by Roberta Kray
They had travelled several miles, leaving West Henby behind, before she turned her head and asked, ‘Who would have killed her? Who would have done that?’ She didn’t wait for an answer before saying, ‘They’re going to blame Mal.’
‘They’ve got to prove he was there first.’
‘It could have been Jude. Just because he found her doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. You saw what he was like with her the other night. He’s always been . . . ’
‘Been what?’
She shrugged. ‘Jealous? Possessive? I don’t know. Did you mention the announcement to the law?’
‘No, did you?’
‘No. I wonder what that was about. Perhaps it was why someone killed her, to stop her saying whatever she was going to say.’
‘That would narrow it down to a pretty small group of suspects.’
‘It’s pretty small already, don’t you think?’
The roads were quiet and they made good progress. Soon they were on the M20 and Nick could put his foot down. ‘I heard a car got nicked from the house.’
Lolly gave him a quick glance. ‘Did it?’
He suspected she already knew this. ‘Kind of suggests that whoever killed Esther wasn’t an invited guest. If they were, they’d have come in their own car. Still, at least they didn’t take mine. That would have been a pain in the arse.’
‘It might not have had anything to do with Esther. All those expensive cars parked up without an owner in sight . . . Someone could have just slipped into the grounds and helped themselves.’
‘Even with the guard on the gate?’
‘It’s not impossible.’
Nick felt her discomfort and although he didn’t want to make matters worse, he had to get to the truth before she buried it too deeply. He took a deep breath and said, ‘Mal was at the house, wasn’t he?’
Lolly’s head jerked round, her eyes widening. ‘What?’
‘When did you find out? Yesterday? Tonight?’
‘He hasn’t been there. What makes you think that? He wouldn’t come to the house. It’s the first place the law would look for him.’
‘Mal isn’t bothered about the law. He’s only got one thing on his mind and that’s his daughter. You’ve seen him, haven’t you?’
‘No! Jesus, of course I haven’t!’
‘Shit, Lolly, it’s me you’re talking to. If you want me to help, you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.’
‘I don’t need any help.’
Nick fought against the temptation to roll his eyes. ‘Okay, so why don’t you tell me what happened to the jewellery you were wearing? One so-called fake diamond ring and a necklace. One moment you’re wearing them and the next . . . And why you were so damn long down at the lake? When I went for a slash, it only took me five minutes. You were gone for what, fifteen? It doesn’t take that long to walk to the bench and back.’
‘I told you. I went to the loo after. It was busy in the house, crowded.’
‘And the jewellery?’
‘I took it off.’
‘And put it where?’
‘In my bedroom.’
‘And why would you do that?’
Lolly glared at him. ‘What is this, the bloody third degree?’
‘You’ll get worse off the law if someone else noticed. Like I said, I’m just trying to help. You gave the jewellery to Mal, didn’t you? Something he could liquidate while he was on the run.’
Lolly turned her face away and stared out of the side window. Eventually, after what seemed like an age, she said softly, ‘He didn’t kill her. He found her by the lake.’
‘Christ,’ Nick said. ‘You’d better tell me everything.’
38
Wednesday 21 September. West Henby
DI Bob Latham stood on the bank of the lake and gazed out across the water. It wasn’t the first time he’d been here. Nineteen years ago, as a freshly promoted DS, he’d stood in much the same place, thinking much the same thing as he was thinking now: that life was hard and cruel and full of pain. Nothing had happened in the intervening years to make him alter that opinion.
Back then it had been Cathy Kershaw’s murder that was being investigated. She’d been pulled from the lake by a frantic Mal Fury, but to no avail. The girl was already dead. There had been an expectation that the baby would be found in the water too, but after a long search and an eventual draining of the lake, nothing was discovered. Little Kay Fury had disappeared for good.
Latham turned his thoughts to the present. Esther’s body had been moved to the morgue, ready for the autopsy first thing in the morning. She’d been examined by the pathologist at the scene and although the bruises on her neck had initially suggested strangulation, it now appeared more likely that she’d been held under water and drowned.
At the moment Mal Fury was heading up a short list of suspects. How couldn’t he be? On the run, angry, bitter, a man whose wife had betrayed him. But Latham wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. Until he had definitive proof that Fury had been on the premises, he was keeping a more or less open mind. There were others who’d harboured grudges too. Esther Fury had been the sort of woman who provoked strong emotions.
DS Barry was striding along the bank towards him. Latham adjusted his features so they didn’t betray the dislike he had for the younger officer. The sergeant was one of those ambitious types who had his sights set on the top of the pile and didn’t care who he trampled over to get there.
‘Everything all right, guv?’
Latham didn’t bother replying to the question. Cops like Barry couldn’t understand the concept of standing back for a moment, of trying to get some perspective. Fools rush in where angels fear to tread . . . wasn’t that the saying? Not that he classified Barry as a fool exactly, but he wasn’t what you’d call the thoughtful type either. ‘Anything from forensics?’
‘Nothing useful from the scene as yet. If the perp did leave footprints they were all churned up by Jude Rule.’
