He stood out amongst the other visitors, not just because he was tall, suntanned, well dressed and the picture of health, but because he looked like a man who had never before come into any contact with the underbelly of society.
It was difficult to believe that he’d once been a long-haired hippy, with bare feet, ragged jeans and Indian love beads around his neck. He looked more like a man from a Martini advertisement, hair well cut, and impeccably groomed.
Although they had parted twenty years ago back in ’75, she had seen him from a distance a few times when he was back visiting in Edinburgh. On each successive occasion he’d been better dressed, with a good leather jacket, expensive shoes and a general air of increased sophistication.
Laura hadn’t seen him as handsome when they first met, for he’d had the rawness of youth, his nose and mouth seemingly too large for his skinny frame and his mane of chestnut-brown hair obscuring the beauty and gentleness of his grey eyes. She had been initially attracted by his ability to make anyone he spoke to feel important and valued. He really listened, he thought about what he said in reply, and cared. That wasn’t something she’d found in many other men.
But a few years later, he had filled out, his features in perfect proportion to his then muscular body, and though perhaps still not classically handsome, he was arresting. Jackie had often chuckled about how women always made a bee-line for him, saying that even the coldest, starchiest women would try to flirt with him. Laura had known exactly why, for she could recall the sight of his wide mouth curling into a heart-stopping smile, and she guessed that once ruggedness had replaced rawness, there would be an edge to him which would suggest a night with him would be unforgettable.
Her assumptions about how he had developed over the last twenty years were accurate, for every single woman in the visiting room was looking at him appraisingly.
She sensed that he had purposely dressed down for this visit: his jacket was a muted olive colour, the open-necked shirt beneath it cream, and he was wearing a pair of ordinary chinos. But seen amongst other male visitors who wore denim jackets, tee-shirts and even shell suits, many of them paunchy, tattooed and shaven-headed, he looked out of place.
He didn’t recognize her immediately, not until she fluttered her hand at him.
The shock in his eyes cut her to the quick, but he moved swiftly over to her table and embraced her.
Laura withdrew from his arms quickly and sat down. ‘You didn’t really think I’d still be a glamour girl?’ she said lightly, hiding her hurt. ‘But you, Stuart! You could have stepped out the pages of Hello!.’
He hid his confusion by saying he’d been thrown by her new hair colour as he’d seen some press photographs of her and she’d been blonde; then he quickly changed the subject by telling her he’d brought her cigarettes, shower gel, some books and sweets. ‘If you still don’t smoke, I’m sure you can trade them for other things you need,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But tell me how you are.’
The concern in his voice brought a lump to her throat, and she steeled herself not to give way to tears.
‘As well as can be expected,’ she replied, not daring to look right into his grey eyes. ‘I could do with a few long walks in the sunshine, some healthy food and more stimulating company, but I dare say I’ll adjust to living without that in time.’
He looked shaken and she wished she’d simply said she was fine.
‘A half-hour visit isn’t long enough when there’s so much ground to cover,’ he said, leaning closer to her across the table. ‘To speed things up I’ve done my homework and read up on the trial. But what I want to hear is your version of what happened the day Jackie died.’
Stuart had always been very direct, but it was a bit of a shock that he expected her to launch into her story without easing her into it gently by telling her his own reaction to the news, or even why he felt he had to visit her.
‘I didn’t kill her,’ she stated firmly. ‘She was already dead when I got over to Fife. I received a distressed phone call from her that morning and as I couldn’t get any real sense out of her I agreed I would go to her. Whoever killed her did it just a short while before I got there.’
Stuart nodded and opened a small notebook to consult what he’d written in it. ‘Then a man called Michael Fenton arrived. In his evidence he said that he had received a call from Belle.’
He looked puzzled that Jackie’s younger sister was also living in Scotland.
‘Belle and Charles came up to live in Fife back in ’81,’ Laura explained. ‘They’ve got a guest house in Crail, just a few miles from Brodie Farm, Jackie’s place.’
