by Carole Pitt
Daly, who like Patterson, had remained standing, pulled a chair up to the table. ‘When did your affair with Joel Walker start? Before or after Deena and Brotherton got together.’
‘Not long after. They’d always practised free love, a sixties euphemism for blatant promiscuity. He came to me, he seduced me.’
Elizabeth sensed Dalman was already building her defence. ‘Was there animosity between the four of you, any jealousy?’
‘Oh yes, that’s what made the whole thing so exciting, never knowing.’ Dalman stared at Daly. ‘I found Graham Brotherton long before you did. Once I became famous, I expected him to hunt me down, but I don’t think even he suspected me until recently and if he did, it was in his own interest to keep quiet. Moore was the one who haunted me. The last few years he’d eliminated every other possibility and finally got to the truth. Not surprising is it? I always believed he had psychic powers.’
Neither lawyer had uttered a word since the interview began. Dalman’s presence dominated the room. ‘After I finished my doctorate I needed a break. I’d studied for seven years and was about to realise my dream of being a famous anthropologist. Roxbury Farm was idyllic and free. I loved it until Deena Walker wanted her husband back.’
‘This happened before everyone took off for Glastonbury,’ Daly stated.
‘I was so looking forward to going; my first time but Deena told me to pack my stuff and leave, in her words she didn’t want to set eyes on me ever again. I was so angry I almost punched her beautiful face. All the men adored her, she could take her pick, and she did.’
‘But you didn’t leave, did you?’ Elizabeth said.
‘After they took off to Glastonbury, it was so, so silent. Even the old lock keeper had gone away for a week to visit his dying brother. I got into the farmhouse easily. They always forgot to lock windows. I wanted to find something damming against them. Get my own back and make their life miserable. I worried that once I was famous and respectable they’d try to blackmail me, threaten to go to the papers with salacious stories. I was going to have a prestigious job, I didn’t want my prior sex life scrutinised. I only intended to stay a couple of days once I’d found some sort of insurance policy, but the Walkers came back unexpectedly. Two of the children were poorly on the way to the festival, so they’d turned back. Then their caravan developed a problem and they couldn’t get it up the lane. That’s why the children ran on ahead, pleased to be home. They didn’t look ill to me, but then children recover quickly. They saw me and started shouting that the ugly old bitch was still here. I tried to shut them up, worried their parents would hear, so I chased them into the fields. They kept chanting abuse; my head felt like it was going to explode. After the children disappeared into the lock, I hid. Deena and Joel didn’t search for long. They were so close to me. I heard Deena say she was going back to the house to phone the police. I couldn’t let that happen. Joel had crouched down in the long grass looking at one of the girl’s sandals. I picked up a big rock, crept up behind and hit him over the head, but Deena saw me. We had a fierce fight.’
‘So you stayed on and covered up your crimes,’ Patterson said. ‘You worked through the night, took a chance and buried them. There was plenty of choice. The areas where the vans had stood since the previous Glastonbury were clearly marked. Patches of hard brown earth; the travellers like to park their vans in the exact same spot, as if they’d never moved.’
Dalman nodded. ‘It took a few days to make sure I didn’t leave any signs.’
‘How can a woman like you, who has spent years, seeking justice for so many people, be a cold blooded killer?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘I had to get rid of Gabriel and Corinne after Moore sent me that awful, threatening email telling me he was going to torture and kill me for what I’d done. That’s why I took the reconstruction job, so I could sabotage all your hard work. I even had to hit my head with a hammer. And Moore, who deserved to die? Him or me.’
Daly ended the proceedings. ‘I’m finished here,’ he told Dalman’s lawyers. ‘I desperately need some fresh air. Sergeant Patterson, escort Dr Dalman back to her cell.’
Elizabeth eased her weary body out of the chair. ‘Do you want some company?’ she asked Daly.
‘I certainly do, Jewell,’ he said.
EPILOGUE
April 21st Easter Monday
Day four of her holiday and Elizabeth had spent it exclusively with Dean. She had pushed the last remnants of Dalman’s crimes out of her head and almost overcome her temporary depression. Last night they'd driven to Gloucester to try out a new restaurant, Quentin's Place, owned by a flamboyant American named Quentin Lee. Specialising in seafood, his inspiration had originated in Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Above the bar, a large blackboard listed the available dishes. Underneath in bold red chalk, he’d added a promise: AUTHENTIC CAPE COD RECIPES.
