‘I think she looks great,’ Rae said. ‘It’s such a change, isn’t it?’
She chatted for a further few minutes and made an appointment for herself the next morning. Why not get a new look while she was here? Maybe Craig, her boyfriend, would be pleased.
Rae arrived back on campus just as Hattie emerged from her final lecture of the day. It all seemed to be going well.
* * *
Back at police HQ in Dorset, Barry was searching for details of the suicide in the village of Bridgeford St Paul some five years earlier. Lawrence Jackson had been a well-respected organist at the local parish church for nearly eleven years, having taken over the role soon after moving to the village with his young wife, shortly after their marriage. He was forty-seven years old when he died, leaving a widow and two young children — a daughter of nine and a son aged six. The press reports concentrated on the plight of the family, and his wife, Rachel’s, sense of devastation. Apparently she’d discovered her husband’s body hanging from a beam in their cottage. Lawrence was a civil engineer, and had masterminded several large-scale bridge-building projects in the region. Church organ music had been his passion ever since his boyhood. According to the press reports, he’d won several awards for his engineering work, but even more for his organ playing. One press story stated that he would be especially missed by some of the teenagers in the area in whom he’d instilled a love for church organ music.
Rachel Jackson worked as a legal secretary in nearby Wareham. Barry searched for her name, but it appeared she no longer lived in Bridgeford. Where had she gone? And would it be fair to attempt to find her? She might not want to reopen old wounds. Barry managed to find a photo of her in one of the press reports. It looked as though she was much younger than Lawrence. He’d need to check on her age. If the report was correct, she’d have married at the age of nineteen. He continued to read through the reports, a slight sense of unease forming in his mind. It had been Lawrence Jackson’s second marriage. Was there a hint in one of the obituaries that his first had ended acrimoniously? From the possible timeframe and the age of his second wife, it was possible that an affair with Rachel had sealed the fate of his first marriage. Maybe he would need to look for the first wife.
Meanwhile, Sophie studied the coroner’s report on the death and examined the police log of the incident. The suicide had been totally unexpected. Jackson had no recorded history of mental health issues of any kind. His wife had discovered his body when she returned home after collecting the two children from school. Sophie imagined the horror she must have felt, seeing his body dangling from a noose attached to a ceiling beam. Apparently she had run out into the small front garden, dragging the children with her, all of them screaming.
Dreadful, dreadful, dreadful. Sophie shook her head. What would drive a loving husband and father to such an act? There were no serious money worries. The neighbours all said they were a perfect couple, and always seemed happy together. The two children were well behaved. No explanation for the tragedy had ever been found.
She walked across to Barry. ‘I wonder if we should visit his widow, Barry? We need more information, and she’s the only person who can supply it.’
‘My thoughts exactly, ma’am. And maybe the same for his first wife?’
Sophie looked startled. ‘I didn’t realise. I’d only just noticed that he was a good bit older than Rachel. Where did you find out about that?’
‘One of the obituaries. Rachel married him when she was about nineteen. Meaning that she was at least a couple of years younger than that when their relationship started.’
‘So you’re saying that she might have been underage when they first met? It ties in with what we suspect about Harriet Imber, if there was something going on between them.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And if there were something going on, and Harriet threatened to spill the beans, then that would explain the suicide?’ Sophie looked at him.
‘It fits, doesn’t it? From what we know about the relationship she had with Eddie Davis? Eddie’s diary entries suggest that Hattie was about to inform on her, and we think that’s what drove her to suicide. A relationship between her and this guy Jackson would be far more damaging if she was underage at the time. He’d face criminal charges that would ruin his reputation and put him in gaol. No way out.’
Sophie looked at the photo of the mourning widow at the funeral. ‘I think I know where she works. If I’ve got her right, she’s a legal secretary at the solicitors Martin and I use. I’ll phone my contact there and ask. If she’s agreeable, maybe we can meet this afternoon.’
