by Helen Oliver
Bloom said, “That’s utterly ridiculous. Where did this nonsense come from?”
Cally leaned forward. “Are you saying there was no breakdown in your relationship with Mrs Parsons?”
“You know there wasn’t. I already told you that on the Monday evening April and I parted as fondly as ever.”
Cally said, “Yours had been a sexual relationship?”
“Clearly, you know it was. What difference does it make? A friendship is a friendship. Ours was rock solid.”
“We know with certainty,” Cally said, “that two people handled April Parsons’s body.”
Bloom looked bewildered. “Who, for God’s sake?”
Hammond said, “Can you categorically state that you did not return to Spring House between approximately three a.m. and six a.m. on Tuesday 17th May?”
“Absolutely. And by the way, I didn’t think this was to be an inquisition. I came here to help, not to get the third degree.”
Cally said, “I’m sorry you feel like that.”
“I don’t think you understand,” said Bloom, “how much I want to get to the bottom of this.”
Hammond said. “As do we.” He paused. “Is there anything you’d like to ask us?”
Bloom said slowly, “Ask me if I murdered my best friend and life partner.”
“If you insist,” he said, and added quietly, “Harriet Bloom, did you kill Mrs April Parsons?”
“And Judi Fox,” Bloom said. “Don’t let’s leave Miss Fox out of it.”
Cally made notes, and Hammond said, “Did you kill Miss Judi Fox?”
“Of course I didn’t. The suggestion is preposterous.” She stood up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave.”
Cally said, “Just another few minutes.” Bloom sat down again and Cally added, “I understand your feelings, this is extremely distressing for you. However, you were the one to raise the question of guilt.”
Hammond tapped his keyboard. “Let me ask you this, Miss Bloom. Have you had the opportunity to ask your mother if she remembers parking her VW Beetle outside Spring House during the early of 17th May?”
As if the interchange were inching forward in her favour, Bloom nodded. “Yes I’ve asked her…as tactfully as possible.” She shook her head. “She’s quite worried about her memory, and says she can’t swear she didn’t go for a little drive. I didn’t refer to a specific date, but noticing her petrol was going down, I began to suspect she was doing little jaunts.
“At night?” asked Cally.
“Well, at any time.”
Cally said, “If she did take the Beetle out that night, do you think she’d have any idea where she went after leaving it outside Spring House?”
Concern in her voice, Bloom said, “I honestly don’t know.” She took a quick breath. “You know, this worry about my mother’s health, on top of the death of my lover, is almost more than I can cope with. …And where on earth did you get the idea that Judi Fox wanted a baby?” A laugh caught in her throat. “Unless of course you read it in the Post.” She turned to Hammond. “I would have thought that you, of all people, Mr Hammond, would know not to believe everything you read in the paper.”
Cally said, “Miss Bloom, did you think Judi Fox wanted a child?”
“I have no idea what she wanted, or didn’t want.” She hesitated. “I didn’t know the woman personally.”
Hammond said, “But you knew she planned to go to Bath with April Parsons.”
“Yes, I knew that. Which doesn’t mean I know – knew – Judi Fox.”
He said, “So you didn’t get to know Miss Fox in connection with the combined treatment practice you were both involved in?”
“No, I didn’t. My role was to be in an advisory capacity.”
Cally asked, “Which would have involved?”
“Just my general overview as someone with a senior position in the NHS.”
“Budgeting, perhaps?” Cally frowned. “Did you think this other scheme had a chance of success? The plan in which your lover’s ‘new friend’ would bear a child your lover wanted as a playmate for her grandchild?”
Bloom said, “What the hell are you talking about? April and I were perfectly happy as we were. This plan, or scheme, as you put it, is sheer bloody fantasy. Show me a living soul who can back it up.” She paused. “And before you tell me your ‘information’ comes from Russell Sykes, let me tell you that you’re looking at a man so full of bitterness and bile that I can’t think why he’s not still under lock and key.” She exhaled loudly. “Makes one think this whole bail question needs looking into.”
