by Carol Wyer
‘Why didn’t she block him at that point?’
‘I honestly don’t know. She insisted he was harmless and he’d get bored.’
‘Did he?’
Alicia shook her head. ‘He began waiting outside the solicitors’ offices for her to finish work. He’d invite her for a friendly drink or meal and she’d brush him off, only for him to reappear a few days later. The day he appeared with a massive bunch of red roses, she threatened him with the police and he burst into tears! She caved in and they went to a café to talk it through. She thought they’d reached an understanding, and accepted she’d be there for him as a friend.’
‘But Kevin didn’t see it the same way?’
‘He persisted in leaving emoji hearts on all her posts and then Laura’s boyfriend got the wrong end of the stick, thought she was two-timing him with Kevin, and split up with her. She was absolutely wrecked. She came off social media altogether, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t speak to anyone, not even me. Then she started taking medication for depression and did some stupid shit. You probably know about the shoplifting incident in February.’
‘Yes.’
‘She was going through a really crappy time. Her head was all over the place and she didn’t even know why she stole the clothes from Primark. Getting into trouble with the police made matters worse. She chucked in her job, moved out of her flat in Stafford and headed for a spot where she could be more anonymous, where nobody knew about the shoplifting, her relationship, nothing.’
‘To Abbots Bromley?’
‘Yeah. She thought she could live there in relative obscurity.’
‘It’s quite near to where Kevin lives.’
‘He lives in Stafford, doesn’t he?’
‘He lives in Hamstall Ridware, which is only five miles away from Abbots Bromley.’
‘Shit! I didn’t know that. He definitely told us at the reunion party that he lived in Stafford.’
Kate nodded. ‘Did Laura reinstate her Facebook page after she moved?’
‘Yes, but she deleted everything from it before then and started afresh.’
‘Having first blocked Kevin?’
‘Yes.’
‘You said her boyfriend split up with her because of Kevin. What do you know about this man?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘No.’
‘Surely she must have let slip a first name or shown you a photograph of him?’
Alicia lifted damp eyes. ‘You had to know Laura to understand her. She wasn’t like my other friends. She was a very private person.’
‘Even with you?’
‘She’d have told me eventually, but after he dumped her, she wouldn’t talk about him at all.’
It was a similar explanation to the one Laura’s father had given. For some odd reason, Laura had kept her boyfriend’s identity a secret. ‘No first name?’
‘No.’ Alicia blew her nose. Kate searched for any indication the woman was holding back information and saw nothing other than desolation at the loss of a dear friend.
‘Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell us about this man? Maybe where he lived, or worked, or what make of car he drove?’
‘I wish I could help you, but I can’t. She didn’t tell me a single thing about him.’
‘Did you ask her why she wouldn’t tell you?’
‘No, and that’s why we remained friends for such a long time. We understood each other.’
Alicia rotated the bracelet rhythmically around her wrist as she spoke, each sentence accompanied by pulling and twisting, until Kate thought it would break apart. Tears trickled down her already-flushed cheeks. Kate eased off with the questions, instead thanking the young woman for her time and ensuring she’d be okay alone until her housemate turned up.
Ervin had excelled himself and arranged for two officers, as well as a locksmith, to meet Kate at Laura’s house. It didn’t take many minutes before the front door opened onto a wooden staircase and Kate found herself walking into a simple, light and bright room. The soles of her shoes squeaked across the pale wooden floorboards and she halted in front of a tan, two-seater settee, filled with plump cushions and a throw in muted colours. Above it, the words love your journey were written on the cream wall in a large cursive, gold font. The room was calming and Kate wondered if this had been Laura’s spiritual space, a thought compounded by the white, ornate shrine, containing a collection of crystals, ornaments and a golden Buddha.
Kate directed the officers to search for laptops, mobile devices, anything that could help them to learn more about the victim. ‘Oh,’ she added, ‘and look out for a cat!’
The living room surprised Kate. A shining houseplant seemed to beckon to her, and she couldn’t resist caressing one of the strangely comforting rubber-textured leaves. It was one of five plants, all flourishing in white containers that occupied some of the floor space. She peered through the slats of snow-white wooden shutters and watched a tractor rumble past. There was no sound or vibration from it in this room. She pulled away, caught a glimpse of herself in a white-framed mirror as she traversed into another room, also small and minimalist, with large prints of gentle waves covering the walls and four pale blue wishbone chairs around a matching circular table. A copy of Spirit & Destiny magazine lay open on the table and, next to it, an empty china mug bearing a design of a hummingbird.
The last room on the ground floor was a galley kitchen, uncluttered apart from a litter tray and a grey cat tree containing five platforms, hanging balls, an integrated basket and a cushion at the highest point. She opened drawers, checked cupboards, but there was no mobile phone. She approached the back door, glanced at the empty food bowl and the name on it – Charcoal. The rectangular window at eye-height gave her a glimpse into a garden much smaller than her own, with only room enough for a bench and another cat house, a truly magnificent structure with two sets of ladders leading to separate sleeping areas, a dangling play rope, several platforms and hammocks. It was clear Laura had adored her feline companion. At the top of it, some two hundred centimetres from the ground, was a curled-up ball of dark grey fur.
