Innocent

by Kinsley, Erin

  ‘Are we going to that?’

  ‘We certainly are. There might even be lunch.’

  A single bell begins its melancholy tolling. Gooch is watching everyone who arrives, nudging Weld at every famous face.

  Weld sees Aidan Ridley and his wife, and watches them take seats in a pew three rows in front. The organ playing stops, and the hum of conversation falls silent. Through speakers, a familiar tune strikes up, bringing back memories of Saturday nights years ago, settling in with Mum and Grandma to watch Find a Fortune, which always began with this famous theme, and Tristan bursting on to the stage, basking in the audience’s adoration, revelling in the applause.

  Maybe it’s the memory of those lost days – Mum and Grandma are long gone – or maybe it’s the sight of Izzy walking in behind Tristan’s coffin, dignified and tragic as she leads their little daughter by the hand; but as the organ strikes up and the congregation stands for the first hymn, something brings an ache into Weld’s heart.

  When the service is over, Weld and Gooch keep their seats until almost everyone else is gone. Walking out among the stragglers, they pause on the porch steps. Down by the gate, the hearse is pulling away, leading the family cars to the burial site. Across the street, many of the fans are weeping. Among the gravestones, a man in a pale linen suit is chatting to one of the news teams gathering up their kit.

  Something about the man is familiar.

  ‘Wait here a moment,’ Weld says to Gooch.

  Approaching the man, Weld stands so close to him, he has no choice but to break off from his conversation and give her his attention, though he looks annoyed at the interruption.

  ‘Mr Roe?’ asks Weld. ‘Murray Roe?’

  Roe scowls. ‘Who wants to know?’

  Weld flashes her warrant card. ‘DS Weld, West Mercia CID. Can I have a private word, Mr Roe?’

  Roe gives the news team an apologetic shrug and promises to be back. Weld leads him away to the shade of a yew tree overhanging an ivy-covered tomb.

  ‘I’m wondering what brings you here today,’ says Weld. ‘It’s our understanding you and Tristan Savage weren’t the best of friends, so it seems odd to me you’d travel all this way for his funeral. For which, I have to say, you don’t appear appropriately dressed.’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, I’m as entitled to be in this town as the next man.’ Weld smells alcohol on Roe’s breath. ‘I was just passing through Sterndale by chance.’

  ‘No one passes through Sterndale by chance. What exactly are you doing here?’

  ‘Since I happen to have hit on the day of Tris’s funeral – by chance, as I say – I thought I’d take the opportunity to drink a toast to him at the wake. I doubt he’d begrudge me that. How is your investigation going, by the way? I gave my statement to your colleagues when they came to visit, and I don’t have anything to add to what I’ve already said.’

  ‘I hope you’re not here to cause trouble.’

  ‘Trouble? Why should I cause trouble? One drink and I shall be on my way. Scout’s honour.’

  ‘Your presence here has been noted, Mr Roe.’

  ‘From the eagle eyes of the constabulary I should expect nothing less,’ says Roe. ‘Now, do you mind if I resume my conversation?’

  Forty-three

  The wake at the White Lion is too well attended, a crowded, noisy affair where the tension and tears of the funeral evolve into cheerful reminiscence, and as the alcohol kicks in, bursts of raucous laughter sound loud in the low-ceilinged bar. The buffet food goes quickly, and Izzy watches her mother – why does black make people look so old? – catch the ear of the manageress, and smilingly ask if there might be more sandwiches. Izzy plays her part, accepting condolences, declining drinks. This is not an occasion for her to be anything but sober.

  Eamon and Steph are with Flora at a corner table, sipping their drinks while Flora colours a basket of puppies in her farmyard activity book. Both of them look dreadful, aged by years, but they’re gamely encouraging Flora as she picks each fresh colour from her wallet of pens. It’s unfortunate Bridget couldn’t care for Flora today; Flora talks about her often, asking when she’s coming back, and Izzy hasn’t had the heart yet to say Never.

  They’re joined by Izzy’s mother, so Izzy makes her way there too.

