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

by Clare Chase

  ‘You mentioned that you didn’t stop trying to influence him when he reached maturity. Your worry over his behaviour has been going on for years, then?’

  ‘It has.’ She was literally tight-lipped – her mouth stretched taut as she spoke.

  ‘When did it start?’

  Veronica Lockwood frowned suddenly. ‘I don’t see what relevance this has.’

  ‘Lady Lockwood, your son appears to have been having an affair with one of his students. A student who was murdered at the weekend. I’m sorry to cause you pain, but we do need to understand about the problems John had, and to put them in context.’ He didn’t know how Lockwood had gone off the rails in the first place. He’d got no record, background checks had shown that, but on occasion young people could avoid coming into contact with the police. Things could be swept under the carpet. If the man had ever been aggressive or violent, he wanted to know.

  At last, the woman nodded. ‘His problems started when he was twelve or thirteen. I can’t remember exactly when. It’s the sort of thing that creeps up on you.’

  ‘And what went wrong?’

  ‘I’m afraid he got in with a bad crowd.’ Her frown deepened now. ‘You wouldn’t think there would be a “bad crowd” at the schools he attended, but there you are. And once the rot had set in, it seemed impossible to cure it. Drink and drugs. Such common problems, but with such far-reaching consequences. Both his prep and his senior school handled it internally – or thought they had. But they failed.’ She sipped her coffee again. ‘And there you have it. It’s twenty-odd years since then, but nothing changed.’

  ‘Did John have other relationships, before Julie?’

  ‘One or two. They didn’t last.’

  ‘Were they with women of his own age?’

  ‘Julie was the youngest by a long way, as far as I’m aware.’

  What had made John change his habits? Had Julie targeted him after all, in the hope that he might provide a way into Lockwood’s? ‘When did you become aware that your son and Julie Cooper were involved?’

  The woman shrugged her angular shoulders. ‘It was Lucien – Julie’s tutor – who mentioned the matter to Alistair. I believe it was at least a year ago.’

  ‘It sounds as though you took the matter more seriously than your husband.’

  ‘He tends to be more relaxed than I am. He never fully believed the rumours.’

  So the Lockwoods had been alerted near the beginning of Julie’s second year – when she’d photographed the cat. But the connection between the pair of them might have dated back to the dead student’s first year at university. Had her affair with Lockwood started that long ago too? If it had been ongoing, it looked as though it might have overlapped with her relationship with Stuart. He needed to understand the timing.

  ‘Lady Lockwood, you say you rang your son because you knew he’d be upset. I’m sorry to ask this, but did you also have any fear that John might have been involved in Julie’s death?’

  Their hostess looked at him long and hard. ‘No. Not for one minute.’

  But what mother would say otherwise? If pauses meant anything, then she’d found it hard to lie. For a moment his mind skipped to Tara and her mission with the journalist. He wondered what she’d discovered.

  Might Veronica Lockwood suspect her husband, as well as her dead son?

  Forty-Four

  Bella was meant to be in a supervision, but Dr Reynolds would cut her some slack after the news they’d had. Bella could always say she’d gone to the counselling service to try to get an appointment.

  She hadn’t meant to skip class, but all morning, her mind had been on Stuart. She’d texted him earlier, to ask again if she could help get ready for the protest, but he’d said no, there was nothing more to do.

  What was he up to, really? He was keeping her at a distance and she wanted – needed – to know why. What had she done wrong?

  She was waiting opposite his college now, hidden in a recessed gateway. She didn’t think she was likely to be disturbed. In all the times she’d visited she’d never seen it unlocked. It belonged to the garden of some massive old house with high, dark windows. The place was always deathly quiet and still – as though there was no one at home. She repeated all these facts to herself as she stood there, but she was more on edge than ever. She’d never feel secure again – she knew that – but it would be a long while before she’d accept it.

