Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle

by Shirley Wells

  A visit to the McQueens’ home was certainly an experience.

  Double doors barred their entrance to the pool. Barbara pushed them open and the steamy atmosphere took Max’s breath away for a moment.

  The swimming pool, with its dark blue tiles, looked extremely inviting. Chairs of every different colour were scattered around and there was another stone boy urinating.

  ‘Tommy!’ Barbara McQueen shouted. ‘The police are here!’

  Tom McQueen completed his length and then hauled his considerable bulk from the water.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, climbing the steps and grabbing a towel. ‘DCI Trentham no less. I was expecting that nice young sergeant.’

  ‘DS Warne was busy,’ Max told him.

  ‘Nice pool,’ Jill said, looking around her.

  Max introduced her again, and McQueen looked impressed. His ponytail hung down the back of his neck like a dark snake.

  ‘My dear, you’re welcome any time you fancy a swim.’ He was still breathless from his exertions.

  ‘I might take you up on that.’

  Max, keen to get on to more important matters, tapped his foot impatiently.

  ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about Bradley Johnson,’ he said.

  ‘So I gathered.’ McQueen rubbed at the ponytail with a towel and then draped a white robe around himself. ‘I’m not sure I can tell you anything. Let’s go into the drawing room. I’m getting myself a drink.’ He grinned. ‘What a pity you’re on duty, Chief Inspector.’

  Tosser.

  They followed him to the drawing room where McQueen took a glass from an oak cabinet, grabbed a bottle from a beechwood cupboard, poured himself a glass of brandy, and set it down on a pine coffee table.

  In this room, the walls were painted in a colour that Max thought would probably be described as lavender. The carpet was green. One wall was fitted with bookshelves but, on closer inspection, it was possible to see that the ‘books’ were for display purposes only. That came as no surprise because he couldn’t imagine Mr or Mrs McQueen reading the latest Booker prizewinner. Thankfully, there were no urinating boys in this room.

  ‘Bradley Johnson,’ Max said, reminding McQueen of the purpose of their visit. ‘I gather you and your wife attended a party at Kelton Manor the Friday before Johnson was murdered.’

  ‘Did we? It’s possible.’ He shrugged. ‘Damned if I can remember when it was. Babs!’ he hollered.

  When they were seated, the door opened and Barbara joined them.

  ‘That party at the Johnsons’ place,’ he said to her. ‘When was it?’

  ‘God, Tommy, it was only a week ago Friday.’ She grinned at Max as she perched on the arm of her husband’s chair. ‘I keep telling him his memory’s going. His dad went senile quite young, you know.’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly memorable,’ McQueen said in his own defence. ‘In fact, it was bloody boring.’

  ‘Really?’ Jill said. ‘I live in the village and, although I’ve never been to a party at the manor, I was led to believe they’re very lavish affairs.’

  ‘He’s a bit of a show-off,’ Barbara told her. ‘He might just as well hand everyone a list with the price of the wine and the food on it. His wife’s OK, I suppose. A bit mousy, but OK. He was too flash for my liking. I mean,’ she gushed, ‘me and Tommy have money, but we don’t throw it in people’s faces, do we?’

  Max and Jill smiled in agreement.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ Barbara asked curiously, ‘have we met before?’

  The question took him completely by surprise. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ And yet, the more he looked at her, the more he was convinced that they had met.

  ‘Is there anything you can tell us about this particular party?’ Max asked Tom McQueen, putting his mind to more important matters. ‘Did you see or hear anything that, with the benefit of hindsight, might be unusual?’

  ‘Like someone threatening to kill him?’ McQueen asked, grinning. ‘Er, no.’

  A phone rang somewhere in the house and Barbara skipped off to answer it.

  ‘How did you get along with Johnson?’ Max asked.

  ‘OK,’ McQueen told him.

  ‘Did you do any business with him?’

  McQueen’s eyes narrowed. ‘No.’

  ‘I heard that Johnson was looking to buy property in the area,’ Max lied. ‘I hope he wasn’t going to tread on your patch, Tom.’