Chapter 18: Sleeping Dogs
Rachel Jackson sat in the small sitting room of her home with her hands folded in her lap, looking pale and nervous. She was an attractive woman of medium height with fair skin and blonde hair, wearing slim-fit jeans and a mohair jumper, but she had chosen to sit in the shadow created by the curtains that draped the edges of the window, making it difficult to observe her expression.
‘I have about an hour before I need to pick Bobby up from school,’ she said. ‘He’s old enough to come home by himself now, but he just won’t. I think he’s terrified of walking in the door and finding me like his dad. He’ll never come into the house from the front unless he’s with someone.’
‘Poor soul,’ Sophie said. ‘I feel for all three of you. It must have been a nightmare. An hour is plenty of time, Rachel. I don’t want to put you under any stress.’
‘Tell me again why you need to see me,’ Rachel said. ‘It was five years ago, and I’ve been trying to forget, to build a new life for us. To have to remember it all again is just so hard.’
‘We wouldn’t put you through this unless we had to, Rachel. It’s just that there have been two other more recent suicides in the county, and we’re looking for a pattern.’
Rachel looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I understand. How can there be a pattern to suicides? They’re all down to the victim’s personal circumstances, aren’t they? Why would there be a link?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to discover. Please bear with me. I want to ask you some questions about the death of your husband. I’ll try and be as gentle as possible. I’ve looked at the case details that we have on record and I’ve read the coroner’s report. The facts aren’t at issue here. I’d like to learn a little bit more about your late husband and his contacts in the village.’
Rachel sat forward and stared at Sophie. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it seems obvious that his death was a total shock to everyone. He wasn’t suffering from depression and there weren’t any overwhelming money issues as far as I can see, so I think we can discount those as likely reasons. Am I right?’
Rachel nodded. She looked wary.
‘What I want to do is to look for other possible causes. I need you to be honest with me, Rachel. Had Lawrence somehow got himself trapped in a corner, one from which he could see no way out?’
Rachel flushed. ‘I don’t know,’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you think I haven’t thought about that? Don’t you think I haven’t spent countless sleepless nights turning it over and over in my mind? I never got anywhere. All I could do was speculate. But it was poisoning my memory of him, so in the end I forced myself to stop.’
‘Why did you move away from the village, Rachel? You must have had friends there who would have supported you? Why come into the town?’
Rachel looked away and played with the handle of her cup. ‘It’s more convenient for us. I don’t have to drive everywhere. I can just walk to work and to the schools. Even the shops are only ten minutes on foot.’
‘You didn’t feel a need to escape?’
‘Whatever gives you that idea?’ Rachel’s indignation sounded forced.
Sophie decided to change tack. ‘You were nineteen when you married Lawrence. How did you meet?’
‘I took lessons with him in church organ music.’
‘Was that here in Dorset?’
&n
bsp; Rachel shook her head slowly. She seemed tired. She placed her cup back on its saucer. ‘In Somerset, a village near Taunton.’
‘How old were you when you first started those lessons?’
‘Sixteen, I guess?’ She dropped her eyes. ‘I can’t remember exactly.’
‘And how long until you realised that there was something more to the relationship?’
Rachel looked miserable. She spoke in a whisper. ‘A year maybe.’ She continued to look at the floor, her hands clasped together. The knuckles were white.
‘He was married at the time. Was the split a messy one?’
Rachel nodded. ‘I realise that now. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. I just felt so alive and loved. Everything was rosy for me. I didn’t want to spoil it by getting involved with his break-up from Caroline, his first wife. As time’s gone by I’ve felt more and more guilty. Why did I do it? How much hurt did I cause her? I’m not a cruel person really. I was just swept along by it all.’
Sophie breathed out. She had to ask. ‘Rachel, is it possible that the whole pattern might have been about to repeat itself? Could Lawrence have formed an attachment with someone else, someone young, much as you’d been when you first met him?’