  ‘There you are, dear,’ says her mother. ‘I’ve asked them to put out more food. I don’t think Tris would have wanted people to go hungry, would he, Steph?’

  Steph seems tuned out, as if she hasn’t heard the question, and replies with only an uncertain smile. The large glass of white wine she’s holding is close to empty.

  ‘Definitely not,’ says Eamon, careful and dependable with his Appletiser, ready even at this early stage of his loss to supply the right social response.

  ‘I think I need some air,’ says Izzy. ‘Are you all right looking after Flora a few more minutes?’

  ‘Of course we are,’ says her mother. ‘We’ll be a little grandparents’ convention. Won’t we, Steph?’

  Steph drains her glass and holds it out to Eamon for a refill.

  The beer garden’s in a derelict orchard, with picnic tables and benches around an old apple tree carrying a crop of fledgling fruits among its leaves.

  Izzy sits on one of the benches, looking back at the pub. A breeze runs through the tree’s branches, tickling her arms into goose-bumps, making the solitude she was seeking feel too much like loneliness.

  So when Aidan comes out of the tap room and walks towards her, she’s pleased to see him.

  He’s carrying two glasses of sparkling wine.

  ‘How are you doing?’ he asks. He doesn’t sit, but sets both glasses down on the rustic table beside her.

  She smiles up at him. ‘Getting through it. I think that’s the best I can hope for. Where’s Laura?’

  ‘On her way. She saw you heading outside and thought you two could share a glass of bubbles to toast the old man, only she got waylaid by Karen. Careless on her part, especially as she’s got my pint. I’m sorry, I don’t suppose the White Lion’s fizz is up to much, compared to what you’re used to.’

  ‘It’s the thought that counts.’

  Aidan looks back, to see if there’s any sign of his wife. ‘Poor Laura, looks like she’s got well and truly stuck. I’ll stay with you till she gets here. We don’t want you drinking alone on a day like today.’

  Izzy reaches out and touches his hand, and Aidan’s heart leaps. ‘You’re a good friend, Aidan. Thank you.’

  ‘We’re always here for you, you know that. Anything at all. Don’t you forget it.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  Across the car park, Weld and Gooch are heading for their car. When she notices Aidan and Izzy, Weld stops, watching the intimacy of their conversation, seeing the two glasses of sparkling wine.

  ‘What’s going on there?’ she asks, pressing the key fob to unlock the car. ‘That’s Aidan Ridley with Isobel Savage, and don’t they look cosy together?’

  As Weld’s driving out of the car park, Izzy jumps up from where she’s sitting and moves to where she can intercept them as they leave.

  Weld pulls up alongside Izzy and winds down the window.

  ‘We’re on our way,’ she says. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Glad it’s all over. Listen, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Can you come to the house, maybe tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘We’ll be glad to,’ says Weld. ‘I’ll check my diary when we get back to the office and I’ll text you what time is good for us.’

  ‘Thanks,’ says Izzy. ‘And thank you for coming today. Flora and I both appreciate it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t have missed it,’ says Weld.

  Forty-four

  Weld can tell Gooch is glad to be returning to Foxcote Lodge, pleased to have something to tell the boyfriend and her mum. No doubt she’s
hoping for another seat on that fabulous couch, but Weld herself isn’t feeling it. Tristan’s dead, and Foxcote Lodge isn’t a celebrity’s house any more, only a place he used to live.

  The white Range Rover and the Fiat are in the drive, alongside a red Mazda which looks brand new. When they ring the doorbell, Izzy herself answers. Yesterday, she was looking elegant in widow’s black. Today, she could be a model for heroin chic, unattractively thin but – even without make-up and her hair pinned up in the messiest of knots – still the kind of woman all other women think they want to be, like Marianne Faithfull in the sixties or Courtney Love back in her Kurt Cobain days. And she has the spaced-out look to fit that bill, making Weld wonder if she’s been taking tranquillizers or sleeping pills, or maybe drinking. Weld wouldn’t blame her if she was comforting herself with drugs – what else is she to do in this situation? – but there’s a lack of focus in her eyes which suggests she’s not one hundred percent present. Which could mean, if Weld’s being brutal, that this is a good time to ask a few searching questions, there being no better time than when your witness’s guard is down.

