Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

  She’d spent another hour in that interview room with Max and Steve, but Steve was sticking to his story, and Max was still convinced the man was guilty of murder.

  Glad to be away from it, she drove out to Kelton Bridge. She gave her cats a brief taste of freedom and then walked through the village towards Mason’s Cottage.

  She met several people she knew and stopped for a quick chat with each one. The villagers didn’t take to newcomers easily and she felt privileged to be part of such a close-knit community. Gossip was always rife, and it was impossible to do anything without everyone knowing about it, but, should a crisis occur and help be needed, there was nowhere she would rather live.

  The village was even more picturesque than usual with shops decorated for Christmas and lights twinkling on small trees fixed to the buildings.

  She was away from the shops when she heard a voice raised in anger. She couldn’t see the owner yet, but it was a voice she recognized.

  ‘Hello, Pat,’ she said, when the woman and her son came into view. ‘Hi, Jimmy. No school today?’

  ‘The little devil’s been suspended until after Christmas,’ Pat said, her face red from either cold or anger. ‘I was summoned to explain why he was either late or absent. Well! I knew nothing about it. Little devil.’

  ‘That’s not like you, Jimmy.’

  At fourteen, the boy usually had plenty to say for himself. Now, he simply shrugged and shuffled his feet.

  Jill could see something was bothering him, but it wasn’t her place to pry.

  Head down, Jimmy walked on ahead.

  ‘I blame his dad,’ Pat said, watching him go. ‘He spoils him rotten. Of course, it’s easy to throw money around when you’re an absent father. Last weekend, he bought him an iPhone. I ask you.’

  ‘An early Christmas present?’

  ‘No. I shudder to think what he’ll buy him for Christmas. A Ferrari probably.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Jill teased. ‘We can take turns driving it.’

  Pat laughed at that.

  ‘True enough,’ she agreed. ‘Anyway, enough of my moans. How are you, Jill?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. Is Jimmy OK? Nothing bothering him?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Pat sighed. ‘I suppose he misses his dad. But he’s missed him for almost three years now and he’s never been any trouble before. But you know what they say, it’ll all come out in the wash.’

  ‘I’m sure it will.’

  ‘If ever you think of having kids, Jill, take my advice. Don’t. Not unless you want grey hair and sleepless nights.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be without him.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m crazy. And talking of crazy, I’ll be having the usual party on Boxing Day. I’ll drop an invitation through your letterbox.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, Pat. I’ll look forward to it.’

  As she walked on, Jill marvelled, not for the first time, that she and Pat were the same age. And there was Pat with a fourteen-year-old son. Still, there was no point thinking about that …

  There were two cars parked on the drive at Mason’s Cottage. One belonged to Alison, but Jill didn’t recognize the other. Presumably, Steve’s was in the garage.

  Alison opened the door and, surprisingly, she was looking immaculate, right down to sparkling acrylic fingernails.

  ‘Jill, what a surprise. Come in.’

  It didn’t seem a particularly pleasant surprise.

  ‘Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you, Alison, but I wondered if we could have a chat.’

  ‘Of course.’

  They went into the sitting room where a man, a stranger to Jill, was standing with his back to the window.

  ‘This is Mark Radley,’ Alison explained. ‘What with all that’s going on – Steve, you know – I’ve taken a couple of days off work. I can’t think straight so it’s a waste of time me trying to do anything. Mark’s called in to pick up my files. He’ll look after my customers for a couple of days.’ She ran agitated fingers through her hair. ‘Sorry. Mark, meet Jill Kennedy. She’s a—’

  ‘Forensic psychologist,’ Jill helped her out.

  Mark shook hands with Jill, joked about having to do the work of two people and then made himself at home in the armchair nearest the radiator.

  He certainly seemed comfortable and at ease in his col-league’s home. He was early forties, she estimated. Dark haired, he was wearing a smart suit, silk tie and quality shoes.

  ‘So you work with the police?’ he said. ‘You’ll know what’s going on then. They don’t seriously think Steve had anything to do with the murder of that woman, do they?’