Hammond said, “How about innocent until proved guilty?”
Bloom gave her head an impatient shake. “Words fail me. Russell Sykes might as well have guilty tattooed on his forehead. You should’ve seen the guy, stripped to the waist at the first hint of warmth. Rubbing suntan lotion into his six-pack. Making sure April was looking. She saw sense, of course, but left it too late.”
Eyes on his screen, Hammond let moments pass. Finally, giving Bloom his full attention, he said, “So to sum up. You were not separating from Mrs April Parsons, you did not drive your mother’s Beetle on the night in question, you did not return to Spring House after your meal with Mrs Parsons, and you have never met Miss Judi Fox.”
“Thank you, Mr Hammond, that’s absolutely correct.” She paused, took a breath. “And may I just say that I’m fully aware you have to go to extreme lengths when you’re investigating a death. In this tragic case, two.”
Hammond reached for the switch. "Interview terminated at 10.19 a.m. on 21st June.”
Bloom stood up. “I assume I’m free to go.”
“Of course.” Hammond eyed her briefly. “Though we may need to talk again.”
“Any time, of course. Though please give me notice. I don’t want anything to clash with my interview.”
Cally said, “Oh, yes?”
“Deputy CEO at the hospital.”
“Well, good luck.” Cally rose. “I’ll see you out.” She opened the door and followed Bloom into the corridor. “Again, thank you for coming. I hope we can get this cleared up soon.”
Bloom said, “So do I.”
“I’ll come with you to your car.”
“There’s no need.”
“Actually,” Cally said, “I wanted to give you an extra piece of information.” They stopped at the bottom of the steps. “Tests have shown that Judi Fox was pregnant with Russell Sykes’s child.”
“My God, poor girl.”
Reaching Bloom’s navy Peugeot, Cally said, “Can I be nosy and ask who your interview is with?”
“Two bigwigs, one from York and one from Scarborough. And Susan Jukes, of course.”
“I thought I was seeing things the other night.”
Bloom clicked her remote. “Why was that?”
“I thought for a moment I saw Mrs Jukes on a Newsnight programme.”
Opening her driver’s door, Bloom said, “It can’t have been her.”
“No. It was the actress, Catherine Malin.”
Bloom said, “Apparently they’re sisters.”
“Ah, that explains it.” Cally leaned her arm on the car door. “Shame you didn’t see the programme, it was interesting.” Stepping back from the Peugeot, she added, “She went to uni at Durham.”
Bloom said, “Oh, right,” and turned the key in the ignition.
*
Hammond switched off his laptop and looked up as Cally came back. She closed the door, leaned against it. “Well?”
Hammond linked his fingers behind his head. “Guilty as sin. Or that’s what I’d say if we were a hundred and ten percent sure Sykes is innocent.”
“Guilty because?”
He shrugged. “Swinging between reasonable and deeply bitter? Trying to drop Sykes in it.”
“Well, she would. He took her place until Parsons dumped him.”
Hammond scrolled down his screen.
Cally frowned. “What are you look
ing for?
“Not sure. The problem with murder is not being able to interview the victims.”
“You should have that carved on a plaque.” Cally paused. “I told her Fox was pregnant.”
“How did she react?”
“She was upset. Genuinely.”
Hammond stood up, went to the window and looked across the street.
After a silence, Cally said, “It’s perfectly possible Diana Bloom is having memory problems.”
“Anything’s possible.” Hammond picked up his file, headed for the door. “I’ll bring Kerridge up to date.”
Cally, too, was about to leave when Mal Cope leaned in. “Phone for you. Susan Jukes.”
“Thanks, put her through.” She picked up the phone, waited for the click. “What can I do for you, Mrs Jukes?”
“I’m just wondering if I should be calling you at all.”
Cally said, “Is there something I can help you with?”
The CEO sounded hesitant. “It’s something I’d not intended talking about over the phone.”
“Look,” Cally said, “I can pop over. I’ll be with you in about twenty minutes.”
