‘This killer. The victims. The police involvement.
Anything.’
‘Well, the killer’s obviously a complete maniac. That’s obvious, isn’t it? The victims are prostitutes and that’s always been a dangerous job. The police, I’m prepared to believe, know a lot more about it than Joe Public is being told.’
Max let his last comment go. If Joe Public believed that, at least they were getting something right.
‘Is that it?’ he asked, feigning disappointment. ‘You’re fascinated - your word, I believe - by forensic psychology.
Don’t you have any theories?’
‘Ah, but I don’t have the background info you have.’
‘Do you like prostitutes?’
Hutchinson laughed. He was a cocky one. “I neither like nor dislike them. I don’t know any personally. I’m sure they’re like every other group. Some good, and some bad.’
“I suppose you’re right. Let’s get back to this gun of yours. Have you any idea at all as to who might have stolen it?’
‘None. There’s been no sign of a breakin, as you know.’
‘You don’t seem too concerned about it,’ Max commented.
‘If my home had been broken into, I’d be
extremely upset.’
‘I’m sure you know how many burglaries - unsolved burglaries - take place these days, even in a place like Kelton/ Hutchinson replied smoothly. “I consider myself lucky in that (a) neither my wife nor I were home at the time to come face to face with the culprit and (b) nothing else was taken.’
‘You said that only you and your wife have keys?’
‘Of course. Who else would have one?’ He raised his eyebrows at the stupidity of the question.
‘Who knows? My mother-in-law has a key to my house.
So does a neighbour.’
‘No one has a key to ours.’
‘Except Molly Turnbull, your cleaner.’
Hutchinson looked surprised. ‘Does she have one?’
‘According to your wife, there’s a key left under a tub on the patio for her.’
‘There doesn’t seem much point because Liz is always there when she arrives but - well, if Liz says there’s a key left there, then obviously there is. Damn silly thing to do, though. I’ll have words with Liz about that.’
‘Good idea,’ Max said. ‘So does anyone else have access to your home?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Your mistress perhaps?’
Hutchinson smirked. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Max rose, signalled to Fletch to keep at him in the hope that he’d get somewhere, and left the room.
He grabbed a coffee and sat down in front of the camera to see Fletch asking Hutchinson about Chloe Barratt, the woman Ella Gardner had seen him with on the train.
‘Why did you arrange to meet her that particular day?’
Fletch asked.
Hutchinson rolled his eyes, then laughed with feigned exasperation. ‘How many times do I have to tell you?
I didn’t arrange to meet her. We both happened to be travelling on the same train.’
That’s exactly what Chloe Barratt had said, and Max didn’t believe either of them. Something was going on, and Max would love to know exactly what. Ella Gardner had said he hadn’t been pleased to be spotted, and she swore he’d handed over an envelope.
‘An ex-pupil of yours, I gather/ Fletch said.
‘Until the age of eleven, yes. She left secondary school at sixteen to become a hairdresser. That’s five years ago now.’
‘Does your wife dress up in a school uniform for you?’
Fletch’s question took Hutchinson completely by surprise.
It had a similar effect on Max. ‘Of course not. What do you think I am, for God’s sake?’
Fletch, wisely Max thought, chose not to answer that.
‘But you did have an affair with Chloe Barratt?’
‘We had a fling a couple of years ago,’ Hutchinson told him. ‘She was nineteen then and I imagine she’d outgrown her uniform.’
‘A fling. An affair. It’s the same thing, isn’t it?’
‘If you like.’
Max turned away from the screen and went back to his office.
Jill didn’t know why she had agreed to this day out with Max and the boys. Kate had been persuasive, no doubt about that.
‘It’ll do you good,’ Kate had said, ‘and it’ll do Harry and Ben good.’
‘Max said he wants to pick my brain,’ Jill had pointed out, ‘so we’ll only be talking shop.’
‘Even that might do Max good. He’s struggling with this case.’
Jill knew that. Until he could forget Valentine for more than ten minutes at a stretch, he would struggle with every case they gave him. He couldn’t accept that there were dozens of equally capable people working on Valentine’s case and that he was senior investigating officer on the Truemans’ case.