  ‘It’s crazy,’ Alison said. ‘Just crazy. That’s the only word for it.’

  The wood-burning stove looked forlorn. The room was warm, though, so the radiators were working well. Perhaps the stove was Steve’s domain.

  Alison was wearing black trousers and a striped black and white shirt. A black jacket was hanging on the back of a chair. Beneath the perfectly made-up face, she looked as most women would look if their husbands had been arrested – very frightened.

  ‘Is Steve all right?’ she asked Jill. ‘They won’t let me see him.’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  He wasn’t, but there was no point upsetting Alison. Besides, she had no intention of discussing Steve’s mental state with a stranger present.

  ‘Would it be better if I came back another time?’ Jill asked.

  ‘No, no it’s OK. Mark knows everything. You can talk in front of him.’

  Mark smiled at that. ‘The soul of discretion, that’s me.’

  ‘He’s being a great help to me,’ Alison said. ‘Sorry, Jill, sit down.’

  Jill sat on the sofa and wondered where to begin.

  ‘Has Steve seemed OK lately, Alison?’ she asked. ‘Has anything been bothering him? Has he been acting strangely?’

  Alison looked to Mark before answering.

  ‘It’s difficult to say. Ever since he lost his job, he’s been – different. But that’s a year ago now. I don’t know why he’s finding it so difficult to find another, but …’ Her voice trailed away.

  ‘The young woman who was murdered, Lauren Cole, did he ever mention her to you?’

  Again Alison looked at Mark before answering.

  ‘Sort of.’

  What the hell did that mean, Jill wondered. Either he’d mentioned her or he hadn’t.

  ‘What did he say?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, not a lot really. When I came home in the evening, I’d ask about his day. He’d tell me what he’d done and who he’d spoken to. Some days, he didn’t speak to a soul. Other days, he’d tell me who he’d seen in the shop or the post office, or when he was out with Cally.’

  ‘And he mentioned chatting to Lauren Cole?’

  ‘Not by name, no. He just said he’d met a woman who had a white dog. That’s how he described her. The woman with the white dog. He said the dog’s name was Charlie, but he never mentioned the woman’s name.’

  ‘How often did he meet her?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. He mentioned her to me twice.’ She looked at Mark, then returned her attention to Jill. ‘Last week, as I told you on Friday night, I’d had a hell of a week. You were at the sales conference, weren’t you, Mark? It was really intense, wasn’t it? As soon as I got home, I wanted to go to the pub and relax. Steve wasn’t keen, and I couldn’t think why.’

  ‘Did you ask him?’

  ‘No. I needed a drink and I thought it would relax us both. Then, when we were in the pub, Tom Canter said he’d seen Steve talking to the woman who’d been killed.’ She rubbed her hands together as if trying to warm them. ‘I didn’t realize that the dead woman was the one who had the white dog.’

  She stood up, took a couple of paces and then sat down again.

  ‘And now,’ she went on, ‘the police have been looking for that axe Steve uses to chop up his blasted wood. For God’s sake, who the hell carries an axe around with them? How stupid can you get? No wonder
the police have got him locked up.’

  ‘But he doesn’t carry it around, does he?’ Jill asked. ‘The way I understood it, if he was out walking and spotted some wood, either a fallen branch or wood that someone had dumped, he took his axe or a saw out to chop it up and bring it home.’

  ‘Well, yes, but all the same, it seems like a damn stupid thing to do.’

  It did now, but hindsight was a wonderful thing.

  ‘Where’s Cally?’ Jill asked, realizing the dog wasn’t on her chair.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ Alison answered vaguely. ‘She keeps whining and looking for Steve. I can’t be doing with that.’

  ‘Calm down, Alison,’ Mark said. ‘There’s no point worrying, is there? I’m sure this mess will soon be sorted out.’

  ‘Yes.’ She gave him a grateful smile. ‘Of course it will. It will, won’t it, Jill?’

  ‘Let’s hope so.’

  ‘And why did Steve deny knowing the woman?’ she demanded of Jill. ‘How stupid was that? It makes him look guilty, doesn’t it?’

