The Bad Things (27 page)

Alex tried to stay relaxed but went cold inside. ‘Maybe.’ If Malone was right, Jez would know if Jessop had written anything about Millie and where he had hidden her body. He would have acted on it; she would have known about it. And Jez would also know if Jessop had written anything about her. Oh God. Surely if he had the diary, and if Jessop had charted her affair with him, Jez would have said something? No. Either Jez had the diary and it said nothing or he didn’t have it. There was no getting away from it; she still had to know.

‘What is so important about this diary?’

‘It might tell me about Millie.’ Lying by omission. She felt rather than saw Malone nod.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So. Jez doesn’t have the diary; Jackie Wood didn’t have it. Angela Jessop doesn’t have it. Who’s left?’

Alex sat up straight. ‘Oh my God. How could I have forgotten that?’

‘What?’

‘When I went to see Jackie Wood she mentioned having a boyfriend.’

‘She did have a boyfriend. Martin Jessop.’

‘No, don’t you see? She’s always denied that she was having an affair with him, but she’s never said anything about having a boyfriend before. It was like a throwaway line when I talked to her.’

‘Perhaps she was trying to impress you.’

Malone tried to pour her another glass, but she stopped him. Her head was swirling enough as it was. She uncurled her legs and stood up.

‘I’m just going to go and have a look at my notes, make sure I’m not imagining it.’ She attempted to walk in a straight line to the door, hearing Malone chuckling softly behind her. ‘I’m perfectly fine,’ she said, turning slowly and smiling at him. ‘Perfectly fine.’

‘Good,’ said Malone, chuckling turning into laughter.

‘Bastard.’ she smiled.

She was right.

When she brought up the transcript of the interview on the computer, there it was in black and white. Helvetica font, anyway.

JW: You know, I was quite happy, in my own world. I even had a boyfriend.

Surprised you…not Martin Jessop, whatever papers might have said.

Me: Who was it?

JW (looks out of window at this point) I didn’t say anything about him then, and I’m not going to now.

Me: Come on, Jackie. It’s fifteen years. (Note - have never read anything about her having a b/f before apart from MartinJ)

JW: It doesn’t matter who he was. He wasn’t involved, wasn’t around when it was all happening. (harsh laugh) Certainly didn’t want to know when I was arrested.

So, could this boyfriend have something to do with the disappearance of the diary? And if so, how was she going to find the boyfriend, never mind anything else? It was all so bloody hard, and she felt as though she was going round in circles. She might have to throw herself on Malone’s mercy again, see if any of his ‘friends’ had heard Jackie talking about the boyfriend, the diary.

Alex was just about to leave when she remembered the article she’d promised Gus she would print out for him. She went back to her computer and searched her documents until she found it.

As she picked it up off the printer she heard the faint ringtone of Malone’s phone downstairs and him answering, before she went into Gus’s den – not something she liked to do uninvited.

Okay, so it wasn’t that bad, not really. After she’d switched on the light and winced at the sight of what looked like a small army of empty mugs – could be worse, could be beer cans – and various items of clothing lying discarded on the floor, she went over to his desk and put down the sheaf of papers.

She felt happy, mellow. Relaxing with Malone and a drink or three was A Good Thing.

She turned off the light and went downstairs.

The fire was warm and welcoming, music was playing softly in the background, the air smelt of woodsmoke and Malone’s tangy, lemon scent, and Malone was pacing up and down talking on his mobile phone.

He saw Alex and ended the call, smiling at her, eyes crinkling, and she wondered if she had imagined the anger on his face a second ago.

‘Who were you talking to?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No one you need worry about.’ Again the smile.

‘Really?’ She arched an eyebrow, hoping she looked seductive rather than demented. ‘Come on, Malone, you can tell me. We’re an item. Together. You’ve got a key to the door. My door.’ She lurched towards him. Christ, she must be more drunk than she’d realized.

‘No need to worry your pretty little head.’

Red rag to a bull, patronizing git. ‘Oh really?’ She lurched towards him again and he put out an arm to steady her while she snatched the mobile out of his other hand.

‘Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Nothing,’ she sang, as she weaved out of his way. ‘Just seeing if you’ve got another fancy woman tucked away.’ She tried to focus on the screen.

