by Jan Newton
‘What didn’t he understand, Lizzie?’ Swift asked.
‘He didn’t understand me, Inspector. He didn’t even try.’
‘So you planned the escape to God knows where, and Sean’s kidnapping, then you decided to hook James Pritchard and persuade him to buy you the house in Wales. What made you change your plans?’ Swift asked. ‘Why didn’t you just start a new life? Why did you need James Pritchard to help you? Why did you need to dispose of Sean’s parents?’
‘I don’t think I want to talk to you any more, Inspector.’
Julie frowned. ‘You wrote to Rosa, telling her where you were living. I don’t believe she had ever asked you to take Sean away. No doubt her life was even more of a misery after that, with Quigley taking the boy’s disappearance out on her. Did you not care about Rosa at all?’
Lizzie shrugged again. ‘They deserved each other. They were scum, the pair of them. People like that don’t deserve to have children.’
‘So did she ask you to take Sean?’ Swift’s voice had a hard edge. Julie could see he was beginning to lose patience with this self-obsessed woman.
‘Would I lie to you, Inspector?’
‘And you contacted both Rosa and Quigley, telling them where you were and where they could find the boy, giving them a date and a time.’
‘You can’t prove that.’
‘We may well be able to prove that very soon. So what happened when they turned up on Mal’s land? Did you guide them to the exact spot? Did you cause an argument between Rosa and Quigley? Did you think he would do your job for you, and murder Rosa?’ Swift asked.
Lizzie shrugged. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘He didn’t though, did he, Lizzie? He hit her, but that didn’t kill her. She managed to get herself to your cottage and once you’d dispatched Quigley with your florists’ garrotte, you completed the set piece by smashing Rosa’s head against the gatepost.’
‘It’s your word against mine, though, isn’t it? I’ve told you, it’s nothing to do with me. It’s James Pritchard you need to be talking to.’
‘That’s what you think, is it?’ Swift tugged his ear. ‘Then I think you’re forgetting that we have a witness.’ Swift gave the smallest of smiles. It looked almost sympathetic, but Julie knew better.
‘Your cartoonist? He could have made the whole thing up.’
‘The game’s up, Lizzie. All that planning and deception. All those lives ruined and for what? You’ll never see Sean again.’ Julie leaned back in her chair. Suddenly she felt the need to put as much distance as possible between Lizzie and herself.
‘You’ll never prove it, any of it. I’m the victim here. And once you’ve worked that out, then Sean and I can go abroad and start a new life.’
‘I hate to disillusion you, Lizzie, but the CPS are confident that you are definitely not the victim,’ Swift said.
Lizzie’s solicitor looked at Swift and then at Julie. ‘I think I’d like a word with my client now, if that’s all right.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Day Eight
The others were going for an early drink after work, but somehow, Julie couldn’t stomach the celebration. She sat in the empty office, looking at the photographs, maps and drawings on the board. Followed Rhys’s arrows and colour-coding to the obvious conclusion. Except that it would never be concluded, not for her. This would be added to the long list of cases she went back to night after night, the ghosts of murdered and murderer and others caught in the crossfire. What a bloody job. What was the betting Lizzie would plead diminished responsibility, if she ever stopped accusing James Pritchard. Julie collected up Mick’s drawings and locked them in her drawer and, with a last look round the office, she walked slowly out of the door.
Brian Hughes was still on the desk in reception. ‘Good result there, Julie. You must be pleased.’
She nodded. ‘I am, Brian, but nobody wins in this one, do they?’
‘You mean the little boy?’
‘Yes, and James Pritchard and his wife and family, John Slaithwaite, they’ve all been damaged by that woman.’ Julie sighed. ‘And her mother had a hand in it too. It turns out that she was eighteen when Pritchard had the misfortune to stumble across her in Blackpool.’
‘But what about the little lad? He’ll thank you for all your efforts, in years to come. He’s got the chance of a better life now. You must feel good about that bit.’
‘I do. Oh I don’t know. Maybe I’m just never satisfied.’
‘I think that goes with the job though, Julie. Don’t you?’
Suddenly Swift burst through the door and Julie and Brian stared at him.
‘Have you finished down the boozer already?’ Julie asked.
‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ Swift said. ‘I’m going up to Mal’s. Morgan has just told me that when he went to see them they were talking about moving away from the valley.’
‘Because of this?’
Swift nodded. ‘I’m so bloody angry. I can’t believe the damage that woman has done. I’m going to see if I can reassure them. Will you come with me?’
‘Actually, Sir, if we’re going up that way, I’d quite like to have another look in that cottage of Lizzie’s.’
‘What for?’
‘Well,’ Julie frowned. ‘If we could prove that Lizzie had this all planned beforehand, as Ardal thinks, then it would help Pritchard’s case, wouldn’t it? We could do with some proof that he was targeted by Lizzie.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose it would hurt,’ Swift conceded. ‘They won’t have missed anything though, but we can still go back and have another look, if you think it’s important. And I’m guessing there’s more to it than that?’
‘I’ve been here too long. You can already tell what I’m thinking.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far, Julie. Not by any stretch, but I just know there’s something else bothering you.’
