The Bad Things (28 page)

‘There was something about her I couldn’t quite put my finger on – her eyes were a bit shifty, Ma’am –’ he ignored the sigh from Glithro, ‘– so I asked about her in Tesco’s, wanted to see her records, if you like.’ He put his hand up. ‘I know, I know, Data Protection and all that, but they were most helpful and the young woman in the office offered to show me Ms Adams’s file, I didn’t have to ask, and as she was being so helpful I didn’t like to say no.’

‘Had the young woman in the office taken a shine to you then, Steve?’ asked Eve Maitland to general ribald laughter around the room.

Rogers went puce.

‘Oooo, have you asked her out?’ Maitland was not going to let him off the hook.

If it were possible, Rogers went an even deeper colour. ‘None of your business,’ he said.

Kate held up her hand. ‘All right, all right, let’s hear what DS Rogers has to say or we’ll be here all day talking about his love life.’ She nodded at him once more. ‘So what did you find out?’

He looked at his notes again, though Kate suspected it was more for show than anything else.

‘She calls herself Nikki, and all the staff there know her as Nikki. But her real name is Beatrice Nicola Jessop. Adams is her mother’s maiden name.’ A hum went around the room. ‘And she hasn’t been at the caravan site or working at the supermarket for long; she hired the caravan the day after Jackie Wood arrived.’ Rogers looked around, pleased at the effect he was causing.

Kate gave a low whistle. ‘Bloody hell, Steve, that’s one hell of a find.’ Kate felt that familiar tightness in her gut that told her they were getting closer to some sort of answer.

‘Just police work, Ma’am,’ he said modestly.

‘Bloody good police work. Jessop’s daughter renting a caravan opposite Jackie Wood, under an assumed name, that’s one hell of a coincidence.’ Kate drew a line in red between Nikki Adams’s name and Jackie Wood’s picture. ‘Enough to get a warrant to search the caravan. Rogers, take a couple of uniforms with you and go and talk to Miss Adams, see what she has to say for herself.’ She tapped the pen against the whiteboard. ‘I think I’ll visit Angela Jessop, see if she knows what her daughter is doing. And I want to talk to both Sasha and Alex Clements. DS Maitland—’, Maitland looked up, an eager expression on her face, ‘I would like you to talk to Jez Clements.’ Maitland gave her a sullen look. ‘I know, I know, he’s a sleazeball but he needs talking to and we also need to check out his alibi.’ She looked at her notes. ‘He says he was with an Alice McSweeney. Mrs Alice McSweeney. And I also want to know if he was involved in any sort of cover-up at the time of the trial.’

Cherry leaned forward on his chair. ‘Cover-up, Detective Inspector?’

‘I want to cover all avenues,’ replied Kate without any hesitation. ‘I also happen to think…’ She hesitated, not wanting to antagonize Cherry further. ‘I also think that what happened years ago has some bearing on this case.’

‘I would imagine it does,’ said Cherry, picking an imaginary piece of fluff off his immaculately pressed trousers, and immediately making her feel stupid, ‘that’s why Jackie Wood was murdered. Revenge.’

‘I think it goes deeper than that, sir.’ Kate was not going to be put off.

‘Oh?’

‘We have always thought, though it was never proved, that Jessop and Wood had an affair. But what if there was someone else? Another lover? Maybe even the only lover? What if there was someone else but it was brushed under the carpet during the investigation?’

‘Brushed under the carpet?’ Cherry’s tone was that of someone who could scarcely contain his incredulity. ‘What evidence have you got for this?’

‘There have been persistent rumours and—’

‘Rumours?’ said Cherry, smiling like a shark. ‘Is that all? May I remind you we are dealing with a murder here.’

‘But it could have some bearing on it.’

‘Detective Inspector, let’s concentrate on finding Jackie Wood’s killer, shall we? We do not have the budget to do anything else, much less chase about after rumours.’

‘Sir—’

‘And,’ he was on a roll now, ‘I have to see the AC later and I don’t want to have to tell her that (a)’ – he jabbed his finger towards her– ‘we have got nowhere on this case, which will not be good news because as you know there is a great deal of media interest in the murder, or that (b) we are wasting precious resources chasing a rumour’ – he made it sound like a dirty word – ‘that has no substantiation in the real world. After all, there is the possibility that Wood’s murder had nothing to do with who she was or what she had done in the past, but was the result of an opportunist,
n’est pas
?’

