‘He was a right bastard really, wasn’t he?’ Grace said.
‘Financially he was OK,’ Fletch put in between mouthfuls of sandwich. ‘But we know he lived on cash. The fifteen grand that Joan Murphy paid him, for example, never found its way to any bank that we know of. Caterers for that party, car servicing—all paid in cash.’
‘He handed over a cheque for Tyler’s car,’ Grace pointed out.
They concentrated on eating for a few minutes.
When Fletch had finished the slice of lemon meringue and had a cup of tea in his hand, he spoke with resignation. ‘None of this brings us any closer to discovering his connection to Tom McQueen.’
‘That’s true,’ Grace agreed. ‘As far as we know, he met McQueen at a dinner in Harrington back in October. McQueen was invited to that party at Kelton Manor and then they had dinner together—which may or may not have been pre-planned.’
‘Maybe there isn’t a connection,’ Jill said.
She knew exactly what Fletch and Grace thought of that theory. As far as they were concerned, there was one killer. That man, they believed, had shot Muhammed Khalil, bludgeoned Bradley Johnson, put six bullets into Tom McQueen and then stabbed Tessa Bailey.
Jill wasn’t so sure.
Max, who had been in meetings all morning, came over to them at that point.
‘Well?’
No one had good news for him. In fact, no one had any news at all.
‘We’re still looking for a link between Bradley Johnson and McQueen,’ Jill told him, ‘and I’m not convinced there is one.’
‘Of course there is.’
‘Then why didn’t our killer shoot Bradley Johnson? He’s got a gun, the one he used on Muhammed Khalil, so why bash Bradley Johnson over the head? Surely, if you’re happy firing a gun once, you’re happy doing it twice. And not only did he have one gun, he apparently had two.’
‘Khalil was shot in a busy, noisy town,’ Max pointed out. ‘Bradley Johnson met his end in a quiet wood in Kelton Bridge. The sound of gunfire would have carried for miles.’
‘OK,’ she agreed, unable to argue with that logic, ‘but the person who shot Khalil is not the same person who put an end to Tom McQueen. Whoever shot McQueen was more emotionally involved. They weren’t confident handling a gun, either. A single shot killed Khalil yet our killer fired six times at McQueen.’
‘Hm,’ Max murmured.
Fletch hit his keyboard and his computer sprang into life.
‘We’ve gathered as much info as we can on Johnson’s movements over the last year,’ he said. ‘And we’ve done the same for McQueen. They really didn’t move in the same circles, Max.’
Jill looked at the screen as Fletch scrolled through a long list of dates.
‘Whoa!’ Jill pointed at the screen. ‘Go back a bit, Fletch. OK, stop there. June the thirtieth. What was Bradley Johnson doing at Warwick University?’
Fletch frowned. ‘It was an awards dinner.’
‘What’s significant about that?’ Max asked her.
‘What’s Bradley’s connection with the university?’ Jill asked Fletch, ignoring Max for the moment.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Find out,’ Jill suggested.
‘What’s so interesting about Warwick?’ Max asked again.
‘Hannah and Gordon Brooks got their degrees there. At least, I’m fairly sure they did. I was chatting to Gordon one day and he said that he and Hannah met there.’
Fletch picked up his phone, tried to speak to someone at the university and, understandably, got nowhere. ‘Holidays,’ he explained.
‘Bloody hell.’ Max wanted answers now. ‘Call Phoebe Johnson, Fletch, and see what she knows about it.’
Fletch looked up the number for Kelton Manor while Max tapped his foot impatiently.
‘Mrs Johnson,’ Fletch said when he was connected, ‘your husband attended a dinner at Warwick University on the thirtieth of June this year. Can you tell me what that was all about?’
Judging by Fletch’s silence and the scribbling he was doing as he listened, Phoebe was giving him every detail of the menu.
‘And when was that?’ he asked her. ‘I see … yes … and how long did it last?’
Fletch finally ended the call.
‘Well?’ Max asked.
‘About twelve years ago, she couldn’t be sure, Johnson’s company was developing a piece of computer software and they were running trials at the university. Apparently, Johnson spent a couple of months there and is—or was—very highly regarded.’
‘I thought he was living in the States twelve years ago,’ Max said, frowning.
‘That’s right. According to Phoebe, he used to fly over here for a couple of weeks at a time.’
‘Hannah Brooks is thirty-two,’ Jill said. ‘Twelve years ago, she and Gordon would have been at Warwick.’
‘Bring them both in,’ Max ordered.
