Kennedy 03 - Where Petals Fall (22 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The following evening, after a particularly fruitless and frustrating day, Jill was locking up her cottage and setting off for a good long walk in the hope that it might relax her. It was cooler than of late, and perfect for a stroll.

She was halfway along her lane, about a hundred yards from her cottage, when Max drove along. He slowed to a stop and the window went down.

‘Where are you going?’

‘For a walk, but it doesn’t matter.’ She held up the bag she was carrying. ‘I was going down to New Line to chuck stale bread at the ducks.’

‘Good idea. We’ll come with you.’

It was then that she noticed Holly was lying on the back seat.

‘Unless you want to be on your own?’ he added.

‘Not particularly, but I warn you now, I’m not the best company in the world. You would not believe the day I’ve had.’

He smiled at that. ‘If it’s been any worse than mine, I’ll buy you dinner at the pub.’

He drove on to her cottage, left his car on the drive and walked back to join her. He’d taken off his tie, and the jacket to his suit was nowhere to be seen, but he wasn’t dressed for walking.

Holly was trotting by his side as she always did. The dog idolized him.

‘Right,’ he said, reaching into his trouser pocket for cigarettes and lighter, ‘tell me about your day.’

‘You know I was in court today?’

‘Yes.’ She could see the smile tugging at his lips.

‘And I bet you know the rest of it,’ she muttered. ‘It took me ages to prepare for that. Ages. Today, I’ve been kicking my heels at the court. All bloody day. Then, at the very last minute, the little sod changed his plea.’

‘So I heard.’

‘That shouldn’t be allowed. All that taxpayers’ money wasted. The little shit should be banged up for that alone.’

‘He should,’ Max agreed.

‘As if I don’t have anything better to do with my time,’ she grumbled.

‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘You could have spent the day at the bookies.’

‘Fortunately, I did manage to nip out and place a bet at lunchtime.’

‘Ah. So you can afford to buy me dinner?’

‘Nope, sorry.’ She smiled at that. ‘They’re still running.’

They left the road and walked down to the disused railway line. Holly ran a few yards ahead occasionally, but she didn’t stray far from Max’s side.

‘What was so bad about your day?’ she asked.

‘Everything. I wish I hadn’t bothered getting out of bed this morning. The highlight was a one-hour-twenty-minute bollocking from Meredith. One hour and twenty minutes!’

‘Blimey, that must be a record.’ She grinned at that. ‘What happened to your usual escape plan?’

‘He was having none of it. I was just about to fall to the ground clutching my chest when he had to take an important call. You’ll be delighted to hear that, thanks to all the speed cameras, the number of road accidents in the area is down. The TV company wanted to know if he’d like to comment on that.’

‘It’s nothing to do with the cameras. The roads are so congested you’re lucky to get out of second gear.’

‘You won’t convince Meredith of that.’

‘So what was this particular bollocking about?’ she asked.

‘The usual. My lack of delegation skills. My complete ignorance of the correct procedure. If I did things by the book, apparently, I’d have our killer – or killers – banged up by now. What else was there? Oh yes, overtime payments are sky high. The press are making us look like morons. There was plenty more, but I think those were the salient points.’

They reached the small reservoir and, as was usual, the assortment of ducks and geese came to inspect them. As far as the geese were concerned, visitors had to be carrying bread. Holly ignored them until Jill threw the first chunk of break into the water. Then she leapt into the water, retrieved it, shook herself dry and ate it.

Spluttering with laughter, Jill threw another piece, only to have it brought back and eaten by Holly.

‘What’s the point of that? I may as well give her the bagful. Don’t you feed her?’

‘She’s like me. She’s had nothing since breakfast.’ Max grabbed her collar. ‘Lie down, you stupid animal.’

One word from her master and Holly forgave the insult. Grudgingly, she watched as each piece of bread landed in the water and was gobbled up by greedy ducks.

There were a couple of fishermen on the other side of the reservoir but, otherwise, it was deserted. It was a blissfully peaceful spot. Jill leaned on the wooden rails and gazed into the water. Occasionally, she spotted fish swimming around.

‘So what’s new?’ she asked Max. ‘You must have something by now.’

‘You’re beginning to sound like Meredith,’ Max said with a grimace. ‘And no, nothing’s new. I’ve got nothing at all. Nothing that would stand up in court at any rate.’

‘There’s something we’re missing,’ Jill said.

