The Burning (40 page)

‘Philip said that?’

‘That’s apparently what he told her,’ Jenny proceeded tactfully. ‘It can’t be entirely untrue, though, can it?’

‘Yeah, but coming from him.’ Kelly’s mouth narrowed in anger.

Jenny felt her pulse quicken. She’d touched a nerve. The cracks in Kelly’s mask were finally starting to show. ‘What about him, Kelly? Tell me.’

‘I don’t want all this. I told you at the beginning – I just want it over. I don’t want all this.’

Jenny knew she must tread carefully. Tempting as it was to tell her about Daniel Burden, she couldn’t afford to put thoughts into her mind. She needed whatever Kelly was holding inside her
to come out uncontaminated.

‘Kelly, please forgive me for saying this, but if there’s even the slightest chance that that was your son, don’t you think you should tell me anything at all that might give
us a lead to him?’

‘It wasn’t my fault. I felt sorry for him.’ She clung on to her knees and rocked to and fro, her eyes tight shut. ‘He offered me money. I needed it.’

‘Money for what?’

‘To have sex with me, of course! What do you think?’

‘Just you?’

‘Yes! And he said he’d help Layla with her schoolwork. When you’ve got nothing, you do what you have to. Sell whatever you’ve got.’

‘Did Ed know?’

‘No. No way. No one knew. No one. It only happened a few times. Five or six. That’s all. When Clare was upstairs having a nap. And then he’d want to talk . . .’

Kelly’s face burned with resentment. ‘His sick wife is upstairs and he’s telling me that she never knew how to “make love”, how she’d always been frightened
of her body, frightened of life, and that’s why she’d got ill. Not because she lost her child, but because she’d never had it in her to live in the first place. Just a lot of
clever crap to excuse himself. He saw me in the house and wanted a piece. Most men do. Just how it is. You get used to it. They all try it once, even Harry Grant. I slapped his face. He never
bothered me again.’

‘Did Ashton talk to you about his daughter?’

‘He said something weird once about her disappearance being his punishment.’

‘Punishment for what?’

‘Marrying Clare. Not having the guts to be himself. All that shit men come out with when they realize their lives are going nowhere.’

Jenny paused to take stock. All that Kelly had told her was surprising, but not shocking, and certainly not incriminating. She had come expecting her to say the man in the footage was Ashton.
That was what she had wanted. But Kelly hadn’t come anywhere close to saying so. With the heavy sense that her luck had run out, Jenny had a final roll of the dice: ‘Have you any reason
to think that Philip Ashton is a violent man?’

‘I can’t take this, Mrs Cooper. You’re messing with my head. I
know
who killed my kids. And so do the police.’

‘You didn’t answer me.’

Kelly locked eyes with her. ‘You’re taking me to places I don’t want to go. You’re going to make me say all this in court. Why should I? I’m the one who’s
lost her family.’

‘I asked you to forgive me, and I’m going to ask you again. Think of what’s most important to you, and try to answer my question truthfully.’

‘And then you’ll leave me alone?’

‘Yes.’

Kelly went into herself for a long moment. Jenny could see the buried pain slowly forcing its way to the surface.

Just as she thought Kelly was going to keep whatever it was locked up inside her, she spoke: ‘He liked to put his hands around my throat. He said it was like nothing else.’

‘He did this against your will?’

‘The first time.’ More tears travelled down her face and touched her full, red lips. A beautiful, fragile, weeping angel. ‘Now are you going to tell me it’s all my
fault?’

‘No, Kelly,’ Jenny said. ‘None of this is your fault.’

Jenny had to give Ryan credit where it was due – as soon as he had got her email with Kelly’s hastily written statement attached, he’d swung into action.
He’d even done her the courtesy of keeping her in the loop as the calls went to and fro between him and Superintendent Abbott. It was the prospect of the man in the cap being Ashton that had
done it. No matter how much Abbott and the officers above him wanted to stay out of the limelight, they couldn’t afford to allow a coroner to unmask a killer who’d been right under
their noses for ten years.

At shortly before 7 a.m., and still wired, Jenny drove through the predawn darkness into Blackstone Ley and pulled up on the common, twenty yards short of the Ashtons’ house. Several
lights were on inside. She caught a glimpse of Philip at an upstairs window in a sports vest. It was hard to tell, but it looked as if he had been doing an exercise routine. She tried to imagine
the scene: Clare wasting to nothing, while he pumped out press-ups like a man possessed.

