Shades of Evil (14 page)

Max turned left at the lights, an action that had Jill looking at him in astonishment.

‘This won’t take a minute,’ he promised. ‘I need to call on Vincent Cole. He said he’d try and find Lauren’s old diaries for us.’

Having spoken to two shopkeepers who knew Lauren, but nothing about her, he was driving them back to headquarters. He knew Jill had an appointment, but as he’d told her, it wouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes to go via Vincent Cole’s house. As well as, hopefully, collecting Lauren’s diaries, Max wanted to see how Cole was coping.

‘Come in and see what you make of him,’ he said, as he stopped the car outside Worcester House.

‘I expect I’ll see nothing more than a grieving father,’ she replied, unfastening her seat belt.

When he opened the door, Vincent Cole looked as if he hadn’t washed or shaved since his daughter had been murdered. The shirt and v-necked sweater were those he’d worn when he’d identified Lauren.

Max introduced Jill and, although Cole shook her hand, Max gained the impression he neither knew why she was there nor cared.

‘You said you’d try and find Lauren’s diaries,’ Max reminded him.

‘Yes. I did say they were old, though.’

He took them through the hall and into the sitting room where, on a low sideboard, there were half a dozen pocket diaries held together with an elastic band.

‘Here they are.’ He handed them to Max. ‘Every January,’ he explained for Jill’s benefit, ‘Lauren would get a brand new diary and spend hours writing in people’s birthdays, and their names and addresses, of course. She’d put in appointments and suchlike, too. By February,’ he said with a sad smile, ‘her enthusiasm had waned and they’d be thrown in the back of the drawer never to see light of day again.’

While he spoke, Max flicked through them. Cole was right in that they were old, but they were crammed with friends’ addresses and phone numbers. Something useful might come to light.

‘This is a lovely photo,’ Jill said, pointing to a framed print that had pride of place on the mantelpiece.

‘Yes.’ Cole picked it up and rubbed imaginary dust from the frame. ‘Lauren and her mum. It was taken when her mother was well. The last one I had of her, in fact.’

‘Were Lauren and her mother close?’

‘Oh, yes. Very. Lauren never got over her mum’s death. I can’t say I ever did, either, but Lauren didn’t cope. She just couldn’t deal with it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jill said quietly.

The room wasn’t quite as neat as it had been, Max noticed. A thin layer of dust covered the surfaces. Three unopened newspapers were lying on the coffee table next to an empty cup. Presumably, Cole had told his cleaner not to bother for a while.

‘I need to bury her now,’ Cole said, and Max could hear the desperation in his voice. He understood it, too. People hated to think of their loved ones lying in a cold mortuary.

‘I’m having her laid to rest next to her mum,’ he went on. ‘It’s all arranged. When can I bury her?’

‘Hopefully, it won’t be too long,’ Max said.

Cole nodded, but he was still agitated.

‘I can’t rest until then. I want them to be together. Foolish, perhaps, but that’s what I want. I’ll feel better then.’

‘That’s perfectly understandable, Mr Cole,’ Jill told him.

Max wished he could promise a swift closure, but he couldn’t.

‘We’ll let you have these back as soon as we can,’ he said, nodding at the diaries.

‘Thank you. I’d appreciate it.’

They had little else to say to him and were soon back in the car.

‘Poor man,’ Jill said. ‘All those regrets. All that guilt.’

‘Guilt?’

‘He’ll blame himself for not being there for Lauren when her mum died. It’s a common problem. Spouses are too wrapped up in their grief to notice how their children are suffering.’

Max knew it worked the other way, too. When his own wife had died, he’d thrown all he had into making sure Harry and Ben were coping. It had stopped him facing up to his own guilt.

Max had a busy morning. Busy, but pointless. In between the briefing, updating his boss, and talking to the press, he’d tried to get something from Carlisle, but the man wasn’t changing his story.

It was almost lunchtime when he and Jill sat in the interview room with Ricky Marshall. Max wanted some answers and he wanted them fast, but Marshall was offering nothing other than a smug smile. Given the way he’d learnt how to piss coppers off by parroting ‘No comment’, he’d been watching too many TV cop shows.

‘Let’s start again,’ Max suggested. ‘You were seen on CCTV in Harrington with Lauren Cole two days before she was killed. Tell me what you were doing with her.’

‘No comment.’

‘Answer the question or get charged with obstruction. Your choice.’

Marshall looked at Max as if he wanted to kill him. The feeling was mutual.

‘I was talking to her, that’s all,’ he said at last.

‘About what?’

Marshall grinned. ‘If you must know, I asked her if she’d seen God again.’

‘God?’ Jill repeated.

‘I told you she was bleedin’ raving,’ Marshall reminded them. ‘One night, she got really stoned and reckoned she’d seen her mum. Christ, we had tears, hysterics, the bloody lot. Her mum’s been dead for bloody years. Then she reckoned God had come to her in a vision. And get this – according to her, God told her he wanted her to stay off the heroin.’ He laughed at the memory. ‘Absolutely raving she was.’

‘So you asked her if she’d seen God again?’ Jill asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘And had she?’

‘How the hell would I know? I asked her, and she just kept saying she’d pray for me. She said she’d been to church to light a candle for her mum.’

‘Which church?’

‘Dunno.’

‘In Harrington presumably?’

‘Dunno. So much for seeing God, eh? He must have thought he’d take her up to heaven,’ he said with a grin.

‘Perhaps he did,’ Jill agreed. ‘It’s a good job that only the good die young, eh, Ricky?’

