by J M Gregson
Alan Hurst listened dumbly for what seemed a long time, letting the seconds elapse even when the words had finished, watching the man’s breath curling away into the freezing air above the bright buttons of his uniform and the black and white squares of his cap. Alan said dully, ‘I’ve an invalid wife at home. She needs attention.’
‘That will be taken care of,’ said the officer. Alan wondered that one who was so young and so ignorant of life should speak with such confidence about things of which he knew nothing.
They took him into Brunton police station, its lights unnaturally white against the clear and freezing night.
And even in the stifling heat of the room where he had left her, Judith Hurst shivered a little, as she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and waited for her husband’s return.
Twenty-Two
Jo Barrett led them into the lab assistant’s room behind the laboratory. ‘We won’t be disturbed here,’ she said. ‘Our assistant doesn’t work on Fridays.’
‘Just as well, that,’ said DCI Peach. He looked round the little room, with its shelves tightly packed with bottles, its single window high in the wall, its scents of chemicals which he didn’t know and which were probably lethal. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want anyone listening in on what we have to say today.’
‘That sounds bad. I’m trembling with apprehension, now.’ Jo tried to pass it off as a joke, which was uncharacteristic for her and a sign of her nervousness. It brought no response from Peach. She turned her attention to Lucy Blake. ‘Move those lab coats and sit yourself down. It’s hardly the Ritz, but I’m sure you’ve been in worse places.’
Jo wasn’t used to exchanges like this. She always said that she enjoyed conversation but was no good at small talk. Now, when she tried to summon those meaningless phrases that help to grease the wheels of communication, she found them falling unnaturally from her tense lips.
Peach studied her without a word, for seconds that seemed to Jo to stretch endlessly. She was dressed in her usual contrast: an immaculate white polo-neck sweater, with its sleeves rolled up just a little on the slim arms, topped well-cut black trousers and low-heeled black shoes. He’d liked this woman, had responded immediately to her love of her family and her sturdy independence when they had interviewed her in her own flat. Now he was dispassionately weighing the idea that she might be a killer.
She would certainly have the nerve for it, and the raw physical strength to see off a sturdy young woman in the prime of life, especially if she had taken her by surprise. It seemed that after their meeting thirty-six hours earlier, Katherine Howard had obeyed his injunction that she should not make contact with Jo Barrett, her fellow Wiccan. He said, ‘You haven’t been completely honest with us, Miss Barrett. Perhaps you haven’t been honest at all.’
‘I can assure you that I have.’
‘Not only have you concealed things. You have deliberately attempted to mislead us.’ He had ignored her denial and continued as if she had never spoken. ‘We have to take a very serious view of that.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I resent the implications of what you’re saying. I told you everything I knew about other members of the coven and their relationships with Annie Clark.’
‘But not about your own dealings with a murder victim. That was the most important relationship of all.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
But she was no longer meeting his eye, and that was very significant in the case of this most direct of women. ‘I think you do. You tried to establish a close relationship with Miss Clark. A sexual relationship.’
‘I told you. She made a bid for intimacy with me eight years earlier. I couldn’t reciprocate then, because she was under age. Indeed, she was a schoolgirl and I was her teacher. I believe I behaved in a proper professional manner in the way I handled her infatuation at that time. But I told you all about this when we spoke on Sunday morning.’
‘Indeed you did. You gave us what I have no doubt was a frank and accurate account of that adolescent episode in Annie Clark’s life – in what now appears to be an attempt to divert our attention from your real and more recent feelings for Annie Clark, the woman of twenty-three.’
‘We were friends at the time when she disappeared. And fellow Wiccans. Whoever has told you that we were anything more is making mischief. Perhaps you should be taking account of this in your assessment of that person, rather than trying to make trouble for me.’
