by Jo Allen
Jude picked up his pen and began making rapid notes. Faye’s expression was chilly.
‘George spoke to Claud and Natalie when they were leaving Hunter Lane on Tuesday night. He’d given his statement to a police officer — Tyrone, as it happens — and he was on his way home. Claud says he'd didn’t recognise George at first, but when George introduced himself, he did.’
‘Recognised him from where?’
‘Church. George is a regular churchgoer and very keen on Claud’s proposal for a Rainbow Festival. He’d been at the meeting Claud had held in the church. ’
‘The Rainbow Festival,’ said Jude, still busily twirling the pen. ‘That keeps coming up, doesn’t it? And yet from what I heard about the idea it was barely formed enough for anyone to know what it was, let alone develop a murderous objection to it.’ He looked towards Doddsy and Faye, who seemed tolerant of everything except other people’s religious beliefs, shook her head as if this mumbo-jumbo was too much for her.
‘It’s early days but it’s still causing a stir.’ Doddsy was the one to whom Jude was looking for comment. Tyrone had been right. You couldn’t hide things. ‘I understand Phil was opposed to it.’
‘Dear me,’ Jude said, playing the whole thing down as far as he could and convincing no-one. ‘Strongly opposed?’
‘I think so.’
Faye sniffed. ‘Did Claud and Natalie say anything about that?’
Ashleigh referred to her notes. ‘Yes. Natalie couldn’t remember his name, though she did remember what he said. Claud somehow managed to give chapter and verse of the encounter. He’s one of those people who remembers that sort of thing.’ She put the papers down on the desk. ‘So as far as I can see that’s three people who died, all of whom have some kind of connection to Claud Blackwell. Len died within sight of his house. He found Gracie dying in front of his office. And George Meadows introduced himself to Claud two days before he was found dead.’
You could make a case — a looser one, admittedly — for all three of them having a connection with Phil, too, if you took into account the vagueness of his whereabouts on the day that Len had died and the even vaguer possibility that he and George had somehow fallen out over the Rainbow Festival. Doddsy saw that both Jude and Faye had made notes to that effect, though neither of them seemed to want to pick up on it just then. No doubt they’d leave it until Doddsy was absent and chew to over then. He’d feel his ears burning, no doubt.
‘Let’s talk about Claud.’ Faye sighed.
Doddsy liked Claud but he sensed a certain shiftiness behind his bumptiousness. ‘I’ve something to add, too. An update from the CSI team. They gave me a description of the jacket in which the knife had been wrapped. It came from a brown suit. I don’t know the exact measurement, but they said it looked as if it would fit a short, broad-shouldered male.’ He flicked up the picture that had come through on his iPad and laid it on the table.
‘We’ll know for certain when we get the results from the lab, of course,’ said Jude, after a moment’s consideration, ‘but that certainly looks like the suit Claud was wearing for the workshops.’
‘It also ties in with some information I’ve had back from the Intelligence Unit about his laptop.’ Faye wasn’t, Doddsy sensed, a woman who ever took particular pleasure in the process of delivering information, unlike Chris, who had a theatrical streak and liked a bit of drama, or Ashleigh, who uploaded new knowledge as swiftly as possible to the relevant person. Faye’s approach was more measured, more logical, adding information onto a stream where it became relevant, rather than a random fact or where it would distract from something equally important. ‘They were able to retrieve data from the hard drive. God knows how. Claud was a regular contributor to activist forums and some more general ones.’
‘Okay.’ Jude was leaning forward, a look of keen interest on his face. ‘Is there any connection with Len? We don’t know that he used dating websites, but it’s possible. I don’t think we’ve got the full analysis of his laptop yet. It’s unlikely Giles did, under the circumstances, but you never know.’
‘That I don’t know. They sent me that piece of information as soon as they had it. I’ll let you know both minute I hear anything else from them.’
‘I don’t have Claud down as gay.’ Doddsy rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t know why not, because although he’s married that doesn’t rule it out.’
