by Deborah Lucy
Early in the morning, he drove into Swindon. He went into a café for a cup of tea and intended to have a fried breakfast but couldn’t face it. As he sat down opposite a man reading the morning newspaper, he saw the headline Police Find Gun at Local Flats. Sophie Twiner had done her job. Temple waited until the man left, leaving the paper on the table. Amongst quotes ‘police said this and police said that’, the local MP waded in with his comments. Temple hoped that it would be enough for the Fortunes to realize that he didn’t have the gun and give him some peace. He went back to Gable Cross.
CHAPTER 47
ON HIS ARRIVAL, he met with Charlie Eaton, who was coordinating the interviews for a briefing.
‘Turner’s still going “no comment”. We’ve got the usual extensions to carry on questioning and today we’re going to put a DVD in the room and show him the evidence from the laptop. That should concentrate his mind.’
‘Let me know what his reaction is. I suspect the brief will ask to suspend the interview. Make sure he’s got a twenty-four hour cell guard, I don’t want to lose him now.’
‘So far as Maxwell Ashton-Jones and Jonathan Silvester are concerned, Maxwell has disclosed that Silvester told him that Olivia Ashton-Jones had hit her head when she was with him in the pool prior to her death. He says that she was in the water at the side of the pool with her arms resting in a hollow that ran just above the water line. He says that Jonathan told him that they had been arguing and Jonathan had gone to pull her towards him at which point, her head jerked backwards, catching the edge of the pool. He said he thought she was just being dramatic when she cried out and turned his back on her and got out of the pool and went inside the hotel. Not long after, she was found floating face down. He said he only disclosed this to him a couple of years afterwards.’
‘And Silvester?’
‘He denies it, of course,’ said Eaton. ‘Says they’re the ramblings of a jealous man, trying to get back at him for being James’s real father.’
‘Of course, we’ve got the technical which is a kind of admission.’
‘Yes, so we’ll go in with that this afternoon.’
‘And Brett Forrester, what does he have to say?’ asked Temple.
‘Nothing. Fuck all, except “no comment”. It’s thin, boss. The victim’s dead and all we’ve got to go on is the word of a bitter ex-wife.’
Temple knew what Dianna Forrester suspected was probably true but Eaton was right, they’d never prove it now and the CPS were unlikely to run it on such grounds.
‘Keep going,’ said Temple.
Eaton went on to update Temple on the search of Turner’s address.
‘The team are also fetching back stuff from Turner’s flat. There’s another computer coming back into Hi Tech Crime, but he’s spread himself about a bit. Looks like we’ll be busy asking other forces if they’ve got any outstanding jobs where we know he’s been in the vicinity.’
‘We need to get hold of the experts at the centre, get hold of SCAS, I want to find out why he chose now to leave his DNA behind,’ said Temple.
‘Already have, boss,’ said Eaton. ‘I put a call into them myself, having had the same thought. Of course, if he’s coerced other victims they wouldn’t necessarily have reported it, which is why we have no DNA, but like you, I was intrigued as to why he would have given us the evidence. They said that he probably hadn’t intended to, and that he had probably become so excited during the act of strangulation that he just couldn’t help himself. When I explained that I’d found him in the process of putting a noose round his neck, they said that he would have known it was only a matter of time before he was caught. They also said they doubted whether he would still be alive when the case came to court. There’s precedent for this sort of thing, apparently. They tend to commit suicide on remand.’
What was it he had said again on arrest ‘you’re not going to lock me up with no nonces.’
‘Don’t lose him, Charlie.’
Eaton saw that Temple was bone tired.
‘Lighten up, boss, you’ve got a good team on this now.’
Temple left Eaton with instructions for the interview team and reviewed the evidence coming in on Turner. As time went on, he felt as though he’d started to hit a wall. He needed a break from the inquiry, if only for a few hours. He knew he needed to go and see Dianna Forrester to update her on the arrests and tell her that Brett Forrester had been released with no further action. He would do this and then go home, back to Leigh. As he was leaving the station, he walked through the front foyer and was stopped by a man behind the desk.