‘Is that wise?’ Jill ventured. ‘The press are camped on the doorstep and if news gets out that we’re questioning the local Tory candidate, they’ll really go to town.’
He considered that for a moment.
‘And,’ Jill went on, ‘Hannah will be aware of that. She’s more likely to be cooperative away from the nick and, more importantly, the press.’
‘OK.’ Car keys jangled from Max’s fingers.
‘I expect they’ll be back at work today,’ Jill pointed out.
Max sighed impatiently. ‘Right, we’ll be there at six o’clock. And if there’s a whiff of scandal, I’m hauling her—both of them, in fact—down here. Sod her career!’
Jill put the last bite of a Mars bar, one she’d stolen from Fletch, into her mouth at five minutes to six, at the precise moment that Max stopped the car outside Gordon and Hannah Brooks’ house. He applied the brakes so forcefully that she almost swallowed it.
‘It could be nothing more than coincidence,’ she reminded him when she’d recovered sufficiently.
‘Ooh, will you look at that? A pink farmyard animal just flew over the bonnet.’ He killed the engine. ‘I’ve had more coincidences than I can take lately. I was convinced that blasted grandfather of hers knew something, too.’
‘Let’s tread carefully, shall we?’
‘Softly, softly,’ he vowed.
As soon as they were inside and had been ushered by Gordon into the lounge, Max got straight to the point.
‘Against my better judgement,’ he told the couple, ‘I’ve agreed to question you both here. But if I hear any more lies, you’ll both be taken straight to the nick and the sodding press can make what they will of it.’
So much for softly, softly, Jill thought.
But perhaps Max had taken the right approach. The couple didn’t have time to play games, and Hannah—Jill was watching her closely—had visibly paled.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ Gordon asked.
Two nights ago, at the village bonfire, Hannah had been glowing with confidence. Now she was shaken and she looked frightened.
‘Will you sit down?’ she offered.
Jill sat, but Max didn’t. At the best of times, he found it difficult to sit still, and Jill knew these weren’t the best of times.
‘I’m going to ask you both again,’ Max said. ‘When did you first meet Bradley Johnson?’
Hannah and Gordon sat together on the sofa. Jill was sitting opposite them, her view obscured every time Max walked in front of her. He couldn’t even stand still, never mind sit.
‘Well,’ Hannah said, ‘it was about a week after they moved into the manor. Isn’t that right, Gordon?’
‘I can’t remember the precise details,’ he said, ‘but yes, it wouldn’t have been much longer than a week.’
‘Let me jog your memory.’ Max was having none of it. ‘Warwick University. Twelve years ago. Ring any bells, does it?’
Gordon finally broke the silence.
‘Twelve years ago, we were both at university in Warwick. That’s where we met.’
‘So I believe.’ Max walked in front of Jill again. ‘And that is where you first met Bradley Johnson, yes?’
‘No.’ Gordon couldn’t seem to grasp what Max was getting at. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Hannah?’ Jill prompted. ‘It’s where
you
met him, isn’t it?’
Hannah’s shoulders slumped. The air seemed to leave her body in a long shudder.
‘Yes,’ she admitted at last.
Max had his usual rant about obstructing the police, perverting the course of justice and a whole load of other stuff. It had Hannah looking terrified and Gordon more confused than ever.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘I met Bradley at university.’ Hannah’s voice was flat with resignation. ‘It was before I knew you, Gordon.’
‘But why? I mean, you never mentioned it. I didn’t think—oh, no!’ he said suddenly. ‘Don’t tell me he was the American. He was, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he’s—was—years older than you.’ Gordon stood up as if such close proximity to his wife would cause him physical harm. ‘Twenty years, Hannah!’
‘For God’s sake, Gordon, I know that.’
‘It seems you have some explaining to do, Mrs Brooks,’ Max said impatiently. ‘Perhaps you’d be so good as to do it to me first.’
She nodded.
‘From the beginning, Hannah,’ Jill prompted. ‘Tell us how you met Bradley.’
Jill couldn’t decide if her sympathies lay with Gordon or his wife.
‘I was young,’ Hannah began, ‘and it was the first time I’d left the village. Going to university was a real eye-opener for me. I made friends with the other girls, but I can’t say I had much in common with them. They were only interested in boys and experimenting with drugs. But I wanted friendship so I tagged along with them.’
Jill could identify with that scenario. She, too, had been amazed to find that, when she had been busy studying, her fellow students had found time for a full and varied social life.