‘And devoted to Natalie,’ contributed Jude, ‘though of course you’re right. Just because he’s fetched up in a stable relationship with a woman doesn’t mean anything, in itself.’
‘He’s so very gay-friendly. I’m pretty damned sure that at one level he’d quite like to be. Although of course it would equally suit his purpose to make a stand for gay rights from the perspective of a straight man. He’s so keen on making out that we’re all equal.’
‘Of course we’re all equal,’ Faye said, accusing him with her gaze.
‘Yeah. Sure. We are.’ And Doddsy shook his head and let it go.
Chapter 22
‘What, is your man off to work already?’ Lisa was in the kitchen when Ashleigh let herself into the house. ‘It’s barely nine o’clock. Still, I’m glad you’re here. I had a couple of sherbets too many last night so you can make me a cup of coffee to kick-start me.’
‘Make it yourself. It’s a matter of boiling the kettle.’
‘Oh, Ash.’ Lisa sank down at the kitchen table, running hands through her rumpled hair, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. A routine hangover acquired the panache of a Greek tragedy. ‘It would save my life. Be a pet. It’s Saturday.’
‘I’m making it for myself anyway.’
‘Great. Lifesaver. Thanks.’ Lisa unfolded the newspaper and leafed through it while Ashleigh filled the cafetière. ‘I see your mate at the newspaper has rumbled your friend Faye. You don’t fancy rustling me up a full English while you’re at it, do you?’ She winked.
‘Don’t push your luck.’ Ashleigh put the cafetière down and tried not to look at the newspaper. ‘I wouldn’t call either of them my pal. Just as well the newspapers are more interested in corpses than scandal.’ She looked out of the window as a jogger ran past, but it wasn’t Natalie.
‘They’re not exactly short of them just now. Three in a week. And bloody ones.’ Despite her self-inflicted misery, Lisa managed to find some sympathy. ‘Gruesome for you. Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine.’ But Ashleigh scanned the newspaper with distaste. ‘I don’t think it’s helpful making a song and dance about it. And Faye’s background has nothing to do with it.’
‘It’s all about bread and circuses. They rely on these things to keep their circulation up.’ Lisa was an archaeologist by profession, but her fascination with history was as broad as the world itself.
‘You think I don’t know that? I suspect this story is a journalist trying to make a name for herself and this is the only angle she can think of that someone else hasn’t covered.’
Lisa looked into the depths of her cup as if she were reading the coffee grounds. ‘It’s just as well you didn't talk to her. At least your conscience is clear.’
‘Faye’s already looking poison at me.’ But then, she looked poison at everyone, with the sole exception of Claud Blackwell. Perhaps, after all, it wasn’t personal. ‘Remember, I did talk to her.’
‘Only because she cornered you, and then again, you gave a flat no comment. It’s hardly the same.’
‘True. But if she does come up with anything else, you can bet your life the finger will point at me. Especially with that call on my phone.’
‘You didn’t answer it. That’ll be logged too, won’t it?’ Lisa was already on her second cup of coffee, and the world obviously seemed a little brighter and what little light there was less painful on the eyes.
If Faye stopped thinking about work and started brooding on how unfair life was there was only one way it would go. On Monday, Ashleigh would have Professional Standards breathing down her neck. ‘I expect so.’
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‘And even if you had told her something, it’s not like you’re leaking details of a case or anything.’
‘No, but she’s my boss.’ Over the past couple of weeks Ashleigh had come to terms with Faye’s constant and invasive presence around the office. It was good that she was so actively involved in the investigation, but she didn’t need to make the woman into an enemy when having her as a hostile presence was enough. ‘On a purely practical note, I don’t want to get on the wrong side of her.’ In her mind’s eye she could see the headline Marsha Letham might wish she’d written. Top Cumbria Cop’s Gay Fling With Detective. She shuddered. It had been a narrow escape.
