An Early Grave (16 page)

CHAPTER 24

He looked a man transformed as he strode down the path to her car. He was wearing a light blue shirt, navy Chinos and brown casual shoes; he walked upright, shoulders looking broader, his dark clean hair flapping in the wind. No doubt that he was a very handsome guy. Smiling, but nervous with it, he placed a rather battered holdall in the boot then got into the front seat. She also felt a little nervy, like two people on their first real date, following the preliminary meeting, already aware of some of the things they liked and some of the things they found uncomfortable about their new friend. Tara was first to break an awkward silence as she drove out of the estate heading for the motorway.

‘If you haven’t eaten already we can have breakfast on the way.’

He seemed receptive to the idea but replied merely with a slight nod. She tried again.

‘I brought your files with me. There are some things I want to discuss on the journey.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Well, for starters, the questions you’re going to ask the people we’re meeting.’

‘Some of these people were my friends once. I know what to say.’

‘It’s not a social visit, Callum. Someone among them may know the whereabouts of Justin Kingsley, or at least they may be able to explain why he disappeared. Your theory that Justin is a murderer is still only a theory. One of your friends may hold the answer whether or not they are actually aware of it. We have to ask the right questions. I’m the police officer, but remember, on this trip, I am merely a friend. You have to do most of the talking.’

She allowed him to ponder her instructions as she made it through the melee of rush hour traffic to the M62. Even at this point she still harboured grave doubts about this man, and she blamed that entirely on him. He was holding a lot back, and not only regarding the killing of Audra Bagdonas. She had long realised that he considered Audra’s murder to be his bargaining chip. But there was a lot he hadn’t told her about the deaths of his wife and friends. There had to be. He pointed a finger continually at Justin Kingsley, but she couldn’t yet accept that he was responsible simply because he had disappeared years before. Callum blamed a man who was not in a position to defend himself.

They ate breakfast at Knutsford service area on the M6; the conversation a little stinted which meant they ate quickly. Tara decided not to push her plans with Callum on this early part of the day. A blazing row would only see them turning round at the next junction. She thought it best to give him some space for a while, difficult enough when they had to sit next to each other in the car. Soon though, she would start handing out the orders.

She treated him to coffee and muffins when they reached services on the M1. When they returned to her car it seem as though a switch had flicked on in her head. Tara had prepared well for this investigation, and she was damn sure that Callum would not shirk his side of the deal. She worked him hard all the way, going over questions for him to ask the people on her list, and playing out scenarios for when things got awkward. She insisted that he use her mobile to finalise appointments and to use the internet to check addresses and get directions. He protested at first, but at each of his protestations she had only to remind him why he was doing it in the first place. The number one objective from their quest, she told him, was to get justice for Tilly and Emily. So far she had not resorted to threats of returning home before they’d even started. By the time they reached the M25 Callum had fallen into line, recognising that she was the boss, and that he had a long way to go before she would consider him a worthy assistant.

By one-thirty, having parked at Heathrow and taken the tube, they reached Chancery Lane, where they entered a plane grey-stone building, the chambers of Emmett and Company. Callum explained to the receptionist that they wished to speak with Sir Edward Kingsley QC.

‘I’m afraid that is quite impossible without an appointment,’ said a pleasantly attractive woman in her forties.

‘This is a personal matter regarding Sir Edward’s son,’ said Callum. The ash-blonde paused briefly, took a note of their names, asked Callum to wait then made a call.

Five minutes later, Daniel Jacobsen, a middle-aged man in a dark suit, white shirt and bold striped tie, emerged from a door behind the reception desk to greet them. Stocky rather than tall he had a thick neck, shaved head and prominent nose. He told them in a polite but quite stern manner that a meeting with Sir Edward Kingsley was out of the question. Looking them up and down, he didn’t seem impressed. Callum, despite his new clothing and clean face still looked washed out, while Tara wore a slim fitting dress in navy with a cream bodice, a navy jacket, navy tights and three-inch heels. She’d brushed her hair with a centre parting, but still barely looked beyond the age of consent never mind whatever age one might consider a female detective inspector to be. Jacobsen seemed surprised, shocked even, when Tara addressed him.