  If one thing was becoming clear to Jill it was that Alison didn’t know anything that could help Steve. She was too busy blaming him for the mess she found herself in. If Steve hadn’t carried that axe, if he hadn’t denied speaking to Lauren Cole …

  ‘I’ll leave you to discuss work,’ Jill said, smiling as she stood up. ‘If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, I know it’s difficult, but try not to worry too much.’

  Jill had left her car at her cottage. Now, as she walked back through the village, she was glad she had. It gave her time to think and uppermost in her thoughts was the fact that nothing had seemed right back there.

  Then again, nothing was right. Alison’s husband was facing a murder charge.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At the bottom of Ruth Carlisle’s garden, a gnome was perched on a toadstool in what was left of the snow, his eyes bright with mischief. It had been sitting there for almost forty years. She would never forget meeting the bus and seeing Steve, eight years old and back from a school trip to the seaside, carrying the gnome beneath his arm.

  ‘A present for you and Dad,’ he’d said, eyes glowing with happiness.

  How she and Frank had laughed that night. Yet behind the laughter, they had both been touched beyond words that, instead of spending his money on sweets or toys, he’d bought them a present.

  Today Ruth was struggling to see the gnome through her tears and, when the doorbell rang, she had to rub her face dry. She knew it was stupid and achieved nothing, but she couldn’t stop crying today.

  News would have flown round the village, and although she’d guessed that people would soon start calling on her, either wanting to help or eager for gossip, she wasn’t sure she could face them. On the other hand, she’d never hidden from anyone and it was too late to change the habit of a lifetime.

  When she saw Jill Kennedy standing on her doorstep, relief flooded through her. Jill wouldn’t be offering platitudes and she wouldn’t be hunting out gossip either.

  ‘Hello, love,’ she said. ‘Come in out of the cold. Frank’s taken himself out, the only way he knows how to cope, so I’ll be glad of some company. The kettle’s on.’

  ‘Excellent. I’d love a cuppa.’

  ‘It’s warmer in the kitchen,’ she said, ushering Jill inside.

  Darkness was already falling and Ruth pulled the curtains closed against the coming night and switched on the light. It made the room seem less depressing.

  Jill took off her coat, put it over the back of the chair, and sat at the table. Ruth was glad of some company. Time alone, in her experience, meant nothing more than time to brood. No wonder she’d been tearful all day.

  ‘Have you seen Steve?’ Ruth asked as she warmed the teapot.

  ‘Yes, I’ve had a chat with him. He’s fine. Really, he is.’

  Ruth knew he wasn’t fine. Still, so long as he was coping, that was something.

  ‘I’ve called up at the house and had a word with Alison, too,’ Jill said. ‘I was on my way home from there when I thought I’d pop in and see you.’

  ‘That’s good of you, love.’

  Ruth had spoken to Alison early that morning, not long after Steve had been taken away by the police. Ruth tried to give her daughter-in-law the benefit of the doubt, but she was still angry that Alison’s first thought had been about work.

  ‘I can’t go losing my job too,’ she’d said irritably. ‘It’s hard enough living on my wages as it is.’

  Ruth could have screamed. As if jobs and wages mattered at a time like this.

  ‘What will happen, Jill?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

  When the tea was made, Ruth sat down opposite her.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ It was the sense of helplessness that was the worst. But what could a seventy-six-year-old woman do when her son was being questioned about a murder?

  ‘I don’t know that, either.’ Jill gave a small smile. ‘How has Steve been lately, Ruth? You see quite a lot of him, don’t you?’

  ‘Last week, I saw him every night. If Alison’s working and staying away overnight, he always comes here for his evening meal. I expect he’d rather be at home eating in front of the TV, but he comes here. He’s a great believer in family.’

  Jill smiled at that.

  ‘And he hasn’t been right all week,’ Ruth went on. ‘I kept asking him what was bothering him, but he wouldn’t tell me. All he said was that it was nothing to worry about.’

  ‘So something was bothering him? When was this, Ruth? When did you first notice?’

  ‘On Monday night.’

  It was the truth, but it was also the day that poor woman was killed. Ruth could have bitten off her tongue.

