by Alison Bruce
‘And you feel the same?’
‘I agree with him: it is important to see justice done, and that it’s seen to be done. That’s what I’m interested in for Lorna. As for compassion, I don’t believe I have any left.’
TWENTY-THREE
Behind him, Richard and his house were gradually fading into the distance. Goodhew knew he hadn’t learnt much from his visit, but at the same time he felt enlightened. For the first time, he thought he’d been able to catch a glimpse of what, besides his money and status, had attracted Lorna to this man.
As he walked towards the Excelsior Clinic, he wondered what else he might see in Alice if she were now on her own. As he approached Magdalene Bridge, he realized he was about to find out; he saw her before she saw him.
She strode out of the building purposefully, and he guessed she was heading towards home. She wore a skirt and jacket and low court shoes that had just enough height to accentuate the curve of her calves. He noticed she had well-turned ankles, or so his grandfather would have said.
Her sunglasses were the only outward sign that she might be shielding herself from the world at large. Maybe they were her small guard against the risk of public curiosity. This was, after all, her part of town, and she and Lorna would almost certainly have been familiar faces hereabouts, especially amongst the local business community.
On the other hand, it was a sunny day.
When she was just a few feet away, Goodhew raised his hand in greeting. ‘Hi,’ he said and smiled.
She smiled back, but blankly at first. Then, as she shifted her glasses up on to the top of her head, she registered who he was. ‘Oh, hi. Were you coming to see me?’
‘That was my plan. I have a couple more questions. We can sit down somewhere for a few minutes now, if it’s convenient.’ She looked more attractive without the glasses, and her eye contact helped. She was very good at eye contact. Very, very good. He told himself to curb the smile, as this was supposed to be a serious moment.
‘Sure,’ she replied and pointed to the nearest tea room. ‘Is there OK, or does it need to be more official than that?’
The café was small and almost empty. The tablecloths were blue-and-yellow gingham and a row of brightly painted teapots was displayed on the low windowsill. In fact, it looked like the assembly point for the county’s contingent of maiden aunts. ‘That looks great,’ he said.
They sat at the back, at the table furthest from the door. Alice visited the Ladies while Goodhew ordered a pot of tea, then occupied himself by folding a paper napkin into a square and wedging it under one leg of the table to stop it rocking.
By the time he straightened up again, she had returned. ‘Good to know we can still rely on the British police for the important things in life.’
‘Like protecting the British cup of tea?’
‘Exactly.’
She pulled her chair away from the table and positioned it at almost ninety degrees. She sat very erect with her right leg crossed tightly over her left, the toe of her shoe curled behind her calf. Her skirt draped over her knee and her hands rested in a neat clasp in her lap. Her hair was clipped in place, and a small amount of make-up covered her cheeks. But despite her composed appearance, her voice was drained of the authoritative crispness he’d noticed on each of their previous encounters. Each time she spoke now, it was more softly, and he wondered whether recent events had cowed her voice into submission, or whether the other, sterner, voice was only adopted in the presence of her brother.
The waitress arrived with their tea on a tray, which she balanced on one hand while organizing some space on the table and then unloading its contents with the other. Neither Goodhew nor Alice spoke again until she’d left them.
‘How can I help?’ Alice asked.
‘When I first visited the Excelsior Clinic, both you and your brother carried photographs of Lorna Spence. I realize that she was more than an employee to your brother, but it seems to me that she was more than just an employee to you too?’ It was a statement, but he let it sound like a question.
Alice poured the tea. ‘Sugar?’
‘Just milk, thanks.’
‘I met Lorna after I returned to work at the clinic last year. We hit it off, which surprised me because, on the face of it at least, we had absolutely nothing in common. But she was good company. When she started seeing Richard, she behaved as if she was one of the family, not in an imposing way, she was just comfortable with our way of life. At first it felt like we were just friends, but then she began to feel more like a sister-in-law.’
‘So you were close?’
‘Close?’ She tilted her head a little so that her gaze wandered over to the bright rectangle of the window at the front. Almost a minute ticked by before she spoke again. ‘I’d never considered that before, but I suppose we were.’ She looked down at her hands, resting in her lap, using them as a distraction whilst she reined in her thoughts.
When she looked back up at him, Goodhew noticed that uncertainty had replaced her usual assuredness.
Her voice was now virtually inaudible. ‘That’s so strange. I’ve always thought of really close friendships as the ones you read about: best friends since childhood, or the living-in-each-other’s-pockets kind; but that’s not me. Lorna was probably the closest friend I had, but I never saw it in those terms. She was more gregarious than me, and I’m sure she had plenty of other friends. In fact, for a while, Lorna was very close to another girl working at the clinic. She was called Victoria.’
‘But?’
‘They fell out.’
Goodhew waited for her to expand on the comment. She didn’t. ‘Do you know why?’
‘It would be best for you to ask Victoria herself, but I think it was over a boyfriend. Apparently, Lorna briefly saw Victoria’s ex after Victoria had broken off their relationship. Lorna told me that she was surprised that it bothered Victoria so much, but that’s all she said.’
‘And this was before Lorna started her relationship with your brother?’
