Kennedy 03 - Where Petals Fall

by Shirley Wells

  She was soon eating chicken and chips and her mood lifted. It had been a tiring day, one way and another, and she was determined to put it from her mind for an hour or so.

  ‘By the way,’ Max said, ‘I’ve told them you’ll be in to pay the bill in a minute.’

  ‘What? My day was far worse than yours. You only had Meredith to contend with, and you should be used to him by now.’

  ‘Huh. The bloke will be the death of me.’

  ‘My horses didn’t win,’ she reminded him.

  ‘And that’s my fault?’

  ‘I suppose not. But I know you’ve paid the bill. Thanks,’ she added belatedly. ‘It’s good.’ The white wine was equally good.

  When they’d eaten, and were walking back to her cottage to collect Max’s car, Jill was feeling nicely relaxed. Perhaps that was due to the way Max’s arm was resting on her shoulder . . .

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘we ought to have another chat with Ruth. She was as close to Carol as anyone could be. If we have a good long chat with her, perhaps she’ll think of something. Something she’s thought toounimportant to mention. Carol must have said something about Finlay. Ruth would have asked how her date went. Maybe Carol introduced him to her husband even. Or perhaps she said something about Vince. Or Ralph Atkins. And what about Terry Yates? Ruth must have noticed him hanging about outside the shop. She must have.’

  ‘Why not? We’ve got nothing else. OK, we’ll see her tomorrow. In the afternoon because I’m in Manchester all morning.’

  ‘Really? Meredith sending you down there so you can learn how it’s done?’

  ‘Don’t even joke about it. He did ask if I fancied seeing myself in uniform on crowd control at Turf Moor next season.’

  Jill grinned at that.

  ‘It’s so long since I’ve had chance to watch a game, I said I’d be delighted . . .’

  Tomorrow afternoon suited Jill because she had things to do, too. Every time she thought of it, the sheer recklessness had her taking several calming breaths, but she’d made up her mind. Well, more or less. She was going to see Andy Collins in the morning and ask him to bid on her behalf at the auction for Kelton Manor.

  Being in Spain at the time of the auction, assuming they got to Spain, would be a godsend. That way, with Andy bidding on her behalf, she wouldn’t be tempted to go over her budget.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  DC Simpson had watched this particular piece of film at least thirty times. No matter what they tried, it was impossible to get a half-decent view of the person who walked into that phone booth in Stoke-on-Trent to call the paper. For all Johnny knew, it could be a chimpanzee.

  The camera had been positioned to capture the shops and pubs that formed a small square in the town. Unfortunately, the phone booth was in the top right-hand corner. This was their best clue yet, almost their only clue, and it was proving useless.

  It was lunchtime and he was hungry.

  He left the building and crossed the road to the Green Man for a quick sandwich and a drink. What he really fancied was a long cold pint of lager, but he ordered a Coke. At the moment, he and Trentham were getting on OK and he didn’t want to jeopardize their relationship.

  The pub was quiet. Come six o’clock, it would be packed. Trade was always good on Fridays.

  The Coke didn’t do much for him, but the sandwich – hot roast pork with stuffing and chips – was delicious. When he’d finished, he walked outside for a smoke. Three others were standing out there, but he didn’t recognize them and no one bothered with the usual moan about smokers being forced outside.

  As he walked back to headquarters, he wondered what else he could do to find this hoax caller. If it was a hoax. Johnny wasn’t convinced. They’d all look pretty stupid if it really was Edward Marshall making those calls.

  He also wondered if the film was waiting for him.

  He’d watched CCTV footage they’d got from Nottingham. Sadly, the phone booth in question was a hundred yards from the nearest camera and the closest they got was a nearby road junction. He’d watched people walking along the pavement, but nothing had struck him as odd. No one looked as if they were walking to a phone booth – although how anyone would manage that, he had no idea – and, as far as he could see, no one walked back along the same route.

  And then he’d seen it. A small sign pointed in the direction of the railway station. The phone booth in Stoke-on-Trent had been a short walk from the station, too.

  Johnny was convinced that their man was travelling by train. That would be why the calls had been made from all corners of the country. He’d checked the timetables and those calls had been made within fifteen minutes of a train arriving from Manchester. Anyone travelling from Harrington by train would go via Manchester . . .

