by Clare Chase
Kemp smiled to himself as he went through to the hall.
An hour and a half later, he was sitting outside a pub called the Dog and Gun. It was well outside Cambridge – just the sort of place for a meet-up if you didn’t want to be seen. He’d only come to be there himself by watching, waiting and then tailing his quarry.
He had his camera at the ready and recorded developments as the man he’d been following left his car and entered the building. Kemp got out of his own vehicle and strolled across the front car park, lighting a cigarette as an excuse to remain outside. Not that he wasn’t enjoying it for its own sake, too. He’d been meaning to give up… for around twenty-five years.
He found a position where he could stand in the shadow of a snow-covered cedar tree and see through one of the pub’s sash windows towards the bar. After a moment he picked out the guy he’d been tailing again – but he wasn’t alone now. He’d been joined by a woman – and they looked pretty damned friendly.
By the time he decided to enter the pub, having taken more covert photos, it was a group of three he could see: the man, the woman, and a second guy who’d joined them… What in hell’s name? They huddled together, deep in discussion about something. Three conspirators?
He strode towards the pub’s door, wondering what he’d discover when he got inside. Ideally, he’d want to share it with Tara, but he remembered what she’d said about interfering.
He’d have to tread carefully – and to be sure of his ground before he went any further.
Twenty-Five
Tara set off home – walking back along the Cam. The boardwalk at the town end was treacherous. The snow had become compacted and was now iced up. Next to her the river looked dark and still. She clung to the railings as she slipped along. Her gloves weren’t enough to keep out the intense cold.
Verity Hipkiss’s words went round in her head. Tess Curtis piqued her interest: a woman who’d once been Ralph Cairncross’s lover, who’d maybe felt shut out after he’d taken up with his gang of young followers. And who’d also been on the scene the night Ralph died. It would be interesting to find out where she’d been when Christian fell to his death. And when Lucas had drowned, too. But although Tara could see that the woman had had the opportunity and potential motive to have put the snake in Ralph Cairncross’s car, she couldn’t imagine how she’d have engineered the other deaths.
And then what about the look that had come into Verity’s eye when Tara had asked about her relationship with Ralph’s family?
She needed to find out more, but from where? She couldn’t see Sadie or Philippa giving her any honest information. She paused and looked across the river towards the snow-covered chimneys of Magdalene College.
She really wished she’d been in on the conversation Wilkins had had with Thom King. Something told her he might know more about Verity Hipkiss. She thought back to the way Verity had described him. ‘Ah, well, Thom’s a sweetie.’ She’d placed him firmly in the friendzone. ‘Thom would invite me out for coffee occasionally,’ she’d said. Tara suspected he’d wanted their relationship to extend further, but that his efforts had been in vain. By the sound of it, he’d been the odd one out – keen where she wasn’t. Tara had got the impression Verity’s relationships with both Christian and Lucas might have been more than platonic. And she seemed to spend time trying to see more of Stephen Ross, for whatever reason. Perhaps purely because he wasn’t interested and it irked her. But the artist Thom King had been left out in the cold… Stephen Ross had said he could imagine some people wanting to kill Verity. Was it Thom King he’d been thinking of? She was letting her ideas run away with her. Without speaking to him she couldn’t possibly judge.
There was the matter of the near miss Thom had already had with the car, too. She’d asked if Wilkins had raised it at their interview, but of course he hadn’t. He was still convinced she was obsessing over a set of coincidences that meant nothing.
She’d noted the contact details for each of the Acolytes when she’d first got permission to look into Ralph’s case. Now, she opened her bag and stared at the mobile number for Thom King. He wouldn’t relish two approaches from the police in one day… She paused for a moment, browsing the web for information that might help her soften him up. Then, steeling herself for hostility, she dialled.
