Black Valley (21 page)

‘Tegan says it’s OK. She goes out to work every day.’

Jess stifled the urge to contradict Tegan’s opinion.

‘She’s going to fetch the puppy the weekend after next,’ Rose went on. She let go of Jess’s hand and went back to browsing on the iPad. ‘And she wants me to go with
her.’

‘I’ll talk to Dad. I’m sure we can arrange for you to be there.’

The phone rang, interrupting their conversation. Jess picked up.

‘Doctor Mayhew?’ The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

‘DS Lauren Bonetti here.’

For a moment, Jess panicked.

‘Hello. Everything all right?’

‘You’ve heard the news, I expect?’

‘Just been watching it.’ Jess paused. ‘I’m absolutely stunned. Explains it all, doesn’t it?’

There was a silence. If Bonetti was convinced by this latest turn of affairs, then she wasn’t saying so.

‘I’d like to talk over a few points with you, as you were on the scene, if you wouldn’t mind,’ Bonetti continued. ‘Perhaps we could meet up for a coffee
sometime.’

‘When were you thinking of?’

‘Tomorrow?

‘I’ll do my best. I’ve got a rather busy day—’

‘It won’t take long, I promise. I just wanted to run over a few details in your statement. You wouldn’t have to come down to the station. We could meet somewhere near your
office. The coffee bar at the museum, perhaps.’

‘What time?’

‘Any time that suits you.’

Rose tugged on her sleeve. Jess looked down at the iPad and saw that she was pointing to a khaki parka displayed on it.

Jess thought for a moment. She knew she had a break at twelve on a Tuesday, which she’d taken to spending with Dougie, the therapist in the office opposite, catching up on the latest
developments in CBT. But it was an informal arrangement, and she could easily cancel.

‘Twelve o’clock?’

Bonetti sounded pleased. ‘See you there.’

Jess put down the phone, feeling disappointed. She was loath to go over all this again. She wished Bonetti would let the case go. But, in her heart of hearts, she knew she was right to go
through it with a fine-tooth comb. Bonetti’s job was like her own: you didn’t accept pat explanations, didn’t take what people said at face value.

She turned her attention to Rose, who was scrolling through the details on the parka.

‘Looks good. Shall we get it?’ Jess peered at the image.

‘What about these strings dangling down at the bottom?’ Rose was a stickler for detail.

‘We can cut them off if you like. Or tie them up so they’re shorter.’

‘I don’t know.’ Rose frowned. ‘I’m not sure I like these pointy bits at the back.’

‘It’s a fishtail, Rose. Classic parka style.’

Rose looked thoughtful. Jess said nothing, knowing that if she tried to push Rose into the purchase, all would be lost, and they’d have to spend another hour on the iPad, looking for a
parka without pointy bits at the back.

‘OK.’ Rose made her decision. ‘Let’s get it.’ She paused, and a dreamy look came into her eyes. ‘I can wear it for walking Monty.’

When Jessica arrived at the museum the following day, DS Lauren Bonetti was sitting at the coffee bar in the lobby, waiting for her. She looked much the same as she had the
last time they’d met. She was dressed in an asymmetric top, a short skirt, thick tights, and chunky-heeled boots. Her curly brown hair was swept back from her brow, her nose was dotted with
freckles, and she had an open, inquisitive expression on her face. There was nothing of the police officer about her, except perhaps her habit of observing people closely, watching their every
move. When she saw Jess, she gave a broad grin.

‘Good to see you again, Jessica.’ She got to her feet. ‘What can I get you?’

Jess looked down at the table and saw that Lauren Bonetti was drinking a cappuccino.

‘An espresso, please.’ Jess didn’t want to give the impression she was going to stay long.

Bonetti went off to get the coffee, and Jess sat down at the table. She glanced round the museum. The Morris exhibition was still on, she noted. She’d have to go up and look at the
paintings again before it ended. She hadn’t really had a chance to take them in at the private view. Jacob rated them so highly, and she wanted to see for herself what she thought about
them.

Her faith in Jacob had been restored, she reflected. She’d been so relieved to find that Blake had killed himself. She’d been able to quash an awful unbidden fear that Jacob might
have been somehow involved in Blake’s fatal fall. Now she could pursue their relationship without that doubt at the back of her mind.

