Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows

by Shirley Wells

  I resigned as I wanted to concentrate on my writing.’

  Liar, she scoffed.

  ‘Yes, we heard you were writing. What sort of stuff are you doing?’

  ‘At the moment, I’m writing a book to help sufferers of anxiety attacks,’ she said.

  From the expression on his face, she gathered Mr Hutchinson wasn’t impressed.

  ‘Panic attacks, you mean?’ his wife put in. ‘My sister has those. She’s getting better, slowly, but it’s a terrible thing.

  Her doctor has given her Valium and told her to do relaxation exercises.’

  “I could have done that,’ Tony scoffed. ‘Don’t you think,’

  he said, addressing Jill, ‘that people could help themselves if only they put their minds to it? Is there any need for books?’

  “I don’t think we can help ourselves,’ Jill argued. ‘We can often help other people, but we get so wrapped up in our own worries and anxieties that we often can’t see the wood for the trees.’

  “I suppose so,’ he said, grudgingly. ‘And do you enjoy it?

  Writing, I mean?’

  “I love it.’

  That was true. All Jill wanted was to forget Valentine, as the serial killer had quickly been dubbed, forget her work with the police, and concentrate on her life. She wanted to get the work done on her cottage so it was warm and comfortable, then sit back and enjoy life with her cats. A simple life appealed to her.

  ‘It can’t be as interesting as criminal profiling, though,’

  Tony persisted. ‘But is there anything in it? I mean, really.

  Come on, Jill, you can be honest with us.’

  ‘Of course there’s something in it,’ she replied, wondering what sort of moron he thought she was. ‘We’re all unique. We all have our different ways of doing things.

  Criminals leave tangible clues like fingerprints, footprints, saliva, blood and all the rest of it, but by the way they do things, they leave clues that are just as obvious.’

  ‘What do you think of this conservatory?’ Liz butted in.

  ‘Isn’t it grand? I am so jealous.’

  Jill, grateful for the change of subject, warmed to her immediately.

  “Me, too. It’s gorgeous. I couldn’t believe these ferns are real …’

  Another man soon joined them. Jill didn’t know him but she’d seen him about the village. She was ashamed that she hadn’t made more effort to get to know these people.

  ‘Hi, Bob,’ Andy greeted him warmly.

  ‘Bob’s our local builder,’ Liz explained and to prove that she really had had too much wine, she burst into song, ‘Bob the Builder

  The group laughed, as was expected, but Jill could see that Bob had tired of the joke long ago. Fortunately, he was too well mannered to say so.

  The lovely Liz was struggling to keep her eyes off him.

  With good reason, Jill allowed. It was difficult to give him an age, probably late thirties or early forties. He was fit and strong-looking, with the sort of tanned skin that comes from working outside rather than spending a fortnight beneath a foreign sun. His hair was strawberry-blond, a young Robert Redford, and he had huge work-roughened hands. All in all, a very attractive man.

  ‘So you haven’t met our local celebrity either, Bob?’ Tony remarked, and Jill groaned inwardly.

  Bob looked blank.

  ‘Jill, here, was in the papers when that serial killer was caught. Or, at least, the police thought they’d caught the serial killer.’

  “I remember that, of course,’ Bob said, frowning, ‘but I don’t recall the details.’

  ‘Jill was the psychologist who worked out the profile for the police,’ Tony explained.

  ‘Ah, right.’ Bob tried to look impressed and failed.

  Jill had to smile. ‘Don’t worry, Bob, Tony’s having you on. I’m no celebrity. I am in need of a good builder, though. Andy will vouch for that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’m at Lilac Cottage,’ she told him, ‘Mrs Blackman’s old place.’

  ‘Ah.’

  A man of few words was Bob.

  ‘My roof needs checking over and making good as soon as possible,’ she explained, ‘and every door and window in the place needs replacing. In the future, I’m thinking of a loft conversion and a ground-floor extension.’

  Bob wasn’t surprised. Anyone who drove past could see the state of her roof and windows.

  ‘Give me a ring then,’ he said. ‘I’m in the book.’