She returned to the sitting room, and headed upstairs. ‘I’ve found the cat,’ she called.
‘I’ll collect it when we finish,’ came the reply from behind an open door. Kate followed the voice, and peered into a generously proportioned bedroom with a separate dressing area, filled with white louvred door wardrobes, where an officer was conducting a search of the contents.
Struck by the room’s luminosity, she entered. It was longer than it was wide: a king-sized bed in the middle of the room and, in front of a wide window, a cream wicker chair with white cushions. Kate drifted towards a bookcase, picked up the photograph of a woman posing with an open book in her hand. Pale-faced and hollow-cheeked, she was still hauntingly beautiful. She guessed it to be Megan. Laura’s mother. She replaced it next to another healthy plant and caught sight of her own pasty complexion in a stand-alone mirror; white tealights were carefully balanced on its base. She tucked in her blouse and moved through the archway separating the sleeping accommodation from the dressing space. The open wardrobes revealed pairs of what Kate would call sensible shoes, flat-heeled and comfortable, all polished and lined in pairs on racks. The clothes were assembled according to colour – white to the left and black to the right. Laura favoured neutral colours punctuated by a few items in pink. The officer was on his knees, rifling through labelled boxes. The block capital letters denoted their contents: tax returns, bills, house documents, bank statements, photographs. Laura’s world had been one of order.
‘No electronic devices?’ she asked the officer.
‘Nothing.’
The killer must have taken her phone. ‘She had internet access, didn’t she?’
He glanced up. ‘Sure, but she doesn’t seem to have used anything to connect to it other than a Bluetooth speaker over there on the bedside locker.’
The other officer app
eared and dangled a set of car keys. ‘Keys to a Smart car.’
A quick phone call would ascertain the vehicle’s registration, although Kate was sure she’d spotted a silver and white Smart car parked nearby. She took the key, headed for the furthest window in the bedroom and aimed it at the car in the street. The rear lights flashed on and off. Locking it again, she stepped around the male officer, reached for the box of photographs and opened the lid. There were only a handful of pictures, mostly of Laura as a child with two adults. One was the woman in the picture, and she recognised Richard Dean’s solemn face as the other. There were a few snaps of Laura in India. The date on the back indicated they were taken in 2018. She pulled out one – an iconic image of the Taj Mahal, with Laura seated on the very bench where Princess Diana had posed in 1992, in a now famous shot, capturing her disintegrating marriage. She looked at Laura’s half-smile and pale face, searching for a clue as to who she really was, but saw only loneliness. Her phone rang and Emma’s name flashed up.
‘We’ve got Kevin Shire here for interview.’
‘I’m on my way. Don’t start for twenty minutes. I should be back soon after that.’
She replaced the photos and handed over the car key. ‘I have to go.’ The locksmith would ensure the place was left securely. ‘Oh, the cat is in the garden, on top of a cat tree house. Make sure you take it with you.’
Back at the station, she raced upstairs to the room adjacent to the one where Emma and Jamie were questioning Laura’s old schoolfriend, Kevin. She settled in front of the monitor to watch.
With an acne-riddled complexion and eyes so pale they almost looked white, Kevin sat slack-jawed as Emma asked him about his movements the evening before. He picked at the skin around his thumb, already inflamed. His voice was light, barely audible.
‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
‘You don’t understand the question?’ asked Emma.
‘I understand the question. You’re asking me where I was last night. What I don’t understand is why you’re asking me. Why me?’ He looked from Emma to Jamie, confusion pulling at his features, elongating them as if his face was melting away.
‘I’ve already explained we’re looking into Laura Dean’s death. We know you were friends with her and we’re talking to everyone who knew her.’
‘Did she die last night?’
‘Kevin, I’m asking you for help.’
‘I don’t get it. What happened to her?’
‘For the moment, we’re treating her death as suspicious and are waiting for the results of a post-mortem, which will give us some answers.’ Emma delivered the line with practised ease. In the room, invisible to them, Kate nodded approvingly. It was wise not to give out too much information, especially at this stage of an investigation. ‘And we’re talking to as many people as possible who knew her.’
He turned pleading eyes onto Jamie. ‘You don’t think I hurt her, do you?’
‘Kevin, please answer my question.’ Emma’s voice carried gravitas and had the desired effect.
‘I would never harm a hair on her head. Laura was lovely.’
‘You liked her?’
‘A lot. She was kind and helped me through a difficult time.’
‘You were in the same class, weren’t you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘What was your relationship with Laura back then?’
‘Relationship? There wasn’t any relationship.’
‘Were you friends then?’
‘Not especially.’
‘Did you like her?’
