Their Fatal Secrets

by JANICE FROST

  “No, no, that’s not the case at all.” Patsy was teetering on the verge of hysteria, and PJ felt way out of her depth. “Mrs Howard, please don’t jump to conclusions. Look, I promise I’ll let you know if we have the slightest reason to believe that your daughter’s death was not an accident.” Shit, what a mess. PJ felt she was digging herself in deeper with every word. “Please don’t talk to anyone about this, Mrs Howard. It might jeopardise our whole investigation.” To PJ’s relief, Patsy seemed to be calming down. For a few moments neither of them spoke.

  “I’d better go now. Are you going to be alright?” PJ asked.

  “What? Yes.” Her mood had altered again, the pills were evidently kicking in.

  Patsy saw her to the door. Her manner was distant now. “Goodbye, Sergeant. Thank you for coming.” Before PJ could respond, Patsy had shut the door.

  * * *

  Ava intercepted PJ as soon as she walked into the station, and pulled her into the kitchen. “The DI’s had a call from Michaela Howard’s mother. She was practically hysterical, apparently. He couldn’t understand what she was on about at first, but it seems that she’s got it into her head that we’re investigating a triple murder, including Michaela’s.”

  PJ sat down. “Oh, crap.”

  “It gets worse. She’s asking why the public hasn’t been informed there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

  PJ put her head in her hands. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “What the hell did you say to her, Peej?”

  PJ recounted her conversation with Patsy Howard. When she got to the part about Seth Conway, Ava whistled.

  “Well, that piece of information might just be enough to stop him firing you on the spot. You’ll still get a bollocking, mind.” PJ nodded miserably. Ava crossed to the fridge, took out a jug and poured her friend some iced tea. “It’s not all doom and gloom,” she said. “Tom’s been in touch with Chantelle Clarke’s parents.”

  “I suppose he didn’t cock up his interview,” PJ said dismally.

  Ava ignored her self-pity. “It was a different sort of interview,” she said, tactfully. “It turns out that Chantelle’s parents never bought the suicide thing. Chantelle had an eating disorder. She was eventually diagnosed with an autistic spectrum disorder. Apparently a lot of girls with anorexia actually have an ASD. Anyway, once Chantelle was diagnosed correctly she made good progress. She was well informed about her condition and very positive about it. Apparently at the time of her suicide, she’d been coming off her pills for depression. Her mother said that Chantelle was at,” Ava made air quotation marks, “‘a very positive stage in her life.’ Better than she’d been for years.”

  “Wow.”

  “That’s right. The Clarkes told the police all this at the time, but they feel their concerns were ignored. But get this, Peej. Chantelle didn’t take the pills at home. She was found in the park — with a half-empty bottle of water and an empty packet of pills.”

  PJ gave a low whistle. “Someone could have forced her to take them.”

  Ava nodded.

  “Where are we on tracing Seth Conway?” PJ asked.

  “We’re nowhere,” Ava said. “He simply disappeared after leaving the Yeardsley Trust.”

  “It can’t be coincidence that he knew both Leanne and Michaela. And Chantelle attended CAMHS too.”

  “And Ruby Kennedy. I checked the dates when she attended counselling there and they fit,” Ava said. “Your discovery this morning adds to the picture. I’d say Seth Conway is our man most wanted at the moment.”

  DI Neal agreed. He’d appeared out of nowhere, but had obviously overheard at least some of their conversation.

  “Sir . . .” PJ began.

  Neal ignored her. “Ava. Get in touch with CAMHS and find out as much as you can about Seth Conway’s time there. See if you can arrange to speak to someone straight away.” Only then did Neal turn to PJ. “DS Jenkins. My office. Now.”

  Ava found Tom Knight poring over the case files. He made the call to CAHMS and was advised that the psychologist who could help them most wasn’t going to be available for a few days.

  “The receptionist said that a woman called Philippa Patterson might be able to help us. She was Seth Conway’s mentor on his mental health nursing course. She’s based at the county.” He made another call and turned to Ava. “Would you believe it, she’s free until four this afternoon.”

