Crossing the Line (Kerry Wilkinson) (34 page)

with your wife.’

Another sigh, which might have been because of Jessica’s request, but also coincided with another

dedication being made on the radio: ‘This is going out to Claudia in Bromsgrove, whose husband

Graham says that he loves her very much . . .’ Blah, blah, blah. Graham was definitely having an

affair. Probably Claudia too, not that Jessica blamed her – if someone had phoned up to dedicate a

Barry Manilow song to her, she’d be having second thoughts too.

Humphrey gave Jessica a name and address, asking if she’d tell Beverley for him that he was fine

and would be home later. Jessica said she would, not asking the obvious question about why she

hadn’t been notified already. Sometimes you didn’t want to get involved in more personal business

than you had to.

‘What about Georgia?’ Jessica asked.

‘I’ll tell her this afternoon.’ Not a complete coward then, only a partial one. He must have sensed

Jessica’s disapproval, because he followed it up with: ‘It’s not what you think.’

‘What do I think?’

‘We’ve been going through the motions in the marriage for a long time. We’ve been married for

over thirty years. At first we stayed together for the kids, then it became more about the house and

maintaining a quality of life. If you split up, you end up having to divide everything and neither of us wants that.’

‘Does your wife know you’re having an affair?’

‘Not exactly . . .’

‘So, “no”, then?’

‘She doesn’t say anything when I spend nights away from home – it’s why she won’t be worried

today. I’ve always thought she probably just assumes.’

The bedrock of any relationship: an assumption that your partner is having an affair.

‘Your attacker escaped through the crowds. We’ve got lots of footage of people entering and exiting

the festival which we’ll get through as and when we can but, for now, we don’t have any actual

suspects. The obvious question is if you know anyone who might have a grudge against you . . . with

the obvious exception of your wife.’

‘Who says she has a grudge?’

‘That’s what I’m going to find out. Is there anyone else? Have you had previous extra-marital

relationships, for instance – perhaps with other married people where there might be an angry

husband?’

Humphrey reached up and removed the cotton wool from his eyes. He blinked rapidly, reaching for

a small bottle of solution that was on the table next to the bed and squirting some drops into his eyes.

It was clearly a method to get out of answering the question but Jessica waited anyway. His eyes

were bloodshot and unfocused.

Eventually he took a mouthful of water and replied. ‘There have been a few but everything ended

on solid terms. Usually I would break up with them and we’d move on. If any of them had husbands

then I didn’t know anything about it.’

‘I’m still going to need the names.’

‘They’re on my email at work. I signed up for this dating site – that’s where I met Georgia. At first

it would just be a quiet drink or a meal to see if we got on. Every now and then it would turn into

more. Georgia said she was moving to the area and wanted to get to know a few people. We hit it off

straight away. I’ll be able to get you the names of the other women – but not until tomorrow when my

office opens again.’

‘I also need to know who you told that you were going to the festival yesterday.’

‘No one – only you, Georgia and Adam knew.’

‘That can’t be true.’

‘Why?’

‘Because if this was a targeted attack – which we have to assume it is given what the attacker said

to you – then how else would they have known where you were?’

36

Humphrey continued to insist that no one else knew he was going to the festival, making the point that,

although he assumed his wife knew about his affairs, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to make

sure she or anyone else knew for sure. It was a speck of truth in an ocean of dishonesty.

Jessica contacted DS Cornish at the station, asking if she could begin looking into linking

Humphrey to Luke Callaghan, Alan Hume and Victor Todd. If she could do that without letting DCI

Cole know Jessica had asked, that would be even better.

When she saw the house that belonged to Humphrey and Beverley Marsh, Jessica could at least

understand why he said he was concerned about having to split the property if they divorced. It was a

beautiful detached home at the back of a modern estate, complete with its own stables and four-berth

garage. From the size, it must have had at least six bedrooms and who knew what else. Having to sell

it and then move into two separate smaller houses would have been a comedown.

Beverley was more or less what Jessica expected: late-fifties, her looks gone and she knew it.

Some women made the best of what they had; some didn’t care and had no reason to. Others had once

been pretty and couldn’t cope with the fact they weren’t any longer, caking on the make-up and

bathing in perfume in an effort to maintain what they’d once had. Beverley fell firmly into the final

category – dressed as if she was set for a posh night out, rather than a day around the house.

When Jessica introduced herself, Beverley seemed ready for the worst – with a husband who

stopped out so regularly, she’d probably been waiting for bad news for years. Jessica told her that

Humphrey had been attacked with pepper spray from very close range but that he should be released

in the late afternoon or early evening. His wife didn’t exactly seem disappointed but there was no

pleasure there either – she simply wasn’t bothered. Some partners would have been in their cars and

roaring their way to hospital but Beverley nodded an acceptance, inviting Jessica in and offering her

a cup of tea.

They sat on either side of a breakfast bar in an immaculate bright white kitchen sipping their drinks

as if neither of them had a care in the world, with a small yappy dog snapping around Jessica’s feet.

‘Don’t mind Terrance,’ Beverley said.

Jessica scowled down at the ball of hair and then back up at Beverley. ‘You weren’t down as his

next of kin.’

The woman shrugged. ‘I’m not that surprised – we’re not really in each other’s lives other than

sharing a roof. We’ve got separate bedrooms, bathrooms, cars. I’ll still cook every now and then but

that’s it.’

‘The person who attacked your husband gave him a message just before he sprayed the liquid. He

said: “Be nice to your wife”.’

Beverley put her mug down so quickly that tea lapped over the top onto the counter. ‘
Really?
’

‘Really. Which leaves me with an obvious question—’

‘I wasn’t even around – I was at work.’