Bonetti came back with the espresso and a packet of Bourbon biscuits, put them down on the table, and sat down. She tore the packet open, offered one to Jess, and when Jess declined, took one
herself. As Bonetti munched on the biscuit, they exchanged pleasantries, and then she took out a small reporter’s notebook and a pen from her bag. Jess was surprised, as she had been on the
previous occasion, that Bonetti wasn’t using something more technologically up to date.

‘OK.’ Bonetti flipped open the notebook. ‘Now, I just want to check a few details with you. On the night that Blake Thomas died, you gave a statement to the police,
didn’t you?’

Jess nodded.

‘In it, you said’ – Bonetti turned a page on the pad, and read from her notes – ‘that you’d seen Thomas earlier that day, and he’d seemed
distraught.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Could you fill me in a bit more on that?’

‘Of course.’ Jess took a sip of her espresso. It was pleasantly bitter. ‘He’d come looking for Elinor. Elinor Powell. She was – is – a client of
mine.’

‘Why did he come to see you?’

‘He thought I might know where she was.’

‘And did you?’

Jess hesitated. She wasn’t prepared to lie, but neither was she keen to divulge too much information. ‘She’d told me she was camping up at Cwm Du, but she hadn’t said
exactly where.’

‘So what did you tell him?’

‘I said I didn’t know. Elinor had told me her whereabouts in confidence. And I didn’t altogether trust him. He seemed very agitated. Distressed.’

‘In what way, specifically?’

‘His hands were shaking, he was sweating, and there was a muscle twitching under his eye.’ Through force of habit, Jess described his actual symptoms, rather than using more
generalized expressions. ‘He was also irritable.’

‘What was he anxious about?’

‘He didn’t explain. He just said he wanted to see Elinor, as a matter of urgency.’

‘Why do you think that was?’

‘I don’t know.’

Jess reached for a biscuit, broke a piece off, and dipped it in her coffee.

Bonetti changed tack.

‘According to your statement, on the night that Blake Thomas died, you received a phone call from Ms Powell, who was at the tower.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Could you run through with me again exactly what it was she said?’

‘Well, the signal kept cutting in and out.’ An image of Cwm Du on that wild, windy night came into Jess’s head. ‘She said she’d come to see me, and that Blake was
there. She said she was scared of him.’

‘Why was she coming to see you?’

‘I was in the area.’ Jess had no reason to feel uncomfortable, but she did. ‘Elinor had taken a break from the therapy, and she’d told me that she was going camping up at
Cwm Du. I’d been a little concerned about her, so I’d given her my mobile number in case she needed to call me.’

‘Do you often do that with clients?’

‘No.’

Bonetti made a note in her book.

‘And was it a coincidence that you were staying up at Cwm Du, where she was camping?’

‘Yes and no. Jacob – Mr Dresler—’

At the mention of Dresler’s name, Bonetti looked up.

‘Your partner?’

There was a brief pause.

‘Yes.’

It was the first time Jess had been asked whether Dresler was her partner, and the first time she’d responded in the affirmative. It felt strange, but not uncomfortably so.

‘We were planning a weekend away,’ Jess went on, ‘so I thought we’d go up there. I’d never been. A friend recommended the hotel.’ She paused. ‘The fact
that Elinor was in the vicinity was in the back of my mind, yes. I thought if I let her know where I was, she could call or drop by. I just wanted to check that she was OK.’

Bonetti nodded. She seemed satisfied by the explanation. She was obviously a person who went the extra distance in her job, and understood that Jess did, too.

‘Now, Mr Dresler.’

Jess nodded.

‘I’m sorry to ask you this, Dr Mayhew. I don’t mean to pry. But it will help with our investigation.’

‘Of course. Carry on.’

‘Have you known him long?’

Jess was slightly nonplussed. ‘No. Not that long.’

‘How long?’

‘Only a few weeks, actually.’

‘And during that time, did you get the impression he was friendly with Mr Thomas?’

‘Not particularly.’ Jess chose her words with care. There was nothing to hide, but she didn’t want to speak for Dresler. Not to a police officer, anyway.

Bonetti made a note in her book and, once more, flipped over to another page.

‘Right. According to your statement, it was Mr Dresler who discovered Blake’s body. Is that so?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were elsewhere at the time?’

‘I was outside, trying to get a signal. I was trying to get hold of Elinor.’

