She'd meant it as a joke but he'd taken it seriously. What was the matter with him? She sneaked a look over her shoulder. Jamie was staring blankly out of the window, deep in thought.
What was the matter with the pair of them? `Who's the Brides in the Bath murderer, Mum?'
Jane hung up the phone. How typical of Robbie to turn up just at the wrong moment. He lounged in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a sweatshirt and baggy pants, looking as if he'd just dragged himself out of bed. It suddenly struck her that he seemed older, his shape filling up the doorway, his voice deeper as he repeated his question.
À man called George Smith,' she replied. `He married women and killed them to inherit their money and their life insurance.'
Ànd he killed them in the bath?'
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`He pulled them up by their ankles so their heads were suddenly plunged underwater. People die very quickly like that and it leaves no sign of injury. It was only when his third wife died in the same way that he got caught.'
Robbie was shaking some sugary cereal into a bowl. `Wicked,' he said.
`Have you got a case like that?'
`No, Robbie.' But North Yorkshire CID might have.
Why had she mentioned the Brides in the Bath Murders to Colin Stewart?
She didn't seriously think Malcolm Priest was another George Smith, did she? No, but given her suspicions, she had to mention it.
So what exactly were her suspicions? Only the fact that Malcolm Priest was connected - tenuously - to two separate incidents of unexplained death. Was that enough to act on?
Robbie plonked himself down beside her, shovelling her papers aside and spilling them across the table.
`Careful,' she said.
`What's this?' Robbie was holding the photograph Elizabeth had given her of the lads at Ridgemoor larking around after a football match.
Ìt's the staff at the yard where Jamie Hutchison worked.'
He peered at it closely. Ìt's got a date on it. Twenty-first of September 1999.'
She tried to place the information in context. Ìt must have been taken a couple of weeks after Hutchison's car crash.'
`So you read that stuff 1 printed off for you.'
Ì told you to leave it to me, Robbie. What time did you get to bed?' He ignored the question and pointed to the photograph. `Who are this lot then?'
'That one's Toby Priest.' Jane tapped the familiar image of the horse trainer. Even in the photo he gave her the creeps. Ì don't know the others.'
Robbie looked at it closely. `That's Malcolm.' He pointed out a tall square-shouldered man without a shirt.
`How do you know that?'
'His photo's in that internet stuff. Here.' He leafed through the sheaf of papers and quickly found the page he wanted.
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Jane saw at once that he was right. The same man in a suit and tie was identified arriving at court with the accused jockey. Now she looked closer she could see the family resemblance to his father.
Robbie had taken off his spectacles and was squinting at the photograph from a distance of about two inches. It was one of his tricks - his myopia enabled him to see with great clarity from close up.
`Have you noticed this?' he said at last, pointing to a mark on Malcolm's shoulder.
She looked at it for a moment. Ìt looks like a bruise.'
He shot her an exasperated glance. Òf course it's a bruise,' he said, jumping from his seat and rushing out of the room. A moment later he was back with a magnifying glass in his hand. `Here, take a look.'
It undoubtedly was a bruise, a mulberry stain of extravagant hue that spread over Malcolm's collar bone and across one side of his chest. Robbie had replaced his spectacles and was grinning at her with the infuriating look which invariably accompanied one of his ridiculous brainteasers. `So what conclusion do you draw from that, Mum?'
Ì don't draw any conclusion at all,' she said. Àpart from the obvious one that he probably got it in the car crash.'
Ànd?'
Ànd nothing. If you've got some bright idea, Robbie, just spit it out.'
`Well, don't you reckon he got it from a seatbelt? It cuts right across his shoulder and diagonally across his chest - just where a seatbelt goes.'
That was true, it did. She looked through the magnifying glass again and thought she could make out a line where the edge of a strap had bitten into the flesh of the pectoral.
`Very good, Robbie. I'd say you're probably right.'
Ìn which case, why is the mark on the right side of his chest?' She stared at him blankly.
He rolled his eyes, infuriated at her stupidity. `Come on, Mum, you've read the reports. If Malcolm had been sitting in the front passenger seat as he claimed, the seatbelt bruise would be on his other shoulder.'