Tara had been gushingly apologetic when Thom King picked up. She knew he must have had a terrible day, she told him, what with the death of his friend. (Though he didn’t sound that broken, in fact.) She explained that a couple more queries had come up. Because of the sensitive nature of the conversation she needed to have, she wondered if she could possibly come and find him. Then she’d hesitated and mentioned his paintings and how fascinating it would be to meet him. (She was glad she’d googled them in order to sound convincing, her old journalism tactics coming into play. She felt a small twinge of guilt – Blake wouldn’t approve of her less-than-honest approach. All the same, she got a buzz when it worked. His tone warmed up considerably at that point.)
Half an hour later she was sitting opposite him in the Castle.
‘Thank you for seeing me.’ She’d bought him a pint and they were settled by one of the windows downstairs. Outside, across the road, the houses were brightly lit, their roofs piled thick with snow. A Christmas tree in one of the windows set the scene off nicely. She smiled at her interviewee once again. ‘I’m so sorry if I’ve dragged you out.’
He leant forward and smiled. ‘It’s good to have a distraction, to be honest – even if it does mean talking about the very thing that’s been on my mind all day. It’s still better than sitting at home visualising Christian’s broken body.’ Suddenly he looked down into his drink. ‘I painted him so many times; he had a perfect physique.’
The scene she’d witnessed that morning filled Tara’s head for the umpteenth time that day. She tried to concentrate on the man in front of her instead. It was interesting that Thom King was focusing on Beatty as an object to paint, rather than as a person.
‘A very difficult time for you. And at the end of a tough six months, what with Ralph Cairncross and Lucas Everett’s deaths too.’
‘Absolutely. It’s been appalling. Such a shock.’
He’d leapt to affirm what she’d said, but she didn’t think he’d have articulated it if she hadn’t prompted him. She needed to go for a more roundabout approach if she wanted to find out how they’d really got on.
‘I gather you joined Ralph’s group of Acolytes fourth, just after Verity Hipkiss.’ She watched his eyes as she said the woman’s name. ‘Stephen Ross mentioned you’d been working on a commission for her parents.’
‘That’s right. Verity and I had arranged to meet for a drink, and she brought Ralph along with her.’ He’d thought it would be just the two of them, clearly. The hurt was still there in his eyes even though it must have been months ago now.
‘You hadn’t expected to meet him that night?’ It was the most tactful way to put it.
‘No.’ Thom King smiled unconvincingly. ‘It was a wonderful surprise, of course. And I was very flattered when Ralph invited me to join his circle. He said he’d admired my work for some time. It’s always good to meet a fan. No artist tires of it.’ He seemed to realise it was time to stop talking.
‘And it must have been great to be praised by such a well-known and influential figure, too.’
Thom King shrugged.
‘You didn’t rate him, despite being part of the group?’
The man pulled back a little in his seat. ‘No, no, of course I did. He was monumentally talented.’
Tara sensed a ‘but’. She waited. That usually got the best results. He didn’t seem wary. She sensed he saw her as a harmless young woman who was simply there to let him offload. Professionally, that might be irritating, but it would be stupid to get cross about it. He was far more likely to give things away if he didn’t see her as a threat.
‘It’s just that there are other writers who are every bit as talented, but
haven’t found fame. I suppose it’s fair to say that Ralph got his rock-star status – and all the trappings – by deliberately making his work controversial. And his behaviour too.’
He might well be right, but it was interesting that he’d tried to disguise his resentment.
‘Perhaps you could take me through the Acolytes now, so I can get a better idea of them. I met Stephen Ross earlier today.’
‘Ah, Stephen.’ Thom King shook his head as though they were talking about a troublesome child. ‘With the best will in the world, he’s a bit of a damp squib really. Tame.’ He glanced at Tara. ‘But then he is a poet. Ralph didn’t treat him quite as he did the rest of us. I think it amused him to have someone around as an example of how not to be, if you know what I mean. Stephen was in the group from the start, along with Lucas and Letty. Letty was a treasure – we all adored her. I heard it was she who gave Ralph the idea of setting up the circle; he was enchanted with her. She was exceptional, of course: coming up to Cambridge so young. She wrote poetry, just like Stephen.’
