What You Left Behind (36 page)

T
EN MINUTES LATER
they were back in Jo’s kitchen. Jo was sobbing. Alison, the FLO, was there, trying to comfort her. Another officer in uniform was standing awkwardly beside them.

“What’s happened?” Lorraine said, crouching next to Jo.

It was only then that she noticed Greg Burnley in the corner by the cluttered pine dresser. She caught his eye and nodded perfunctorily.

“It’s about the blood on the jacket, ma’am,” Alison said.

The other officer cleared his throat.

“What about it?” Lorraine steadied herself on a chair, caught suddenly by a rush of adrenaline.

“The lab has confirmed it as Lenny Jackman’s blood,” Burnley said, stepping out of the corner. “I’m afraid Freddie is now a suspect in relation to Lenny’s death.”

“Not the suicide you were so certain of then?” Lorraine said, having detected a note of satisfaction in his voice as he condemned her nephew.

“Plus the pathologist’s report conclusively shows that Lenny died of head injuries before the train hit him.” Burnley’s hands were clasped in front of his stomach, where his belly strained over his belt. “So not a suicide, no.”

Jo gasped. Alison offered her a sip of water, tissues, a hand to clasp, but she refused them all.

Lorraine frowned, thinking everything through. “It’s hard to believe that Freddie was involved, but …”

She took a deep breath, feeling faint suddenly. Work and home had finally merged—something she’d always tried to avoid. She and Jo looked at each other, although they weren’t really seeing themselves. Between them, they were seeing Freddie.

Adam handed her a glass of water, and Lorraine took a couple of sips. She was hot, dehydrated, and felt very tired.

“I believe Freddie’s laptop is in his bedroom,” Burnley went on with a nod to Alison, who had been up there on her previous visit.

Jo looked up. Clumps of mascara had made U shapes beneath her eyes. “Yes,” she said weakly.

“We’ll be seizing it and any other property we see fit,” Burnley informed them. “It’s in yours and Freddie’s interests, so we can rule him out.”

Alison and the other officer took this as their cue and left the room with a large bag, no doubt containing an evidence kit.

Lorraine put her head in her hands. She didn’t know whether to stay with Jo or go after them. In the end, she decided Jo needed her more.

33

“I can’t believe he hasn’t come home,” Jo said. She’d barely eaten the last few days, although between her and Adam, they’d made sure she’d sipped water, taken showers, changed her clothes. Apart from that, her existence was on lockdown.

“Jo …” Lorraine said. A piece of limp pizza sat on her plate. Adam had been out to fetch it, but only Stella was eating. She’d taken several slices and gone into the living room to watch television. “We need to talk, Jo.”

Lorraine glanced at Adam and he got up and left, taking his wine with him. They’d opened a lunchtime bottle in the hope it would help them relax, perhaps allow Jo a few hours’ sleep. Lorraine was also hoping it might get her to confide a few things. They were
finally alone, Malc having gone to door-knock around the village again. Clearly, he couldn’t bear to be idle.

“We went to the shelter earlier, wanting to find out about Dean’s mystery girlfriend.”

Jo looked at her sister, heavy-eyed, picking at the crust of her pizza with her nail. She obviously had no intention of eating it. “What’s that got to do with finding Freddie?”

“Hear me out. There were a few lads hanging around the shelter and they told us Dean had been seeing someone called Abby. She was there, so we chatted with her.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Do you know anyone called Abby Grey?”

Jo shrugged. “Sonia will, I expect. She knows everyone at New Hope.”

“The thing is, Jo, she was wearing a ring on a chain.”

“So?”

“It was exactly the same skull ring that Gil put in his drawing. Abby described the person who gave it to her and it sounded just like Freddie. I showed her a photograph of him and she confirmed it was him.” Lorraine waited for it to sink in. “Apparently Freddie told Abby that Dean had wanted her to have the ring, meaning he must have had contact with Dean before he died.”

Jo was crying again. “Why is everyone out to blame Freddie for everything? Are you saying he killed Dean too?”

Lorraine shook her head. “No, no, of course I’m not, but this is too significant to ignore. Abby was also certain that the boy who gave her the ring was the one who paid Lenny to steal the computer from New Hope.”

Jo was silent. Lorraine could see it in her eyes, batting about the news, just as she was in her own mind.

“Jo, can you think of any reason why Freddie would want to get hold of Tony’s laptop?”

“No,” Jo replied immediately. “Freddie’s not a thief.”

“No, but he’s your son and he loves you. He might want to protect you or help you if he thought—”

“How would he know Sonia just happened to have Tony’s computer that day?” she said indignantly. “If he’d wanted to delete pictures or whatever, surely there are easier ways to do it—by visiting Lana for instance or … or—”

“What pictures, love?”

Jo frowned. “I don’t know. For Christ’s sake!”

“Jo—”

“Lana probably told him to take it. I don’t know. Maybe she wanted her dad’s computer for something. Stop fucking blaming Freddie for everything!”