‘Mr Jacobsen we have travelled quite some distance to speak with Sir Edward regarding the disappearance of his son Justin.’

‘Miss Grogan you have both told me your names, but that is all I know about you. Sir Edward is due in court this afternoon. At present he is extremely busy, and I will not disturb him without good reason.’

‘I’m a friend of his son Justin. I need to speak with Mr Kingsley.’

The eyebrow of the clerk was definitely elevated by Callum referring to his boss as Mr Kingsley. Tara admired Callum for at least trying, but they were getting nowhere with Jacobsen. So much for keeping her professional role out of things.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Tara Grogan, Merseyside Police.’ She offered Jacobsen her warrant card. Taking it from her, he examined it closely, and a weak smile broke on his lips. Tara continued. ‘We need to speak with Sir Edward in relation to his son’s disappearance.’

‘You’re a long way from Liverpool, Inspector.’

‘There are lives at stake here, Mr Jacobsen.’

He seemed bemused by Tara’s persistence, entertained perhaps by this slight, pretty girl, with an authoritative manner.

‘Very well. I’ll see what I can do. Please take a seat.’

They waited another five minutes until a young female clerk, long fair hair, dark-framed glasses and clicking heels escorted them to the first floor of the chambers. The narrow hallways were congested in places with clerks and barristers coming and going, many headed to afternoon sessions at court. Tara and Callum didn’t make it as far as any office that might have belonged to Sir Edward Kingsley. Instead, the tall silver-haired QC stood in a cluttered outer office with Daniel Jacobsen at his side. Kingsley had a long wrinkled face, looked around sixty-five although his true age was only fifty-eight. His eyes were a weak shade of blue, but they glared at the two people standing before him.

‘What is this about?’ He asked without pleasantness, dispensing with introductions and handshakes. Having revealed her identity as a police officer, Tara now took the lead.

‘This is Callum Armour, Sir Edward. He was a friend of your son Justin when they were at Oxford.’ Kingsley remained impassive. ‘We were wondering if you have seen your son recently or perhaps know of his whereabouts?’

He glared at the senior clerk, Jacobsen.

‘No. I have not. And I am wondering, Inspector, what relevance that has for the Merseyside Police?’

Tara could see the end of her career screaming down from above. Totally naïve to have thought this would be easy. Then Callum jumped in.

‘My wife and daughter were killed three years ago, Mr Kingsley. Two friends from Oxford have been murdered recently. All of them were friends of Justin.’

‘And?’

Tara took over, knowing already they would get nothing from this man.

‘We believe these deaths may be connected with your son’s disappearance.’

Kingsley cut her off.

‘Are you suggesting that my son is responsible for these deaths?’ Tara let that one hang for a moment.

‘We are exploring that possibility. It would help us if we could speak to Justin.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it would. But I repeat, Inspector that I have not seen my son. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to address.’

‘I’ll show you out,’ said Jacobsen, a heavy frown on his face. Clearly he would get his due chastisement later from his boss for having wasted his time.

‘What could be more pressing than to find your son if he’s been missing for the last ten years?’ said Tara as they strolled towards Chancery Lane Station. ‘Did you notice that twice he said he hadn’t seen his son? He didn’t say he had no contact with him, that he hadn’t spoken to him, or that he didn’t know where he was.’ Reluctant to share with Callum, she realised Sir Edward Kingsley’s response could well fit with the fact that his son was no longer listed as a missing person. Parents and son might well be in regular contact, but was Justin deliberately hiding from the rest of the world? If that were true, what were his motives for doing so?

The tightness in her stomach, she was sure, would be with her for the remainder of the weekend until she returned to work. There was no doubt in her mind that Sir Edward Kingsley was the kind of man who followed up on things. She was certain he would contact someone back home, the Chief Constable, for instance, and Tweedy would get to hear of it. Callum seemed all fired up to be finally involved in the hunt, but she had messed up badly right at the start. He had done okay; she should have kept her mouth shut.