Tara nodded. ‘What about Lucas and Christian? Did you get on with them?’
‘Oh yes,’ Thom said. ‘They were good guys.’
Tara remembered Verity’s blush when she’d denied she and Christian had been more than friends, and her mention of the ‘pleasant times’ she’d shared with Lucas. ‘Verity Hipkiss said much the same thing.’ She allowed the memory of the woman’s words to affect her tone.
Thom King’s eyes darkened. His jaw was tight. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She was a great admirer of them both. She—’ But he stopped abruptly and though Tara raised her eyebrows he didn’t say any more. His shoulders were hunched. Suddenly he looked larger than he had done, more aggressive.
‘Do you and Verity get on?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Oh, yes. We found a lot to talk about when I painted the commission for her parents.’
Tara gave him a look. ‘She’s very beautiful.’
‘As an artist, I’ve noticed that. Not my type personally, but objectively she’d be a perfect subject.’
Like heck. ‘She’s never sat for you then?’ Tara was willing to bet he’d asked.
He answered quickly. ‘No. There hasn’t been time. She’s very busy with her writing.’
‘Did Ralph mentor her?’
For a second there was disgust in Thom King’s eyes, and when he spoke the emotion infiltrated his tone too. ‘I believe he did something of the sort.’
It seemed like the right moment to push for more information. She remembered the way Verity had breathed out Ralph’s name and her anxious expression when Tara had asked how she got on with the author’s family. That and Thom King’s resentment of Ralph made her increasingly sure of her ground. ‘Verity seemed emotional about Ralph’s death,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry for asking, but you know her well. Was she having an affair with him?’
Thom King blinked twice. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t,’ Tara said. ‘It was a guess. Just something in her tone. I can see why she wouldn’t mention it openly, of course. I guess she feels Sadie Cairncross has had enough to cope with recently.’
Thom gave a hollow laugh and swigged some more of his beer, looking down again for a moment into the dark, treacle-coloured liquid. ‘That’s true, but it won’t be what’s holding Verity back.’ His voice was bitter again.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Have you seen the quotes Ralph sent to Verity’s publisher, to help publicise her book? Or the interview he gave on television, heralding her as the most influential new novelist of our generation?’
Tara sat back in her chair. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I can see those wouldn’t carry so much weight if everyone knew they were sleeping together.’ She was glad he hadn’t been able to help himself feed her that titbit. It set her thinking.
‘She’ll be desperate to keep the affair quiet for that reason more than any other.’
In fact, she might have had cause to want Ralph dead herself, if he’d been threatening to go public – maybe leave his wife or something. Had she really loved him? Or had he just been a pleasant distraction for a few months, and useful in terms of her career? Tara’s mind ran to the dead Acolytes again for a moment, Christian and Lucas. If she’d really been stringing them all along it sounded like a dangerous game. What if Christian or Lucas had found out she’d been sleeping with Ralph earlier in the year, and had threatened to give away her secret?
But if she’d killed a series of people to silence them, surely she’d have used more certain methods…
And then Tara looked at Thom King. Wasn’t he a more likely candidate for their killer? The one Acolyte who’d wanted Verity but had been rejected. His disgust at the idea of Ralph Cairncross mentoring her had created a powerful impression. But what about the near miss Thom had had himself? The close shave with the car?
‘The other police officer who came to talk to you, DS Wilkins, told you to be on your guard,’ Tara said.
Thom King nodded.
‘It brings me to the other issue I wanted to discuss. I hear you had a close call yourself, a while back. Someone in a car almost knocked you down?’ She remembered how Dr Richardson, the Cairncross expert, had speculated that Thom King might have exaggerated the incident for attention. He’d said he’d never reported it to the police.
