Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle (24 page)

‘You want to get out more, Max, if you call that memorable.’ She was striving to be calm and reasonable, but it was difficult.

‘It was memorable because it made me realize how much I hated my marriage. Barbara was fun. Not that much fun,’ he added hastily. ‘But fun. I was going home to Linda and I was dreading it. If it hadn’t been for the kids, I’d have done a runner that night.’

‘Was this before or after you knew me?’ She had to know.

‘Before. About two weeks before.’

Terrific. So, having decided his marriage was in ruins, he would have been on the lookout for anyone available and Jill had been available.

If she kept at this conversation, she’d make herself angrier and more depressed than she already was. She had to forget it for the time being. But—

‘How come you’re so keen to renew the acquaintance?’ she asked, wishing she could, just for once, keep her mouth shut.

‘I’m not,’ he replied easily. ‘What I wanted was to get closer to McQueen. Inside his house—’

‘What? Are you mad? You were almost suspended before Bradley Johnson was killed. If Meredith had found out—’

‘There was no reason why he should. Anyway, it’s irrelevant now that Tom’s dead. I have all the access I need.’

‘What is it with you?’ she asked curiously. ‘Why do you refuse to do anything by the book?’

‘Because it doesn’t get results, Jill. You know that as well as I do. Look round the nick and what do you see? Disillusioned officers. Well, except Grace maybe. If we go by the book, there’s no way we’ll get a conviction.’

‘So you decided to take the law into your own hands,’ she said. ‘Great.’

‘And now you sound like Meredith.’

Jill didn’t really want to think about it. Just how far would he go to secure a conviction?

Sod him.

‘You haven’t asked me how Styal was,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘or how my chat with Peter Lawrence went.’

‘No need to. Grace told me all about it.’

‘And did she tell you that I’m beginning to think that Daisy is still alive?’

‘She did.’ The expression on his face told her what he thought about that idea. ‘No way,’ he said confidently.

‘I think so.’

‘Oh, come on, Jill. No one, not even someone as mad as Claire Lawrence, would volunteer to get themselves locked up in Styal.’

‘Claire’s as sane as you or me,’ she said calmly.

‘So why would she do such a thing? Why would she claim to murder her own daughter?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe she’s scared of someone. I don’t know, Max, but I think Daisy’s still alive. And let’s face it, without Daisy’s body, there’s not a lot of evidence.’

‘Claire walked into the nick clutching a pillow and an empty bottle,’ Max reminded her. ‘There were traces of Daisy’s saliva, and hair, on the pillow.’

‘So? That doesn’t mean she’s dead.’

‘We searched every inch of Harrington,’ he pointed out. ‘It was the biggest search I’ve ever been involved in.’

‘I know. I still think Daisy is alive.’ She wasn’t one hundred per cent sure, though. ‘That’s the theory I’m working on anyway.’

‘No way.’

‘So?’ she asked, nodding at the pile of files he’d dropped. ‘What are those for?’

He looked tempted to continue their conversation, but changed his mind.

‘Bradley Johnson,’ he said. ‘We don’t have a clue. Not a bloody clue. I want you to look through those and see if you can come up with anything.’

‘Oh, great. Working by candlelight.’

At the mention of candles, he wrinkled his nose. ‘They really do smell awful.’

He nodded at the files. ‘I’ve told you most of it, I think,’ he said, sitting beside her. ‘And you’ve seen the photos. Any ideas?’

‘None that I haven’t told you,’ she said. ‘My opinion? Bradley was blackmailing someone. He was expecting to meet someone in the wood—’

‘The wood or the pub?’

‘The wood,’ she said. ‘It would be away from prying eyes. The victim—and by that I mean the person he was blackmailing—would have suggested the wood so it will be someone who knows it well. It will have been premeditated.’

‘What about suspects?’ Max asked. ‘What about his wife, Phoebe?’

‘She’d have motive perhaps,’ Jill said. ‘I don’t think their marriage was all it’s cracked up to be. And the affairs, she won’t have been thrilled about those.’ But she didn’t want to think of handsome, charming, two-timing bastards. Not, she reminded herself grimly, that Max could be described as handsome. Attractive in a weathered, worldweary sort of way perhaps, but not handsome. Two-timing bastard, yes.

‘But if she was going to kill him, she’d do it at home,’ she went on, concentrating on the job in hand. ‘It would be easy enough to hide a few valuables, trash a few things and claim he’d disturbed a burglar. And I doubt she’s been in the wood more than once in her life.’