  They chatted about other things - the way Kelton Bridge had woken to eight inches of snow on New Year’s Day last year, how Tony, a keep fit fanatic, was determined to walk the Pennine Way next year …

  ‘Jill, there you are.’ Mary Lee-Smith appeared at Jill’s elbow. ‘You must come and meet our vicar and his wife.

  They say they haven’t met you yet.’ She sounded appalled at the latter.

  ‘Not yet,’ Jill admitted as she was whisked away.

  Reverend Trueman was a tall, imposing man. He looked quite stern and, for a moment, Jill remembered her late grandmother saying ‘And what shall I say when the vicar asks where you’ve been? I can’t lie to a vicar.’ Jill, eight years old at the time, hadn’t cared what her gran said. No way was she sitting in church for hours while her friends enjoyed themselves outside and that was that. She felt much the same about church twenty-six years later.

  During the customary ‘lovely to meet you’ and ‘how are you settling in?’ conversation that followed, his wife, Alice, appeared warm, friendly and down-to-earth, so Jill gave Reverend Trueman the benefit of the doubt.

  Alice was also stunningly attractive which was strange, Jill thought, given that (a) she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken and (b) she seemed to have made no effort whatsoever.

  Her hair could have done with a good cut, she wore no make-up, and her simple grey dress would have suited a Quaker. Despite this, her finely boned face with those stunning cheekbones, her height, her slim figure and long, shapely legs gave her a style and elegance of her own so that she couldn’t fail to turn heads.

  “I take it you’re not a churchgoer,’ Jonathan Trueman remarked.

  ‘I’m afraid not, no.’

  ‘Why afraid?’

  ‘Silly choice of words. Although I do feel I need to make excuses for myself.’ Blame my gran, she added silently.

  ‘But you’re right, I’m not. I love the buildings, and I love the whole idea of it all, but I’m not a fan of religion. It causes too many problems and creates too many fanatics for my liking.’

  ‘For a psychologist ‘

  ‘Jon,’ his wife scolded, ‘this isn’t the time or the place for one of your theology discussions.’ Alice gave Jill an apologetic smile. ‘Once he gets started, there’s no stopping him.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he argued, slipping a fond arm around his wife’s slender waist. ‘We’ll save it for another time,’ he promised with a wink for Jill.

  ‘Here’s Michael.’ Alice waved to a young lad across the room. ‘Our son,’ she added for Jill’s benefit. ‘Michael, come and meet Jill Kennedy’

  He came over to them, all smiles. ‘You haven’t run out of petrol lately?’

  “I haven’t,’ Jill told him, laughing. ‘We’ve already met,’

  she explained to his parents. ‘Michael helped me unlock my petrol cap at the filling station.’

  ‘His Saturday job,’ Jonathan put in. ‘He’s in his last year at school and then it’ll be off to university’

  Clearly Reverend Trueman wanted the world to know about his clever son, not the friendly lad who sat in the kiosk at the filling station. An intellectual snob, Jill decided.

  They were discussing the universities they’d each attended when Mary appeared at Jill’s elbow.

  ‘Sorry to intrude, but Ella Gardner’s dying to meet you, Jill. Ella’s our resident historian …’

  Jill knew she’d never remember anyone’s name by morning, but she set off to be introduced to the resident historian
.

  ‘Spend too long in a place like Kelton,’ Ella warned, ‘and you’ll be the one needing a psychologist. I swear all the misfits are born with an inbuilt route planner to get them here.’ She frowned. “I haven’t seen you at church.

  I wouldn’t go myself as I’m a confirmed atheist, but it’s easier to go than put up with Jon’s lectures. Besides, he enjoys the challenge.’

  “I managed to avoid his lecture,’ Jill told her.

  ‘Ah, yes, he lulls you into a false sense of security and then goes in for the kill,’ Ella warned her.

  “I gather you’re our resident historian,’ Jill remarked.

  ‘Ha! I seem to have earned that dubious title since passing the age of sixty’ Ella grinned. ‘Before that, I was just another dull civil servant. Hmm. Exciting to have a resident psychologist though. Are you married?’

