‘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.’
‘Cheer up. I’m even offering to pay.’
She smiled at that. ‘In that case, lead on, because I’m starving!’
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 romantically, 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.