‘It’s possible.’

Cherry stood up. ‘So, can I advise you to get on with the job in hand and find Jackie Wood’s murderer before we all look silly.’ He swept out, the floor of the Portakabin creaking under his footsteps.

Kate turned back to her team. She drew a breath. ‘Okay. So Rogers, you’ll go and see Ms Adams – or Ms Jessop – or whoever she may be. Find out why she changed her name, why she took a shitty job in Tesco’s, and why she happened to rent a caravan opposite Jackie Wood.’

‘Not much to go on there, then?’ Rogers grinned.

‘Quite. Number one suspect at the moment, but I suspect that nothing about this case is going to be simple. DS Maitland, you get along to see Jez Clements; find out when he’s next on shift so you can talk to him away from the station. The rest of you,’ she nodded towards the three other detectives in the room, ‘carry on bashing the phones, checking Facebook, Twitter, and all that. I shall go and have a word with Mrs Jessop, and the Clements.’ She gathered up her papers and began to walk out of the room.

‘Kate.’ Glithro caught up with her. ‘I know you don’t want me here.’

‘Oh?’ Kate kept on walking. ‘Not totally insensitive then.’ She could smell his slightly spicy aftershave and sense his strength beside her.

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? You haven’t assigned me a job.’

‘I thought that, as you were a DI, you might have some thoughts in that direction,’ she said smoothly.

‘I have as a matter of fact but first I want you to tell me why it’s significant that Martin Jessop might have had a tart that wasn’t Jackie Wood? After all, it’s a long time ago now—’

‘Fifteen years, that’s all.’

‘Okay, fifteen years isn’t that long in the scheme of things, but two people have been tried and found guilty of the murders of the twins. Cherry’s right. We really should be concentrating on Jackie Wood’s murder. And it is, you have to concede, most likely revenge.’

Kate knew he was right. Knew that it was more of a personal thing for her, this need to find out about this mysterious person. She had an irrational belief that it could be the answer to finding Millie Clements’s grave after all these years. And if she did that, then maybe, just maybe, she might find a little bit of peace inside herself. Though she couldn’t tell Glithro this.

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she said crisply, carrying on back to the box room in the main building that passed for a temporary office for her. ‘Nevertheless, I want to take a look at this claim that was never investigated.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I feel it’s worth looking into.’

Glithro shook his head. ‘No, no, why was it never investigated? You said in there,’ he jerked his head towards the Portakabin, ‘that the line of inquiry was squashed.’

‘That’s right.’

They had reached Kate’s office and she sat down behind her desk. Glithro filled the rest of the space with his bulk and his Italian suit and his fancy scent. She had never seen such a well-dressed copper.

‘Do you know who by?’

She picked up a pen and started doodling on the pad in front of her. ‘By whom. Strictly speaking.’

‘Now you’re sounding like Cherry.’ He grinned, and leaned back on the doorjamb, arms folded. ‘So?’

‘Rumour has it that it was Jez Clements.’

‘Right. Who was in charge of the original case?’ He appeared unfazed.

‘A Detective Inspector Grainger. Now retired.’

‘Live locally?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Then that’s where we go.’ He pushed himself off the doorjamb and jangled his car keys. ‘No time like the present.’

Half an hour ago, Kate would have bristled at the suggestion of Glithro accompanying her, now she thought that maybe it would be a good idea. Alex and Sasha Devlin could wait.

28

If Edward Grainger had known this was to be his last day on earth then maybe he would have tidied up a bit. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. Ever since Jill had died he couldn’t be bothered with crap. Crap like cooking for one, or cleaning for himself, or going out on his own, talking to people,
interacting
.

He stroked the stubble on his face, looked down at the slightly stained dressing gown he was still wearing even though it was what? – past ten o’clock. Everything was so much effort. Jill would be so disappointed in him. He could hear her voice in his head now. ‘
Come on, Teddy. What do you think you’re doing? Do you think I wouldn’t like to stay in my jim-jams till lunchtime? Get off your arse now!
’ If he closed his eyes he could see her, standing in front of him, that slight smile on her face as she berated him.