She had been waiting no more than five minutes when two sets of headlights reflected off her rear-view mirror. An unmarked car passed her and pulled up outside the house. Ryan’s Toyota
followed behind. He tucked in in front of Jenny. She climbed out to meet him and felt something unexpected: the air was humid and mild against her skin. The snow underfoot no longer had a hard
crust.

‘You really don’t want to sleep tonight, do you?’ Ryan said, as he climbed out of his car.

‘I thought I should talk to Clare after he’s gone,’ Jenny said. ‘She deserves an explanation.’

‘You’re a social worker now?’

‘She’s been helpful. And she’s ill.’

‘Maybe I’ll hang back and come with you,’ Ryan said. ‘You’ve touched my conscience.’ He was trying to sound ironic, but Jenny suspected he meant it.
‘Give us a moment to get it done.’

Jenny waited by her car as Ryan and two detective constables went to the door of the cottage and rapped the knocker. Ashton took a while to answer. He was dressed in a white shirt and tie and
looked surprised to have visitors. She saw him stiffen as Ryan explained that, while he wasn’t under arrest, they would appreciate his cooperation in assisting their inquiries at the police
station. Ashton turned back into the house, followed by all three detectives. A short while later he emerged wearing a coat and carrying a briefcase, and went with the two detective constables to
their car.

He glanced briefly and disinterestedly at Jenny as he climbed in. He was every inch the respectable school teacher. She couldn’t begin to imagine him with Kelly, less still with his hands
clasped around her delicate neck.

Ryan came out onto the doorstep and gestured her over.

‘She’s upset,’ Ryan said as she approached.

‘What did you expect?’

Jenny went ahead of him and found Clare in the kitchen. She was leaning against the counter, her emaciated frame swathed in a thick, quilted dressing gown from which her wrists and neck
protruded like gnarled sticks.

‘What do you want with him?’ She spat the words accusingly at both of them. ‘He’s done nothing wrong. What are you thinking of?’

Ryan stepped forward. ‘Mrs Cooper would like to explain, but before she does, would you mind if I had a little look around? We can wait and get a warrant if you wish, but it might be
easier this way.’

‘Help yourself,’ Clare said contemptuously.

‘I’m grateful. Your husband doesn’t happen to own a shotgun, does he?’

‘What do you think?’

Ryan nodded, walked past them both, unbolted the back door and went outside.

‘Would you like to sit down, Mrs Ashton?’ Jenny said.

‘No, I would not.’

She clung on to the countertop with a determination that told Jenny she would rather die where she stood than be patronized.

‘A number of pieces of circumstantial evidence emerged,’ Jenny began. ‘I had no option but to forward them to the police.’ She brought out the laptop that had been with
her all night and set it down. ‘There’s a man we need to identify. Would you mind taking a look?’

‘It won’t be him.’

Jenny flipped the lid and opened the video files as Ryan reappeared through the back door with a plastic petrol can. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed. ‘Does your car run on diesel, Mrs
Ashton?’

‘What of it?’

‘Where does your husband tend to fill up?’

‘I have no idea.’

Ryan shot Jenny a glance and went through to the hallway and up the stairs.

‘This was taken on December the 26th – Boxing Day,’ Jenny said, and rolled the footage from the filling station. ‘Do you recognize that man?’

‘What,
him
? No. Is this meant to be Philip? Are you joking? He doesn’t dress like that. Anyway, he was with me that day.’

‘All day? He goes out running, doesn’t he?’

‘I’m telling you, it’s not him.’

Jenny wasn’t convinced by her answer. She opened the second clip. ‘This was taken the day before yesterday. It looks like the same man. He makes the same gesture. Watch carefully
– the way he wipes his hand over his mouth.’

‘Philip was at school. He was working.’

‘Which is where?’

‘Westbury.’

Westbury-on-Trym was a suburb over on the east side of the city and only a short drive from Gordano. Jenny logged the fact but kept it to herself and returned the laptop to her bag.

‘You must have more than this,’ Clare said, now clinging on with both hands. ‘You can’t tell me there isn’t something else.’ She staggered slightly.