CHAPTER 25

Neither of them knew London particularly well. Tara had made several visits during her time at Oxford, and a couple of shopping trips with the girls since her return to Liverpool. Callum and Tilly had begun to pay more frequent visits, particularly after Tilly had been published, when she came up for meetings with agents and editors. Tara thought they would be better off leaving the car outside the city and travelling in by train or tube, so she had parked at Heathrow, lifted a map from a tourist information stand and negotiated their way around the city using the underground. They travelled from Chancery Lane to Tottenham Court Road and, from there, walked to Bedford Square, to a building housing the private offices of Georgina Maitland. At least this time they had something resembling an appointment, she thought. She worried now that Callum was over-optimistic that a woman who headed a business empire would spare the time to meet with an old chum from Oxford. Already nervous about meeting Georgina Maitland, the experience at the chambers with Kingsley had her insides hopping and her head pounding. She managed to tidy her makeup, straighten out the creases in her dress and brush her hair, before Callum quite boldly strode to the front door of the terrace and pressed the buzzer. He seemed relaxed and curiously elated by the prospect of meeting his friend.

‘Don’t forget, Callum. This time you really are on your own with Georgina. She can’t be told that I’m a detective, understand?’

‘I get you.’

When the buzzer sounded allowing them to enter, he placed a hand on her back and guided her inside. Tara had imagined the place to be a frantic nerve centre of the Maitland business empire. Instead, she found the reception area in which they stood to be quiet and bright, with two girls seated either side of a sturdy old desk, one speaking on the telephone, the other working at a computer. Callum explained to the girl at the computer, a pleasant and plump red-head, who they were. She immediately lifted a telephone.

‘Georgina, your friend Callum Armour is here,’ she said in a slightly rounded but easily recognisable Glaswegian accent.

‘Georgina is ready for you,’ she said putting down the phone. ‘If you’d like to follow me.’

The girl led them up a flight of stairs, clinically white from the walls to the balustrade, the starkness broken only by pieces of brightly coloured abstracts on the walls. She opened a panelled door, entered and held it open for Tara and Callum.

‘Callum! My Belfast Boy!’ Tara was a bystander to the reunion as Georgina shuffled precariously in very high heels from the window, around her desk, to throw her arms over Callum.

‘Hello, Georgina, it’s good to see you.’

‘I’ve missed you so much, darling.’ They kissed on both cheeks and hugged tightly. ‘Bring some tea please, Katrina.’ The red-head girl acknowledged the instruction with a smile and closed the door on her way out.

‘Georgina, this is Tara Grogan, a good friend of mine.’ Tara flushed instantly.

‘Wonderful to meet you, Tara.’

‘And you,’ Tara replied. ‘Callum has told me great things about you.’ She was dying to say I’m a big fan of your underwear, and my best friends think your clothes are fantastic, but she hadn’t come to praise her. Georgina’s appearance could not have been further removed from what Tara had expected. She recalled so many pictures in magazines, appearances on TV shows, and on each occasion a stunning presentation of clothes, hair and make-up. Except that the fact she was standing in her private office, and only for that fact, Tara would not have picked Georgina out of a police line-up, or even judged her a runner-up in a Georgina Maitland look-alike contest. Tall and slender as she already knew, but painfully thin, unhealthily so. Long-legs perched on blue shoes with enormous heels, she stood in a white smock tunic, a blaze of tropical colour on a band around a low-neck line. The exposed part of her chest was heavily tanned, but freckled to the line of her breasts which looked as though they’d had some enhancement. Her legs appeared rather spindly under white cropped leggings. But it was the face that beckoned most of Tara’s gaze: a long jaw-line, perfect teeth and steely-blue eyes that engaged whoever cared to look into them. Georgina’s face was quite beautiful, and seemed to care what you thought of it, at the same time oozing delight for whatever was going on in her presence. Her hair, dead straight, shoulder-length and a reddish-brown, was markedly different from what Tara had last seen in a magazine belonging to Kate.

