How I Lost You (29 page)

My heart speeds up a little. This is more like it, this is what we’ve come to hear. I don’t dare to speak in case I say something to change her mind.

‘It was a Friday night, Mark’s poker night with the boys. Beth turned up soaking wet and crying her eyes out. I immediately let her in, of course – it was the first time I’d actually seen her up close in a few weeks; before that I’d only spoken to her on the phone or seen her from a distance in the lecture theatre. She looked awful. She’d lost so much weight, she was pale and around her eyes was so black, I thought she was on drugs.’

‘What did she say?’ I ask, captivated.

‘I couldn’t get much sense out of her, just that she had to break up with Mark because of something that had happened. She kept saying something about how she shouldn’t have gone there; she should have kept out of it. She kept talking about Ellie Toldot – I still have no idea who she is. I thought she meant Mark had been cheating on her but she said I’d got it all wrong, how I’d never understand. She wasn’t just upset, she was scared.’

‘What was she scared of?’ Nick asks. Jennifer shakes her head.

‘I don’t know. Of Mark, I think, something she’d seen. She took off as quickly as she’d arrived, said she shouldn’t be involving me in her problems, that she shouldn’t have said anything at all.’

‘Did you see her again before she died?’

‘We had some classes together but she kept her distance. The week she went missing she’d barely been at class at all, and every time I saw her outside lectures Mark was glued to her side. It was like she was avoiding me completely. The night she died, I went over to her room to talk some sense into her.’

‘And did you?’

Jennifer shakes her head again. ‘No, and God knows ever since I’ve wished I’d tried harder. When I got there, I could hear through the door that she was on the phone. She said something like “What’s he doing there?” and then “Oh God, Matty, fine, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She sounded pissed off, and before I had a chance to knock she came rushing out of the door. She looked surprised to see me, and when I said we needed to talk, she told me she was in a bit of a rush and she’d come to my room the next day to chat. She apologised to me for how she’d been lately, said she’d had some stuff to sort out but things were going to be OK now. I made her promise to come and find me the next day and she swore she would. She kissed me on the cheek and told me she’d missed me. I said me too. That was the last time I ever saw her.’

‘Did you tell the police what you’d heard?’

‘Of course I did. They didn’t want to know.’ Her face contorts in anger. ‘I told them she’d been going to meet Matthew Riley somewhere, but they just said I had no proof it was Riley she’d been on the phone to, that it could have been her “client’s” name. They pretty much called me a liar but I knew what I’d heard.’

‘I thought Matthew Riley and Mark both had alibis for the time of Beth’s murder?’ Nick remarks. Jennifer gives him a derisive look.

‘Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? The Mark Websters and Matthew Rileys of Durham could have found a room full of people who would swear they were on stage at Carnegie Hall if they’d wanted to.’

‘What about the guy they arrested? They must have had some proof.’

Jennifer nods. ‘He had Beth’s purse and was covered in her blood. They said she’d gone to have sex with him.’ She grimaces. ‘There’s not a chance in hell Beth would have slept with a guy like Lee Russon. Not for all the money in Durham.’ She checks her watch. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to start work. I hope you find what you came for.’

‘Jennifer, wait.’ Nick stands to stop her as she rises from the wall, squashes her cigarette butt under her toe and turns to walk away. ‘Just one more thing.’

‘What is it?’

‘After Beth’s body was found, how did Mark Webster react?’

She turns to look at me. ‘He was devastated. To be honest, when I saw what he was like afterwards, it made me completely doubt his involvement. He was so crushed. He was ready to give up university altogether. If his father hadn’t convinced the Dean to let him finish from home, he’d never have got his degree.’

‘Thanks for all your help, Jennifer,’ Nick says. ‘We really appreciate it.’

‘Doesn’t make one bit of difference, though, does it? Beth’s still dead,’ she replies, turning to go once more. ‘You want the truth? Well it won’t bring Beth back.’

46

‘Where the hell are you? Why haven’t you called me? I thought you were bloody dead!’ Cassie is shouting so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear until she’s finished her rant.

‘I texted you,’ I try weakly.

‘That could have been anyone! After everything we’ve been through, do you think I want to turn on the news and see you dead in a ditch?’

I almost laugh out loud but realise she’s serious.

