Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows (7 page)

‘Do you believe Michael killed Alice?’ she asked.

‘No.’ There was no hesitation. ‘He’s been behaving a little oddly lately, admittedly, but ‘

‘Oh?’

‘Mixing with the wrong sort of people if you ask me. But no, I don’t believe he killed his mother. Not that I can think of another explanation/ he said grimly. “I was there only a matter of seconds after him. My appointment with the bishop was cancelled, and Michael was home early because of problems with the fire sprinklers at school. No one else was there, no one else was seen.’ He cleared his throat, adding gruffly, ‘According to these people, Alice had only been dead a very short time when I arrived. They can tell from ‘

‘Yes, I know.’

“I keep thinking about that red van - if indeed there was a red van.’

‘Red van?’

‘As I was walking up to the vicarage, I heard a vehicle racing along. I turned to look and caught a glimpse of a red van flying past. At least, I think it was a van. It may have been a car. I only caught a brief glimpse through gaps in the hedge.’

‘You’ve told the police about this?’

‘Oh, yes. It keeps preying on my mind now. I’m not sure if it was racing along the road or - or if it was speeding away from the vicarage.’

He shook his head, suddenly impatient. ‘If only Michael would talk.’ He emptied his cup and stood up. “I must go and pray for him. Thank you for the coffee, Jill. And thank you for listening.’

When he strode off, looking far more purposeful than the man she’d met in the corridor outside the interview room, Jill sat back against the window, closed her eyes and tried to picture the sort of woman Alice Trueman had been.

Despite her good intentions, it was almost six o’clock when Jill left the building that evening. She’d struggled to find a parking spot this morning, but the car park was almost empty now. As she was about to get in her car, Max drove up and parked next to her. She waited for him for get out.

‘Are you back with us already?’ he asked, surprised.

‘No. Phil Meredith phoned and, erm, invited me to lunch.’ She waited for a sarcastic comment.

‘Right/ was all he said.

‘Max?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m glad I caught you. I was meaning to mention it to someone but it kept slipping my mind. Last Friday morning, a photo was hand-delivered to my cottage.’ She unlocked her car, reached inside for her briefcase, and took out the protective envelope that contained the photograph and the newspaper headline. ‘Could you have it dropped in at the lab for me? I doubt there are any prints on it, but you never know.’

He was frowning. ‘A photo of what?’

The. The one that was in the papers for weeks after Rodney Hill was arrested.’

‘Hand-delivered?’ He was speaking slowly and deliberately, a sure sign he was forcing himself to keep calm.

‘Yes, I was out. When I got home, it was on the doormat with a couple of items the postman had delivered.’

‘Last Friday? Some crank sends you a photo of yourself, last bloody Friday, and you don’t think to mention it?’ His voice was rising.

“I just did mention it/ Jill pointed out calmly, but she knew he had a valid point.

‘Any ideas?’ he snapped.

‘None. Well, someone’s taking the mickey, I suppose.’

‘It might be someone taking the mickey/ he agreed. ‘Be on your guard, and if anything else happens, anything at all, I want to know about it - immediately. OK? And keep that bloody door of yours locked.’

‘OK.’ Jill was about to get in her car.

‘Have you seen our Michael?’ he asked.

‘Yes, but he’s still not talking. I saw his father, too.

Apparently, Alice used to be a dancer. It would explain her stunning figure, of course, but it doesn’t fit with the woman I met at the party’ She passed over that. ‘I’ve looked through the reports this afternoon - it’s funny, isn’t it, how both Michael and his father arrived home early that day - Michael because the school closed unexpectedly, and Jonathan because his meeting was cancelled? Alice wouldn’t have been expecting either of them.’

She broke off as Max’s phone rang.

‘Yes … yes … so it’s what we thought? Nothing new?’

Max was walking a small circle as he listened to his caller.

‘You could tell me we were looking for a left-handed dwarf, that might help …’

Jill left him to it. If he wanted her opinion, and she wasn’t yet sure what that opinion was, he would phone.

She wanted to go home and see if Dance to the Music was racing tonight.

The Weaver’s Retreat was only half a mile from her cottage and instead of driving straight home, Jill pulled into the car park. She’d already stopped to place ten pounds to win on Dance to the Music.