Georgina took hold of Callum’s arm and sat him down on a studded brown-leather sofa. Tara was left to sit opposite in a club armchair. The office had a very traditional, antique feel about it, oak panelling and regal-looking wallpaper. Not the type of place she associated with this woman at all.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said. ‘I think about you every day, you know? And Tilly, of course.’ Her expression rocked from sheer delight to chronic sadness and back again in a single breath. ‘Poor Tilly, I miss her so much.’ She smiled at Tara. ‘But look, you have someone new… and beautiful.’

‘No,’ said Callum, jumping in hastily. ‘It’s not like that. We’re just good friends.’

‘Well you need to get a move on. I’m sure Tara isn’t going to wait on you forever. You need to let go, darling. Tilly would never have wished you to be on your own. And what do you do, Tara?’

The question came suddenly. She had to think of something.

‘I work in promotions. In Liverpool. Concerts, shows, exhibitions, that kind of thing.’ She reckoned Aisling wouldn’t mind her borrowing her identity for a bit.

‘Tara was at Latimer,’ said Callum. Not what she would have wanted him to say next, but it was too late.

‘Really? Same time as us?’

‘No, I graduated six years ago.’

‘My word. It’s been ten years since we finished. Imagine that, Callum?’

There was a knock on the door and Katrina entered carrying a large tray with silver tea-pot, china mugs, and rather spectacular looking cup-cakes with beautifully ornate decorations. She placed it on the coffee table between the sofa and Tara’s chair.

‘Thanks, honey,’ said Georgina. The girl smiled and left without a word.

‘So tell me, Callum, I was so excited when I heard you wanted to meet up. I haven’t seen you since…’

‘Tilly’s funeral.’

‘Yes. Worst day of my life.’ She pulled a tissue from a wooden carved dispenser on the table and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m completely useless.’ She squeezed Callum’s arm. He leaned towards her, kissing her gently on the cheek. ‘I miss her so much, you know,’ she said once more but directly at Tara. ‘And to what do I owe this rare pleasure my Belfast Boy?’ Again, before anyone could reply, she rolled into another spiel. ‘We gave him that name. Tilly, Charlotte and me. Our Belfast Boy. You were like a new puppy that first day we met at Latimer. All alone, no one to talk to. Lucky we found you?’

Callum smiled. Embarrassed but admiring nonetheless. Tara could sense he was going over things in his head, hopefully preparing to ask the questions she had told him to.

‘Did you hear that Peter Ramsey was killed?’

‘Yes, poor Peter. Terrible thing to happen. It said in the papers the killing resembled the murder of Thomas Becket. Who would do such a thing?’

‘There are a lot of very disturbed people out there,’ said Tara, suddenly realising it sounded like something the police would say.

‘Tony was devastated. Did you make it to the funeral?’

‘Bit far for me,’ Callum replied.

‘We were both out of the country. I sent flowers.’

‘Then Zhou Jian was killed in Switzerland.’

Georgina frowned, looking puzzled by the name, but Callum sensed her confusion. ‘He was a friend of mine really.’

‘Oh yes. I remember him. Didn’t we call him our Beijing Boy to go with our Belfast variety?’ Callum smiled warmly.

‘He was murdered, too, Georgina.’

‘Really? How shocking. You don’t think there’s a connection by any chance? With Peter, I mean?’

‘Four people are dead.’

‘Four?’

‘Tilly and Emily.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Yes, of course, Tilly and little Emily. But that was a terrible accident.’

Tara watched Georgina closely; she wasn’t so much overbearing as completely over-powering. But Callum sat in awe. How had he survived three years of her?

‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

‘But the inquest? It was declared an accident.’

‘I think their deaths have something to do with Justin.’

‘Justin?’ Georgina laughed and placed her hand on Callum’s thigh. Tara thought it quite nervous laughter. ‘But he’s been gone for at least ten years, darling.’

‘That’s why I’ve come to see you, to ask if you’ve seen or heard of him recently?’