Julie grinned. ‘You’re right. It’s Mick. If we can fill in a few more of the gaps ourselves then he might not have to go through the ordeal of giving evidence. It doesn’t feel right that he has to get dragged into this.’
‘But what are you expecting to find?’
Julie shrugged. ‘I’m positive Lizzie had this organised to the letter. It must have been meticulously planned, to get everyone in the right place at the right time. We’ve been through the B&B from top to bottom and there was nothing. There must be some clue, somewhere.’
Swift shook his head. ‘You’re sure you want to do this now? Wouldn’t you rather go to the pub with the others?’
‘Ordinarily, Sir, I’d be there like a shot.’
‘If they were all as keen as this one eh, Craig?’ Brian Hughes laughed. ‘You don’t like loose ends, do you, Sergeant.’
Mal was sitting on a bench in a still-sunny spot on the yard, under the kitchen window of the farmhouse, with his collie at his feet. He had his wellingtons on, despite the dryness of the soil. He raised a hand as the two cars appeared on the yard, and Sarah came out of the front door, wiping her hands on her wrap-around apron. They both looked weary, and Swift shot Julie a look, which she understood immediately. That bloody woman.
‘Mal, Sarah, evening both, how are you doing now the excitement has quietened down?’ Swift took the hand Mal offered and shook it, then sat down on the bench next to him. ‘A little bird tells me you’re feeling a bit unsettled by everything that went on up there.’ He pointed, with his forehead, to the hill above the house.
Sarah sighed. ‘He thinks we should move away now, get a bungalow down in Rhayader.’
‘Is that true, Mal?’ Swift asked.
Mal sighed. ‘I always thought this place was special, Craig. As perfect a place as you could ever find anywhere in the world, but now I’m not so sure. Not sure at all.’
‘What about you, Sarah?’ Julie asked. ‘Are you worried by what happened?’
‘Well it’s not likely to happen again, is it? Not here. I’d say we were just unlucky that it happened at all.
’ Sarah sat on the arm of the bench next to Mal and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘This daft old thing says he can’t keep me safe now.’
Mal reached up and covered Sarah’s hand with his. ‘It’s important to me.’
‘Well you’ve managed so far, cariad, haven’t you?’ Sarah looked down at him and smiled. Julie felt as though she and Swift were intruding.
‘What would you do with yourself all day down in town?’ Julie asked. ‘Would it make life easier for you, being close to the shops and other people?’
‘You can tell she’s a townie, can’t you?’ Swift grinned. ‘But she might have a point. Do you want to move?’
Mal stared at his boots and Sarah nudged him. ‘Well I don’t want to move,’ she said. ‘What would we do with Chip? He can’t live in a house can he?’ She stroked the collie’s head. ‘We’re both a bit too used to spending all our time outside.’
‘But it’s not safe anymore, cariad.’ Mal looked up at the hill. ‘Nothing will be the same here now.’
‘If you want to stay,’ Swift said, ‘then I’ll do my best to make sure we look after you.’ He bent to stroke the dog’s head. ‘You need a mobile phone, now that they’ve put that new mast up. That would help you feel a bit more in touch with the rest of us.’ He smiled. ‘And you could do worse than let the Wilkinsons help you. They’re actually quite normal, and the men they have working for them are good lads.’
‘See,’ Sarah said. ‘I told you we’d be all right.’
Slowly Mal took in the panorama, from the hill, around the yard and down the lane to the distant sparkle of water, then back at Sarah’s troubled face.
‘So you don’t think we’re past it, then?’ he said.
Sarah laughed. ‘Speak for yourself.’ She stood up. ‘Anyway, if you can’t cope with having neighbours quarter of a mile away, how would you get on in town?’
Mal nodded once. Then he stood up and thrust out his hand to Craig Swift. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’ve cleared a few things up for me.’
‘When you choose to move down to Rhayader, because you think the time is right, then that will be different,’ Swift said. ‘But moving before you’re ready, just because of what happened up there, well, you’d never forgive yourself.’
Mal put his arm round Sarah and smiled. ‘You’re sensible people, you policemen.’
Swift smiled. ‘Sometimes, Mal, we are. And now, if it’s OK with you, we just need one last look up at the cottage, just to draw a line under everything, once and for all.’
Despite the search carried out by the forensic team, the cottage was still tidy. They started in the bedrooms, checking under the mattresses and in every drawer and wardrobe. Julie checked the panel on the bath and the laundry basket. There was nothing at all. The house was kitted out like a holiday cottage, minimalist and short on belongings. In the kitchen, Swift opened and closed cupboards and checked underneath drawers. Julie leaned against the sink and gazed at the view.
‘It’s in a fabulous spot.’
‘You really are getting used to all this, aren’t you?’ Swift closed the cutlery drawer and crossed the kitchen to stand beside her.
‘Where would you hide something in here? There’s hardly any storage space at all,’ Julie said.
‘Do we know what we’re looking for?’