‘Right,’ Stuart said, but he still looked confused that the two sisters both ran guest houses just a few miles from each other. ‘So Jackie phoned Belle that morning and sounded distressed. Belle couldn’t go over there herself so she rang Fenton to ask him to pop in instead.’ He paused for a moment, looking at Laura quizzically. ‘I can’t imagine Belle and Charles running a guest house!’
Laura understood his surprise, for all his old memories of Belle and her husband Charles Howell must have been as sophisticated city dwellers. ‘I know it seems unlikely,’ she said. ‘I was amazed that they could leave London too. But I suppose Belle wanted to see more of Jackie, and it seemed like a good business opportunity. Also Charles has always been a golf fanatic, and with St Andrews so close by, that must have clinched it.’
Stuart nodded. ‘Okay. So Fenton found you by Jackie’s body and it was he who called the police. Is that correct?’
Laura didn’t answer immediately, for she was mentally reliving the events of 12 May 1993.
Few people passing Imelda’s, the pretty little clothes shop with its classy window displays and cream and gold interior in Edinburgh’s Morningside, realized it was in fact a second-hand clothes shop. Women brought in quality clothes they were tired of, and Laura sold them on, taking a 25 per cent commission.
It was about ten in the morning and she and Angie, her assistant, had just started a stock check, to remove all the clothes they’d had for more than two months, when Jackie rang.
Laura was irritated when Jackie begged her to come over to Fife. An eighty-mile or more round trip would take up most of the day, and she had had a lunch appointment booked with her accountant.
But Jackie sounded so desperate she felt she had to drop everything and go, leaving Angie to hold the fort and cancel her lunch appointment.
Yet by the time she’d crossed the Forth Bridge and was on the pretty coastal road to Crail in bright spring sunshine, her irritation had gone. Jackie hadn’t been quite herself for some time, and she thought perhaps this would be a good opportunity to get to grips with the root cause of it. Laura thought she might even stay the night and drive back to Edinburgh the following morning.
As she drove into the enclosed cobbled yard of Brodie Farm she noticed the red and yellow tulips and forget-me-nots planted in tubs either side of each of the six old stable doors that opened out on to the yard. That seemed a good omen, for if Jackie still cared about the impression flowers made on her paying guests she was clearly holding things together.
The door to the house was wide open, and as Laura got out of her car she could hear ‘Moving On Up’ by M People playing on the radio. She remembered thinking that meant Jackie must’ve pulled herself together since making the frantic call, for she always played opera when she was feeling low. The song itself made her smile, for two years earlier when it was in the charts it had almost been Laura’s anthem.
She called out as she got to the front door, but walked in when she received no reply, thinking her friend was probably upstairs. As always when she came to Jackie’s home, she felt a surge of admiration at her sense of style. She raked through junk shops and auction rooms and bought furniture anyone else would consider rubbish. But she stripped or painted it, made cushions or added old tiles, and somehow it always turned out looking marvellous.
The hall of the farmhouse was typical of J
ackie’s taste: black and white tiles on the floor, an old-fashioned hall stand painted lime green, with a selection of colourful hats hanging on it. Even the flower arrangement was just right, a rustic basket filled with late primroses and moss.
She called again, looking up the narrow staircase straight ahead of her, and when there was still no reply, she decided Jackie must have popped out for a moment, so she went into the kitchen on her left to wait.
But as she pushed the half-closed door open, she saw Jackie on the floor. She was wearing jeans, her white shirt was red with blood and there was a knife embedded in her chest.
Much of what happened later that day had become a blur of indistinct images. She couldn’t recall the faces or names of the policemen, or even the correct sequence of events. But that first sight of her friend on the floor, the way the sunshine slanted in through the window on to her vivid red hair, the pool of blood beside her, even the grotesque way her legs were splayed out, was still as clear in her mind now as if it had been just yesterday.
She heard herself scream, and threw herself down beside Jackie, grasping the big knife to pull it out. In her naivety she thought her friend was still alive because her skin and blood felt so warm, and she caught hold of her shoulders in an attempt to rouse her.
