Shades of Evil (23 page)

‘Maurice is being questioned in connection with the murder of a Lauren Cole,’ Fletch explained.

‘Murder? Bloody hell!’

‘Does the name mean anything to you?’

‘Of course it doesn’t. Why the hell should I know her?’

‘We believe she was a friend of Maurice’s,’ Jill said.

‘So? I don’t know his friends. Why the hell should I?’

People who claimed that blood was thicker than water ought to pay the Temple family a visit, Jill thought with despair.

‘Was Maurice close to his mother?’ she asked. ‘How did her death affect him?’

‘You just get on with life, don’t you?’ Mr Temple replied.

His new wife had stubbed out her cigarette and was in the process of lighting another.

‘Get me a beer, Tash,’ Temple said.

She waddled off and returned with a can that she handed to her husband.

‘Murder?’ Temple said again. ‘Bloody hell!’

‘To get back to Maurice’s friends,’ Fletch said as Sid tugged on the ring pull, then licked the froth that had sprayed out of the can and landed on his arm. ‘Don’t you know any of them? The people he’s been living with, for example?’

‘Of course not. Why the hell should I?’

It was clear that they might as well have stopped a stranger in the street and asked him about Maurice Temple. Jill wasn’t sorry when they were leaving.

‘One more thing,’ she said. ‘Does the name Josh mean anything to you?’

‘Eh? Well, of course it does. That’s him, innit.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Maurice. A few folk call him Josh. Or used to.’

Jill couldn’t believe this.

‘Your son, Maurice, is nicknamed Josh? But why?’

‘When Barry was born,’ Temple explained, ‘he couldn’t talk properly. There was Maurice and John and the daft little bugger called ’em Mosh and Josh. Then the lazy sod just called ’em both Josh. It stuck, that’s all.’

‘Well I never,’ she murmured in amazement.

They’d found Josh after all. She could hardly believe their good fortune.

As Fletch drove them back to headquarters, Jill was aware of the sideways glances he kept giving her, looks that said he considered her some sort of witch.

She might have been tempted to gloat, after all she’d bet them their man was called Josh, but she wasn’t confident enough for that.

She ignored Fletch, and kept her gaze on the town’s streets. The imagination that inspired some of the snowmen amazed her. As kids, she and her sister would have rolled two huge snowballs, put one of top of the other and fashioned a face from a carrot and two lumps of coal. Today, they passed a long-legged snowman sitting on a bench and, even better, a snow-horse.

They were soon in the car park at headquarters.

‘You got lucky back there,’ Fletch said at last.

‘Let’s hope so, Fletch.’

Jill had begged Max to let her talk to Maurice Temple alone but now that she was actually in the room with him, she didn’t know where to start.

The room was small, just one table and three chairs. The only window had a view of an adjacent brick wall. It definitely lacked atmosphere.

Fletch had been right about one thing: Temple was very nervous. A vein was throbbing at his throat and his hands were trembling.

‘I’m Jill Kennedy,’ she introduced herself. ‘I thought we could have a chat about Lauren.’

‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

‘Come off it, Josh. May I call you Josh?’

His eyes widened at that, and Jill saw fear in them. He shrugged it off, but he looked out of his depth.

‘Call me what you like,’ he muttered.

‘So let’s talk about Lauren, shall we, Josh? It’s her I’m interested in, not you. I know you were friends with her. You’ve known her for years, haven’t you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘How was she when her mum died? Distraught, I suppose. The same as you were. It’s cruel, isn’t it, to lose your mum when you’re still at school? Mums are supposed to be there to watch you get married and then babysit your kids. They’re not supposed to leave you when you’re still at school, are they?’

‘It’s life,’ he said. ‘Nothing you can do about it.’

‘That’s true enough,’ she agreed, ‘but it doesn’t mean to say you have to like it. Life or not, it still makes you angry. And sad. Depressed.’

‘You a psychiatrist or what?’