  ‘My patch? Look, Trentham, just because I own a few properties—’

  ‘How many is it now?’

  ‘Enough. And they’re all legal and above board.’ He took a sip of brandy. ‘You can check everything with my accountant if you can be bothered. Oh, silly me. I was forgetting. You’ve already done that, haven’t you?’

  Max ignored that. ‘Why would anyone want Johnson dead? Do you think he was treading on someone else’s toes?’

  ‘Nah. I’ll bet there was a woman involved.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Jill asked curiously.

  ‘Because he couldn’t keep his trousers on,’ McQueen told her. ‘Had a bit of a thing for other men’s wives, I gather.’

  ‘I hope he wasn’t after your wife, Tom,’ Max put in.

  ‘He wasn’t. She’s got more sense. Besides, what could he offer a woman like my Babs, eh?’

  Max could think of a few things.

  ‘If he had been, though,’ McQueen added slyly, ‘then I would have been topping your list of suspects.’ He swilled brandy around his glass. ‘All the same, I bet there’s a jealous husband involved.’

  ‘Are you saying he wasn’t happily married?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘But you know he had affairs?’

  McQueen shrugged. ‘I don’t know for sure,’ he admitted, ‘but yeah, I reckon so.’

  ‘So what makes you say he couldn’t keep his trousers on?’ Jill persisted.

  ‘That’s what people reckoned.’

  ‘People? For God’s sake, Tom, name names!’ Max snapped.

  ‘I can’t remember names,’ McQueen told him. ‘It was just something I heard a couple of times when he first came to the area.’

  Barbara came back into the room.

  ‘Perhaps your wife can remember,’ Max said patiently.

  ‘Remember what?’ She sat on the arm of McQueen’s chair.

  ‘Mrs McQueen—Babs—your husband seems to believe that Bradley Johnson had extramarital affairs,’ Max explained. ‘Have you heard anything?’

  ‘No, but I’m not surprised.’ She leaned towards Max and whispered, ‘The man was an outrageous flirt.’

  ‘Really? Did he try it on with you, Babs?’

  ‘Yes, but he didn’t get anywhere, I can tell you. I told him not to let Tommy catch him, too.’ She trilled with laughter. ‘My Tommy wouldn’t stand for that, would you, sweetheart?’

  ‘No,’ McQueen assured her.

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t,’ Max replied smoothly. Damn it, they must have met before. ‘Any idea who else he might have tried it on with?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not really. Have you, Tommy?’

  ‘No.’

  They stayed for another fruitless half-hour. Just as they were being shown out, a small, yappy West Highland White Terrier raced along the hall heading for their ankles. Fortunately, Barbara scooped it into her arms before it could inflict damage.

  ‘Now, now, Hamish,’ she scolded. ‘You can’t go biting policemen, can you?’ She held the dog at arm’s length and gave it an adoring shake. ‘You’re a far better guard dog than Fat Ernie, aren’t you?’

  While Barbara showered kisses on the dog, Max and Jill stepped outside into a blizzard. They dashed to the car and, by the time they’d fastened their seat belts and Max had started the engine, those huge metal gates had swung open to allow them to escape.

  ‘You reckon Bradley Johnson was a bit of a one with the ladies?’ Max asked doubtfully.

  ‘I don’t know. Could be. The first time I met him, he flirted w
ith me. Mind you, I was instantly forgotten.’

  ‘Why was that? Because he didn’t fancy you, or because he was doing dodgy deals and you’re too close to the force?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Looks like it’s time for another visit to the manor …’

  Chapter Ten

  It was getting late, and Jill was starving. Added to that, she hadn’t had a chance to check the racing results yet. What she really wanted was a long, hot soak in her bath followed by a meal out. Beef and Yorkshire pudding. Or maybe a Chinese. Instead, she walked up the path to Kelton Manor with Max.

  She’d known, though, as soon as the McQueens had mentioned affairs, that they needed to speak to Phoebe Johnson and satisfy their curiosity.