‘Laura?’
She started at Stuart’s voice, and was brought back to the present and the question he’d asked her.
‘That’s right, it was Michael Fenton who phoned the police,’ she sighed. She quickly told him how she’d found Jackie. ‘I was covered in her blood and kneeling beside her when he came in. I’m absolutely certain he arrived just a few minutes after me, but I expect you know that at the trial, Angus McFee, a neighbour, gave evidence that he’d seen my car go past his place well over half an hour before he saw Fenton’s car.’
Stuart nodded. ‘That seemed to me to be the most damning piece of evidence against you. Could you have blacked out for a while or something?’
‘It was suggested, as I’m sure you know, that I might have blacked out all memory of killing Jackie,’ Laura said tartly. ‘But I can assure you I remember everything which led up to me going in that door and seeing her. Every detail, even the record that was playing on the radio! And I could hardly have fainted if I was still on my knees when Fenton came in. I think that McFee was either mistaken about the time gap, or he saw the real murderer, who may well have had a white car like mine too, but didn’t see me pass at all.’
‘He said he was painting an upstairs window.’ Stuart consulted his notebook again. ‘And that he had a clear view of the lane from his ladder. I drove out there to have a look round, and it’s a pretty remote spot. I only saw one car pass while I was there.’
‘It was different when Jackie was alive,’ Laura said defensively. ‘She had people turning up all the time. Why do you think that old codger watched so eagerly?’
‘Point taken.’ Stuart gave a knowing grin. ‘So how soon after the police arrived did they arrest you?’
‘A lot of that is blurry now,’ Laura said thoughtfully. ‘I remember I was in a state, hysterical really, and the first two policemen who came only asked me why I’d gone out there, who Jackie was to me and what she had said when she phoned me. I can remember sitting on a bench in the yard, and suddenly being aware there were dozens of police there, yet I can’t remember all the cars driving in.
‘It must have been late in the afternoon before they asked me to go with them to the police station. I was shivering by then; I was only wearing a thin jacket and the heat had gone out of the sun. I asked if I could go home to change first because I had blood all over me, and it was only when they said they’d need to take my clothes for forensic tests that I suddenly realized they thought I’d killed her. Then they cautioned me.’
‘How did you respond to that?’
‘I was livid. I couldn’t believe they could think such a thing. When they told me I’d need an advocate – you probably know that’s what they call solicitors up here? – I went mad, I said I didn’t need one as I hadn’t done anything.’
‘You flew into one of your rages?’ he inquired gently, his tone reminding her that he’d witnessed many of these in the past.
‘Yes, I’m afraid I did,’ she said glumly. ‘Well, wouldn’t you? She was my best friend, I’d known her since I was sixteen. I would never touch a hair on her head. I was in shock at what I’d seen. No one ever expects to walk in on something like that.’
Stuart nodded. ‘You said at the trial you had forgiven her for Barney’s death. Was that true?’
Laura closed her eyes in exasperation. ‘Of course I had. It was an accident. And eleven years had passed since his death, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Some things you don’t ever get over. The death of your child is probably the main one,’ he said and reached out to take her hands in his.
It was his big, hard, brown hands holding hers that cracked the shell she had built around herself since being in this place. Stuart had loved Barney as if he were his own flesh and blood. She had watched those same practical hands washing him, dressing him and caressing him, and she owed it to him to tell him the truth about how she felt.
‘I still grieve for him, Stuart,’ she said brokenly. ‘I also feel a huge burden of guilt that I wasn’t a better mother to him. But I had come to terms with his death. As God is my witness, I didn’t hold a grudge against Jackie for it. She loved him too, I could see that it tore her apart thinking she was responsible because she hadn’t made him put his seat belt on. Yes, I had really forgiven her. What made me sad was that she couldn’t forgive herself.’