‘What do you make of him?’
Barry lifted and dropped his shoulders. ‘He seems upset enough. Shocked. Bit of an odd relationship, though. She was old enough to be his mother.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if it was the other way around. Older bloke, younger woman. No one bats an eyelid, do they? But I get your meaning. We’ll run some checks on him, see if he’s got any form.’
‘He’s not in the frame, is he? This has got to be down to the husband. Has it on his toes, makes his way back here, sees her by the lake, grabs his opportunity and it’s job done. Then he nicks the Hunter and he’s away.’
‘They’re all in the frame until we know otherwise.’ Latham had a nose for when people were lying to him and it had been twitching excessively during some of the interviews. ‘She was down by the lake, wasn’t she? The ward, Lolita Bruce.’
‘She wouldn’t be strong enough to hold Esther Fury under water.’
‘You’d be surprised what people can do when they’re angry. She and Esther had history and it wasn’t the warm fuzzy sort. Rule was going to search round the lake himself, remember, until Miss Bruce insisted on going instead.’
‘History?’
‘You don’t find it odd that Mal Fury was her only guardian? Not the two of them. And you heard what Anna Leighton said.’
‘Oh, her. She’s the type who likes the sound of her own voice.’
It was true that Anna had been nothing short of verbose, almost revelling in the interview, as if it was her chance to be in the spotlight. A gossip, too, but gossips could be useful in this business. She had seemed neither shocked nor dismayed by Esther’s death.
‘Esther took what she wanted whenever she wanted it,’ she’d said. ‘It was only a matter of time before someone . . . Well, she had no regard for other people’s feelings, did she? Husbands, boyfriends: they were all fair game. She had an affair with Claud, you know. And look at Jude Rule. He dropped poor Lita like a hot potato as soon as she took an interest in him.’
It was a fact that people often lied during a murder inquiry, sometimes deliberately, sometimes through a misguided desire to be helpful, telling you what they thought you wanted to hear, rather than what they actually knew or had observed. That a party had been in full swing didn’t help matters either, the house and garden full of guests, and the guests full of champagne. Only the staff had been sober and they weren’t saying much.
Barry, who was not fond of silences, quickly filled the one that had fallen between them.
‘I’ve had another word with the security guard, but he’s still claiming he didn’t see the driver’s face. Had the headlights on full, apparently. He can’t even be sure if it was a man or a woman. It had to be Mal Fury, though. Don’t you think?’
Latham suspected he was right. Everything pointed in that direction, and yet he still had niggling doubts. ‘It doesn’t seem very organised, does it? If you’re planning to kill someone, don’t you make sure you’ve got a better exit strategy? He couldn’t have known he’d find the keys in the Hunter. What if he hadn’t? What would he have done then?’
‘Gone over the wall, I suppose.’
‘And then he’s on foot. How far could he hope to get?’
‘Well, he got from Surrey to here without us picking him up. And perhaps he hadn’t planned on killing her tonight, but an opportunity came along and he took it. Then he panicked and had to get away by whatever means he could.’
Latham could see no real flaws in this argument. Perhaps he was overcomplicating things. A vengeful husband, a treacherous wife: all the ingredients for murder. And yet those doubts wouldn’t go away. ‘What about the summerhouse? Have we got inside yet?’
‘The housekeeper can’t find the key.’
‘Better just break in, then.’
39
Thursday 22 September. Kellston
When Lolly woke on Thursday morning, the first thing she did was curse herself for telling Nick Trent the truth. Could she really trust him? Now that he knew Mal had been at the house, there was nothing to stop him going to the law. He was an excop after all. She should have kept her stupid mouth shut. The problem was, she hadn’t been thinking straight. Esther’s murder had knocked her for six and she had let her barriers down.
‘Idiot,’ she muttered.
In the cold light of day, she knew this wasn’t the only thing she had to worry about. What if someone else had noticed the missing jewellery? As she got out of bed, she went through a list of likely candidates. Fortunately, she hadn’t talked to many people and most of the guests had probably been too preoccupied by their own appearance to pay much attention to hers. There was Anna Leighton, of course. She was the type who always took note of what other women were wearing, but after Esther’s murder even she might have had other things on her mind.
Lolly went to the bathroom, had a pee, washed her hands and then brushed her teeth. But none of this distracted from the fear that was growing inside. Mrs Gough was her biggest worry. That woman had eyes in the back of her head. And there had been that business with the bag, when DS Barry had asked to take a look in it. What had all that been about? Probably just Mrs Gough trying to put the knife in, hoping that Lolly had taken something she shouldn’t. It couldn’t have been about the necklace and ring as neither of those items belonged to the Furys.
While she made a brew, her thoughts stayed with the jewellery and inevitably shifted on to Terry Street. Jesus, she was going to have to tell him that she didn’t have the diamond ring any more. That wasn’t a conversation she was looking forward to. And he wasn’t going to be in the best of moods with Vinnie banged up. The best course of action, she decided, was to try and avoid him for as long as possible.