  ‘Before that,’ Jill asked, ‘how had he seemed? Would you have said he was happy?’

  Ruth took her time answering that one. Yet what was the point of lying to Jill? The girl wasn’t here to trick her. She was here to help.

  ‘I was only thinking the other night,’ she said at last, ‘that, as a child, he was the one who always made me laugh. He had the sunniest nature you could imagine. He never failed to see the lighter side of things. I was also thinking,’ she added quietly, ‘that I hadn’t seen him happy for years.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Do you think,’ she asked Jill, ‘that mothers know the state of their children’s marriages?’

  ‘Not always. In fact, I think there are only two people who really know how good or bad a marriage is.’

  ‘Exactly. And those two are husband and wife. They can keep a lot from the outside world if they choose.’

  Jill sipped at her tea, her hands wrapped around the mug.

  ‘Are you saying that Steve and Alison aren’t happy, Ruth?’

  ‘I can’t say that because I don’t know.’ Ruth sometimes wished she did but, more often than not, she knew it was easier to believe that all was rosy.

  ‘Everyone in the village thinks they have the perfect marriage,’ Jill pointed out.

  ‘Perhaps they do,’ Ruth said.

  Jill smiled at that. ‘You know your son, Ruth. Better than most people, you would know if he was happy or not.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  There was no maybe about it. Steve wasn’t happy.

  ‘What about children?’ Jill asked. ‘Was it a joint decision not to have any?’

  The words shocked Ruth but then she realized that Jill was a relative newcomer to the village. She wouldn’t know about Maisie.

  Even now, Ruth could see Maisie’s chubby smiling face. She could almost smell her granddaughter. Could feel those fat fingers clinging to her thumb.

  ‘They had a child,’ she said, a lump in her throat.

  Jill’s head flew up. ‘What? I had no idea.’

  Steve had been happy then. When Maisie was living and breathing among them, Steve had been the happiest man alive.

  Since then…

  ‘They had
a daughter,’ Ruth explained, trying to blot out the sight of Maisie’s little face. ‘One night, when Maisie was four months old, Alison was working away overnight. Steve was a smoker then and he ran out of cigarettes. Maisie was fast asleep upstairs so he nipped out to the corner shop to get some cigarettes. He was only gone five minutes.’

  She had to stop to take a deep, shuddering breath and she felt Jill’s hand give hers a squeeze.

  ‘It was a cot death,’ Ruth explained. ‘It could have happened at any time. It wouldn’t have mattered who was in the house. Steve, Alison or no one. It was just one of those awful tragedies.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ruth. I truly had no idea.’

  ‘There’s no reason you would.’

  ‘Does Steve blame himself?’

  Ruth nodded. ‘Alison does too.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure she doesn’t.’

  Ruth was equally sure she did.

  ‘You asked when I last saw Steve happy, Jill. Well, that’s it. The last time was when Maisie was alive.’

  ‘How long ago did she die, Ruth?’

  ‘Twenty years.’

  For twenty long years, Ruth had seen the haunted look in her son’s eyes. All that time, she’d known he wasn’t happy, known that he longed to turn back the clock.

  ‘With something like that between you,’ Ruth said, ‘I would imagine it’s hard to have a happy marriage.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jill agreed slowly. ‘Some couples would cling together, others would drift apart. But Steve and Alison haven’t drifted apart, have they? Divorce is common enough these days, Ruth. If they really had drifted apart, they would have filed for divorce.’

  But they wouldn’t.

  ‘Alison’s Catholic,’ Ruth explained. ‘Not only that, her uncle, that’s her father’s brother, is the priest in Harrington. Divorce goes against all his teachings. They’re close, him and Alison. Even if she wanted a divorce, she wouldn’t do anything to upset him.’

  Ruth didn’t believe in divorce either. These days, couples didn’t put enough effort into marriage. At the first hurdle, they rushed off to the divorce courts. Good grief, she thought, if she and Frank had been like that, they’d have been lucky to have one child never mind four. Marriage was hard work. It was give and take. Compromise. Forgive and forget.