You Can Trust Me (13 page)

I nod. The policeman Damian's referring to is the man who gave Julia the diamond and emerald ring missing from her flat and who left her the cottage in Lympstone when he died. He was a chief inspector, way older than Julia's usual lovers; I never met him. At the time, so many years after Kara had died, the connection with her murder didn't occur to me, but Alan Rutherford was a local guy who must have had access to all sorts of files.

What did occur to me, hearing about his obvious devotion to Julia, was whether a steady, older ex-cop wasn't just what she needed. My guts coil into a sickening knot as I remember that Julia dumped him a few weeks after his retirement, saying he was getting too keen. I can't help but wonder now if, once he'd left the force, his usefulness had come to an end. By the time he died, a few years later, I'm certain Julia had virtually forgotten all about him—the terms of his will certainly came as a big shock. “His name was Alan Rutherford.”

“Right, so Julia used him to get all sorts of information. And she added to it herself. She kept everything hidden in that trunk at the end of her bed. She covered it up with old clothes, things she never wore.”

I know the trunk he's talking about. I've sat on it a million times. When Julia was a student, she would routinely show me some of the more outrageous items she kept inside it, but that was a long, long time ago. I haven't seen the contents of the trunk for years; I have no idea if Damian is telling the truth.

“So what happened to all this stuff, all the records?”

“That's the point. It wasn't there when I went round on the Sunday evening, when the police searched her flat after she died.”

The knot in my guts twists again.

“I think whoever killed her—whoever came round and made her take the Nembutal,” Damian goes on. “I think they deleted everything about Kara on the computer and took all the notebooks and paper records. That's why the police couldn't find anything.”

I stare at him. Is he really serious?

“There's more,” Damian persists. “Whoever it was must have known she had research on her computer about suicide. All they had to do was leave the Nembutal brochure on her desk to reinforce what was already on the Mac.”

My blood feels like ice in my veins. “But that means she must—”

“—must have known the person who killed her,” Damian says grimly. “I know. Which explains why there were no signs of a struggle. Julia must have let whoever it was into the flat; then, after they killed her, they must have taken the paperwork, deleted the electronic files on Kara, and added that suicide note to her computer.”

“How do you know all the Kara information
was
destroyed … deleted?”

“Partly from the police, partly from Julia's mother.” Damian sighs. “I told the detective—DI Norris, his name was—to look on her computer and in the trunk.” Damian groans. “Of course, I was in shock and when Norris said there was no sign of any files, I didn't know what to do.” He sighs. “The police were nice enough—they took my details, said I'd be questioned later. I gave a statement, but I'm not even sure they believed I was a serious boyfriend. It didn't help that Julia had told literally no one my name, just ‘Dirty Blond.' Anyway, I've heard nothing from the police since the suicide verdict.” He pauses, frowning. “Not that it's surprising they didn't take any notice of me. They wouldn't believe
anything
I said.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Nothing.” Damian says. “Just that in their eyes I was simply her latest squeeze, nobody significant.”

I turn the conversation back to his mention of Julia's mother. “You said before, you'd talked to Joanie as well as the police? What did she say?”

“Nothing helpful.” Damian grimaces. “The police gave her Julia's computer after they examined it. They'd told her what I'd said, about all the missing files. She dismissed it out of hand. Then, when I called her, she said the same to me—that there was nothing about Kara's death on the computer or in any of Julia's papers, but I don't even know if she looked properly—”

“I think Joanie might have taken stuff from Julia's flat,” I say. “Jewelry, pictures, even a couple of handbags.…”

“Probably.” Damian sighs. “She won't talk to me now. I
told
her Julia had a whole folder on Kara, that if I could just get someone to look properly—more than the police would have done—there'll still be info stored on the hard drive, but Julia's mother refused to let me take the computer. She's just accepted that Julia was odd, therefore unstable, therefore suicidal. Just like everyone else.”

I open and shut my mouth without speaking. I can't take in what he's saying. It's impossible. Surely, it's impossible? There's a tight feeling across my chest. I don't know whether it's the idea of Julia acting for so long outside my knowledge, or the thought that she might have found out who murdered my sister all those years ago. I look closely at Damian. What did Julia really feel about him?

Damian meets my gaze. His lips glisten from his drink, soft in the lamplight. “I loved Julia and she loved me,” he says quietly, as if reading my thoughts. “She hated how vulnerable her feelings made her, she fought herself over it. That's why she refused to tell anyone about me, but it's true, look.” He takes out his phone and scrolls through to a picture. He turns the phone so I can see the screen. It's a photograph of the two of them together. Damian is handsome in a thin sweater, his eyes sparkling straight at the camera, which he is clearly holding. Julia sits beside him, her face turned toward his. She is radiant … smiling … her eyes full of what I can only describe as adoration. I'm transfixed. I've never seen her look like that. Damian presses the dot in the center of the screen, and the picture comes to life. Julia is laughing, watching Damian's face. He carries on facing the camera, sexy as hell as he stares into the lens. But it's Julia I can't take my eyes off. She looks so soft,
so
in love. With a jolt, I remember the cold rigidity of her face in death. A sob twists in my guts. I look away.

“I'm sorry,” Damian breathes. His voice breaks. “I know how difficult it is to see … her…” He trails off.

A million emotions around my head. This is a Julia I did not know: her heart in Damian's hands and apparently so consumed with guilt over my sister's death that she spent the second half of her life trying to find Kara's killer.

“I asked her to marry me just a week before she died.” Damian's voice swells with emotion.

My mouth gapes with shock as Damian meets my gaze. “She said yes,” he goes on, his lips trembling slightly.

“But…” I can't believe it.
Surely
he is making this up. “But Julia said
nothing
,” I splutter.