  He was feeling better after his food, and better still when he saw that the CCTV footage was set up for him.

  He sat before the screen.

  Manchester railway stations were always busy and Johnny stared in dismay at the milling crowd. Some strolled, some dashed for trains and others looked as if they had been dropped in a foreign country.

  Minutes ticked by. Hours passed and then Johnny thought he recognized someone. He hit the button to freeze the frame.

  ‘Oh, my –’

  Johnny hadn’t expected this.

  Wait until he dropped this little bombshell on Trentham.

  Johnny still couldn’t tell Trentham if the voice on the recording belonged to Marshall or not, but he could tell him who was making the calls and playing the tape.

  No wonder it had taken so long for him to spot the culprit. He’d looked closely at every man captured on the screen, but he’d paid scant attention to the women. In fact, if this particular woman hadn’t glanced straight up at the camera, he would have missed her, too.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  When they arrived at Forget-me-nots just after three that afternoon, Cass was there, as was a young girl Jill didn’t recognize, but there was no sign of Ruth.

  ‘This is Barbara,’ Cass explained, introducing the other girl. ‘She’s come from the Burnley shop to help me out. Ruth weren’t feeling well, so she spent most of the morning in bed. It’s probably this forty-eight-hour thing that’s going around.’

  ‘Oh dear. Let’s hope she’s better soon.’

  ‘She rang in not five minutes ago and said she was feeling much better. She were talking of coming in, but I told her not to be so daft. Me and Barbara can cope. Besides,’ she added, grinning, ‘I don’t want her passing on her germs to me.’

  ‘Wise move.’ Jill had to smile at the girl’s honesty.

  ‘Pop over and see her,’ Cass suggested. ‘I’m sure she’ll be glad of it. She were complaining of cabin fever when she rang.’

  Jill hadn’t been to Ruth’s home. Max or Grace had spoken to her there, but Jill didn’t even know where she lived.

  ‘It’s only in Dale Street,’ Cass told her. ‘Number fourteen.’ She looked at Max. ‘You know where it is, don’t you?’

  He assured her he did.

  ‘We’ll take her some flowers to cheer her up,’ Jill suggested, then she realized the stupidity of that. ‘Maybe not,’ she added. ‘That must be like taking coals to Newcastle.’

  Cass laughed at that. ‘She loves flowers. Chrysanthemums are her favourites. Here, I’ll get some. They can be from all of us.’

  A few minutes later, they crossed the road, with Jill carrying an armful of yellow and white chrysanthemums, and walked the few hundred yards to Dale Street. Number fourteen was a large terraced property with bay windows. A long-haired grey cat sat in the window watching their approach.

  Max rang the bell and Jill saw, through the double-glazed panel, a multicoloured shape moving.

  Ruth opened the door. She was wearing a skirt and blouse in dramatic black and reds.

  ‘Hello, Jill. Oh, and Max. Come in. Are they for me? They’re beautiful. Thanks, but you really shouldn’t have. I feel such a fraud now.�
��

  ‘They’re nothing,’ Jill assured her, ‘and they’re from Cass and Barbara, as well as us. How are you feeling?’

  They followed her along the hallway, where a huge display of flowers sat on a well-polished table, and into that front room where the cat gazed at them from her spot on the window sill. There were two vases of flowers in this room, too.

  ‘I’m feeling fine now,’ Ruth told them. ‘I was as sick as a dog this morning. Really, I felt like death. Now, I feel fine. Well, a bit battered and bruised, but other than that, you’d never know there had been anything wrong. Here, let me put these in water.’

  While Ruth went to the kitchen to deal with her flowers, Jill went to the window and introduced herself to the cat.

  ‘What’s her name?’ she called out.

  ‘Smoky!’

  ‘You’re very beautiful, Smoky,’ she murmured, stroking the cat. ‘Well aware of it, too,’ she added with a chuckle.

  The cat allowed herself to be stroked for a few moments then, with a toss of her head, leapt down from the window sill and went in search of her mistress.

