Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle

by Shirley Wells

  ‘Cheer up. I’m even offering to pay.’

  She smiled at that. ‘In that case, lead on, because I’m starving!’

  Chapter Eleven

  When Jill woke up, she felt shattered. She and Max had stayed up, talking through this case long into the night. The one good thing was that, unlike Max, she hadn’t been knocking back whisky in large quantities. She wouldn’t have wanted a hangover as well.

  Max was already up and dressed, and he brought her a coffee and put it on the bedside table.

  ‘Right, I’m off,’ he said, adjusting his tie. ‘As soon as I can get away, we’ll go and see Joan Murphy. OK?’

  She sat up and pulled the quilt up under her chin.

  ‘Fine.’

  She had offered him the spare bedroom, but as yet, she hadn’t insisted he actually use it. Lust, she decided grimly, had a lot to answer for.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked. ‘No hangover?’

  ‘A hangover? No.’ He sounded astonished. ‘Why on earth should I have a hangover? I didn’t have that much to drink.’

  ‘Only enough to slay an elephant. If I’d had that much, I would have been unconscious for a week.’

  ‘Ah, but you don’t get enough practice.’

  ‘Ha.’ She reached for her coffee. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You see? Having me around has a lot of advantages.’

  ‘True.’ She knew from painful experience that it also had a lot of disadvantages. Like, just when she started to believe they had something good, something strong going for them, he’d go off and sleep with someone else …

  He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. ‘See you later.’

  He’d been gone less than five minutes when Jill’s phone rang. She saw from the display that it was one of her parents and, knowing it was far too early for either of them to call for a chat, she quickly hit the button.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘A bloke’s been done in on your doorstep and you don’t say a word. Not a word!’

  ‘Oh, hi, Mum.’ Relief flooded through her. She’d thought it was some sort of family crisis.

  ‘Well?’

  Jill took a swallow of coffee. ‘Well what?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  ‘Because I didn’t think to mention it. Because you don’t know him. Because I hardly knew him.’

  ‘Max is in charge,’ her mother said. ‘We saw him on the telly.’

  ‘He is, yes.’

  There was a pause as her mother waited for something from Jill. She’d have a long wait. Jill had nothing to say. If she so much as hinted that Max was staying at her cottage, her mother would be taking out a subscription to Brides magazine and choosing her mother-of-the-bride outfit. As for sharing the same bed—

  ‘I don’t know much about the case,’ Jill said. ‘I’m busy working on something else.’

  ‘You do see him now and again, I suppose?’

  ‘Who?’ But she didn’t need to ask. Her mother’s interest in the murder of Bradley Johnson was nothing compared to her obsession with Max and Jill’s relationship.

  ‘Max, of course.’

  ‘Now and again, yes.’

  ‘Getting on all right, are you?’

  ‘We’re getting on fine,’ Jill assured her.

  ‘Good. It’s high time you learned to forgive and forget, my girl.’

  Jill had forgiven a long time ago. Given the stress their relationship had been under at the time, perhaps it wasn’t too surprising that Max had looked elsewhere for a little light relief. She’d forgiven, but she hadn’t forgotten. Just as Phoebe Johnson wouldn’t forget her husband’s infidelity …

  ‘Yes, Mum. Anyway, it’s time I was getting on.’

  ‘Before you go, I’ll have to tell you what happened here last night. You know that Terry Hunter? Chap who got put away for death by dangerous driving?’

  It was so long since Jill had lived on the estate that she’d forgotten most of her unsavoury neighbours. Terry Hunter, however, was difficult to forget.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s out now. Came home, saw that Lisa was living with her new bloke—don’t know his name and it won’t be worth remembering because she changes men more often than she changes her knickers—and did no more than smash the place to bits. The council are round there now trying to replace windows. Well, it’s not the council, it’s the housing association. Same thing, though.’

  Jill wasn’t in the least surprised. The only thing that amazed her was that her parents refused outright to budge from the estate. Jill had given up trying to persuade them to do just that. It’s home, they’d say.

  ‘And what happened to Terry?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s back in custody.’

