by Celina Grace
“Don’t you ever wear any colours?” asked Stuart, if nothing else but to break the silence.
Angie seemed to come back to life. She turned to face him, smiling. “Why do you ask?”
“I only ever see you wearing black and white clothes. Is it deliberate, or—”
“Yes, I suppose you could say it’s deliberate,” said Angie, slowly, as if she’d not considered the matter before. She tapped the side of her head. “All the colour’s up here, you see. It’s all there and it only comes out in my work.”
Stuart didn’t know why but he felt awkward when she mentioned anything to do with art. It was pretentious, that was why; it was something that felt phony, unreal. Listen to yourself, he chided himself. Who are you to talk about being false?
He felt impatient – at her, at himself. He was supposed to be on a case, he was supposed to be gathering information. Instead he was sat here, in a shit pub, with someone who wasn’t even really part of the scene he was supposed to be investigating. And if he was just going to sit here in silence with Angie, with her occasionally waffling nonsense about ‘art’, then he’d quite frankly rather be in bed with her, not talking…
He stamped down on his impatience.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked, leaning forward and taking her hand. She had small hands, unvarnished nails edged with occasional rainbow rims of paint.
Angie looked at him. Some indefinable emotion passed over her face in a flicker too quick to gauge. “Guildford,” she said briefly.
“I know it,” said Stuart. “Do your parents still live there?”
“They don’t live there.”
“But—”
“I said that’s where I grew up. That’s not where my parents lived.”
“So,” said Stuart, confused. “What are you say—”
“I grew up in care,” said Angie. She withdrew her hand from his.
“Well,” said Stuart in a hearty tone that even he despised. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“There’s plenty wrong with that,” said Angie. “My mother died when I was little and when I was ten, my father remarried. My stepmother hated me and my father took her side.”
“Oh,” said Stuart. “That must have been hard.” He felt like hitting his forehead sharply. What a stupid thing to say…
“Yes,” said Angie remotely. She swallowed the rest of her drink.
“Want another?”
“Yes.”
Stuart went to the bar and got another couple of drinks. When he got back to the table, Angie had gone.
Flabbergasted, he stood for a moment with the drinks in his hands. Then he spotted her through the grimy window. She was pacing up and down, talking on her mobile. The walls were too thick and the wind outside was too strong for him to hear what she was saying. As he watched, still clutching his glasses, she ended the call and turned back to the door of the pub. Quickly, he sat down at the table.
She sat down again without comment, picked up her fresh drink and drained it in three gulps. She didn’t thank him.
“Are you all right?” asked Stuart.
She gave him a brief, chilly smile. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”
“Wait—” Stuart said, but his only answer was the pub door banging shut behind her. He sat there for a while, finishing his own drink. What on Earth was that all about? This is stupid, he told himself. Why are you even bothering with her? He tossed the last remaining mouthful of his drink back and jumped up. Sod her, then. It was time to get back to work.
*
Madeline Dorsey continued to cling to life. Kate had phoned the hospital before she went to see Harriet Larsen. The prognosis remained the same but, for now, she was alive. Kate swung the car into the car park of the hotel that Harriet was staying in, one of the nicest ones in Abbeyford. She’d called round for Theo but he’d already taken off to re-interview the security guard at the MedGen facility. Kate supposed she should be feeling aggrieved, rather than relieved.
Kate walked into the foyer of the hotel. As old and stately as it looked on the outside, the inside was almost aggressively modern in décor, with a lot of leather, glass and chrome in evidence. Kate was briefly reminded of Alex Hargreaves’ house. She found Harriet Larsen in one of the sitting rooms, at the back of the hotel, where a long glassed-in enclosure got the best of the morning sunlight. It was a peaceful place, with comfortable chairs dotted about low tables, gentle jazz music playing on some kind of sound system and a view of the lovely gardens through the conservatory windows. Harriet Larsen sat alone in one of the chairs by the window, an untouched cup of coffee steaming beside her on the table. She was looking out the window but Kate would have sworn she saw nothing of the beauty there.
