‘Dad was made a scapegoat. And afterwards that man’s family were horrible to Mum. She got these hate letters saying that they were glad that Dad was dead, and we had bricks through the windows and everything.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Do you think this could be related to what happened with Dad?’
‘It’s a possibility we’ll have to consider,’ Mariner admitted.
‘But why now?’ she demanded.
‘That’s what we’d need to find out. How had your stepmother been since then?’
‘Of course she missed Dad, but she’d got her life back together. She always was an independent woman and with all that was happening lately . . . It’s why this just doesn’t make any sense.’
‘So, a couple of weeks ago, was that the last contact you had with your stepmother?’ Mariner checked.
‘No, we spoke every couple of days; the last time was the day before yesterday, in the evening. Oh, God, it would have been later that night that she . . .’ As she tailed off, Mariner could see her visualising the sequence of events till emotion overtook her and she broke down into gentle sobs, fumbling in her handbag for a tissue.
Mariner passed her the clean handkerchief he always carried for just such occasions.
‘Would you like another drink?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’
When she seemed ready to resume, he asked, ‘What time would it have been when you called her?’
‘It was after we’d eaten, at about seven thirty, I suppose, maybe quarter to eight. Harry was in bed.’
‘And how long did you speak for?’
‘Not for long as it happened. Someone came to the door, her door.’
‘Did she say who it was?’
‘No. I don’t think she could see. She hung up the phone before opening the door. She just said, “Got to go, darling, I’ve got a visitor, I’ll speak to you soon,” and rang off. And it was fine because I just thought, yes, I’d speak to her later, or the next day, and now . . .’ She wiped her nose again.
If that timing was right, Mariner realised, then that visitor could also be Nina Silvero’s killer. ‘And you’re certain she didn’t give any indication about who this person might be?’
‘Absolutely, she gave no hint, though I didn’t get the impression she was expecting anyone.’
‘Did your stepmother have any close male friends?’ Mariner asked.
‘You mean boyfriends?’ Rachel was taken aback. ‘No, she didn’t go in for that kind of thing.’
‘Do you think she would have told you if she did?’
‘Of course.’ She was affronted. ‘We used to talk about everything. In fact, from time to time after Dad died I used to tell her she should find someone, but she always said no, she was quite content as she was. Maybe if there had been a man around -’ She broke off as the door opened and Harry came running in, flinging himself at her, Adam and Knox following. It was a good enough time to end the interview.
‘Where will you be staying?’ Mariner asked, as he and Knox prepared to leave.
‘I’ve booked us into the Norfolk Hotel, on the Hagley Road,’ Adam said.
Mariner took out a card and passed it to him. ‘If you have any questions, those are my numbers,’ he said. ‘And we will need to talk to you again.’
‘What about the funeral?’ Rachel asked. ‘When can we . . .?’
‘We’ll release her body as soon as possible; probably in the next couple of days.’
‘And the house?’
‘Is still a crime scene,’ Mariner pointed out. ‘I’m afraid we can’t let you in there for the moment. But if there’s anything specific you need, as long as we don’t consider it relevant to the inquiry, one of my officers will retrieve it for you.’
Rachel shook her head vaguely. ‘No, there’s nothing special.’
‘So it’s looking pretty definitely like murder, boss,’ Knox remarked as they picked their way through the afternoon traffic.
Mariner was in agreement. ‘Croghan seemed sure. And, if that timing’s right, it ties neatly in with our mystery caller. We need to find out who that was. We’ll put out an appeal as part of the next press release. How did Adam Hordern seem?’
Out of the corner of his eye, Mariner saw Knox shrug. ‘He seemed pretty fond of his mother-in-law. He particularly appreciated her generosity; she’d pretty much paid for their wedding, he said.’
‘What does he do for a living?’
‘He’s an entrepreneur.’
