by Jan Newton
‘Well there’s not much I can do about that. He’ll need to be referred by his GP. I can check him over for bumps or breaks, but otherwise he seems fine to me.’
After the most perfunctory check, the doctor pronounced Sean fit.
‘The trouble with you detectives is that you think you can solve everything at the drop of a hat. There’s nothing wrong with this lad that a decent meal wouldn’t sort out.’
‘Thank you, Doctor, for your help,’ Julie said. But as she walked down the corridor with Sean, away from the doctor’s room, she was already on the phone, talking to Kay Greenhalgh.
‘You need to get him signed up with a GP. The only way to make sure is by blood test, and I’m not usually involved with blood tests on living subjects. Far too tricky.’
‘I can’t even begin to work out where he’ll end up, or who will be responsible for finding him a GP.’ Julie looked down at Sean and sighed. ‘Poor little thing. I guess he’ll go to social services now. Should we tell them to keep him off gluten?’
‘No, that’s the last thing you should do. It would alter the bloods for the test. But make sure you tell them they must get it sorted as soon as they can. It’s not right to keep him in that state for longer than he needs to be.’
‘Thanks anyway, Kay. It’s appreciated.’
There was a pause and Julie held her breath.
‘I do know a rather lovely GP in Llandrindod. If Sean is going to be staying in the area for a little while, I could have a word with him, just to speed things up a bit.’
Julie punched the air silently. ‘Sometimes you can forgive people for being from Yorkshire.’
‘That, Sergeant Kite, I will take as the highest form of compliment.’
*
The doctor also declared Lizzie fit enough to be questioned. Julie had no problem with that opinion, but she knew Swift wouldn’t want her to go in too hard. She sighed and pushed open the door of the interview room. Lizzie was already there with Eurig, and Swift was preparing the tape. Formalities completed, he leaned forward in his chair.
‘Elizabeth Slaithwaite, you have been arrested in connection with the murder of Jason Quigley and with a possible connection to Rosa Quigley’s murder, along with the kidnap of Sean Quigley.’ He paused, his elbows on the desk and fingers steepled in front of him. Lizzie said nothing.
‘So what happened that day, Lizzie, the day that Rosa died?’ Julie asked. Lizzie shrugged. ‘OK, let’s go back a little bit then, shall we? You’ve said that Rosa begged you to take Sean away, to keep him safe from Quigley. Did she ask you to bring him to Wales?’ Julie smiled encouragingly.
‘Not exactly. We didn’t discuss where I’d take him. Rosa just wanted him out of the way.’
‘And was that meant to be on a temporary basis? Did she expect you to bring him back, or was she happy that you took him away for over eight months?’
‘I told her where we were.’
‘Lancashire Police have found a letter from you to Rosa Quigley addressed to her at her home in Blackpool. According to information contained in this letter, you only wrote to her for the first time three weeks before her death. The letter was posted in Llangurig, and included directions to Pwll Bach. It’s pretty clear from the contents of that letter that Rosa didn’t know where you or Sean were until that time.’
‘I phoned her and told her.’
‘We have traced records for Rosa’s phone at the house in Blackpool, and for her mobile. The call logs show no record of a phone call to the landline or to Rosa’s mobile from your own mobile until just over two weeks ago. But the call log from the pay as you go phone we took off you shows plenty of attempted landline calls recently from Rosa to your mobile, and texts and messages from her mobile number, asking where you were.’
Lizzie sighed. ‘That was a complete misunderstanding. I knew she didn’t want Quigley to know where we were. It was just easier not to call her. I couldn’t text because I couldn’t be sure Quigley wasn’t reading her messages.’
‘So it’s only your word against Rosa’s that you took Sean away at her request.’
Lizzie treated Julie to a long stare. ‘She’s not in a position to argue, is she?’
Julie had to fight hard not to reach across the table and slap her. Instead, she glanced at Swift then back to Lizzie. He’d know from that look that something more direct was coming. ‘Could it be that you simply decided you wanted Sean for yourself? Your husband told us how much you wanted a child.’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘What gives you the right to sit there in judgment on me? You don’t know what it’s like, trying and trying for a baby, the prodding and poking, the indignities of IVF, the absolute crushing depression when it hasn’t worked for a third time. How dare you sit there and condemn me. I sat there day in and day out, listening to what was happening on the other side of the wall, how that child cried when he saw his mother beaten, watching him become a shadow of the child he should have been.’ Lizzie’s breath caught in her throat, but it was anger on her face, sheer furious anger.
‘We have to ask these questions, Lizzie. We need to find out exactly what happened up there.’ Swift’s voice was soothing.
‘I just wanted to help. I thought I was helping.’ Lizzie dissolved into tears of which, Julie thought, Audrey Hepburn would have been proud.
‘So you wrote and told Rosa where you both were, and she came over to Wales to find you?’