  ‘How long was he out?’

  ‘Less than twenty-four hours, daft sod. Anyway, I suppose I’d better let you go. You’ll let me know when—well, when there’s something worth knowing?’

  ‘About what?’ Jill asked innocently. ‘The murder of Bradley Johnson?’

  ‘About anything that’s worth knowing,’ her mother retorted.

  Jill had to smile at that. ‘You’ll be the first on my list, Mum. Promise.’

  Still smiling to herself, she got out of bed. Three cats needed feeding, sulking cats probably because Max had kicked at least two of them off the bed during the night. She also wanted to write up notes on her last meeting with Claire Lawrence.

  It was getting on for eleven o’clock when she heard Max’s car pull on to the drive.

  ‘Joan Murphy’s shop is closed today so we may as well walk up to her house and see if she’s there,’ he greeted her.

  Jill agreed. The more they were out and about, the higher the chance that someone would say something of use.

  This morning, however, people hurried on their way, keen to get behind closed doors and out of the biting cold. Jill didn’t blame them.

  ‘If she’s not at home,’ Max said, seemingly oblivious to the temperature, ‘we’ll pay Jack Taylor another visit.’

  ‘Jack? Why?’

  ‘I thought we agreed he wasn’t being particularly cooperative.’

  ‘We did, but I’m sure it’s nothing.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s an awkward bloke at times but other than that—’

  ‘There’s his dog—’

  ‘We’d agreed to forget the dog. You said yourself that we were fixating on the creature. One thing’s certain, no dog killed Bradley Johnson. True, he might have been killed by someone who owned a dog, but it’s more likely he just brushed past one.’

  ‘Not necessarily. He walked into the wood at the exact time that Ella heard a dog barking. And we think he was meeting someone. It makes sense to think that he might have been meeting someone who owned a dog. Besides, Jack Taylor knows something, I’m sure of it. He’s a difficult old sod.’

  ‘He is,’ Jill agreed, smiling at the description, ‘but he’s no lawbreaker.’

  ‘I’m sure he knows something.’

  As much as she hated to admit it, because she liked Jack and had a great deal of respect for him, Jill shared the same feeling. Yet what could he know? And why would he keep that information from them?

  ‘I expect he’s out of sorts because of Hannah’s problems,’ she said. ‘It’s a difficult time for them all.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Max agreed.

  They walked up the driveway to Joan Murphy’s house and were about to ring the doorbell when a car pulled up in front of the garage.

  A slightly uneasy-looking Joan climbed out.

  ‘Hello?’ There was a question in her voice. ‘Jill?’

  ‘Hello, Joan,’ she said. ‘This is DCI Trentham. We’d like to ask you a few questions if we may.’

  ‘Me?’ She stood at the door to her car, keys in her hand and a startled expression on her face. ‘Why me?’

  ‘Shall we go inside?’ Max suggested.

  She was clearly nervous. If what Phoebe had told them was true, though, and Joan had been involved with Bradley roman
tically, Jill supposed that wasn’t surprising. She wouldn’t want the world to know of the affair.

  Jill had never considered Joan a particularly attractive woman, or indeed a woman who might be looking for passion in another man’s arms. Having said that, she didn’t know her well. They stopped for a chat if they met up in the village, or at the pub, but that was all.

  She was younger than Bradley, around the forty mark, but no one would describe her as ‘young and pretty’. One wouldn’t call her frumpy exactly, but she was certainly plain.

  This morning, she was wearing a long, brown woollen skirt topped with a jumper and cardigan in matching blue. A thick scarf was wrapped around her neck and, as she unlocked the front door and let them in, she removed it to reveal shoulder-length hair that was showing signs of grey. She wore no make-up and her skin, red from the cold, looked in dire need of moisturizers. Apart from a watch that was more practical than fashionable or attractive, she wore no jewellery.

  Seeming to grow more nervous by the second, she showed them into the lounge and offered them seats.

