Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle (8 page)

No invitation was forthcoming but Jill pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘Why’s that, Keiran?’ she asked. ‘I suppose he would have expected you to be studying, yes?’

She addressed herself to Keiran and Max had to agree that, if there were problems in this family, Keiran would talk far more freely than his older, more arrogant and confident brother.

‘He’d have expected Tyler to,’ he said.

‘Oh? Not you?’ she pressed.

‘I’m studying linguistics,’ he said and it was impossible to miss the trace of bitterness that curved his top lip. ‘If you’d known Dad, you’d have known just what a waste of my time and his money he considered that.’

‘Ah. Did you argue about it?’

He smiled at the question. ‘Many times.’

‘What about you, Tyler?’ she asked. ‘Did you argue with your father?’

‘Of course he didn’t,’ Keiran muttered. ‘He was golden boy. Got his head screwed on properly, that one,’ he mimicked Bradley Johnson.

‘Shut up, Keiran,’ Tyler warned.

‘Everything I did was a waste of time,’ Keiran went on, ignoring his brother. ‘He belittled me. Everything I did was wrong—my clothes, my friends, my conversation, my studying. Everything.’

‘Keiran, for God’s sake!’ Tyler looked at Max. ‘So there were a few arguments in this house. So what? Every family has them. It means nothing.’

Tyler was tapping his foot, his gaze on the door as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of them.

‘If one of us was going to kill him,’ he added sarcastically, ‘we would have done it long ago. So you can eliminate us all, OK? Keiran and I were in Lancaster, and Mum was the one to report him missing.’ He paused, looking at Max. ‘So we’re eliminated, yes?’

‘It seems like it,’ Max agreed.

‘Good,’ Tyler said. ‘Now, was there anything else?’

‘Your mother couldn’t think of any enemies your father might have had,’ Max said. ‘Can you?’

Tyler laughed at that. ‘How long have you got? Look, he was a successful man and, to be that, you have to be ruthless. In business, he didn’t care how many toes he stepped on. Of course he had enemies.’

‘To do with his business?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is the world of electronics so cut and thrust?’ Jill asked.

They were giving the impression of a typical successful businessman but Max knew of the setbacks Bradley Johnson had suffered over recent years. Apparently, he’d pinned his hopes on a revolutionary piece of software, invested in it heavily, and had almost been put out of business when a rival had unveiled an almost identical product a couple of months before Bradley’s proposed launch.

‘Any business is cut and thrust, as you put it,’ Tyler said.

‘I see,’ she murmured.

Max smiled inwardly. Jill would let him treat her like the village idiot. She wouldn’t like it, but she would allow it. For now.

‘And can you think of anyone else who disliked him?’ she asked.

‘Well, no one in this godforsaken village liked him. Why would they? The Yank coming and throwing his money around? They were jealous of him.’

‘Does anyone spring to mind who might have been jealous enough to kill him?’ Max asked.

‘No. No, of course not,’ Tyler snapped.

‘We’d love to help,’ Keiran said, ‘but we can’t. We were both in Lancaster at the time and, besides, we’ve hardly spent any time in the village. We didn’t really know much about Dad’s life.’

‘OK,’ Max said briskly. ‘That will be all for now. If you think of anything, will you let me know?’

‘Of course,’ Tyler said, striding for the door to show them out. ‘And thank you for calling,’ he added.

A few flakes of snow were falling as they stepped outside. They had walked to the manor and now, heading back through the village, they strode out before the biting wind had a chance to penetrate their bones.

‘They’re both a bit uneasy,’ Jill remarked.

‘Yes, and despite their alleged closeness, they’re not exactly grieving for their father, are they?’ Max murmured.

‘They’re not. I’m sure Tyler knows more than he’s saying. Mind you,’ she added drily, ‘that wouldn’t be difficult. And what about Keiran? Usually, he’s nothing more than a parrot to his brother. Today, he was very talkative.’

‘And bitter.’

‘Yes, he was.’

As they walked on, Jill glanced at her watch. ‘Are you off to headquarters?’

‘Yes. You?’

‘I need to see Ella, then I’m off to Styal again,’ she said, and he saw the way she shuddered at the prospect. ‘Oh, and before that, I’m going to see if I can blackmail a plumber to come out and look at the boiler …’

Chapter Eight

Jill had intended to go straight to Ella’s but, first, she nipped into the Co-op in Bacup, and as she’d managed to find a parking spot, no mean feat, she thought she’d take a walk into Stubbylee Park. She had plenty of time to call on Ella before she had to be at HMP Styal.