‘Of course. As far as I’m aware, Richard began seeing her just before last Christmas.’
‘And did that concern you?’
‘In what way?’
‘In any way.’
‘In terms of careers, they were in totally different places, but often that’s no bad thing as too much close competition isn’t always healthy. And there was an age gap, fourteen or fifteen years, but it didn’t affect them, as far as I could tell.’
‘But you didn’t really approve?’
‘You asked me if I had any concerns, and I was only concerned that the gap might cause them some problems because it’s the sort of thing that eventually starts to worry Richard.’
‘Because?’
She raised her palms towards the ceiling. ‘Just because.’
Goodhew had a guess. ‘Because he’d worry what other people thought?’
‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Because his glass is always half empty.’
‘Ah.’ Goodhew got it then. ‘Because he might think that the age gap was ultimately going to put her off.’
‘It was a possibility, but I myself didn’t agree. For example, I would guess that you’re the same age as Lorna, or marginally older, and I’m just a couple of years older than Richard. No one that walks in here will know why we’re talking, and some may even assume that we’re together. We know that’s not the case, but I don’t think we look ridiculous together, do we?’
She said it in a totally matter-of-fact way, with no hint of flirtation. And, while he couldn’t imagine that flirting was her style, he also wouldn’t have minded if she’d given it a shot.
‘No,’ Goodhew agreed.
She glanced down at her hands, then back up again as though she’d had a sudden thought. ‘Actually,’ she smiled slightly, ‘I was worried at first that their relationship might put a strain on my friendship with Lorna. But I was being silly. If anything, Lorna and I grew closer.’
‘And how about Richard and
Lorna? How would you describe their feelings towards each other?’
‘Happy. Not soulmates perhaps, but not far short.’
‘What else?’
Alice frowned. ‘What exactly are you looking for?’
‘Tensions, things they rowed about – not necessarily things that suggest a rift, but perhaps differences in attitude that would tell us more about Lorna.’
Alice refilled her cup, making a small ritual out of the process. Goodhew wondered if she was trying to buy time that way, or just searching for the right words.
‘Lorna was quite a liberated type,’ she continued. ‘It was something that I found at odds with our own upbringing, but it never caused me a problem. Lorna could be very outspoken, openly discussing everything from politics to women’s issues. Sometimes Richard found her point of view difficult to comprehend – but I’m sure he’s told you that already.
‘Lorna and I even talked about sex on several occasions, but sex in general, no specifics. I certainly wouldn’t want to know about my brother’s sex life. Would you want to know about yours?’
Goodhew shook his head. ‘Fair comment.’
For the first time, Alice’s attention drifted.
He left her with her thoughts for a few seconds more, then spoke.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘All right. Shocked. I don’t know really.’ She tilted her head back, as if trying to think. The muted lighting in the café illuminated one side of her face, where the first hints of crow’s feet were traced around her eyes. The effect was strange: in one half of her face he could see how she looked ten years ago, and in the other half how she might look in ten years’ time. The twenty-nine-year-old Alice looked a little too earnest, and the forty-nine-year-old a little too melancholy. He liked the current version best.
‘Sad for Richard, I suppose,’ she sighed finally.
‘Not for Lorna?’
‘Yes, of course – and for all of us who loved her. But mostly for Richard.’
Goodhew nodded and wondered if her brother was ever far from her thoughts. ‘Does the name Emma mean anything to you?’
‘No, we’ve been asked that already.’
‘I know, just double-checking. What about dogs? Did she like them?’
Alice thought for a few seconds, then shrugged. ‘No idea. I don’t remember pets ever coming up in our conversations. Why?’
‘We have some dog hair samples that we’d like to identify. They may be nothing, but we need to know if she had any connections to anyone with a dog.’
‘I can’t say for certain, of course, but I don’t think so.’
‘I will need to speak to Victoria Nugent, as well. Is she in today?’
‘Most probably, although I haven’t seen her yet.’ A shadow passed across Alice’s face. ‘Actually, there’s something you can do for me, if you don’t mind. I’ve explained why Lorna and Victoria fell out, and it was made more awkward by them working in the same building, but please try to take whatever Victoria says with a pinch of salt. She can seem very . . .’ Alice hesitated as she fished for the appropriate word. In the end she settled for ‘. . . bitter.’
They seemed at the end of their conversation when Goodhew flashed back to the start. ‘Earlier you said that you returned to the clinic last year. Where had you been meanwhile?’
‘I needed a break.’
‘To do what?’
‘Nothing, really. We’d had a loss. Our father died and I decided to spend some time sorting out the house.’
‘Richard said the house was left to all of you. Does that mean there are other siblings? Or were you and Richard the only two?’
She became very still, as if suddenly not sure which way to go next. He waited, knowing that she had realized she needed to say something. ‘No, we weren’t,’ she said finally. ‘There were four of us: myself, Richard, then David and Jackie. David and Jackie were born during my father’s second marriage.’
‘And did they know Lorna too?’
