by Helen Phifer
‘That’s one sick bastard if he is. But at least it gets the boss off the hook.’
* * *
Lucy carried her coffee up to her office, glad to see both Col and Rachel sitting behind their desks. She waved them over and both of them stood up, following her into her office. Col shut the door, and she felt her heart sink.
‘How did you get on?’
‘Not that good to be honest, boss. We watched the footage, which clearly shows Tom going in and coming back out.’
‘What time did he leave?’
‘He entered at 18.11 and came back out with a bunch of flowers and one carrier bag of shopping at 18.20.’
Leaning forward she buried her head in her hands. ‘Shit.’
‘What should we do now?’
When she moved her hands away from her face, Col frowned. ‘Lucy are you feeling okay, you’ve gone white.’
She nodded. ‘Fine, thanks. Right, well I guess I need to go and speak to him again. Can you make me a copy of the footage with the timestamps on?’
He passed her a pen drive. ‘Already done.’
‘Thank you, for now this is between us. I don’t want any gossiping; I still don’t think he has anything to do with this, but I do need a proper explanation for the missing time.’
They left her alone to drink her coffee and massage her aching temples. Taking out her notepad she wrote down, seventy minutes, what were you doing, Tom? She needed to speak to him as soon as possible; she also needed to ask him if he’d ever heard of Sandy Kilburn before her body had been discovered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jan stood in front of the kitchen sink, tears leaking from the corner of her eye. Poor Margaret, what had she done to possibly make someone think she deserved to die? Sensing her husband standing behind her, she didn’t need to turn around – he was very good at sneaking around. Then again she was very good at pretending not to notice; he thought she was oblivious to his night-time outings when it was the complete opposite. She was very good at faking sleep, at faking love, hell she could fake an orgasm with the best of them – only it had been years since he’d tried to sleep with her, so she didn’t have to bother much with that particular skill. He had his secrets; she’d followed him a couple of times then decided she didn’t want to know. All she’d ever wanted was a happy marriage, children and a home to call her own. When she first met David, he was a dashing young man whose love of God and helping people had been the thing to make her fall head over heels in love with him. She’d always been a bit on the chubbier side with very few friends due to her lack of self-confidence and would spend her spare time helping out at the church, rarely speaking. Shyness had crippled her teenage years, bitterness and anger her adult years. She knew he was waiting for her to speak, but she didn’t have the energy.
‘Well this wasn’t how I expected this morning to turn out.’
Turning around she stared straight into his eyes. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Poor Margaret, you never know when your time is up, do you? I suppose the family will want her service here. I wonder if they’ll want a full burial?’
‘She was murdered; you’re making it sound as if she was hit by a bus, crossing the road. Some bastard killed her and you’re wondering if she’ll be having a burial? What about who would do such a thing, why her? I don’t understand. You’re such a heartless prick at times.’
‘I didn’t mean that. Of course it’s terrible, and who would want to murder her? I was just trying to make conversation, Jan. Break the silence. Do you ever give it a rest? Don’t you ever get tired of being so angry all the time?’
Glancing at the heavy marble rolling pin on the draining board, she wondered if she would have the nerve to pick it up and smash him over the head with it.
‘Where were you that night?’
‘What do you mean? I was here with you.’
Her eyes narrowed as she stepped closer to him. ‘Yes, you were until I went to bed. I heard you leave. I got up to go to the toilet and I checked your bedroom. You never even got into bed before you snuck out of the house like some teenager who wasn’t allowed out after ten.’
His face turned ashen. ‘I went for a walk. I wasn’t tired. Unlike you I can’t lay my head on the pillow and fall asleep within sixty seconds. I have a lot to think about.’
‘So where did you walk to?’
‘What are you accusing me of, Jan? I went out for some fresh air before bed. That’s it; I didn’t go anywhere near Margaret’s house. Why the fuck would I? What did you tell the police?’
‘That you were tucked up in bed like the good man of the cloth you pretend to be.’
The look of relief that crossed his face only made her more suspicious.
‘That’s all right then, you know what coppers are like. One sniff of a clue and they’re barking up the wrong tree. They arrest more innocent people than guilty; you and I both know that. I’m sorry for shouting at you, sweetheart, we need to stick together at this tragic time not be tearing each other apart.’
He crossed the room and pulled her close, and she let him. Only because she didn’t know who the hell he was anymore or what he was capable of.
‘I’m sorry, too, it must be the shock of it all.’
‘Well you sit down and I’ll make us a nice pot of tea. We can have some of that banana cake Margaret made for us and pray for her together.’
The scandal of the popular vicar being a murderer would be the end of them both and bring back all the gossip and taunting of her teenage years that she’d worked so hard to forget. It was up to her to make sure that this didn’t happen. Her life might not be perfect, but it was better than she’d imagined it would turn out to be. Now she was going to have to do everything she could to keep it that way. She took her marriage vows very seriously and for better or worse meant that she would stand by him, even if it was only to save herself the embarrassment of having people point fingers at her for being so naive.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lucy knocked on Tom’s door. His car was in the drive, but Alison’s wasn’t, which was ideal. She’d been hoping he would be on his own. The door opened and she took a step back, shocked at his three-day stubble and pale complexion.