  Ella, Jill suspected, excelled at the frank question.

  ‘Widowed.’

  Jill was accustomed to the shock on Ella’s face. She’d seen it on dozens of faces before. She could understand it, too. Widows were grey-haired old ladies who knitted scratchy jumpers for their grandchildren while looking back on a lifetime’s memories. They weren’t smiling thirtyfour-year-olds.

  ‘What about you, Ella? Are you married?’

  “Me? For my sins, yes. Tom doesn’t get out much.

  Blames his arthritis but, basically, he’s a boring old fart. As he’d tell me though, it takes one to know one. I love him really, and given tonight’s crowd, I can’t say I blame him.

  God, what a dull lot. In the next breath, they’ll all be complaining that the youngsters leave the village at the first opportunity. Can you blame them? There’s more life in the graveyard.’

  ‘I’m enjoying myself,’ Jill said, amused by Ella’s scathing comments.

  ‘Ah, but as the new resident, you’re obliged to say kind things about us all.’

  Mary soon put an end to their conversation.

  ‘Come along, everyone,’ she called, clapping her hands to round up her guests. ‘Time for the fireworks.’

  They trooped out into the garden to watch the display. It was, as might be expected, Jill supposed, spectacular. Mary wouldn’t do anything by half measures. They oohed and aahed dutifully, although Jill had never been a fan of fireworks. She was pleased when they were ushered inside again, and she could warm her hands.

  She was wondering if it was too early to make her excuses when Tony Hutchinson sought her out.

  ‘I’ve been sent to apologize,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Liz thinks I was rude to you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Jill was surprised.

  “I really was fascinated by the case,’ he explained, ‘and I didn’t stop to think how you must have felt when you realized it was the wrong man.’

  ‘It goes with the territory,’ she told him. ‘You can’t win ‘em all.’

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth, eh?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘are you really looking for a builder?’

  “I certainly am, yes.’

  ‘Then you won’t go far wrong with Bob. He’s fair and reliable, an excellent chap. Mind you, he has to be. Living in the village, we’d soon be up in arms if our houses started falling down.’

  ‘Tony, there you are.’ The lovely Liz appeared at his side, swaying even more noticeably now. “I might have guessed.’

  “I think it’s time we got you home,’ he said tightly and, again, Jill was struck by the animosity.

  ‘Time I left too,’ Jill said. ‘Do you mind if I walk with you?’

  She’d done enough socializing for one evening and her feet were objecting strongly to being forced into shoes that boasted a small heel. Besides, she didn’t relish walking home in the dark with only exploding rockets for company.

  ‘We’d be honoured,’ Tony said, adding a scathing, ‘When Liz falls over, it’ll be easier to put her back on her feet if there are two of us.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘You bloody superior shit!’ Liz’s first job was to pour herself a large vodka. ‘God almighty, you’re pathetic. You have to bloody fawn, don’t you?’

  Her husband, the fine upstanding headmaster, said nothing. No surprise there. While he was more than happy to creep and grovel round everyone in the village, he knew his silent, superior air pissed her off. She was convinced he had perfected it deliberately. Every time they went out together, which wasn’t often, he made a complete prat of himself, embarrassed her, and made a mockery of their marriage. Not that making a mockery of their marriage took much effort; everyone in the village must know how shaky that was by now.

  ‘As soon as Mary said the new woman had been invited, I knew you’d be falling all over her.’

  “I was merely being polite, Liz, and now I’m going to bed. Are you coming? Or are you going to keep your bottle company?’

  ‘It’s better bloody company than you are.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  He walked off, loosening his tie as he went. Sanctimonious pig.

  Liz would have followed, if only to give vent to her anger, but she knew it was a waste of time. What would he do? Apologize for ignoring her all night, sweep her off her feet and make mad passionate love to her? Some hope of that.

  She kicked off her shoes, stretched her toes, and threw herself down on the sofa.

