Journals, Jealousy and Jilted Sweethearts

by Emily Selby

  'I thought we're expected to raise our children to let them lead their own lives,' Katie said. 'But maybe I’m wrong. What was the cause of the fallout between Keith and his parents?'

  He shrugged. 'I think it was about the fact that Keith refused point blank to consider a career in the building industry. He wanted to become a journalist, a writer one day. It was a blow for his father who had worked with his hands all his life. He didn't think highly of journalism. Then Keith married a girl who was younger than him, not a massive age difference, but they didn't feel it was a good match, plus, she's quite sick. They were hoping, Keith and his wife would move closer to look after them in their old age, but with Keith needing to care for his wife. You know, the dynamics had changed.' Michael heaved another sigh. 'But whatever the old animosities between Keith and his parents, I can't imagine David and Patricia killing anyone. They are in their seventies, for goodness sake. Good people. They have dedicated their entire lives to their children. The older brother needs a lot of care. And they put Keith through a good university. Trouble was, he lied to them about the courses he was taking.'

  Katie listened carefully. Even though a little chaotic, Michael's portrayal of Keith was adding an interesting dimension to her understanding of the dead man.

  'Why did he come back, then?'

  'To help his parents run the company, of course. I think they have a very competent manager, but his parents always wanted Keith to inherit the company.'

  Inheritance! She never thought of that.

  'Any idea who benefits from his death?'

  'You'll need to ask his lawyer, if he had one, but I wouldn't be surprised if at least some of his share went to his wife, and some to his older brother. I think the parents might have set up a trust fund to continue paying for his care needs.'

  'The brother is in care?'

  'Yes, autism. He's been disabled all his life. I remember visiting his parents with my parents and feeling very sorry for the poor boy.’

  ‘So, in a nutshell, you don't know who might have wanted him dead?'

  Michael looked away. At the same moment, the noise in the hallway intensified, exploding with children excited voices. Katie glanced to her left. The crowd poured out of the rehearsal room.

  Michael heaved himself off the bench. He straightened his coat.

  'Sorry, got to go. I'd better catch Lisa before she gets involved in a lengthy discussion with anyone,' he said without looking at Katie. 'I'll let you know if I can find any houses that may be suitable for you. As for your last question,' he threw over his shoulder, scanning the crowd that spread in front of him. 'My money would be on his wife.'

  A fast click-clacking of high heels on the stone floor emerged from the white noise background. Katie glanced around to see Lisa, Michael's wife...

  'The murderer is often the spouse, isn't it?' Michael said and strode to greet his wife.

  Katie let his parting words echo in her head. That was definitely not what her intuition was telling her in this case, but she had been learning to use a more rational approach to her amateur sleuthing. Michael, in her experience, had been on the side of reason rather than gut feeling. Although he didn't give any reasons why he would suspect Jane. What should she do with this information?

  Speaking of Jane as the suspect, she really needed to check in with Jack.

  9

  Katie couldn't ring Jack immediately as she was back in her role of mother. She picked up Julia and Ines, her daughter's best friend. They were so full of energy and excited it took a couple of minutes to even get them to button up their coats. The girls started arguing about who should do what in the pantomime on the way to the car, so Katie just switched off. She made sure that they were buckled safely and sufficiently far away from each other not just start a fight.

  'Maybe some music, girls?' she offered turning the radio on. 'You can even sing along,' she added. The car filled with yet another version of Jingle Bells. Katie braced herself, pressing her lips into a thin line. She could just about live through fifteen minutes of Christmas songs. With this level of noise, adding radio to the mix wasn't going to make it much worse. It would, however, drown out some of the squabbling. Nearly thirty years after her parents separated, she still felt anxious and vulnerable whenever somebody in her presence argued.

  'No, mum,' Julia moaned. 'We've had enough music. Mrs Bower was banging on the piano so loud, I couldn't hear anything.'

  'It wasn't Mrs Bower,' Ines corrected. 'It was the piano. Some keys are broken.'

