It was bitterly cold, far too cold to be hanging around watching a dog show, but at least it was bright and sunny. Jill’s garden, along with those mysterious Pennines, had been cloaked in white frost at first light.
She arrived at the leisure centre in time to see Ben walking Fly around the car park. For a second, she thought he was alone, and her heart seemed to stop, but then she spotted Max, Kate and Harry. Max had Holly, the faithful border collie, on a lead. Some distance away, his watchful gaze on them, stood DS Forrest. He was wrapped up against the cold in a blue padded jacket.
Jill spotted Ben walking towards her and went to meet him.
‘Hello, sweetheart.’ She gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘Fly’s looking very smart.’
‘Yeah.’ He stroked the dog’s ears.
‘Nervous?’ she asked him.
‘A bit.’
She wondered if he had admitted as much to Max.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she said, giving his shoulder another squeeze.
Max, Harry and Kate joined them. Max was alert, that all-seeing gaze of his missing nothing. Kate was tense from smiling and pretending she wasn’t frightened to death about her grandsons’ safety. Harry looked mutinous.
‘What’s the matter with you, Harry?’ she asked.
‘I’m fed up. I can’t even go for a hot dog without Dad tagging along.’
‘That’s not the end of the world, is it? I expect you need him to pay for it anyway.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘Cheer up. It’s the last day of school on Wednesday and then it’ll be time for Santa to decide if you’ve been good or bad.’
‘Ha, ha!’ He groaned, but she saw his smile.
Several vehicles were vying for space so they moved away from the car park and nearer to the hall. The cars’ owners were strangers to Jill. She wondered if one of them had killed Martin and Josie Hayden, if they had abducted, and possibly killed, James Murphy and Jason Keane, and if they had threatened Harry.
Seconds later, she saw someone who wasn’t a stranger. A young constable who’d joined the force a few weeks ago was climbing out of his car. What was his name? Jeremy or something like that? He was wearing a dark red anorak and his hands were deep inside the pockets. He stood for a moment, his gaze taking in Max, the boys and DS Forrest, and then walked over to the coffee stall.
‘Is it business or pleasure for him?’ Jill asked Max in a whisper.
‘Business.’
She was relieved, although she couldn’t help wondering if Max was expecting a move to be made on Harry today. But it made no difference; they had to be vigilant every minute of every day.
Despite watching everyone, Max was managing to look as if everything was under control. She guessed that was for his mother-in-law’s benefit as Kate looked awful.
‘Here’s that photo I told you about,’ Jill murmured, taking it from her bag. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing, but you never know.’
‘I’m sure it is, too.’ Max held it to the light and inspected it closely. ‘Just a coincidence, I imagine.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘It’s a nice trophy but I don’t imagine anyone would kill for it.’
She guessed he was right.
‘It’s odd, though,’ he admitted, ‘seeing them together like this.’ He put the photo in his pocket. ‘We’ll look into it. Meanwhile,’ he added in an over-bright voice, ‘we’d better get this boy a hot dog before he dies of malnutrition.’
They stood eating hot dogs that Jill thought, through no fault of the caterers, tasted like damp cardboard. At least it cheered Harry though, who was soon teasing Ben. Fortunately, Ben was used to it and took no notice whatsoever.
Jill and Kate chatted inanely about the weather and Christmas, Ben tried to keep Fly calm, Harry ate another hot dog, and Max continued to watch everyone.
It seemed an age before, finally, Ben and Fly were called to the show ring.
Kate linked her arm through Jill’s. ‘If that dog lets him down, he’ll end up as cat meat,’ she murmured.
Jill, a bundle of nerves for Ben, knew exactly how she felt. ‘He won’t knowingly let him down,’ she murmured. Fly was devoted to Ben. His eyes never left the boy’s face.
A huge lump wedged itself in Jill’s throat as she watched Ben and Fly walking up and down and across the ring. Fly walked to heel, he sat and waited when told, and he lay down and waited when told. Jill could remember when the rescue dog had burst into their lives. A bundle of nervous energy, he had seemed untrainable to Jill. That a sensitive child like Ben had managed it touched her beyond words.
When they left the ring, Ben grinning from ear to ear as he joined them, Jill’s eyes were awash with tears.
Ben accepted their congratulations with typical modesty. ‘I need to work on his finishes,’ he said, ‘but he did well. We’ll have to wait and see how the others get on.’
Jill, who had no idea what was wrong with Fly’s finishes, hugged Ben close. ‘You were wonderful. Both of you. I’m so proud of you!’
A couple of the other contestants provided them with much amusement, especially the dog that escaped the ring, raced off and ended up having a grand time splashing in the river at the back of the field.