  While Max inspected a shelf filled with books, Jill looked around a room that was beautifully decorated and very comfortable. The flowers taking pride of place on the table, a huge display of red chrysanthemums, were stunning. There was a small card by the side of the vase. Inside, it read: Truly, madly, deeply.

  The sentiment took Jill by surprise, yet it shouldn’t have. Ruth was a very attractive woman and it was obvious there would be a man in her life. Ruth had never mentioned anyone, but why should she?

  ‘Beautiful flowers,’ she said, when Ruth returned.

  ‘Aren’t they?’ Ruth smiled. ‘You’d think I’d be sick to death of the sight of them after a day’s work, but I love them. I couldn’t imagine a house without flowers.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Jill agreed, ‘but I usually cut mine from the garden.’

  They chatted about Smoky, about Ruth’s house, about the shop, and then, seeing that Max was beginning to fidget, Jill came to the point of their visit.

  ‘We’re after some help, Ruth,’ she began. ‘We want you to think back to any conversations you had with Carol, and give us the names, no matter how insignificant they seem, of people she mentioned.’

  ‘There’s no one I haven’t already told you about.’

  ‘You remember when she saw Finlay Roberts? Do you know if she introduced him to Vince?’

  ‘Vince Blakely? I can’t think why she would. No, I’m sure she didn’t. Why do you ask?’

  Jill wasn’t sure how to answer that.

  ‘We’re fairly certain he met Vince Blakely,’ Max put in.

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that. I wouldn’t have thought so, but I wouldn’t really know.’

  ‘She had two dates with Finlay Roberts,’ Jill pushed on. ‘What did she say about them, Ruth? Can you remember? Where did she go? Who did she see? Did she enjoy her time with him?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Ruth thought for long moments. ‘I can’t really remember. It was all insignificant, you see. I don’t remem- ber her saying anything about it. They were strangers, you know, and it was only a bit of fun.’

  Ruth was their main chance of finding out about Carol, yet she couldn’t seem to help them.

  ‘When Vince phoned you to tell you about Carol,’ Jill asked, changing tack, ‘how did he sound?’

  ‘Businesslike.’ Ruth didn’t hesitate with that one. ‘Cold and businesslike. All he was concerned about was making sure I opened the shop that day.’ She put her cup on the table. ‘At the time, it didn’t strike me. I was too shocked, I suppose. But I’ve thought about it since and I can’t believe anyone could sound so cold at such a time.’ She looked straight at Max. ‘You don’t think he killed her, do you?’

  ‘Do you think he’s capable of murder, Ruth?’ Max asked.

  She thought for a moment. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. It’s a dreadful thought, but yes, I do.’

  Jill didn’t. No matter how many trails led them back to Vince Blakely, she didn’t see him as capable of murder. He was too image conscious, too aware of what he thought of as his position. A precise man, he wouldn’t like death in any form. It would be too messy for him. Jill didn’t like the man particularly, but she admired his views. He was doing his bit to save the planet and was trying to make the public aware of conservation housing. No, she couldn’t see him as a killer.

  Then again, as Max was constantly reminding her, there was one hell of a lot of money at stake.

  ‘What about Terry Yates?’ Jill asked her.

  ‘The name meant nothing to me until your people asked about him.’ Ruth thought for a moment. ‘I knew there had been someone in her life. I suspected she’d had an affair. Funny, but I never asked her about it because I thought she was ashamed of it somehow. Also, I thought it was over before I started working for her.’

  ‘It was over soon afterwards,’ Jill agreed.

  ‘At the time,’ Ruth went on, ‘I was just an employee. It was only when Carol’s sisters died that we became friends.’

  That was reasonable enough. Not very helpful, but reasonable.

  ‘We believe Yates often followed Carol,’ Max put in. He handed her a photo, a bad one, of Terry Yates. ‘Are you sure you don’t recognize him?’

  Ruth studied the photo then handed it back. ‘Sorry.’

  She got up, walked into the hall, and came back carrying a sheet of paper.

  ‘I did find this, though,’ she explained. ‘After you’d asked me about this Yates chap, I looked through our old orders. You see, I thought afterwards that perhaps I had heard the name, after all. A woman, name of Beverley Yates, placed a couple of orders. I don’t know if that helps. And her I would recognize. For a few months, she came in the shop regularly. Always paid by credit card.’