‘I’m not sure what you’re trying to suggest. I guess so. She was pretty but I was a . . . I wasn’t the most attractive boy in the class and girls didn’t notice me.’ He gave a reptilian blink. Kate’s gaze sharpened as she studied his body language; there was no defensive posturing, no fiddling, no squirming at the questions. He was either telling the truth or masterful at disguising his reactions.
‘When did you last see Laura?’
He cocked his head to one side and appeared to ponder the question. ‘Ages ago. Last November or maybe early December. I can’t be sure.’
‘Tell me what happened the last time you saw her.’
‘We argued.’ The answer was filled with sadness and accompanied by a small sigh. Kate couldn’t decide if it was genuine or not. There was something about this man that screamed distrustful to her.
‘What did you argue about?’
‘It was stupid, really. Laura got it into her head I was being too, what was the word she used, “clingy”? I didn’t see it that way.’
‘And what made her interpret your actions otherwise?’
He gave a loose shrug. ‘Honestly? I really don’t know. She said I was too active on her Facebook page, liking all her posts and leaving comments. I wasn’t any more active than a lot of her other close friends. It’s not like I wrote anything threatening. Quite the opposite in fact.’
‘Did she explain why she was bothered by your actions?’
‘No, only that she wanted me to stop messaging her, commenting on her posts and she didn’t want to see me any more. We’d been popping out now and again for a coffee and a chat after work. It had given us both a chance to talk things through. She still missed her mum. Her dad shacked up with a bloke, you know? She couldn’t stand his new partner.’ He blinked again. The once. Kate focused on his face. There were no involuntary twitches that accompanied emotion, no furrowing of brows, no sign of anything. ‘I never fully understood why she put a stop to our meet-ups but I respected her wishes and backed off.’ Kate shook her head. The man was lying. She hoped Emma was picking up on the same signals.
‘And what happened next?’
This time he stared at the ceiling before replying. ‘I liked a selfie she posted. It was dumb of me but some people had already liked it and I stupidly thought it would boost her confidence if she saw how popular the post was.’
‘Why would that help her?’ asked Emma.
‘Laura didn’t understand how pretty she really was. She always put herself down, made out she was uninteresting. She wasn’t able to accept a compliment. She was the same at school.’
‘And what happened next?’
‘She got majorly pissed at me and messaged me some bullshit about how I’d ruined her life. I answered but by then, she’d already disabled her account. I didn’t understand what she was so het up about, but I figured it would blow over. After a couple of weeks, when she hadn’t come back on Facebook, I stopped by Tomkins Solicitors to see if she was okay. She wouldn’t see me. Apparently, she was too tied up with work, so I tried her friend, Alicia, but she’d blocked me on Facebook too. I gave up then. Laura clearly didn’t want anything to do with me. I haven’t seen her since.’
‘Were you aware she’d moved to Abbots Bromley in late February this year?’
His eyes opened wide, mouth too in an over-exaggerated display of surprise. Kate honed in on every minor movement. You could tell a lot by people’s reactions and what they didn’t say, as much as what they actually said. ‘How did I not know that? I sometimes drink in the Goats Head.’ He’d offered the information without hesitation. Kate had come across suspects before who’d voluntarily given away information in an attempt to appear helpful and innocent. Kate was confident Emma would see through any act. She was playing it cool, picking up on his response and using it as direction for her next question.
‘Really? When did you last drink in there?’ She maintained an almost casual tone, nodding encouragement.
‘Last night.’
‘You were in Abbots Bromley last night?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘What time would this have been?’
‘I got there about seven and stayed for a couple of hours.’
‘Is there anybody who can vouch for your movements?’
‘Hang on a minute, why would they need to do that?’
‘I’d prefer it if you answered the question.’
‘Wa
s she killed in Abbots Bromley? That’s it, isn’t it? She was murdered in the village and you think I did it. Well, I didn’t. I was in the pub all night.’
‘And who can vouch for that?’
‘Erm. Well, I didn’t see anyone there I know. Maybe the barman would remember me. I sat on my own.’
‘You were in the pub for two hours, on your own?’
Kevin merely shrugged a response. ‘I often drink on my own. That isn’t a crime, is it?’ He looked at Jamie, moistened his lips.
‘Mate, I didn’t kill her.’
‘I’m not your mate. My name is DC Webster.’
Kevin pouted for a moment. ‘Sorry, DC Webster.’
‘Tell me, Kevin, do you work out at all?’ asked Emma.
‘Work out?’
‘At a gym? A club?’
‘I don’t have a membership anywhere.’
‘Are you saying you don’t work out?’
‘I sometimes work out at home, and go running now and again.’
‘What about martial arts?’
‘I did Judo when I was a kid. Why?’
Emma ignored his question. ‘What level did you reach?’
‘Shodan.’
‘You must have been keen. How many years did you practise?’
‘Six. Then I gave it up. Why are you asking me about Judo?’
Again, Emma did not answer his question. ‘We’re going to need a list of names of the people who were at the pub with you and anyone else who you think saw you there,’ said Emma.
‘I don’t know the names of any of the guys who were drinking there!’
‘But you go there sometimes to drink.’