‘Psychologist,’ she said.

He smirked at that, a private little smile.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I won’t get the ink spots out or ask you who the prime minister is. I’m more interested in Lauren. I’d like to know what she was like when her mum died.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m curious. Was she close to her dad, Josh? Would she have turned to him when her mum died?’

‘He didn’t want to know.’ He flushed at the admission and scowled at Jill as if his stupidity was her fault. A small part of her felt sorry for him. Born to a father like Sid Temple, Maurice had never stood a chance.

‘Are you saying he wasn’t interested in her?’ she asked.

‘She might not have existed as far as he was concerned.’

‘Is that when you became good friends?’ Jill asked him. ‘I suppose it is. An awful tragedy like that brings people together, doesn’t it? It’s easier to cope when you can share the pain.’

‘She didn’t have no one else.’

He kept tugging on the sleeves of his sweater with fingers that showed well-bitten nails. When he wasn’t doing that, he was scratching at those fingers or biting on the inside of his mouth.

Had this young man killed Lauren in such a brutal way? Jill couldn’t see it at all. Lauren had been killed with a passion that Temple lacked.

‘That’s sad, isn’t it?’ Jill murmured.

‘She had her dog,’ he added.

‘Ah, yes, Charlie. He was devoted to her, wasn’t he? Just as she was devoted to him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘But a dog’s not the same, is it? She’d need real friends, people she could talk to, and people who could talk back. I bet she was as mad as hell with her dad, wasn’t she? For not being there for her, I mean.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What did she do after her mum died, Josh? She didn’t move out for quite a while, did she?’

‘She wanted to.’

‘Oh?’

‘She’d got no money, had she?’

‘Ah, I see.’ Jill didn’t speak. She wanted Temple to do the talking. A pigeon flew past the window and they both turned to look as it landed on the sill and peered through the glass at them.

‘She got a job at the supermarket,’ Temple said as it flew away, ‘so she had money then. She moved in with a couple of mates for a month or so, but then wanted her own place. Her boss was a right bitch though and, once, when Lauren was late for work, she sacked her. Just like that.’

That was one version of events. They’d talked to the ‘right bitch’ and, according to her, Lauren had been late for work many times and, sometimes, simply hadn’t turned up at all. She’d been given two verbal and three written warnings. Few employers would have been as tolerant as the ‘right bitch’.

‘So Lauren had no money again?’ Jill guessed.

‘No.’

‘Her dad was well off, though, wasn’t he?’

‘Yeah, but he was a tight-fisted bastard.’

‘He wouldn’t give her any?’

‘No. Well, a bit. Not a lot.’

That wasn’t what Vincent Cole had said. Or Mrs Hollingsworth. According to them, it was rare for Mr Cole to say no to his daughter’s demands. Perhaps Lauren hadn’t liked to ask for as much as Temple thought she should.

‘Someone said she took some silver candlesticks from her dad’s,’ Jill said. ‘Is that true?’

‘Why not? He kept telling her they’d be hers one day. She just took what was hers. Why shouldn’t she have them?’

Maurice Temple had many previous convictions for theft and didn’t see the world as others did. He had no respect for property or possessions. He’d once stolen a car just for the hell of it. When questioned, he’d been surprised that anyone cared. ‘No one was using it,’ he’d said.

‘Lauren was changing, wasn’t she?’ Jill said, assuming his question had been rhetorical.

‘Dunno.’

‘I expect she was healing,’ Jill said. ‘She was finally getting over her mother’s death, wasn’t she?’

‘Dunno,’ he said again.

‘Did you go to church with her?’

‘Me? You kidding or what? I wouldn’t be seen dead in a bloody church.’

‘Some aren’t so bad.’

‘That one she went to was bloody awful. Dark and creepy. Everyone lighting candles.’

‘So you did go?’

Again, he looked at Jill as if she was making traps for him to fall straight into.