  That would be Beverley Yates. She’d visit the shop hoping for a glimpse of Carol. She would have dreaded seeing her, too.

  Beverley Yates was a very disturbed woman. The more Jill heard about her, the more concerned she became . . .

  They spent another half-hour with Ruth, but she couldn’t really help.

  ‘We’ll leave you to recuperate,’ Max said at last. ‘We’ve already stayed longer than we intended. I hope you’re soon feeling back to normal, Ruth.’

  ‘I’ll be back at work tomorrow,’ she assured them. ‘And thanks so much for the flowers. I really appreciate them . ..’

  Jill was almost at the front door when she stopped so suddenly that Max cannoned into the back of her and Ruth narrowly missed colliding with Max.

  Oh, my –

  ‘Sorry,’ Jill said, surprised that her voice was not only functioning normally, it was also managing to make her sound calm, ‘but I’ve just thought of something else I meant to ask you. Do you mind if we keep you a couple more minutes, Ruth?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  Jill exchanged a brief glance with Max that was supposed to say ‘trust me’, but from the expression on his face, she guessed she’d merely exasperated him.

  They went back to the sitting room, but no one sat this time.

  ‘It’s about Finlay Roberts,’ Jill said, wondering where to begin, and wishing she hadn’t said anything. She should have left and discussed this with Max. He was the detective, not her.

  ‘Oh?’ Ruth said.

  Did she sound wary?

  ‘You know he lived next door to me?’ Jill said, and Ruth shrugged.

  ‘I knew he lived in Kelton Bridge so, as it’s a small place, I gathered you and he must be near neighbours. And I saw you together in the pub that night.’

  ‘Yes. Did you ever meet his father?’ Jill asked.

  ‘His –? Me?’ Ruth gave a shaky laugh. ‘Why would I do that? As you know, I only saw the man a couple of times –’

  ‘His father said you knew Finlay well at one point,’ Jill said casually. ‘This would have been when you were both children.’

  ‘What?’ Ruth threw a wild look in M
ax’s direction. ‘I’d never seen Finlay Roberts until he walked into the shop that day.’

  ‘And that happened during the fortnight that Cass should have been on a fortnight’s holiday,’ Jill murmured. ‘Her backing out at the last minute spoiled your plans, didn’t it? It was Cass who remembered seeing Finlay with Carol, not you.’

  ‘I really don’t know –’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Cass, we would never have known about Finlay’s relationship with Carol.’

  ‘But only because it was – meaningless, I’d forgotten all about it.’

  ‘No, Ruth. You knew Finlay. You knew him very well. You were in love with him.’

  Ruth laughed at that, a wild sound that immediately had Max alert. Jill could sense him as he stood by her side, ready to – well, she didn’t know what he was ready for, she was just glad he was ready.

  ‘I’d never met the man until he came into the shop,’ Ruth said firmly. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but you’ve got the wrong woman.’

  ‘No,’ Jill said softly. ‘You’re Lorna.’

  ‘Lorna? Are you mad?’

  ‘I spoke to his father, you see. Spoke to your father, too. Well, it’s one and the same, isn’t it? You and Finlay – you share the same father. But no one told you, did they? No one told you that you were brother and sister until it was too late. By that time, you were in love. Truly, madly, deeply in love.’ She walked, nervously, to the centre of the room and picked up the small card next to the flowers. ‘Truly, madly, deeply,’ she murmured. ‘Why did he send you those, Ruth? Because you were both so close to getting away with murder and inheriting a fortune?’

  ‘I don’t have to listen to this. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, but I think it’s time you left.’

  ‘As soon as you knew you shared the same father, you tried to put Finlay out of your life, didn’t you? What did you do? Change your name by deed poll when you left him? You went right away, didn’t you? You went abroad. You even married a Greek. That didn’t work though, did it? Your choice. After all, your husband – Andreas, did you say his name was? – cared enough to come to England to make you change your mind about a divorce. He loved you, didn’t he? Probably wanted children, too. That couldn’t happen though, could it? Any children you had would have to be Finlay’s. And that was impossible. Yes, you tried to put Finlay out of your mind, but he haunted your every thought.