Murder in the Fens: An utterly gripping English cozy mystery novel (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 4)

by Clare Chase

  ‘I’d say there’s more to find out on that score,’ Blake said. ‘And that “John” is probably out there, whether or not that’s his real name.’

  Twelve

  Max was with Jez and Megan at the Tram Depot pub. It was mid-evening, and they’d all have to be in work again early, but he hadn’t been able to face the thought of sitting alone at home with the image of Julie Cooper’s body in his mind’s eye. The student had been five years younger than Max’s wife when she’d died, but seeing the body still brought back memories. A beer and company was good – especially when the company included Megan. If Jez hadn’t been there, he could have relaxed properly, but he wasn’t being fair. He knew he needed to make an effort.

  ‘Does Tara ever come along to the pub?’ Jez lounged against the bar next to Megan. His thick blond fringe had fallen forward and he looked at Max’s fellow DS from under it, a light in his blue eyes. A confident swagger; that was what the guy had.

  Nothing wrong with that, of course.

  Megan raised an eyebrow. ‘Sometimes.’

  Jez gave a slow smile. ‘She said she had a “prior engagement” this evening. I wasn’t sure if she was teasing me. She had a look in her eye.’

  Megan’s expression was wry now. ‘Ah yes, I think I know the one.’

  ‘It is Sunday though,’ Max said, taking the beer the bartender had poured him. ‘Not unnatural for people to have other plans.’ He paused. He knew what Tara was up to, but if he said, would he be sharing her private life with Jez in a way she wouldn’t want? It sounded as though she’d been holding back. Whether she’d been playing hard to get, or had reservations about the new DC, he wasn’t sure. ‘I think she might have been seeing family,’ he said at last.

  Megan glanced at him as he spoke and he took in her beautiful dark eyes. She’d asked him out, earlier in the year, but instead of saying yes, he’d panicked. He’d been kicking himself ever since, but her move had taken him by surprise. He hadn’t been in a relationship since Susie had died. For a second his gaze slid to Jez. He bet the guy hadn’t known a moment’s anxiety in his life. And he was smiling at Megan right now.

  ‘What about the DI? He doesn’t hobnob with the likes of us?’

  ‘There’s no arrogance to Blake,’ Max said. He had Megan’s attention again now, but for the wrong reasons. She felt he defended their boss too quickly, even though the DI treated them both with respect. It was one of the few things they disagreed about. ‘He’ll have dashed back home to help his wife with their children. Kitty’s only seven and they’ve got a four-month-old baby too.’

  Jez took a sip of his beer. ‘That explains it. I didn’t know he’d got kids. The day after I arrived, I almost wondered if there was something between him and Tara.’

  Megan opened her mouth to speak and Max decided to leap in.

  ‘They got to know each other before Tara joined the force.’ He set down his beer for a moment. ‘She was a journalist back then, and they investigated the same murder. Tara was one of the killer’s targets, so it was pretty intense. Her old boss here, Patrick Wilkins, had it in for her and spread rumours about the pair of them, but it was all rubbish.’

  The smile spread across Jez’s face once more. ‘Good to know. Thanks.’

  Megan had closed her mouth again. Max knew she found it hard to dismiss the accusations Wilkins had bandied about, and he couldn’t entirely blame her. There was a spark between Tara and Blake, that was the trouble. He’d seen it at work: watched as his DI had held the DC in his arms after she’d escaped from a burning building. But that didn’t mean they were having an affair. Blake was one of the good guys, and Tara wouldn’t break up a family. Her own background – which he’d gradually picked up on – meant she knew childhood could be a tricky time. Her actor mother – the now-famous Lydia Thorpe – had had her as a teenager. Her father, Robin, hadn’t wanted to know. He was now a well-established architect in the city, happily married with three children he and his wife Melissa much preferred to Tara. Lydia’s career took off when Tara was small, and so she’d mainly been looked after by a cousin of her mum’s – Bea. Max had met Bea once. The bond between her and Tara was as strong as any he’d seen, but he reckoned the distance her mother had kept still rankled. Knowing your father had tried to persuade your mother to abort you couldn’t be easy, either…

  Max picked up his drink again. ‘I can’t imagine what it must be like for the DI, to go from discussing the results of a post-mortem, to playing with his kids.’