‘Once. She wanted me to see what it was like. As if I didn’t know what a bloody church was like. They’re all the same. People were going in and lighting candles. I left her to it.’

‘Why was she changing, Josh? Why was she suddenly going to church?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Did she start worrying about the way she’d behaved towards her dad? Did she regret asking him for money and stealing from him?’

He didn’t answer, just shrugged his shoulders and started pulling at the sleeves of his jumper.

‘I expect she did,’ Jill pushed on. ‘Once you get inside a church, they go banging on about not stealing, don’t they?’

‘Dunno.’

Jill believed that Lauren had experienced a rush of guilt for the way she’d treated her father. Perhaps she’d gone to the church for forgiveness. She’d been turning, very slowly, back to her father. And Temple hadn’t liked that.

He was fairly happy to talk about Lauren as she’d been. The new Lauren, the one who went to church, was a stranger to him.

‘The morning she was killed,’ Jill said, ‘she asked her dad for money.’

‘She didn’t get any though, did she?’

‘Didn’t she? I wouldn’t know. How do you know that, Josh?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Perhaps she did then.’

‘Yeah. Perhaps she did. I dunno.’

‘Perhaps you spoke to her that morning and she told you he hadn’t given her any?’ Jill suggested.

‘I never spoke to her. I was at the hospital all morning.’

‘Sorry?’ He had an alibi? ‘The morning Lauren was killed, you mean? You were at the hospital? Where? Harrington?’

‘Yeah. Having two teeth out under anaesthetic.’ He opened his mouth and showed her a gap at the back of his mouth.

Before Jill could press him, Fletch tapped on the door, stuck his head round and indicated that he’d like a word with Jill.

‘They’ve found a key to Vincent Cole’s house at Temple’s place,’ Fletch announced with a grin.

‘Yeah? That would be great, Fletch, if only—’

‘If only what?’

‘I’ve got him to admit to knowing Lauren, but he claims he was at the hospital having two extractions under anaesthetic when she was killed.’

‘What? No way. I’ll get it checked, but I bet the little sod’s lying.’

Jill wasn’t so sure he was.

Max needed to get away from headquarters. Temple was enjoying dinner courtesy of the generous British taxpayer, so Max was nipping across the road for a coffee, a sandwich and some peace.

He lit a cigarette and smoked it as he walked the hundred yards to Starbucks. He’d give up again after Christmas. Come the new year, that would be it. No more cancer sticks.

Just as he stubbed it out, he spotted Jill striding along the icy pavement, presumably heading back to the office. He waited until she reached him.

‘Are you getting a coffee?’ she asked him. ‘What a good idea. You can get me one, too. And a chocolate muffin. I was going to have an hour round the shops, but it’s manic. I’ll try again tomorrow.’

They stepped into the warmth of the cafe.

‘I’m waiting for Temple to be fed so I can have another chat with him,’ Max explained.

‘Do you know if he was definitely at the hospital?’

‘Not yet, no.’

While Jill chose a table near the window, Max went to the counter to order their coffees and Jill’s muffin.

This branch of Starbucks had only been open a month so Max had never seen the place without Christmas decorations. Huge green and gold baubles hung from the ceiling, smaller ones were dotted on a fake tree.

He carried the tray to the table and sat next to her.

‘Hello, Jimmy,’ Jill said, and Max turned to see a teenager with earphones attached to an iPhone dangling round his neck.

‘Er, hi, Jill.’

Jill was set for conversation, but the lad was having none of it. He couldn’t get out of the building fast enough.

‘You know Pat who gives the Boxing Day parties?’ Jill asked Max.

‘I remember carrying you home from the last one.’

‘Yes, well –’ She laughed at the memory. ‘That’s her son. Usually, he doesn’t stop talking but, lately, you can’t get a word out of him. He was skipping school, too.’

‘Kids only respond to text messages these days.’

‘True. But something’s bothering him.’

