‘Busy lunchtime,’ he said, and nodded at the last space in the car park. ‘I guess those walkers are just the start of the rush.’
‘I wonder if it’s always like this, or whether this is because of Jessica?’
His lips thinned. ‘I’d hate to think it was because of her, but you know what people can be like. Come on.’
A hubbub of conversation and laughter greeted them as they entered the pub. All the tables were either full or had been reserved, and Jan spotted Cheryl weaving between a group at the bar, her hands and wrists balancing three plates of food.
Jan’s stomach rumbled at the aromas that wafted on the air as Cheryl passed, and studiously ignored the menu written on the blackboard above the fireplace.
Turpin stopped Cheryl on her way back towards the kitchen. ‘Where’s Noah?’
‘Changing a barrel. He’ll be up in a minute. Sorry – got to go; there are another two plates waiting in the kitchen and Sonia won’t thank me if the food goes out cold.’
She dashed away, disappearing through the door behind the bar from which a cacophony of clanging pots and pans emerged.
‘This is bedlam,’ said Jan, stepping to one side to let another group pass from the bar to an empty table at the far end of the pub. ‘There’s no way he’s going to want to talk to us in the middle of service.’
Turpin’s jaw clenched. ‘This can’t wait.’
He strode across the parquet flooring towards the bar as a low door to the left of the bar opened, and Collins emerged, a plastic bucket in his hand.
The landlord began to pull on one of the beer pumps, sending a clear liquid sloshing into the bucket as he cast his gaze around the throng.
‘Cheryl,’ he called out. ‘Get Martin out here to help you serve.’
A large balding man in his thirties appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel before stuffing it beside a rack of wine lists, and started pouring drinks.
Gradually the crowd dissipated, and the noise subsided to the clatter of cutlery on plates, murmured conversations, and friendly banter among the locals who perched on stools next to the bar.
Collins glanced across to where Jan and Turpin stood.
‘Be with you in a minute. Let me get this next barrel on first, otherwise there’s going to be a revolt.’
Turpin nodded as the local men laughed and jeered. ‘Is there somewhere we could wait?’
Collins jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Go upstairs – our living room is to the right of the stairs. Make yourselves comfortable.’
Jan led the way up a carpeted narrow staircase that brought them to a landing with several doors off it. Following Collins’ directions, she turned into the living room and stopped, surprised to see sunlight streaming through floor-to -ceiling windows that overlooked the pub garden.
Wandering over, she eyed the wide grassed area, the lawn in need of cutting and picnic tables and benches that would need varnishing if they were to be used in the summer.
‘Looks neglected,’ said Turpin as he moved to her side.
‘You can see why if they’re as busy as this every lunchtime. I’m surprised they’ve even got time to think.’
‘It goes hand in hand with the job.’
Jan turned at the sound of Collins’ voice to see the landlord in the doorway, his hands on his hips.
‘Can we make this quick, whatever it is you need to ask me? I daren’t leave the bar for long.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us Morgan Drake owns the pub?’
Collins frowned. ‘You didn’t ask. I thought you’d have known. Everyone does around here.’
‘Do you manage it for him?’
‘Yes. We’re tenants.’
‘How long did you say you’ve been here for?’
‘Since 2017.’
‘And where were you prior to that?’
‘Bishop’s Stortford. It’s where Sonia’s family are from.’
‘You’re a long way from home.’
Collins’ mouth quirked. ‘So my mother-in-law tells me on a regular basis.’
‘We heard that you’ve reduced the staff’s hours, Mr Collins,’ said Jan. ‘Why is that?’
‘For their own safety,’ he said. He held up his hands. ‘I’ve got no other choice until you find out who killed Jessica. I worry about them. Sonia and I sat down after you came in last week and we decided it was better if anyone working an evening shift finished at nine o’clock rather than leaving when we’d finished clearing up. At least that way there are plenty of people around when they’re travelling home. Me and Sonia can manage the last two hours on our own for the time being. Hopefully it’ll be a temporary measure, won’t it?’
Turpin didn’t rise to the bait, and instead thumbed through his notebook. ‘What can you tell us about the last evening Jessica worked here? The night she died? Was it busy?’
‘Yes, very much like what you’re seeing down there now.’
‘Is it always like that on a Monday?’
‘Sometimes. Maybe twice a month – Sonia’s got a good reputation for her food and we get people from all around here organising birthday meals and things like that. You should see this place on Mother’s Day. We have to seat people on timed reservations, otherwise we’d never cope.’
‘The ATM downstairs – what sort of profit do you make on it?’
‘Nothing. It’s provided as a service for customers, otherwise they’d have to drive into town if they wanted cash. Some of the older regulars don’t like using their card to pay. It’s not like the fruit machine or the cigarette machines in the old days when I used to make a bit of profit on them.’
‘There were two large withdrawals from that machine on the night Jessica died. Three hundred and fifty pounds at five past nine, and then a hundred and fifty pounds at ten twenty-two. Any idea who made those?’