He sighed. But Jill wasn’t here, was she? The cancer had carried her away so quickly they’d hardly been able to draw breath between diagnosis, prognosis, and death. Came back to Suffolk as soon as they could. Jill wanted to die where she was born and he could hardly deny her that, could he? No excuse that she could know about anyway. The trouble was, now he was rattling around in this perfectly nice chalet bungalow that didn’t feel like home and probably never would, despite Jill having fallen in love with it as soon as they had driven down the bumpy track and seen it squatting among the sand dunes. He’d tried to talk her out of it. After all, it wasn’t near a town or even a proper village and the neighbours were second-homers. But Jill had been adamant. This was where she wanted to spend her last days.

Now he was alone. He picked up the whisky glass. Empty. But the bottle was close to hand, with plenty in it. He unscrewed the top.

He looked out of the window, across the flat sand to the sea beyond. Normally he loved the sea, whatever the weather. He loved that the horizon stretched away as far as the eye could see. It was eternal, changing only with the weather. It usually gave him a sense of well-being when he sat and watched it, but today he was feeling restless and couldn’t get Jill out of his head. He sipped the whisky.

It began to rain in that miserable way only the East Anglian clouds can produce. He watched it as it swept in over the sea like an opaque sheet blowing on a washing line, blotting out the view, coursing in rivulets down the window. It had been a mean February.

Edward ignored the ringing of the front doorbell when it came. He had no time for people these days, no need for them. There’d been enough of that when he was in the force; having to kow-tow to authority, be polite to toerags because of their bloody ‘rights’, which they shouted about every five minutes. He was glad to get out of policing when he did. Things were getting more and more skewed towards the criminal’s interest. Even in quiet old sodding Guernsey.

The bell rang again. Who the fuck was it? He didn’t usually get salespeople this far along the track, and even Jehovah Witnesses wouldn’t come out in this weather, would they?

A third ring. Bugger it.

He heaved himself out of his chair and went to the door. They’d just have to put up with him in his dressing gown and stubble. Designer stubble, maybe.

He slipped the chain on the door before opening. Couldn’t be too careful, not after some low life had tried to rob him a couple of days ago. Woken up in the middle of the night by noises downstairs. Little scrote had buggered off through the back door before he could get to him. Must get the man in to do the window locks.

‘Hello?’

He was talking to someone’s back. For goodness’ sake.

‘Parcel for you,’ said a voice.

Parcel? He sighed and took the chain off the door.

Mistake.

The visitor turned round. The first thing Edward noticed was the balaclava, the second thing was the gun, pointing directly at him. The eyes staring out from the balaclava were cold.

An old grievance, was Edward’s first thought. Someone he’d put away who now had come back to take revenge. Or maybe a robbery. He’d give them the bit of money he had in the house then they’d bugger off.

‘Now, look here,’ he blustered, ‘you’ll just get into more trouble if you use that thing.’ He pointed to the gun, which he could see was being held with a slight wobble and the safety catch off, neither of which inspired confidence.

‘Maybe.’

Edward swept his hand back. ‘I haven’t got much, but you can take what you want. Take it all.’

‘I will.’

‘Look.’ Edward tried again, fear building up inside him at the implacability of his visitor. ‘Why don’t you put that thing away?’ He pointed to the gun. ‘Then we can go inside and talk.’ He could see the mouth behind the balaclava shape into some sort of smile.

‘Good idea. But I’m not putting the gun down. Just let’s go inside quietly otherwise I will shoot you in the kneecap and drag you inside. Is that clear?’

The most frightening thing of all was that the voice that came through the cloth was almost normal, pleasant, if slightly muffled. Edward had to fight the urge to laugh. But the gun was still aimed at him; despite his years in the force and the number of stories he told about fighting crime and arresting scumbags and toerags, he’d never actually had a gun pointed at him at point-blank range. His stomach started to dissolve. He tried to get a grip. Do as they asked and it would all be over soon.

His visitor stepped forward and Edward had no choice but to move backwards, inside the house.

‘That’s it, Detective Inspector Grainger, let’s go in and sit down.’

A jolt of unease, to put it mildly. So this most unwelcome person knew who he was. Had to be something to do with someone he’d arrested, someone he’d put away. A relative perhaps? His mind raced around furiously, examining options, looking for answers.