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

by Clare Chase

  ‘And you’re not interested?’

  They’d reached Tara’s house now, and she wheeled her bike round the outside towards her back garden. It took her a moment to get the back gate open as she fumbled with her keys. At last, she shoved the bike into the tatty area of grass behind her cottage. ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No offence, but I wouldn’t recommend dating a copper.’

  ‘I used to date you – if you can call our casual liaisons dating. The dives you used to take me to!’

  She heaved her bike into the shed, removed her bag from the pannier, and locked up.

  ‘I did my best!’

  She met Kemp’s injured expression and laughed. ‘I bet you take Bea to posher places.’

  For a moment he looked as though he’d been caught out, but then he grinned too. ‘The best pubs in Cambridge, naturally. But going back to dating police officers, it wasn’t the same when we went out. I’m an ex-cop. Saw the error of my ways. World of difference there.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She led the way to back to the front door and let them in. ‘Well, I’m a cop, and I’m all right, aren’t I?’

  No post on the doormat…

  ‘Passable.’

  ‘Thank you. And you’ve met Blake. He’s okay?’

  ‘Almost weirdly so.’

  ‘So you can’t really write Jez off after fifteen seconds’ conversation. Lager?’

  ‘That’d be great, mate, cheers.’

  But when she handed him the can, his eyes were serious. ‘Let’s just say, I think you’ve got the right idea, taking things slowly.’

  Bea had always been like a surrogate mum to Tara, and Kemp had looked after her too – from the moment he’d started her self-defence lessons as a teenager. He was protective. And these days there was a danger of the pair of them working as a team, worrying over her well-being from the sidelines. He opened his mouth as though he was about to say something more, but Tara held up a hand.

  ‘Don’t worry. That’s why I said no tonight when he asked me out to the pub. I can take care of myself. And if he comes on too strong, I can even use one of your moves on him.’

  She met Kemp’s brown-eyed gaze, expecting him to laugh, but it didn’t happen.

  ‘All right.’

  They were in an odd situation. They’d been in a relationship once, and they loved each other as friends. She understood his concern, but she needed to make her own way now. Kemp seemed weirdly settled (for him) and Blake was deep in some kind of complicated relationship she didn’t understand. Tara needed to move on, too. She wasn’t after a lasting partnership, but she ought to have some fun.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ She turned to reach a bottle of red down from a shelf, removed the screw cap and poured herself a glass.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks. Want me to rustle you something up?’

  Now that Bea had trained him, it would be perfectly safe to accept, but she shook her head. ‘I’ve got leftovers from Saturday night. I’ll give them a reheat whilst we chat.’ She pulled a plate of risotto out of the fridge and stuffed it in the microwave. ‘So, what’s up with you? You said you needed to talk?’

  Kemp took a deep breath. ‘Sorry – I feel a bit stupid bringing it up now. You’d guessed about me and Bea, then?’

  She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Uh – yeah. You’re part love-struck kids, part old married couple. I find it endearing.’

  He grinned. ‘You don’t mind?’

  She didn’t; she was happy for them. So why did tears choose that moment to mount an attack? ‘Sorry. It makes me emotional, but I definitely don’t mind. Why on earth are you asking me about this now?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You’re not about to take it to another level with her when you go back home, are you?’

  He laughed. ‘Nah. But we have been talking about me moving into the boarding house permanently. It’s coming to a head, and I couldn’t make a change like that without talking to you first. Bea felt the same.’

  And she’d have been fretting about it, whereas Kemp seemed relaxed. The microwave pinged and Tara swallowed. ‘I’m so glad I met you, all those years ago. You’re brilliant for Bea. Two of my favourite people shacking up together is not a problem.’

  ‘Bea would love to hear you call it that.’

  She grinned. ‘I know. But someone’s got to lighten the mood. And I can’t have you sitting there watching me eat.’ She could see he’d already drained his beer. ‘Bog off back to her and get planning.’