  'I bet it was much more the noise you kids were making,' Katie said and turned the radio are off. She’d been wrong. It was worse with the radio on.

  'So, what are you arguing about?' Katie tackled the problem head-on.

  'I think that we should play music from the computer,' Julia jumped to explain her point. 'It would be easier and better than having Mrs Bower playing piano.'

  'I think music should be the way it was meant to be,' Ines fired back. 'Pantomimes are like that! My mum always says the traditions are here for reason. People cherish them. That's what traditions are for.

  'Uhm... I hear you both,' Katie said smoothly, counting slowly to ten in her head. 'What do the others think?' she tried to shift the focus.

  And breathe...

  She survived. Thank goodness she survived. They all survived. No victims or victors. Or maybe there were some, but Katie just didn't pay attention. Once Ines, in one piece and without scratches, disappeared into her own house, Julia sulked on the backseat.

  Cue silence...

  As Julia had had a quick snack before the practice, Katie sent her straight to her bedroom to do her homework. And Katie installed herself in the kitchen preparing dinner. Fortunately, it consisted only of defrosting a batch-cooked portion of Bolognese sauce with meatballs and boiling a pot of water for the pasta. She could go back to her deliberations over the ending of her text message to Jack. By the time the pasta was in the pot, she was adamant: no crosses or kisses at the end of her message.

  Silly girl, Katie.

  She pulled her phone out of the handbag and typed the message she'd been writing in her head for the past couple of hours.

  'How is it going? Any news on the cause of death? I've talked to a couple of people. The results are interesting, but not impressive. Call me when you can.'

  She pressed the send button before she could start thinking about personalising her message. It was definitely too early for that.

  Messaging Jack made her think back to her conversation with Michael and the earlier one with Chris and Jane. She decided to ring the police station and pass the information she got from Michael, as she’d promised to help Jane and her sister locate a quiet place to stay. She found the number on her contacts list and dialled.

  Surprisingly, Chris answered.

  'You still at work?' she asked him.

  'Yeah, had to stay and help. Rebecca's baby's sick and Celia will come back in the evening, so I can go home.'

  'Is Jane still at the police station?'

  'Yes. Her sister just arrived. Jane's trying to bring her up-to-date with everything. It's been a nightmare.'

  'Sorry, Chris. I hope you get some peace and quiet when you finally get home. I just wanted to say I had a chat with Michael earlier today.'

  'Really? You're quick. I haven't even talked to him yet properly.’

  'No problem. I bumped into him. Literally. While picking up Julia after her drama class.'

  'Did he tell you anything interesting?'

  'Yes and no. I can share it with you, but before I forget, he recommended a quiet hotel on the outskirts of town along the stream. It's called the Sunny Corner. It may be just the place for Jane and her sister to stay.'

  'Hang on a sec, lass. I'll grab a pen,' Chris said. Katie heard scuffling indicating he was searching for a piece of paper and pen. 'What's the name again?'

  Katie repeated the name and the location.

  'I'll look it up,' Chris said. 'Now, share the g
ossip with me.'

  'I wouldn't call it gossip,' Katie protested. 'I don't think Michael gossips. But nevertheless...' Katie outlined her conversation with Michael.

  'So, he did know the guy. It's interesting he suspects the wife, though.'

  'My thoughts exactly,' Katie said. 'Why do you think this might be the case?'

  'No idea. According to your impression, I gather, Michael didn't particularly like Keith or his wife, bur he seems very fond of Keith's parents. What do you think of Michael’s last comment?’ he asked.

  Katie chewed on her cheek. ‘People often make comments that are more related to their own problems or journeys rather than whatever they were supposed to be talking about,' she shared with him.

  'I tend to agree with you on that.'

  'By the way, she is still free, isn't she?'

  'Jane? I think so. I've been too busy with her doctor and then the sister, I haven't yet spoken to your fav–, I mean, DI Heaton,' he paused and corrected himself immediately. 'But Celia got a message from the forensic team that they didn't find anything suspicious in her house.'