‘I don’t know anything about Rosa having been here. I wrote and said everything was fine. Yes, I sent the address, but I left it vague. If she’d really wanted Sean back she would have come to find him.’
‘Which of course is exactly what she did. Funnily enough, your husband happened to mention to me this afternoon that you told him you found Rosa in the garden of the cottage on the day of her death.’ Julie held Lizzie’s petulant stare, attempting not to match it.
‘He must have got it wrong. My father must have found the body. I don’t know what he did with it, I wasn’t involved.’
‘So you didn’t ask him how he disposed of the body of one of your closest friends?’ Swift was beginning to harden his line. Lizzie did not answer him. Julie riffled through her notes and Lizzie leaned back in her chair. There was a knock on the door, and it opened slowly, revealing Rhys, making urgent thumb-and-little-finger phone signals to Julie.
‘DS Kite is leaving the room,’ Swift said as the door closed behind her.
‘It’s Dr Greenhalgh, she wanted to speak to you. I explained you were in an interview with Lizzie Slaithwaite.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Good. She just said good.’ Rhys shook his head. ‘I haven’t a clue what she means.’
‘I think I do.’ Julie increased her speed and bolted into the office, ran to her desk and picked up the phone. ‘Kay?’
‘Did I ever tell you how blooming marvellous our police dogs are?’
‘You didn’t,’ Julie said, breathlessly. But you’re going to tell me why, I can tell.’
‘One rather fabulous springer spaniel by the name of Spud came across a discarded jacket earlier today. It was found in a dense thicket of brambles mere yards from the fragrant cess pit where Jason Quigley breathed his last.’
‘Go on.’
‘The sleeves and one side of the jacket were covered in blood and faecal matter. I’ve just matched that blood to our friend Quigley.’
‘And I don’t suppose there are any clues to the owner of said garment?’
‘One or two. It’s definitely a woman’s, approximately a size ten. There’s no label in it. It’s well worn, probably a work garment. There are crumbs of a green substance we’ve identified as oasis in the pockets and in the fabric itself, and there are small lengths of ribbon and a spool of thick wire in one of the pockets, along with a pair of wire cutters. I would say with absolute certainty that this coat belonged to a florist.’
‘That’s unlike you, to be so categorically definite.’
‘Ah well, that wo
uld be the business cards lodged in the lining, along with the fact that young Rhys has just provided me with the final clue.’
‘And?’ Julie sighed with impatience and Kay laughed.
‘Think of your blood pressure, Julie. And, the name of the business on said cards is Busy Lizzie’s. That’s impatiens walleriana I think, also known as patience, strangely enough, although I’m assuming it’s a play on words and refers to the owner of the business, one Lizzie Slaithwaite.’
Julie shrieked, Goronwy and Morgan turned to look at her, Rhys laughed and Kay Greenhalgh swore down the phone.
‘Sorry, Kay. How soon can you let me have the jacket?’
‘Sorry, I can’t hear a word. I seem to have been rendered hard of hearing.’
‘Very funny. Could we have it tonight?’
‘I’m just waiting for a couple of test results. Could we make it first thing in the morning? I’ll be here at seven and I’ll know then whether I need more samples. Can someone pick it up?’
‘I’ll be there at five to.’ Julie put the phone down and gave Rhys a thumbs-up as she scurried away.
Julie was delighted to see the look of bewilderment on Lizzie’s face as she burst back into the interview room and failed, quite spectacularly, to hide the enormous smile on her face. She bent to whisper in Swift’s ear. Swift managed not to smile, but both eyebrows appeared over his glasses, marring the otherwise deadpan expression.
‘I am suspending this interview at 16.37 hours. We will recommence at 9am tomorrow.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Day Seven
Julie stopped the car on the Epynt in her usual parking space, looking out over the fields and woodland of Garth and Llanafan, and the foothills of the Cambrian Mountains rising behind them. When she’d first arrived, this view had made her almost agoraphobic, all that space with scarcely a building or a road in sight. Now it was comforting to know that in this vast expanse of land, she was making a difference. Julie knew Swift didn’t believe that Pritchard was the killer, but she still wasn’t certain that he agreed with her completely about Lizzie. She sighed and dialled Helen’s number.
‘I was just about to phone you,’ Helen said.
‘You always say that.’
‘It’s true.’
‘How’s the love-life?’
‘Amazing, thank you. I get to go to all the best places.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, last night I was at a black tie dinner at Mottram Hall.’
‘Oh my, we are going up in the world. Any particular reason?’
‘Some sort of awards dinner for Damian’s firm.’
‘Architectural back-slapping?’
‘Yeah, something like that. They can certainly put on a good bash though.’
‘And that’s what you were going to tell me?’
‘Well sort of. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Lancashire Life this month?’
‘Oh, now let me see, I think my copy must have got lost in the post. Of course I haven’t, you daft bat. Border Life though, now that’s a different matter.’
