Cambridge Blue

by Alison Bruce

  ‘So you’re saying,’ Marks was hitting his stride now, ‘that behind all of this is a very determined killer who has murdered both Lorna Spence and Victoria Nugent, yet felt it necessary to go through a third party to hire an amateur like Willis in a half-hearted attempt to kill Jackie Moran? And when the first attempt on Jackie Moran failed, why wasn’t there a second? So why the “I’m like Emma” message? And who sent Lorna that junk mail?’

  Goodhew couldn’t answer.

  ‘You see, Gary, ideas are all fine and good, but they need to hold water. If you spend too much time working on your own, you’ll lose sight of the real objectives.’

  Goodhew nodded dumbly. Marks was right, of course, and he felt stupid for letting himself colour the facts so carelessly, even if he hadn’t realized he was doing so.

  ‘Do you want another chance in this department?’ his superior asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes please, sir.’

  Marks sent him to get coffee and, on his return, Goodhew found his boss sitting with Alex Moran’s journal in one hand and his phone in the other. His attention seemed primarily with the phone, however. After another minute, he replaced the receiver and took the coffee he was being offered.

  ‘Do you know what leads are like?’ he said.

  This was one where Goodhew knew the answer. ‘Buses?’

  ‘Exactly. Right now I’ve got a bundle of them.’

  ‘Not a fleet?’

  ‘In the hours before Lorna’s death she’d had intercourse with two men; Bryn O’Brien and Richard Moran. It was easy to determine who Victoria Nugent had recently had intercourse with because up pops our friend Bryn O’Brien again. And due to the chaotic nature of the subsequent attack on her, there are hair and fibre samples in abundance. Luckily for Mr O’Brien, it seems she died at just about the same time as he was flashed by a speed camera out near the M11.’

  Marks sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then turned his attention back to the journal, flicking slowly through its pages. ‘Imagine having to wade through fifty-six volumes of this stuff, he’s cryptic beyond belief. And obsessive. And I worry about someone who can’t at least be honest in their own private diary.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s the unstable one?’

  ‘But somehow I doubt he killed those two women from beyond the grave,’ Marks replied drily.

  They still didn’t know nearly enough about Lorna Spence, but it had become obvious to Goodhew that the people who liked her the least would inevitably turn out to be the ones who knew her best. He remembered a comment that seemed to sum her up, and realized that it led them towards a different line of thinking. ‘Lorna only did things for Lorna – that’s what Wayne Thompson-Stark and Hayley Sellars said.’

  ‘And what are you saying?’

  ‘If that’s the case, Lorna didn’t hire Colin Willis on anyone’s behalf except her own.’

  ‘And if Jackie Moran knew that, it would be sufficient motive for revenge.’

  Goodhew stiffened, because he hadn’t intended to throw greater suspicion on Jackie Moran. He reined in his feelings. Just because he hoped she was innocent didn’t mean that she was. ‘That’s not exactly what I meant but, yes, you’re right.’

  He closed his eyes to help him concentrate. Eventually Marks prodded him in the arm. ‘Are you feeling all right?’

  Goodhew opened them. ‘If I come up with another possible scenario, sir, will you shoot it down in flames again?’

  ‘Only if it’s crap, Gary. What are you thinking?’

  ‘We know that Lorna had a history of playing games with people’s lives, being an arch manipulator. Say Lorna hired Colin Willis after becoming aware of the contents of that journal. If she could successfully frame Alice, then, with Jackie gone, she would have had brother Richard and his money all to herself. Lorna nicked the crucial page from her friend Victoria, who’d been having a relationship with Alex Moran, and that’s what they fell out over – not some boyfriend. Wayne said Lorna’s friend back then was called Vicky – if that’s Victoria Nugent, it would have been her that sent all the junk mail because she was the only one who had known Lorna long enough to know about Wayne and Hayley.’

  ‘Apart from Wayne and Hayley themselves.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Goodhew admitted.