The fancy dress parade came next and Fly wore his Santa costume with pride. Ben had to stop him chewing at a poodle’s snowman outfit, but it passed without incident and provided them with some much-needed laughter.
Max was sharing a joke with DS Forrest, and the sight relaxed Jill slightly.
Ben and Fly were placed second for their obedience work and, again, Jill had tears in her eyes as she watched Ben proudly accept their rosette and fasten it to Fly’s collar.
‘If he can do that in the show ring,’ Max murmured, ‘why does the damned animal behave like a maniac at home?’
Despite the grumble, Jill knew he was bursting with pride. ‘He’s still a young dog. I expect he needs to let off steam.’
‘Mmm. So,’ he said, ‘are you coming with us for the celebrations? We’re stopping for a meal.’
She hesitated. The idea appealed, but she had a lot to do. In any case, she was too edgy to be worthwhile company.
‘I’d love to, Max, but I can’t. I’ve far too much to do.’
He sighed. ‘Another time then.’
‘Yes.’ She said her goodbyes, congratulated Ben again, and then drove home.
She loved her cottage, she enjoyed her life in the village, so why did she always feel so lonely when she left Max and the boys? Why did life suddenly seem so pointless?
It was ridiculous to think along those lines so she vowed to keep busy. She tidied up, phoned her parents, and then ran herself a bath.
She was attempting to relax in the hot water when her phone rang.
The machine picked up while she was still wrapping a towel around herself, but she went downstairs to see who had called.
It was Babs, and her message was brief. ‘Jill, you’d better give me a call about your Josie Dee.’
As Jill hit the button to return the call, she wondered what Babs could possibly have found out on a Sunday.
‘Babs, it’s Jill. Have you found something?’
‘I certainly have and it’s a disturbing story. Right . . .’
Babs must have written everything down because Jill could hear her turning pages on a notebook. ‘Your Josie Dee was brought to Dublin and she had a daughter on the fifteenth of September, 1977.’
‘I knew it!’
Josie hadn’t lied to anyone. Despite what Alice Potter liked to think, she hadn’t lied about Terry Potter. Just as she hadn’t lied to George Hayden or Brian Taylor . . .
‘Josie was fourteen going on fifteen years old when she had the baby,’ Babs said sadly. ‘Anyway, the child was put up for adoption and this is where it gets’ She broke off. ‘I was about to say interesting, but it’s more tragic than interesting.’
‘Oh?’ Jill adjusted her towel, carried the phone to the chair nearest the radiator, and sat down.
‘The child was named Hope and was adopted by a David and Heather Perkins,’ Babs explained. ‘They’d been trying for a child for years and, as you can imagine, they were besotted with her. They lived on the edge of a small village in County Clare. When young Hope was just five years old, there was a car accident. David Perkins was killed instantly, but Heather was alive when the emergency services arrived. It took fire crews several hours to cut Heather and young Hope from the wreckage. Hope was uninjured, but hysterical. Heather, however, died from her injuries the next day.’
Jill’s towel was cold and damp, and she was starting to shiver. ‘Go on, Babs.’
‘Hope was traumatized, but she was eventually fostered by another couple, a Jenny and Peter Ramsland. They’d been fostering children for twenty years, but I gather Hope would have tested anyone to their limits. I managed to speak to Jenny today.’
Jill could tell from Babs’ voice that she didn’t want to hear what was coming next. ‘What did she have to say?’
‘When Hope was eight, there was another tragedy in her life. Her best friend, a lad called Denzil, was drowned near their home.’
‘Go on.’
‘Hope was with him at the time, apparently. When they found her, she was by the edge of the river laughing hysterically.’
‘Laughing?’
‘So Jenny said. According to her, Hope had psychiatric treatment for the next five years. In the end, the medical experts said she was fine. Jenny didn’t agree; she thought Hope was merely adept at fooling them. Anyway, the family then moved to England.’
‘And where’s Hope now?’
‘Jenny said they’d lost touch with her. She was eighteen when she left home. That’s twelve, thirteen years ago.’
‘And they have no idea where she is?’
‘None whatsoever. She was always a difficult child terrible mood swings, that sort of thing. Well, Jenny called them
violent
mood swings. But she was very bright. After school, she went to university in Reading. She wanted to be a teacher, I gather.’
A teacher?
‘Jenny wrote to her,’ Babs went on, ‘but Hope never answered and, after a few months, the letters were returned by Royal Mail with gone away scrawled all over them. They think Hope may have changed her name too, but they don’t know.’
Jenny and Peter Ramsland might not know, but Jill thought that she might. She was already on her feet, her heart pounding.