‘I really think you ought to sit down, Mrs Ashton.’

‘Tell me, for God’s sake! Do you honestly think anything you have to say can make me feel any worse?’

Jenny drew in a breath. She had come to tell the truth and now she had to deliver it. ‘Kelly Hart has given a statement. She says your husband had sex with her. She says it happened here,
in this house while he was working, and that he paid her . . .’ Jenny ground to a halt. It felt unspeakably cruel.

‘Go on,’ Clare said coldly. Her face was stone.

‘She says he was violent. He would put his hands around her throat.’

Clare’s face curled into a cruel smile. ‘She’s lying to you.’

‘I’m only repeating what she told me. I felt I had to.’

‘And even if it were true, what would it prove?’

‘A tendency, a possible motive.’

‘He was going to wait for me to die, then scoop her up in his arms? Is that what you thought?’ Clare gave a short, derisive laugh. ‘And what did Kelly tell you about the child
in that film you just showed me? Let me guess – she said it wasn’t Robbie.’ Clare took a step away from the counter and aimed a bony finger at Jenny’s chest. Her eyes lit up
with fury. ‘She’s lying again. She dotes on that child. Even I can tell it’s him. You’ve found your killer, Mrs Cooper, but it’s not my husband. Do you honestly think
a woman who has been through all I have wouldn’t know if she was married to a monster? How dare you even
think
it!’

Clare lashed out, catching Jenny entirely by surprise. Sharp nails dug into her left cheek and clung into the flesh. ‘How
dare
you!’

Ryan came running at the sound of Jenny’s cry of surprise. ‘Mrs Ashton!’

Clare released her grip and took two unsteady steps backwards. Then without warning, her legs gave way beneath her body and she collapsed to the floor, where she lay in a contorted heap, gasping
for air like a landed fish.

Ryan immediately crouched at her side and started to manoeuvre her into the recovery position. ‘It’s all right. You’ll be OK.’ He remained calm, reacting to the crisis as
if he had done this many times before. He glanced up at Jenny and winced at the welts on her face. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t have left you.’

‘She said it’s Robbie.’

‘I heard. Best call her an ambulance.’

J
ENNY OPENED HER EYES AND
found herself staring at an unfamiliar white ceiling in a room with the shades drawn. She was gripped by the panic of having
no idea where she was or how she had got there. Her mind went through the desperate process of grasping for points of reference. She was on a sofa beneath a duvet. She felt her bare legs against
each other and became aware that she was dressed only in her underwear and a T-shirt. There was a sharp pain beneath her left eye. Daylight slanted between the nearly closed slats of blinds
covering a large window. The sound of a door opening.

She pushed up on her elbows, still hopelessly confused, as Ryan entered. A wave of relief passed through her as she remembered.

‘Did I wake you? I didn’t know if you’d still be here.’

‘What time is it?’

Ryan glanced at his watch as he wandered over. ‘Nearly two. You must have needed it.’ He took off his blue coat and draped it over the coffee table, before crossing to the window to
open the blinds a touch.

Jenny sank back on the pillow and replayed the sequence of events that had brought her here. Clare had lapsed in and out of consciousness on the kitchen floor while they waited nearly half an
hour for an ambulance. They had both thought she might die, but the paramedics arrived with oxygen that seemed to pull her back from the brink. Ryan had been nervous of letting Jenny drive home
exhausted and with one eye nearly swollen shut, and she had reluctantly agreed to let him drive them both to his apartment in her car. She remembered him bathing her scratched face and finding her
a T-shirt, and that was about it. She must have gone out like a light.

‘How are you feeling? The eye looks better.’ He perched on the arm of the other sofa. ‘I think you’ll survive.’

‘Do we know if she did?’

‘I called the hospital on the way back. She’s “stable”, whatever that means. But I get the impression she’s a very sick woman.’

Jenny blotted out an image of Clare curled up on the floor, nothing more than skin and bone and fury. ‘How was the interview?’

‘All of Ashton’s movements are accounted for on Wednesday – he was in a staff meeting with fifteen others when the footage was shot at Gordano. It’s not him on either of
those tapes.’

‘What does he say about Kelly?’

‘Denies it all. Her word against his.’

‘Do you believe him?’

‘I’m keeping an open mind.’

‘Why would she make something like that up? I don’t understand.’