‘I don’t suppose you remember where it was?’
‘Sorry. Wouldn’t have a clue. I know it was local because I helped her look it up on the map.’
‘But you don’t know where she found this address?’
Kenny shook his head. ‘If it was on the computer I could do a search. Enter the name and date and pull out any matches.’
‘But it’s not, I suppose.’
‘Not back then. Sorry.’
It had been too much to hope for. Nevertheless, at least he had something to go on and he wouldn’t be searching blindly. A story about Carisbrook that mentioned somebody called Jones, possibly a male nurse. The clerk brought over some files. They were in the form of large slides, and there didn’t appear to be very many, which was heartening, at least until he started looking and he found that each slide contained a month’s papers. Resignedly Adam sat down and put the first one in the machine.
It took him an hour and a half to find what he was looking for. The story had appeared at the end of June in 1985. It was a very small piece on the court pages and he almost missed it. The police had arrested a man called Chris Jones, aged thirty-eight, of Border Avenue, Carlisle, on suspicion of selling drugs in a city pub. Jones was found with amphetamines in his possession. He pleaded guilty and was given a six-month suspended sentence. According to the report he worked at Carisbrook Hall as a psychiatric nurse aide. That was it.
Adam went over to the desk where Kenny was reading a paperback science-fiction novel. ‘Border Avenue, does that ring a bell?’
‘Could be.’ He produced a street plan and looked the street up. ‘Yes. Here it is. Must be right because I circled it.’ He spun the book around so Adam could see, and sure enough there was a red circle around Border Avenue, which wasn’t far from the city centre. Adam wrote down directions.
‘Do you know this area?’ he asked.
‘Not really.’
He didn’t have a street number, but at least he knew that he was on the right track. He thanked Kenny for his help and went back upstairs. Before he left he went back to Findlay’s office and poked his head around the door.
‘Somebody called Chris Jones was caught selling drugs in a pub back in ‘eighty-five. He worked at Carisbrook. Mean anything to you?’
Findlay snapped his fingers. ‘Aye, now that you mention it. He was a shifty wee bastard that yen. The police thought he must have got the stuff he was flogging from Carisbrook, but Webster claimed there was nothing missing. Jones left a wee while afterwards.’
‘Do you think Webster was lying?’
‘I thought so at the time. Probably didnae want a scandal so he covered it up and quietly sacked Jones.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
He looked for Janice on the way out but she was nowhere in sight. He almost bumped into her as he left. She was standing outside smoking, though it turned out she’d been waiting for him.
‘I didnae want to talk about this in there, but I’ve some information for you,’ she said.
‘Time for a drink?’
‘Aye, a quick one.’
They went to the pub on the corner where Adam ordered sandwiches and a couple of bottles of Stella. ‘So what have you got for me?’
‘It’s about Councillor Fraser. Remember you asked me to see what I could find out about her? Anyway, I know a guy who works for an estate agent that specializes in farm property. He’s been in the game for years so he knows most of the farms in the area. After you mentioned that the Frasers owned a farm I gave him a ring to see if he happened to know anything about it.’
‘And he did?’
‘Aye. Rural property isnae exactly a hot item around here these days, so news gets around fast when something is sold.’
‘They sold the farm?’
‘Not sold. But apparently they have leased about a third of their land.’
‘Leased to whom?’
‘That’s the interesting part. A company called Wood Products, which is based just outside Newcastle. They want the land to plant firs. Apparently what they do is plant some fast-growing variety and the crop is sold as a futures commodity. The lease deal with the landowner is structured so that they get a share of this money up front. Basically what this means is that the Frasers get a lump sum, plus an annual lease of the land, all for doing nothing.’
‘Nice work if you can get it,’ Adam observed.
‘Aye, but that’s no’ all. I did a bit of digging. A guy by the name of Leith Williams is listed as a major shareholder of Wood Products. He’s an investor who lives in London, sits on the board of half a dozen different companies. And guess what one of them is?’
Adam had a feeling what Janice was going to say, but he didn’t steal her thunder.
‘Forest Havens,’ she said, with a hint of the dramatic.
It could be coincidence, Adam thought, but he didn’t believe in that kind of coincidence. So, perhaps Councillor Fraser had given in to temptation. But there was still no proof, and he still had no idea where an ex-nurse aide from Carisbrook fitted into any of it.
After Janice had gone back to work he walked to where he’d left Angela’s car, thinking over what he knew. Jones had been prosecuted in late June, about a month after the last date on Marion Crane’s medical records, though he didn’t know what the connection was. Was it this man Jones that Jane Hanson had asked Webster about? If she had he doubted Webster would have told her anything, which meant she must have tried to track down Jones herself, hence looking through the newspaper files. Without a house number it would be a laborious process. Had she knocked on every door? He hoped it wasn’t a long street.