Thom frowned, but he didn’t look embarrassed. It was a moment before he spoke. ‘Dear God. I hadn’t thought. My incident resonates with the death in one of Ralph’s books, doesn’t it? Just like Christian’s and Lucas’s…’
He looked scared. But if he’d invented the whole near-miss thing, to make himself sound like a victim, he’d be prepared to give that sort of reaction. And after all, he’d gone around telling Dr Richardson and the Acolytes about it – yet he hadn’t bothered notifying the police…
Tara took a swig of her Coke. ‘We don’t want to worry you. That sort of incident’s not so uncommon. But it’s still something we’d like to know more about.’ Royal we. She was quite sure Wilkins wouldn’t be in the least interested, but she certainly was. ‘Could you tell me exactly what happened?’
‘I’d just hired a studio to work in. It’s in the middle of nowhere – great because there are no distractions and I find the countryside inspiring.’
‘Is it out in the Fens?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s near Haslingfield, along a country lane. The parking for the studio is on the opposite side of the road, so you have to cross to reach it. A bit inconvenient when I’m carting new canvases over, and things like that, but the place is good value for money. It was as I was crossing that the car almost mowed me down.’ His gaze was far away now. Was he remembering reality? Or struggling to recall a story he’d made up?
‘Was it coming round a bend or something?’ She wondered how he hadn’t seen the car.
‘Yes, but the turn in the road wasn’t that close to where I crossed. I saw the car before I stepped out, but I reckoned I’d got plenty of time. People kept saying I must have misjudged the speed it was travelling at, but I’d swear the driver put their foot down. They were on me before I knew it.’
‘I presume you didn’t get the number plate?’
He shook his head and colour came to his cheeks. ‘To be honest, I was so shocked I couldn’t even remember the make of the car afterwards. I think it was blue, and a saloon maybe.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not even sure about that.’
‘And you didn’t recognise the driver, obviously.’
He drained his beer. ‘I only got a glimpse. I was too busy leaping out of the way. Someone wearing a cap, maybe? And dark glasses. I wasn’t even sure if it was a man or a woman. You can see why I didn’t bother going to the police.’
‘It’s not easy. Lots of people remember very little after an incident like that.’
He nodded. ‘But it worried me at the time. I mean, I know you get drivers who just put their foot down when they’re irritated – think someone’s crossed in front of them –
not shown them sufficient respect. I’ve met meatheads like that. But what I did see of them made me wonder if they’d tried to hide their identity. I mentioned it to Ralph and the others, because it shook me up. But it was just after Letty died – an awful time. Ralph encouraged us to celebrate her youth, and how perfect she’d been when she was taken from us – it was a brave try, to pull us all through the upset – but of course, everyone was still affected. I soon realised it wasn’t the right time to go on about my worries.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘And anyway, who would target me? Ralph, I could understand, to an extent – he created ripples. But I’m not sure I ever have, sadly. My paintings just happen to be en vogue at the moment. I’d better enjoy it whilst it lasts.’
At home that night, Tara debated calling Kemp to let him know the latest developments. Officially she shouldn’t share, but she valued his opinion. He’d settled in at Bea’s and seemed to be enjoying the cosiness and home cooking. They’d been out for a couple of drinks since he’d landed himself on her a couple of weeks ago – on one occasion with Bea too – but she’d heard nothing from him in the last few days.
But maybe she should let sleeping dogs lie. It wasn’t as though she’d have much free time in the next few days if he suggested meeting up. All the same, she was slightly surprised he hadn’t already come to her, wanting gossip.
She wondered what was keeping him at bay. If he went totally quiet, it tended to mean he was up to something.
Sunday 16 December
Oh, Christian, you weren’t ready to embrace death either, were you? Not like the hero in Ralph’s book, On High. I seem to remember he remained serene when he jumped to his doom. Whereas I distinctly heard you scream. A sound of pure, unbridled terror. It was the same with Lucas, of course. When he finally sank beneath the waves he looked anything but calm. I think it’s a lesson to us all. Ralph’s books are a lie.