  'Was it a murder?'

  'Still no idea. You need to ask your... Jack Heaton.'

  A hot wave flushed over Katie's face and her neck. 'Will you please stop calling him my favourite inspector?' she spluttered.

  'Whoa, Katie. I didn't,' Chris fired back and Katie would swear he grinned. 'I try very hard not to say it. I've promised you not to use it anymore and I've kept my word.'

  Katie inhaled slowly counting to five under her breath. Maybe she was oversensitive. Maybe it was time she actually admitted not only to herself but also to other people that DI Jack Heaton was, in fact, her favourite inspector.

  She’d do it later. Sometime this week. Or after that date next week. Or maybe never.

  'Sorry, Chris. I'm a bit oversensitive after Celia's strange reactions. But going back to the investigation, there was something I forgot to tell you and Jack.'

  'What is it?'

  'Something that happened when I was in the house. I'm not sure if it's of any importance, or if it even happened. Maybe I just imagined it.'

  'What are you talking about, lass?'

  'Do you remember when you walked into the office to talk to us, you lent on a filing cabinet in the corner.'

  'Eh? Maybe.' Chris's voice faded with hesitation.' I can't remember that.'

  'I do. You leant on the cabinet, and it wobbled. And the floor squeaked a little.'

  'So what?'

  'It shouldn't have. It's a new house. I've been in that room a few times, cleaned it once or twice before. The floor was perfect. The furniture is new. It shouldn't have wobbled or squeaked. I need to talk to Jack.'

  'I'll pass it onto him, but I think you should tell him, too.'

  She hang up and dialled Jack's number. But the line was busy, and she dropped the call. Her finger hovered over the text button, but the pasta pot boiled over. The noise of water sizzling on the hot plate filled the kitchen. Katie rushed to the hob to rescue her dinner.

  She'd contact Jack later. Or tomorrow.

  10

  She finally contacted Jack the following morning. He’d sent a message in the night but she was asleep, and she only saw it in the morning.

  'Been busy, sorry. I'll see you in in the office in the morning.'

  At least she knew he was okay.

  She rushed to work with butterflies in her stomach. It still surprised her that even at her mature age of thirty-four (nearly thirty-five, actually, since her birthday was only four months away), having been through the divorce, she was still able to fall head over heels for someone. Even though it was with another policeman. Even though the relationship started because of a murder case.

  When she walked into the office in the morning, Jack was already there, sitting at the desk and tapping away on his laptop. His battered briefcase was by his side and his dark winter jacket draped over the back of his chair. Unlike yesterday, he was dressed in his favourite blue-grey suit with a white shirt and a tie. No more Mr Relaxed...

  'Morning,' Katie called out from the door. 'How are you today?'

  Jack turned around in his chair to face her. A smile burst on his pale face.

  'Good to see you, Katie. I've been dead busy but otherwise I'm fine.'

  'You've been alive busy. And thank goodness for that,' she corrected him.

  He laughed.

  'Indeed. I would be more alive with a cup of fresh coffee.' He pushed himself to his feet. 'I'll make it,' he offered and crossed to the coffee machine. 'Would you like some, too?'

  'I wouldn't mind. But make enough for everybody,' she said, keen to remind him of their morning ritual of drinking coffee with the team. 'Where are they, by the way?'

  'One of the constables on the morning shift has a sick child. I don't know if we found someone to replace her. The other one is out on the patrol, with Inspector Lumley.'

  'The boss is doing a patrol? What about Celia and Chris?'

  'Celia is on this afternoon. Chris is out, doing door to door in the neighbourhood.'

  'Well, at least, he's out catching criminals.' Katie thought back to the yesterday's conversation. 'I'm sure they'll be delighted to have a hot drink when they get back. It's freezing cold outside. I wonder if it might snow today.'

  'Do you get any snow here?'

  'Rarely. It's quite mild. But the temperature dropped below zero last night. I had to scrape my windshield this morning.'