She greeted Kate with a ghost of a smile and a colourless 'hello'.
"How’s your sister?" asked Kate, sitting down opposite Harriet.
Harriet shrugged. "She's holding on. There's no change... she's not better but she's not worse. The kids wanted me to take them to see her yesterday but... I didn't think it was right, they would have been so distressed..." She trailed off, her blank gaze returning to the garden.
"Are the children still at school?"
"No, they're with Jack's parents. I don't know whether that's the best thing - they're all so distressed - I don't know, maybe it's good that they can all be together? They were always close to their grandparents—"
Harriet's voice shook into silence. She put a hand up to her face, pinching either side of her nose. "I don't know what to do," she said after a moment and Kate heard simple bewilderment in her tone.
Did they ever think, these perpetrators, of the utter devastation their actions left behind? Did they ever think about the people left to pick up the pieces? Of course they don't, Kate, you idiot, she chided herself. The surge of anger she felt was welcome, it was that which propelled her to become a detective in the first place.
She brought herself back to the task in hand. "Can I get you some more coffee, Harriet?" she asked, seeing that the cup already on the table had cooled.
Harriet shook her head. "No, thanks. I can't seem to eat or drink anything at the moment, it just makes me feel ill."
"Of course," said Kate, in a sympathetic tone. "Try and eat something though, won't you? Otherwise you really will get ill."
Harriet gave her another pale smile. "Was there something you wanted?" she asked.
Kate became brusque. "Yes, there is. I need you to tell me about Jack and Madeline. I know it's going to distress you, but I'm afraid it's too important to wait."
Harriet sat up a little in her chair. "What do you mean? Tell you what about Jack and Maddy?"
Kate pulled out her notebook. "I need to know about their relationship. Their marriage. Did they get on? Was it a good marriage?"
A small white dent had appeared on either side of Harriet's narrow nose. "A good marriage?" she said, tightly. "What the hell has any of that got to do with this... this awful thing?"
Seeing Harriet bristle, Kate held up a placating hand. "It's background we need," she said. "We need to know everything we can about the - the victims of the crime. Often that's more important than the information we get about the perpetrator. Do you understand?"
Harriet still had that pinched look of fury on her face. "No. No I don't understand. I don't know why you need to know all the gory details of someone's private business when it's perfectly obvious that this is someone who's come from outside the house, a stranger, some psychopath. What the hell does it matter whether Jack and Maddy got on? Why does that make any difference at all?"
"So, they didn't get on, then?" asked Kate.
"I didn't say that!"
"You mentioned 'gory details'. Where there any?"
"I didn't say anything of the kind," snapped Harriet. She pushed her chair back, preparing to get up.
"Harriet," Kate said, in a tone that was such that the other woman froze in a half crouch. "Please sit down."
>
Slowly, glaring at Kate, Harriet lowered herself back into her chair.
"Now," said Kate calmly. "I know you're upset. I know you're functioning under an enormous amount of stress. I can sympathise with that. But the longer you push me away and storm off in high dudgeon, the further and further away we get from catching whoever attacked your sister. Who killed your brother-in-law. I'm assuming you don't want that, no matter how much you don't want us digging into your sister's marriage and relationships."
Harriet remained silent for a moment, sitting rigidly upright. Then she blew out her cheeks and slumped back into the chair. Tears ran from the corners of her eyes. Kate guessed that their confrontation had just drained what little emotional energy Harriet had had left and while she felt for her, she was glad that the severity of the situation had been recognised.
After a moment, Harriet wiped her face and sat up again. She leant forward and took a sip of the cold coffee, grimacing. "There's not that much to tell," she said, in a low voice. "Nothing too scandalous, I mean. The weird thing is that Jack and Maddy were always a bit of an odd couple. Jack was always so clever, I mean really intellectual and Maddy - well, she wasn't stupid, not at all, but academia was never her thing. She was always more about having fun, if you see what I mean, although don't get me wrong, she's no ditsy airhead, not at all."