‘Vince Blakely is sticking to his story and protesting his innocence. He admits to making threats to Nikki when she and her mates damaged his car, and he was as mad as hell when his office window was smashed, but he claimed heknew he couldn’t make anything of it because they would deny all knowledge.’

‘That sounds feasible.’

‘And he still maintains he never knew Ralph Atkins. He has, however, admitted to asking Yvonne to lie for him the night the fire was started. He insists he was merely trying to save our time and his.’

‘I can’t see Blakely as guilty of murder,’ she murmured.

‘I can. We’re talking about an estate amounting to millions of pounds, Jill. That’s one hell of a lot of money.’

He had a point. That would be a huge incentive.

‘Have you found Finlay yet?’ she asked.

‘Yes and no. We’ve found the house where he’s supposed to be staying.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Preston.’

‘Preston? You’re kidding me. So he’s gone – what? – thirty miles away?’

‘Supposedly. The trouble is, he’s not there. We’re having the place watched, but there’s no sign of him. He’s vanished into thin air.’

What the devil was he doing in Preston? He’d said he was going where the whim took him. Why move thirty miles away?

‘What about his father?’ she asked. ‘Did you talk to him about Katherine Atkins?’

‘Yeah. He claims to remember her well. He’s sure Finlay would remember her, too. But whether they were in touch . . .’ Max shrugged. ‘Who knows? At the time those videos were – what shall we say? – found – she was terminally ill, though.’

Without conscious decision, they strolled around the perimeter of the reservoir.

‘Anything on the person who leaked the story to the press?’ Jill asked.

‘DC Johnny Simpson’s on the case,’ Max told her. ‘This week, the paper’s received two phone calls, both taped, and both from a man claiming to be Edward Marshall.’

‘Two?’

‘It’s bollocks,’ Max dismissed that. ‘One was made from a phone box in Nottingham. The other from a phone box in Stoke.’

‘How do you know it’s bollocks?’ Jill demanded. ‘What if we’re on the wrong track completely? What if, after all this, Marshall is still alive?’

‘He isn’t.’

‘How do you know?’ Jill demanded, exasperated and starting to panic.

‘Come on, Jill, you said yourself that he didn’t kill Carol.’

‘Yes, but what if –’

‘You’re not wrong,’ he said firmly. ‘Marshall’s dead, Jill. I don’t know who is making those phone calls, but it’s not Marshall.’

‘It’s our killer though, isn’t it?’

‘I imagine so, yes. There’s CCTV near the phone in Stoke. It’s not as near as we’d like, but Johnny’s going to have a look at that and see if he recognizes anyone. We know the time of the call. Ergo, we’ll know – assuming we get a good enough picture – who made it.’

Jill was suddenly besieged by doubt. She’d made a mistake before, and that mistake had been responsible, in part, for Rodney Hill committing suicide. If she’d made another mistake –

But what if he wasn’t? What if they were making no progress in this case because they weren’t focusing on Marshall?

‘If it were Marshall,’ Max said, ‘he’d speak loudly and clearly. What we’ve got is a tape recording.’

He was right. If it were Marshall, he wouldn’t bother with a recording. Would he?

‘Come on,’ Max said, taking her hand, ‘let’s walk back to the pub and get something to eat. I’m starving.’

‘Yes, me too.’

‘You’re always starving . . .’

Jill had thought a walk would relax her, but now she was more tense than ever. She couldn’t rid herself of the idea that Marshall might still be alive. If he was, then she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. She had possibly made a mistake that had cost Nikki her life. She’d told Max he couldn’t blame himself for Nikki’s death. She’d said it wasn’t his fault and it wasn’t hers. But what if it was? What if the blame could be placed firmly at her feet? She’d been so certain they were looking for a copycat . . .

‘Are you OK with eating outside?’ Max asked. ‘It’ll save having to leave Holly tied up outside.’

‘Yes, fine.’

Several other people had had the same idea, and most of the tables on the lawns were taken. Jill wasn’t surprised. It was good to make the most of the late evening warmth.

She was soon eating chicken and chips and her mood lifted. It had been a tiring day, one way and another, and she was determined to put it from her mind for an hour or so.

‘By the way,’ Max said, ‘I’ve told them you’ll be in to pay the bill in a minute.’

‘What? My day was far worse than yours. You only had Meredith to contend with, and you should be used to him by now.’

‘Huh. The bloke will be the death of me.’

‘My horses didn’t win,’ she reminded him.

‘And that’s my fault?’

‘I suppose not. But I know you’ve paid the bill. Thanks,’ she added belatedly. ‘It’s good.’ The white wine was equally good.