*
Mrs Jukes’s office was cheerful, with large windows. A tray of coffee and biscuits sat on the corner of the desk. “The minute I put the phone down,” she said, “it occurred to me you might not have had time for coffee.”
Cally smiled. “You’re a mind-reader.”
Mrs Jukes looked awkward. “I’ll come straight to the point – and I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time.”
“You won’t be. What’s worrying you?”
“Harriet Bloom.”
Not a waste of time. “Actually, she came in for a chat this morning. It was fortunate she had time off work.” She gave a light laugh. “When she told me you and Catherine Malin were sisters, it solved a puzzle. Ever since we first met I’ve been racking my brains to think who you remind me of.”
“How did the subject come up?”
“Well…realizing your sister went to Durham, which I’d just learned from that super Newsnight programme, and knowing Harriet Bloom played tennis for the same university, it just came out when I said how alike you were.”
Mrs Jukes nodded slowly. “How was Miss Bloom this morning?”
Cally said, “Still shocked by April Parsons’s death.”
“Did she mention my call?”
“No. When was this?”
“Yesterday evening.”
Cally said, “Is this what’s on your mind? Though if you’d rather leave it until another time…”
Mrs Jukes took off her specs, pinched the bridge of her nose. “I ought really to give it more thought. All I’ll say at this point is that I’m postponing the Deputy CEO interviews. I’ll need to sift through the applications again.”
“Does Miss Bloom know about the postponement?”
Susan Jukes said, “She does,” and reached for the coffee pot. “Have you time for coffee?
“Thank you, I’d love one.”
*
Back on the car park roof, Cally texted Hammond: Called on Susan Jukes. She’s postponing the interviews for Deputy CEO and TOLD BLOOM LAST NIGHT.
*
Cally sat at her desk, eyes closed. There was more to the Parsons and Fox murders than Harriet Bloom. She switched on her computer, keyed in April Parsons’s file. Deleted David Marsh. Reinstated him. Finally put a question mark against his name. She made further notes. Check forensic search of Diana Bloom’s Beetle. Was it thorough, regarding fingerprints and DNA?’ She added, Re DNA, only expect to find Sykes’s. She called DC Nolan in, watched his face brighten when she instructed him to drive up to Newcastle, check Paul Pirie’s existence and verify Sykes had stayed with him.
47
Cally woke, moved her left arm into empty space and checked the time. Six-thirty. She sat on the edge of the bed, rolled her ankles and wondered why Greg wasn’t back from the loo. No sound. No cistern filling up. She walked to the window, rolled up the blind, saw him on the garden seat, knees pulled up as far as they’d go. She sighed, took her cotton dressing gown from the back of the door and headed downstairs.
He turned his head as she put an arm round him. “Come back in,” she said, “I’ll make a brew.”
He dropped his feet to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said, “so sorry.”
“Are the new pills not helping?”
“Nothing is.” Tears rolled down his cheeks. “I can’t see a way out of this.”
Cally took his hand. “I won’t say give it time, because you must be bloody sick of me saying it.” She wiped his face with the hem of her dressing gown. “We’ll get there, though. Honestly we will.”
“You might, but I can’t think I ever will.”
She stood up, made for the back door and he followed.
*
Hammond went from desk to desk in the Incident Room. Which team member might hit on the vital clue that would nail the killer? He was feeling the pressure, hadn’t had a chance to talk to discuss Susan Jukes’s decision to postpone the Deputy CEO interviews. Yesterday’s meeting with Pat Kerridge had lasted an hour. It was inevitable, after twenty-three days into the investigation, that she’d be turning up the heat. He’d picked up a note Cally had left on his desk: ‘Nolan back. Paul Pirie genuine human. No reason to disbelieve him re Sykes’s stay in Newcastle.’
He had paused at Stoppard’s screen when his phone buzzed. “No problem, Ma’am.” He switched off. “Just what I fucking need.”
Stoppard looked up. “What’s that, sir?”
“Stabbing on the Lockwell estate.”
“Want any help, sir?”
“Yeah, you can drive.”