  ‘Come in,’ says Izzy, and leaving Gooch to close the door as they enter, she leads them down the hall away from the lounge and towards the kitchen. Weld glances round at Gooch, who pulls a face of disappointment.

  But the kitchen is as luxurious in its own way as the lounge, and there’ll be plenty for Gooch to tell her mum. The décor’s the same inspired mix of contemporary and traditional, wall-to-ceiling white units, a scrubbed pine table that would seat twelve, copper pans hanging from meat hooks on the old beams, an Italian coffee machine which surely needs a trained barista. Gooch thinks she’s seen something similar in a magazine, possibly this very kitchen in Hello.

  Somewhere, super-calming music is playing, the kind you’d hear while you’re getting a massage. Izzy tells Alexa to be quiet, and the music stops.

  ‘I want one of those,’ says Weld, as a conversation starter. ‘Clever things, aren’t they?’

  ‘That’s Tris’s,’ says Izzy, maybe not realising she’s used the present tense, or maybe she does, because then she says, ‘He always loved his gadgets. I’m sorry we have to be in here, but my mother’s looking after Flora in the living room. Coffee? It’ll have to be instant. I was never trained to use that monster.’

  Gooch looks disappointed again, but Weld accepts for both of them. Izzy fills an expensive-looking kettle and finds a pair of Habitat mugs.

  ‘It’s good your mum’s come to be with you,’ says Weld. She’s expecting Nescafé, but Izzy’s idea of instant coffee involves proper ground stuff in bags like teabags. ‘What’s happened to your nanny – what was her name, Bridget?’

  ‘Sugar?’ asks Izzy, and Weld and Gooch both shake their heads. ‘Milk? We have cow’s milk, I think, Mum always buys some. I only drink goat’s milk but I know some people don’t like the taste. And Tris just took everything black. Sometimes a slice of lemon in his tea.’

  ‘So isn’t Bridget with you any more?’

  ‘I let her go. It was very sad and she was quite upset, but there you are. Things will be different now. I’m going to sell this house.’

  ‘That’s a shame,’ says Gooch, and means it.

  As she hands them both coffee, Izzy says, ‘I know you’re busy, so I’ll get to the point. There are two things I need to tell you. The first is, I found something which might be of interest. I was going through the archives of our CCTV, looking for the day of the wedding – just being sentimental, you know? It occurred to me we’d all be on it, leaving the house, the last day we were all together. When I found it, I let the video run, and there’s something else on there. A man came to the house, the same man you sent me a photo of – what was his name, Murray Roe?’

  Weld is startled. ‘Murray Roe was here, at the house?’

  ‘Yes. I can send you the clip if you’d like.’

  ‘Yes, please. Did you know he was in Sterndale yesterday?’

  ‘No. Was he at the funeral?’

  ‘Not exactly. We saw him outside the church, and he said it was a coincidence he was in town. Not very plausible to me.’

  ‘I didn’t see him,’ says Izzy. ‘Duncan’s got everything under control, so I might as well tell you the reason he came here. He was enrolling Bridget in his scheme to spy on us, to sell stories about us to the press.’

  ‘Ah,’ says Weld. ‘That would be why he was talking to a TV crew.’

  ‘What stories?’ puts in Gooch. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

  Izzy shrugs. ‘Anything she could pick up through Alexa.’

  ‘And did she pick anything up?’ asks Weld.

  Izzy gives a wan smile. ‘The thing is, I have to make a confession, about something I didn’t tell you. At the time it didn’t seem important and I didn’t think it would have any bearing, but now Tris is . . . Well, it’s a different story, isn’t it, now you’re treating it as . . . You know, somehow I can’t bring myself to say the M-word. Now that he’s been unlawfully killed.’

  ‘You’ve been withholding information?’

  ‘I suppose I have, yes. I had my reasons. I thought if it leaked out, it might damage his reputation, which I could stand for myself – I wouldn’t like it, but I could stand it – but I was thinking of Flora. I just didn’t want her to grow up thinking her father was anything but the lovely daddy she’ll remember. But now it’s going to be a massive thing anyway, isn’t it? There’ll be a trial eventually when you get your man – or woman – and the whiff of scandal will be unavoidable. So I thought, what the hell, you might as well know what I know.’