‘Cass, the only time you’ve ever turned on the news is when you were on it,’ I reply as seriously as I can. ‘And why on earth would they show me dead in a ditch?’

‘I don’t think you’re seeing the point I’m trying to make,’ she practically hisses.

‘I do, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve been ridiculously selfish. I’m on my way back now, can I call you tomorrow?’

‘You’d better.’

‘Oh, could you do something for me?’ I ask, before she can hang up.

‘I don’t know, I’ll have to check my diary.’ She pretends to flick through pages. ‘Ah, as expected, I’ve got a busy day of waiting for my best friend to call.’

‘So is that a yes?’ I reply impatiently.

‘Fine, what is it?’

‘I need you to try and find someone called Ellie Toldot.’ I spell it for her. ‘I’m guessing it’s not an overly common name; can you google it for me? Maybe have a look on Facebook, et cetera.’

‘OK, but you’ll only find out if you
call me tomorrow.
Do you hear me?
Call me
.’

We both hang up and I sink lower in my seat, glad that that’s over. She wasn’t nearly as angry as I’d expected, considering how badly I’ve binned her the last few days. If I were her, I’d be furious at me.

My phone has an unread text message. Rob Howe from ZBH. Had a look at notes, nothing stands out yet. Changed your mind about that drink? If you can shake off your bodyguard long enough that is. X

I suppress a smile and fire off a quick Sorry, still minded 24/7. Worse than my dad. Is it a cliche to say it’s complicated?

‘She OK?’ Nick asks.

‘Furious. She’ll be fine.’

My phone buzzes again. Total cliche. Is it unprofessional to say you make cliches sound cute? X

I reply with Totally unprofessional and end with an X. Then I delete the X and add a smiley face. See? This is why I don’t date.

‘Are you OK? You know, hearing all that about Mark . . .’

‘I’m not sure what to think.’ I don’t want to talk to Nick about my relationship with Mark. I don’t want to admit that I’m hurt and humiliated that I’ve had to hear more about my ex-husband’s life from a librarian than I ever heard from him. I’m confused. I don’t know if I was a distraction for him, fighting for his love with a ghost I never even knew about. Would I have tried harder if I’d known about Beth? Would I have been more graceful, more polished, more like a ‘Durham elite’ wife? More like Kristy Riley, more like Beth Connors? I search my mind for any hint that Mark was hiding this secret from me. Little things we did together now seem like they all lead back to his university sweetheart. Was he thinking of her when we went to see
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
at the theatre? How could he not have been? Was he thinking of her when we spent a lazy Saturday at the National Gallery, or on our honeymoon? Was I just a cheap replacement?

I want to ask him all these things but I don’t want to see his face when he lies to me. I just want to know what any of this has to do with my son, and how a twenty-one-year-old murder case could be linked to my baby boy.

47

Jack: 17 December 1992

‘You saw it all?’ The voice was full of awe, the piece of ass with lip gloss attached so easy to impress. She edged closer to Jack, not even slightly mindful of the rest of his audience. Christ, any closer she’d be sat in his lap, not that he’d object. The girl – Sandy, Sammy? He didn’t know and he didn’t care – leaned in, her forearm resting on his chair. From this angle he caught a glimpse of a flimsy skin-coloured bra, imagined the small hard nipple that was pressing against its fabric. Jesus, he couldn’t let himself get hard, not sitting with a group of people waiting to hear about the man arrested for Beth’s murder.

‘All of it.’ He leaned back, inviting the rest of his audience to lean closer. People from other tables were listening now; Sandy/Sammy hadn’t been keeping her voice down.

‘Like I said, I’d gone to the station with Jeremy to help the police with their inquiries. God knows, someone had to.’ A few sniggers from around the table. The police hadn’t made themselves popular in the university the last few weeks.

‘Why did you go with a lawyer?’ Graham someone asked, his nose wrinkled. Jack let out a short laugh.

‘The old man would shit a brick if I set foot in a rozzer station without representation.’ It was taken without another comment. Of course the son of George Bratbury should have a lawyer wherever he went. ‘Anyway, we’d only been there about fifteen minutes when there was a hell of a commotion outside.’

His audience was hooked, exactly how he wanted them. He was loving this.