  As ever, Phoebe looked hopeful as she opened the door. It was a week since she had last seen her husband alive and it was almost as if she expected him to be knocking on the door.

  ‘We’ve no real news,’ Max told her, ‘but we’d like to ask you a couple more questions, if we may.’

  ‘Of course. Come in. What an awful night,’ she said absently, as they followed her into the sitting room.

  ‘Dreadful,’ Jill agreed.

  Thankfully, their drive back from Harrington had been without incident but, according to the radio, roads in the north-west were in chaos with fallen trees and lorries blown over.

  They were offered seats, and Jill grabbed the chair nearest to the fire. She wondered who had bothered lighting it. Perhaps this duty fell to Molly Turnbull, the Johnsons’ cleaner. She couldn’t imagine raising enough enthusiasm to light a fire if she was grieving for her husband.

  They chatted for a few minutes about Keiran and Tyler—‘they’re coping well and have driven up to Lancaster this evening to collect a few things’—and about the vicar’s earlier visit—‘so very, very kind of him’.

  ‘You said you wanted to ask me questions?’ Phoebe said at last.

  ‘Yes,’ Max began. ‘First, and I know it sounds silly, can you tell me if your husband was fond of dogs?’

  ‘He was, yes.’ She was frowning, clearly wondering why he would ask such a question. ‘Mad about them, in fact. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s always stopped to make a fuss of them. I used to warn him about approaching strange dogs, but he just laughed at my fears. He would have liked one, but I’m—well, to tell the truth, I’ve always been a little afraid of them. With Brad away so much, it would have been left to me to look after it.’ She looked at them both. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘White dog hairs were found on his trousers,’ Max explained.

  ‘Really? Well, that doesn’t surprise me. He was always fussing them.’

  Which didn’t help at all.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ Max said. ‘We need to ask something else, too.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jill said, ‘and it’s a little delicate, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh?’ Phoebe was wary now. Too wary. She looked worried that they had discovered something, yet what could that be?

  ‘We need to know everything, and I mean everything, about your husband, Phoebe.’ Jill took a breath. ‘We need to know if he was seeing, or if he had been seeing, another woman.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jill said quietly, ‘but if you know anything at all …’

  Phoebe stood, went to the fire and fiercely prodded the coals with a brass poker. Eventually, she straightened.

  She was good at keeping her emotions in check. All she needed was a few moments, and she had herself under control again. Yet in that split second, she’d been angry.

  ‘Yes, he’s had an affair,’ she said at last. ‘Affairs,’ she corrected herself. ‘I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone talked,’ she added bitterly. ‘People love a bit of malicious gossip, don’t they?’

  ‘What can you tell us about the women involved?’ Max asked, ignoring her last comment.

  ‘Not a lot. Only that they meant nothing to him. In fact, they were just a joke as far as he was concerned.’ She sat down again and her shaking fingers played with a button on her skirt. ‘I have to admit that I’d hoped all that was over,’ she said at last. ‘When we moved here, he said he wouldn’t play around again. They meant nothing to him,’ she informed them urgently. ‘These women were just—well, you know what some men are like.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jill said. ‘But since you moved to Kelton, has there been someone?’

  ‘Yes,’ Phoebe said.

  ‘Can you give us a name?’ Max asked.

  ‘I can.’ Yet she seemed reluctant to do so. ‘As I said, when we first moved to the village, he said he wouldn’t play around, and I believed him. Oh, I knew what he was like, but I thought he would at least confine any affairs to London. He was often staying there, you see. So coming here was going to be OK. As he said, the twin set and pearl brigade didn’t appeal to him. Anyway, when we’d been here, oh, about a month, I suppose, I saw him with someone.’

  That explained a lot to Jill. When Phoebe had first come to the village, she’d tried to get involved in the community. Suddenly, all that had stopped.

  ‘You saw him?’ Jill prompted.