‘Here he is, madam. Here’s DI Temple.’ He called across to a woman who was seated. ‘Sir, this lady’s from Social Services, she’s been waiting to see you. I was just about to tannoy you, this lady was here yesterday but you probably didn’t hear the tannoy.’ Temple remembered hearing his name yesterday and ignored it, leaving the building by the rear exit.
The woman approached him.
‘Do you keep trying to contact me?’ asked Temple, annoyed at the man on the front desk for stopping him. He needed the drive to Salisbury; it was going to give him time to think, think about his next move, think about James. Think about Leigh, Daisy. Roger. Think about his response when he was arrested.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
‘Well, if it’s about my daughter, Daisy, I’ve got some good news on that front—’ said Temple. She interrupted him.
‘Can we go somewhere to talk?’
Temple looked at his watch. ‘I do have to be somewhere, will this take long?’
She looked back at him without saying anything.
‘Let’s just go in here then.’
He showed her into a small room off the foyer. She stood as she spoke to him.
‘I’ve been trying to track you down, Mr Temple. I’ll get to the point. About three years ago, you had a relationship with Marina Delaney.’
‘What is this?’ asked Temple, not committing himself to answering and not appreciating the stranger asking him personal questions. Marina, he thought, of course he remembered her, but he hadn’t seen her in years – probably as much as the woman said, three years ago – and hadn’t thought too much about her since, either.
‘You knew Miss Delaney?’ she asked him to confirm.
‘Yes, I knew her.’
‘In what capacity?’
‘In no capacity, actually,’ Temple answered, struggling to see the connection and becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the bluntness of the questioner.
‘Miss Delaney was quite adamant that she had a relationship with you, a sexual relationship. She has produced an affidavit to the effect. It’s a legal document, drawn up by her solicitor,’ the woman explained.
‘I’m familiar with what an affidavit is, I’m just not sure why you’re telling me this,’ said Temple.
‘Miss Delaney died recently. She had a terminal illness …’
Temple stared back at her and softened. ‘Look, I’m sorry for that but I’m still not sure how I can help you.’
‘Well, I think she was rather hoping that …’
Impatient to get on his way, Temple stopped her, failing to see what any of this had to do with him. His relationship with Marina had been fleeting to say the least. A drunken one night stand when out for an evening with Paul Wright that had happened when Leigh had been away, visiting her sister. Not his proudest moment, he acknowledged, but after another meeting and with no harm done, he thought he’d got away with that one. Having just spoken to Leigh, the reminder of this particular peccadillo wasn’t welcome. Looking back at her, he wondered who she was, how did she know about him and what did she want?
‘You’re Social Services, right?’ he said, quietly. ‘That’s what you said. Correct me if I’m wrong, but since when did Social Services get involved in someone’s private life?’
‘Since there is a young child who now has no mother. Before she died, his mother said that you are his father, Mr Temple. That’s how w
e become involved. We are looking after your son.’
CHAPTER 48
HE WAS DREAMING, or he had died and gone to heaven.
She came through the door with her golden hair, long legs and in uniform. From that moment he was lost. It was the golden hair, that exact colour that mesmerised him. Abandoned, like a lamb to the slaughter. He had no chance. No hope. Nothing. Zilch.
In that lovely hair was a white starched hat – smooth – yet with some tightly pressed pleats. Perfect. Snowy white starched apron, tied in a bow at the back (he checked). A starched blue dress, complete with starched white collar. White frilled armlets at the short sleeves of the shirt – an often missed but exquisite detail (she was quality). And then, the watch, the upside down watch (he was already gone by now). Black stockings in those long legs – but he knew what lay beneath – her hair colour told him that – milky white flesh, almost translucent, exactly how he liked it. The hair colour, the nurse’s uniform, the flesh – she was like a total eclipse – once in a lifetime.
