Authors: Clare Donoghue
‘Do you still think it’s a disappearance, boss?’ Franks asked, his voice incredulous.
‘We don’t know, Franks, but I want you and Whitemore to liaise with Chris and go over Mark’s and Lebowski’s backgrounds again. I want to know if they had any contact before or after the Reynolds case. Check phone and Internet records – everything. Penny, I also need you to go back further. Locate and question all tutors of law or psychology dating back to the time of Amelia’s murder.’ She turned her attention back to the full team. ‘That’s all for today. I want everyone up to speed with the Amelia Reynolds case by tomorrow. Unless the post-mortem on the body downstairs comes up with something concrete, which I doubt, we’re going to have to do the work ourselves. Keep your paperwork up to date, and if anything feels strange or out of place, I want to know about it. It’s possible Lebowski slipped through the net six years ago. I don’t want that to happen again.’ She was greeted with nodding heads as the team shuffled out of the briefing room.
‘Good work,’ Lockyer whispered, walking towards her as the room emptied.
‘There were too many “possibles” and “what-ifs” for my liking,’ she said, shaking her head.
He put his hand on her shoulder and waited for her to look up at him. ‘That’s how it works, Jane. Until you have the evidence and the case is solved, everything is a “possible”. I know it can be frustrating, but you are handling yourself and the team really well. Everyone knows what they should be doing and why they’re doing it. You can’t do any more than that, can you?’
‘No, I guess not,’ she said, picking up the Reynolds file off the glass table.
‘Jane,’ Lockyer said, turning and walking to the briefing-room door. ‘You need to prepare yourself.’
‘For what?’
‘For not getting him,’ he said, facing her. ‘If Lebowski murdered Amelia Reynolds six years ago and got away with it – even with Mark on his back – then it’s going to be difficult.’
‘But what about Maggie . . . and Mark?’ she asked, unwilling to accept what he was saying.
‘What you think, and what you know, doesn’t mean shit in this game,’ Lockyer said, putting his hand on the door. ‘If you can’t prove it, we’ve got nothing.’ He pushed open the door and left her reeling in the wake of his statement.
She knew he was right. She had been thinking the same thing. In every case she had worked, going back to her DC days, finding the link had always been the key. Once you had that, you could use the rest of the evidence to support it, to show that only that individual or individuals could have committed the crime in question. She could link Lebowski to Amelia Reynolds, Maggie, the body downstairs and even to Mark, but she couldn’t prove that Lebowski was the man who killed them. She felt her cheeks heating as she realized she was about to cry. Mark was dead. She knew it now. Perhaps she had always known, but it wasn’t until that moment that she had allowed herself to believe it. He was her friend. Sue was still her friend. She couldn’t let his killer walk away. She wouldn’t.
Jane sat back and listened while Penny did the introductions. Emily Loxton, the ex-Mrs Lebowski, sat with her legs crossed, her hands resting in her lap. She was wearing linen trousers and a white-collared shirt. She nodded to Jane and smiled. Her teeth were straight and white. Whitaker, Lebowski’s flashy solicitor, couldn’t hold a candle to this woman. Jane figured she was about five foot ten, slim but not skinny, and her skin rivalled that of the girls in the L’Oréal adverts.
‘Thanks again for coming in, Miss Loxton. There were just a few questions DS Bennett wanted to go over with you, if that’s okay?’ Penny asked.
‘Of course,’ she said, running her fingers through her hair. ‘Victor told me to expect your call.’
The question of whether Lebowski’s ex knew about his arrest had been answered. How long she had known remained to be seen. It wouldn’t surprise Jane if Lebowski had prepped his ex-wife, the second that Maggie’s name was confirmed in the press. She could just hear him now . . .
‘I’m afraid to say that one of my students has been murdered. It’s so awful. I’ve helped as much as I can, but you know what the police are like – what they were like last time. They’ll no doubt be dragging me in, to fling accusations; and, of course, they’ll want to talk to you too again. I’m so sorry. I only wish they would leave me alone, for your sake more than mine.’
Of course Lebowski would get his ex-wife on board. It was amazing how his ‘team’ always seemed to appear at the opportune moment to defend him. Clever, Jane thought. Very clever.
‘Emily – may I call you Emily?’ she asked.
‘Please do.’
‘Emily, how would you characterize your marriage to Victor Lebowski?’