  She opens a drawer, takes out Tris’s second phone and hands it to Weld.

  ‘What’s this?’

  Izzy’s trying to be matter-of-fact, but her face shows her vulnerability.

  ‘It’s a little surprise he left for me to find.’

  ‘When did you find it?’

  ‘The day after the wedding.’

  Weld looks disapproving. ‘You should have handed it over straight away.’

  ‘Probably. I was just trying to spare us the embarrassment.’

  ‘Embarrassment? What are we going to find on here?’

  ‘Contact details for his little harem. And the woman he was going to leave me for.’

  ‘He was leaving you?’ asks Weld, incredulous. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? When did you know?’

  Izzy reaches out to a box of pale blue tissues and dabs away tears. ‘Don’t mind me, I just weep all the time at the moment. I didn’t know, not even when I found that phone. I could see there were women’s names on it, and that’s a bit of a giveaway in the infidelity game, isn’t it? But I still thought it might be, you know, casual.’ She wipes her eyes again. ‘If adultery is ever casual. It seems it was with Tris. Anyway, I didn’t realise how serious it was until I opened the architect’s letter.’

  ‘What architect?’ asks Weld, and Izzy gives a small, sad laugh.

  ‘That’s what I thought. What architect? Turns out Tris and Tina – catchy pair of names, aren’t they? – are building a house together. Out in rural Oxfordshire. I went and had a look. I even took pictures. I can send them to you as well if you like. Anyway, I don’t know who she is. Her name’s Martina Stokes, according to the Land Registry. I haven’t tried to contact her. I wouldn’t lower myself to calling his whores. What would I say, anyway? Hands off, he’s mine? I expect you can find out who she is for yourselves. I suppose she watches the news like everyone else, so she’ll know what’s happened. No doubt that house will belong just to her now.’

  Weld puts up her hands. ‘Wait a minute. This is all new information. You’re saying that on this phone are the contact details of women Tristan knew, but you didn’t tell us? Were any of these women at the wedding?’

  ‘How should I know?’ sniffs Izzy. ‘I’ve never met them. At least, not as far as I kn
ow.’

  ‘So these are all potential new suspects?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose they are. One of them might have wanted to kill him. Believe me, I know how that feels.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ says Weld, ‘but I have to caution you, that kind of statement is very unwise.’

  ‘It’s a figure of speech, not a confession. I’m sorry. It’s a very difficult time.’

  ‘I understand that too, but you haven’t made our job any easier by withholding what might be crucial evidence in Tris’s case. If any of the contacts on this phone are of interest to us, they’ve got a huge head start. Plenty of time to conceal evidence and fabricate alibis, even leave the country if they’re minded to do so. Is there anything else you haven’t told us?’

  Izzy shakes her head.

  ‘Good,’ says Weld. ‘Well, before we head back and get started on this line of enquiry, we have a couple of questions we need to ask, beginning with your husband’s relationship with Aidan Ridley.’

  ‘Aidan?’ Izzy looks baffled. ‘What do you mean, relationship? I told you before, Laura’s a close friend of mine, and sometimes we get – got together as a foursome. You know, drinks or supper, stuff like that.’

  ‘They weren’t business partners?’

  ‘No. How could they be? They’re in completely different lines of work.’

  ‘So you’re not aware of Tristan making Aidan Ridley a significant loan for his bike business?’

  ‘A loan? I don’t think so, no. Though if Aidan had asked him for money, I expect Tris would have given it to him. He was generous like that.’

  ‘Generous to the tune of twenty-five thousand pounds?’

  Izzy’s eyes widen. ‘How much?’

  ‘Twenty-five thousand.’

  ‘Well, I seriously doubt that. I mean, a couple of thousand, yes, but what you’re talking about, that’s the kind of sum you borrow from a bank. Isn’t it? No, I don’t think he would give him that much. Not without asking me first.’