On Tuesday evening, Lucy was leaving the office on time, her stomach churning with conflicting feelings; she was eager to get home to Will, who was due home tonight, but at the same time she felt sick with trepidation, anticipating the journey home. However, she had decided to stop being such a wimp; she was going to confront her tormentor. In her handbag, in preparation, she had her phone, a panic alarm and a notebook, determined that, if she was followed home tonight, she would make sure to get the vehicle registration at least. Climbing into her car, the adrenalin began coursing through her, making her mouth dry and her heart thump. Tonight she would take control of this and end it once and for all.
Last night, despite the build-up, nothing had happened. Maybe this was all in her imagination. Tonight she would take her normal, quicker route home and all would be well. As always she had a choice; she could take the route that followed the main road until she was almost home, or she could take the little-used short cut that threaded through the back roads, ending with a quarter-mile stretch through the Holloway, little more than a deep tree-lined lane, designated one way only. Since developing the suspicion that she was being followed, she had avoided it completely. It was time to try it again.
The first part of the journey went smoothly, though Lucy was occupied so much with looking in her rear-view mirror it was a miracle she didn’t collide with something. It was rush hour so the major roads were busy. Each time headlights fell in behind, her heartbeat quickened, but then just as suddenly the headlights vanished again. Then, as she turned into the Holloway, there he was, up close and headlights on full beam. Her palms, grasping the steering wheel, were suddenly sticky. Off the main road he kept close, crowding her as always, but instead of increasing her speed, as she had before, Lucy slowed down until she realised she had ground to a complete halt. The lane was dark, street lights widely spaced, and for several seconds they sat there, one behind the other. Her foot hovering on the accelerator, Lucy waited to see what he would do. Nothing happened. There was just enough space for him to squeeze by, but the car remained stationary behind her, silent and menacing.
Clutching her panic alarm in one trembling hand and her phone in the other, Lucy got out of her car and approached the vehicle cautiously, giving it a wide berth. The driver had stayed where he was, but as Lucy reached the driver’s door, the window slid smoothly down. With a shock, Lucy saw an elderly man, frail and white haired and with a face as petrified as her own. ‘What do you want?’ he pleaded, voice quaking. ‘I haven’t got any money, you know.’ White-knuckled hands gripped the steering wheel.
Suddenly Lucy realised that, in the dusk, her hair tied back, and wearing trousers and a bulky jacket and as tall as she was, she must have cut an intimidating figure. She almost wept with relief. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you were following me. You were driving so close.’
‘Following you?’ the old man was baffled. ‘But I couldn’t help it. You slowed down.’
It was true, she had.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I made a mistake.’
After the high tension of the encounter, Lucy’s mood was almost euphoric when she saw Will’s transit parked on the drive, and she pulled in behind it. Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous that she had gone to the police at all. What if this
was
all in her head? She’d convinced herself that the car had been following her but really it was a harmless old man. Whatever had she been thinking about? She took her mobile out of her handbag on the seat beside her, and dialled DC Jamilla Khatoon. Millie answered right away.
‘Thanks for all your help,’ Lucy said. ‘But I don’t want you to take it any further. I’m sure Will is right. It’s just a few silly phone calls and the rest is just me imagining things.’
‘Lucy, I’m not sure that you’re the kind of person who imagines things,’ Millie said. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No, nothing. I’ve just changed my mind.’
‘It seems to me that there’s enough for us to look into,’ Millie persisted.
‘No, I really don’t want you to.’
‘I’d prefer it if we could come and talk to Will, too.’
‘No, it’s fine, really, I’d rather you didn’t.’ And Lucy ended the call.
She went into the house feeling relieved. It had been a moment of madness, but, thank God, no harm had been done. Climbing the stairs to the bedroom, she was instantly comforted by the sight of Will’s things lying around, his holdall dumped on the floor and spilling out dirty washing. ‘Will?’ she called out.
‘In here.’ His voice echoed back at her from the bathroom. ‘Why don’t you come and join me?’
As soon as she saw him naked in the bath, any remaining doubts evaporated. His lean body was one of the things that had attracted her to him. He was as toned as she was. His dark eyes focused on her as she undressed slowly before climbing into the sunken roman-style bath facing him. Her toes explored him. ‘Well,’ she remarked. ‘You seem pleased to see me.’
‘Oh, I sure am.’ Will leaned forward and kissed her.