‘She’d left the tower by that time?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you manage to contact her?’

‘No. I left her a message.’

‘So you came back in shortly afterwards?’ Jess nodded.

Bonetti consulted her notes.

‘You say you found Mr Dresler up on the parapet alone, with the body on the ground below?’

Jess nodded.

Bonetti checked the notes again. ‘According to Mr Thomas’s phone record, he spoke to his wife at 11.50. You called the police at 12.05. So Dresler must have discovered him a very
short time after he’d jumped. A matter of minutes, in fact.’

Where was this going? Jess wondered.

‘How did Mr Dresler seem when you saw him? After he’d made the discovery?’

‘He was in shock. Not surprisingly, in the circumstances.’

Jess tried to keep her tone neutral. She was somewhat offended at the policewoman’s line of questioning, but she tried not to show it. Bonetti was just being diligent, she reasoned,
exploring every avenue. In her position, she would have done exactly the same thing. And however intrusive Bonetti’s questions, she told herself, it was up to her to answer them, as fully as
she could. After all, they were both professionals.

‘He hadn’t run down to check the body?’ Bonetti went on. ‘Called the emergency services?’

‘No. It was me who did that.’ Jess paused. ‘I’ve dealt with this kind of thing before, you see.’

Jess spoke the words with confidence, but as she did, Blake’s head floated into her mind. One side of it was crushed, and there was a mass of soft flesh spilling out of it. She sighed
involuntarily. More mindfulness would be needed in the coming days.

‘Sorry to make you go through all this again,’ Bonetti said, as if reading her thoughts.

‘That’s OK.’

There was a brief silence.

‘Just one more thing. Did Mr Dresler make any phone calls while you were with him that weekend?’

‘I don’t remember him doing so.’

‘Might he have called Hefin Morris?’

‘Not that I’m aware.’

Bonetti made a note. Could it be that she suspected Morris of involvement in Blake’s death? That was another long shot, Jess thought. Dresler had suggested that there might be some
conflict between Blake and Morris, but it certainly wasn’t anything of that order. Bonetti was probably just tying up loose ends, as she’d done vis-à-vis Dresler.

Jess finished her coffee, leaving only the dregs in the bottom.

‘Thanks, Dr Mayhew. You’ve been very helpful.’ Bonetti’s tone signalled that the interview was almost over. ‘But before you go, could I ask your professional
opinion on something?’

‘Of course.’

‘When you spoke to Blake Thomas earlier that day, did he seem suicidal?’

Jess frowned. ‘I don’t think I’m in a position to judge that. I knew very little about him.’

‘You see,’ Bonetti went on, ‘before he died, I interviewed him several times. On each occasion, he seemed very tense. But I wouldn’t have had him down as a suicide
risk.’

‘He was certainly very anxious when I saw him that morning.’

‘And could that anxiety have escalated to the point where he’d take his own life, would you say?’

Jess thought for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t rule it out. There’s sometimes a link between acute anxiety and suicide. But it’s more common with depression.’ She paused.
‘However, it’s been suggested that he’d committed a murder, and was in deep financial trouble. Both of those are risk factors.’

Bonetti made a final note and closed the pad. Then she leaned forward, broke the last biscuit in half, and offered one piece to Jess.

‘I’m on a diet,’ Jess said, taking it.

‘Sorry.’

As they shared the remaining biscuit, they made small talk. At length, Bonetti stood up to go.

‘Thanks again for your time.’

‘Not at all.’ Jess looked at her watch. ‘I’ve just got time to go upstairs and look at the Morris pictures. Have you seen them?’

Bonetti nodded. ‘Before you got here. Can’t say I liked them. Load of old bollocks, I thought.’

Jess chuckled. Evidently, Bonetti was not an aesthete.

‘OK then.’ Jess hesitated. ‘Give me a call if you need anything else.’

‘I will.’ Bonetti turned and walked quickly away. Jess watched as she disappeared into the revolving door of the museum entrance. There was a casual warmth about her that was very
Cardiffian, Jess thought, as she watched her go.

Just then something flashed into her mind – an image of Jacob hanging out of the window in the T
ŵ
r Tal, his phone to his ear. He had made a phone call after all, but only to an art
magazine. She briefly considered following Bonetti to tell her about it, but decided against it. What use could it possibly be?