‘One evening, we all gatecrashed a party,’ Hannah continued. ‘I was the odd one out as usual, and while the others enjoyed themselves, I ended up talking to Bradley. He was over from the States. His company was involved in a research programme at the university.’
‘Good God!’ Gordon crossed the room to a chair there and dropped into it.
‘We had an affair,’ Hannah said quietly.
‘Did you know him, Gordon?’ Jill asked curiously.
‘Me? Hell, no. I knew she’d had an affair with a Yank,’ he said bitterly, ‘but I had no idea who it was, or that he was old enough to be her father. I was just the mug who happened along to pick up the pieces when it was all over.’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ Tears swam in Hannah’s eyes, but Jill guessed she wasn’t about to let them fall.
‘And you’ve kept in touch all these years?’ Jill wanted to know.
‘No.’ Hannah looked at them both. ‘Do you want the truth?’
‘We wanted the truth weeks ago!’ Max was furious.
‘We were together—it was off and on because Bradley stayed for a fortnight and then spent a week or two at home in America—but we were together for a couple of months,’ Hannah explained. ‘For the time he was at Warwick, in fact. I suppose he liked the idea of a young student chasing him, and I enjoyed being in the company of a clever, sophisticated man. I knew it was over when he left, of course. We’d agreed, you see, right from the start that there would be no strings. He had a wife and I needed to study for my degree. I was heartbroken, though.’
She paused long enough to take a tissue from the pocket in her skirt and blow her nose. Her gaze darted everywhere but it studiously avoided Gordon who was looking more and more shocked with every word.
‘Six weeks after he left,’ she continued, ‘I realized I was pregnant.’
‘What?’ Gordon sprang out of his chair and looked as if he would have physically shaken Hannah if Max hadn’t intervened.
‘Calm down, Mr Brooks!’
‘Pregnant?’ Gordon cried, ignoring Max. ‘And you never said a word?’
Still Hannah couldn’t look at Gordon.
‘I was on the pill,’ she said, ‘but I’d had a touch of food poisoning so …’ She left the sentence hanging in the air.
‘I contacted Bradley easily enough through his business,’ she went on, ‘and we met up on his next trip to London.’ She took a breath. ‘We agreed I should have an abortion. Well, I say we agreed, but I’d already decided that I had little choice. I thought Bradley had a right to know, that was all.’
‘Jesus!’ Gordon’s face was twisted with disgust.
Jill sympathized. Gordon was still trying to come to terms with the loss of his unborn child and now he was hearing that Hannah had aborted another child. Bradley Johnson’s child.
‘I had the abortion and never heard from Bradley again,’ Hannah said. ‘During the following year, I met Gordon and we fell in love.’
‘Love?’ Gordon screamed at her. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’
He turned to Jill and spoke with difficulty. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to get out of the house. I can’t listen to any more of this and I can’t bear to look at her.’
‘You’re going nowhere,’ Max informed him. ‘I still haven’t decided whether to take you both down to headquarters and carry on there.’
Gordon returned to his chair on the edge of the room.
‘So, Hannah,’ Jill said, ‘you claim you had no contact with Bradley until he came here?’
‘That’s probably a lie, too,’ Gordon muttered.
‘It’s the truth,’ Hannah said.
Jill didn’t believe her. ‘Are you sure? If we find out that you’re not telling us the truth, Hannah, you’ll be in serious trouble.’
‘Did you have any contact with Johnson before he moved to Kelton Bridge?’ Max demanded. ‘Yes or no.’
‘Three phone calls,’ she admitted at last. ‘The first was a year or so before he came to the village.’
‘He called you?’ Max asked.
‘Yes. He was quite chatty at first and then he told me how he’d seen a news item on the internet about me. I’d been discussing my views on abortion. He wanted to know if my prospective voters knew I had personal experience.’
So he’d blackmailed her.
‘And of course they don’t.’ Gordon snapped. ‘You two-faced bitch!’
Hannah flinched as if he’d hit her.
‘What was the second call about?’ Max asked. ‘He called you again?’
‘Yes. He was taunting me. Said he was going to leave London and move somewhere he could keep an eye on me and my career.’
‘And the third?’
‘Very short and sweet,’ she replied bitterly. ‘He simply said he hoped I’d give the new owners of Kelton Manor a warm welcome.’
Jill had no sympathy for Bradley Johnson whatsoever. To her certain knowledge, he’d used Hannah and Joan Murphy. Hannah had been a young, innocent and unworldly student. Joan had been equally naive. Johnson had acted like the school bully who picked on those least able to fight back. With Hannah looking forward to a life in politics, he must have thought he’d been made for life.