‘Maybe. How about the sons then?’ Max asked.

‘They weren’t anywhere near, were they?’

‘Not as far as we know,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘Joan Murphy then?’

Jill had considered Joan, dismissed her, then considered her again.

‘Since when has she been a suspect?’

‘Since she closed her shop on the day Johnson was murdered.’

That was news to Jill.

‘She claims she needed two days, the Wednesday and her usual Thursday, to change the window display and check on her stock.’

‘Then it’s possible, I suppose,’ she said. ‘He humiliated her in the worst possible way. She thought it was love whereas, in reality, he was just laughing at her and conning her out of her money. Worse, he was conning her out of the money that her much-loved father had worked hard for. Yes, she’s a possible.’

Jill had learned from bitter experience that she couldn’t allow personal feelings to colour her judgement. Just because she’d found Joan friendly didn’t mean she wasn’t a killer. Jill hadn’t known Joan was having an affair or being blackmailed by Johnson, or that she’d been abandoned by her own husband, so she couldn’t be expected to know if she was a killer or not. All the same, the idea didn’t sit comfortably.

‘Hannah Brooks?’ Max suggested.

‘Hannah? No.’ She was firm on that. ‘She’s too clever and too ambitious for that. She has her sights set high, Number 10, I shouldn’t wonder. The last thing she’d do is murder someone.’

‘Surely, that depends if he had something really damning on her that would put an end to her dreams. And she was out walking on the afternoon that he was killed,’ Max reminded her. ‘Then she was rushed into hospital the following day. Doesn’t that strike you as one hell of a coincidence?’

‘Yes, but I don’t think she’s your killer.’

‘How about Tom McQueen or one of his henchmen?’ Max asked. ‘If he killed Khalil and Johnson found out—maybe Johnson’s plans to blackmail him backfired.’

She expelled her breath on a sigh. ‘I don’t think Johnson’s murder was professional enough for McQueen. This was premeditated, yes, but your man—or woman—is someone who didn’t give a damn if they were caught or not.’

‘So who else do we have?’ Max murmured. ‘People with dogs—yes, I know, but all the same. Olive Prendergast has an alibi, Archie Weston has one and so does Jack Taylor. Well, Jack possibly has one. He showed me a receipt to prove that he was in Rochdale at the time in question, but he could have found that anywhere. I’m supposed to take his word for it,’ he finished drily.

They were still discussing the case at one thirty that morning when the electricity was finally restored.

Max was on his feet, blowing out candles.

‘Look at the time,’ he said in amazement.

She was well aware of the time. Just as she was well aware that he’d been drinking and shouldn’t drive home. She guessed what was coming.

‘What time are you coming over to our place next week?’ he asked, taking her completely by surprise.

‘Next week?’

‘Christmas Day,’ he clarified that. ‘Do you want me to collect you or will you get a taxi?’

She didn’t believe she was hearing this.

‘I’m spending Christmas Day with my parents,’ she told him with a calmness she wasn’t feeling. How dare he assume she was waiting for him to click his fingers all the damn time?

‘What? But you always spend it with us.’

‘Then it must be time for a change.’

‘But I’ve told Harry and Ben you’ll be there.’

‘Perhaps you should have asked—sorry, told—me first.’

‘Oh, come on, Jill. How the hell will you spend a whole day with your parents? It’s miles to drive so you won’t be able to have a drink, and you’ll have to endure your mum cooing over Prue’s kids while she goes on about her poor unmarried daughter. You’ll go mad.’

The infuriating thing was that he was right.

‘I’m sure I’ll cope,’ she replied airily.

‘But I’ve told the boys,’ he said again. ‘They’ll be so disappointed.’ He put on his little-boy-lost expression. ‘Come to us,’ he coaxed. ‘Please.’

She really shouldn’t fall for it. On the other hand, she always enjoyed Christmas with Max and the boys. They had fun.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she promised, somewhat reluctantly.

‘Thanks.’

‘And now,’ she said, ‘it’s late and I’m off to bed. What are you going to do? Call a taxi? Or will you drive home drunk? You forget all the other rules, you may as well disregard that one as well.’

‘Firstly, I’m not drunk,’ he pointed out. ‘Secondly …’

‘Secondly?’ she prompted, knowing damn well what he was angling for.

‘I suppose I’ve been relegated to the spare room,’ he guessed.