Lolly drank her tea while she wondered what to do next. She was pretty sure the law would be back at some point, knocking on the door, asking more questions. What she wanted to do was go to the phone box across the road and ring Nick to find out for certain that he wasn’t going to talk. But the call would be a waste of time. He’d be at work and the best she’d be able to do was leave a message. No, she’d wait until this evening when he was home again.
Once she had finished stressing over Nick she quickly moved on to Mal. Where would he go? He must have dumped the white Hunter by now; it wouldn’t be safe to go on driving around in it. If he sold the jewellery this morning, he should be able to raise enough cash to get far away, not abroad – he had no passport – but somewhere the police wouldn’t think to look for him. The news of Esther’s murder would be on the TV and radio, although the papers wouldn’t be publishing the story until tomorrow. He would have to find a place where he could keep his head down until the real killer was discovered.
With so much on her mind, she needed a distraction. It was then she thought of Dana Leigh. With everything that had happened, her promise to Stella to check out the library had gone right out of the window. Well, now was as good a time as any. She found a notepad and pen, shoved them in her bag and set off for the high street.
Lolly had only got as far as the green when the door to the pawnbroker’s opened and Tony Cecil stepped out. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her, but that hope was quickly dashed. He clocked her right off and zigzagged across the road, nonchalantly dodging the cars with a big fat grin on his face.
‘Hey, babe,’ he said, once he’d caught up with her. ‘Seen your mate, recently?’
Lolly thought it smarter to keep shtum about knowing what he and his brother had done to Jude. ‘Who do you mean?’
‘Who the fuck do you think I mean? You ain’t got that many friends, darlin’. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure it out. But, shit, what the hell, I’ll give you a clue anyway: that murdering scumbag who killed Amy and got away with it. Jude fuckin’ Rule.’
Lolly kept on walking. ‘I don’t know why you keep asking me. Haven’t you got anything better to do? And the answer, in case you’re wondering, is still no.’
‘That’s a shame. What with his little accident and all. He should be more careful.’
Lolly stopped outside the library and stared at him. ‘Just leave me alone, okay?’
‘I wish I could but . . . well, you’re living on the same street as me, and I have to look at your ugly mug every time you walk past.’ Tony’s grin suddenly grew wider. ‘Any sign of that guardian of yours yet? I’ve heard he’s wanted for murder now. It was all over the radio this morning. Topped his missus, didn’t he? Shit, it’s funny how murder just seems to follow you around.’
Lolly had heard it on the radio too. They had only said that Mal was wanted for questioning, but the implication had been obvious. ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.’
‘I reckon you’re the kiss of death, love. It ain’t safe to be around you.’
‘So what are you standing there for?’
Tony gave a snigger. ‘You think I’m scared of a two-bit tart like you?’
‘Maybe you should be.’
‘Maybe you should start telling the truth about that fuckin’ alibi you gave Jude Rule.’
‘As opposed to your alibi. What was that exactly? Oh yes, that you were with one of Terry’s girls at the time. And we all know how true that is. I mean, girls aren’t really your thing, are they, Tony?’
That wiped the smirk off his face. His features contorted and his eyes flashed with anger. ‘You want to say that again?’
She leaned in towards him. ‘You heard.’ And with that she turned on her heel and went into the library.
Even as she was walking through the door, she wondered i
f she’d done the right thing. Now he had even more reason to hate her. Personally, she didn’t give a toss who Tony slept with, whether he was gay, straight or anything in between, but he cared. And went out of his way to hide his sexuality from his peers. That’s why he’d gone out with Amy in the first place; a good cover for what really rocked his boat.
She’d been told, years ago, that he’d actually been in a gay club at the time of Amy’s murder, but because he’d have rather died than admit to it, Terry had fixed him up with a more palatable alibi. Better to be shagging a whore than kissing another bloke. That had been back in the day when it was in Terry’s interest to keep Brenda Cecil sweet. She’d been a useful fence for some of his stolen gear.
Lolly sighed as she walked through the cool lobby of the library. Tony was a psycho, nuts, and there was no knowing what he’d do next. All she could hope for was that he’d stay well clear of her now that he knew she knew his secret. But what were the odds? He was just as likely to try and shut her up for ever. With that disturbing thought revolving in her head, she pushed through the doors to the main room and made her way to the counter.
40
Thursday 22 September. Kellston
Freddy Mund spent a lot of time in the library. He was not that interested in books, other than those in the true crime section, but he liked to people-watch. You got all sorts in a place like this. It was a stopping-off point for mums, kids and students, a second home for pensioners and tramps. Although many of the faces were familiar to him now, he never talked to anyone. Not that you were supposed to talk in a library, but people still did, in those funny half whispers that were never quite as quiet as the speaker imagined.
This morning Freddy was reading about Dr Crippen. The man’s big mistake had been to lose his nerve and do a runner after the police had been to see him. It wasn’t the sort of mistake he would ever make. You had to have a cool head to get away with murder. You had to carry on as normal. Panic was the enemy, the knee-jerk reaction that gave you away. If Crippen had just stayed put and brazened it out, he wouldn’t have ended up with a noose around his neck.