‘Please, Tara, help yourself to some tea. Callum, you should do mother.’

Callum duly obeyed and poured the tea into three delicate Aynsley mugs.

‘Try a cup cake. It’s part of my new range, very fruity.’

Callum helped himself, and Tara felt obliged to join in, choosing a cake with a pale green topping and a sprinkling of what appeared to be cranberry pieces.

‘That’s key lime and cranberry,’ said Georgina, who refrained from eating her own fayre. Tara hoped Georgina hadn’t forgotten the answer to the question she seemed to be avoiding. But the bubbly woman happily took up the thread once again.

‘I think about Justin often, but I’ve not seen or heard of him since the night he walked out.’ She reached for another tissue. ‘Sorry. I’m such a blub.’ She did the eye dabbing thing again. ‘But why do you think Justin has something to do with these deaths?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Callum replied. ‘Perhaps a grudge of some kind.’

‘The only person he could have a grudge against is me. How could you think he would ever harm Tilly? Anyone who ever met her would never wish to hurt her. If you believe that someone killed her, that it wasn’t an accident, then it must have been a total stranger, a mad man.’ She threw her arms over Callum, sobbing into his shoulder. When finally she released him she attempted a change in subject. ‘Tell me, what are you doing with yourself these days? You don’t look at all healthy.’

‘Not much. I went back home to Liverpool two years ago. My father was ill, and I needed to look after him.’

‘And since then? Are you still working on that Nobel prize?’

He smiled at her joke and shook his head.

‘I’ve told you before; you can always come and work for me. I’ll soon find plenty for those idle hands.’

Tara reckoned Callum had bottled out of asking any more probing questions. She decided to weigh in.

‘We were wondering if you know of any reason why Justin left the way he did?’

Georgina glared icily at Tara, looking stunned by the pertinence of her question.

‘We were all having a great time,’ said Callum. ‘Then he upped and left.’

Georgina bowed her head slightly, fiddling with her crumpled tissue.

‘Justin and I had broken up before then, Callum. I hadn’t told anyone except for Tilly. I wasn’t going to come on that blasted ski trip, but she insisted things would be fine. I’d thought Justin and I could still be friends.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Sometimes you can’t paper over the cracks.’

‘Do you think that’s why he left, because of your break-up?’ Callum asked.

‘To get back at me? Who knows? Didn’t bother to leave a note or tell anyone where he was going.’

‘Do you believe he is still alive?’ Tara asked.

‘What a marvellous girl you’ve found in Tara, Callum. Only a dear friend would take such interest in your past.’ She proffered the tea pot, but neither one accepted. ‘That’s more than enough of all that tragedy. It’s been really wonderful to see my Belfast Boy after such a long time. Please, Callum, think about my offer; it would be a fresh start for you, new beginnings and all that.’

Georgina got to her feet, and it signalled, certainly to Tara, that their time was up. No matter how informal their meeting it was still, for Georgina, a meeting.

‘I would really have loved for us to get together this weekend. You, me, Tony, even Charlotte and Ollie, but I’m afraid we’re off to the country. Tony’s family seat and all that aristocratic nonsense.’

Callum nodded and smiled, while Tara recalled something she’d read about Georgina. She also had some wealthy blood in her veins.

‘I count myself lucky to be included in any of my husband’s schedule these days. I thought I was the busy one. But can’t look a gift horse and all that. Have to cherish our brief moments together. So what are your plans, Callum? Are you staying in town for the weekend?’ She gazed impishly at Tara.

‘Actually, we were hoping to speak with Anthony. Thought you might be able to help on that score.’

‘Oh dear. Hard to pin down these government ministers.’ She looked deep in thought for a moment then caught hold of Callum, slipping her arms around his neck. Once again Tara was the bystander. ‘Look, we’re supposed to be having dinner together this evening. It’s a charity thing, celebs and all that tosh. Sorry I can’t manage a ticket, but I’ll try and steal Tony away before the thing starts, and maybe you can have a quick chat.’