The Burden of Doubt (19 page)

‘Were you with Jayne in Prague recently?’

‘Yep. We went for a long weekend, but she got in a strop and walked out on me.’

‘Do you know what she was in a strop about?’

He blew out a sighing breath through his lips. ‘To be honest, no, I don’t.’

‘There must have been something that happened to make her leave suddenly,’ Laura suggested.

‘Well, for the record this is what happened. We were having pre-dinner drinks at the bar in our hotel. She’d been moody ever since we arrived, not wanting to get up in the mornings, not really interested in any of the sightseeing we’d planned. Not really
interested 
in me. I wondered if it was woman-type problems, PMT or whatever. To tell the truth I was getting a bit sick of the way she was carrying on; it was like being on holiday with a difficult teenager. So while we were having our drinks, I tried to find out what was wrong. She just flipped. Said she never wanted to see me again and stormed out of the bar. Next thing I knew she was pulling her case across the foyer, heading for the waiting taxi outside.’ He spread his hands. ‘End of story.’

‘Have you been in contact with her since?’

‘No. And I don’t think I will be in the future. No point flogging a dead horse.’ He looked hard at Laura. ‘Is Jayne a suspect – in your murder enquiry?’

‘We have to investigate all possible leads in a murder enquiry,’ Laura said.

‘Oh, come on! Take the plum out of your mouth. She’s a suspect, isn’t she? Did she know this woman, Moira Farrell?’

‘Yes, she did. Did she ever mention her name to you?’

‘Not that I can remember.’ His eyes were now gleaming with speculation. ‘When did the murder take place?’

‘The morning of January 16th.’

‘So Jayne could have been back in England in time to do the deed.’ He took a little time to process the idea and his face began to darken with concern.

Laura stood up. ‘So could a lot of other people,’ she said. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Strong. You’ve been very helpful.’

Driving back to the station, Laura was unsure what to conclude from the interview with Jayne. She felt that Jayne’s account of her deception had been plausible, moreover the reason for her leaving Prague had been spontaneously corroborated by Liam Strong. As she contemplated Laura recognized that on a personal level she really wanted to believe Jayne had been telling the truth. She wanted her to be blameless and innocent, in order that her own lack of thoroughness would not become general knowledge and be further compounded by having held up the investigation and the apprehension of Moira’s killer. She recognized that the lead she had followed at the hospital from Cavanagh through to Anderson had been a false trail, and that Cavanagh was no more
than a sleek, slippery red herring as far as Moira Farrell’s death was concerned.

She knew she had to talk to the team about all this. She would even offer to lay her omission at the feet of Damian Finch. The latter thought and the prospect of its reality was so alarming that she distracted herself for the rest of the journey by wondering if a constable’s salary would run to Buddha sculptures and a heavenly in-your-face mirror in a sunburst frame.

Swift phoned through to Damian Finch’s office and requested his presence at a case review. He suggested that his advice as a senior officer would be valued. Though he seldom offered it to others, Finch was not averse to flattery. He requested the team’s attendance in his office pronto. Swift smiled to himself, guessing that the
superintendent
felt more confident when fighting on his home patch.

Listening to Swift’s account of what had been happening in the last few hours, Finch’s facial expressions underwent a number of transformations, few of which were encouraging.

‘I believe it’s still January,’ he commented as Swift finished speaking. ‘Not April the first.’

No member of the team made a comment.

‘So,’ Finch continued, looking thunderous, ‘it’s not a joke that you want me to rejoice in hearing that we have dismissed our prime suspect for the second time. That a journalist has jumped the gun on us and taken it upon herself to set up a lie detector test whose results will entirely convince the gullible public. That you want me to fritter away our scant resources on a search of the victim’s half-sister’s flat in the face of virtually no hard evidence against her.’ He stopped, stunned into silence by the staggering incompetence of his underlings.

‘That was my suggestion, sir,’ Laura said, aware of an annoying nerve flickering beneath her eye.

Finch rounded on her. ‘Well, don’t stop there, Constable. Defend yourself and your suggestion.’

‘I’m very sorry, sir, about my failure to check Jayne Arnold’s alibi as thoroughly as I should.’ Laura braced herself.

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Finch said.

‘But having thought things through after my interview with Liam Strong, my opinion is that Jayne Arnold was in a highly emotional state during her visit in Prague. It was that high level of emotion that caused her to walk out on Strong and fly back to Britain.’ She stopped, conscious of weaknesses in the argument she was trying to put forward.

‘All very interesting,’ Finch said. ‘And I’m aware that modern training methods for our service include a certain amount of psychology.’ He spoke the last word with transparent scorn. ‘But how does all this navel gazing connect up with Jayne Arnold’s possible wish to kill her half-sister?’

‘We don’t know, sir. That’s why we think a search of her flat would be useful. At least to eliminate her from our enquiries.’

‘Which you would very much like, Constable, so as to feel exonerated from your initial sloppiness in checking out Jayne Arnold’s alibi.’