  ‘Yes.’ She took another deep breath, and Jill felt for her. She was icy calm, but how painful to have to broadcast your marriage’s problems to strangers. ‘In the pub car park of all places,’ Phoebe added with a weak smile. ‘I didn’t recognize the woman he was with, but they were all over each other. He didn’t see me.’

  ‘Did you ask him about the woman?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yes. He said he was ending it and I believed him.’

  ‘Did he tell you the woman’s name?’

  ‘I didn’t ask,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t have cared less. You see, I knew he saw them as a joke. He laughed at them and their big ideas of happy ever afters.’

  She was lying. Bradley’s betrayal had wounded her deeply.

  ‘I saw her the following day and I recognized her immediately,’ Phoebe explained. ‘She recognized me too, of course. She couldn’t look at me and I didn’t bother to exchange the time of day with her.’

  ‘Do you have her name?’ Max asked.

  ‘I saw her in the baker ’s,’ Phoebe said, hanging on to that name, ‘and asked about her. I was told her name was Joan Murphy and that she lived in one of the new houses at the top of the village.’

  Max looked at Jill, and she gave a brief nod. Yes, she knew Joan Murphy.

  ‘Are you sure it was her?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. Quite sure.’

  ‘Has there been anyone else that you know of?’ Max asked.

  ‘No. As I said, it was nothing more than a joke to Brad. I never gave it a second thought.’

  ‘I see,’ Max murmured.

  ‘Brad is—was,’ she corrected herself, ‘different. His upbringing—’ She broke off and looked at Max. ‘His father died in prison. Did you know that?’

  Max shook his head.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Brad had a very difficult childhood and it scarred him. Because of that, he pushed himself too hard. He was afraid of ending up with nothing, you see. Because he worked so hard, I suppose he had to play hard, too.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jill said.

  Phoebe got to her feet again and stood with her back to the fire.

  ‘Will any of this have to get out?’ she asked. ‘It’s the boys, you see. I wouldn’t want them to know certain things about their father. It would be difficult for them to understand.’

  ‘Hopefully not,’ Max said, rising to his feet.

  But Jill hadn’t finished.

  ‘Do you know how the affair between your husband and Joan Murphy started, Phoebe?’ she asked.

  ‘According to Brad, she was all over him. Flirting with him. He said that because she was young and pretty, he felt flattered. He only saw her a couple of times, he said, before he realized what a fool he was being. I don’t know where they met, or where they went when they saw each other. No doubt, the woman
in question will be able to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Jill rose to her feet and gave Phoebe’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. ‘I’m sorry we have to ask such questions.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ But Phoebe’s smile belied the hurt and anger …

  Claire Lawrence was wrong, Jill thought, as she and Max battled against the wind to get back to her cottage. Claire believed that, once a person was dead, their suffering was over. And so long as those left behind could visit a grave, they were able to get on with their lives.

  Death wasn’t like that. There were too many repercussions. Phoebe, for example, not only had to cope with her own grief, she had to deal with her husband’s infidelity, too. The questions would always be there. Had he really loved her? What had those other women been like? Had they been cleverer, wittier, prettier, sexier? Had they been more exciting sexually? Had he come to her bed straight after making love to them? Had he made love to her and wished he was with one of the others?

  On top of that, she had to try to protect his memory for their sons’ sakes and that wouldn’t be easy. Once the police were involved in a murder inquiry, the press became hungry for gossip. All sorts of details would come out.

  ‘Young and pretty,’ Jill murmured as they walked away from the manor. ‘Joan is neither of those things.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘No.’ Jill thought about it. ‘She’s nice enough, but quite plain. I’d always thought she was happily married, too. She’s an artist—a painter. She has that small shop on the corner, next to the bank. I suppose she must sell a few of her paintings, but they’re too—blue for my taste.’

  ‘Blue?’

  ‘Yes. She seems to be having her own blue period. She paints huge flowers and they’re always blue.’

  ‘Well, it’s too late to see her this evening,’ Max decided.

  ‘We’ll go out for something to eat instead, shall we?’

  ‘OK.’