Yap, yap, yap went Terrance in agreement.

‘I’ll take the details to verify that but you’re getting ahead of me. What I was going to ask was if

there’s anyone you know who might want to stand up for you – friends, family, that sort of thing.’

Beverley picked up a dishcloth and started mopping away the tea as Terrance did his best to help

by running in and out of her legs. ‘Did Humphrey tell you about his “indiscretions”?’

‘He told me a few things.’

‘He’s had other women on the go for years. I suppose it’s partly my fault for knowing but not saying

anything. Have you been asking any of his other women?’

‘We’ll get to that but the attacker very specifically said, “Be nice to your wife”, which is why I’m

here first.’

Beverley dropped the cloth into the sink and returned to her mug, eyes fixed on the counter. ‘I don’t

really talk to people about things like this. Who can you tell that you know your husband’s having

affairs? I don’t even mind that much – I just wish he’d talked to me about it, plus he’s never as clever with it all as he thinks. Whenever he’s wearing new clothes, I know it’s because he’s off out to meet

one of his women.’

‘Isn’t there anyone you talk to about things?’

‘Only Paula and a couple of the girls at work – we both complain about our husbands; the usual

stuff.’

As Terrance continued to add his opinion with a series of high-pitched barks, Jessica took the

details of Beverley’s workplace. It was already Sunday afternoon and she was going to struggle to get

much sense out of anyone at this time of day. The chances of getting any officers to help would be zero

too – especially as she was supposed to be taking a day off. Jessica pocketed the slip of paper,

thinking she’d deal with it on Monday.

Beverley let Jessica out, saying she’d be around for the rest of the day if there were any other

questions. Her parting words were perhaps the most biting: ‘I know this might all seem strange to a

young person like yourself but it comes to us all in the end.’

On that happy piece of advice, Jessica decided she’d finally make the visit she’d been putting off for

weeks. Her mother’s retirement home was just outside Heywood, halfway between Bury and

Rochdale, north of Manchester city centre. It was barely ten miles from her house and compared to

the ninety-mile journey she used to take to her parents’ place in Cumbria, Jessica really didn’t have

much of an excuse for not going. Her family had no historical connection to the area and she suspected

her mother had chosen the place because she liked the name of the home as opposed to any other

reason.

Meadowside Retirement Home gave the impression that it was on the edge of sprawling fields

stretching far into the distance with patches of pretty summer flowers constantly in bloom. The truth

was that it was probably once quite impressive. The first time Jessica had seen it, she’d been glad

Adam was with her because the outside made it look like another large stately home. He’d gripped

her hand and told her it was fine and then she’d been all right as soon as she’d gone inside. The smell

was difficult to describe; definitely cleaning products but also a large dose of
old
. Jessica couldn’t think of a better way to put it. It was probably a mix of the faded flowery carpets and dusty

chandeliers. What was good to see was the interaction between the staff and residents. After years of

horrendous undercover stories on the news with workers in places like this taking advantage of the

elderly patients, here you could sense the friendly atmosphere as soon as you entered.

As Jessica walked into Meadowside, two of the older gentlemen appeared to be racing from one

end of the entranceway to the other in wheelchairs, egged on by a twenty-something worker in a white

smock and three other residents sitting in armchairs waving their walking sticks in the air. Jessica

stood watching as one of the men crossed a line at the far end, where one carpet met another, and

raised his arm in victory. The other one instantly accused him of making a false start and they went

back and forth, bickering with enormous smiles on their faces as if they were schoolchildren again.

When Jessica thought of retirement homes, this wasn’t exactly what she pictured.

A woman wearing the same white smock as the younger man sidled up to Jessica and introduced

herself as the duty manager. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I’m here to visit my mother.’ Jessica started to give details and then stopped herself, nodding

towards the men. ‘Were they racing?’

The woman smiled. ‘That’s Walter and Brian – they’re always trying to outdo each other at

something, so it wouldn’t surprise me. It doesn’t matter what we have on – bowls on the lawn,

tiddlywinks in the canteen, bingo or quiz night – it always comes down to those two trying to beat

each other.’

Jessica watched as the man in the smock got in between the two arguing men, getting poked in the

thigh for his troubles as they continued arguing over who was the rightful winner. After taking her

mother’s name, the duty manager led Jessica up a staircase and along a brightly lit hallway to the

room. She knocked, got the ‘come in’ and then left Jessica to it.

Lydia Daniel kept her room as immaculate as she used to keep the family home. The bed was tidily

made with perfect corners, her cosmetics were arranged in straight lines beside the basin and there

was a neat pile of clothes on the dresser. She was sitting in a rocking chair by a curved window that

looked out over the front of the house, watching television. As Jessica entered, her mum began to

stand but Jessica quickly moved across the room to stop her, kneeling and giving her mother a hug

before sitting on the floor under the window.

‘You’ll hurt your back sitting on the floor,’ Jessica’s mother scolded.

‘I’ve been sitting on floors since I was a kid and I’m fine.’

‘Then why did you wince when you sat?’

She had her there. Always one step ahead, even now. Perhaps that was why Jessica’s back hurt a

lot.

‘Fine.’

Jessica climbed up and carried a wooden chair across from next to the dresser and sat by her mum.

On the television was a quiz show where the contestants were getting incredibly excited every time

they got a question correct. Her mum’s eyes flickered towards her and then back to the screen.

Although there was still a spark there, physically she was a shadow of the person Jessica

remembered when growing up. Then, she’d walked everywhere and carried huge bags of mail at their

post office. She refused to let her husband do anything for her that she could do herself and in many

ways was the strong woman that Jessica had herself hoped to be. Now, little brown blotches ran the