  ‘OK,’ Marks continued slowly, ‘it makes sense so far. You’re saying that, after Jackie Moran survived the attack, she would have realized that Lorna – and therefore Victoria – had access to Alex Moran’s files. You realize your scenario still makes Jackie the prime suspect?’

  Goodhew pulled a face. ‘I know that, but I just can’t imagine her killing anyone.’

  ‘Apart from Colin Willis, of course?’ Marks shut the journal. ‘I’m not quite as trusting as you, Gary, so I’ve sent a car to bring her in. You have half an hour to plan your interview, then we’ll speak to her together.’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Marks deliberately arrived at the interview room fifteen minutes before Goodhew appeared. He’d wanted a few minutes alone to assess Jackie Moran.

  She seemed very withdrawn and she reminded him of certain children he’d interviewed in the past, the ones whose lids were so tightly sprung that they stayed snapped shut. A crowbar might prise them open, but it was only patience that ever budged them without causing permanent damage.

  He wondered what was going on inside her head, but she kept it all secret, except for a response he’d noticed when she’d heard Goodhew’s name. Just a quick blink. A move of the hand. Two signs that let him know that he’d been wise to have Gary back.

  He and Jackie Moran sat in virtual silence for the remaining ten minutes it took for Goodhew to join them. After a while, Marks didn’t even try to guess what was going on in her head; he was too busy trying to corral his own thoughts. He knew he’d behaved inconsistently: throwing Goodhew out of his team and then having him back within hours made no sense. And formally disciplining him would have been the right thing to do, not treating him as if the normal rules hadn’t been written to include him. Police work was a science, and therefore Goodhew could not be allowed to run around working to his own agenda. And Marks realized that failing to control him would ultimately be no one’s responsibility but his own.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  And yet.

  Marks knew that what Goodhew possessed was a talent, a gift for people and truth and logic that didn’t come with any amount of training. Marks knew he’d be a fool to condone it, but trying to extinguish it ultimately seemed the greater crime. In those long ten minutes he knew it was now time to decide.

  FORTY-NINE

  Goodhew reached the interview room door and took a deep breath before pushing it open. Meanwhile, he silently thanked Marks for giving him another chance and, equally silently, promised not to mess it up.

  Marks didn’t even acknowledge his arrival, but Jackie Moran wriggled slightly in her chair when she saw him, not in a restless way but with a shift of weight that made it look like she was settling down, ready for a long interview.

  He didn’t wait for Marks to speak. ‘How are you?’ he asked her.

  ‘Tired,’ she replied.

  ‘Can I make a suggestion?’

  ‘Go on.’

  But Marks interrupted. ‘Wait,’ he said quietly, then stood up and rested his hand on Goodhew’s shoulder. The touch was brief but handed him every opportunity he’d hoped for. ‘Carry on without me,’ the DI added, unnecessarily.

  When the door closed behind Marks, Goodhew began again. ‘I’m sorry I made you cry.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Can we start by clearing the air – and putting all the other times we’ve spoken to one side. I now understand why you didn’t tell me about Colin Willis, or about knowing Joanne Reed. Whatever you’ve said so far doesn’t matter.’

  ‘But you know things about me.’

  ‘Just tell me your version.’

  ‘What, about my father’s journal?’ She tried to look d
efiant, but there was the slightest quake in her voice, and he wanted that to be the real Jackie Moran.

  ‘No, forget your father just for now. You don’t have to live under the shadow of everything he wrote, especially when he was mistaken. Imagine nothing had happened to your little brother or to Joanne Martin. Imagine you could have the freedom to do whatever you wanted with the rest of your life, what would you do?’

  ‘That’s a stupid question.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . .’ She tried to leave it there, but he waited in silence longer than she could. ‘Because, that’s not where I am.’

  ‘You’re wrong, it’s exactly where you are. How old are you?’

  ‘Thirty, but you already know that.’