‘Do you want to know what I’ve discovered or not?’
‘Sorry, I’m just not used to this new you.’
‘Cheeky mare. Well, that Tiffany Sanderson who was pursuing your Adam is in there.’
‘Arrested for stalking? Sending dodgy correspondence?’
‘Nope. Not even close. She was on the arm of Edmund Hales, wearing a dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and more bling than you could shake a stick at.’
‘Who’s Edmund Hales?’
‘Oh bloody hell, Julie, how long have you been living over there? You can’t have forgotten Edmund Hales. The rower? Cambridge blue, all round good egg, runs Daddy’s restaurant chain. One of those places offering larks egg on a soupçon of lightly toasted spelt bread and feta frittata.’
‘Are you sure it’s her?’
‘Not only that, my dear, she also appeared to be wearing a diamond the size of a small lark’s egg herself.’
‘They’re engaged?’
‘That’s the point. It was their engagement party at The Principal on Oxford Street.’
‘Oh my, there’s posh.’
‘You’ve gone native, lady.’
Julie snorted. ‘You’ve made my day. I can still rely on you to make me laugh. I do miss you.’
‘And I miss you too. Parky’s all right, but you can’t have a natter in the loo with him, and he’s no bloody use if you forget your lippy.’
‘Well, that’s going to be interesting, explaining that to Adam.’
‘So what’s up over there then? Did you find your killer?’
‘I’m positive I know what happened, it’s just going to be a challenge proving it. The person I think is the murderer is completely denying it and someone else has sworn that they did it.’
‘Are they both going to end up denying it so you won’t be able to pin it on either of them?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘So you’ll get someone for it, at least.’
‘But…’
‘Yeah, I know. Where’s the fun in that?’
‘How about you, what’s happening there?’
‘I’m going to be paired up with Sophie from next week, the new girl who took your job.’
Julie sighed.
‘What’s up?’ Helen sounded muffled and Julie laughed.
‘You’re lighting a fag.’
‘Don’t tell your Adam.’ Helen let out a long breath. ‘That’s better. What’s up,’ she said, clearly.
‘I don’t know. Daft really, but it feels as though it’s the end of something, you joining forces with Sophie.’
‘I’ve told you before, we need to get you back here a couple of times a month. You need to hang onto that Manc sense of humour and rhetorical sarcasm.’
‘I know, and I will. But will you have time to come out and play now that you’re with Damian.’
‘Try stopping me. Where do you fancy going then?’
‘You’ll laugh.’
‘Go on.’
‘Castlefield. I really fancy walking along the canal, round St Ann’s Square and along Deansgate. And I really miss the John Rylands.’
Helen snorted. ‘I can’t think of anyone else who would be missing a library. I blame Adam. It’s all that education, it’s rubbing off on you.’
‘Don’t laugh, but the pathologist we’ve got here makes me wish I’d gone to uni and done forensic pathology. She’s an absolute ruddy genius.’
‘Well, it’s never too late, is it? That’s what you used to say to me all the time. If you want to do it, what’s stopping you? Listen, kid, I’ve got to run. Damian’s taking me out to the Palace tonight.’
‘Buck House?’
‘Sarky git. It’s a play.’
‘I’m not jealous, hardly at all.’
‘Get your Adam to take you to Cardiff. They’ve got a brilliant theatre down there. Mam went to see Les Mis on a bus trip just after it opened. It’s donkeys’ ago but she still talks about it.’
‘I know. It’s just that everything takes so long from here.’
‘Join the wrinklies and do a matinee while he’s on his summer holidays.’
‘Yeah, could do.’
‘I’m off for my evening of culture… but, Jules –.’
‘What?’
‘Just don’t get boring, eh?’
Adam was cooking and she had to admit it smelt gorgeous – warm spices and potatoes baking in their jackets. He grinned when she walked into the kitchen.
‘How are you doing? Had a good day?’
Julie yawned and nodded. ‘We’re getting there.’
‘Glass of wine?’
‘Oh my, are you sure? I thought wine was the spawn of Satan.’ She plonked in a chair and yawned again. Adam stirred the pan, put the spoon on the draining board and retrieved a glass from the cupboard.
‘I think you might need a glass yourself, Adam.’
&nb
sp; ‘I’ve told you, I’m not drinking any more. It dulls the intellect.’
‘Oh don’t be so boring.’ Julie smiled, thinking of Helen’s words. She always had been a bad influence. ‘Anyway, a small celebration is in order.’
‘Oh aye?’ He poured her a glass of wine from the fridge and put the bottle back.
‘Trust me, this little gem of a story’s a good one.’
Adam sat down and waited for her to sip her wine. ‘Go on then.’
‘Your Tiffany has got herself engaged. It was in Lancashire Life.’
Adam’s eyebrows rose but he wasn’t consumed with as much alacrity as she’d thought he would be. ‘Who to?’