  The room was warm and very comfortable. Much of the furniture looked to be almost new, even the carpet showed no signs of wear, but, from a quick glance, Jill noticed signs of recent neglect. No dusting had been done for a while, the windows needed cleaning and an outing with the Hoover wouldn’t have gone amiss.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Jill asked her. ‘I expected you to be at your shop.’

  ‘Oh, no, everything’s fine. I’ve started closing on Thursdays and opening Sunday mornings. People amble around on Sundays and are grateful to see a shop open.’ She perched on the very edge of an armchair, poised for flight. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘We believe you knew Bradley Johnson well,’ Max began.

  ‘Who said that?’ Her skin turned an even deeper shade of red. ‘I wouldn’t say I knew him well.’

  ‘So how would you describe your relationship with him?’ Max asked.

  ‘We met socially a couple of times, that’s all. With his wife and my husband,’ she added quickly.

  ‘We heard you were a little closer than that,’ Jill said. ‘We’re sorry to have to pry, Joan, but we do need you to tell us everything.’

  Joan looked from one to the other of them, conflicting emotions flashing across her face.

  ‘Mrs Murphy, did you have an affair with Bradley Johnson?’ Max asked at last. ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Oh, God.’ Joan promptly burst into tears.

  She was on her feet, dashing from the room, and returning seconds later with a handful of crumpled tissues.

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Jill assured her, mentally crossing her fingers. ‘None of this will go beyond these four walls.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ Joan said again. She took several deep breaths, then whispered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Jill said. ‘Can you tell us about it?’

  Joan was still mopping tears from her face, but she nodded.

  ‘I should have told you, I suppose, but I didn’t think it would come out. And, even if it did—’ She broke off. ‘I was too scared to say anything in case the police thought it was me who killed him.’ She fixed large, frightened eyes on Max. ‘It wasn’t. I swear to God that I know nothing about that.’

  ‘Just tell us what happened,’ he said patiently.

  Another deep, shuddering breath.

  ‘I’d been in the churchyard tidying up Dad’s grave. I’m always upset when I do that. But I thought I was OK so I went into the post office,’ she said. ‘It was so embarrassing. One minute I was queuing up at the counter, the next I was in floods of tears because I missed my dad so much. I rushed out of the shop and bumped straight into Bradley. He saw how distressed I was, and he invited me to sit in his car while I pulled myself together.’

  Jill nodded encouragingly.

  ‘I was in such a state that I blurted it all out. How I’d been up to tidy Dad’s grave, how I still missed him even though it had been two years since he died, how we’d all been planning to go to Australia together to visit my brother and his family, how I’d thought Dad would be around for ever, how I never made it to Australia but instead had to sell his house. Brad was—understanding,’ she finished. ‘Kind, patient and understanding.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Jill asked.

  ‘He drove me home,’ Joan said. ‘A couple of days later, he called to see me, to make sure I was all right. Steve was away that week and—’ She bit her lip. ‘Brad was flirting with me, and I was flattered. You’d think I’d know better, wouldn’t you? But I didn’t. I fell in love with his charm, his good looks, his ways.’

  ‘And that’s how the affair began?’

  ‘Yes. It lasted about a month.’

  ‘Who ended it?’ Jill asked. ‘You or Bradley?’

  ‘He did.’ She dried her face on a couple of tissues and then pushed them up the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘I’d better explain,’ she said shakily.

  ‘That might be best,’ Max agreed, and Jill could sense his impatience.

  ‘As I said, our affair lasted a month. Then he went quiet. We’d agreed to meet but he didn’t turn up. I couldn’t believe it was over—especially without him telling me. I kept trying to contact him, but it was difficult. He didn’t answer his phone and I didn’t like to call the house. I did once, but his wife told me he was away in London. Eventually, after about three weeks, he finally called me.’

  She gave a rueful, embarrassed shrug.

  ‘We arranged to meet,’ she explained, ‘and, although I was relieved to hear from him, I was terrified of what he might say to me. I thought I knew what that was, of course. I assumed he wanted to tell me that things were over between us, and that he was going to be faithful to his wife. You know the sort of thing.’

  ‘And is that what he said?’ Jill asked curiously.