‘As I told Detective Groves on the telephone,’ she said, gesturing to Penny, ‘Victor and I were very young when we met. Both of us had just turned twenty-three when we got married. He was still studying for his degree in psychology, and I was working flat out. We didn’t see that much of each other for the first year, I’m sorry to say.’
‘And what do you do, Emily?’ Jane asked.
‘I run a catering company with my father. He started the business twenty years ago out of our kitchen at home. To say we’ve expanded would be an understatement. It keeps me incredibly busy.’
‘And you and Mr Lebowski have two children?’
‘That’s right, Petra’s ten and Poppy is seven – eight in July.’
‘I understand Mr Lebowski sees the children every other weekend?’
‘No. Victor sees the children as often as possible. We agreed after the divorce that he could fit in his time with them around his teaching schedule. He probably sees more of them than I do,’ she said.
‘He’s a good father?’ Jane asked. She knew Emily had told Penny what a wonderful father Lebowski was, but she wanted to hear for herself. There was an edge to the woman’s voice. Jane couldn’t decide if it was jealousy that her ex-husband had more time to see the children than she did, or bitterness over their past relationship.
‘He’s a wonderful father. It was very hard on him, being separated from the girls. Poppy was only a year old. It took a year or two for things to settle down, but since then we’ve been very much on the same page, in terms of parenting.’
‘When you say “settled down”?’ Jane asked.
‘Divorce isn’t easy on anyone, Detective,’ Emily said, wiping a finger under her eye. ‘It can be very stressful, and the legal aspect can cause a lot of unnecessary friction at an already difficult time. This just brings it all back.’
Jane sat back. She had hoped to work the Reynolds investigation into their discussion, but it looked as if Lebowski’s ex was going to do the work for her. She took a breath and asked, ‘Would you mind telling me the reason for your separation?’
Emily sighed and looked across at Penny. ‘I knew you’d ask that.’ She looked down and put a hand over her chest, as if she was going to be sick or faint, or something. Jane glanced over at Penny and mouthed ‘What the . . . ?’ before turning her attention back to Emily. The confident, model-beautiful businesswoman Jane had appraised only moments ago seemed to have vanished, replaced by a much smaller, timid creature. Emily lifted her head. There were tears in her eyes. ‘I wanted you to ask. That’s why I’m here.’ She closed her eyes and continued. ‘Poppy had just had her first birthday. Things at home had been . . . ’ she paused, ‘difficult. Victor and I weren’t getting along. I was taking on more responsibility with the business. Victor seemed to resent my success. His teaching had always seemed to satisfy him, but then it didn’t. Nothing did.’ A tear rolled down her cheek, but she was quick to wipe it away. ‘Poppy had been a difficult delivery. It took me months to recover, to heal. I wasn’t myself. Victor was patient at first, but then . . . ’
‘He raped you?’ Penny asked. Jane stopped herself from frowning. She felt as if she had somehow missed the first half of the conversation.
Emily didn’t speak, but she nodded. Tears were now running down her cheeks, leaving pale lines through her foundation. ‘It only happened that once. A detective had been to the house to speak to Victor.’
Jane took a breath in and held it. Emily had to be talking about the Amelia Reynolds case. Why else would a detective be at their home, questioning Lebowski? Jane needed her to refer to the Reynolds case by name. Only then would she be able to question Emily about it, without having to worry about Whitaker or ramifications on the department. With the seal on Lebowski’s file, Whitaker could derail Jane’s entire case if she so much as mentioned the Reynolds inquiry to Emily without due cause.
‘After the officer left, Victor was so angry,’ Emily said. ‘He slapped me, and then he . . . Poppy was in the crib next to us, sleeping. I couldn’t cry out, I didn’t want to frighten her or wake up Petra.’ Her words rushed out of her mouth in a single breath. ‘He’s a good man. I still believe that. He’s a good father. I couldn’t ask for better for my girls. He never touched me after that. We were separated within a month. I know I should have said something, but I couldn’t – I just couldn’t.’ She took a tissue offered by Penny, covered her face and sobbed.
Jane blinked. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She was so preoccupied with how to get Emily to talk about Amelia’s murder that she had failed to hear or see the pain on the poor woman’s face. Had the job finally robbed her of all her sympathy? ‘Miss Loxton,’ she said, leaning forward. ‘Emily.’ She waited for the cries to subside. ‘Would you like a moment?’