‘Well I haven’t, okay? Give me the phone.’ He wasn’t smiling now.

‘No,’ she said, scrolling through his recent calls. She found it, squinted at the names and the times of calls. And there it was, the same name, same number over and over again.
Gillian Home.
‘Who’s this? Gillian? And why “home”?’

He sighed. ‘It’s not what you think.’

‘And what am I thinking?’ Suddenly she wasn’t feeling relaxed, or drunk.

He gazed at her.

‘You’re right.’ She nodded, wishing she could rewind, go back to before, not be stupid and take the phone. ‘I am thinking that. I am thinking Gillian is your wife and you have been phoning home and she’s been phoning you for cosy chats. Am I right?’ She put up her hand to stop him speaking. ‘And please don’t patronize me by telling me she doesn’t understand you.’ She heard the fire crackling and the rushing sound of disappointment in her head. ‘So in what way is it not what I’m thinking?’

His eyes glittered. ‘Leave it, Alex.’

‘Leave it? Leave it?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Oh just a minute, Malone.’ She could scarcely get the words out over the tide of anger that threatened to engulf her. ‘I think it is my business…it has got a great deal to do with me. You come in here, into my life, into Gus’s life and we accept you at face value. I believe I have found someone strong and faithful and good and it turns out you have another
life
? Do you really not think it is my business?’ She had never felt such fury. It coursed through her body and she realized she now knew what was meant by blood boiling. That’s how it was. As if her blood were shooting through her veins, hot and at speed. She felt at once dizzy and energized. She found herself bouncing on the balls of her feet. ‘Who the hell are you?’

Malone breathed deeply before pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m an undercover detective. You know my life isn’t easy, you knew things wouldn’t be as simple as with another man, a boring man; but Alex, you have to know that I care about you. Deeply.’

‘Care about me?’ she said, bitterness waiting to choke her. ‘Oh boy.’ She thought about how she had trusted him with her secrets, her son, her life, even. And then she thought about how he had not hesitated to come to her when she found Jackie Wood’s body. How he had helped her then, how he had listened to her, and the anger drained away and sadness filled its place. ‘Just go, Malone.’

‘Gillian is my wife in name only. Home is home in name only.’

‘Really? Is “Gillian” someone you fucked to get information from, then? Someone you
befriended
? Does she know who you are? Coppers like you have been prosecuted for that. Maybe I’ll tell her who you really are.’ She made as if to press the redial.

He lunged towards her, grabbing her wrist, twisting it, the phone clattering to the ground.

Malone looked at her, his face stony. She cradled her wrist with her other hand. She would not cry.

‘Fuck you, Malone. Fuck you.’

His phone began to ring.
Gillian Home
flashed on the screen.

27

As Kate looked round at what passed for the incident room in Sole Bay – the hastily assembled trestle tables and the uncomfortable plastic chairs – she wished she had taken up Cherry’s offer to move the whole motley crew back to Ipswich. He’d said it would be easier for her as the murder investigation went on. But since he’d foisted Glithro on her, and an invitation to his bloody exhibition, she had argued that she would be making regular trips back to Ipswich anyway, and she was always at the end of her mobile phone. So he’d agreed to let her stay at the scene of the crime.

She had been pleased with her victory then, but standing now in the temporary cabin that had seen better days and wishing she had worn a thicker jumper, she wondered if, indeed, Cherry had been right to want her back at the Martlesham headquarters, if only for the warm, clean comfort it afforded. And where there was a proper coffee machine.

‘Right, let’s have a look at what we’ve got.’

Kate faced her small team who’d congregated early in the morning, and took a sip out of the, frankly, disgusting plastic cup of coffee. She made a mental note to bring in a kettle and a decent jar of the stuff. The team included DS Steve Rogers, DS Eve Maitland, and, of course, DI Glithro. He was sitting with his arms folded and a ‘come on, impress me’ look on his face. He was late forties with steel-grey hair buzz-cut close to his head. He kept himself fit and he dressed well, wore good shoes, Kate noticed. If it wasn’t for his black eyes that simmered with aggression, Kate would almost call him good-looking. She knew he’d been divorced three times and had two children he never saw, so was the sort of copper that was married to the job rather than to anyone or anything else.

