The Burning (9 page)

Jenny kept her questions until they had left the building and could breathe easily again. Ballantyne said there were two DCs back at the station checking out Burden’s history, and all he
could tell her for certain was what they had gathered from the paperwork in his desk. He was thirty-five years old, single, owned an eight-year-old Ford Galaxy which was parked across the street,
and had worked at the passport office in Newport for the past seven years. He commuted to work by train from Bristol Parkway station: they had found his season ticket in his wallet.

‘What about a next of kin?’

‘None listed on his passport or his driver’s licence. We’ll find out and let you know.’

‘Did forensics find evidence of drink or drugs? I didn’t see any.’

‘Couple of beers in the fridge. No more than that.’

‘December the 23rd. I didn’t see any Christmas decorations in there, did you?’

‘It doesn’t take a lot of working out, does it?’ Ballantyne said. ‘Poor lonely bastard.’

J
ENNY LEFT HER CAR AT
the edge of the Downs and made her way through the hard-frozen snow that crunched underfoot. Up ahead, a solitary female figure
dressed in a pink anorak with the hood up was standing by the railings to the side of the observatory. There was no mistaking that it was Kelly. She was looking out at the view: the narrow Clifton
Bridge spanning the gorge, the Avon four hundred feet below snaking down to the docks; rows of pastel-coloured Georgian houses clinging to the hillside.

Jenny expected Kelly to turn at the sound of her approach, but she remained with her back to her, looking out, until Jenny arrived at her side.

‘Kelly Hart?’

‘Yes.’ She spoke in a faint, disinterested voice. The recently bereaved, particularly those who had suffered a catastrophe as huge as she had, often spent days or even weeks in what
Jenny could only describe as a state of mental anaesthesia. Kelly was clearly in such a condition: numb and remote. It might take many days before she would find herself able to cry.

Catching a glimpse of her face from close quarters, Jenny began to understand what it was that Darren Brooks had meant when he had described her as not of this earth: deep-green eyes, skin the
colour of polished olive wood and full red lips. It was an effortless, unselfconscious beauty that she almost seemed to shrink from.

‘Are you sure you’re all right to talk out here?’

‘I prefer it,’ Kelly said.

‘Fine.’ Jenny stamped her feet, trying to get blood into her aching toes. ‘Did DI Ryan tell you what I’ll be doing?’

‘Kind of.’

‘I have to determine the cause of your daughters’ deaths. And your partner’s.’

‘What about Robbie?’

‘Well, if it comes to it—’

‘He’s dead.’

‘Right.’ Jenny struggled for an appropriate response.

‘I’m his mother. I know.’

‘Let’s hope the police have some news for you soon.’

‘It doesn’t matter if they do or they don’t.’ She spoke in the same even, detached voice, her gaze fixed on the view.

Jenny let a silence open up between them, hoping she could use it to read Kelly’s state of mind. She was fearful of pushing dangerous buttons, especially up here, with the cliff edge so
close. It suddenly felt a foolish place to be having this kind of conversation.

It was Kelly who spoke first. ‘What did you want to ask me?’

‘I’m trying to find out a little about Ed. You’ve seen the message he left.’

Kelly nodded.

Jenny trod carefully. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell me about what he said?

‘Like what?’

Jenny became acutely aware that the railings in front of them were barely waist height. A few yards away was a drop all the way down to the foot of the gorge. Several people with far more reason
to live than Kelly jumped each year. It was Jenny’s job to deal with the aftermath.

‘Are you talking about him calling me a whore?’ Kelly shook her head. ‘Life was complicated enough without adding another man to it.’

‘Oh? Could I ask in what way?’

Kelly shivered suddenly. ‘Would you mind if we walked for a bit?’

‘No problem,’ Jenny said, relieved to be moving away to safer ground.

Kelly set off in no particular direction across the Downs, her hands thrust deep into her coat pockets. Sensing their conversation might not last long, Jenny gently prompted her.

‘You said life was complicated.’

‘Work, kids, you know. Ed was cut down to two days at Fairmeadows last year, so I ended up working six nights a week behind a bar. And more hours in the day.’

‘I spoke to Mr and Mrs Ashton. She said you helped her out.’

‘She’s been good to me. I mostly work at the Grants’ – the big house outside the village. The one with the tennis court.’

