelief. It was left to Tania Jones to take control of the situation. She told Phil to take a break, the researcher to get more coffees, introduced her husband to Jo and instructed him to sit down.
Removing the coveted Ray-Bans he frowned at Jo. ‘We’ve got some footage of the level crossing and the track. Terrible business.’ He shook his head, though he seemed far from sad. ‘But you have to admit that it goes some way to proving poor Briony’s argument. Your sister’s murderer is probably still out there.’
‘It raises some questions, that’s all.’
Gordon gave her a knowing flicker of a smile. Tragedies and disasters, he was in his element. This was what fuelled his fire. ‘Important questions though, that’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?’
Jo responded with a chilly glare. She was beginning to understand the term media circus because that’s exactly what Gordon Kramer brought with him. If you ignored the expensive camera and kit, they were a travelling band of mischief-makers. And Gordon was the ringmaster. He could take any tale, fillet it and serve it up in bite-sized chunks for the fickle channel-hopping viewer.
Allowing them to turn her sister’s death into TV fodder was certainly something Jo planned to resist. But on the other hand Kramer was right, the questions raised by the film-maker’s so-called suicide were too big to ignore.
The discussion Jo had had with the uniformed sergeant at the local police station had been annoying and brief. He was surly and suspicious. He scrutinized her ID and then homed in on why the Met was interested in the dead woman. Jo got round this by saying that she was a personal friend, which aggravated him even more. As far as he was concerned, the incident had been squared away and Jo knew she’d have to go over his head to get anywhere, which could be complicated.
Her thoughts flitted briefly to Steve Vaizey. A call from him to Sussex CID would certainly get them looking at it again properly. But how could she ask him at this juncture? More hurdles. Jo felt irritated and nervous, this was uncharted territory on too many fronts.
And they were all looking at her expectantly. She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook and pen. If she looked like a detective it might help her feel more like one.
‘Let’s see if we can pin down Briony’s movements in the forty-eight hours before she died. Who can tell me about this lunch?’
‘She knew Cynthia was a witness and was hiding something. So she decided to tackle her.’ Kayleigh’s voice was small but vehement.
‘How did she know? It’s an assumption she’s hiding something.’
‘It’s obvious.’
Jo nodded. ‘With all due respect, it’s a potential line of enquiry. Nothing’s obvious.’
‘What about her car? Her Mini.’ The intern was glaring at her.
‘What about it?’
‘Fucking cops have towed it away. Impounded it or something, so we can’t get to it.’
‘If Briony’s dead, they would need to establish who the rightful owner is.’
Kayleigh leapt to her feet. ‘It’s got a dash-cam, a fucking dash-cam. Whatever happened, it’s probably all there. Recorded. But no one’s interested in that.’ She grabbed her bobble hat and headed for the door.
Tania shrugged apologetically. ‘She’s very upset.’
Jo sighed. ‘Understandable.’
Retreating into detective mode and adopting an attitude of professional detachment was helping her get a handle on her unruly thoughts. What she needed was time to think and analyse. Somehow she had to wrap this up and escape.
Then something caught her eye. Nathan Wade was sitting slightly apart, watching, with the hint of a smile playing round his mouth. It was only Jo’s second encounter with him but she knew one thing for sure: she didn’t like him. He exuded the passive-aggressive cynicism of the ex-con.
Folding her arms, she turned abruptly to face him. ‘Where were you last night and early this morning, Nathan?’
The intention had been to catch him off guard and it succeeded. He blushed as all eyes turned to him. ‘In bed.’
‘In bed where?’
‘The hostel.’
‘Alone?’
He laughed. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Simple enough question.’
‘I didn’t kill Briony.’
‘Who says Briony was killed?’
Gordon Kramer’s gaze strayed imperceptibly in the direction of Phil, who had his camera balanced on his knee; the red light winked, indicating he was filming.
Nathan stood up and his anger erupted. ‘Kayleigh’s right. You cops, you’re rubbish. And you can twist anything. That’s what you’re doing. And that’s what they did to me over Sarah. Trick questions to make me look stupid and guilty. But we’re all sitting here thinking Briony was probab
ly killed. Even you, DC Boden. Isn’t that why you’re here? Why can’t you be honest? I’m sick of the lot of you – you and your fucking games.’
Scooping up his jacket, Nathan stormed out.
Kramer turned to Jo. ‘You certainly rattled his cage.’
‘So it would seem.’
‘You don’t seriously think he shoved Briony under a train?’
‘Hadn’t thought that until now.’
‘But why on earth would he? She was helping him.’
Jo shrugged. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t see it that way.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Jo finally escaped, drove back to London, returned the car to the pool and made it home to her Lant Street flat by early evening. She’d resisted the impulse to pop into the office. Bumping into Steve Vaizey casually in a corridor wasn’t something she was ready to cope with – not yet. There was a team debriefing scheduled and she’d already decided to leave it until then. She needed to find a way to put their relationship back on a proper professional footing.
She made herself cheese on toast and retreated to her solitary cell and the comfort of her bed. Opening her notebook to a blank double page she stared at it as she ate. Nathan Wade was right about one thing. She was operating on the assumption that Briony didn’t commit suicide. A bizarre accident seemed unlikely, her car was nowhere near the level crossing. She was killed by person or persons unknown.
She wrote across the top of the left-hand page: Who killed Briony? Why? Is it connected to Sarah’s murder?
The last question was easiest to answer. Briony Rowe didn’t seem to be the sort of person to have acquired that many enemies in her life and, even if she had, what were the chances of one of them randomly striking at her now? It had to be connected to her film project. That left who and why, two questions that were usually related.
Briony had set out to prove Nathan innocent. Why would he not welcome that? Again, the easy answer was because he was guilty. He’d served his sentence, was released on licence, what would he have to gain? In which case, why hadn’t he simply refused to cooperate?
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