‘Have a good walk on the beach,’ Kate had said. ‘Enjoy the fresh air and enjoy being with the boys for a day. Hang it all, Max will even buy you lunch …’
So here she was, walking along the beach near Southport, with Max at her side. Harry and Ben were racing around with the dog. Fly hadn’t seen the sea before and was barking like something demented every time a wave appeared.
January was always a flat month, the weather usually too bad to venture far, and Jill had to admit that it was bliss to feel the sun on her face, and the wind whipping at her hair. It was cold, but exhilarating. Besides, she had never wanted to distance herself from Harry and Ben. She would see them at Christmas and around their birthdays, and keep up a contact in between.
‘You’re miles away,’ Max remarked.
“I was just thinking what a refreshing change it made not to be staring at a VDU.’ She looked at him. ‘What will you do when this is all over? I don’t mean the Truemans’ case, I mean when Valentine is behind bars.’
‘I’ll persuade you to marry me, and retire,’ he said immediately. ‘I’ll buy a beach bar in Spain. Shergar can fix the drinks, Lord Lucan can take care of the cellar, Elvis can cook the steaks.’
She smiled at the picture he painted. ‘Yes, Max, but what will you really do?’
‘I’ll persuade you to marry me, retire, buy a beach bar in Spain ‘
Her loud, impatient sigh cut him short.
‘Why did Jonathan Trueman kill his wife?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘You think he did?’
Max bent to pick up a pebble. He turned it over in his hand, then threw it at the sea, watching as it bounced and skimmed across the waves.
“I think that’s the most likely explanation, yes.’
So did Jill. It was the only sensible explanation.
‘He got there early,’ Max said, ‘they had a row, and he killed her. Assuming he found her in bed, or in the bath with someone else, do you think he might have lost it and killed her?’
‘No. He was too calm and exact a character for losing control like that,’ Jill replied. ‘He loved her, though, no doubt about that. He worshipped the ground she walked on. If he did kill her, it was because she was leaving him for someone else.’ She thought for a moment.
‘No one believes she would have looked twice at anyone else.’
‘Except Jim Brody,’ Jill pointed out. ‘Molly Turnbull thought she had a soft spot for him.’
“I think that might have been Molly’s over-active imagination.
Brody’s adamant he was just the gardener. Along with everyone else in the world, he reckons Alice Trueman was one of the nicest people ever born, but he swears they only talked about gardening. Added to which, he’s got a cast iron alibi for both occasions. When Alice Trueman was murdered, he was at the hospital having a couple of stitches and a tetanus jab. He was there for hours so he hadn’t spent the morning in bed with Alice.’
‘That’s some alibi.’
‘It is. He’d been sawing up logs for Ella Gardner. She drove him to the hospital and that all checks out.’
‘What about the night Jonathan Trueman was killed?’
‘He was visiting his brother in London. He even went to great lengths to get the used rail ticket out of the dustbin to show us.’
Jim Brody hadn’t struck Jill as a criminal, and certainly not a killer. She didn’t know him well, but they’d had a chat earlier in the week when they’d both been in The Weaver’s Retreat talking to Andy Collins. He seemed a likeable, friendly chap. According to everyone she’d spoken to, he was an asset to Kelton Bridge. He’d lived in the village for several years, he mowed the grass in the churchyard for nothing, and arranged an annual collection for the RNLI.
‘What about Tony Hutchinson’s gun?’ she murmured.
‘That’s odd, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ Max said grimly. “I wouldn’t trust that bloke as far as I could chuck an elephant. There was no sign of a breakin, and he hadn’t even noticed it was missing.
According to Molly Turnbull, and Liz Hutchinson has confirmed this, she left a key for Molly underneath a patio tub if she was going out. It’s feasible that someone knew that.’
‘Or found it. Where’s the first place you’d look for a key?’
‘Quite.’
Seagulls circled overhead, dipping and diving on the air currents.
Jill had always enjoyed this, walking with Max and bouncing ideas back and forth. When they’d been together, though, their ideas had seemed sharper, their minds quicker. Now, they both seemed dull and tired. Or was that her imagination?
‘It’s Alice’s past that intrigues me,’ Jill remarked. ‘How does that check out? Any former lovers who might have come back into her life? Anyone she left? Someone she left for Jonathan? They’d been married for some time before Michael was born so it wasn’t as if she felt she had to marry him. There has to have been some sort of regret there, though. No matter how much she loved Jonathan, and I’m prepared to believe she did love him, she must have longed for her former life.’