Border Avenue, it turned out, was a crescent-shaped street of three-storey red brick Victorian terraces. Had it not been for the railway lines that bordered the back gardens on one side, it was the kind of street that might have been gradually taken over by affluent young couples with money and an addiction to DIY television shows. The proximity of the railway, and the nearby industrial yards, however, had ensured that the upwardly mobile had passed Border Avenue by. Consequently the houses were a mixed bag. Some had tiny neat front gardens and lace curtains at the windows, while others were neglected with peeling paint and weeds poking up around the edges of cracked concrete parking areas. An absence of trees added to the uniformly unappealing air of the street.
Adam parked at one end and considered his options. To knock on every door looking for somebody who might remember a man who’d lived there seventeen years ago seemed like a shot in the dark at best. Given that he was bound to come across houses where nobody was home it could take him days. He remembered passing a small block of shops around the corner in the next street so he went back on foot and ducked into a small newsagent’s. An Asian woman stood behind the counter.
‘I’m looking for somebody who used to live in Border Avenue,’ Adam said. ‘It was a long time ago but he could still be in the area. Maybe he has a paper delivered. His name was Jones. Chris Jones.’
The woman frowned. ‘We have quite a lot of people called Jones on our list.’
‘Do any of them live in Border Avenue?’ She hesitated. ‘Please, it’s very important.’
She relented and went to the back of the shop and returned a moment later carrying a book. When she opened it she ran her finger down the pages, stopping briefly now and then. When she was done she closed the book. ‘We deliver to one Jones in Border Avenue. Number twenty-three.’
‘Thanks.’
Number twenty-three was in slightly better condition than the neighbours that flanked it on either side. The door looked new, though it appeared to be made of white plastic and had not been chosen to enhance the period features of the house. Outside on the paved front courtyard a couple of pots on either side of the door housed geranium plants. Adam rang the bell and waited. Across the street a woman walked past pushing a baby in a pram. She glanced at him curiously. Adam turned as the door behind him opened and a middle-aged woman appeared.
‘Yes?
’
‘Mrs Jones?’
She hesitated a beat before answering cautiously. ‘Yes.’
‘My name’s Adam Turner. I’m looking for somebody who used to live in this street during the mid-eighties. Chris Jones?’
‘There’s no one here by that name,’ she said flatly.
He supposed it had been too much to hope for, though he felt his spirits flag as he contemplated the long rows of houses on either side of the street. ‘Right, well thanks anyway.’ He began to turn away and the woman started to close the door, but when he was almost to the pavement again she called out.
‘What made you think he lived here anyway?’
‘It was just the name.’
‘Try fifty-seven,’ she said, and before he could ask anything else abruptly closed the door.
Number fifty-seven was neat in a fussy kind of way. The front windows were draped with lace curtains and a plastic gnome stood alone in a square of manicured lawn in the garden. A card in the front window announced a room to let, and when Adam rang the bell musical chimes played the opening bars of a tune he vaguely recognized. The woman who answered was small and neat, her grey hair tied back in a bun. She wore a pink housecoat and had tiny ferret-like eyes. Adam introduced himself and explained why he was there. He added that somebody along the street had suggested he try here.
‘That Mandy Jones I suppose.’ The woman sniffed, and peered along the street as if she might see her standing at her door. The woman looked at him suspiciously. ‘What do you want with Chris Jones anyway?’
‘I’m looking for somebody and it’s possible he might be able to help me. The woman along the road. Is she a relative of Chris Jones’s?’
‘His wife, or ex-wife anyway. He came here when she threw him out.’
‘He lives here?’
‘Used to, but it was years ago now. He only stayed three months. Left owing me a fortnight’s rent, which that wife of his never paid me, though I only took him in as a favour to her. That’s what you get for doing folk favours. A slap in the face that’s what.’ The woman folded her arms across her chest in an attitude of aggrieved hostility. ‘What’s he done anyway?’
‘Nothing as far as I know.’
‘Must have done something to make himself so popular after all this time. He was never as popular when he lived here.’
‘Popular? You mean somebody else has been here looking for him? A young woman?’
‘Might have been,’ the woman said archly. ‘It’s not for me to go telling strangers all about my lodger’s personal business.’
‘I don’t think it matters much after all this time does it?’
‘It’s the principle I have to think about. Where would I be if my lodgers couldn’t depend on me for their confidences?’
‘I thought you said Jones left owing you money.’
‘Yes, well, that’s as maybe.’
Adam glanced back along the road. He wondered if he should go back to number twenty-three and try talking to the ex-wife again.
‘She doesn’t know where he is, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ the woman said, with a sly gleam in her eye.
‘But you do?’ he asked, grasping the implication.
‘Maybe.’
Adam took out his wallet and produced a twenty-pound note.
‘Jones left here owing me two weeks’ rent. I charge fifty-five pounds a week for room and board.’
‘You want me to give you a hundred and ten pounds?’ he said incredulously.
‘Suit yourself,’ she said, and started to close the door.
‘Alright, wait.’
She watched greedily while he went through his wallet. He wondered how much she had charged seventeen years ago, knowing it must be a fraction of what she was asking. And how much had the old crow managed to get from Jane Hanson? He took another twenty and a ten from his wallet. ‘Fifty, and that’s it. And only if you have an address for him.’