‘The fat idiot interviewing me went out to see what was going on, so I canned Jeremy and followed him.’ The look on Lip Gloss’s face was priceless. ‘There were two police officers, big knuckle-dragging things, both locked arms with a dirty stinking hobo. Hair down to his shoulders, so thick with grease you could have oiled the whole cast of
Striptease
with it. The smell in the corridor was fucking rancid.’

He screwed up his nose at the imagined memory. These people didn’t have to know it was all utter bullshit, that Russon had already been taken through to the interview room before Fat Man had been informed. They didn’t need to know that the only time Jack had seen Russon was when he’d covered the filthy junkie in Beth’s blood the morning after her death and buried her purse deep under the comatose hobo’s possessions.

‘What was he like?’ Lip Gloss’s hand closed over his arm.

‘He was a mess. High as a kite and throwing himself from side to side like a wild beast, trying to tear himself away from the gorillas holding him. But there was no chance. He was wailing, over and over again, not words at first, just noise. His jeans were so thick with filth you could barely see they were denim any more; he’d obviously been wearing them for weeks. And his T-shirt . . .’

This was the best bit, the bit he’d been saving. Every breath he took drew the crowd in closer, like he was sucking them towards him with the force of his story. He paused, tried to look like he was composing himself. Jesus, he was going to come if this piece rubbed herself against him just once more. The power, the sexual high of having every person around him exactly where he wanted them, the knowledge that he had the information every person on campus, every police officer in Durham wanted to know . . .

‘His T-shirt was covered in blood. Beth’s blood.’

48

I wake up to the smell of bacon cooking downstairs, that amazing sizzling aroma that permeates every inch of the house. I’m just about to throw on some clothes and go down when there’s a knock at the door. Grabbing a dressing gown I shout, ‘come in.’

‘Sleep well?’ The door opens and Nick walks in carrying a tray filled with food. Buttered crumpets, bacon, egg, sausage and tomatoes: everything looks amazing.

‘Are you trying to fatten me up?’ I ask. ‘I haven’t been for a run all week and all you do is feed me.’

‘What would Cassie say if I let you stop eating again?’ Nick grins. ‘So where do we go next?’ he asks as I shovel food into my mouth. ‘We’re still no closer to knowing what happened to Dylan.’

‘I don’t know,’ I admit, wiping my mouth as discreetly as possible with my finger. ‘I just can’t believe that what happened to Beth Connors isn’t related, but I can’t for the life of me see how it can be. If Dylan had been murdered, or kidnapped for ransom, I’d think it was some kind of revenge for Beth’s murder. But the photo I got shows a happy little boy, unharmed and smiling. That doesn’t suggest revenge to me. We can’t just turn up at Mark’s house and ask him, “Oh, by the way, did you murder your fiancée twenty-one years ago?”’

Before Nick can reply, my mobile rings.
Shit.
Mark again? It’s a number I don’t know and before they have a chance to hang up I snatch it up and press the green button.

‘Hello?’

‘Is this Susan Webster?’ A man’s deep voice.

‘Speaking.’

‘Ms Webster, my name is Carl Weston, formerly Detective Carl Weston of the Durham Constabulary. I received a call from a Jean Whitaker, who said you might want to speak to me about Bethany Connors?’

Do I ever.
I cover the phone and mouth
detective
to Nick.

‘Would we be able to meet somewhere? In, say, two hours?’

I nod, then, realising he can’t see me, say, ‘Of course, where are you?’

‘I’m coming from just outside Durham, I’ll get the train.’

We arrange to meet at a café not too far from the train station. When I get off the phone, I expect Nick to be excited. Instead he looks apprehensive and suspicious.

‘Who was that? Which detective?’

‘Carl Weston. He’s the guy who left the Durham police force because he didn’t believe Russon was responsible for Beth’s murder. We’re meeting him in an hour.’

‘I can’t.’ His voice is sharp. ‘I have to go into work today to pick up some things. You go, you can tell me what he says.’

I can’t hide my disappointment. ‘You didn’t mention work before. Can’t you go in this afternoon?’

‘Not everything revolves around you, you know.’ His voice is cold and he gets up to walk away. ‘Come back here when you’re done. And be careful, you don’t have a clue who this guy is.’