Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law (20 page)

“Doing what? The details haven’t been released to the press.”

“Detective Inspector Holt, this is a small town. Everybody knows everybody here. That video was sent to three people’s phones. Those three people know other people; a story like that doesn’t take long to circulate.”

Holt sat back in his chair. He knew what Dean was saying was true, and he knew he wasn’t the killer.

“Could you tell me where you were at six o’clock on Friday night a week ago?”

“I was at work, all day through to half past seven.”

“Oh yes, you work at Hamilton’s Auto Care, don’t you? Funny time of the night to be open until, isn’t it?”

“We’ve been very busy recently.”

“And why might that be?”

“Well, I imagine
its partly to do with our great service and reasonable prices, but I suspect it might also have something to do with the fact that the owner was found dead the other week. What do you think?”

Dean’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, and although he didn’t appreciate it, Holt knew what it felt like to have the world and his wife wanting to be part of the macabre chapter in the town’s history.

“Of course. Unfortunately for you, Dean, you can be linked to two of the victims.”

“Look, I’m not the person you’re after.”

“Didn’t think you were, but you must admit it is coincidental. If you know any of the other victims, this would be the time to volunteer the information.” Holt knew he was clutching at straws, but it was an obligatory question under the circumstances.

“Well, now you mention it, yes, I did. The first guy, he was my chiropodist, and the other guy—you know, the one found with Jon—was my long lost brother. Now that would be a coincidence.”

“What? How do you mean a coincidence?’

“Well, Jon Hamilton was my father, not so you’d notice, though. I only found out a couple of weeks ago.”

“That must have made you quite angry.”

“Yes, of course it did. But before you say anything, no, I was not angry enough to kill. My idea of making him pay was more cash orientated.”

“Why did you decide to tell me?”

“You’d have found out eventually, and then you’d probably go and accuse me of withholding information, and besides, I’ve got nothing to hide.” Dean was staring at the floor, avoiding Holt’s direct gaze.

Holt regarded the young man in front of him for a moment. His honesty had thrown him. Getting up, he walked over to the door and opened it for Dean.

“You’re free to go for now. Henson, could you get a car to take Mr Matthews home?”

Joanne was feeling exhausted but happy. She had just got back from Greece with her family, and she felt exhilarated. She had turned heads while abroad, even with her children in tow. A few men had even asked her out for dinner.

She picked up her suitcase and slung it onto the bed. Opening it, she looked at the contents and smiled to herself. It was a very different suitcase to the one she had packed last time she and Jon had been away. She had always been very aware of dressing her age, something she had always believed meant dressing in drab colours, so she became little more than a shadow. Now her suitcase was bursting with vibrant colours. She had even bought a bikini, something she hadn’t had since before she had met Jon.

Harry, her eldest, burst into her bedroom.

“Can I go over to James’s this weekend?”

“What, all weekend?”

“No, just Friday night, there’s a gig in Leicester we’re going to go to.”

“How you getting there and back?”

“James’s mum’s taking us and picking us up.”

“Well, I’ve got to go take your sister clothes shopping this Saturday. I’ll leave Chloe with your Auntie Sue. You two can get a lift in with us, and that way James’s mum only has to do the one trip.”

“Ok, great, I’ll go and tell James now.”

Harry charged back out of the room. Joanne turned back to the suitcase and started unpacking. At that moment, the doorbell rang. She called out,

“Harry? Can you get that, please?”

She heard the front door open, muffled words, and then Harry shouted back up the stairs to her,

“Mum, it’s for you.”

Joanne was slightly confused; she wasn’t expecting anyone until three, when Sue said she’d be coming over. Once again leaving her suitcase, she made her way downstairs. Joanne was shocked to see Detective inspector Holt standing there.

“Hello, Mrs Hamilton. I don’t suppose I could have a few minutes of your time, could I?”

“Of course, come through to the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on.”

Holt smiled his thanks and followed her through to the kitchen. Holt sat down while Joanne filled the kettle.

“I must say, Mrs Hamilton, you’re looking very well.”

“And that surprises you, I suppose. Why aren’t I in my widow’s weeds sobbing in the corner? Well, I didn’t have a very happy marriage, Inspector. I had been attending counselling for it for over a year. Loretta suggested divorce, but I didn’t want the kids to end up resenting me.”

“Loretta Armstrong?”

“Yes—do you know her?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of her.”

Holt was reluctant to say any more.

“I take it Jon went with you to the sessions?”

“Well, he was supposed to, but he always seemed to have someone better to do.”