‘Lucy, come in.’
She followed him inside the pristine house, pushing down her feelings of envy for Alison, who pretty much lived a perfect life – or so it seemed from the outside, although Lucy now knew that to be untrue.
‘Stupid question, but how are you doing?’
He shrugged. ‘Been better if I’m honest. Excuse the mess; Alison has gone to visit her parents for a few days and has taken the boys with her.’
He led her into the kitchen, and she realised that he wasn’t doing too well judging by the empty wine bottles stacked up on the side. There was an open bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the kitchen table next to an empty glass.
‘When was the last time you ate?’
‘Yesterday, I think. Can’t remember, not really hungry.’
‘You’re thirsty though? Look it’s none of my business, but you have to take care of yourself. You can’t let yourself go off the rails, you need to keep it together. I need you to keep it together.’
She walked across to the huge American fridge and pulled open the door, grabbing an assortment of things and a pack of bacon to make him some sandwiches.
‘Yeah, help yourself, Lucy. I’ll never eat it, and I don’t know when she’s coming home.’
‘It’s not for me you muppet, it’s for you. Sit down, I’ll make you some food and then we need to talk. But not until you’ve eaten something, you look like shit.’
‘I feel like shit.’
‘In fact while I’m doing this you could go and have a quick shower, change of clothes, have a shave and brush your teeth. It will make you feel better.’
Lucy wondered if she’d overstepped her mark, but hoped she hadn’t. They had a deeper relationship than colleagues; she was his friend and he had been her men
tor from the day she’d joined the CID department. He’d pushed her to go for the role of detective sergeant, helping her to prepare for the interview, then he’d done the same when the inspector’s rank had opened up. Lucy smiled at him, then Tom pushed himself up from the table, saluted at her then turned and headed towards the stairs.
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and began to clean the kitchen side. Gathering all the empty bottles she took them outside to the recycling container, then after washing down the marble worktops began to make him some food to keep him going.
By the time he came downstairs the kitchen was spotless and there was an assortment of sandwiches wrapped in bags inside the fridge. There was also a stack of toasted bacon and egg bagels on the table along with a pot of coffee. Tom walked across the room and kissed her cheek.
‘You’d make someone a great wife, thank you, Lucy.’
She blushed; laughing, she pushed him away. ‘Yeah, I did. Only he didn’t think I was great enough to keep around. He traded me in for a much younger model.’
Tom’s cheeks burned. ‘Oh shit, Lucy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded.’
‘It’s okay, it’s a true story and I know you didn’t. Here, eat something.’ She pushed the stack of bagels towards him, and he took a couple, pushing the plate back towards her.
‘Only if you do; have you eaten today?’ He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged, grabbing a bagel from the plate.
They ate in silence; when the coffee was poured she reached out and grabbed hold of his hand.
‘You’re not going to like this but I had to do it. I need you to be brutally honest with me, and I don’t care what the answer is you give me. You’re still my friend, no matter how good or bad it is, and I will do everything I can to help you. You know that you can trust me, don’t you?’
He nodded, squeezing her hand. ‘Yes, of all the people I know, you, Lucy Harwin, are one of the very few I would ever trust.’
‘Good. Now I need to know where you were when you left Sainsbury’s at 18.20 hours on the night your mum was murdered.’
He gulped down the mouthful of coffee he’d just swallowed. ‘I went to see my lover.’
Lucy let out the biggest sigh of her life. ‘Thank fuck for that. Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘It was a bit delicate should we say. What were you going to think of me when I told you I left work and went for a quick shag before going home to play happy families?’
‘I think it’s a whole lot better than you telling me you went and killed your own mother, Tom. I have no idea what your home life is like, I wouldn’t judge you.’
‘I know, but with George leaving you and everything else I thought you’d be angry.’
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘I’m angry with George, yes. It doesn’t affect how I deal with anything else. Your life is your business and nothing to do with me.’
He let go of her hand and sat back. ‘Alison demanded I tell her where I’d been because she started thinking I was some kind of closet serial killer. I told her I’d been seeing another woman. She went mental, hit me a couple of times, packed a suitcase and took the boys away. So, there you have it, my life’s gone down the drain in less than five days and it’s all my own fault.’
‘It’s not your fault that your mum is dead though, is it? I’m sorry, but I need the name of your lover to confirm this and then it’s all over with. I can concentrate on catching the killer before he strikes again.’
‘Sara Cross. She isn’t going to be happy that you know about us. Do you think he’s going to strike again?’
Lucy knew that name, but she couldn’t think from where. ‘Yes, I do. I think he killed both your mum and Sandy Kilburn; I just need to figure out what links them. Do you know if there was any connection between them? Had you ever heard your mum mention Sandy?’