  ‘Oh, no.’ She was growing more confident now that she’d started her story. The distress was lessening and she was becoming harder and colder. ‘I’d been a fool. Such a stupid fool. He’d never been interested in me. That first time we met? Outside the post office? I’d mentioned selling my father’s house and, from that, he assumed I had money. I did have a bit put by, of course, because the proceeds of the sale were split between my brother and me, but nowhere near as much as he imagined.’

  Were they talking blackmail?

  ‘What did he want?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Five thousand pounds. Cash,’ she said bitterly. ‘If I didn’t hand over the money, he said he’d tell Steve about us.’

  ‘So you handed over the cash?’ Max asked.

  ‘Yes.’ That word came as little more than a whisper.

  ‘And he came back for more?’ Max guessed.

  ‘Three times.’ She dabbed at her eyes with the tissues. ‘I gave him fifteen thousand pounds in all. I gave him the last five thousand just a week before he was killed.’ Eyes, filled with fear once more, turned on Max. ‘But I had nothing to do with his murder,’ she said urgently. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry about it because he was a lying, cheating …’ The sentence was left to hang in the air.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Max said.

  ‘I wish I hadn’t paid him,’ Joan said bitterly. ‘That first five thousand—I was so shocked when I realized what he was up to, I just handed it over. The thing was,’ she went on, colouring, ‘I’d told him things about Steve, personal things, and I didn’t want Steve knowing. I trusted Brad, you see.’ She shook her head at her own stupidity. ‘You must think me very naive and foolish.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Jill told her.

  Foolish or not, Joan had given them their first real lead. If Bradley Johnson was blackmailing Joan, it was likely that he’d been blackmailing others.

  ‘When things were going well between the two of you,’ Max said, ‘did he mention past affairs? Did he mention any other women?’

  She thought for a moment and shook her head. ‘That was just it, you see. He made me feel as if I was the only woman in
the world. God, how pathetic does that sound? At my age, too.’

  ‘We believe,’ Jill said, ‘that he’d had several affairs in the past.’

  ‘Quite probably,’ Joan said. ‘He was an attractive man and he knew how to turn on the charm. I don’t think,’ she added vehemently, ‘that I have ever hated anyone like I hated him.’

  Jill nodded sympathetically.

  ‘The irony is,’ Joan added shakily, ‘that Steve left me anyway. All the time I’d been seeing Brad, before that even, he’d been with someone else. He’s left me for her.’

  ‘Steve’s left you?’ Jill asked in astonishment.

  ‘Last night,’ she said. ‘He’ll be here for his stuff at the weekend.’

  ‘Oh, Joan, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured, before she took a deep, shuddering breath and broke into uncontrollable tears.

  Jill tried to comfort and calm her, but she was inconsolable.

  ‘How will I cope without Steve?’ she asked repeatedly. ‘How will I cope?’

  ‘Things will work out,’ Jill told her. ‘You’ll see.’

  Jill held her close and continued to offer platitudes, but she despaired. Did any married couple have a good relationship? A relationship based on trust and respect? It seemed that, everywhere she turned, it was to see rocky marriages and infidelity.

  Chapter Twelve

  Max left Jill at her cottage, jumped in his car and drove down the lane. A hint of blackmail changed the direction of the whole investigation and Max needed to get back to headquarters and update the team.

  They knew Johnson was a ladies’ man. What did he do? Seek out wealthy women, work his charm on them until they were smitten, and blackmail them? That’s exactly what he’d done with Joan Murphy. Perhaps she wasn’t wealthy in the accepted sense, but Johnson had known she had money from the sale of her late father’s house.

  ‘Would all his victims have been vulnerable women?’ he’d asked Jill.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she’d replied confidently. ‘He would have grown increasingly ambitious. He would have sniffed out the dirt on anyone. Everyone has skeletons. No one would have been safe from him.’

  Thomas McQueen must have more skeletons than most. Had those secrets earned him an invitation to Kelton Manor? It would take a very rash and foolish person to blackmail McQueen. They’d be lucky if their fate was no worse than being bludgeoned to death in a wood.