  She’d been in the doorway for an hour before she saw Stuart. He was on his way out, rather than in. She watched as he appeared in the stone archway that led from St Bede’s porters’ lodge and turned left, towards town. His collar was turned up against the rain, but he had no hood. That was like Stuart. He’d got big business to fight; he wasn’t going to worry about getting his hair wet. She watched the way he walked. You could tell the sort of person he was from his gait. Confident, a bit of a swagger, and a definite disregard for anyone who didn’t agree with him. She still fancied him; couldn’t switch it off.

  The weather meant she could use an umbrella and she was going to take full advantage of that. She emerged from the shelter of the gateway now and put it up, holding it down low so he wouldn’t see her face if he turned. And she’d taken his advice for once, and stopped dressing like Julie. She’d got a smart cashmere beanie on, and a suede coat. For a second she thought of her dead friend. She was compelled to pull her phone from her pocket and call up Julie’s photo on her camera roll. The almost-black hair, the clear blue eyes. Bella switched the screen off again quickly and fought back emotion. She lifted her umbrella slightly, so that she could see Stuart’s legs, and adjusted her walking pace to his. He had Tuesdays free, she knew, so he wouldn’t be going to a lecture.

  They walked past the elegant cream frontage of the Royal Cambridge Hotel. Bella kept well back, and away from the edge of the road where endless cars ploughed through the puddles, splashing water onto the pavement. Back in the trousers her mother had bought her for her last birthday – cream, fitted, designer – she felt more restricted.

  Glancing up, she saw that Stuart was crossing the road now, towards the Trumpington Street post office. Was she going to follow him only to find he bought a stamp and went back to his rooms again? She stopped and fiddled with her phone to make the pause in her journey look natural. Julie’s face flashed up again. What did you say to Stuart? She pushed the thought away. Her quarry had walked past the post office now, and the dental practice next door. Take Five – that was where he was going. He paused at the smart red and grey frontage and then walked in. He wasn’t the sort to go and sit in a coffee bar on his own, staring out of the window, thinking thoughts. He was driven, always wanting to make the next thing happen. He’d be meeting someone. How could she find out who?

  If she was lucky, he’d sit near the window, and she’d be able to see his companion. She crossed the road and approached the café cautiously from one side, but it was no good. There was already a woman in a red jumper sitting at one of the two window tables. The other was occupied by a guy with a grey beard, sitting with a woman in green.

  She shifted her weight from foot to foot. If she wanted to know what he was up to she needed to act, but if she followed him, he’d be bound to see her.

  She inched forward, watching Stuart through the window. He was almost at the counter now.

  Before she had time to think, she collapsed her umbrella and pushed the door to the café open. Stuart was just about to place his order. She needed to get past him and into the loos before he finished. And then what? What the hell did she think she was going to do after that?

  She pushed the thought away. It was too late now. She moved forward on autopilot. If he turned, she’d have to pretend it was a coincidence. It is you! I thought it was. I was just coming in to warm up…

  She held her breath. She was just drawing level with him when he looked to his left to check the menu. She paused in her tracks, avoiding the eye of the second waitress, who was free and might offer to take her order.


  ‘The houmous and roast veg, thanks.’ Bella imagined the look he was no doubt giving the woman serving him: the secret smile he’d once given her. She’d been too clingy – those days were gone.

  He was looking straight ahead again, flirting, joking.

  Bella moved past and found the loos. When she got inside she entered a cubicle and locked the door, even though she didn’t need to go. It made her feel safe for a moment – shut off from the world. But it was no good just standing there with her heart thumping. She needed to see who Stuart was with. It might be someone she knew too. If she was going to go and peep, she needed to make sure she didn’t come face to face with his appointment at the café counter. She timed five minutes on her watch, then went to wait outside the lavatories. There was a short corridor, with a kink in it, that meant she could get a partial look at the café’s interior without catching the attention of the staff or clientele.