"They met at university?"
"Yes. I'm sure I mentioned that before. Anyway, they got together at uni and stayed together. Got married in... when was it? 2002 and had Alicia a year later. Harry was born in... um... 2005."
Kate was busy scribbling. "Would you say it was a happy marriage?" she asked, looking up to gauge Harriet's reaction. The other woman half smiled.
"Yes. Yes, it was. It wasn't perfect, of course. What marriage is?"
“Well,” said Kate, “I’m sure you’re right.”
There was a minute of silence broken only by the scratching of Kate’s pen on her notepad. Then she looked up. “And?”
Harriet looked at her, warily. “What do you mean?”
“I said, ‘and’? What are you keeping back?”
“What—”
“All you’ve told me is that Jack and Madeline had a good, uneventful, happy marriage. If that’s the case, why get so defensive with me when I start asking about it?”
“I – I didn’t—”
Kate raised an eyebrow and Harriet collapsed back into her chair again, throwing up her hands. “All right,” she almost shouted. Then she sat forward, propping her forehead on her hands. “Jack – he – last summer—” She took a deep breath and said “Last summer, they did go through a bit of a rough patch. Okay?”
She clammed up and Kate raised her eyebrows again. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific, Harriet.”
Harriet bit her lip but the anger had gone out of her face. She looked sad. “All right. Jack – he had an affair. Last summer.”
“Can you tell me anything more than that?”
Harriet pushed her hair back from her face. “I don’t think it went on for long. Maybe a couple of months. Maddy – she knew something was up for a while before she found out, but she just thought Jack was really stressed out, about the business.”
“So, she did find out?”
“He told her. Apparently he and his lady friend decided that they couldn’t live with themselves, broke it off and then Jack told Maddy.” Harriet’s tone was scathing. “Why he couldn’t keep it to himself and spare her the pain, I don’t know.”
“Perhaps he wanted to make a fresh start?”
Harriet snorted. “Yes, maybe. Or maybe he knew he’d get found out eventually and thought he’d better make sure she heard it from him, rather than from anyone else?”
“Like whom?”
Harriet sat back again. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking aloud, really.”
“Who did Jack have the affair with?”
Harriet had a lock of hair between her fingers and was twirling it between her finger tips, as if examining it for split ends. Displacement activity – Kate did the same when under pressure.
“Someone he worked with,” said Harriet. Then she snorted again. “Of course. Not his secretary, or anything like that. I have to say that Jack wouldn’t be that clichéd. It was one of the other scientists, Sarah someone.”
“Sarah Brennan?”
Harriet’s eyes narrowed. “I think so, yes. I don’t remember her surname.” She paused for a moment and then said in a rush, “Maddy was, well, incredulous when she found out. It wasn’t like Jack, he was never a Jack the Lad or anything like that.” She smiled faintly. “Jack wasn’t a Jack the Lad. He never seemed that interested in women.”
“But you’ve only ever known him as your sister’s boyfriend and husband, right?”
Harriet sighed. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
Kate flexed her aching hand. “So you were surprised, too? Did Madeline confide in you?”
Harriet nodded unhappily. “She’d been telling me something was wrong for a while. Not that she knew what it was, but… she just had a feeling something was wrong.”
“So, what happened when Madeline found out?”
Harriet blew out her cheeks and slumped back into her chair again. “She went crazy. Screamed and threw things. Broke a lot of very expensive ornaments. Could you blame her?”
Kate nodded. She paused for a second because she wasn’t sure how she could tactfully ask the question she needed to.
“Did Madeline…um… did she take her anger out on Jack?”
Harriet raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Who else? That Sarah woman?”
“No, I mean… did she express it physically?” Kate sighed inwardly and stopped beating around the bush. “Did she attack him, try to hurt him?”
“I doubt it. Well, she might have thrown something at him—” The penny dropped and Harriet sat bolt upright in her chair. “What are you implying? You can’t – you can’t think that Madeline did this? You can’t think that, you can’t!”