‘Not a clue, but if Ardal’s instinct is right, if she was going to take Sean abroad, then there might just be tickets here somewhere. John Slaithwaite swears there’s nothing else at Eighth Avenue or Lizzie’s shop, and we’ve had the B&B upside down ourselves and found nothing, so they have to be here.’ Julie pushed herself back from the sink and crawled under the small dining table.’
‘Clutching at straws, Julie?’
Julie bumped her head on the table as she got up and she stifled both the exasperation and the expletive. ‘No, Sir, there’s nothing. Absolutely bugger all.’ She brushed dust from her knees and looked down at the uneven stone floor. ‘This could do with a bit of a clean.’
‘So Lizzie’s not much of a domestic goddess then?’ Swift chuckled. ‘Come on, Julie. Let’s go home.’
‘Hang on, Sir. What would cause those marks?
Swift bent down to look at the scuff marks on the uneven flags. ‘Chair maybe? Would that do it?’
‘Unless…’ Julie walked over to the sink and paced out an arc between the edge of the fitted unit and the marks by the table. Swift watched her with one eyebrow raised.
‘Go on, Sergeant, I can hear your brain working overtime from here.
‘It’s like that door in Mal’s shed, the one that sticks. It left marks like this on the floor.’ Julie was on her hands and knees now, feeling the kickboard. ‘Is there no other light in here? I can’t see anything.’
‘Will this do?’ Swift flashed his mobile phone at her.
‘Perfect.’ Julie located two screws hidden under tiny pieces of insulating tape and worked her way along the kickboard. ‘Ha, you beauty.’ She rummaged in her bag and applied the blade of a small penknife to the first two screws, then the next two. Slowly, the screws were worked free and the kickboard fell forward, onto the flags. Swift knelt beside her and shone his phone into the gap.
‘Nice try, Julie.’ He stood up. ‘But there’s nothing there.’
Julie stood up too, trying not to show her disappointment. ‘Bugger, I really thought I was onto something there.’
Swift was frowning, his head on one side. ‘I don’t suppose you have a tape measure in that bag of yours, Mary Poppins?’
Julie laughed. ‘No, Sir. What are you thinking?’
‘What if there’s another piece of board at the back? This gap under here isn’t deep enough to go all the way back to the wall, is it?’
‘Oh, Sir, that’s bloody genius.’
‘I do my best, Sergeant.’ Swift laughed. ‘So what do we think?’
‘It could just be pipes though, couldn’t it, blocked in before the units were put in?’ Julie was already lying on the floor, feeling her way round the narrow space. ‘I just can’t see anything.’ She sat up. ‘It’s like being down a pit in this kitchen.’
‘I’ll take your word for that.’
‘Fel bol buwch, wouldn’t you say, Sir.’
Swift laughed. ‘It’s no good, Julie, this isn’t going to move.’ He knelt down and poked at the board in frustration. There was a faint click and, almost in slow motion, the board toppled forward and lay flat on the stone flags under the pipework for the sink. Swift reached into the space and stood up slowly.
‘Look, Julie.’ He handed her a small package wrapped in white-spotted cellophane and tied with a piece of green raffia.
‘Go on,’ Swift said, handing her a pair of blue latex gloves. ‘You were the one who brought us here.’
Carefully, she untied the raffia bow and unfastened the thick cellophane. It was like opening a present, wondering whether what she would find inside was what she’d been hoping for.
‘Oh my, look.’ She pulled out two passports. The first one she opened was for Sean. The photograph was Sean, but the name was Kieran Jenkins. Swift picked up the other.
‘This one’s for Lizzie, but she’s calling herself…’ Swift had opened the other passport and he flicked to the third page.’
‘Vanessa Jenkins?’ Julie asked.
‘How do you do that?’
‘That’s the name she gave when I first met her up here. She must have panicked and given me the first name that came into her head.’ Julie leaned over to look at the photograph. Even the tiny thumbnail photo showed Lizzie Slaithwaite with the same supercilious stare to which they had been treated so recently. ‘How does she do that?’
‘What?’
‘Manage to look so obnoxious in a regulation passport photograph?’
‘It has to be a forgery though, Julie.’ Swift nodded at the cellophane parcel. ‘What else is in there?’
‘There’s a ferry ticket from Fishguard to Rosslare for Tuesday next week, which was booked last A
ugust.’ Julie checked back to the passports. ‘The passports are dated August last year too.’
‘So what’s this,’ Swift said, handing her a package wrapped in black plastic.
Carefully, Julie sliced the package open and whistled. ‘Oh you beauty.’ She held it out to Swift. ‘It’s yet another mobile phone.’
CHAPTER FORTY
Day Nine
Adam was in the kitchen when she came downstairs the next morning, reading something on the worktop. Suddenly she felt weary, despite ten hours’ sleep. God, please don’t let him be looking for a recipe for anything with lentils in it. Not tonight. Just for once.
‘Come and sign this,’ he said, holding out a pen.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s an engagement card.’
‘Who do we know who’s engaged? Oh God, don’t tell me Helen’s phoned.’
‘Nope. This is for Tiffany. I thought we needed closure. All of us. If we both sign it, then we’re saying it’s over aren’t we?’