Emily was shaking her head. ‘No. I’m sorry, I’m all right. It’s just . . . I haven’t talked about it to anyone, not then or since.’ She sat up, tipped her head back and sucked in a large breath through her nose. ‘I’m okay. I’m okay.’
‘Miss Loxton, would you be prepared to make a statement to formalize the incident?’ Jane asked, fighting with her conscience. Part of her wanted to step back, allow the woman time to cry, to breathe; but the detective part of her wouldn’t permit it. This could be what she needed. She would be able to rearrest Lebowski, for the rape. If she could convince a judge that the rape demonstrated a history of sexual violence, then she might even be able to get the full forty-eight hours to question him about Maggie.
Emily was shaking her head, her hair half-covering her face. ‘I don’t want to press charges. I’m only telling you because this isn’t the first time I’ve been asked about my husband. I should have said something then, but . . . There’s something else,’ she said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
‘Go on,’ Jane urged, her mind rushing ahead.
‘I wanted to say something when Detective Groves called, but I didn’t want to cause trouble for Victor . . . ’ Emily took in another big breath through her nose. ‘I think Victor was having an affair with the young girl who was murdered.’ Her shoulders dropped as she spoke, as if a burden was being lifted.
‘Yes, we know,’ Jane said, disappointed. ‘He’s admitted to the relationship. May I ask how you knew about it?’
‘He never told me – not in so many words. Lying is part of his genetic make-up, I’m afraid, but I’m ninety per cent sure.’ Emily looked up, her face pale. ‘I knew after I spoke with Detective Groves that I couldn’t pretend any more. I couldn’t protect him any more. What if the girl said no; maybe she wouldn’t give him what he wanted and he forced her – like he forced me – and things went . . . too far.’ She took a deep breath before she spoke again. Her voice was no more than a whisper.
Jane sat forward. ‘Emily. Are you saying you think your ex-husband could have raped Maggie Hungerford?’ she asked.
‘Who’s Maggie Hungerford?’ Emily asked, the perfect skin on her forehead bunched and lined.
Jane looked at Penny and then back at Emily. She felt as if she had stumbled into a parallel universe. ‘Maggie Hungerford was the girl Victor was dating. Her body was found on the twenty-third of April. She was murdered.’
Emily was shaking her head, her mouth hanging open. ‘He had nothing to do with that . . . ’
‘Emily, who were you talking about?’
‘Amelia Reynolds,’ she said, hanging her head and sobbing again. ‘I think he could have killed her.’ She looked up, her eyes fierce. ‘But it would have been an accident – it must have been an accident.’ She was shaking her head. ‘We were having problems. He was unhappy at home. She must have initiated it and then changed her mind . . . I don’t know, but Victor would never do that – not to me, not to the girls. I know him. You have to believe me. He would never do anything that could hurt his children.’ Her voice disappeared into another bout of sobbing.
Jane could only imagine what Emily was thinking. Had her silence allowed her ex-husband to get away with murder? Had her desire to protect her own family left Amelia’s family in torment for six years, never knowing who had killed their daughter, or why? Jane could almost see the guilt rising off Lebowski’s ex-wife like steam. She turned to Penny and shook her head. No, it wasn’t enough. Emily Loxton’s story, the rape, her theory about Amelia’s murder: it was all circumstantial. It said a lot about Lebowski’s character, his behaviour towards women, but in reality it only confirmed what Jane already knew. There was no proof. This was not the smoking gun she needed.
2nd May – Friday
Lockyer crossed his arms and leaned back against the metal countertop that ran the length of the mortuary suite. ‘Are we going to be starting any time soon, Dave?’ he asked, stopping himself before he took a deep breath. The caustic odour of cleaning chemicals smelled worse than a decomposing body, in Lockyer’s opinion. Mind you, he wasn’t sure he wanted to test his theory.
‘Be patient, will you,’ Dave said from the other side of the room. ‘Patrick’s off sick and the lab is backed up. I’m doing most of the prelim and paperwork myself. Jeanie’s already been in, as a favour to me. I only have one pair of hands, you know.’ He looked flustered. Without Patrick at his side he seemed somewhat unglued. ‘I wish I knew where Patrick kept the bloody charts.’
‘Why don’t you phone him?’
‘Shut up,’ Dave said, turning and looking at Lockyer over his glasses – a new addition that he was none too happy about. ‘One more word and you can wait until Patrick’s back in the office tomorrow.’