  There was a time when he’d swept her off her feet, figuratively speaking of course. She’d come over from the States to work in England, met Tony, been completely dazzled by him, and forgotten about returning to America.

  They’d been married less than four months after that initial meeting.

  What had appealed to him? That she was American?

  That she was ten years his junior?

  Sadly, twenty years later, she no longer looked ten years his junior. While he was terrified of growing old and took every precaution known to man, she was drinking herself into an early grave. Perhaps it was this fear of growing old that made him such an incorrigible flirt. Or perhaps he was simply bored with her.

  She refilled her glass, then carried that and the bottle back to the sofa.

  ‘The drink will numb the pain/ she promised herself. ‘It always does.’

  ‘Good party?’ Tom asked.

  Ella bent to kiss her husband’s head, took off her coat, and made straight for the kitchen.

  ‘Interesting. I’ll bore you with the details as soon as I’ve made a brew. Do you want one?’

  Silly question, Ella thought, smiling to herself. In the forty years they’d been married, had Tom ever refused a cuppa? She couldn’t recall an occasion.

  Her hands were cold and she warmed them on the kitchen radiator as she waited for the kettle to boil. Moving from a large three-storey house to a small bungalow had come as a bit of a shock but, three years on, Ella was glad they’d done it. The bungalow was easy to keep clean and, more importantly on nights like this, easy to keep warm.

  When she carried the tea through, she was pleased to see he’d switched off the television and folded his newspaper.

  He might not be interested in local gossip, but he was a good listener. A good husband.

  ‘Was I missed?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not. I excused your absence by telling people you’re a boring old fart. Actually, I did,’ she recalled, laughing. “I met Jill Kennedy, the new woman at Lilac Cottage. I liked her immediately. She’s one of those people you instantly warm to, you know? Anyway, I told her you were too boring to meet people. I don’t think she believed me, though.’

  ‘I think I’ve seen her about,’ Tom said. ‘Slim? Short blonde hair? Drives a blue Seat Leon?’

  ‘That sounds like her, although I’ve no idea what car she drives. Andy Collins has his eye on her, I know that. He was quite peeved when Mary insisted on dragging her off to meet people. I was one of those she had to meet. I’m the resident historian. It’s official.’

  Tom l
aughed at that.

  ‘Tony and Liz were looking daggers at each other all evening,’ she confided, clucking her teeth. ‘Liz had had too much to drink, as usual, and Tony was busy flirting with Jill Kennedy, Alice Trueman …’ She paused, then laughed.

  “I think I’m the only woman he didn’t flirt with.’

  ‘He knows the competition’s too stiff.’

  Ella reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Perhaps he does at that.’

  Tears welled up in her eyes and she had to blink them back. What was she going to do without her Tom?

  When she’d stood in the church all those years ago and vowed to love him till death parted them, she hadn’t realized that death would come long before she was ready to face it. Tom was only sixty-seven. He’d been by her side, putting up with her funny ways for forty years. She couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to imagine the day when he wasn’t there. Yet that day was rapidly approaching.

  Today was one of his good days, one of those days when she could pretend the word cancer didn’t exist. Tomorrow could be a different story altogether.

  ‘Six months,’ the doctor had said. ‘Maybe more …’

  It was no use getting maudlin. That helped no one.

  ‘Jill Kennedy’s a widow,’ she went on, forcing her mind to other matters. “I had such a shock when she told me. It doesn’t seem right, someone so young. I don’t know what happened. I was still getting over the shock when we started talking about something else. Bob Murphy was there, and you know how all the young ladies lust after that finely toned body of his. Liz’s eyes were out on stalks, but Jill barely spared him a second glance. Still mourning her husband, I suppose. Lord, Bob’s a handsome chap, though. If I were forty years younger ‘

  ‘If you were forty years younger, my love, you wouldn’t be allowed to go gallivanting on your own.’

  Alice was exhausted when she climbed into bed. It had been a long evening; she’d found it difficult to pretend that everything was as it should be. She’d imagined people must know her secret.

  It couldn’t go on, the strain would kill her.

  Jonathan came out of the bathroom and climbed into bed beside her.