She always bought her eggs from the pub. Having come close on several occasions to killing the hens that wandered at will across the road to the hill opposite, she knew they were as free range as it was possible to get. Meredith had bought her a good lunch, but that was hours ago and a full cholesterol-laden hit of bacon and eggs called.

‘Hello, Jill. The usual, is it?’ The landlord’s hand was already resting on the lager pump. On only her third visit to his pub, he’d asked if she wanted her ‘usual’.

“I only wanted some eggs, but perhaps I’ll have a quick drink while I’m here. A whisky with lots of ice, please, Ian.’

For a moment, he was thrown, but he soon recovered and filled a tumbler with ice cubes before adding a measure of whisky.

‘There you go, love.’

He went to the store at the back for her eggs, leaving Jill to nod to a couple of people she knew by sight.

Ian put the eggs on the counter. ‘You won’t get fresher than that.’

‘Thanks. Business doesn’t look to be booming/ she commented, handing him a ten-pound note. Usually, the small bar was packed with locals.

‘It were busy at lunchtime,’ he told her, ‘but it’s been quiet since. What a time, though. The whole village is in shock.’

‘Dreadful,’ Jill agreed, knowing how this sort of thing affected not only the family involved but also the whole community. Everyone knew everyone else in these small Lancashire towns and villages.

‘And fancy them arresting young Michael,’ he went on, his voice lowered. ‘I can’t believe he’d do such a thing. No, I can’t have that. Stands to reason. He’s a smashing lad. He helped me out last summer - we had the old taproom decorated and he were that helpful. Honest, hardworking - he works at the filling station on Saturdays now.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Idolized his mother,’ Ian went on. ‘Closer to her than to his dad, I reckon. Not that he don’t get on well with his dad. A terrible business all round. But I won’t have him down as a killer. I won’t.’

A young couple walked in, strangers to Jill and to Ian, and Jill picked up her change and left him to serve them.

She sat at a small round table in the corner, next to the fire.

People had warned her about the harsh winters endured in this corner of Lancashire, but she’d had no idea those winters arrived so early.

She liked The Weaver’s Retreat. It was on the edge of the village, on the Todmorden Road, and was popular with the locals. Ian always had a warm welcome for his regulars; it was a homely place to relax.

Not that Jill was feeling relaxed. She was still trying to picture Alice Trueman as a fun-loving ex-dancer. It didn’t fit. Except, of course, she’d had the elegance and grace of a dancer, and those long, shapely legs. She was also curious about the sort of people Jonathan Trueman thought his son was mixing with. What had he meant by that? Kids taking drugs? Or simply kids from the council estate?

What would he have made of her, she wondered, if he knew of her lowly beginnings?

‘Are you turning to drink?’

Jill looked up, startled to see that Andy Collins was in the bar. He must have come in through the back door.

“I called in for eggs,’ she explained with a smile, ‘and was tempted to linger in the warmth. Winter’s come early.’

‘Winter? This is a pleasant autumnal day,’ he told her with a laugh. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘I’d be glad of the company.’

He paid for his pint and brought it over to the table.

Before sitting down, he brushed a couple of specks of mud from his trousers.

‘I’ve been showing a prospective purchaser round Top Bank Farm,’ he explained, ‘and the chap insisted on walking through the fields. It’s ankle deep in mud. Still, a sale is a sale,’ he added, downing almost half his pint in one swallow.

‘You look as if you needed that,’ Jill remarked.

“I can’t seem to get going at all at the moment.’ He shuddered.

“I keep thinking of poor Alice. I liked her a lot.’

‘Dreadful, isn’t it? I wish I’d known her better. Did you know she’d been a dancer?’

‘Yes. Years ago, she was in one of those groups - you know, like Pan’s People or Hot Gossip. Or perhaps that’s before your time.’

‘She was that sort of dancer?’ Jill was amazed. I’d imagined her ballroom dancing.’

Andy shook his head.

‘She was a real little raver by all accounts. Lovely woman, though. Lovely family come to that,’ he said.

‘Michael - now I know the police don’t arrest people without reason, but I simply can’t believe it of him. He’s a smashing lad. Jon’s the same. He gets on his high horse now and again, but he’s a good enough sort. Once you get to know him, you’ll find he’s a good laugh.’ He took another swig of his beer. ‘Not that he’s got anything to laugh about now.’