“I know.” Damian sighs. “I know it must sound mad to you, but we'd planned to buy a ring at the end of the month … that was when she was going to tell everyone.”

I gaze out the window. The street is busy, a group of shrieking girls rushes past. The lights of Aces High glimmer along the road.

“Why did you say you kept going back to the club?” I ask.

“Because Julia went there two nights before she was killed.” Damian finishes his beer and sets it firmly on the table. “When we met later, she was all … agitated. I pushed her to tell me where she'd been. You can imagine what it sounded like, when she said she'd been to a singles bar and she wouldn't say why.…”

I gasp, remembering the initials A.H. from Julia's diary entry two days before her death. I hadn't seen the connection before, but perhaps A.H. stood for Aces High. I stare at Damian. This is the first real evidence I have that he is telling the truth. “Go on,” I say.

“So I let it go, but the next day, Friday, Julia went out again and this time she wouldn't say
anything
about where she'd been. I saw her that evening. I was so pissed off that she was refusing to tell me what she'd been doing. I mean, she'd agreed to marry me less than seven days before, so it felt like she was totally pulling away. But Julia kept saying she couldn't say anything, so I stormed out. Then we spoke the next day, Saturday, in the early evening. That's when she finally admitted she'd found out who Kara's killer was, that she had to speak to you.”

“And you argued again?” I ask.

He nods, shamefaced. “I didn't understand why she couldn't tell me what she'd found out.” He groans. “I can see now that I overreacted, but it was
so
frustrating. Julia just kept saying that she had to speak to you before she did anything else. I thought she was exaggerating, to push me away, like she had done before.” He gives a miserable shrug. “I was an idiot. But I was fed up of her putting up barriers between us. She was already insisting we waited to tell people we were getting married.… I said she had to trust me or everything we'd ever said to each other—including our being engaged—meant nothing.”

“Did she mention anyone called Shannon?”

“Not that I remember. No, I'm sure she didn't. Why?”

“Shannon was the girl you saw me talking to in Aces High.” I explain about the entries in Julia's diary and her planned meeting with Shannon tonight. As I talk, a shiver scrapes down my spine. Is it possible Julia thought there was some connection between Shannon, Aces High, and Kara's killer? I can't imagine what it could be, but if Julia did go to Aces High two nights before she died, and if her behavior really changed from that point on, then there was
surely
some sort of link?

“Maybe the link is the place, not Shannon,” I suggest. “After all, Shannon would only have been a kid when Kara died.”

“Mmm, except kids can still see and hear stuff,” Damian says with a frown. “Perhaps Shannon witnessed something to do with Kara's murder. Whatever it was, we need to find her.” He takes a long pull of his beer.

“The bartender at Aces High knew who she was,” I say. “Maybe he has a surname or a phone number?”

We head back to Aces High, but the barman refuses to give out any information about Shannon. After all tonight's revelations, it's a frustrating dead end. As we walk out onto the sidewalk, I check the time on my phone. It's nearly midnight, far later than I'd thought, and my mobile, which I switched to silent hours ago, is registering a missed call from Will. I chew my lip, feeling guilty.

We stroll to my car. My head is spinning, I feel, almost overloaded with information, and yet I'm also wired, full of purpose. Just before I drive off, Damian and I swap phone numbers and agree to speak again tomorrow, to work out what to do next.

*   *   *

At home, the house is in darkness, save for a light in the upstairs front room. Our bedroom, where poor Will must be waiting up.

I find him sitting up in bed, his laptop balanced on his knees. “Good time out clubbing?” he asks sarcastically.

I wince, irritation and guilt twisting inside me. “Don't, please.” I sit down beside him and start telling him how Shannon ran away when I approached her and how I talked with Damian.

“He's Julia's Dirty Blond,” I explain. “I think she liked him more than she let on.”

Will raises an eyebrow. “That doesn't sound like Julia.”

I don't really want to go through the whole conversation, but I also feel somehow that I owe Will an explanation, so I tell him everything Damian and I discussed and then look up, expecting to see shock on Will's face. Instead I see skepticism.

“What is it?”

He shrugs.

“Don't you believe Julia found Kara's killer?”

Will makes a face. “I believe she
wanted
to, but I don't see how she could have when the whole Devon and Cornwall police force failed to eighteen years ago.”

“But what about all the stuff that Damian said was missing from her flat when he went round the evening after she died? All the papers on Kara gone and the computer wiped clean of information?”

Will falls silent.

I head for the bathroom and brush my teeth. I have to see Joanie. I have to ask her about the stuff missing from Julia's flat—plus get a look at Julia's computer too. Damian agreed that Joanie probably took the valuables. Maybe she took the paperwork as well. I can examine it. I knew Julia and Kara better than anyone. I should be able to spot references … notes or clues that maybe wouldn't mean anything to other people.

I walk back into the bedroom. Will has set his laptop on the chest of drawers. He is leaning back against his pillow, hands behind his head. His eyes follow me as I cross the room to my side of the bed.

“The police didn't find anything suspicious in the flat, did they?” he asks. “Nothing on the computer, no papers?”

“That's right—like I said, the killer took or deleted everything.” I get in beside him. Will is still looking at me, his face serious.

“What?”

He takes a deep breath. “Livy, I'm not trying to undermine you here. I understand this is really important to you. But I think you're overlooking something.”

“What's that?”

“You only have Damian's word that Julia
had
found out who Kara's killer was or that there
were
any papers or information on the computer. The police obviously didn't take him seriously. Why should you?”

A shiver snakes down my back as I remember what Damian said about the police not believing anything he said. What did he mean by that?
Why
wouldn't they? Was it really just because they didn't take his relationship with Julia seriously?

I know Will is right to be suspicious. But I don't want to hear it. I turn pointedly away from him and pull the duvet over my shoulders. Will turns out the light with a sigh.