Several people were walking with dogs and making the most of the sunshine.

She walked on, past the aviaries, then crossed the track at the top to walk into Moorlands Park. This smaller area was deserted apart from someone sitting, quite still, on one of the children’s swings and a stiff, elderly lady walking with an equally stiff Jack Russell terrier. The only sounds to be heard were the distant rumble of traffic passing through the valley below and the caged birds singing joyfully.

As she walked around the edge of the football pitch and up the side of Olive House, she wondered just where Claire Lawrence had buried her daughter’s body. She was still no closer to knowing. Claire, she suspected, would have chosen somewhere tranquil and beautiful, somewhere that held happy memories for Daisy. But where?

According to expert opinion, Claire had truly believed she was Daisy’s saviour. There were no religious beliefs behind her thinking; she simply thought that it was better to be dead than to exist in this world. Sadly, given Claire’s world, there was a certain logic to that thinking.

But still that theory didn’t sit comfortably with Jill.

She walked through the formal, circular garden and towards the children’s play area, and recognized the man sitting on the swing. It was Gordon Brooks.

She pushed open the gate and walked over to him.

‘Hello, Gordon,’ she said quietly.

He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her approach, and was startled by the sound of her voice. ‘Oh, Jill. Hello, there.’

He blinked rapidly, and she wished she hadn’t intruded.

‘How are you?’ she asked. Stupid question. It was clear that he was suffering.

‘Fine, thanks.’ He forced a smile. ‘You?’

‘Yes. Just enjoying this weather. I should be working really, but it’s too nice to be sitting in front of a computer.

No doubt we’ll soon have our usual winter weather of rain, rain and more rain.’

‘No doubt.’

‘How’s Hannah?’ she asked, sitting on the swing next to his.

‘Fine, thanks. Yes, fine.’ He sighed. ‘She had a little too much to drink last night. I’m sorry about that.’

‘I don’t blame her,’ Jill replied. ‘If I’d lost my baby, I’d want a damn good drinking session, too.’

‘Yes.’ He smiled gratefully.

‘It’s going to be difficult, Gordon.’

‘Yes. Yes, I know it is. Some things are just too painful to talk about, I suppose.’

‘They are,’ she agreed.

Gordon didn’t seem to be coping at all well and, if he felt unable to talk to Hannah, it would be a long time before he got over this. Tall and thin, with wispy fair hair, he could never be described as robust, but today he looked tired, drawn and defeated.

‘We all deal with grief in our own way,’ she reminded him, ‘and the loss of a child is particularly difficult to accept. It goes against the natural order of life. It seems so cruel. Senseless. Unfair. People are torn by so many conflicting emotions.’

‘A colleague told me that it was unlucky to make preparations,’ he confided. ‘Apparently, his wife wouldn’t allow so much as a disposable nappy in the house. I told him that was nonsense. Superstitious nonsense.’ He reached into the pocket of his thick sheepskin coat for a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘I did the lot,’ he went on. ‘I wanted it all to be ready for my little girl. We were having a girl, you know. Nothing was too much trouble. No expense was spared. The nursery is decorated, mobiles are hanging from the ceiling, and dozens of expensive toys are sitting on the shelves. My little girl will never play with those, will she?’ He turned slightly to look at her. ‘It seems that my colleague was right.’

‘No,’ Jill said, and she could have wept with him. ‘You were right, Gordon. It is superstitious nonsense. I’m no doctor, but I know for a fact that having a room decorated in a certain way isn’t a cause for miscarriage.’

He scuffed his shoes on the soft, impact-absorbing surface at their feet. ‘Put like that, it sounds silly,’ he agreed.

‘When tragedy happens,’ she went on, ‘we need someone to blame. If there’s no one, and there really isn’t, Gordon, we look for something else. And that can be anything from walking under a ladder to stepping on a crack in the pavement.’

‘I suppose so.’

Jill had a sudden longing to push her swing into action and see how high she could go. It was years since she’d been on a swing. Years. She’d better not, though. There was sure to be some law about adults on swings …

‘Jack called in,’ he said, ‘so I thought I could get some air for a while.’