He shook his head then wrote down Sara’s address on a piece of newspaper and tore it off, before handing it to her. Standing, Lucy took it from him. ‘Thank you, now there’s food in the fridge, and before you sink any more of that bourbon, why don’t you phone Alison and try to smooth things out? Speak to the boys, it will make you feel better.’
‘Thank you, I will. I’ve dug myself into a huge hole this time. I’m glad you’re here to pull me back out.’
This time it was Lucy who bent down and brushed her lips against his much smoother, woody-smelling cheek. ‘If you need to talk, about anything, phone me. Don’t sit and drink yourself to death, I haven’t got the time to add another unexplained death onto my caseload.’ She winked at him, and he grinned.
Walking back to her car she felt a whole lot better knowing where Tom had been, even though she didn’t approve. She’d get Browning to pay a visit to Sara Cross to get Tom’s alibi signed off and then they were good to go. Now she’d been fed and had coffee it was time to go home and do some research on the good Father David Collins, because at the moment, in her eyes, he was looking good as a suspect. She needed to find out if Sandy Kilburn had any connection either to him or his church.
Chapter Thirty
April 1990
He sat staring at the grass under which his mother was buried. The sun was warm on his face today. He’d bunked off school to come and say goodbye to her. He couldn’t go without telling her why he wouldn’t be visiting anymore. He didn’t want her to think he’d just abandoned her. It wasn’t as if it mattered now anyway. This was his last day at the vicarage: the social worker had found him a foster home in Manchester. He didn’t know whether this was a good or a bad thing, as all his life he’d never really been anywhere other than Brooklyn Bay. David had stopped being weird around him after that day in the bathroom, so he’d rather stay there with Vincent, who was the only person to ever be kind to him since his mum had died, but he knew that he couldn’t. His dad had started to come around to the vicarage when he was pissed up and give both Vincent and David a hard time. The police had arrested him a few times, and he hated him now more than ever. He was sure it was because of this that they were making him leave; if he’d kept to himself they wouldn’t be rushing to move him away to a strange city. Saint Aiden’s Church cemetery was quiet, just him and the dead people – which suited him just fine. His mum’s grave was around the back of the church, hidden from view, so it was a pretty good place to skive off school without getting caught.
He heard the familiar high-pitched laugh and froze. It was her. Even though he hadn’t seen her since he’d been taken away from home that night, he couldn’t forget that laugh. There was some muffled talking and more laughter, this time it was much quieter. He crawled forwards on his hands and knees, wondering if his dad had brought the woman here – nothing would surprise him. The door at the side of the church ten feet away creaked open then slammed shut, and he held his hand against his chest to try and stop his heart from hammering so loudly against his ribcage. He’d thought this was it, that he was going to have to run as fast as he could to get away from them before his dad pummelled him to death. Once he’d calmed down, his interest got the better of him and he stood up, creeping towards the church. Why would he want to bring her here of all places? He placed his face against the lead windows and cupped his hands across his forehead so he could see inside. It was far too dark; he could see shadowy figures moving around, but he couldn’t see his father or her clear enough to see what they were doing in there. He looked at the heavy oak door which had slammed that hard it had bounced back, not shutting itself properly. He knew this was a very bad idea, but he had to see them one last time for himself.
Squeezing himself through the small gap he felt the cold air envelop him – churches were always freezing cold. He’d been to this one that many times in the past couple of months he could wander around it blindfolded and know where he was. This door led into the vestry and from there to the vicar’s office, where he kept all the communion wine and holy wafers. He listened; he could hear her voice although it was much fainter. So he knew it
was safe to go inside. They were either in the office or the church itself. Stepping inside the vestry the talking had stopped, replaced by the all-too-familiar moaning she liked to do whenever they were having sex. A tingle of excitement swept through his body, even he knew this was wrong. Dirty and wrong, you didn’t do it inside a church; his dad must be really losing it to be doing that inside his beloved place of worship. Tiptoeing across the cold, tiled floor he reached the office door, which was closed.
There was a keyhole with no key, so he bent down and pressed one eye against the small keyhole. The breath caught in the back of his throat – it was her all right. There was no mistaking the bleached hair. She was bent over the desk, her denim miniskirt pushed up to her waist and her black lace knickers around her ankles. It wasn’t his dad who was standing naked behind her, though. It was David. He was shocked; he’d thought he was a weirdo who liked little kids. He hadn’t expected to see him giving it to her. There was a loud slapping noise, and he looked back through the keyhole to see him slapping her bare bottom, while she squealed with delight.
Feeling sick, he stood up and ran back the way he’d come in. She was a bad woman, he had no doubt about that. Then again, surely the vicar wasn’t supposed to be having sex inside the church? He highly doubted it, the church was supposed to be a special place of worship. Outside in the fresh air he ran back towards the vicarage; he didn’t know what to do. He shouldn’t have looked in the first place, but he couldn’t help it. What did his mum used to say, ‘curiosity killed the cat’? It served him right for being a peeping Tom in the first place.
As he ran through the back door to the vicarage, Vincent was sitting at the kitchen table with a man and a woman who were looking at various hymn sheets which were laid out on it. All three of them looked up at him.