‘Well, if you don’t name names and Faye doesn’t tell, who else can tell? Who else knows it was you?’
‘Jude.’ Ashleigh picked up her coffee and took comfort from it.
‘He won’t say anything.’
‘No.’ If he wasn’t discretion itself, it was more than his job was worth, as well. ‘There were people back in Cheshire who knew. One of them might have left and felt able to be indiscreet. There were plenty of people on the wrong side of her back there.’ Now she was catastrophising, just like poor Natalie Blackwell. ‘Other people might guess.’
‘I see your problem.’ Lisa was a thinker, a woman who teased a problem until she came up with a creative alternative. It was a very different skill set to that of a detective, and much more aligned with reading the tarot cards. ‘And the solution is pretty obvious, too.’
‘Yes,’ Ashleigh said, with misery creeping in to the back of her mind at the thought. ‘I know.’
‘You know you’re going to have to have it out with her. You should have done it as soon as you realised she was here.’
Being so controlling meant Faye could be hard to talk to. When she felt threatened she could hiss like a snake and she could strike like one, too. Any discussion would only ever be on her terms. ‘I know. But—’
‘But if she’s making your life difficult you have to say something. You don’t have to put up with it. It’s not appropriate behaviour in the workplace, certainly not for someone in her position. And certainly not after what she did last time.’
‘I’ll think about it.’ The previous time Ashleigh had moved on rather than stand her ground and make a complaint. That had been a mistake; but the right thing was no easier to do than the wrong.
*
Faye’s arrival had turned her personal life as well as her professional one into a minefield. When Lisa had gone, heading up to Carlisle to lunch with a friend, Ashleigh stood in the kitchen and stared out, knowing her own weakness, knowing she shouldn’t let Faye’s insecurities impinge on her own and at the same time finding herself powerless to stop it. Turning, she headed upstairs and withdrew the cards from their gauze wrapping, the only place she could think of to turn for the answer.
Jude would have laughed at her, as he so often did, and pointed out that what she was looking for was the wrong answer, the answer that offered her a chance not to do the right thing. And he’d be right. She really didn’t need the cards for that.
Complicated issues required complicated spreads, but the answers she was looking for were fairly straightforward. ‘What should I do about Faye?’ The question asked, she shuffled the cards, dealt five of them into a horseshoe on the table in front of her, and turned them up, one by one. The King of Cups, hinting she should take wise advice from those who knew better than she did. The Five of Pentacles, to reassure her like a beacon on a stormy night. The Eight of Wands, so predictable she could have guessed it, and offering her catharsis through talk. And then the Fool, the card that somehow always came up when she told the cards for herself, and almost always signalled the conclusion of the reading. Carefree, foolish and optimistic — all of them words that applied to her in some element of her life.
She smiled. There was something about the depiction of the King of Cups that reminded her of Jude. The image had a smile of amusement lurking on the lips, a querying look in the eyes and a handsome face that seemed to stare out at her. ‘You win. I get the message. I need to stop worrying and sort it out.’ After all, she didn't know what was going on in Faye’s head. Maybe her ex-lover’s concerns were as great as her own, and maybe none of them were well-founded. ‘So that’s that settled, isn’t it?’
But it wasn’t. The answers to all her questions had been delivered, accurately, at speed and in exactly the form she’d expected them, and there was still a card left, face down on the table. She contemplated the abstract design thoughtfully. It was a little faded, but it had once been bright and exciting. ‘Okay. You’ve dealt me a wild card. What’s this one about? Something I haven't thought of?’ But the cards didn’t play like that. They addressed your specific concerns. Like the most cunning criminal, like a member of the public with some other guilt to hide, they never answered questions you hadn’t asked.
She held her hand over the card for a moment before she turned it upwards to reveal the Queen of Cups. An emotional card, a disturbing one. It radiated feelings and, the card being upside down, they weren’t good ones. They were feelings of loss and introversion, of misunderstanding.