  Ava threw Tom his jacket. “Let’s find out what she can tell us right now.”

  * * *

  In less than half an hour, they were sitting in a waiting area outside Philippa Patterson’s office. She arrived and invited them into her office. She was a petite woman dressed in billowing linen trousers and a sleeveless turtleneck jumper. Her delicate features and almond-shaped eyes reminded Ava of Audrey Hepburn, and judging by her dark brown hair, worn in Hepburn’s classic Breakfast at Tiffany’s updo, Philippa evidently liked to play on the resemblance.

  “I’m responsible for finding placements for our trainee nurses. I understand you are interested in one of our ex-students, Seth Conway? Is that right?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tom Knight answered politely. “I’m afraid I can’t give you any specifics, but we’d be grateful for your cooperation.”

  “How can I help you?” Philippa asked. Something about her manner suggested distaste for Conway. Ava had guessed right. Completely unprompted, Philippa blurted out, “Seth Conway was a deeply unpleasant young man, though he knew how to hide it very well.”

  Ava saw her surprise mirrored in Tom’s eyes. He explained that they were particularly interested in Seth’s placement at the CAMHS centre on Hope Street.

  “Firstly, Seth was in no way qualified to participate in a group like that. He would have been there as an observer. The psychologist would have introduced him and asked if the group members minded him being there. It’s interesting that Michaela told her mother about him, as he probably only attended a couple of her sessions. Then again, I suppose it’s not that surprising. Seth was an extremely good-looking young man, oozing with charm and charisma. Seth left his nursing course not long after his placement at Hope Street. When I say ‘left,’ I’m being diplomatic. He started in September and was gone by Christmas. One of our female students accused him of sexual harassment outside the work place. It was her word against his and he was given the benefit of the doubt. A few weeks later, when Seth was doing a week’s placement at CAMHS, I was approached by the mother of a young patient in the group Seth had been observing. She claimed that another young woman in the group had tipped her off that Seth had been approaching her daughter after her sessions and inviting her to parties. Her daughter denied it, as did Seth. He accused the other girl of jealousy — said she had a crush on him and was upset when he rejected her advances and wanted to get revenge.”

  “How old were these girls?” Tom interrupted. Philippa gave him a knowing smile.

  “Fourteen. And emotionally vulnerable.”

  Ava did a quick calculation. Seth would have been in his early twenties. But it wasn’t just the age difference. Seth had known the young woman was vulnerable, not least emotionally, and he had been in a position of trust.

  “Once again we couldn’t prove anything, of course. Though he was very much on my radar by then. There’s no smoke without fire, Sergeant.

  “Who was the girl?” Tom asked, sounding eager. “Was her name Michaela?”

  Philippa shook her head. “I’ll check my records. It was some time ago, Sergeant.”

  “Did Seth decide to leave the course voluntarily?” Ava asked.

  Philippa smiled. “Not exactly. I had a hand in it. With a little help from my then fifteen-year-old daughter.”

  “You set him up?” Tom and Ava exchanged looks.

  “Of course not. What sort of mother do you think I am, Sergeant Knight? I didn’t have to set him up. He approached my daughter in the hospital car park, where she was waiting for me to finish work. He chatted to her for a few minutes, then
stuck his hand up her skirt. My daughter was in school uniform.”

  Ava gasped.

  “Yes. Charming character, isn’t he? My daughter pushed him away and he tried to force her into the car. Fortunately my daughter has a good pair of lungs on her and her screams alerted a security guard. Seth made a big mistake.” She sighed. “Even so, he got away with it, claimed he’d stumbled and fallen against my daughter and she toppled backwards into the car. He denied touching her inappropriately. They were on the wrong side of the car for the CCTV camera to show what really happened. Given the choice of believing a man who had twice before been suspected of inappropriate sexual behaviour and my daughter, I believed my daughter. I managed to ‘persuade’ him that he wasn’t cut out to be a mental health nurse.” Philippa’s eyes shone with triumph. “So. Let me just see if I can find the name of the girl whose mother accused him of inappropriate behaviour at Hope Street.”