Collins scratched his chin. ‘No, but at least that explains why I had a customer moaning on Tuesday that there was an error message on the machine saying it didn’t have any cash left. I had to get the company over here at short notice to sort it out. What sort of person withdraws that sort of money from a pub ATM? I mean, if one of the regulars needed that sort of cash, they could borrow it off me – they know that.’
‘That’s what we’d like to know, Mr Collins.’
‘Noah? The Heineken’s gone.’ Cheryl’s voice carried up the staircase. ‘And I’ve got no-one on the bar. Martin’s back in the kitchen.’
Collins’ shoulders slumped. ‘Look, I’m sorry but that’s another barrel that needs changing. I don’t let the staff down in the cellar – they’ll only screw it up. I have to go.’
‘Final question,’ said Turpin. ‘Any problems or issues with Morgan Drake lately?’
The landlord’s eyebrows rose. ‘No. None at all. We’ve never had any issues with Morgan. He’s a good boss. Leaves us to it. We meet every now and again to discuss strategies for marketing and things like that, but otherwise we rarely see him in here.’
‘All right – thanks, Mr Collins. We’ll see ourselves out.’
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bethany flicked her hair over her shoulder and tilted back her head, her lips apart as she applied another layer of mascara.
A collection of bottles, brushes and other paraphernalia cluttered the sink and vanity unit beside her while an upbeat playlist blasted from the music app on her phone propped up against a spare toilet roll above the mirror.
Remnants of steam curled around an ageing extractor fan that whirred from its position in the top left corner of the bathroom window, and she made a mental note to open the window for a few minutes once she was dressed.
The fan would never cope on its own.
Her skin pink from a hot bath, she relished the chance to relax in the absence of her two housemates after finishing her shift.
Doug and Emma had been fun when they’d all moved in, but since the two of them had progressed from being friends to a fully-fledged romance, Bethany had had to fight down the
resentment that she was in their way.
Instead, she focused on the fact that she only had another six months to go at college, and then she could leave.
She blinked as a well-known anthem began, the opening chorus providing a sudden kick to the chest as she remembered singing along to it with Jessica in the summer at a barbecue Noah and Sonia had held at the pub.
Re-capping the mascara, she snatched up the phone, silencing the music. She glared at the screen, then opened up her contacts list, her thumb hovering over Jessica’s name.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, and pressed “delete”.
She padded across the landing to her bedroom at the back of the house and dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, tugging on a pair of thick woollen socks her grandmother had given her for Christmas last year. Wiggling her toes, she opened a food delivery app, ordered pizza for one (no pineapple) and then picked up one of the gossip magazines Emma had left behind.
A hammering on the front door sent her heart rate rocketing.
Checking her watch while she hurried downstairs, she tried to recall whether she was expecting any deliveries. The pizza wouldn’t turn up for at least another thirty minutes, not this far out of town, and the clothes she had ordered online weren’t due until tomorrow, so––
She groaned as she recognised the outline of the figure standing on the step, and wrenched open the door.
‘I thought we agreed you wouldn’t come here, Wayne.’
The college lecturer glanced over his shoulder to where his car was parked in front of the house, then back to her. ‘We need to talk.’
‘For f––’ Bethany sighed, stepped back and waved him inside before slamming the door. ‘What about?’
‘The police came to see me.’
‘So? They came to see me, too.’ She ushered him through to the living room, and perched on the arm of the sofa as he paced the carpet.
He paused and ran a hand through his collar-length hair. Bethany caught the tell-tale smudges of dye at his temples, disappointment welling up inside. She’d had her suspicions, but––
‘What did they ask you?’
‘Same as you, probably. Did I know anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Jessica, did she seem concerned by anything or anyone––’
‘Did you mention me?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.’ His nostrils flared and, in that moment, she wondered why on earth she’d bothered chasing after him in the first place.
‘They wanted to know why I didn’t tell them about you when they first spoke with me.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because I didn’t want your bloody wife to find out, did I? Jesus.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I still have to pass my exams next year, and she invigilates them, doesn’t she? She could make my life hell if she found out about us.’
‘Mine, too,’ said Wayne, his face glum.
‘What did they ask you?’ she said, folding her arms across her chest.
He flushed crimson. ‘They wanted to know if I was having an affair with Jessica.’
Bethany laughed, hearing the bitterness pierce the air. ‘Some chance. She had better taste.’
He stepped closer, holding out his hands. ‘I’m sorry. Come here.’
‘No,’ she said, scowling and shuffling away from his grasp. ‘I told you, you shouldn’t have come here. You need to go.’
‘Oh, come on.’ He reached out, wrapping his hand around her arm. ‘Your housemates are away, aren’t they?’
Arching an eyebrow, she snatched her arm from his grip and pointed at the door. ‘Get out.’
‘But––’
‘Go!’
He hurried from the room, wrenching open the front door.
She followed him and kept her hand on the frame as he paused on the threshold.
‘Will I see you again?’ he said, his voice desperate.
‘Sure.’ She smiled. ‘I’ve got a business economics class first thing on Friday morning with you, right?’