It was spirited enough to make them wonder for a moment about just that – about Katherine Howard’s motives in setting this particular hare running. But Jo Barrett’s eyes were switching quickly from Peach’s face to the younger and softer female one beside him and back again, and there was a kind of desperation in the slim features beneath her very dark hair. It was Lucy Blake who said quietly, ‘You speak of the time when Annie disappeared, Jo. We have to be interested also in what went on in the months before her disappearance.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by that.’
But she was very sure. She had been truthful, in her straightforward, literal way, about the relationship at the time of Annie’s death. There was nothing between them then. Except for a smouldering resentment on her part, a sense of betrayal that she could not dismiss. She found herself saying reluctantly, as if the words had formed themselves without any direction from her brain, ‘I was attracted to Annie Clark when she first joined the coven. She had a freshness, a kind of natural innocence, about her, which was quite captivating.’
Lucy felt as she often did nowadays that she was prying into a private grief and reopening old sores. But in a murder investigation, privacy is the first casualty. ‘And I expect you presumed, because of what had gone on eight years earlier when she was your pupil, that she would have certain feelings for you – that there would be a sexual attraction of a more adult kind; one you could now feel free to indulge.’
Jo Barrett’s dark eyes flashed a look of hatred at her, and Blake realized at that moment that this woman would be capable of a swift, instinctive violence, when passion took her over. But Jo controlled herself, took seconds to do so, before she spoke. ‘There was something of that in it, I suppose. I don’t care to delve too deeply into my own psyche. But I’d felt no attraction at all for Annie Clark when she was at school. She was just another adolescent with acne and a steamy and stupid infatuation for one of her teachers. I just felt very unfortunate and embarrassed to be the object of that infatuation. Because I’d made no secret of the fact that I was a lesbian, it was more dangerous to my career than it might have been otherwise. I could cheerfully have strangled the little minx at the time!’ She stopped, realizing what she had said, wanting to take it back, or make a joke of it, but feeling too tense and brittle to be able to do that.
It was left to Lucy Blake to say with soft insistence, ‘And last September? Is that what happened then? Did you strangle the adult Annie Clark?’
‘No! It’s a preposterous idea!’ But even as she said it, she knew that it was not.
It was Peach who now said, ‘Miss Barrett, you strike me as a woman who does not commit herself lightly. I don’t think it was a casual attraction that you declared to Annie Clark. I don’t think you’re the sort of woman who makes a pass at just anyone she fancies.’
She forced a smile. He was her enemy now, but she must make the best terms she could with him. ‘I suppose that’s a sort of compliment. And you’re right: it was quite unexpected when Annie came along and I fell for her. It took me by surprise as well as her. It was at least a couple of weeks before I told her what I felt for her.’
It wasn’t a long time, for someone as serious-minded as Jo Barrett. But everyone said that Annie Clark had been an attractive young woman, and any lover is desperately afraid of other suitors stepping in. Peach said quietly, ‘And what was her reaction to your declaration?’
‘She pretended to be shocked. But she must have seen it coming. She must have known somethi
ng at least of what I was feeling for her!’ Jo felt her voice rising on the tide of her resentment. She mustn’t allow that to happen. She must keep calm, if she was to persuade them that this dispute was more trivial, more run-of-the-mill, than it had been. ‘An older woman declares her love for a pretty and inexperienced younger one. The younger one says, “Thank you very much but I’m not that way inclined. What happened at school was part of a vanished world for me, so don’t presume that I want to get into bed with a woman now. In fact, the idea revolts me. So go away and don’t suggest anything like that again.” I can’t give you the exact words, but it was something like that.’
She had spoken in a curious hollow monotone, as if seeking to squeeze all emotion out of her words. Lucy Blake said, ‘And that’s how it was? There was no attraction on her side?’
Jo smiled bitterly. ‘That’s a fair summary of it. I can see now that it was no big deal.’
‘Not for her, perhaps. But for you, it was a very big deal indeed.’