‘Wait there.’ She closed the door and when she opened it again a few minutes later she held a folded slip of paper. When Adam reached for it she snatched it away and held out her other hand. He gave her the money in exchange for the piece of paper and she started to close the door. He read what was written on it and quickly shoved his foot in the door.
‘Wait. What is this?’ The woman had written Barstock Clinic, Durham on the paper she’d given him.
‘That’s where he went after he left here.’ She tried again to close the door, but Adam refused to move his foot.
‘You expect me to pay you fifty pounds for this? That was seventeen years ago.’
‘It’s all I’ve got. He left it as a forwarding address and promised to send me the money he owed when he got his first wages. ’Course he never did. I should’ve known better. Pretending he didn’t have any money when I knew better.’
‘What do you mean?’ The woman eyed him stonily. ‘Listen, I already paid you more than this bit of paper is worth. If you want me to take my foot out the door you better start talking.’
‘It’s all I gave that girl that came around. She didn’t complain.’
‘Then I’d say you were doing pretty well if you sold this twice,’ Adam pointed out. ‘You said he had money?’
Reluctantly the woman gave in. ‘Before he left I saw him in his room one day with a big roll of notes. He said it wasn’t his, but I didn’t believe him. I don’t know where he got it from, but I expect it was from doing no good.’ The woman glared. ‘That’s all I know.’
Adam removed his foot and she slammed the door. He went back to where he’d left Angela’s car and read the note again. The Barstock Clinic, Durham. Was that where Jones had gone to work after leaving Carlisle? It sounded like a private hospital of some sort. He wondered how Jones had managed to get a job in a place like that after being fired from Carisbrook for stealing drugs. And where had Jones come by the money that his landlady claimed to have seen him with?
It was almost dark by the time Adam got back to Castleton. He drove straight to Angela’s house. There was no sign of David’s Land Rover outside. Nor when he went inside was there any sign of Kate. Angela led the way through to the kitchen.
‘I asked if she could stay for a few more days with the Cartertons,’ she said when he asked where Kate was. ‘I thought it would be a good idea.’ She gestured towards the table, and fetched two glasses and a bottle of Scotch. ‘So, what happened today?’
He didn’t mention his visit to see Dr Keller, instead he told her about the old Courier story he’d found, about Chris Jones being charged with selling drugs, and how Jane Hanson had been there before him.
‘Findlay told me at the time the police suspected Jones of stealing the drugs from Carisbrook, but Webster denied anything was missing. Then Jones was quietly gotten rid of.’ He told her what he’d learned from Jones’s ex-landlady. ‘Jane had spoken to her too.’
Angela was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I don’t understand how Jones could have got a job at this clinic in Durham. Surely he wouldn’t have got a reference?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that too. Maybe it was part of the deal Webster did with Jones to keep him quiet. That could explain the money his landlady mentioned as well. According to Findlay there were all kinds of rumours about what was going on at Carisbrook, including patient abuse.’
‘You mean Webster paid him off?’
‘Possibly. Maybe Jones could’ve spilled the beans about more than just stolen drugs.’
‘Which could be where Marion Crane comes in?’
‘It makes sense, though what her connection is to the development is anybody’s guess.’
Or to David and the deaths of three boys, was the unspoken implication, as they both knew.
‘What now?’ Angela asked.
‘All I can do is follow the trail. Jane must have gone to this Barstock Clinic, so I will too. I’ll leave in the morning. So, what about you? Did you have any luck tracing Marion Crane today?’
Angela reached for a pad
on the table. There were lines of handwritten notes on several pages, many of them crossed out. ‘After you left I thought about where to start looking and I had an idea. I thought she might be connected to somebody on the planning committee, so I started with them.’
‘Good idea.’
‘In theory. In practice I didn’t find anything. I rang around digging up everything I could on wives, children, relatives, but no Marion anywhere as far as I can tell. I even checked the name of Henderson’s first wife because I knew he’d been married before a long time ago, but no luck there either.’
‘It was still a good idea,’ Adam told her.
She smiled a brief acknowledgement. ‘So then I resorted to the phone book. I rang every Crane listed. Nobody ever heard of anyone called Marion. Actually, I suppose we’re lucky that it’s a reasonably unusual name. If it’d been Jane or Mary or something there would probably have been too many leads to follow up. I’ve still got a few numbers left to try where nobody answered, but it isn’t looking good.’
‘I think you should keep at it. Something might turn up.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘That is if you still feel you want to.’
‘Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘No reason.’
‘You mean I might have changed my mind. In case this all leads somewhere I won’t like, is that it?’ she said angrily.
It was exactly what he’d meant. He felt pinned beneath her accusing glare and then her expression softened. She shook her head wearily.
‘I’ve been thinking. About why you think David is involved with all this. I thought it was just because of what happened. Because of us. But I get the feeling there’s something else. Something you haven’t told me.’
He wanted to tell her that she was right. He wanted to tell her about Meg, but what did any of it mean really? It was all just fragments and feelings. How could he explain that he knew David had something to do with what had happened to her? He had always known it.
‘There’s nothing else,’ he said.
She held his eye. He didn’t think she believed him. He drew her back to her notes and Marion Crane, and reluctantly she let it go.
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