  'Ah, yes! Me too. We don't see snow very often in the Midlands.'

  'You must be quite used to it coming from the Scottish borders.'

  'You bet. But I almost forgot what it's like.'

  Katie took her jacket off and hung it on the back of the nearest chair. She leant on the door to her office and watched Jack prepare the coffee.

  'So, what did you find yesterday? Was it murder? Any interesting findings in the house?'

  'We haven't found much. I'm still waiting for the official autopsy report, but the initial examination suggests that Keith Starr was poisoned with a large dose of a morphine-like substance.'

  'Morphine,' Katie nodded. 'How did he take it?'

  'Very likely in his coffee.'

  Katie's mouth dropped. 'There was no sign of coffee in the house. I don't think they even drink it. Jane doesn't.'

  'Interesting. We only found a jar of instant coffee in the cupboard, but Keith was known to have a cup of coffee before going to his parents, in a little café around the corner, Café Meadows, it's called. Opened in the summer, when there was a lot of construction work in the nearby sites. The owner has been thinking of closing for winter, but she's decided to spend some time setting everything up and, since she's there anyway, she keeps it open.'

  The machine started to gurgle, and the room filled with the aroma of brewing java. Katie mulled over the information she had just learned.

  'Someone added poison to his coffee at Café Meadows, then?'

  'Looks like it,' Jack said reaching for clean mugs.

  'And you didn't find any evidence it could have been a suicide?'

  'Nothing in the house or his possessions indicated this. His wife still maintains a suicide would have been against his beliefs.'

  'Was it a murder, then?'

  He pushed his glasses up his forehead and rubbed his face. 'Sorry, still jetlagged,' he mumbled.

  'So, was it murder?' she prodded him.

  'I can’t answer that question,' he replied without looking at her.

  'Hang on, Inspector I-Need-Evidence,' she said probably a little too loud. 'Young man, a toxic dose of a drug he didn't use served to him in his coffee, not a suicide, he's dead within thirty minutes, and you're telling me it's not a suspicious death?'

  Jack turned on his heel to face her. 'Alright then, suspected murder. Does it help you with anything?'

  Katie shrugged. 'I suppose, it helps with the way I think about it. Although I do understand you need to have the autopsy and the coroner's verdict and
all that blah-blah...'

  'It's not a blah-blah.'

  'Okay then. Sorry. I'm just stuck. I can't find anything to start with.'

  'Welcome to my world,' he said and flashed her a false grin. He turned back to the machine and poured the coffee. He handed her one steaming mug and grabbed the other.

  'So, poison in his coffee,' Katie picked up the thread. 'Did you manage to get a sample?'

  'No. Sadly, by the time we reached the conclusion, everything had been already washed and put away.'

  'You've talked to the café owner, I presume?'

  'Yesterday morning. She was devastated. Jessica Derwent is her name. Keith was the only customer that morning. She didn't see anything suspicious, but she was busy setting up some new equipment that arrived last week.'

  Katie squinted her eyes. 'I can hear in your voice that somehow she is not a suspect.'

  'No,' Jack said, sipping his coffee. 'Interestingly enough, she had a CCTV on inside the café recording everything. We've watched the recordings. We can see her on the screen all the time, disappearing maybe for a few seconds in the back room with some stuff and coming back. There is no chance it could have been her.'

  'But she made the coffee?'

  'She did, and she'd made herself a coffee from the same batch before she made one for Keith. Then, the machine broke down again, as she explained. She had called the manufacturer to have a look at it on Friday. That's why, when Keith walked in for the second time, she brewed a pot in the little filter machine.'

  'If there was something wrong with the coffee machine-'

  'We've checked it. Nothing wrong with the beans or the water. She claimed her coffee tasted absolutely normal. She didn't appear to fiddle with the machine before or after making the cup for Keith. I went through those footage frame by frame. If anything, the poison must have been added to his coffee when the cup was on the table and Keith came back in for the newspapers.'