Swift was about to intervene, but Laura, now she was in the thick of it, was gathering confidence. ‘That is quite true, sir,’ she said. ‘But my main reason for suggesting a search is a genuine belief that Jayne Arnold might be a possible suspect. She lied about her flight from Prague. She lied about her whereabouts at the time of the murder. She was in a disturbed state just prior to the murder. She would have not have had to break in to the house, because she was known to Moira and Professor Patel.’

Finch pursed his lips and paid his constable the compliment of appearing to make a serious consideration of her points. ‘I’m not sure it’s enough,’ he said eventually. He turned to Swift. ‘What do you think, Ed?’

‘On balance I think we should pursue Jayne Arnold further.’

Finch nodded, somewhat mollified by Swift’s carefully considered approach. ‘What had you in mind?’

‘Another interview with Sylvia Farrell, with a view to discovering what had been bothering Jayne prior to Moira’s death.’

‘I see the sense in that. Entirely,’ Finch said.

‘And then I think a search should be carried out, with a view to finding the murder weapon, or any other evidence which could be relevant.’

‘I think I could manage to summon up a little happiness regarding that strategy,’ Finch said. He turned to Doug who had been sitting in attentive silence. ‘And have you nothing to say, Constable Wilson?’

‘I’m a man of few words, sir,’ Doug said. ‘I’ve agreed with all that’s been said, so I didn’t feel a need to speak.’

Swift gave an internal smile, experiencing a stab of satisfaction at the way his team had responded to the superintendent’s barbs. Maybe Finch had got where he was because interview boards judged he would provide a good training ground for young officers learning how to handle irascible and self-important witnesses and suspects.

After the session with Finch Swift sent his team home, then got into his car and drove to Sylvia Farrell’s home. Walking up the drive towards the house he saw that the lights were on in the hallway and two cars parked close to the front door.

Sylvia Farrell did not appear pleased to see him. ‘I have some of my family here for supper,’ she said. ‘This is not a good time.’

‘I do need to speak to you,’ he said. ‘It won’t take long.’ The first true, the second open to doubt, he thought as he followed Sylvia down the hall and through into a small room furnished sparely with two armchairs, a desk and a small television. The room was obviously not often used; the central heating radiator was off and an unwelcoming chill hung in the atmosphere.

Sylvia waved him to a chair, but remained standing herself, as though poised for flight any moment.

‘I’d like you to sit down,’ Swift told her.

She looked at him for a moment and then sat. ‘Well?’

‘Mrs Farrell, we’ve been told by your daughter that she flew home earlier than we were initially informed.’

‘I beg your pardon! Are you joking? I would have expected you to come here with news of my stepdaughter’s murderer being apprehended. Not comments on my own daughter.’

‘Your daughter lied to us, Mrs Farrell. She led us to believe that she was in Prague at the time of Moira’s murder.’

‘So?’ The tone was pure ice.

‘Whereas in fact she was at home and in the vicinity of Moira’s house at the time Moira was killed.’

Sylvia closed her eyes. ‘Oh, for goodness sake. You’re not suggesting Jayne killed Moira? That is preposterous. And, frankly I’m not even going to waste time considering it.’ She started to get up.

‘Sit down, Mrs Farrell,’ Swift told her. ‘I’m not suggesting anything at this point. I’m simply aiming to gain further information in the light of what Jayne has told us.’

He knew she would not believe that. She would assume that they were treating Jayne as a suspect. His hope was that in getting her rattled she might make an attempt to defend her daughter and thus offer information which would not be forthcoming through direct questioning.

She replaced herself on the chair. ‘Well, why don’t you ask Jayne?’

‘We have spoken to Jayne. She has no alibi for the time Moira was murdered.’

‘Neither do the majority of the law-abiding people in this county,’ Sylvia pointed out. ‘A lack of alibi hardly brands Jayne as a murderess.’

‘The majority of law-abiding people hasn’t deliberately lied to the police in a murder investigation,’ Swift pointed out. ‘Nor have those people any known connection with Moira Farrell.’

‘Very well,’ Sylvia said with heavy resignation. ‘I accept that you have a job to do. I also know that my daughter is not capable of killing anyone. Let alone her half-sister, for whom she had a good deal of respect and affection.’ She breathed in deeply.

Swift waited.

‘I must insist that you don’t hound Jayne about this dreadful murder. Her health has not been good during the last year.’

Swift preserved a neutral expression, which made it clear to Sylvia that he was not impressed by ill health as an excuse for deception.

Sylvia began to elaborate. ‘She had a miscarriage in the spring and then in August she had to have surgery because of persistent endometriosis. I don’t know if you’re aware of that condition, but it’s a very distressing and painful one. Jayne has suffered with it for years, and eventually she decided that she couldn’t take any more. So she had a hysterectomy which, as you will appreciate, is a tragedy for a young woman who might one day want a family.’

‘I’m very sorry,’ Swift said.

‘Yes.’ She turned wary eyes on him. ‘Do you have children?’ she asked.

‘One daughter.’

She looked hard at him. ‘It’s not easy, is it?’ she said softly. She raised her head and squared her shoulders. ‘I think you should go now, Chief Inspector, and leave us in peace.’