  ‘Thirty? Well, in ten years’ time, when you’re forty, and in the same place you were at thirty, which was the same as at twenty, you may as well assume the pattern’s been set for the rest of your life.’

  She looked unimpressed. ‘If you were at least forty, I might buy that, but you’re younger than me, so I’m sitting here thinking: what do you know?’

  Goodhew had a flash of clarity, the kind that he knew from playing chess, one where he could read the board and mentally jump three or four moves ahead. It largely depended on how well you knew your opponent and understood their game plan.

  Jackie now wavered between looking stubborn and depressed. As far as Goodhew was concerned, that amounted to one hundred per cent defensive play. ‘What if I come up with a really good answer?’ As she thought him so young, he thought he’d try a burst of boyish charm and managed a cheeky flicker of the right eye that stopped just short of a wink.

  She snorted briefly and one corner of her mouth twitched. ‘Go on, then.’

  Good, that was move one achieved: a sudden release of excess tension.

  ‘OK, I know this is very important, so I’ll need a minute to think. What do Iknow?’ he pondered. He watched her watching him as he was pretending to concentrate. Once their eyes were locked like that it was easy for them to keep on staring at one another and he let the moment stretch out until it began to feel silly. Then he said, ‘Can you give me a clue?’

  Perhaps it was involuntary, perhaps it was just a burst of nerves but, as he’d hoped, she giggled.

  Make her laugh: move two completed, and straight into move three. ‘If I can’t convince you about being forty, try this,’ he said quietly. Their eyes were still locked. ‘If no one believed me when I told the truth, I’d be pretty upset. But if I was six and it was my parents who didn’t believe me, I’d devastated. And it wasn’t as if they were remote people, I reckon. You loved and admired your father.’ Jackie’s face reddened, but she didn’t look away; he guessed she wanted to, but it was like she was witnessing a car crash and she couldn’t. ‘If that was me and he died still thinking the worst of me, I’d be heartbroken. I wouldn’t expect anyone else to believe me, not when my parents didn’t.’

  Jackie opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. Still she watched him.

  ‘You should have told us about Willis and Joanne Reed, but it hurts too much when everyone assumes you’re lying, doesn’t it?’

  This time she finally tore her gaze away from him. She hid her nose and mouth behind her hands, and tried to hide the tears forming in her eyes.

  ‘It hurts, doesn’t it?’ he pressed, knowing he was at the point where he couldn’t afford to continue taking no answer as any sort of reply.

  But he didn’t need to ask her again. Her hands didn’t move, making the ‘Yes’ sound more like a muffled grunt, but they both knew what she’d said. She opened her eyes and tears fell on to her cheeks; they trickled down in twin tracks, pausing at her jawline and vanishing into the mesh of her jersey.

  ‘I’m not trying to catch you out,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ she said finally. The stubbornness had left her face – so, strangely, had her depressed expression – and in its place was acceptance. ‘I haven’t lied to you, just kept things back until I knew you’d believe me.’

  ‘And I do, so no more now, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ She spent a single minute collecting herself, though it felt more like the entire afternoon. ‘My father wasn’t just educated,’ she explained at last, ‘he was by far the most intelligent and inspiring man I’ve ever met. And yet he spent nearly all of his life thinking that I killed my own brother. If he could be so wrong, how could I ever be sure of anything? I actually know nothing.’

  ‘But you think you do,’ Goodhew persisted.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he could see the tears threatening again. She blinked them away and took deep breaths until she seemed to feel confident that they weren’t going to choke the words she was about to speak. ‘I know I saw Richard with David that afternoon . . .’ She paused. ‘He was in David’s room, sitting on the floor at the foot of the cot. I wasn’t very old, of course, but I remember thinking that was odd.’ She frowned. ‘Maybe it was later that I thought it was odd. I don’t know now.’

  ‘What was odd?’