  As Tara ate her risotto in silence, she thought about Jez. Had he really been fed up when Kemp appeared? She supposed she had told him she was too tired to go for a drink, but then agreed quite readily to chat when someone else was doing the asking. But it was none of his business what she did. If he’d been as annoyed as Kemp had implied, it was out of order. A little light disappointment, on the other hand, would be acceptable. She smiled. Kemp had probably been overreacting.

  She banished the thoughts from her mind. The Julie Cooper case was all that mattered right now. When Selina had first mentioned John Lockwood she’d thought of the old boy network. Had he got his university job because of his father? Sir Alistair had been master of a Cambridge college for several years now, and the dates would fit. She’d imagined John being a chip off the old block, with a privileged existence. But now she’d seen the photographs of his body, surrounded by chaos in his tiny terraced house, and her views had changed.

  Her thoughts went back to Sir Alistair Lockwood’s golden cat, and its value. His family could certainly have afforded to help him, but according to her chat with Max, Stuart Gilmour had said John was persona non grata. Why was that? What had put that distance between him and his relations?

  On the face of it, John looked a likely candidate for Julie’s murderer. The student had told her mother she was staying in Cambridge because of him, and she’d lied about the circumstances. That made Tara think the relationship had been quite intense. Maybe John and Julie had quarrelled. Perhaps he’d wanted the relationship to continue and she hadn’t. Or she’d threatened to tell someone about their affair. He’d lashed out and then—

  And now he was dead too. They still didn’t know if it was suicide, but it seemed likely.

  The other top candidate so far was Stuart Gilmour. Under the circumstances, Tara was surprised he hadn’t told them all about John Lockwood in the first place. It would have been a quick way to divert attention from himself.

  What on earth was motivating his actions? Some lateral thinking was required, but it was hard after almost no sleep.

  Thirty-Four

  ‘You should just be yourself, you know?’ Stuart was lying in Bella’s bed, half under the sheets, looking up at her with that lazy smile of his.

  She thought back to when she’d first seen him with Julie, and how much she’d fancied him. That cocky confidence, his passion and single-mindedness. Those latter qualities were something he’d had in common with Julie, but Julie had been the big-hearted one. Now, Bella wanted to be with him the whole time, but she saw him in an entirely different light. Nothing could take away the layers of what had happened, draped over her like some kind of suffocating blanket.

  ‘I am being myself.’ She’d just got up to shower, and was standing, naked, by the bed. She’d hadn’t felt quite so bare until he spoke though. Now she felt vulnerable.

  He looked at her through half-closed eyes. ‘No, you’re not. You still dress like Julie. When you are dressed, that is. And you do the things she did.’

  Bella reached for a long cashmere cardigan that had been draped over a chair in the corner. That was something Julie would never have worn. ‘I got interested in her causes because she taught me about them. She opened my eyes. Now I want to be involved.’

  He reached out a hand and took hers, pulling her back towards him. There was a lot of force behind the move, and she shivered.

  ‘What about me?’ he said. ‘Have I opened your eyes too?’

  She nodded.

  He laughed.
‘I still don’t believe you really want to come out in the rain and march on Wednesday. The weather forecast is diabolical.’

  She pulled away. ‘I do! I want to do it in Julie’s memory.’

  His eyes opened wide. ‘Oh, come on, darling. If you were that devoted to my ex, you’d hardly be here now, would you?’

  ‘You’re here too. If that’s what you think it seems as though you’re admitting you weren’t devoted to her either.’

  He raised himself up until he was sitting, then reached for his boxer shorts. ‘We had some good times, but we fought in the end. She wasn’t great at sharing.’

  Bella frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ But she had a feeling she knew, and maybe it was good news that Julie had kept some things to herself.

  He was dragging on his jeans now. ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘Shall we go and get something to eat? The burger van’ll still be open.’

  ‘With the cops all over me? Hardly. Besides, I’ve got things to do.’