  It took her a moment to clock Stuart. He was sitting next to the far wall of the café, side on and in front of her, so that she could see part of his face from behind. And his companion was a guy. She knew the face from somewhere. He wasn’t one of the protest lot. She retreated back into the corridor and tried to think – running through the various places she might know him from. College? She didn’t think so. Via Stuart previously? No. Through Julie? That was it. She’d seen the guy Stuart was talking to visit Julie at her college room. He was something to do with the student newspaper she’d written for. And of course, Stuart was into journalism too. He was probably just discussing some random story. And there she was, trapped in the back of the café for no reason. How the heck was she going to get past them now? Could she wait until they left?

  A woman who’d walked by her to go to the loo had come back out again and given Bella a look. She must be wondering what she was up to. Would she mention her to one of the staff? Everyone was on their guard these days. If someone was acting suspiciously, they’d probably get pulled up on it, sooner or later.

  Stuart was hunched forward. He wasn’t especially broad or tall, but he had presence. His stance was aggressive. She could see that the guy opposite him, from the student newspaper, felt it too. At first, he’d been shrugging in response to a lot of what Stuart said, but now he was frowning and shaking his head. He looked ruffled, and suddenly his voice rose.

  ‘Well, she didn’t, so back off.’

  Who were they talking about? Julie? Maybe this was important after all. The newspaper guy was shifting in his seat and she thought for a moment that he was going to stand up and walk out. She wished he would. Stuart would go too, then, and she could escape.

  But Stuart must have said something placatory. The other guy’s shoulders went down a bit, and he slumped back in his chair.

  And they were back to drinking and talking more quietly again. Trying to overhear what they said was hopeless.

  And at that moment Bella realised that the woman who’d caught her eye when she’d been to the loo was watching her again. Watching her watching Stuart and the newspaper guy. After a moment, she got up and walked through to the corridor where Bella was standing.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Bella nodded. ‘I need to leave, but that’s my boyfriend over there and we’ve had a row. I didn’t expect to find him here and I don’t want him to see me.’

  A look of understanding came over the woman’s face. ‘Okay. How about if I walk you to the door and we keep our heads down. I’ll stand between you and him. He looks quite involved in his conversation. He probably won’t spot you.’

  Bella hesitated, but it sounded like a reasonable plan. ‘Okay. Thanks.’

  They made it to the door and the woman followed her outside. ‘Look, it’s none of my business, but if you’re that scared of him seeing you, I’m guessing he hasn’t been treating you well. Maybe you should make him an ex-boyfriend?’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘If you need support, I’ve got a number you can ring. I had problems once.’

  Bella was anxious to get out of the doorway. ‘I’m okay. But thanks – you’re right. I’ll sort it.’

  The woman looked after her for a moment with anxious eyes, but Bella recrossed the road and headed back towards St Oswald’s. She put her umbrella back up, and pulled her hat down.

  She was partway along Fen Causeway when she heard footsteps behind her. Heavy. Running. She quickened her pace instinctively, but it was only a second before she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at? Do you think I didn’t see you in the café?’

  She looked into Stuart’s eyes. They were fiery, like a snake’s, his pupils contracted. He’d pulled her round now, and had one hand on each of her shoulders. She could tell he was fighting the urge to shake her. Or worse.

  ‘Can you seriously not be self-sufficient for five minutes? Just forget it – okay? I’ve had enough.’

  He did shake her then – just once. A hard, sharp movement that made a shock of pain run through her neck.

  She’d had him where she wanted, but she’d thrown it all away. Would he change his mind in a few days, once he’d had the chance to calm down?

  He must, surely. She could only hope.

  Forty-Five

  Tara was in the Old Hall Café – a student hang-out at St Oswald’s. Blake had asked her to visit on the back of a new witness statement. One of Lucien Balfour’s students, Louise Fellows, had come to the station to relay a conversation she’d overhead between the tutor and Julie Cooper.