When they’d eaten, and were walking back to her cottage to collect Max’s car, Jill was feeling nicely relaxed. Perhaps that was due to the way Max’s arm was resting on her shoulder . . .

‘Perhaps,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘we ought to have another chat with Ruth. She was as close to Carol as anyone could be. If we have a good long chat with her, perhaps she’ll think of something. Something she’s thought toounimportant to mention. Carol must have said something about Finlay. Ruth would have asked how her date went. Maybe Carol introduced him to her husband even. Or perhaps she said something about Vince. Or Ralph Atkins. And what about Terry Yates? Ruth must have noticed him hanging about outside the shop. She must have.’

‘Why not? We’ve got nothing else. OK, we’ll see her tomorrow. In the afternoon because I’m in Manchester all morning.’

‘Really? Meredith sending you down there so you can learn how it’s done?’

‘Don’t even joke about it. He did ask if I fancied seeing myself in uniform on crowd control at Turf Moor next season.’

Jill grinned at that.

‘It’s so long since I’ve had chance to watch a game, I said I’d be delighted . . .’

Tomorrow afternoon suited Jill because she had things to do, too. Every time she thought of it, the sheer recklessness had her taking several calming breaths, but she’d made up her mind. Well, more or less. She was going to see Andy Collins in the morning and ask him to bid on her behalf at the auction for Kelton Manor.

Being in Spain at the time of the auction, assuming they got to Spain, would be a godsend. That way, with Andy bidding on her behalf, she wouldn’t be tempted to go over her budget.

Chapter Thirty-Six

DC Simpson had watched this particular piece of film at least thirty times. No matter what they tried, it was impossible to get a half-decent view of the person who walked into that phone booth in Stoke-on-Trent to call the paper. For all Johnny knew, it could be a chimpanzee.

The camera had been positioned to capture the shops and pubs that formed a small square in the town. Unfortunately, the phone booth was in the top right-hand corner. This was their best clue yet, almost their only clue, and it was proving useless.

It was lunchtime and he was hungry.

He left the building and crossed the road to the Green Man for a quick sandwich and a drink. What he really fancied was a long cold pint of lager, but he ordered a Coke. At the moment, he and Trentham were getting on OK and he didn’t want to jeopardize their relationship.

The pub was quiet. Come six o’clock, it would be packed. Trade was always good on Fridays.

The Coke didn’t do much for him, but the sandwich – hot roast pork with stuffing and chips – was delicious. When he’d finished, he walked outside for a smoke. Three others were standing out there, but he didn’t recognize them and no one bothered with the usual moan about smokers being forced outside.

As he walked back to headquarters, he wondered what else he could do to find this hoax caller. If it was a hoax. Johnny wasn’t convinced. They’d all look pretty stupid if it really was Edward Marshall making those calls.

He also wondered if the film was waiting for him.

He’d watched CCTV footage they’d got from Nottingham. Sadly, the phone booth in question was a hundred yards from the nearest camera and the closest they got was a nearby road junction. He’d watched people walking along the pavement, but nothing had struck him as odd. No one looked as if they were walking to a phone booth – although how anyone would manage that, he had no idea – and, as far as he could see, no one walked back along the same route.

And then he’d seen it. A small sign pointed in the direction of the railway station. The phone booth in Stoke-on-Trent had been a short walk from the station, too.

Johnny was convinced that their man was travelling by train. That would be why the calls had been made from all corners of the country. He’d checked the timetables and those calls had been made within fifteen minutes of a train arriving from Manchester. Anyone travelling from Harrington by train would go via Manchester . . .

He was feeling better after his food, and better still when he saw that the CCTV footage was set up for him.

He sat before the screen.

Manchester railway stations were always busy and Johnny stared in dismay at the milling crowd. Some strolled, some dashed for trains and others looked as if they had been dropped in a foreign country.

Minutes ticked by. Hours passed and then Johnny thought he recognized someone. He hit the button to freeze the frame.

‘Oh, my –’

Johnny hadn’t expected this.

Wait until he dropped this little bombshell on Trentham.

Johnny still couldn’t tell Trentham if the voice on the recording belonged to Marshall or not, but he could tell him who was making the calls and playing the tape.

No wonder it had taken so long for him to spot the culprit. He’d looked closely at every man captured on the screen, but he’d paid scant attention to the women. In fact, if this particular woman hadn’t glanced straight up at the camera, he would have missed her, too.