Unexpectedly, Jo Barrett squirmed. It was a manifestation of her tension. The lithe, athletic body convulsed like that of a child who desperately wants to be anywhere rather than confronting what she has done. She was a private person: the last thing she wanted to do was to talk about her personal passions and her humiliations, but this was out in the open now and the pain of revelation must be endured. But she wanted this over with quickly and her punishment out of the way. She said dully, ‘Annie said the idea disgusted her. She said she was as straight as a die and didn’t want to know about my “perversions”. She had a mature man who delighted her, and plenty of boys who wanted her. The last thing she wanted was a woman pawing her.’ She produced each of the wounding phrases with a little wince of renewed pain at the memory.
‘Who was the man, Jo?’
‘I don’t know. I thought perhaps she’d just made him up to hurt me, at the time.’
She meant Alan Hurst, in all probability, if this was in the months before her teaming up with Matt Hogan. DS Blake said, ‘And how did you react to this rejection, Jo? It doesn’t sound as if Annie was very tactful.’
Jo Barrett tossed her dark head of closely cut black hair, perhaps as much in annoyance at herself and her having laid herself open to the humiliation as at the remembrance of Annie Clark’s dismissal. ‘I went away and wept, if you must know everything. But I didn’t lay a finger on Annie Clark.’ She was breathing hard now, taking in great lungfuls of air, as if she had just sprinted at the end of one of her runs. But the air was stale in here.
‘And her new boyfriend?’
‘Matt Hogan? She went on a lot about that, saying she thought it was the real thing, thrusting him into our faces at the coven.’
So others as well as her might have been inflamed by that. Lucy said sympathetically, ‘That must have been very hard for you to take.’
‘It was. As you said, tact wasn’t part of Annie’s make-up.’ She controlled herself, then declared with an anticlimax that was almost comic, ‘She was still very young – younger than her age, in many respects.’
It was Peach, fastening her dark eyes with his even darker ones, who asked her the final question. ‘Did you kill her, Jo?’
‘No. I felt like killing her, on more than one occasion, if you want to know. But I never laid a finger on her.’ She repeated the phrase carefully, as if she could give credence to her tale by its repetition.
‘Are you close to an arrest?’ Chief Superintendent Tucker jutted his chin masterfully across his big desk at his chief inspector.
‘I think we are, sir, yes.’ Peach, sensing that Tommy Bloody Tucker was in bollocking mode, deflated him skilfully with his unexpected reply.
‘That’s good to hear.’ Tucker didn’t sound as if it was. He’d prepared a stern pep talk about the necessity of results, and he wasn’t good at the improvisation which now seemed to be indicated. ‘How quickly can we expect someone to be under lock and key and facing a murder charge?’
‘Wouldn’t like to commit myself on that, sir. I hope events will become clearer later today.’ Peach drew himself up to his full five feet eight inches and crossed his fingers firmly behind his back.
‘I’ll call a media conference for tomorrow morning.’Tucker stroked his silvering hair automatically: he might need a visit to the hairdresser, if he was to be at his avuncular best under the lights of the television cameras.
‘I’d rather you didn’t do that just yet, sir. I may be barking up the wrong tree altogether – chasing entirely the wrong hare.’ He considered the next in the extensive range of clichés he reserved for Tucker. ‘The investigation is at a rather delicate stage, sir.’
‘But we two senior officers have no secrets from each other, Percy. Pull up a chair and tell me the name of the man you are planning to arrest.’
Peach noted the use of his forename as a danger signal. He made great play of positioning the chair exactly the distance from his chief which would combine intimacy with deference. ‘Man, sir?’ The black eyebrows arched impossibly high into his forehead. ‘You’re plainly ahead of me, sir. You’ve got your own candidate for this nasty little business lined up, haven’t you? Well, I suppose I should have anticipated that. I was only saying to the lads and lasses at the team briefing this morning, “Chief Superintendent Tucker will be down with the results of his overview any time now.” One or two of them were a bit sceptical, but the experienced ones knew just how much they could rely on you.’
Tucker glared at him suspiciously, but found Peach’s gaze as usual rooted on a spot three inches above his head. ‘Well, that’s as may be. Let’s have the name of our murderer.’