  At this hour? ‘What sort of things? If you’re planning for the march, I could come and help with ideas. I want to be properly involved – not just turn up for the dramatic stuff.’

  Stuart shook his head. ‘You should get some sleep. And besides, I like to operate independently.’

  After he’d closed the door, Bella went to shower, standing under the hot water until the shivering stopped. It might be time for bed, but she’d never rest. What did Stuart really know? And where had he gone after leaving her room? She was quite sure he’d never tell her everything. The only way to find out for certain would be to follow him.

  How far would she dare to go? That was the question.

  Thirty-Five

  It was getting late when Blake finally arrived back at his home in Fen Ditton. He parked his car out on the lane, then walked down towards the river where his cottage lay, close to the meadows. He was still thinking about the case as he let himself in and closed the front door behind him. The sight of his mother-in-law, Sonia, her legs stretched out on their sofa, took him by surprise. But he’d known she was coming to babysit, so Babette could get out to the book club she attended – something to keep her mind active, she’d said.

  Sonia made to get up as soon as she saw him.

  ‘Don’t disturb yourself.’ He spoke quietly. There was no sign of Kitty. She was in the habit of listening out for his return and bounding downstairs, just when Babs had got her settled. Sonia looked very relaxed right now; she wouldn’t appreciate that happening, any more than his wife did. ‘They’re both asleep?’

  His mother-in-law nodded, recrossing her legs, causing her wide-legged linen trousers to shift and form new waves of material. Her frame, under them and her soft long cardigan, was neat. ‘I’ve been here since school pick-up time. Babs and I took them to the park, so Kitty burnt off some of her energy. I got Jessica off half an hour ago.’

  Her tone was slightly accusatory. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t back sooner.’

  Sonia put the book she’d been reading on the coffee table next to her, splayed open face-down at the page she’d reached. ‘It is what it is. We all knew what Babs was getting herself into when she married a detective.’

  He thought back to Babette’s determination to give their marriage another go, after she’d decided it had been a mistake to run off with Kitty.

  He perched on an armchair at right angles to where Sonia sat. ‘Do you think Babs was wrong to come back to me?’ He knew he was asking for trouble, but he was too tired, and too emotionally mangled, to put the social brakes on.

  Sonia surprised him, moving her legs round and sitting up properly on the sofa. ‘I didn’t mean that. What you’re dealing with is unimaginable and it needs to be done. But family life suffers. It’s just the way it is.’

  He nodded and got up from his seat again. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘I’m all right. There’s a plateful of food for you to microwave in the fridge.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He went through to the kitchen and poured himself a beer before taking out the portion of leftovers she’d mentioned and putting it in to heat. He stared at the food as it went round and round, and wondered how much Sonia knew about Kitty’s father. Had Babs confided in her? They were close, and although his wife could hide the truth with the best of them, she wasn’t a strong person. He guessed she’d have wanted to offload onto someone – if not Sonia then a close friend perhaps. And that person could be the key to him finding out more.

  The microwave pinged and he rummaged for a knife and fork from the kitchen drawer before taking his plateful of chicken casserole, potatoes and green beans back through to the living room. The temptation to eat in the kitchen had been strong – he’d value a few minutes to take stock – but it felt antisocial.

  Sonia glanced up as he re-entered the room, but she didn’t come to join him at the table.

  ‘How are things with Babs?’ she asked, after letting him eat in silence for a minute or two. ‘Is she adjusting all right to being a mother again, do you think?’

  Blake laughed inwardly at that. He was almost certain his wife had planned her pregnancy without his knowledge, despite her claim that she’d ‘forgotten’ to take her pill. She wouldn’t mess up over something that had such a profound effect on her future. Once she’d known she was pregnant, instead of passing on the news, she’d tried to warm him up to the idea of extending their family. She only gave in and told him the truth when he made it clear it was the last thing he wanted, and she was starting to show. Things weren’t great between them, but they both loved their daughters.

  ‘She’s adjusting well, I think.’