They’d arrived to find every table taken, rather than wait Dean had suggested trying somewhere else. Elizabeth had opened the door to leave when Mr Lee himself caught up with them. Another table was hastily set up close to the kitchen area. Quentin Lee it seemed didn't like his customers to get away. He had recommended baked, stuffed lobster with side dishes. They had stayed until midnight and had returned to Cheltenham in a taxi.
Stepping out of the shower she realised the short break had helped ease her aches and pains to the point where she'd barely noticed them. She wrapped herself in a towelling robe and headed for the kitchen. Considering how much she'd eaten at Quentin’s she wasn't expecting to feel hungry until she saw Dean piling carefully diced fresh fruit into bowls.
'Have some of this,' 'Dean said.
'What's the plan for today?' Elizabeth asked.
'Your choice, I'm easy.'
'Do you want to check on your new manager? I don't mind following you over to Uley.'
Elizabeth was silently grateful to the thirty-year-old high flyer from London who'd decided to give up managing a small, prestigious hotel in Chelsea to take over Dean's large rambling eighteenth century coaching house. These four days together wouldn’t have happened if Dean hadn’t found such an experienced manager. Now she could look forward to seeing more of him.
'Ralph's not expecting me back until five. If I turn up before, he'll go nuts.'
'He seems to have completely taken over. Do you mind?'
Dean got up and slid his arms around her waist. 'Why should I when he's so fantastic? I still find it unbelievable he chose to work for me.'
'Uley compared with Chelsea, he probably thinks he's in paradise.'
'Let's hope he doesn't get bored then,' Dean said.
Elizabeth spooned more fruit into her bowl. 'Has he got a girlfriend?'
'She dumped him, started seeing the head chef at the same hotel and that's why he jacked it in.'
'There's your answer then. Find him a new woman, preferably one in Uley.'
'Ralph's a city boy; I can't see him taking up with a village girl.'
'Don't let the locals hear you say that, it's bordering on discrimination,’ Elizabeth said.
‘He’d probably go for a sophisticated Cheltenham girl. Do you know any?’
‘I do actually. She works at Sotheby’s, I’ll see to what I can do. I tell you where we could go. Burford Wildlife Park, I haven't been there for years.'
Dean reached over the table and took hold of her free hand. 'Or we could stay here?’
Elizabeth shook her head. 'If I go back to bed it's to sleep. Have you forgotten what time we got back?'
While Dean stacked the dishwasher, she stood by the open kitchen doors looking out at the garden. Bagpuss was fast asleep in the warm sunshine. The bulbs she'd planted in the autumn had filled her borders with colour.
Elizabeth moved back to the table, switched on her laptop and studied it for a few minutes. 'There's a car boot sale up near the racecourse.'
'I fancy something more upmarket.'
Elizabeth pulled a face. ‘I've known you all these months and had no idea you’r
e a snob. Okay, you look while I get ready.'
She opened the wardrobe and removed her latest extravagance, a simple, emerald green linen shift. She slipped on gold sandals and pushed medium sized gold hoops through her ears. As she came down the stairs, he shouted. 'Art exhibition plus antiques auction at the Queens Hotel.’
Dean was wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans. Elizabeth pointed to his outfit. 'Wrong dress code and you seem to have forgotten we left your car in Gloucester.’
‘Okay, we’ll go there first then a walk around Cheltenham before I head home.’
'Don't mention leaving,' Elizabeth said, feeling a sudden anti-climax. 'If Ralph's okay, stay till it gets dark so I can go straight to bed and won't feel lonely.'
Dean kissed her on the neck. 'Got to call my folks and catch up on paperwork. Ralph's a genius but even he can't wrap his head around the intricacies of VAT. We’ve plenty to look forward too. It’s your birthday next month. What present would you like?’
‘Anything, so surprise me.’
‘I’d like to buy you a piece of jewellery from that shop just off the High Street?’
Elizabeth knew of it but had no reason to shop there. She was happy with what little jewellery she owned. A pair of diamond studs, her grandmother’s engagement ring and a collection of costume pieces. ‘That shop’s the most expensive in town.’