Drink fuelled lust had told him that if he didn’t have her that night, he’d pursue her for the rest of his life. He’d gladly give his soul to the devil for five minutes. Just five minutes. He’d wanted her so badly and she was going to let him have her.
She led him like a bull with a ring through its nose. She liked the look of him. Lovely eyes, not bad looking at all. No wedding ring. He was single? Single! He’d do – for what she had in mind.
His groin leapt at the remembrance of her; he’d tried to have her, there and then, outside, instant gratification. But she took him home, ensnared him. He’d unwrapped her, like a present to himself, taking too much care as he lived his own fantasy. He’d wrapped her white legs around him and feasted on her white body – if this was the prize for sinning, he’d pay the price.
He paid all right.
He woke.
Where was he? His eyes snapped open. He looked to his left and saw Sophie’s bleached blonde head lying on a pillow beside him. He closed his eyes and then looked up at the ceiling. His mind was blank. He tried to focus. Sophie? Shit!
He couldn’t recall how he’d got there.
He’d been in the pub. He remembered that. The King’s Arms. Sophie had turned up there. He was finishing his second bottle of wine by then; drinking to make sense of the last eight months, the last two weeks, drinking to think clearly, to work out what to do next.
As he lay there, he continued to try to rewind his mind, pausing at intervals to check his understanding. He felt an odd sense of calm that was deeply unfamiliar and he knew it wasn’t right. He never felt like this. Then he remembered - they’d found the blue t-shirt, there was now a way forward, a huge step forward – hope of finding his mother’s killer. But he was still out there, somewhere, free. Living whatever life, a good life, a bad life, he hadn’t paid for taking a life. And Temple still had to find him. There it was, it returned with full force, the familiar dull sickening heavy weight that felt like a malevolent stone in the bottom of his gut. Only this time, there was more. It wasn’t just this, there was something else. He continued to try and remember. Turner was in custody for Greta’s murder. He’d left Dianna Forrester and gone back to see Jane, to tell her he was moving back home. She’d seemed pleased for him. Then he went to The King’s Arms. That wasn’t it, he thought, it was before then. Harker, he’d seen Harker.
Then it all came back to him, as he lay there, in the dark. James – a suicide he could have prevented – could he? Could he really? Perhaps. Leigh. Daisy. Roger. Fucking Roger – with whom now his career rested. That was it, that was what was missing. But no, it wasn’t enough. His mind worked away, like a pick, in the darkness until he found it. A social worker. That was it. That was the gut twister. The unexpected life changer. That’s why he’d dreamt of her.
She’d showed him a typed statement. Marina.
Just then, his ears picked up the sound of a clock ticking in the room – tick tock. Her biological clock had been ticking. She’d been on a hen night, dressed as a nurse. She’d seen him, weighed him up and chosen him, purely on looks. He could have been a murderer but she didn’t care. Nurture over nature, she just wanted one thing and he was the sucker in the room who gave it to her. He’d drank far too much to resist.
She didn’t care when she found out he was married, that suited her, she didn’t want him per se, she didn’t want a relationship, just what he could give her. And he gave it to her – a son born nine months later. Only, as a result of her pre-natal checkups, she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, a particularly aggressive form, and had declined treatment until after the birth. Her struggle went on for two years until her death. Now the boy was with social services who were trying to track down his natural father to see if he would take care of him.
He looked across to Sophie sleeping soundly. How had he got here? What, if anything, had he said to her?
He was in pain. He went to get out of the bed but his head wouldn’t let him. It felt as if it was nailed to the pillow. He forced himself up and out of bed, into his clothes. He swayed, couldn’t walk straight. Couldn’t think straight. In his upright position, the room spun around him. Just as he focused on something, it spun away from his sight again. Spinning. Out. He had to get out.
He staggered outside and along the narrow road. It was pitch black and cold. God, it was cold. He pulled at his jacket to try to cover himself more. Just then a taxi drove slowly by and stopped. Temple got in and directed him to Beckhampton. For the first time in months, he was going home to Leigh. He was going to tell her everything. Well, perhaps not everything.