‘No, Max. You’ve been relegated to other premises. Any other premises.’

‘What? Oh, for Christ’s sake, Jill. Is this because of Barbara McQueen? I told you, that was work, pure and simple.’ He leaned forward, all sincere. ‘Come on, Jill, be reasonable.’

‘Why?’

He stared back at her.

‘Why should I be reasonable?’ she asked again. ‘If being reasonable means jumping when you say jump, why the hell should I? One minute you’re all over me, the next I can barely get two words from you.’

For some reason, that seemed to shake him.

‘Me and you,’ he said at last, ‘we’re both scared. We’ve got a lot in common, kiddo. A lot of emotional baggage. We’ve both had bad marriages and all that involves. We’ve both lost spouses—in different ways, admittedly—but we both have the guilt that goes with that.’

‘Guilt? Speak for yourself.’

‘OK then, I’ll speak for myself. I get scared, Jill. Scared to death of ending up in another hell of a marriage.’

‘Well—’

‘Just as you’re scared that, as soon as you relax, I’ll be off shagging Miss Sex on Legs.’

Jill couldn’t decide how to respond to that. He was right; she was frightened of getting hurt again. She hadn’t realized that he felt the same, though, and the knowledge, as well as the fact that he was man enough to admit it, threw her momentarily.

‘Or perhaps I’m wrong,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You’re the psychologist, not me.’

And still she didn’t know what to say. It was easy enough to believe he had a point. However, she also knew just how easily he could charm his way out of anything.

‘I’ll bring you coffee in bed,’ he murmured coaxingly. ‘I’ll fire up the boiler. And get rid of dead mice and birds.’

A smile was trying to get through, but she fought it back.

‘Cater to your every sexual need,’ he added, and a splutter of laughter bubbled up inside.

‘You’re the bane of my bloody existence, Trentham!’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Christmas Day had dawned bright and frosty, but the temperature had risen slightly and clouds had gathered. Jill peered out at the sky, but no snowflakes were forthcoming.

‘I suppose you had a bet on there being a white Christmas,’ Kate guessed knowingly.

‘I thought it was a dead cert.’

‘I bet it will snow,’ Ben said.

Jill gave the boy a squeeze. ‘I bet it will, too.’

They had exchanged presents, eaten a huge lunch, all cooked by Kate, and everyone, even Harry and Ben, was too lazy to move now. The dogs were equally lethargic—or suffering ill effects from all the sprouts Ben had slipped them.

Jill was glad she’d decided to spend the day with Max and the boys, and with his mother-in-law, too. Kate was a good friend.

It was Kate who finally roused herself. ‘I’m going to load up the dishwasher.’

‘I’ll help,’ Jill offered immediately. ‘I might not be able to cook, but I’m great at throwing stuff in a dishwasher.’

People like Kate, people who could cook and master the domestic side of life, were a marvel to Jill. Kate had not only managed to cook Christmas lunch for the five of them, she had also managed to keep the kitchen tidy.

‘So how much did you bet on it being a white Christmas, Jill?’

‘Only a hundred quid. And what’s that between friends? Not that the bookie’s my friend at the moment.’

Kate laughed at that. ‘Too many losers?’

‘Far too many.’ Jill was disgusted with herself. ‘If there’s an old nag destined for dog meat running, you can bet your life I have money resting on the thing. In my defence, though, I haven’t had much time to study form lately.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Kate said, rolling her eyes. ‘Max is a stranger at the moment.’

Jill was all too aware of that. He was running himself ragged, they all were. The frustrating thing was that there was no progress. There seemed no answer to any of it.

‘I remember one year,’ Kate remarked, breaking into her thoughts, ‘it began to snow just before midnight so there’s plenty of time yet. Mind you,’ she added with a chuckle, ‘that was years ago, when Harry was a toddler and Linda was pregnant with Ben.’

Although they rarely mentioned Linda, Jill knew this would be a bitter-sweet time for Kate.

‘Christmas must be difficult for you, Kate.’

‘Linda was my daughter and I miss her every day,’ she replied quietly. ‘And yes, I suppose Christmas is more difficult. I so wish she could be here with the boys. She loved them so much. They were her life.’

Jill nodded her understanding, but couldn’t help thinking that, if she had lived, Linda would have lost her marriage because of her devotion to her children. The way Max saw it, as soon as the boys were born, Linda became obsessed with them …