‘I sensed that too in a couple of letters she sent two or three years afterwards,’ he agreed. ‘I also thought that was maybe why her letters to me tapered off in the past few years. Perhaps putting pen to paper to someone so closely connected to Barney was too difficult? But did you think that last phone call was about that?’
‘In as much that I think Barney’s death was often behind her low moments, and there were plenty of those, just as there still are for me,’ Laura said sadly. ‘But she said nothing that morning that would suggest she was brooding on that. She just sounded crazy, like she’d hit some crisis but couldn’t explain it.’
‘What did she actually say to you on the phone?’
‘She just asked if I could come over right away. I asked what was wrong and she said “Everything”. She was crying, Stuart. She said there was so much she’d kept from me, and that she needed to talk about it. But that was about all that made any sense. I told her it would take me more than an hour to get there, and she began sobbing as if that was too long.’
‘Did you feel it was an emergency as in that she was being threatened, frightened or menaced?’
‘No, not at all.’ Laura shook her head. ‘If I’d got that idea I would have phoned the police. I thought her problem was a man. For some time I’d suspected there was someone special to her, but she wouldn’t admit it or tell me anything about him. I assumed her problem was that he’d dumped her, or if he was married his wife had found out. She didn’t give me even the vaguest idea that she was in danger.’
‘You said at the trial that there were several men; that she was drinking too much and letting her business in London fall apart.’
‘That’s right. So she was.’
‘But no one else seemed to agree with that.’
Well, they wouldn’t, would they?’ Laura retorted. ‘Married men aren’t going to come forward and admit they’d been shagging her, nor would Belle want to own up that her big sister was becoming a lush. As for the business in London – well, you know what Roger is like! Their marriage might have ended, but Roger was still involved in her business. He wouldn’t want to admit publicly that it wasn’t in great shape.’
Stuart just sat and looked at her for a moment or two, his eyes scanning her face as if looking for evidence she was lying.
‘Who do you think killed her then?’ he asked eventually.
/> ‘Almost everyone she knew could have had some kind of motive,’ Laura sighed. ‘Gain, jealousy, spite, you name it, someone probably felt it, but I can’t pin it on any one of them, because I didn’t know what was troubling Jackie. She’d been less open with me in the last few years, she no longer told me every last thing she’d done or said, like she used to.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
Laura made a ‘don’t know’ gesture with her hands. ‘That we’d grown up enough not to need to divulge everything to each other perhaps? Or maybe she had done something, or had someone in her life she couldn’t tell me about? We were still the very closest of friends, but I was pretty much engrossed in my shop, I wasn’t exactly on her case every five minutes.’
‘Right. Let’s get back to suspects,’ Stuart said.
‘Well, some of the people in her life can be ruled out because they were too far away,’ Laura went on. ‘But you know what a sucker she was for lame dogs, Stuart! She met all kinds of way-out people and invited them home; any one of them could have been a weirdo who wanted more than she was prepared to give. I said that in my evidence, but Belle denied it was true. Anyway, Jackie might have rung someone other than me and Belle that morning, or they could just have dropped by. All I know is that I was a gift to whoever really did it. Stupid bloody Laura who didn’t have the sense to back out that door and phone the police immediately!’
Stuart said nothing more for a few moments, just looked at Laura thoughtfully.
‘It’s exactly that which makes me believe in you,’ he said eventually. ‘I know how devious you can be. If you were going to do anything dodgy, you’d plan it properly. You certainly wouldn’t tell people you were going to Fife if you had murder on your mind, nor cover yourself with blood and wait to be caught.’
She laughed mirthlessly. ‘That’s a back-handed compliment, if ever I heard one!’
‘I know you, Laura,’ he said, half smiling. ‘Really know you, warts and all. I also know the time you received that call from Jackie, and I’ve driven the distance between your shop and Brodie Farm several times to check how long it takes. With no hold-ups on the Forth Bridge, no traffic jams in Edinburgh, it can be done in an hour, which would have got you there at the time the neighbour claimed he saw your car.’
Faith Page 6