People at neighbouring tables were beginning to glance over. Kate raised a soothing hand. “I’m not implying anything, Harriet, certainly not what you seem to think I am. I’m just trying to get the bigger picture, that’s all.”
“You must be crazy if you think that,” said Harriet. Angry tears shone in her eyes. “I’d laugh if it wasn’t so – so bloody tragic. How dare you?”
Kate soothed and murmured and adopted the least aggressive body posture that she could. For all her outrage and overemphasis, she could see that Harriet was genuinely flabbergasted at the prospect of her sister being thought a suspect. Which, despite their marital difficulties, meant it hadn’t even occurred to her. That was interesting.
Once Harriet had calmed down a little, Kate decided on a new tactic. “You’ve told me about Madeline’s reaction to Jack’s affair. How do you think Jack felt about it?”
“What do you mean?” Harriet took another sip of her cold coffee and almost gagged. “What do you mean, how did Jack feel about it?”
“You’ve said that he told his wife that he ended the affair. What reason did he give for doing that?”
Harriet shrugged. “Maddy said he said he knew it wouldn’t work. He didn’t want to lose his children and he didn’t think Maddy deserved to be a single mum.”
“So he was basically renouncing his affair for them?” Kate scribbled down notes to hide her thoughts. That sounded suspiciously noble to her. What if there was another reason? Did Jack Dorsey just not fancy what would no doubt be a whopping divorce settlement if the marriage had broken up? But then, why take the risk of telling your wife, if that were the case?
Harriet had gone back to staring out of the window. “I suppose so,” she said, after a moment.
Kate tapped her pencil on her pad. “Did they ever split up, after Jack came clean?” she asked. “Did he ever move out, for example?”
Harriet shook her head. “No. No, that never happened. I suppose after a while it just got – got swept under
the carpet.”
Kate made a noise of assent. There were still so many questions she wanted to ask but, before she antagonised Harriet any further, she wanted to run a few things past Anderton first. And she knew who else she needed to talk to as a matter of priority. Sarah Brennan.
Chapter Thirteen
Kate had arranged to meet Sarah Brennan at her home. It was a conversation that was probably better conducted in private, although Kate had been careful not to give any hint of what she wanted to talk to Sarah about when they made the arrangement. Sarah probably thought Kate wanted to talk to her to find out more about Michael Frank. Kate thought about Michael as she drove to Sarah Brennan’s house. Were they coming at this from entirely the wrong angle? Could Michael Frank’s death really be unconnected with the murder of Jack Dorsey? Was it just horrible coincidence? No, I can’t accept that, Kate thought as she found a parking space. She checked her hair was smooth, pulled the shoulders of her jacket straight and got out of the car.
Sarah Brennan lived in a nondescript semi-detached house, built sometime in the nineteen fifties. It wasn’t an attractive house but it was well maintained, the small front garden neat, if not particularly interesting to look at; merely a square of well-cut lawn and some shrubs around the borders. The front door was one of those unattractive plastic ones. Kate rang the doorbell and waited. She realised she had absolutely no idea what a scientist like Sarah earned for a living. Presumably working in the private sector, rather than the National Health Service, would be slightly more lucrative…?
Kate had met Sarah before and was therefore, slightly ridiculously, expecting her to be dressed in her usual white lab coat. Of course, at home, Sarah wore casual clothes; jeans, a plain blue T-shirt. She wore no makeup and her dark and plentiful hair was loose around her face. As she made coffee for herself and Kate in the open-plan kitchen and dining area, Kate observed her. Sarah must have been in her late forties, perhaps early fifties. She was slightly overweight, but in an attractive way, with a clearly defined waist, heavy hips and a large bust. Kate thought back to the photograph she’d seen of Madeline Dorsey; blonde, petite, slim and sexy. Why had Jack jettisoned his ostensibly more desirable wife for this no doubt clever but much more homely woman? Kate gave herself a sharp mental slap for thinking such sexist thoughts, but it was true, wasn’t it? Why had he done it?