At last she got it. Malcolm was driving the car. Not Jamie. And, on the day she was murdered, Amanda had ordered four copies of the photo which proved it.
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In the back seat of the Land Rover Jamie was lulled by the rhythm of the powerful engine. After Marie's unexpected visit he'd not had a good night's sleep. And he needed all the rest he could get if he was to do himself justice on Gates of Eden.
Flames flickered in the darkness. There was a stench of smoke and petrol in his nostrils and a roaring in his ears. He could feel the heat, the fire was getting closer. He knew he had to get away but he couldn't move.
`Jamie! Jamie!' Hands tugged and pulled at his limbs. `Can you hear me?'
He wanted to respond, scream, Help me!’ as loudly as he could, but his voice wouldn't work. Nothing was working.
`We've got to get him out.' It's OK. I've got him.' `Quick, Malcolm.'
Then he was outside in the fresh air, being tumbled across the grass.
`Jamie!' Richard shouting in his ear. Hysterical. Fingers were prodding him, groping at his wrists. Clumsy. You won't find a pulse like that, Rich.
Is he OK?' Malcolm.
`No!’ More pummelling and poking. Jesus Christ, Mal, he's dead!' Are you sure?'
`Yes. He's not breathing.' 'Oh God.'
But I'm not dead. Honestly.
The ringing of Jane's mobile interrupted a debate with Robbie on the chances of Jamie Hutchison losing his memory of the car crash. On reading the reports of the accident and trial, Jane had been of the opinion that the jockey's amnesia was a convenient excuse for not facing up to the consequences of his actions. Now, if Robbie's conclusion was correct, it looked more convenient for Malcolm.
She was surprised to discover the call was from Colin Stewart.
Ì thought you'd like to know that I can't get hold of Malcolm Priest at the moment. He's off to a race meeting in Carlisle and I don't think my guvnor would approve of me going after him.'
Ì can understand that, Colin.'
Ì'll try and catch him when he gets back though. I really fancy him after what you said about George Smith. I looked it all up.' He sounded quite excited. `The pathologist says it's possible Beverley could have been killed like that.'
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Ìt could be difficult to prove,' she said in an attempt to calm him down.
Her initial suggestion hadn't been entirely serious.
But the young detective wasn't listening.
`We've had a Ripper in Yorkshire. Just think, we could have a Brides in the Bath killer too.'
Lying on his back, looking up at the stars. In the distance, the sound of sirens. Up close, two voices.
'I don't understand, Rich. I just didn't see that horse.' `What happened to the lad who was riding?'
'He's up on the road.' Ìs he OK?'
'He's dead too.' 'Oh, Jesus.'
`Listen to me, Rich. Before the police get here - Jamie was driving, right?'
`What do you mean?'
'Just say that Jamie was driving. It won't matter to him, will it? He's dead.'
But I'm not. I'm not!
'Mal - he moved. He's alive!'
`That doesn't change anything. It's his car. He was driving. It's two against one - right?'
Jane called Simon but was told he wasn't on duty. She found his home number. To her relief he didn't start on the cod boyfriend act. In fact his tone was grim.
Ìs this a bad time?' she asked.
`Not exactly. I'm just having a constructive discussion with my daughter about how we are going to pass the day. I'm not in favour of spending it watching MTV'
So Simon was in the same boat as she was. Tanya's school was obviously closed like Robbie's.
`Why don't you both come over here?' she said. Ìt's about time Robbie met a female of his own age. And I've got something to tell you.'
`Not about Keith Wright, I hope.' Ìt's the Bonfire Night Murders.' `Right you are then, boss.'
As he put his foot down on the motorway, Malcolm was regretting being quite so hard on Richard the night before. At times his brother irritated him so much that he forgot the importance of keeping him onside.
Certainly venturing into Vanessa territory was dangerous. He'd have to 281
smooth it over, say he'd misheard Pippa and it was some other blonde strumpet who used to be stuck on Jamie. And if he didn't swallow that there were other ways of making Richard toe the line. After all, if he went down he'd make sure little brother did too.
What to do about Jamie was a tougher problem to resolve. Just what did his brother-in-law remember of that night? His loss of memory had been very opportune so far and it would be handy to prolong it. It was a pity that Jamie's recent bang on the head appeared to have cleared the mists.