  Jez raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds like a challenge. Mind you, the thought of having kids at all would have me running for the hills.’ He made it sound like something to be proud of.

  Megan had stuck with a lemonade and she sipped it now. ‘Ah, you’ll change your mind. Find the right woman, and before you know it…’

  It sounded as though Megan must want kids, then. Max was disconcerted to find himself interested in the fact.

  Jez’s slow smile was back in place. ‘Not me. I like my independence. Besides, I’ve already been married once. Big mistake. Once bitten, twice shy.’

  Megan looked discomfited for a moment. She wasn’t sure if she’d put her foot in it, Max guessed.

  But Jez seemed entirely relaxed. ‘Sure you don’t want a shot of something in that drink?’ He was leaning forward, coaxing her. Max felt all his muscles tense.

  She grinned, and shook her head, making her glossy chestnut curls dance. ‘Quite sure, thanks. I’m running on empty as it is.’

  An hour later, they were all still there. Eventually, they’d managed to secure some bar stools, but Max was knackered now. All the same, he didn’t want to leave first… which was ridiculous. He wasn’t even managing to contribute to the conversation – unlike Jez, who was coming up with witty comment after witty comment. At last, Max got up.

  ‘Right. I’d better be off.’

  He didn’t like to acknowledge the relief he felt when Megan glanced at her watch, raised her eyebrows and slipped off her stool as well.

  ‘Heck, me too. I might be on sugary drinks, but they won’t replace sleep.’

  Jez gave her what Max felt was a knowing look. Did he think something might happen if the two of them were left alone together?

  ‘My car’s still at the station,’ Jez said, ‘so I’m going to cut back through Adam and Eve Street. Would either of you guys like a lift?’

  It was Megan who shook her head first. ‘I think a walk might help me sleep.’

  He nodded, a smile still playing round his lips. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  Max hesitated. ‘You haven’t had too many to drive home?’ He couldn’t leave it unsaid.

  Jez laughed. ‘Good God, no. I’m a big guy, don’t forget. Besides, I’ve not got far to go.’

  Max knew he’d moved to Cambridge from Newmarket when he’d joined them, but he was also well aware that accidents could happen within minutes of home. He thought again of Susie. As he and Megan started walking, he wished he’d kept track of what the DC had drunk.

  Max lived on the north side of town, further out than Megan. It had been pure luck that he’d already been in town earlier when the call about the body at Wandlebury came through. He might nip on a bus once they reached her place.

  ‘What do you think of him?’ he said, nodding over his shoulder in the direction Jez had taken.

  Megan glanced sideways at Max, a twinkle in her eye. ‘A charmer.’

  That much, I’d noticed. But he hadn’t warmed to the guy himself. He wondered about the story behind Jez’s marriage break-up. Normally, the mention of it wouldn’t have made him pause, but he couldn’t imagine the DC being faithful for five minutes. He gave Megan a look. ‘I think Blake’s got reservations. Not that he’s said anything.’

  Megan raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I think Jez has got designs on Tara. That might be what’s putting the DI on his guard.’ He opened his mouth but she held up a hand and smiled. ‘Even if it’s only a subconscious reaction.’

  �
��Back there in the pub I thought it might be you he had designs on.’

  Her smile broadened now and she cast him a sidelong glance. ‘I think it’s just his way. Why? Would you mind?’

  He cocked his head to one side. They were walking along East Road now, one of the least romantic locations in Cambridge. A drunk guy was lolling against a wall outside a kebab shop, making guttural sounds in his throat. They made Max want to pass him at speed. If he and Megan got spewed on it would definitely ruin the moment.

  He moved a couple of inches closer to her. ‘What do you think? I only stuck it out in the pub for so long because I thought he’d leap on you the moment I left.’

  Her eyes met his. ‘So, if I suggested the cinema again…?’