Peach shook his head firmly. ‘Couldn’t do that, sir. Might make a complete fool of myself to my superior officer. Matter of pride, sir. And more interviews to conduct. Of course, if you’d like to add your expertise to the questioning, I’m sure you’d spot our killer faster than anyone.’
Tucker was, as usual, horror-stricken at the thought of direct involvement with crime. He said stiffly, ‘You know that I never interfere, Peach. It is only by remaining detached that I can give you the overview which you claim to value so highly. You must play this your own way. And I shall as always give you every support.’
‘Yes, sir. Most gratifying, sir. Your support, I mean’ – which will, as usual, disappear like shit off a hot shovel if I get anything wrong. ‘Perhaps I’d better bring you up to date.’
‘Brief me as you see fit, Percy. I am as always at your disposal.’
Peach noted that the threat of real police work had succeeded as usual in bringing his man to heel. But he’d got more urgent things to do than pandering to this high-ranking fool. He’d give him the picture quickly and get out of this office. ‘Three men and three women, sir.’
‘In the frame?’
‘Still in the frame, sir. As of this minute.’ Peach glanced at his watch as if anxious to record this key moment of enlightenment in his day. ‘First woman, Katherine Howard. Local businesswoman and witch, sir. Head of the coven of which Annie Clark was a member at the time of her death.’ He enjoyed Tucker’s glassy-eyed stare of incomprehension. ‘Admits to being a mother figure to the deceased. Admits that Annie Clark was in some respects the daughter she never had. Introduced her to the complexities of modern witchcraft in the Wiccan mode and to the mysteries of life generally. Took it badly when Miss Clark found herself a new boyfriend and proposed to desert both witchcraft and Mrs Howard.’
‘Hardly a strong case for murder, is it?’
‘Could be manslaughter, this, sir. Quite possible that whoever attacked Annie Clark did so in a fit of temper and didn’t intend to kill her. I can see some defence counsel arguing on those lines, unless we get a confession to murder.’
‘Bloody nuisance, you know, these damned lawyers.’
Percy reflected once again on his chief’s weakness for the blindin’ bleedin’ obvious. ‘Yes, sir. Second female suspect is the deceased’s flatmate, sir. Heather Shields. Apparent
ly knew Annie Clark wasn’t coming back when she disappeared, because she re-let the flat pretty well immediately. Had a blazing row with Annie Clark on the day she disappeared, over the boyfriend whom she thought Annie had stolen from her. Former druggie, with previous history of violence in similar circumstances.’
‘I must say, when you put it like that, it really does sound as if this Heather Shields is—’
‘Just come from interviewing the third female suspect, sir. Schoolteacher by the name of Jo Barrett. Also an Olympic-standard athlete, in the past. Made lesbian advances to the deceased and was rudely rebuffed. Didn’t take kindly to that. Strong woman, sir, capable of violence. Newcastle United supporter.’ Peach allowed himself a glance at Tucker out of the corner of his eye to see how he perceived this connection.
‘Lesbian, eh? Well, as you know, I’m not one for prejudices, but—’
‘Then there’s Alan Hurst, sir. Employer of Annie Clark, in the months before she died.’
‘And a prominent local businessman. It really does seem most unlikely that—’
‘Had a bit of a fling with the deceased, sir. A possible candidate for the father of the foetus found in the dead woman, like the other men in the case. Admits to being a serial philanderer. Has an invalid wife, sir. Treats her very well, by all accounts.’
‘Well really, you know, it hardly seems—’
‘Has plans for an ambitious extension to his house to make life easier for his invalid wife Judith. Where’s the money coming from? Modest travel business seems unlikely to be making huge profits.’
‘Now Peach, you can hardly hold it against a man if—’
‘Answer: the money is coming from a criminal enterprise. Mr Hurst has been purveying child-pornography videos to a variety of eager clients in the district. The National Child Pornography Unit has been tracking him for some time. He was arrested last night.’
‘He’s been trafficking in pornographic videos?’