  ‘And what about the two of you?’ Sonia’s gaze was sharp. After a moment she added: ‘Babs did tell me you didn’t want Jessica.’

  That hurt. And if that kind of comment ever got back to his daughter… ‘I adore Jessica – but before I knew she was on her way I didn’t like the idea of having another child. It’s different now.’

  He heard Sonia sigh, even though he was across the room.

  ‘Maybe I’m wrong,’ she said. ‘Maybe Babs did make a mistake, asking you to take her back. If you can’t forgive her after all this time…’ She let the sentence trail off.

  The chicken felt heavy in Blake’s dry mouth. He swallowed some whole and swigged his beer. ‘We haven’t stopped trying to resolve things. But there’s still a lot I don’t know.’ He paused. ‘But she’s told me all about Matt Smith now.’

  It was an exaggeration. Babette had told him nothing about Kitty’s father except his name, the fact that the pregnancy had been the result of a brief fling, and that he hadn’t paid Kitty enough attention when Babs had run off with him. Not exactly a life history.

  Sonia raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, well, that’s probably for the best. And I’m certainly glad she’s with you, not him.’ She relaxed back on the sofa again.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I knew he was a bad lot from the moment she met him. All that on–off business for so many years – playing with each other’s feelings. Too much passion, perhaps. It wasn’t healthy.’

  Blake felt his insides go cold. For so many years…?

  It was just one more lie. But it was a big one.

  Thirty-Six

  Tara and Max were at John Lockwood’s house, where the CSIs were still busy. No one was taking any chances on evidence, given the rumoured relationship between him and Julie Cooper. They’d got an appointment to speak to the man’s doctor afterwards, to see what she could tell them, but Blake had already referred the death on to the coroner. Agneta would perform the post-mortem that morning, with the DI in attendance.

  Tara stood in her uncomfortable overalls in the cold house. She’d finally caught up with the change in the weather and was wearing a tailored woollen trouser suit underneath, but the room was so chilly, it didn’t do much to improve things. The interior of the house was just as depressing as the outside. It looked as though troubles had escalate
d uncontrollably for the academic, until things got so precarious that everything had come crashing down. Had John murdered Julie? She found it hard to believe, looking at his home: the unopened post piled high, empty spirit bottles under each table and on every surface, the carpet stained, the walls damp, the crockery unwashed in the kitchen. If she tried to visualise him as the killer, she could get as far as him lashing out, in a drunken haze – but the rest of it? Opting to dump her body at Wandlebury implied a level of planning she reckoned would have been beyond him. There would have been the issue of getting her there, too. They’d established that he’d owned a car – a VW Passat estate – so the journey would have been possible. But if he’d killed her here, getting her into the vehicle without being noticed would have been challenging; the neighbours were just feet away.

  Max was talking to one of the CSIs and she moved to join them.

  ‘Anything else we should know about?’ he was saying.

  The white-suited guy next to him shrugged. ‘Not that we’ve discovered – as yet. We haven’t unearthed a suicide note. From the position he was found in, we guess he was sitting at that table before he died. But the whisky he seems to have been drinking is unusual.’

  Max raised an eyebrow.

  ‘You’d have to get it from a specialist shop. It’s sixty-five per cent alcohol by volume. That’s serious stuff. And there’s an empty blister pack of sedatives on the table too – no way of knowing if he took any before he passed out though. You’ll need to wait for the post-mortem.’

  Tara assumed John had had money troubles, but the Scotch didn’t look cheap. It didn’t fit with the piles of unopened bills. And presumably he couldn’t have regularly mixed that much booze with sedatives either, or he’d have been dead before now. Yet he’d had both the whisky and the pills to hand. Maybe he’d been saving the Scotch for a special occasion – the last night of his life. Sadness washed over her as she went to peer at the medication’s packaging. It was just the plastic blister pack – the brand name printed on the foil backing. There was nothing to show who had prescribed the drug and when.