  ‘Best if you go on your own,’ Blake had said to her. ‘They’re more likely to chat that way.’

  The move had pulled her off some background research she’d been doing on John Lockwood, but it was good to get a second solo mission. She sometimes missed the old days, when she’d operated independently as a journalist. Being able to develop her own tactics on the spot gave her a buzz.

  She’d had to ask the porters to track down the people she wanted. It turned out a bunch of them were already at the café, talking about the meeting they’d had with Balfour earlier that day.

  A guy with floppy brown hair was slouched back in a faded blue sofa, a coffee on the table in front of him. Next to him sat a blonde girl with a bob, and there were others too, gathered round the table. They looked pale and tired. Tara had already introduced herself – so their minds were all focused on Julie’s death.

  ‘It’s just so hard to take in,’ the floppy-haired guy said. ‘I mean, you see horrific stuff like this on the news quite often, but you never expect it to happen to someone you know.’

  Tara had ordered a plate of brownies and put them down on the coffee table now. ‘I thought you might not be sleeping well. I hear you’ve been offered counselling?’ Louise Fellows had mentioned it in her statement.

  The blonde girl nodded as the floppy-haired guy helped himself to a brownie. ‘There’s someone there for us to talk to immediately if we want. Normally you have to wait a bit for an appointment. But I’m not sure what I feel about it.’

  Tara raised an eyebrow. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I didn’t actually know Julie that well. I found her quite hard to talk to. I felt I wasn’t – I don’t know – trendy or radical enough, I suppose. But I’ve been crying almost non-stop since I heard about her death. I feel as though I’m being two-faced.’

  Tara shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t. I appreciate it’ll be even worse for people who were really close to her, but it’s an appalling shock all round. People will have all kinds of reactions and none of them are wrong.’ She thought back to when Greg, Bea’s husband, had died. It had been Bea whose world had fallen apart, but Tara had been winded. She’d been genuinely fond of him. There’d been no crying though. She’d felt numb, and dry-eyed. The tears had come a lot later, when she’d seen how much Bea was hurting. ‘If you can have a cry, and let your feelings out, I’d say that’s no bad thing.’

  The girl nodded and picked up her coffee.

  ‘So it was Dr Balfour who suggest
ed you might all like to book appointments with the counsellor, was it?’ She watched their faces as she mentioned the tutor’s name, but none of the students were looking at her directly.

  ‘That’s right,’ the floppy-haired guy said. He’d finished his brownie.

  Tara decided to keep going gently; see if she got a hint of what they all thought of him. ‘It’s great that someone’s there with the specific job of looking out for you.’

  There it was: a quick glance between the student with the blonde bob and a second female student on a chair at right angles to hers.

  ‘Though, I must admit, I’d find it hard to confide in someone like that, unless I’d got to know them properly,’ Tara went on. ‘I suppose Dr Balfour must make an effort to socialise with you all, so that you feel able to go to him if you need to?’

  It was the floppy-haired guy who spoke, with a sidelong glance at the student next to him. ‘Oh yes. He loves to socialise, does our Dr Balfour.’

  There was a moment’s silence and Tara caught his eye. ‘He overdoes it?’

  The student with the blonde bob pursed her lips. ‘Let’s just say he’s a man who relishes his work.’

  ‘You think he’s not just socialising for the benefit of the students?’

  The blonde sat up straighter. ‘He’s a bit of a creep, to be honest.’

  ‘He’s made up to you?’ Tara kept her voice quiet. The students were glancing around them, though she couldn’t see anyone in the café that looked like staff. Or indeed, like a fellow…

  There was a moment’s pause. One of the other female students spoke. ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Making up to someone implies trying your luck, to see if you get a positive response. Which still wouldn’t be great, but…’ She let the sentence hang.

  ‘He’s more forceful about it than that?’ Tara asked.

  The student with the blonde bob spoke. ‘He’s pretty determined.’ She looked down at her lap.