Her smile faded as his eyes hardened, and then he turned and stalked towards his car.
‘Idiot,’ she said under her breath.
The sound of another car approaching from her right caught her attention and she peered over the neighbour’s low privet hedge in time to see a battered old hatchback pull up to the kerb beyond their gate.
Wayne gunned the engine to his mid-life-crisis sports car and roared away as the driver of the second car climbed out, and her heart sank as she recognised him.
‘Now what?’ she muttered.
She folded her arms across her chest and sneered as he walked up the path towards her.
‘What do you want?’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jan ground a generous portion of black peppercorns into the bolognese sauce and peered over her shoulder as Harry, the older of the twins by thirteen minutes and three seconds, slid past in his socks as if riding a skateboard.
‘Will you stop doing that across the floor while I’m cooking?’ she said. ‘It’s flipping dangerous.’
‘Sorry, Mum.’
He wandered over to the hob and peered into the saucepan. ‘Smells good.’
‘So do you.’ She kissed the top of his head, and realised with sadness that another couple of centimetres and she’d no longer be looking down on her son. They were both growing so fast. ‘Is Luke out of the shower yet?’
‘I think so.’
‘Make sure he leaves the extractor fan on to get rid of the condensation and picks up the bath mat. I’m dishing up in five minutes.’
‘Okay.’
‘And bring down your football kit so I can wash it. Socks as well this time!’
The stomping of a nine-year-old running up the stairs reached her ears, and she wondered for the nth time how a boy could sound like a herd of elephants.
‘Need a hand with anything?’
Strong arms wrapped around her, and then Scott leaned his chin on her shoulder.
‘All under control, I think.’
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Perfect.’
Jan peered over her shoulder and smiled as her husband of fifteen years opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a bottle of white Rioja.
His hair was still wet from the shower – he’d seized the chance to have one while the boys were still squabbling over that night’s football practice and demanding food like a pair of hungry sparrows. He padded around the kitchen in bare feet, content to relax in a T-shirt and jeans as he fetched plates from the cupboard and gathered cutlery.
Scott filled a glass, then placed it on the worktop next to her and smiled. ‘I’ll lay the table. Those two will never be down in time.’
‘Can you make sure Luke’s out of that shower for me?’
Her husband’s voice carried up the stairs as he wandered out of the kitchen and into the dining area that divided the kitchen from the living room.
She leaned against the worktop and took a sip of wine as the water in the pan next to her began to simmer.
Turning down the heat, mindful that it could be some time before both boys were ready and not wanting to overcook the pasta, her thoughts turned to the case at hand.
Despite what everyone had said about Jessica being well-liked and not inclined to trouble, Jan couldn’t help wondering if there was a hidden side to the teenager that they hadn’t yet uncovered.
The lack of information or clues that might lead to her killer’s motivation worried her – in a lot of murder cases, it transpired that the victim knew their attacker, but who within Jessica’s tight-knit circle of friends had cause to harm her?
And why?
What were the circumstances that led that person to believe that there was no other course of action to take than to kill a young woman who had everything to live for?
Jan sighed, then took another sip of wine before placing the glass next to the chopping board and turning her attenti
on to the pots on the stove.
A moment later, a waft of musk and whatever else was mixed in with the boys’ latest choice of shower gel emanated from the stairs, and her younger son appeared in the doorway, a bundle of clothes in his arms.
‘Did you pick up the bath mat?’ she said.
‘Yes. And I’ve left the fan running. Do you want me to put these in the washing machine?’
‘Please. Have you got all of your brother’s kit, too?’
‘Yep.’
She smiled as Luke crouched by the machine next to the sink, shovelled the clothes inside, and added powder before peering at the dial and selecting the right programme. He might have been Harry’s twin, but he couldn’t be more different in personality.
Where Harry was content to wreak havoc on a daily basis, Luke was retrospective; thoughtful.
‘How was homework tonight?’
He shrugged. ‘All right, I s’pose. History.’
‘Still studying the Romans?’
‘Yes. They’re talking about a field trip when it warms up. Somewhere down in Hampshire – to a villa.’
‘That’d be good. Okay, off you go. I’m about to dish up.’
Luke grinned and scurried away, his voice soon audible over his brother’s as they bickered about what to watch on television after dinner.
Jan turned down the heat on the stove, and then closed her eyes as her mobile phone began to ring from its position next to her handbag in the hallway.
Wiping her hands on a tea towel, she hurried to answer it as Scott peered around the living room door.
‘Do you want me to dish up?’ he said.
She nodded as she saw Turpin’s name displayed on the screen. ‘Looks like I’m needed. Hello, Mark?’
‘Sorry, Jan – I realise you’re probably having dinner with Scott and the boys. How soon can you get over to MacKenzie Adams’ yard?’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nigel White has been found dead.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mark scowled at the full moon blinking through a cloud-strewn sky, and then glared at the activities unfolding in the headlight beams from an ambulance and two patrol cars.
Her Final Hour Page 16