Alice’s eyes widened as if recognizing that was the exact route she had wanted to avoid. Her eyes locked with Goodhew’s. He studied her face, gripped by the feeling that there was something more than just the words that she was either attempting to communicate or attempting not to. ‘Not David,’ she mumbled. ‘We lost him years ago.’ She rubbed her fingers into her palms, as though they were perspiring. But if anything was bubbling beneath her cool exterior, it wasn’t being allowed to break through. ‘Jackie’s nothing to do with the Excelsior Clinic,’ she said. We don’t see her often.’
‘But she’s local?’
Alice nodded. ‘Fen Ditton.’
The name made the hairs rise across Goodhew’s scalp.
‘And Lorna knew her?’
‘God, yes. They rode together on several occasions.’
‘As in, bikes?’
‘Horses. Jackie’s the country type. She lives in a cottage.’ Alice chewed her bottom lip. ‘With a dog.’ She stood and brushed down her skirt. It was an abrupt movement, like the urge had come into her head and been translated into movement before her conscious mind had had the chance to be consulted. ‘Can I go, now?’ she asked.
Goodhew’s thoughts were still on Jackie. ‘Richard never mentioned any other siblings.’
Alice was staring at the café door now. ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I guess he wouldn’t.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Contrary to her prediction, Faith Carver’s temping contract hadn’t been terminated, and she still occupied the reception desk.
Nevertheless, she didn’t look very happy, so Goodhew made sure he sounded positive, just to average things out.
‘How are you, Mrs Carver?’
‘Fine, thank you. Who would you like to see?’
‘Victoria Nugent, if she’s in.’
‘Yes, she is – but she’s just slipped outside.’ Faith Carver lowered her voice to a whisper, and gave one of her automatic scowls. ‘Cigarette break, I think.’
‘OK,’ he whispered back. ‘Tell me what she looks like.’
Faith stopped whispering and then answered in her usual businesslike voice. ‘Tanned and skinny with very shiny black hair streaked with burgundy . . . lowlights, I think they’re called.’
‘I thought she was a redhead.’
‘That was yesterday, but you still won’t miss her.’ Faith cleared her throat with an awkward cough. ‘Have you made much progress?’ She rushed the words, clearly unsure whether even asking was the correct thing to do.
‘Some, I hope, but it’s early days. I don’t suppose you’ve thought of anything else to mention?’
‘No. But I only worked with her for one day.’
‘That’s fine – just thought I’d ask.’
He jogged back down the stairs and, when he reached the pavement, he knew immediately that Faith Carver had been right; Victoria Nugent was impossible to miss. The pavement tables nearby were mostly unoccupied and, sitting with her back to him, was the only woman with black hair. To describe it as shiny had been a gross understatement, it was straight and almost glasslike. The lowlights were in fact half a dozen chunks dyed a pronounced plummy red, incongruous against her white-and-green dental nurse’s uniform. The lit cigarette she held in her right hand clashed further. Her elbow rested on the table and the cigarette smouldered close to her ear. The ash was about half an inch long and already threatened to drop on to the pavement. The woman was using her left hand to stir an untouched cappuccino.
Goodhew hesitated. Either spring was in the air, or else Mel’s observation that he was a prime candidate for stalker of the year had affected his frame of mind. Firstly he’d found Alice very attractive and he now couldn’t help noticing that Victoria had her own unique appeal. In fact, she did for nurses’ uniforms what Ann Summers had done for waitresses’ uniforms . . . and, well, nurses’ uniforms. The stilettos helped.
Goodhew drew a chair up to the table and sat a third of the way round from her. He noticed that her eyes were u
nnaturally blue, but then her skin was unnaturally tanned, and it was hard to tell if either was genuine. The ash gave up and tumbled on to the cobbles.
‘You’re a detective, aren’t you?’ she said. Her lips barely moved as she spoke, but they parted just enough to demonstrate that her teeth were straight and gleaming white.
Goodhew figured that working at the Excelsior Clinic had its perks.
He introduced himself formally. ‘DC Gary Goodhew.’
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged, looked at her cigarette, stubbed it out and reached for another. ‘I saw you here when she first went missing. And now I suppose you want to know more about dear Lorna?’
‘We all want to know about her.’
Victoria blew a thin plume of smoke in the general direction of her coffee. ‘That figures. Men all over the place, even when she’s dead.’
‘I heard you’d fallen out.’
‘Lorna was a bitch.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘I’m supposed to say, “But I didn’t want her dead.” I can promise you I’ve frequently wished her dead. I imagined something less attention-grabbing though, quietly rotting away with an untreatable strain of syphilis. You know, something appropriate. Have I shocked you?’
‘Did you want to?’
‘Don’t give a shit. Bet no one else is saying she was a bitch. Well, they wouldn’t, would they?’
‘Because she’s dead?’
Victoria leant towards Goodhew and ran her forefinger along the edge of the table as if feeling the finish. He noticed her nail was pierced, with a small diamond dangling from it. ‘No, because they didn’t know it. I didn’t know myself until we spent just a bit too much time together. She stole my boyfriend – or did you hear that already?’
Goodhew mimicked her body language and leant a little closer to her. ‘Yeah, I heard,’ he said. ‘That’s all I heard, though. They suggested I get it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’