  ‘Odd that Richard was in the room at all when he had never shown any interest in the baby. No interest whatsoever. He had a pillow on the floor beside him . . . and there was poor little David. Lying in his cot. Looking all wrong. Not even like a baby somehow. I could tell it was all wrong, he was like a toy. Like alabaster. Richard said nothing, just stood up, then walked right past me and through the door. I didn’t go any closer, but I couldn’t leave either. I don’t know how long it was before my mother came and found me there. She said something to me, but I don’t know what, and when she saw David she began to scream, but I can’t remember any sounds, just a huge silence. I only know she was screaming because of her face. She was holding him, and he was completely limp, and I remember thinking that it looked like there weren’t any bones left in his body. Then there were people everywhere. My dad, of course, but I don’t know who else. They were in and out of the house, and they took his body away, and my dad kept asking me what had happened.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him about Richard?’

  ‘I tried to talk to my sister Alice, but she said I was wrong, called it a stupid story, so I never told anyone else.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh God!’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve asked myself that so many times. My dad kept asking me what had happened. Over and over. By the time I realized he thought I’d killed David, telling the truth would have sounded like a lie.’

  ‘And he really thought you’d done it?’

  ‘Absolutely. He even explained to me, later, how children can create false memories. To be honest, there are times when I’ve even doubted myself.’ Jackie dug a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. ‘As he pointed out, I was just a small child, I might have been taken into care, and that would have finished my mother off. But she drank herself to death in any case, so I’m not sure what difference it would have made. I regret I didn’t push things further, because it could have saved Emma.’

  ‘Emma, not Joanne?’

  ‘I didn’t know her well but, yes, I knew her as Emma. We had what you could call a fledgling friendship. A group of us had gone to watch the racing at Newmarket, and Emma and I seemed to hit it off. We talked about spending a whole day with the horses . . . We were enjoying ourselves until she met Richard. He spotted us and made a beeline for Emma and I didn’t see much of her for the rest of that evening. I don’t even know what went on between them. In fact, I didn’t realize that anything was going on at all. Until I caught them having sex together . . . A few weeks later she disappeared.’

  ‘You never came forward.’

  ‘To say what, exactly? I would never have thought anything of it if it hadn’t been for what had happened with David, so I spoke to Alice again. You know they’re really close – you’ve seen it. Alice was furious with me, said I had to promise to keep quiet, that it was too late to stir things up aga
in about David, and far too cruel to my parents. She promised she’d deal with Richard, and said it was my duty to show some loyalty to them both.’

  ‘So you are saying that you think your brother was responsible for Joanne Reed’s disappearance?’

  ‘I think so. It’s his jealousy. He gets these rages, till he kind of burns up with them. If there had been any proof that Emma was dead, I might have come forward.’

  ‘And when “I’m like Emma” appeared in the papers? Did you consider that it might be intended as a message for you?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to think, but I’d never thought Lorna was in any danger.’

  ‘Did it scare you? Wasn’t it like a threat?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You told me about your father turning up at the farm and shouting, “Tell me what happened to her.” Who was he talking about?’

  ‘Emma.’

  ‘And what was he looking for?’

  When Jackie hesitated, Goodhew cut in, ‘Don’t make me tease it out of you one sentence at a time, Jackie. You know where this is going.’

  She nodded. ‘He never told me what he meant by “very clever”, but I walked everywhere that I’d seen him go. There was only one place that could have hidden Emma’s body and that was the manure heap, which, if you think about it, is pretty cunning. I assumed then that he said “very clever” to me because he thought it was all my doing. I didn’t even try to convince him that it wasn’t me. I thought about digging it over just to see for myself, but I never did.’

  ‘In fact, you never did anything.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  FIFTY

  When Goodhew stepped outside the interview room, he wasn’t surprised to find someone waiting in the corridor. It was PC Kelly Wilkes.

  ‘I’ll go in with her now,’ she said. ‘DI Marks is next door.’

  That made sense. Goodhew had deliberately ignored the camera in the corner of the room because he didn’t want to be put off by it, but at the back of his mind he’d been certain Marks was in the adjoining room, and with him for every second of the interview.