Rachel burst into tears. Sophie waited. When her sobs had subsided Rachel began to talk in a low monotone. ‘I thought it was me, that I was less attractive. The children wore me out when they were toddlers, and I was still trying to work part-time. I was always exhausted. I sensed that something was wrong, but I never thought it could be that. And before I could ask him about what was wrong, he was dead. I’ve never told a soul. I always thought it would spoil my memory of him. He was good to me. He showed me so much consideration and kindness, always. The children as well.’
‘Did you suspect anyone? Any of the young women who were taking lessons from him?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I just didn’t want to believe it. The whole village rallied round and supported the three of us. I felt guilty when we moved away, but it had to be done. I needed to break with the past and start afresh. It was the right thing to do.’ She gazed at Sophie, almost pleadingly.
‘I’m not disputing that, Rachel. I’d probably have done the same thing in your position. You haven’t answered my question, though.’
‘No, I know I haven’t.’ She paused, and then continued in a whisper. ‘It was curious. In the days that followed, I kept seeing a girl sitting on a wall across the village green from where we lived. I’d never seen her there before. She seemed to be watching our cottage. I put it down to my over-active imagination. It only happened a few times and I never saw her again.’
‘Can you remember anything about her?’
‘It was five years ago, for God’s sake!’ Rachel’s voice was stronger now, and more abrupt. ‘What do you expect from me? She may have had long hair, but I really can’t be sure.’ She fixed her eyes on Sophie again. ‘Look, what is this all about? You must be raking over all of this for a reason. What’s this pattern that you mentioned earlier?’
‘I can’t tell you that, Rachel. Not yet, anyway. I promise to keep you informed, though, if we do find anything relevant to Lawrence’s death. If anything else crops up, would you be willing to speak to us again?’
Rachel sighed, and slowly nodded.
The two detectives let themselves out.
* * *
Outside the door, Barry ran a hand over his head. ‘Phew. That was definitely worthwhile. What are your thoughts, ma’am?’
‘Same as yours, I expect. It sounds as though Lawrence Jackson had a penchant for teenage girls. He may or may not have been a paedophile, it depends on how young they were. She was a bit cagey about precisely when they started having sex, and I didn’t want to push it on this occasion, but we may need to see her again and turn the screw a bit more. By the way, his first wife was eighteen when they married, even younger than Rachel. We’ll need to track her down and speak to her as well. I wonder if she still lives in Somerset?’
‘Do you think the girl on the wall could have been Harriet Imber?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Possibly. If it was her, then our man Lawrence Jackson suddenly found out that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. It must have all seemed so smooth to him while he was in control. But with her? Eventually she turned the tables on him. Where would that have left him? With nowhere to hide and his whole social status at risk, plus a young wife and family who, it seems, he really did love. Maybe he killed himself to protect them. My guess is that Rachel began to suspect what had happened after he died. Maybe she even had an idea who it was. I don’t think she was telling the truth about her reason for moving into Wareham, not the whole truth anyway. She was very cagey about some things. What if she herself was underage when they started having sex? She’d want to keep that under wraps. She’s got two children by him, for goodness’ sake. She wouldn’t want to mess with their futures. Better to let sleeping dogs lie.’
Chapter 19: High Heels
There was Hattie, disappearing from view as she turned into the stairwell in the geography block. Why was she here, in geography? Looking for a friend? Rae walked up the stairs and pretended to inspect the noticeboard. The lists of tutorial groups, seminars and lectures reminded her of her own days as a university student, back in her previous life as a man. Thank goodness that was all over.
She saw Hattie stop for a moment outside an office door. Rae stopped too, and rummaged inside her bag as if she was looking for something. She pulled out her phone and thumbed an imaginary text. She could see Hattie hesitate and glance around. Then she bent down and slid an envelope under the door. She hurried away from the office, looking back over her shoulder, almost colliding with Rae.
‘Watch it,’ said Rae.
‘Fuck off,’ Hattie replied, and walked quickly away.
Rae wasn’t sure what to do. Should she follow Hattie, who seemed to be keyed up and in a hurry, or try to identify the occupant of that office? Maybe she could manage both. She approached the door. Its nameplate read ‘Professor Paul Murey.’ She couldn’t see the envelope. Rae listened and heard movement inside, so she backed away and stood looking at the noticeboard. The door opened and a man peered out. He was around forty, thickset with dark hair greying at the temples and was wearing a loose shirt and chino trousers.