*
At 12.17 Mal Cope put a call through to Cally. “Miss Bloom. Sounds urgent.”
“Thanks, Mal.” She picked up the phone. “DS Burns. Good morning, Miss Bloom.”
“Thank God you’re there.”
Cally sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s mother. I can’t raise her.”
“How d’you mean?”
“I check on them – her and Leo – a couple of times a day, but –”
Cally wasn’t sensing background noise. “Where are you?”
“On my way home.”
“You’re on your mobile in the car?”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I’m desperate.”
“Listen,” Cally said, “pull in somewhere, so we can talk properly.”
“Sorry, yes I will.”
Cally switched off her computer, keyed Bloom into her mobile and hurried into Reception. “Where’s the boss, Mal, any idea?”
“You’ve just missed him, Sarge. Trouble on the Lockwell estate. DI Franks called in sick. Kerridge told the boss to head the team pro tem. Anything I can do for you?”
“I don’t think so. Harriet Bloom. You were right, it’s urgent.” She put the mobile to her ear, “Where are you, Miss Bloom?”
“Not quite sure.” Rapid breathing reached Cally. “Sorry. Think I’m panicking. I’ve been home once. No Mother, no Leo.”
“Your mother’s car?”
Hesitation. “It was still there.” Her voice shook. “I’m going to turn round, go back to the woods.”
“The woods?”
“Behind the house. She takes Leo there. She could’ve gone for a walk and forgotten where she is. Or taken a wrong turn. She’s been odd the past day or two. I was about to make a doctor’s appointment. I’m worried she’s starting with dementia. Cally? I can call you Cally? I’ll drive home, leave the car there and make a proper search of the woods. Paths and so on.”
“Right, now listen.” Cally tried a little laugh. “Promise you won’t get lost.”
“You know where I’ll be?”
“Behind Wychwood? Of course I do. Make sure you don’t go too far. You’ve got my number, call me on your mobile. I’ll park up at yours. We’ll search together.”
“Thank God.”<
br />
Cally switched off and Cope leaned over the counter. “You okay, Sarge?” Cally shook her head. “Bloom,” she said, “I don’t trust her an inch, but this is something else. There’s a three-week-old kid gone missing.”
“Kidnapped?”
“I don’t think so.” She paused for a second. ”Mal, I’m heading for the Blooms’ house. Bloom’s in a panic about her mother. Looks like she’s gone walkabout with the baby.”
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“There’ll be a logical explanation.”
Cope said. “That’s what they always say.”
“Anyway, if the boss gets in touch, unlikely by the sound of it, give him the gist.”
“Will do.”
“And ask Akpata to stand by.”
*
Bloody tractor. Why were there always tractors? Cally cursed, and not under her breath. Ideally she’d like to reach Wychwood first. Start the search alongside Bloom. She used her hands-free, called Bloom’s mobile.
“Cally?”
“Sorry Miss Bloom. Traffic’s bad. Are you back?”
“Yes. No sign of them.” She sounded out of breath. “I’m keeping to the main path for the moment. Fields on the right. Will you be long?”
“Not long, no.” Cally pulled out, accelerated, overtook the tractor and put her foot down. Her luck was changing; most of the heavy traffic was travelling the other way. The monkey puzzle came into view. Cally slowed to a stop and parked up on the road. She climbed out, locked the Focus, and looked briefly at the house, and at Araminta in front of the right-hand garage. Hurrying to the Beetle, she tried the driver’s door. Locked. She peered into the interior. Nothing out of the way: just a kids’ sun screen stuck to the right-hand rear window and a teddy bear on the back seat. She did a circuit of the house, looked through the windows, tried the exterior doors. All secure.
She walked past the garden table, turned left beside a mixed border and took the garden path – ferns on the shady right-hand side – leading to the woods. Shouting “Miss Bloom!” her breath was briefly knocked out of her by screeching magpies. She unfastened the latch on the garden gate, closed it, and turned left into the wood. She called again, “Miss Bloom!” Her mobile buzzed and she clamped it to her ear. “Where are you, Miss Bloom?”