‘I must have missed it.’

‘You can’t miss that place if you’ve driven by.’

Jenny pushed a little further and coaxed out the fact that, because of her hours, Kelly had left Ed with most of the childcare. He’d been great when the girls were young, but struggled to
cope with Layla, who at fourteen had discovered boys and alcohol and developed an attitude.

‘All she had to do was swear at him and he’d back off.’ Kelly said. ‘He didn’t know how to handle her and she knew it.’

‘What about your youngest?’

‘Mandy’s never been any trouble. Not so much of her father in her, I guess.’

Kelly quickened her pace and turned sharply to the right across an open, empty expanse. Jenny got the feeling that she had already had enough.

‘I’ll leave you alone,’ Jenny said. ‘But if you could just tell me about the graffiti on the side of your house—’

‘Nothing to tell. It just turned up one night.’

‘When?’

‘Around August, September.’ She seemed unsure.

‘Do you have any idea who did it?’

‘Something to do with Layla, I expect. Probably borrowed money from someone and didn’t pay it back.’

‘Is that why Ed built the fence?’

‘That’s always been there. He built that after Susie Ashton. I always said to him it wouldn’t happen twice in the same place, but . . .’ Her voice trailed off. She took
several more steps then stopped abruptly and turned to face Jenny for the first time. ‘You try your best. You try to be a good mother – ’ Her eyes flashed briefly with anger and
bewilderment, then just as quickly emptied again. She stared at Jenny as if she had suddenly found herself lost in a hostile and alien landscape.

‘My car’s not far,’ Jenny said. ‘Why don’t I drop you home?’

Kelly sat in silence with her hood up as Jenny drove through Clifton towards the address in Fishponds she had given her. It was at moments like this when Jenny appreciated why
other coroners only ever met face to face with the bereaved in the formal surroundings of their office, if at all. She told herself that it was still open to her to keep things at arm’s
length, to treat the case as a paper exercise which she could deal with at her desk and file away. All she owed Kelly was a fair examination of the evidence, and despite his attempt to make her
feel guilty, she owed DI Ryan nothing.

For the second time in their meeting, it was Kelly who broke the impasse.

‘You didn’t ask me if I thought Ed was, you know – interfering with the girls.’

Jenny felt her heart start to race. She tried not to let her anxiety sound in her reply: ‘I didn’t think it was a good moment to go into those kinds of details.’

‘I’ve been thinking about it. I don’t think he was. I would have known.’ A pause. ‘Have you got kids?’

‘A son. Grown up now.’

‘I thought I knew everything about them. Maybe it’s different with boys, but I thought I knew my girls. I usually do know things about people. I can tell what they’re thinking.
Like Clare Ashton – I know she likes me, but she’s always been jealous of my kids. You can’t blame her, but I’d never bring Robbie to her house.’ She was still for a
moment, then shook her head. ‘But I thought I knew Ed, didn’t I?’

They were approaching Kelly’s street. Jenny’s time with her was running out. ‘Look, I don’t want to burden you with any more questions now, but maybe if you were to talk
to my officer on Monday. I’d like you to make a statement – anything you think I ought to know.’ She turned the corner.

‘Whatever you want.’ She pointed to a modern, three-storey block of flats on the right. ‘I think that’s the place.’ She didn’t seem altogether sure.

Jenny pulled up at the kerb outside, but Kelly remained seated, as if unable to bring herself to step out into her new reality.

‘Is this the place?’

Kelly nodded.

Jenny spoke to Kelly’s reflection on the inside of the windscreen. ‘Tell me what you think happened.’

‘If I didn’t know Ed, I can’t know anything, can I?’ Kelly said, staring straight ahead. ‘You read in magazines about couples where the woman goes cold and never
wants to know. I was never like that. I was always there for him.’

‘That’s what I’m here for,’ Jenny heard herself say, ‘to see if I can’t put those missing pieces together.’ She felt suddenly frightened for Kelly, and
reluctant to let her go into the flat alone. ‘Is there anyone who can stay with you? I’m not sure you should be by yourself.’

Kelly glanced across at her, making eye contact for the first time. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but no, I won’t. I can’t tell you why, but I do still believe in
something. I do still have a reason to live.’ She reached for the door handle. ‘Thanks for dropping me back.’