Cherry was also there, having travelled from Ipswich that morning just to see ‘how you’re getting on, Kate, and I am SIO’. It was all she needed.

She told herself to ignore Cherry and pointed to the pictures of Jackie Wood stuck to the wall behind her: pictures that showed Wood lying dead on the caravan bathroom floor, as well as photos that had appeared in the press on the day of her release.

‘What do we know? We know from post-mortem results that she died sometime between midnight and seven in the morning on that Thursday. There was no sign of a break-in so she probably let her killer in. Most of the blood was found in the bathroom, some traces in the main part of the caravan itself, probably spread by the killer.’

‘So she was…what…followed in there and stabbed?’ This from DS Maitland.

Glithro snorted. Kate glared at him. ‘Yes, Maitland. Not so much followed in, more likely chased – she had defence wounds on her hands. Multiple stab wounds to the chest and neck. One of the chest wounds probably killed her, according to our pathologist. The killer would have been covered in blood.’

‘Weapon?’ Glithro asked.

‘Kitchen knife, six-inch serrated blade, not found at the scene. Still looking for it.’

‘River and sea nearby, though, Kate?’

‘Yes sir.’ Cherry had just stated the obvious. ‘We have been looking in nearby ditches, fields, sand dunes, of course. The trouble is, if he threw it away—’

‘He?’ Glithro again.

Kate glared at him. ‘It could be a she; Jackie Wood wasn’t very heavy, could have been overpowered easily, especially if it was unexpected; but for the purposes of the meeting we’ll call the suspect “he”, okay?’

Glithro shrugged, and not for the first time Kate had the thought he had been put on the earth specifically to annoy her.

‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘if the murderer threw the knife into the river or the sea then we’ll never find it – the currents will have taken it. You know what they’re like round here. Anything can be taken by the sea and not be found for months, years, if at all. And it would be the most likely way of disposing of it, if he had any sense.’ She drew a breath.

‘Footprints?’

‘No, DI Glithro. No bloody footprints. Because of the confined space in which Wood was stabbed our killer managed to avoid treading in significant amounts of blood.’

Glithro nodded.

‘Rogers,’ she went on, ‘if you could get us all up to speed with the people you’ve spoken to, please.’

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ He shifted about on the uncomfortable chair that did not quite accommodate his bulk and looked at his notes. ‘Paul Herman in caravan twenty-eight said he and his wife were in the caravan the evening or night Wood was murdered but didn’t hear anything.’

‘Where, in relation to Wood’s caravan, is caravan number twenty-eight?’ asked Cherry.

‘Two rows away, sir. We spoke to about three couples in their caravans – it’s not exactly fully booked this time of year – and to a Jim Cassidy who was walking his dog about midnight, but he neither saw nor heard anything.’

‘Did Nikki Adams’s alibi, such as it is, check out?’ Kate began to draw lines on the whiteboard with coloured pens, trying to establish connections with the people they’d interviewed and Jackie Wood. She felt like a toddler with crayons. She tried not to think of the high-tech equipment back in Ipswich.

‘Nikki Adams?’ interrupted Cherry.

‘She is staying in the caravan opposite to Jackie Wood. Came to the town to find work and does some shifts in Tesco’s.’

‘Hmm. At least she’s not a sponger, I suppose.’

‘No, sir,’ said Kate, wishing Cherry would leave her to it, but she could see he was settled in for the long haul.

‘Well, that’s the odd thing,’ went on Steve Rogers, ‘her alibi does check out – in as much as
Emmerdale
,
Holby City
, and a documentary about dolphins were on the telly that night—’

‘I enjoyed that one,’ said Cherry. ‘Old Attenborough at his best.’

Rogers acknowledged Cherry’s interruption with a polite nod. ‘Indeed sir, I enjoy a bit of Attenborough myself. But then she says she went to bed to get some kip before her shift at Tesco’s started, and we only have her word for that. However…’ He drew a deep breath and looked around the room. ‘Ms Adams isn’t quite who she seems.’

Kate nodded at him. ‘Go on.’