They watched the boy walk down the street with his earphones firmly in place.

‘So when’s your dad arriving?’ Jill asked when the lad was out of sight.

‘Tomorrow.’ And Max was dreading it. ‘Unless he decides to stay at home,’ he added. ‘He phoned me this morning to say he was a bit worried about the weather.’

Max saw her surprise, and understood it. Not so long ago, his father wouldn’t have thought twice about it. He’d been a decisive man. If he’d made up his mind to visit Max and the boys, that would have been that.

‘Ten minutes on the phone to him almost drove me mad,’ Max told her, ‘so God knows how I’ll cope with him for days.’

‘Keep him occupied,’ Jill replied, munching on her muffin. ‘Make him see that life won’t stand still, no matter how much he wants it to. Take him somewhere special. He loves art and he likes being out in the fresh air, so Antony Gormley’s Another Place would be perfect. A day at the Yorkshire Sculpture Park would be great for him, too. He’d enjoy all the Henry Moore stuff.’

It was worth a try, Max supposed. If his dad liked art, though, his sons definitely didn’t. Max couldn’t say it excited him, either.

‘We’ll see,’ he said.

He couldn’t think about Christmas right now, and he didn’t want to think about his dad’s visit.

‘What about Maurice Temple?’ he asked her, and she sighed.

‘I don’t know, Max. My bet is that he was at the hospital all morning. He’s a nasty piece of work, but I can’t see him caring enough to murder Lauren. Even if they’d had a quarrel. Even if she was threatening to come clean and tell her father or the police what they’d been doing.’ She finished her coffee. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I don’t, either,’ he said, ‘but I need to find out. And fast.’

They walked back to headquarters together.

The temperature had dropped still further as the darkness had descended and although Max lit a cigarette as they walked, it was far too cold to enjoy it.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting opposite a well-fed Temple and longing to punch the smile from his face. He didn’t look as nervous as he had earlier. Perhaps that was because he’d enjoyed Jill’s easier style of conversation.

If that was the case, he was out of luck because Grace was sitting beside Max. She had a good interview technique, one that fellow officers could learn a lot from, so long as she didn’t lose patience. Grace’s only problem was that she was too easily frustrated. It was a fault Max shared.

She dangled a small plastic bag in Temple’s face.

‘When was the last time you used this?’ she demanded.

‘What key’s that? They all look the same to me.’

‘They do,’ she agreed, ‘so let me enlighten you. This key was found in your bedroom. It fits the front door of Vincent Cole’s house.’

‘Who?’

‘Vincent Cole. You know him. He’s your friend’s father. You visited the house once with Lauren. It’s a nice house on Longman Drive. Now, let me ask you again. When was the last time you used this key?’

‘I’ve never seen it before.’

‘It was found in your bedroom. Don’t tell us the key fairy put it there.’

‘Oh, yeah. I remember now. Lauren gave it to me ages ago.’

‘How many ages ago?’ Max asked.

‘Can’t remember.’

‘Why?’ Grace asked and he looked confused by the question. ‘Why did she give you a key to her father’s house?’

Temple looked from Grace to Max as if he might have the answer. Works of fiction clearly didn’t come easily to Maurice Temple.

‘Dunno,’ he said at last.

‘Perhaps she didn’t give it to you,’ Max suggested. ‘Perhaps you stole it from her.’

‘Course I didn’t.’

‘OK,’ Max said, ‘we’re going to stop playing games now. You used the key to let yourself into Vincent Cole’s house. We know that and we know you tried to sell the stuff you stole from there.’

‘Didn’t.’

 Max sighed heavily. ‘We have a witness.’

‘OK,’ Temple agreed. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Lauren had given me the key, so I helped myself to some stuff. That’s all.’

‘That’s not all,’ Grace snapped. ‘Tell us about Vincent Cole. He was in the house, wasn’t he?’

‘So?’

‘So what happened?’ Max demanded. ‘Where was he?’