‘Jenny’s emailed me a photo that was taken of Hope when she was seventeen,’ Babs explained. ‘The quality isn’t great, but it might be of interest. I’ve forwarded it to you.’
With the phone clutched to her ear, Jill went to her computer and switched it on. It took a while for her emails to download.
‘I’ve got it, Babs.’
She clicked on the email but, even before it opened, Jill suspected she knew exactly whose face she would see in the photo.
Max was beginning to think they would never get home. After a meal to celebrate Ben and Fly’s success, he’d been persuaded to stop at Jane Miller’s house so that she could see the rosette. Jane Miller, a friend of Kate’s, was a stranger to Max, but she knew all there was to know about him and the boys. As they all sat in her living room, Max could feel life passing him by.
When they finally made their escape from there, Kate wanted to call at Asda.
‘Fine,’ Max told her, relieved. ‘We’ll see you back at the house.’
Of course, it hadn’t been that simple.
‘There are a few things I need,’ she’d said, ‘but I also thought the boys could treat themselves. What do you say, boys?’
As if she needed to ask!
So they’d bought up half of Asda before, finally, heading for home.
As Max drove, his thoughts were on Martin and Josie Hayden, and on Jason Keane and James Murphy. He remembered what Jill had said. She believed he had spoken to the killer. According to her logic, there was someone they’d dismissed, and they’d dismissed that person because they didn’t stand out, because that person was ordinary.
So who the hell had they missed?
Hundreds of people had been questioned in connection with this. Perhaps by concentrating on his favoured suspects, he
had
missed someone.
Every person on Harrington High School’s payroll had been questioned and checked out. Everyone from the headmaster, through the teachers to the canteen staff and cleaners. Everyone who visited the school had been questioned, from the girl who drove the van and delivered the stationery to the lad who delivered the milk.
In the same way, everyone with a connection to Lower Crags Farm had been discounted.
His mind drifted back to his chat with Alan Turner. He’d been adamant that he had never commented on the ratio of police to residents at Lower Crags Farm. Why? He could easily have said he’d driven past. That wasn’t a crime. The thing was though that to know how many police officers were there, one would have to do more than drive past. The farmhouse wasn’t visible from the road.
In the rear-view mirror, he caught a glimpse of Ben fondling the yellow rosette he’d won. The sight made him smile. To have such great kids, he had to be one of the luckiest blokes alive.
If he had Jill, too
He didn’t, not yet, but she was mellowing, he was sure of it. It was a slow process though. When he’d had his night of he couldn’t call it passion in that seedy hotel room, he’d had no idea that he could hurt Jill as much as he had. He’d had no idea anyone could be hurt so deeply.
He rounded the corner into their road What the fuck?
The noise was unbelievable. Glass and bricks flew into the road, and a huge ball of fire engulfed the front wall of his house.
‘Holy shit!’ Harry’s voice shook.
Max had stopped the car and he swung around in his seat. ‘You OK?’
Harry nodded, a little doubtfully.
Ben looked at his brother, looked at Max, and hugged Holly and Fly a little tighter.
‘Ben?’
Ben, still clinging to the dogs, followed his brother’s example and nodded at Max.
‘Right. It’s OK,’ Max told them, ‘we’re all safe. Now, I want you to stay in the car. Got that? Don’t move!’
He jumped out of the car and ran towards his house, but he couldn’t get close. He was shaking. Little wonder really. If it hadn’t been for the mother-in-law he’d spent the last few hours cursing, they would all have been inside.
He raced back to his car, and while waiting for Kate to catch them up, he phoned the fire brigade. Then he phoned the station.
He was surprised to see his mobile registering seven missed calls. Damn! He’d switched it to Silent when Ben and Fly went into the show ring and forgotten to switch it back to Normal. He didn’t have time to see who’d called now. There were far more important things to do and the first job was to get his neighbours out of their houses. If there was another explosion
Had it really been an explosion? Of course it had. What else could it have been?
Was it a gas fault, or was this the work of the maniac they were after? He had killed twice, at least twice, already.
Tell DCI Trentham that Harry is next.
Had this been intended for Harry? But this wasn’t their killer’s style
Max had no idea what the fuck was happening.
While he was getting his elderly neighbour out of her house, he heard the welcome wail of sirens.
Chaos ruled for a good half an hour. At least, it felt like chaos to Max. Fire crews arrived, the road was sealed off, and all houses in the street were evacuated. Everything that needed doing was being done.
Kate was standing some distance away with Harry, Ben and the two dogs. DS Forrest was standing next to them, talking into his radio.
Max was trying to decide what he needed to do next, but he couldn’t think straight. Hell, he was struggling to breathe.