Mariner was on his way out of the office at the end of the day, when he noticed Millie sitting at her desk, holding the telephone receiver a little way from her ear and looking slightly dazed.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
‘I think so,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Lucy Jarrett has asked us to drop the case.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, she says she thinks it was all in her imagination, just as her husband has been telling her.’
‘That’s a sudden turnaround,’ Mariner said. ‘What do you think?’
‘Well, to be honest, I haven’t got very far. The calls have been made from an unregistered mobile, so we can’t trace them. Apart from the initial one, it could just be someone making a mistake. I think she’s lonely, too. I’ve talked to her mum and her best friend. Neither of them seems that enamoured with her new husband and he does sound like a tit.’
‘Not much we can do about that,’ Mariner observed.
‘No. It’s just that, when you talk to Lucy, she’s the one who seems to do all the compromising in the relationship, and I’m sure she’s called me off because she’s concerned about how he would react to us being involved.’
‘Have you managed to find anything out about him?’ asked Mariner.
‘There’s this.’ Millie clicked the mouse a few times and came up with the website for the Leigh Hawkins Band. It gave the dates of future gigs that were coming up and there were biographical paragraphs on each of the band members, including Will Jarrett. His biog described him as a guitar and mandolin player who hailed from Asheville, North Carolina. The closing sentence announced that he had recently married.
‘His name comes up on one or two older sites as well,’ Millie added, ‘bands that he’s been in previously, though they only mention his name. I was just thinking it might be worth a call to the Asheville police department, when Lucy phoned to call it all off. Should I make the call or do you think I’m wasting my time now?’
‘On what grounds would you be doing it?’ Mariner asked.
‘Well, I’ve never met the man, but I’ve got a feeling about him.’
‘A gut reaction?’
‘Yes, I guess that’s all it is,’ she admitted.
‘Well, go with it,’ said Mariner. ‘Nothing wrong with following your instincts. Just don’t take too much time over it. Maybe just make the call to Asheville, and see what that throws up. If Lucy doesn’t want to pursue it there’s nothing much else we can do. She seemed sure about that?’
‘She was pretty adamant,’ Millie said.
Mariner could sense her disappointment. ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘There will be plenty more where that came from, and other opportunities for you to take the lead. Meanwhile, we can certainly use your skills on the Nina Silvero case.’
Millie shuddered. ‘I heard about that. It sounds pretty nasty.’
‘I have to agree with the DCI that it’s pretty conclusively suspicious, but we’ve got no sense of who could be behind it yet,’ Mariner said. ‘We have a mystery visitor on the evening that she died, so he or she will be our priority.’
Millie slowly shook her head. ‘Why do people do these terrible things to each other?’
‘If we knew the answer to that our lives would be a hell of a lot easier,’ Mariner said. ‘And don’t sit here all evening fretting about that. You’ve got a husband to go home to.’
‘Right, see you in the morning, boss.’
On his way home that evening Mariner stopped off at what he still referred to as the ‘video shop’ even though the shelves had long been taken over by computer games and DVDs. He spent a while perusing the shelves, deciding what would hit the mark just at the moment. Watching DVDs was something he and Kat had done a lot of. She had settled well into a different life at his house, but evenings were always tricky, followed as they were by the point at which she would be going up to bed.
The Rainbow project, managed by refuge counsellor Lorelei, had housed Kat for a few days after her rescue but had been too much in demand to keep her, which is why Mariner had stepped in. But Lorelei specialised in helping traumatised young women and had continued to advise and support. With help from Millie and Lorelei, Mariner had tried to make Kat’s bedroom look as far removed as possible from the one in which she’d been incarcerated, when she’d been brought to Birmingham and forced into prostitution. But it had still taken months until she was relaxed enough in the evening to climb the stairs. Until then Kat had stayed up very late, often falling asleep on the sofa, where Millie at first, and then Mariner, would cover her with a duvet and leave her. DVDs had been a good way of passing the long evening hours without putting too much pressure on Kat, and they had helped to improve what was already pretty good English, helping her to secure a job as a freelance translator based at a city-centre language school.