‘No, poor man.’

‘It’s the sort of thing you see on the TV,’ he murmured, ‘not the sort of thing that happens in real life, to real people. And certainly not in a place like this.’

Isn’t that what everyone caught up in these situations said? Whether you lived in a sleepy little hamlet or on a bustling inner city estate, it was one of those things that happened to other people in other places.

The door opened and Tony Hutchinson came in.

‘Andy! Jill!’ he called out. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

Jill refused. It was tempting to enjoy the warmth a little longer, but she was hungry. Andy accepted another pint.

‘Is this a private party,’ Tony asked, ‘or can anyone join in?’

‘Sit down.’ Jill moved round the table to give him more space.

‘What a day,’ Tony said, taking a drink. “I had all the kids together for a special assembly this morning, but it’s damned difficult knowing what to say to them. They’re all so different, too. While we were praying for Alice and the family, one girl of ten was in tears and another girl, the same age, was happily chewing gum and writing “I love Dave” on her arm.’

‘That’s kids for you,’ Andy said. ‘Criminals in the making, most of them. I’m glad I don’t have your job, Tony. I’d never have the patience.’

‘Most of them are fine,’ Tony argued. ‘They’re our future, remember.’

‘Then we’re all doomed,’ Andy said with a rueful smile.

Tony turned his attention to Jill. ‘Am I forgiven?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’ She wished he’d shut up about it, and she wished he didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable.

‘Forgiven?’ Andy asked curiously. ‘What have you been up to, Tony?’

‘Liz told me I was rude to Jill at the party,’ he explained.

‘It’s just that I’m fascinated by her work. It’s a bit like that film, The Silence of the Lambs, isn’t it?’

‘No/ Jill said drily, ‘it’s nothing like that.’

Tony looked embarrassed, and Jill hoped she hadn’t made him look a fool.

‘The FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit is very different to anything we have in this country,’ she explained. ‘It has to be - you only have to think of the size of the country. And, well, that was a film. My work is - was totally different.

Very boring,’ she added lightly.

“I bet it’s fascinating,’ Tony said.

“Fraid not,’ she said, managing another smile.

‘To think that Alice is gone,’ Andy murmured vaguely.

‘It doesn’t sink in, does it?’

‘I’ve just called on Mary and Gordon,’ Tony told them, ‘and I saw Jon. He’s staying with them, did you know? He seems to be holding up well, considering. Perhaps if you believe in God - well, I mean I believe in God, but if you devote your life to Him, perhaps you see some reason to it.

Perhaps you can believe she’s gone to a better place.’

At that, Andy looked as doubtful as Jill felt. ‘Michael won’t be going to a better place, will he?’ he said.

‘No,’ Tony agreed.

“I was just saying to Jill that I can’t believe it of him.

He’d never do such a thing. Never.’

‘Did you teach him, Tony?’ Jill asked curiously.

‘When he was a youngster, yes. He must have been - let me think - nine years old when the family came to the village so I only had him for a couple of years.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Bright, a quick learner, polite - the ideal pupil. A little out of it at times,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘but that goes with the territory.’

Seeing Jill’s puzzled expression, he explained. ‘As the son of the vicar, you’re going to be considered different by the other kids. It’s the same for the headmaster’s son. Used to be the same for the local bobby’s son in the days we had a bobby.’ He grinned smugly at her, as if he’d caught her out. ‘You’re the psychologist.’

Jill supposed he had a point, except she hadn’t thought that applied these days. Perhaps it did in a relatively small village like Kelton Bridge.

‘Kids like that go one of two ways,’ he went on. ‘They either keep to themselves and concentrate on their studies, or they become the local troublemaker, determined to show their mates they’re no different.’

‘And Michael concentrated on his studies?’ she guessed.

‘He did. A model pupil.’ He thought for a moment. ‘He brought an injured blackbird to school once. We reckoned it had got on the wrong side of a cat. During the lunch break, he took it to Betty Taylor’s place. She keeps the animal sanctuary on New Road. Eventually, the bird recovered and Betty released it, but Michael called to see that bird every morning on his way to school.’ He took a quick swig from his glass. ‘I’m with Andy on this. I don’t believe he could pull a knife on any living thing and certainly not his mother.’