‘That’s good. They’re close, aren’t they?’

‘Yes. Mind you, he won’t talk about it, either. He’s of the old school and keeps his feelings to himself. Stiff upper lip and all that.’

Jill nodded her understanding.

‘It’s affected him badly, though,’ Gordon added. ‘You can’t say anything to him without having him jump down your throat.’

Jill had noticed.

‘Hannah’s the same,’ he said after a while. ‘She’s not a great one for showing her feelings, but I get the impression that she’s angry with me, that she blames me in some way.’

Jill had gained the exact opposite impression. She had thought that Hannah blamed herself.

‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’ Jill leaned across and patted his arm. ‘She’ll be hurt and angry because she’s lost her baby, but not angry with you. She’ll need you far more than you’ll know.’

He didn’t comment on that.

‘I sometimes feel angry with her,’ he admitted instead.

‘Oh?’

‘Like she said last night, I told her time and time again that she was overdoing things, but she took no notice. “Women are giving birth every minute of every day,” she’d tell me. Her stock phrase was “Stop fussing”. Perhaps I did fuss, but only because I felt she was overdoing things.’

Jill decided to let him talk. It might help to get it out of his system.

‘I’d give everything I have to put the clock back. I should have taken her to hospital on the Wednesday night,’ he said, his gaze on the distant hills. ‘She’d really overdone things that day. When I came in from work, she told me she was tired because she’d been out walking all afternoon.

She hadn’t wanted anything to eat and then decided she’d go for a lie-down. She was exhausted.’

Once again, Jill wondered if, during that walk, Hannah had seen anyone or anything that might help with the investigation. She had only come out of hospital yesterday morning so perhaps she hadn’t been questioned yet. But she would be, and Jill couldn’t probe. Not now.

‘And then,’ he said, clearly thinking along the same lines, ‘Bradley Johnson from the manor was murdered. Everything seems to be—oh, I don’t know, just awful at the moment.’

‘It is,’ she agreed. ‘That will have upset Hannah, too.’

‘Yes. They’d done a lot of work together lately. You’ll have seen the photos in the paper. They were pictured together at that new hotel in Harrington, the one with the conference facilities, and the spa, the one that’s going to bring so much business to the area.’ He rolled his eyes as if the idea was ridiculous. ‘Then there was one taken at the library in Rawtenstall and another of them both collecting for the hospice outside Tesco.’ He gave her a weak smile.

‘He was seeing more of Hannah than I was.’

He got off his swing. ‘I’d better be getting along, Jill. I only came out to escape Hannah for an hour or so. I can’t talk to her, I can’t even look at her, but I know I have to.’

‘Try talking to her, Gordon. Start by telling her how you feel. It will help you both.’

‘I suppose.’ He rubbed weary hands across his face. ‘Who would have thought it would come to this? Me and Hannah, I mean. When we were both at Warwick—we met at university there—we could talk about everything under the sun. We were as close as two people could be. But now …’

‘Just pretend you’re both young students again,’ she urged him. ‘Try to recapture those days and that closeness.’

He looked as if she had suggested he book a luxury weekend break on Mars.

‘I’ll try,’ he said without conviction.

‘I’m truly sorry, Gordon.’

‘Thank you. And thanks for listening.’

‘Any time,’ she said, meaning it. ‘If ever you need to talk, you know where I am.’

‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’ He nodded a little awkwardly, obviously embarrassed about saying so much. ‘Be seeing you, Jill.’

He strode off, heading down towards the main road, leaving Jill feeling thoroughly depressed. A man had been murdered in her village, Hannah and Gordon had lost their baby, and soon she had to set off to interview a woman who had murdered her own daughter.

‘To hell with it!’

She pushed back her swing and launched herself into the air. The swing’s chains creaked ominously, but she didn’t care. She had forgotten how exhilarating it was to swing back and forth, legs kicking out at the air …

Jill drove home, had a quick coffee, then set off at a brisk walk for Ella’s bungalow.

Typically, Ella was out. As it turned out, though, it didn’t matter because the raffle ticket stubs that Jill had promised to hand back were in the pocket of her other coat.

As she trudged back home, a huge dark cloud blocked out the sun. A cloud hung over Kelton Bridge, too. Jill loved her village, and couldn’t bear the misery that surrounded it now. A murder, a miscarriage—all was doom and depression.