Holt picked up on the bitterness in her voice and didn’t push the subject any further. Instead he took the cup of tea from her gratefully and waited for her to make herself comfortable. Once Joanne was settled, she looked up at Holt.

“So how can I help you?”

“Well, it was something about your husband.”

Holt wasn’t sure how much she knew about her late husband’s affairs and so wasn’t too sure how to tackle the question he had to ask.

“What about him? Detective Holt, please just ask me what it is that’s on your mind.”

“Did you know your husband fathered another child before he met you?”

“I could have guessed as much. Who?”

“Do you know a lad called Dean Matthews?”

“Yes, he used to work at the garage. Jon mentioned him before.”

“Dean only found out himself a few weeks before your husband went missing.”

“Poor kid. Ah—that might explain the car, then.”

“The car? What car?”

“About a month ago, Jon’s car was vandalised; at the time I just thought it was one of his exes, but thinking about it now, Dean’s involvement would make more sense.”

“You don’t seem very surprised.”

“That’s because I’m not; my late husband was an incredibly selfish individual. How’s Dean coping now?”

“He seems ok. He’s back working at the garage; the guy you’ve got managing the place took him back on as he already knows the place and the way things are run—” Holt suddenly stopped dead. He realised that Joanne might not be overly happy about her late husband’s illegitimate child being back on the payroll. He hoped he hadn’t spoken out of turn.

“I hope you don’t mind me telling you this.”

“Mind? Why should I mind? The garage has been doing great business recently. It’s not quite the cash cow that the shops are, but it still turns over a good amount. I have complete faith in the manager there, and if this Dean Matthews is good enough for him, then he’s good enough for me.”

Holt was relieved and also a little shocked by this tidy business-like little woman sat in front of him. She didn’t even seem to be shocked by the fact that her children had another sibling.

“My indifference bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Holt was taken aback by the frankness of the question and paused before answering.

“No, it doesn’t bother me. You get on with your life for your children’s sake. We have all had to protect people at certain stages in our lives, even when all we wanted to do was curl up on our own.”

“I don’t want to be on my own, Inspector Holt, I’ve spent the last seventeen years of my life on my own. My husband checked out of our marriage years ago. I continued to play the dutiful wife, of course, always labouring under the illusion that one day he’d come back to me, realise what he had. Looking back, I now know that I was as much to blame for the breakdown of our marriage as he was. If I’d made a stand all those years ago, I could have saved not just myself but my children from the misery of being in a loveless home. I didn’t have the courage to do that; it took a lunatic to remind me who I was.”

Holt sat and absorbed the words she spoke. If he was honest, as much misery as the killer had created, for the most part people had seemed to gain from the destructive path left in his wake. The woman sitting in front of him now was living proof of that. He’d never had believed this was the same woman he’d met all those weeks ago. It was almost as though the ending of Jon’s life had triggered the reanimation of hers. And although he wasn’t happy about how this had come about, he couldn’t wish it wasn’t so. Joanne and her family seemed to be flourishing under its effects.

Clare was slightly concerned. She hadn’t been feeling right for the last few days, and she wasn’t sure why. Her temperature didn’t seem to be up. She had packed her bag for the weekend and had had to pop to Boots to pick up some toothpaste. She had paid at the dispensing counter, as the queues for the main tills were busy. As she had stood there she had noticed the pregnancy tests, and although she was sure it was just her own paranoia at work, she decided to get two. Whatever way it went, she knew she’d want a second opinion. Now she was stood in the bathroom in the beautiful twin suite she’d booked for herself and Hannah weeks before, and she couldn’t feel less relaxed. She’d agreed to meet Hannah for lunch; Hannah had wanted her to go with her for a massage, but Clare had wanted to check first, just to put her mind at rest. So she had told Hannah that she wanted a lie-in. Now, as she stood there waiting for the inevitable time to pass, she felt removed from her surroundings. The first test had come out positive. Believing it must be a mistake she had employed the other test. As the time ran out, she went to check it. Positive. Clare’s stomach dropped. She checked her watch; she had an hour before she was supposed to meet Hannah. If she went now, Hannah wouldn’t need to know. Grabbing her mobile, she punched in the number. After only seconds, the recipient answered.

“I need to see you. I’ll be at yours in ten.”

Ending the call, she chucked her phone in her bag, grabbed her car keys, and charged out the door.