  Ava and Tom waited while she clattered away on her keyboard.

  “Here we go. Yes, Michaela Howard.”

  Tom and Ava exchanged looks of satisfaction.

  “I take it this name means something to you two?” Philippa looked at them with raised eyebrows.

  Tom nodded. “It does, ma’am.”

  “Well, if he hasn’t already been put away for being a sick pervert, I hope you find something to nail him for, Detectives.”

  Ava and Tom thanked Philippa for her time and left. They walked back to where Tom had parked at the far end of the car park. This part of the parking area had been empty when they arrived, but now it was completely full. Ava looked on, amused, while a disgruntled Tom inspected every inch of their car’s paintwork.

  “Jeez, Tom. Sooner or later, it’s going to get a mark on it. It’s not as if we’re responsible for it, it’s a bloody police car.” Tom glared at her as though she had uttered a profanity, but all he said was, “It’s a nice motor.”

  When she and Tom got back to the office, Ava cast PJ an enquiring look.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” PJ assured her. “Patsy Howard’s been persuaded not to blab to the press. I think the info I got about Seth Conway helped, like you said.”

  “Tom and I have found out a bit more. Seth Conway is a very nasty piece of work. And clever with it, so it appears. The original Teflon man.” Ava told PJ what Philippa Patterson had said.

  PJ nodded. “I see what you mean. Hard to believe he could get off with it every single time. He sounds like a textbook psycho, all charm on the outside, total evil bastard underneath. Bet he can go for weeks without blinking.”

  “Philippa’s account makes it more than likely that he tried it on with Michaela Howard. Or attempted to.”

  Neal appeared at the door of his office. He walked over and perched on the edge of Ava’s desk, signalling to Tom Knight to join them. Ava updated him and Neal nodded. He seemed eager to tell them something.

  “I checked back with Ashley Hunt. The iron found in the river where Leanne Jackson’s body was discovered is a match for the injury to her head, and we have confirmation that traces of her DNA were on it. The implications for our case are very positive indeed. If we can track down the artist responsible for the design on the iron, he or she might be able to provide some information on where and when it was sold — and if we’re very lucky, to whom.”

  “Sir, does this confirm that Leanne Jackson might have been murdered on a narrowboat and was either cast overboard or jumped into the water as we thought?” Ava asked.

  Ignoring her, Neal took out his phone and showed them a photograph. “Dan sent me a picture of the iron. PJ, I’ll forward this to you. I’d like you to start making enquiries. See if you can identify the artist responsible for this design. Tom, in the light of the information Philippa Patterson gave you, I think we need to obtain a list of names of young people who would have come into contact with Seth Conway during his time at CAMHS. It would also be helpful to speak with anyone else who worked with Conway, including the psychologist as soon as he’s available. And get someone to find a place where a boat could have been moored a mile either side of where Ruby Kennedy was found.”

  Turning to Ava, Neal said, “Pam Hollings phoned again earlier, asking about Jess Stokes. I think it’s time we found out if Jess is caught up in all this. If she is, we need to treat her disappearance with the utmost urgency.”

  He didn’t need to say that Jess’s life could be in danger.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Neal and Ava were on their way to Jess’s college.

  “As you say, it’s highly likely that the husband was responsible for the distasteful incident with the offal, but poisoning a dog is a big step up.” Neal looked thoughtful. “Strange, Jock was speculating about the fate of the dog Michaela Smith tried to rescue. He seemed to think it odd that it drowned and suggested it might have been poisoned. We’ll never know, as no autopsy was carried out.”

  Ava frowned. “What concerns me most is that Jess hinted to Pam that she was going to do some snooping of her own. What if, like Leanne, she discovered something?”

  “It’s unlikely,” Neal said. “She wouldn’t have known where to start, for one thing.”

  Jess might not have discovered anything, but the fact that she was making enquiries might have come to the attention of the wrong person or people. Ava wished she’d been more insistent that Jess meet her the evening she’d asked to talk.