  The last time she’d asked he wasn’t convinced he could manage an evening out without getting emotional. Plus, he hadn’t been sure if she’d meant as a date. He got it now.

  ‘I’d say it was an excellent suggestion.’

  She moved closer to him as a fire engine sped past, its sirens blaring, and the guy behind them finally threw up.

  ‘Plenty more suggestions where that came from.’

  Thirteen

  John slumped towards his landline’s base station and tried to put the handset back into the charger. The phone slipped and fell to the tiled floor below, cracking across its cheap plastic backing.

  He didn’t glance at it; didn’t even see it, consciously. Julie’s face was clear in his mind’s eye: her pale complexion, her raven-black hair and those eyes. They were like deep pools of the purest water. He’d looked into them and seen her conviction; seen the fire under the surface. He’d been too tired to share that feeling. He’d spent so many years living a half-life, caught in a place removed from reality, because reality was too painful.

  He’d damped down his guilt for a long time. He was ashamed that he’d managed to lock it away for such an extended period. After a rocky patch as a child – when he’d almost gone under – a teacher at school had made him believe for a while that he might have a normal life. He’d studied, and somehow managed to drink his way through university and still get a first. More of the same followed as he’d completed his PhD. He’d been able to work and to party and to blank it all out. But then – when life slowed down and he got a steady job – the cracks had started to show again.

  He imagined them – small and hairline at first. But he couldn’t quell the taint that was inside him. It pushed its way into the fissures and made them wider. And they spread, until they covered every part of him.

  It was true. The police would come. Maybe not tomorrow. It might take them a few days. But they would find out about him, and they would come. The advice that he should be ready was intended to protect the reputations of others, not his own. He knew that.

  His recent actions would have a knock-on effect.

  He should never have— He tried to block out the memory of that day in his office. His lips on Julie’s. Her kissing him back. And then his hands…

  She’d offered him the chance to try to suppress the past again – to block out the evil that was inside him. But you couldn’t stopper something like that.

  Dimly, he remembered her telling him it wasn’t too late. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be that bad. People would understand. He wasn’t a bad person.

  That was what she’d thought. But she’d been wrong.

  His house was about to be repossessed, but as he picked up his bottle of whisky, homelessness wasn’t on his mind, any more than his broken phone was. He swigged from the bottle, the liquid filling his throat with fire.

  As he closed his eyes the visions in his brain flickered between Julie and a dark and lonely road, high up in the mountains.

  Fourteen

  Tara’s mum, Lydia, had texted her to let her know she, Bea and Kemp had let themselves into her house. Bea had a spare key.

  Tara’s cottage stood in a bit of no-man’s land, close to the River Cam. As she walked across the dark, deserted meadows to reach it she could see Lydia’s elegant figure, framed in a brightly lit window. She’d got a glass in her hand. They’d clearly opened a bottle then… and that would be Tara’s mum’s doing. Bea would have waited and Kemp liked his beer. Tara had put four in the fridge earlier that day, before she was called over to Wandlebury.

  The collision of home and work life was always hard to handle. She couldn’t imagine hooking up with a partner permanently; someone who lived a normal life and would expect her to bounce home – bright and cheerful – at the end of a long day. Amongst her visitors, at least Kemp was an ex-cop, so he’d understand. And Bea would get it too, just because she was like that. But her mother – well, her actress mother was more familiar with on-screen detectives.

  Tara put her shoulders back and unlocked the front door. She found Bea in the kitchen.

  ‘I brought something to heat up,’ she said. ‘It’s in the fridge. Nothing special – just leftovers from the hungry hordes.’

  Bea ran a traditional boarding house, just across the river in Chesterton. She was the best cook Tara had ever been fed by, and she’d been training Kemp up quite successfully too – somewhat against the odds. He lacked the air of a domestic god.

  ‘You’re a saint. Thank you.’