In Mannings Town at her office, Loretta sat back in her chair.  She’d been taken aback by Clare’s abruptness on the phone and she was worried. Clare should have been enjoying her weekend; she deserved it after everything she’d gone through lately. But she had sounded stressed. Loretta wondered briefly if the website had reappeared again, but as quickly as that thought came to her it left. She had ensured that couldn’t happen. Her IT friend had been very helpful with the situation. So what was it that made Clare feel the need to drive six miles back into town to see her? She went through the office into the tearoom. Switching the kettle on, she leant back against the counter and started going through all the possibilities, but she was still no wiser by the time the kettle had boiled. She spooned large measures of coffee into two mugs. After adding milk, she took both mugs back through into her office. Placing the mugs down on her desk, she sat down and swivelled her chair round to look out the window. Contemplating the building site that now made up her view, she wondered how much longer the council was going to take with their offices. Lost in thought about the rising council tax, she jumped when Clare tapped quietly on her door.

“Hi, sorry about this.”

Loretta smiled at her gently and beckoned her to take a seat.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need your advice.”

“About?”

“Pregnancy.”

“What? You’re pregnant? By whom?”

“Dean.”

“Your ex Dean?”

“The very same.”

“When did this happen?”

“A few weeks ago. You know, I told you Hannah and I were going out for a quiet drink.”

“Yes.”

“Well, we did, and it became a slightly louder drink. She had to go, so I stayed to finish my drink and there he was.”

“You seem very calm about the situation.”

“No, I appear calm because I know I can trust your advice, and to be honest it’s a relief to tell someone.”

“So nobody else knows? Not even Hannah?”

“Hannah knows I slept with him, but not about the pregnancy, no.”

“What made you decide not to tell her?”

“Because I think I know what I want to do and I’m pretty sure you will agree. Hannah, on the other hand, wouldn’t.”

Loretta understood what Clare was saying and decided to voice it.

“Is she pro-life, then?”

“No, far from it. She’s been pro-choice since I met her—about everything, incidentally, not just that.” It was a weak attempt at humour, but Loretta knew why she’d done it.

“So if she’s pro-choice, why are you worried about telling her?”

“Because she is pro-choice as far as rape and underage pregnancy are concerned, or if carrying to full term is going to be mentally or physically damaging. Otherwise she’d say it was being used as a form of contraception.”

“So she wouldn’t be supportive, then?”

“No, I think she would support me and that’d make it worse.”

“Right, well, would you like me to make the appointment?”

“Oh, could you, please? How long will I have to wait?”

“I’m not sure; I’ll let you know when I do. Now, I don’t want you to worry about this anymore. I’ll sort it out and I’ll come with you if you like.”

Clare smiled her gratitude.

“I want you to get up, plaster a smile on your face, go back to the spa, and enjoy your weekend. I’ll ring you Monday night.”

“Thanks.”

Clare got up and did as she was told, and now, with her load lightened, the smile on her face was genuine.

As Clare arrived back at The Retreat, she felt ten times lighter. Even though Clare had originally been introduced to Loretta professionally, she now felt there was a real bond between them. She knew that Loretta must have felt the same way. Even though her profession was pre-determined to be caring, all the ways she’d put herself out for Clare recently had been more out of friendship than professionalism.

Beaming, she let herself back into the suite. Relieved not to find Hannah
there waiting for her, she went into the bathroom and tidied herself back up again. Just as she’d finished straightening her hair, she heard Hannah let herself back into the room.

“You better be up by now, hon, I have just had the most orgasmic ninety minutes and I’ve worked up quite an appetite, so you better be ready for lunch.”

Clare swung the door of the bathroom open.

“I’m ready, all right?”  Hannah looked her up and down approvingly, a broad smile on her face.

“Yeah, I’d say you are. Come on, then.”

Hannah opened the door once more.

“After you.”

Clare was still grinning to herself as she let herself back into her apartment. She had really needed the break, but she only fully appreciated how much now. Walking straight through into the bedroom, she threw her bag on the bed and decided she would unpack later. It had been a tonic to be in such a feminine orientated environment, and, more importantly, not having to justify it to anyone.

Wandering through into the living room, she grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and settled herself on the sofa. Flicking the TV on, she started scrolling through the options for the evening’s entertainment. She was busy debating whether she should opt for comedy or drama when the phone rang into life. Believing it to be Hannah ringing to recant the weekend’s highlights, she answered without thinking.

“Hiya, hon.”

“Clare?”

Clare suddenly sat up.

“Dean?”

“Were you expecting someone else, by any chance? It’s been a while since you’ve called me ‘hon.’”

“Yeah, I was expecting Hannah to call. I’ve only just got back, actually; we went to The Retreat for a couple of days.”

“We?”

“Hannah and me. We had a bit of a girly weekend. So how are you?”

“Me? I’m fine thanks, all things considered.”