Perhaps a harder thump would ensure they descended for good. It might come to that.
Robbie had been aghast at the thought of some unknown girl invading his home space and had disappeared into his room for half an hour. But when the bell rang he beat Jane to the door. He'd changed into a fresh set of sweatshirt and loose pants and Jane noted the gel in his hair. Her stomach contracted with nerves - she hoped this idea wouldn't backfire.
Her anxieties increased when she clapped eyes on Tanya. The girl was taller than she was, with almond-shaped eyes and the kind of complexion that defied the existence of adolescent skin problems. She wore a denim skirt appliqued with glitter that finished halfway down her slender golden thighs and a skimpy yellow top which hinted at fast-growing curves. This was a girl of fourteen?
`Pleased to meet you,' Jane said.
Tanya flashed a perfunctory smile. `Hi.' The almond eyes did not meet Jane's; they were focused to her left. On Robbie.
`You wanna Coke or something?' he mumbled in his new bass voice.
`Cool,' she replied and followed him into the kitchen.
Jane was left alone with Simon in the hall. She realised he was as on edge as she was. From the kitchen came Robbie's indistinct rumble, followed by a peal of high-pitched laughter.
`So far so good,' Simon murmured. `Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?'
`Cool,' said Jane and led him into the sitting room. She'd hardly got started with her suppositions about Malcolm Priest, when Robbie stuck his head round the door.
`Hey, Mum, can me and Tanya get a video?'
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She looked at Simon who shrugged - it was OK by him. She handed over a
£10 note.
Àctually we might get a couple. And a pizza.' Simon produced another tenner.
`Thanks, Si,' the boy said and vanished.
Jane bit her lip and avoided Simon's eye until she heard the front door slam. Then the pair of them began to laugh.
When they'd recovered, she said, `We're just going to get in the way here, you know. Would you be happy to leave them on their own?' 'What have you got in mind?'
À trip to the races to have a word with Malcolm Priest. I don't see why we shouldn't have a crack at him before Harrogate CID.'
On arrival at the racecourse Malcolm made straight for the Beaufort hospitality box to see how the land lay. He'd been a trifle cavalier in his treatment of Karen but he imagined she wasn't senior enough to appear at this kind of gathering. He was relieved to see that he was right.
Though there was a sombre atmosphere in the room in contrast to previous occasions, Malcolm observed that food and drink - particularly drink -
were plentiful. He accepted a whisky and was drowning it in water - a clear head was called for this afternoon, all things considered - when Barney Beaufort appeared by his side.
'Malcolm,' said the travel agent in the tone of an actor about to launch into a speech, Ì appreciate your attendance on this sad occasion.' He wrung Malcolm's hand with both of his.
Malcolm hadn't clapped eyes on Barney since Newbury and there was an appreciable change in his demeanour since then. He wore a black tie and a tragic air. His once-ruddy face was pale and smudged with dark hollows.
Ì considered cancelling,' Barney continued, `but Beverley wouldn't have wanted me to do that. I drew the line at champagne though - it wouldn't have been right.'
Malcolm nodded in agreement. Champagne would have been in very poor taste indeed.
Barney sighed deeply. `Beverly was a brilliant woman. Dedicated to the Bonanza initiative.'
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Malcolm didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't sure which script the old ham was reading from.
Barney leaned closer. Ì found her body, you know. A terrible shock. But even in death she was beautiful, just as she was in life.'
Barney seemed to be enjoying his role of newly bereaved employer.
Malcolm said nothing. He could hardly add that, in his opinion, Bev looked bloody terrible lying dead in the bath.
He was rescued by a well-groomed woman in a bright flower-print summer dress who took Barney by the arm. `Do you mind awfully if I steal him away?' she said to Malcolm. `There's an old friend of mine over there who he simply must meet,' and she led him off without a word of protest.
`Who's that woman?' he asked Guy Greaves who'd come up for a refill.
' Val Beaufort.'
Malcolm was at a loss. `But you told me she'd left him.'
`She came running back in his hour of need. A good woman in a crisis, is Val.'
`What about the younger, richer advertising man?'
Ì don't think he was quite as rich as he made out. But I only pick up the odd whisper. I know nothing for certain, unlike you.'