  At the college, Neal and Ava presented themselves at the main reception area, a bright and busy space milling with students and visitors. Neal had called ahead, and he moved to the front of the queue and flashed his ID at the receptionist. Ava followed him, ignoring the murmurs of complaint from people in the queue.

  A young man appeared and ushered them into a corridor leading to some stairs. Upstairs, they followed him along another corridor to the Human Resources department. The students’ artwork was displayed on the corridor walls. Ava looked at the paintings and photographs appreciatively. She had achieved an A grade in A level art and design and had flirted with the idea of going to art school, before deciding that it wasn’t likely to lead to gainful employment. There were times when she regretted that decision.

  They were left in the care of a gracious woman who introduced herself as Bijal Singh. She was expecting them and had a folder tucked under her arm with Jess Stokes’ name on the front.

  Bijal’s office overlooked the HR floor. She closed the louvered blinds while Neal and Ava helped themselves to tea and coffee from flasks on a spare table. “Leftover from a meeting earlier,” Bijal explained. “I have Jess’s file here. Of course, most information is stored electronically, just depends what you want to know.”

  “Is it unusual for Jess to be off without contacting the college?” Neal asked.

  “Most unusual, Inspector. Jess always informed us first thing in the morning if she was going to be absent from work. It’s been two days now and of course we’ve tried to contact her, but without success. Should I be concerned, officers?” She looked from Neal to Ava.

  “Not at the moment,” Neal said. “What can you tell us about Jess?”

  “Jess is a reliable and popular member of staff. She won a staff award last year for her exemplary work supporting our disabled students. ‘Always ready to go the extra mile,’ was a common comment from her students and co-workers. Jess’s line manager, Trish Eaton, said Jess has really grown in confidence since starting work at the college a couple of years ago. Actually, you’d probably be better off speaking with Trish. She knows Jess better than I do.” Bijal consulted her watch. “Trish has made herself available for the next hour or so. Shall I give her a buzz and ask her to come over?”

  “Perhaps you could direct us to Ms Eaton instead?” Neal suggested.

  Bijal nodded and picked up the phone on her desk. “Colin, can you pop into my office, please.” She hung up and said, “Our latest apprentice, bless him. He’ll take you over. He won’t be a minute.”

  Before she’d finished speaking, there was a k
nock at her door and a young man dressed in a Black Watch tartan suit and pointy leather brogues entered the room.

  Bijal pulled up her blinds. “That’s better. Hate being stuck in here by myself.” She gave a wave to someone below. She’s a people person, Ava thought.

  Without uttering a word, Colin led them back along the corridor, down the stairs and out into the main part of the college campus.

  “Nice suit,” Ava commented.

  “Black Watch,” Neal said, to be met with a vacant look from Colin. “The tartan. It’s called Black Watch. Scottish regimental tartan.”

  Colin muttered something that sounded like, “Yeah?”

  “I knew that,” Ava whispered to Neal.

  Colin led them to a door and stepped back. “This is it.”

  He showed no inclination to knock, so Ava stepped forward and tapped lightly, while Neal gave Colin much exaggerated thanks. Sarcasm’s wasted on this one, she thought.

  Trish was a breath of fresh air after the surly Colin. She was looking concerned. “Please tell me nothing bad’s happened to Jess.”

  “We have no reason to believe so at the present time,” Neal answered. He was being professional, not uncaring, Ava knew.

  Neal went through a list of routine questions about Jess’s character, her work record, whether she had seemed worried about anything. They learned again what a likeable, caring individual Jess was, how she was a bit unconfident but wonderful at her job. Neal turned to the subject of Leanne Jackson’s murder.

  “Jess was upset the morning after that happened,” Trish said. “She told me that she’d gone to the riverside to see where the poor woman’s body was recovered. She knew Leanne Jackson at school, apparently.”

  A bell sounded outside. Trish excused herself, saying that she had a class to take. She opened the door to the corridor which was already filling with students in transit. One of them, a burly young man, made a beeline for Ava and gave her a bear hug.

  Trish boomed out, “Barney! How do we say hello to someone we don’t know?”