Ashleigh thought of Natalie, running, running, running and never escaping something when it would have been so much easier to turn and face it. Then she remembered the purpose of the whole reading, the answer to her questions and the confirmation of what she’d known to be the truth.
At least this time there were no swords.
She shuffled the cards away, packaged them up, and called Faye.
*
‘I’ve arranged to go and see Faye this afternoon.’
‘Good idea.’ Jude sat back and smiled at the sound of Ashleigh’s voice. There were a few people working on the Saturday, though nowhere like the full complement, and he knew he did his share and more of weekend work. He should change that. He should make more time to spend with Ashleigh and try and have a bit of a life, stop letting his dad down so they could go to the football every second Saturday and sink a pint or two afterwards, make himself more obviously available for Mikey, if he were ever needed, and just spend a bit more time with him if he wasn’t. ‘It’s the only way to sort things out.’
‘Yes, you were right about it. So was Lisa. But I was the one who had to decide to do it.’
‘Who said you weren’t?’ he asked, amused. An email pinged into his inbox. On a Saturday. Someone else was working then, too. Wonders never ceased. ‘So that’s this afternoon. I’d offer to give you some moral support, but I’ll be at the football.’
‘We can talk about it over drinks tonight, if you like.’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘If it ends horribly, you’ll back me up, won’t you?’
He took a moment before answering trying to work out whether the question was a serious one. Faye hadn’t been around long enough for him to get the hang of the way she worked, other than that it was very much in-your-face, but he thought her bark might be worse than her bite. ‘Of course. But it won’t.’
‘But it might. You saw the story in the paper.’
‘Faye’s diversity and inclusion agenda is all very newsworthy,’ he said, as if he were speaking to Claud. But Faye herself was over-sensitive.
‘But what if the journalist comes back for more? She specifically said she wanted to talk to me because I was a former colleague of Faye’s.’
‘Don’t answer, and tell me. She can talk to Faye herself, if she’s brave enough.’ Jude doodled a series of circles on his pad. Saturday was a working day and normally he never took personal calls at work, but somehow he’d forgotten this particular rule he’d made for himself. Maybe loosening up a little wasn’t a bad thing. ‘Have you enjoyed your morning off?’
‘Yes. I walked up the hill and along Beacon Edge.’
‘The views are stunning up there, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, particularly today. Isn’t OCD a weird thing? If I was Natalie and I was going to take my ten-minute break som
ewhere, I’d definitely do it up there rather than in some dark alley in Drover’s Lane.’
‘I think it’s to do with how far she is from home.’ Another email pinged in, this time from Claud. ‘I’d better get on. Good luck with Faye, and you can tell me all about it this evening.’
‘See you then.’
He waited for a moment after she’d ended the call, thinking. The last thing he needed was to get involved in an internal row with Faye, but there was a line that had to be drawn.
‘Taking a breather, Jude?’ Chris, who’d traded a Friday in the future for a Saturday when he had nothing else to do, came back from the coffee machine. ‘We don’t often catch you staring into space.’ He bounced across the room and sat down at his laptop.
‘Just thinking,’ Jude said, as if he needed to justify himself and turned his attention back to business and flicked on Claud’s email.
As a follow up to my earlier comments to you, Claud had written in what felt like an unusually circuitous and possibly defensive manner, you’ll want further confirmation of where I was when the latest unfortunate victim was killed. I was at work on my own. Natalie, as usual was running. Obviously I had no computer so I have been working from my phone. I attach a screenshot showing a list of emails sent from my phone during the relevant time period.
Either Claud was innocent and doing the police’s work for them, or he reckoned he’d found out some way of establishing a fake alibi and was so sure that it was foolproof he was prepared to take on the risk that the police were smarter than he was. They might not be, but they had better resources at their disposal. They could trace the position of the phone, but Claud could have left it in the office while he made his way to William Street. Could he have faked the time stamp on the emails? That was one for the tech team. He fired off an irritable query, in case one of them was about and answering questions.