Half an hour later they’d rescued Dean’s Audi from a side street close to Quentin Lee’s restaurant. As she followed Dean back to Cheltenham, Elizabeth’s mood changed. She really didn’t want him to leave. On previous occasions, she’d always missed him but quickly settled into her own routine. This time she knew that wouldn’t happen. She checked the time. They still had a couple of hours. She’d also toyed with the idea of having another day off to catch up with housework. Patterson had booked a break for the beginning of May so he would definitely be working tomorrow. Now that he and Eldridge had called a truce, things were improving. The biggest surprise was Katie Gardiner applying to the Metropolitan Police. If she moved to London Patterson would finally get over her.
Her thoughts returned to Dean. Spending time with him was a powerful distraction, but every now and then strong undercurrents of doubt surfaced. Would this relationship last? She definitely wanted it to. She looked back over her previous, failed relationships and without her ever bringing up the subject, Dean had announced he had unlimited staying power. He signalled ahead that he was turning into the multi-story car park. She followed to the top level and parked next to him.
‘Let’s go to Wetherall’s for coffee,’ she said as he opened the Saab door and helped her out.
‘We will, after we’ve been to that shop.’
‘Dean it’s after four, they’ll probably be shut now.’
He grabbed her hand. ‘Then we better hurry.’
Elizabeth was surprised it was still open. The shop was smaller than she’d expected and hadn’t had a makeover for some time. She sensed it was all about service rather than image, how they would design and make any piece of jewellery you wanted. The atmosphere reminded her of a Victorian melodrama, the hushed tones, and the melodic tick from a magnificent Grandfather clock. A well-dressed man in his sixties was serving a customer. He bowed slightly and rang a brass bell in front of him. Seconds later a woman appeared. She too had that old worldly look. She smiled. ‘How can I help you?’
Dean straightened up. His t-shirt and jeans incongruously out of place. ‘We’d like to see a selection of rings.’
Elizabeth remained silent, not wanting to break the cordial atmosphere.
She returned with two oblong velvet boxes, placed both carefully on the glass counter and opened them. The sun’s rays streamed through the wooden venetian blind onto the contents. Elizabeth gasped at the explosion of light through every colour of the rainbow.
An hour later, they left the shop, Dean clutching a small, carefully wrapped package. Elizabeth walked quietly beside him mulling over the implications. At first she’d felt excited, then scared, then wasn’t sure what to say or do. Dean had sensed her concerns.
‘I don’t need an answer today but I will on your birthday,’ he said.
‘I need a drink,’ Elizabeth replied.
They headed up the High Street towards the Promenade. Elizabeth spotted a book a friend had recommended in the window of Waterstones. After what he’d spent on the square cut diamond she’d have to buy it herself now, except he had an option to return the merchandise if the ‘lady’, as he put it, said no. Elizabeth had until her birthday on the twenty-fifth of May.
She heard Dean speak to someone and turned her head. At first, she was certain she was hallucinating, then shock waves rippled through her system and her legs buckled slightly. Dean held her up until she regained her balance, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. He pulled her close and whispered into her neck. ‘You know this guy?’
Beneath the haggard face, the long unkempt hair and shabby clothes, she wasn’t mistaken. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘I spotted you from across the road,’ the man said to her.
Elizabeth found her voice, it sounded steadier than she felt. ‘Dean, this is Nick. Nick Calbrain.’
Dean nodded his acknowledgement.
Calbrain stared at Elizabeth. ‘You look very well,’ he said.
Elizabeth struggled to find a response. His wife, she quickly thought. Ask after his wife. ‘How’s Francisca?’
‘That’s why I’m back,’ he said. ‘A month ago she had an accident on her boat. You remember Liz, she loved sailing.’
‘What happened?’ Elizabeth didn’t need to hear his answer. The desperation engulfing him did that.’
‘She’s missing. They searched for days and days. Her Father hired private helicopter pilots after the police wound down their operation. They all told us there’s zero chance of finding her now.’
‘I’m so, so sorry.’ Even to Elizabeth, her words sounded feeble. ‘Are you going back to Spain?’
Calbrain looked away. ‘Only if the police issue a European Arrest Warrant then I’ll have no choice.’
‘Why would the Spanish police want do that?’ Elizabeth asked.
Calbrain’s eyes appeared glazed over, as if he’d taken strong tranquillisers. ‘Francisca’s Father is demented with grief. He doesn’t believe the official story. He doesn’t believe his daughter, who had sailed for half of her life could have succumbed to an accident.’
‘So what does he believe?’ Dean asked.
This time Calbrain stared at both of them. ‘He thinks I killed her.’