Swift nodded and stood up. ‘Did Moira offer Jayne any advice about her condition?’ he asked. ‘Medical advice?’

‘It’s possible. Jayne used to visit Moira occasionally. As I said, she had a great respect for her.’ Sylvia was at the door now, holding it open. ‘I hope I’ve been of help to you,’ she said. ‘Please feel free to let yourself out.’

Swift sat in his car, reviewing his shorthand in the notebook. He thought about conception and birth and death and began to see a link between Jayne and Moira’s situations. He wondered whether to contact Finch and insist on a search warrant being issued for Jayne’s flat. But then if they didn’t find anything they could simply succeed in frightening her off. As it was she could be shaken when her mother telephoned her. Which she was probably doing right now. He sat in the darkness, drumming his fingers on the wheel. Above him the cold cloud-filled sky was blank and empty of moon and stars.

A few hours earlier, as Laura headed for the council car park in the market square so she could pop into the shops for something to eat, she had spotted Saul running down the steps from his office. Her heart gave a jolt of panic, and once again the fear of the consequences of her one night stand with him gripped her innards. Taking a breath to steady herself she swung the car into a space
and went to the machine to get a short stay ticket, knowing from experience that it was not a good idea to risk getting on the wrong side of the traffic wardens.

A woman parked near the ticket machine was struggling to lift a number of bulging supermarket bags into the back of her Range Rover. She was hugely pregnant, hardly able to bend to pick up the bags.

Laura stepped forward. ‘Hello! Let me help.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ The woman smiled gratefully. She had a pretty, delicate face which contrasted sharply with the waddling clumsiness of her swollen body.

Swivelling around from the Range Rover to reach another bag, Laura was suddenly aware of Saul loping into the park, his stride long and rangy.

As he registered her presence she saw his face freeze.

The pregnant woman turned and grinned at him with delight and relief. ‘Hi, babe! You’re late! As usual.’

A cannonball of feeling rolled through Laura’s insides. She lifted the last bag into the car and smiled at the pregnant woman, glancing meaningfully at her enormous bump. ‘Good luck!’

The woman smiled back. ‘Thanks, and bless you!’

Without a glimmer Laura walked past the stunned-looking Saul. There was no curse bad enough for him.

In the car she struggled to steady the shocked thumping of her heart. Then after a few moments she fired the engine and eased the car out of its space then waited to turn into the traffic.

In her flat she went to the bathroom, feeling a sudden familiar grinding starting up deep inside her. Reaching between her legs with a tissue revealed firm evidence that she was not pregnant. She leaned back against the toilet seat, her nerves singing with relief.

Later on she cooked herself a mushroom omelette and poured a glass of wine. ‘Time to grow up, Laura,’ she told herself, speaking the words out loud. And very clear.

Swift drove to Jayne Arnold’s flat. It was in darkness and there was no reply to his repeated ringing of the entry buzzer. He called the station for backup, indicating that he was concerned about
Jayne Arnold’s state of mind and her situation. A female and a male uniform appeared within minutes. The female officer was able to manipulate the lock with a device which looked like a credit card. Swift had not seen this technique before but asked no questions.

As they entered the flat the intruder alarm went off, a piercing, relentless whine. ‘Can you do something about that?’ he asked the female officer.

Swift and the male officer went through the flat, calling out Jayne’s name. There was no response. The flat was empty.

‘Damn!’ Swift murmured to himself, guessing the bird had got wind of trouble and flown. ‘Might as well have a look around while we’re here,’ he told the male officer.

Their ears ringing with the shrill throb of the alarm, they began to open drawers and cupboards. After several ear-shattering minutes, a blissful silence fell. The female officer appeared at Swift’s side. ‘Need any help, sir?’

‘Are you the station’s technology wizard? he asked her, as she started methodically going through the items in Jayne’s delicate mahogany table on which the house phone stood.

‘I’ve been on one or two courses,’ she said.

‘I didn’t know our training division were up to such devious tricks.’

She glanced at him with a small smile.

‘Times change,’ he commented, reflecting on how old he must appear to twenty-something officers.

Their search continued but after an hour they had come up with nothing of interest or relevance.

‘Should we start pulling up the floorboards?’ the male officer asked.

‘No.’ Swift was mindful that they hadn’t got a search warrant and were not acting within strictly laid down guidelines. ‘We’ll leave it at that, for now anyway.’

‘Do you think the suspect’s removed anything likely to cause trouble, sir?’

‘It’s possible. It’s also possible she’s not in possession of anything that might cause her trouble.’

As they closed up the flat and walked down the stairs to the street, he had a sudden bad feeling about the case, a sense of his own helplessness in moving it forward. He looked at his watch. It was coming up for 11 p.m. He’d had hardly anything to eat during the day. Not the best recipe for maintaining a positive outlook. He called in at a late-opening Chinese takeaway and purchased twice as much food as was his usual habit.

The phone woke him at 6 a.m. Pulling himself out of sleep, he pressed the receive button.