Clare, sensing a manipulative movement, tried to head it off.

“So are you seeing anyone yet?”

“No, I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Oh yeah? What with?”

“Well, nothing much, finding out who my father was just in time for the local serial killer to mow him down and then being taken in for questioning about it—you know, the usual.”

Clare felt herself buckle.

“Really?”

“Yes. I did leave you a message about it.”

“Sorry, my phone’s been playing up, I can’t retrieve my voicemail.”

Dean wasn’t sure if this was true or not, but decided to let it slide anyway; it was a relief just to hear her voice again.

“Anyway, how have you been?”

“Dean, I don’t know what to say.”

“What can you say? I know this might sound selfish, but I’ve got nobody else to talk to. I don’t suppose I could see you sometime? Just to talk, of course.”

“Of course you can, anytime.”

“Anytime?”

“Yes.”

“How about now? It’s just that I was out walking earlier, and I found myself outside your building.”

Clare’s ability to empathise overrode her usual caution.

“Of course, I’ll come down to meet you now.”

Clare hung the phone up and slipped her shoes back on.

She hadn’t stopped to contemplate the fact that a man who had been questioned about the recent murders had been sat outside her apartment waiting for her living room light to go on.

Grabbing her jacket, she slung it around her shoulders, and picking up her door keys, she left the security of her home without a second glance.

Dean was waiting by the front door of her building when she got to the bottom of the stairs. She went over and let him in.

As they got back into her apartment, Clare walked into the kitchen.

“Would you like a drink?”

“What’ve you got?”

“Well, I was going to have a glass of wine.”

“I’ll join you, then, if that’s ok?”

“Of course.”

Clare returned to the living room with another glass. Passing it to him, she sat back down on the sofa.

Clare poured the wine, waiting patiently for Dean to start talking. She was rewarded after only a few minutes. Dean took a long drink of the wine and sat back in the chair.

As he explained the last months events, Clare sat open-mouthed. She waited for him to finish and regaining her composure she refilled both their glasses..

“How do you feel about it all now? I mean
, did you go to his funeral?”

“No, it didn’t seem right somehow, and besides, his wife doesn’t know about me, so she’d probably have wondered what I was doing there.”

“Have you been to the grave?”

“Yeah, a couple of times, I’m usually half cut when I do, though. I don’t know, Clare, this all seems so surreal. A couple of months ago I was so happy, I had a great job, a gorgeous girlfriend, and no idea that I was working for my father. Now it’s all fucked.”

“Of course it’s not. It’s shit, I’ll give you that, but at least you’ve got your job back now.”

“Oh yeah, great, my job, which I only got back because Jon—sorry, Dad—wound up dead.”

“I know we aren’t going out anymore, but I’m always here for you—you know that, don’t you?”

Clare was unsure as to what else she should say to him. After everything he’d gone through over the last few weeks, anything she was going to say would sound hollow.

“Yeah, I know you’re here for me. I still love you, you know. I’d do anything to have you back.”

“Let’s not go there, shall we? It’s not good for either of us.”

“Oh, right, sorry. Am I making you feel uncomfortable? ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to do that.”

The sarcasm was apparent.

“Dean, I don’t want to get into that again.”

“So you say it’s ok if we talk as friends, but only if we talk about things that you’re ok with.”

Clare looked at Dean and realised he’d been drinking before he’d turned up at her apartment. She hadn’t noticed it before, or maybe she had and had put it down to him being upset, but either way she was starting to feel threatened.

“If you’re going to be like that, then I think you should just go home and get some rest.”

Dean watched Clare and he seemed to soften.

“Ok, sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on one. I’ll go.”

Dean got up and made his way to the door. Clare got up and followed him.

“You can ring me tomorrow if you like.”

Dean didn’t answer.

Clare, aware she might have upset him, followed him to the top of the stairs.

“I do mean it, Dean, I do care for you and I want us to be friends.”

Dean turned to look at her.

“I know. Take care, yeah?”

Clare smiled at him.

“I will, and you, too.”

“Can I get a hug—just as a friend?”

Clare smiled and stretched out to hug him. He hugged her back, and for a moment she realised that she did miss him. She wanted him back, but now wasn’t the best time for either of them. So when he went to kiss her, she kept her resolve and pulled away. He went to kiss her again, so she pushed him away lightly.

“I know you want me back, Clare. Why are you doing this to us?”

“I can’t at the minute, Dean, please understand.”

“Oh, I understand, all right. You’ve moved on. You don’t need me anymore. Well, you can’t fucking push me around anymore, Clare.”