“No one is, Jo. And I agree, I think Lana
is
involved in some way. With her admitting to being on the motorbike with Dean, and now this, it’s puzzling. But if you know there’s something on that computer that Freddie wanted to get hold of, then it’s vital you tell me.
Now
, Jo.” Lorraine leaned in close to her sister. “For Freddie’s sake.”

“A
T LEAST SHE
admitted she’d done something stupid,” Lorraine said later. She and Adam were in their bedroom because Jo was downstairs having a much-needed sleep, the wine having done its job. “It’s worrying, Adam. Very worrying indeed. You don’t think Freddie really did harm Lenny, do you?”

“Shh,” he said, pulling her close.

“But what if Lenny turned nasty, demanded loads of money for stealing the laptop, and Freddie hurt him accidentally?”

“Then it was probably self-defense.”

“And that damned visor helmet.” Lorraine shook her head. “Burnley actually did his homework. It was confirmed as exactly the same make and type as the helmet that was stolen with the bike. Along with his drawing, I don’t doubt Gil was at the scene.”

Lorraine sat down at the dressing table. She’d brought Jo’s laptop up to the bedroom, wanting to take another look at the CCTV footage of the front of the pub. Since they’d spoken to Abby, there was something about it that was troubling her.

“I can slow it right down,” she said, adjusting the settings in the movie player. The scene resolved on the screen and Lorraine sped through it until she got to the point where the motorbike was leaving the pub.

Adam was checking his phone, keeping half an eye on the footage.

“Here they come,” Lorraine said. “Two people on the bike—a male and a female.” She slowed the speed right down, played it back several times. “There. Did you see?” she said finally.

Adam leaned in and watched as she played it again.

“Look at the girl’s shoes,” she said. “Recognize them?”

She waited while Adam thought.

“No, I don’t,” he said.

Lorraine half laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Well, I recognize them,” she said. “They’re the sandals Abby was wearing earlier. No doubt.”

34

“Abby’s alibi checked out,” Lorraine said, hanging up from the phone call. The French doors were open and she and Adam were sitting out on the terrace. She stared down at the mossy flagstones her father had laid decades ago. “Gem Mason and her mother both confirmed that Abby was with them the night Dean died. Apparently Gem is on probation at the moment so was being overly helpful. She showed the attending officer Facebook pictures of the two of them together that night. He was satisfied she was telling the truth.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully. They could hear Jo banging about in the kitchen. She hadn’t slept for much more than an hour and was now keeping busy by hacking up and throwing every vegetable in
the fridge into a huge pot along with some chicken and red wine. The smell of frying onions and garlic drifted outside.

Lorraine glanced through the doors at her and then leaned in toward Adam. “The photos Jo told me about of her and Tony,” she whispered. “She said they were pretty, you know, hard-core.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Adam said, rolling his eyes.

“They’d had a fair bit to drink, apparently. It happened here, when Malc was working in London.”

Lorraine felt sorry for Jo, but was also furious with her. She understood that she must have been very unhappy to do something so reckless, but allowing Tony to take those pictures was inexcusable.

“Put them on Facebook, did he?” Adam asked.

“He might as well have done. Jo says he began to pressure her soon afterward. You know, wanting to see her more often, take more risks. He told her he was lonely, that Sonia had become cold and empty.”

Lorraine gazed around the garden. It seemed an age since she’d sat there with Jo on their first morning the previous weekend. They’d had so much planned and she’d been looking forward to it—a week in the country soaking up some sun and relaxing. How wrong she’d been.

“I take it he’d threatened to tell Malc if she didn’t comply.”

Lorraine nodded sadly.

They stopped talking as Malc came out through the glass-paned doors. His usually neat dark hair was messy and standing up, and his skin had lost its natural tan, seeming sallow and washed out. Even his six-foot height seemed diminished as he stood there, hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. His expression showed just how concerned he was about his stepson.

“Isn’t there anything else the local police can do?” he said, dropping down into one of the wrought-iron chairs. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Greg Burnley might be a git, but he’s not going to mess up procedure
on this one,” Lorraine told him. “He’s got a good team supporting him. They’re doing all the right things.”

Malc opened his eyes. “If you don’t mind me saying,” he said slowly, “you both seem quite preoccupied with those two deaths that happened around here recently. Should I be worried too?”

“It’s all been rather surprising, Malc, to tell you the truth,” Lorraine said. “Not long after I arrived with Stella last weekend, Gil told me something that made the Dean Watts suicide theory seem pretty unstable.”

“I read about him dying in the paper,” Malc said, sighing. “You do know about the six kids from around here who all did the same thing eighteen months ago, don’t you?”

Lorraine was already nodding. “Yes, and I was there when Lenny stole Tony’s laptop from the homeless shelter. Again, at first glance, his death appeared to be a suicide. But not now. As you know, Freddie seems to have been involved, plus we have other forensics results. It certainly wasn’t suicide.”