‘We’re checking it out, but she could have been as happy as Larry with Jonathan Trueman. Just because that life wouldn’t appeal to us, it doesn’t follow that Alice hated it.’
“I know, but I can’t see it. If someone more romantic, fun and exciting came back into her life for any reason, I think she might have been tempted. Oh, she wouldn’t have done anything drastic perhaps, but she might have met up with an old friend for coffee, maybe an evening out.’
‘You think Jonathan was the jealous type?’
‘Yes. He lived in fear of losing her to someone else,’ Jill said. ‘Living that way for almost twenty-five years would take its toll on anyone.’
They walked on. The boys, oblivious to their presence, were kicking a football for the dog to chase. Jill wondered if they would remember this day in years to come. There was nothing memorable about the day, yet they were happy and carefree …
‘Everything takes so long,’ Max complained. ‘Imagine the time it’s taking to try and track Alice’s movements over the last year or so. And then imagine trying to contact everyone she’s ever known.’
‘It’s always the same, Max. You know that. That’s the job. You plod away until something turns up. And something always does turn up.’
‘Not always.’
‘Yes, always. Even if it takes thirty years or more.’
Max groaned at the thought of that, and Jill had to smile.
It was true, though. Something always turned up.
Always. The killer or killers of Jonathan and Alice True man would be found, and so would Valentine. She was confident of that.
Max and Grace were back in the interview room. Grace switched on the tape and named those present.
Andy Collins looked nervous as Max took his seat opposite him. His face was pale and he kept licking his lips and swallowing as if he doubted his ability to talk. He was there of his own free will, however, and had said he was more than happy to answer their questions.
Here was another man Max didn’t like. Hell, he didn’t like any man who managed to take Jill out to lunch.
Thanks to Kate and the kids, Max had bought her lunch on Sunday, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of dining alone with him. Was that the only reason he disliked Andy Collins? Probably, he admitted to himself.
Collins’ past was proving tricky to unearth and discovering he’d spent time alone with Alice Trueman was a breakthrough of sorts.
‘Where were you on the afternoon of Monday, eighth of November?’ Max asked him.
‘The day Alice was murdered?’
‘Yes.’
“I was working. I don’t have my diary with me but, from memory, I was out in Haslingden all day. I’d had a couple of appointments, possible house sales. I was definitely in Haslingden during the afternoon. My last appointment was with a Mrs Smith - a four-bedroomed detached that we’d just had an offer on. I expect she’ll vouch for that.’
She already had.
‘And when you left Mrs Smith?’
‘It wasn’t worth going back to the office, so I drove home. I changed, then went down to The Weaver’s Retreat for a drink. It was while I was there that I heard about poor Alice. I liked her.’
‘Most people liked her.’
‘Everyone liked her,’ he said quietly.
‘Not everyone,’ Max pointed out. ‘Someone murdered her.’
Andy Collins began swallowing rapidly. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, his voice hoarse.
‘Any ideas? Can you think of anyone who might have borne a grudge, someone she’d upset, anyone who might have disliked her enough to kill her?’
‘No. No one.’
‘Do you know much about her past?’ Grace put in.
‘Not really. She was a dancer, I heard. She was on TV a few times.’
‘She had the body of a dancer, didn’t she?’ Grace murmured.
‘A very attractive lady, wasn’t she? Sexy, I suppose.
Did you find her sexy?’
“I never thought of her that way, no.’ Collins ran a finger around the inside of his collar. It was warm in the interview room, Max thought. Probably too warm.
‘Tell me about the time you were charged with rape,’
Max demanded, and Collins cleared his throat.
‘It was a long time ago ‘
‘1987,’ Max supplied helpfully.
“I was a student at university,’ Collins explained hesitantly.
‘A girl there, Lucy Rickman, asked me out. She’d had a lot to drink and it was coming up to Christmas.
I couldn’t make it so I declined. She seemed upset. Days later, when she’d sobered up, she apologized for being so pushy, and I suppose I felt sorry for her. I also regretted being a bit rude when I declined. So I asked her out for a couple of drinks, the cinema and then more drinks. Afterwards, we went back to her place.’