‘Was there someone here?’ he asked brusquely. His voice had a trace of a Scottish accent.
‘Someone pushed past me on the stairs,’ Rae replied truthfully. ‘Why?’
The man opened his mouth to speak, then shrugged, stepped back inside his office and closed the door. Rae sped towards the stairs and made for the exit. She caught sight of her quarry in the distance. Where would Hattie go now? Back to her room, or off to somewhere else where she could let off steam? She saw Hattie come to a stop in front of her, a mobile phone to her ear. Who might she be calling? If it comes to it, thought Rae, we can always examine her call log. Rae checked the time on her watch. This idea triggered another chain of thought. If Hattie needed to get a message to this Professor Murey, why hadn’t she just called him or sent a text message? It was a bit odd, in this technological age, to slide envelopes under doors, messages that might be accidentally picked up by someone else.
Hattie started walking again, back to her accommodation block. Had she arranged to meet someone? Rae followed, keeping well back from the hurrying figure. Hattie entered the block, and Rae followed, falling in behind a small cluster of students entering the building. She climbed the stairs to Hattie’s floor, taking care as she rounded the corner that Hattie wasn’t still in view. The corridor was almost deserted so Rae slid into a recess and pretended to check her phone. Almost immediately the spiky-haired young woman she’d seen earlier appeared and hurried to Hattie’s room. Maybe she was Hattie’s closest friend. If so, it might be worth finding out a little more about her, in addition to Markham and Professor Murey.
* * *
The weather was taking a turn for the worse,
with squally showers forecast overnight. Rae wore a dark coloured parka, ready for an evening stake out of Markham’s home. She had asked Barry to find the address. Markham rented one of two first-floor flats in a converted Edwardian house situated in a quiet neighbourhood not far from the campus. Rae parked in a secluded spot on the opposite side of the road and got out. She put her hood up and slid her gloved hands into her pockets. At present the rain was little more than a drizzle but she could feel the breeze strengthening as she made her way across the deserted street.
She took a look around. The large detached Edwardian house was half-hidden behind tall hedges, and the garden was filled with shrubs. A short driveway opened into a parking area to the right, where four cars were neatly lined up against a wall. The only security light seemed to be a dim lamp above the front porch. The small front gate had been left partially open so Rae slipped inside and stood beneath the hedge while her eyes adjusted to the near darkness. She could hear the faint sound of music coming from one of the flats. Church organ music? Yes, that was it. She decided to stay where she was for a while longer, giving herself time to map out the probable location and direction of paths and grass verges. Once she started moving, she didn’t want to stumble into flower beds or tread on any undergrowth that might give her away. She was just about to take the first step when she heard the squeak of a gate opening, over to her right. A tall, slim figure appeared and Rae heard heels tapping up the path. Then Hattie appeared, silhouetted against the faint light from the lamp above the door. She pushed a button and turned her back to the door. Rae held her breath. Surely she’d be seen? At the faint sound of a buzzer, Hattie stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a gentle click.
Rae breathed deeply. Interesting. Hattie had changed her clothes and was presumably wearing a skirt or dress under her coat, but it was the shiny, high-heeled boots that had caught Rae’s attention. Those four inch heels couldn’t be easy to walk in. Rae made her way along a narrow path that ran along the side of the house, past the open window. A vent was fitted to the wall just beyond the window and Rae could detect the faint smell of food cooking. She suddenly felt hungry. Maybe she should have eaten before setting out on this scouting expedition. There was the sound of voices, discernible above the organ music, but it was impossible to identify what was being said. A low, male voice and a higher one, probably Hattie’s. Suddenly the music was switched off, mid-passage. A man’s voice, close to the window, said, ‘That’s everything in. I’ll turn it down and it’ll be ready in an hour. Shall we go and play?’
Detective Sophie Allen Box Set 2 Page 58