  Tara still wasn’t exactly sure where Kemp fitted into Bea’s domestic set-up. He’d started by staying at the boarding house because he needed to be in Cambridge. Bea was a big fan of Kemp’s and had insisted that he pay friends’ rates. Her hero-worship stemmed from the support Kemp had given Tara when she’d been stalked. His calm practicality, and the self-defence tricks he’d passed on, had combined to put Tara back on the rails again. Over the last few months he’d found time to help Bea renovate some of her guest rooms – to help pay his way, so he said. And earlier that year, Tara had got the impression that things had moved on between the pair of them. He was at the boarding house more often than not now, helping with the clientele. It had been just over a year since Bea’s husband, Greg, had died. Tara guessed she and Kemp were taking things slowly. The set-up made her happy and nostalgic at the same time. At one point she’d been in a relationship of sorts with Kemp, but that was a long while ago now. And he and Bea were much closer in age.

  ‘I’ve been keeping up with the news.’ Bea gave Tara’s shoulder a squeeze. She knew of old that Tara wouldn’t want to talk about the murder, but her eyes said it all.

  Tara put her hand on Bea’s for a moment and squeezed back. She hesitated. ‘Was there any post for me when you came in?’

  Bea frowned. ‘I’m not sure. Kemp was first through the door. Probably not – not on a Sunday – but were you expecting anything?’

  Since the packet of dead bees that had arrived six months earlier, Tara hadn’t been able to switch off the adrenaline that hit her when she came home at night, even on days when there was no official delivery. She’d had parcels and messages sent by hand in the past. ‘No, nothing special. I just wondered.’ She went to the fridge to get the food Bea had brought with her. ‘Has everyone got drinks?’ She called the question through to the sitting room where her mother and Kemp must be lurking, even though she already knew the answer. Pointed, but fair.

  ‘Doing well thanks, mate.’ From the fridge contents she could see Kemp was on his third beer.

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘And I am too, thank you, darling.’ Lydia appeared now and leant in to give Tara a kiss on the cheek, holding her glass to one side. ‘We went straight ahead. I was feeling the need.’

  She was staying over at Bea’s that night. Tara still had no spare bed and at times like this, that was an advantage. Lydia probably felt the same – she wouldn’t want to rough it at Tara’s isolated, draughty cottage. The cows on the common could make a racket in the early mornings too. The lack of a bed provided them both with a polite excuse.

  Tara’s mind was still on the drinks. ‘Wonderful. Do keep on going. I might even have one myself!’

  ‘Oh, good idea.’ Lydia ga
ve her a smile, clearly oblivious to any undercurrents. She leant against the kitchen wall, a move Tara reckoned was designed to show the level of her exhaustion.

  ‘Here, let me get you one.’ Bea moved towards the bottle Tara had, sitting on the worktop.

  But that wasn’t fair. Bea would have been coping with all her regular paying guests and now she’d got Lydia to look after as well.

  ‘You sit down,’ she said to Bea. ‘Honestly. I’ll stick your food in the oven.’ She peered at it. Chicken in a sauce that smelled of cider. ‘It looks amazing.’ She turned to her mother’s cousin. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’ Tara meant it. She was just that – and had been for Tara’s entire upbringing. ‘So how did it go with Harry’s drop-off?’ She turned to her mother as she unscrewed the lid on a bottle of gin.

  ‘Fine, fine. Everyone at Bosworth College was charming.’

  That tended to be the case when you were a star of stage and screen. But Tara had really wanted to know how it had been for Harry. He was her half-brother – wanted from birth in a way that she hadn’t been. They’d only started to get to know each other better just recently, and she was now prepared to overlook the fact that he was treasured.

  ‘What did Harry think?’

  ‘Well, his room’s quite poky,’ Lydia said. Tara’s mother lived in a mansion, out in the Fens. ‘But a nice second year student told me the accommodation gets better, later in your degree. And the other freshers seem friendly. I’m sure he won’t regret coming here.’

  He’d had a good, hard think about it, though. His father – Tara’s stepfather, Benedict (currently in Munich on business) – had encouraged him very heavily to take up his offer. Bosworth was Benedict’s old college. Lydia and Benedict had tried to enlist Tara as their PR woman, wanting her to convince Harry how nice it was, living in Cambridge proper. She’d thought he ought to make up his own mind. She made a mental note ask him out for a coffee soon.