Jenny watched her pick her way over the pavement to the front door of the block. The slender figure in the pink anorak could have been anyone, but she wasn’t. She was the woman whose
partner had just murdered her children and then blown his head apart.

‘D
ETECTIVE
I
NSPECTOR
R
YAN CALLED
,’ Alison announced as Jenny arrived back in the office.

‘Did he say what he wanted?’

‘Got something for you, he said. He’s going to bring it down. Nice voice – has he got looks to match?’

‘I haven’t noticed,’ Jenny lied. ‘Would you like a sandwich?’ She offered her one of the two packets she had picked up at a service station. ‘I think
they’ve been made this side of Christmas.’

‘Thanks.’ Alison grabbed one and tore the packet open. Jenny watched, unsure how to react as Alison bit off half a sandwich in one bite. A large fleck of mayonnaise stuck to her
chin, but she didn’t seem to notice as she took a second huge mouthful. ‘God, I was starving’.

‘So I see,’ Jenny said mutely and turned to her office.

‘Oh, and Dr Kerr emailed the reports – the bodies from Blackstone Ley,’ Alison called after her through a mouthful of food. ‘He said he’s not in this afternoon but
you can call him if you want to talk.’

Jenny tried again to make it across the threshold of her private space.

‘I used to think he had a bit of a thing for you,’ Alison persisted, ‘but I hear his interests may lie elsewhere at the moment.’

‘I think that was probably in your imagination.’

‘That’s what Paul’s always telling me, but he doesn’t notice anything. It took him twenty-five years to realize he should have got together with me in the first place.
But I can’t believe you didn’t notice it.’

‘Andy Kerr is ten years younger than I am.’

‘All the more reason to feel flattered. You’ve still got that pilot of yours, have you?’

Jenny avoided the questions. ‘I’d better start looking at these reports.’

‘No change then – one foot either side of the door, has he? I suppose you know what you’re doing.’

‘We’re fine,’ Jenny said, praying this wasn’t what she had to look forward to at all future lunch breaks.

She had made it to the far side of her office door and was about to push it shut when Alison called out yet again. ‘I looked up some of the old newspaper reports on the Susie Ashton case
yesterday. There were some pretty dark theories going around about who took her.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘I’ll get them to you. You ought to see. I had half a mind to talk to the papers myself when we wound that investigation down. It does make you wonder.’

Against her better instincts, Jenny felt herself caving in to curiosity. ‘Wonder what?’

‘Who decided to call it off. And why.’

‘Presumably you chased up every lead and had none left?’

‘You can always look for more. Personally, I never thought it was Sam Abbott’s choice or even his super’s at the time. Call me a nutter, but my theory was the order came from
much higher up.’

Jenny couldn’t remember ever hearing Alison insinuate against her former colleagues in the police, still less entertain conspiracy theories about the higher ranks.

‘You tell me why you thought that,’ Jenny said, ‘and I’ll tell you if it’s nutty or not.’

Alison swallowed the last of her sandwich and sat back in her chair, the spot of mayonnaise still clinging stubbornly to her chin. ‘We talked a lot about paedophile rings in CID. Went
through every known offender and dragged more than thirty men out of their beds in this city alone. But what I hadn’t known about rings is how many different kinds of blokes you’ll find
in them. Back then it was all word of mouth – X knows Y, meets Z and puts them in touch. You’d have all sorts – an army officer, a clergyman, a teacher and a hospital porter, all
in the same circle. And the richer the blokes in the ring, the more likely they’d be to use blue-collar types to do their dirty work. Pay them a few grand in cash to set them up with a victim
and away you go.’

‘You’re talking about the police protecting a powerful and influential suspect?’

‘I was just a humble DS, but Sam Abbott and his DIs were talking to convicted nonces all over the country. You remember the pressure the press were putting on? It was unbearable. Anyone
who led them to a conviction would have been given a big fat envelope. And if they were already inside, they wouldn’t have stayed there for long. It was that sort of case. Abbott would have
sold his mum on the town bridge for a result.’

Jenny smiled at the turn of phrase that Alison must have picked up during her twenty-five years’ frequenting the police canteen. She touched a finger to her chin:
‘Mayonnaise.’