‘Piss off!’

Max nodded at Jill and terminated the interview. They left Marshall to his boredom.

‘Get yourself a coffee and I’ll make a couple of phone calls,’ Max said. ‘Lighting candles is a Catholic thing, isn’t it? I’d stake my life on Lauren Cole visiting the same church as your good friend Steve Carlisle.’

‘If Lauren
did
go to St Mary’s,’ Jill answered slowly, ‘then the priest there is Alison Carlisle’s uncle.’

‘Exactly!’

Max believed that, finally, they were getting somewhere. He wasn’t sure where exactly, but he was convinced they were moving forward.

St Mary’s Roman Catholic church, a large red-brick building set back from Princess Street, was more functional than attractive, but today, with its grounds covered in pristine snow that had been falling all day, and a setting sun highlighting the colourful stained-glass windows, it could have featured on the front page of a county magazine.

A board by the gate told everyone that the next service would be at 10.00 a.m. on Sunday morning and would be conducted by the parish priest, Father David Gosling.

Max had phoned the priest and he’d promised to be at the church all afternoon.

The winding path had been cleared of snow, and he and Jill walked along it smartly, eager to find some warmth in the building.

They were out of luck. The temperature plunged as they stepped inside. The lighting was dim, and flames from a few spluttering candles didn’t do much to help. Max could see his breath as he walked up the aisle to where a priest was collecting a pile of books.

‘Father Gosling?’

‘The very same. And you’ll be DCI Trentham?’

‘That’s right.’ Max showed his ID. ‘And this is Jill Kennedy.’

Father David Gosling was a short man, and looked to be well past retirement age. His face was ruddy and round, his hair thin. Perhaps what struck Max most was the fact that he was all in black, as one might expect, with the exception of brown shoes. The shoes made his feet look enormous.

‘Thank you for seeing us, Father.’ Max wanted this interview over as quickly as possible. It was far too cold for idle chit-chat. ‘We believe you may have known Lauren Cole?’

‘Not as well as I wished,’ Father Gosling answered. ‘I knew her mother very well indeed, God rest her soul.’

‘Mrs Cole was a regular at your church?’

‘She was. Lauren, too, when she was younger. Mr Cole …’ The priest smiled wistfully. ‘Alas.’

Somehow, without anyone suggesting it, they all sat on the front pew.

The building had that typical church smell, a mix of dust, damp, musty books and furniture polish.

‘And Lauren had stopped coming until recently?’ Jill asked.

‘Her mother stopped when she became ill,’ Father Gosling explained. ‘I visited her at home, of course, and at the hospital. After the Lord took her, I never saw Lauren again. Until recently.’

A police siren was the only sound to penetrate the thick walls of the church.

‘How did Lauren seem to you?’ Jill asked.

‘Sad.’ For a moment, Max thought that one word was all they were going to get.

‘She was fourteen when her mother died,’ the priest went on, ‘and it’s a difficult age for a child to accept such things. I gather she was losing her way a little.’

‘You mean taking drugs, that sort of thing?’ Max asked.

‘I wouldn’t know about that, but I gather her friends left a little to be desired. She seemed confused. Lonely too, I thought.’

‘How often did she come to the church?’ Jill asked.

‘Every Sunday for mass,’ he replied. ‘But she also called in most days. She would light a candle for her mother and then sit …’ He pointed to the far side of the church where there was a carved wooden figure of Christ looking down despairingly on the pews. ‘She would sit alone with her thoughts over there.’

‘Did you try to speak to her?’ Max asked.

‘Of course. She didn’t want company, though. As I say, she would sit alone.’

‘What about confession?’ Jill asked and Father Gosling shook his head.

‘She never confessed, I’m afraid.’

‘Did she ever speak to anyone before or after the service?’ Max asked. ‘Did she sit with anyone?’

‘No. As I said, I think she was lonely. She would slip in a few moments before the service started and sit at the back. As soon as it was over, she was gone. I never saw her speak to anyone.’

‘Do you know a man called Steve Carlisle? I believe he and his wife worship here.’

Father Gosling smiled at that.

‘I should know them. His wife is my niece, Chief Inspector.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Jill murmured. ‘I heard something of the sort.’

‘Her late father, John, was my younger brother. Alison’s mother and I were great friends, too, but sadly, Maureen passed away last year.’

‘Are you and Alison close?’ Jill asked curiously.

‘Of course. Alison is all the family I have in the world now.’

‘You’ll know about Steve then?’

Father Gosling looked at her, a puzzled frown on his old face.

‘Know what, my dear?’

‘That he’s being questioned in connection with the murder of Lauren Cole,’ Max enlightened him.

The heavy oak door to the church opened and slammed shut. They all turned to look as a middle-aged woman walked up the aisle carrying an armful of greenery.

‘Hello, Elsie,’ Father Gosling murmured.

‘Father, I won’t be in your way,’ the woman promised, smiling at Jill and Max. ‘I’ll take this lot through to the back. I’ll come tomorrow to do the flowers.’

‘That’s fine, Elsie. Thank you.’

Father Gosling turned his attention back to Max.

‘When you say he’s being questioned, Chief Inspector, what exactly do you mean?’

‘He’s a suspect in a murder investigation.’

‘Steve?’

Father Gosling might be old, even a little frail looking, but Max guessed he had a shrewd brain. It was almost possible to hear it ticking over.

‘No, I didn’t know that,’ he said at last. ‘Why Steve?’

Max wasn’t going into details.

‘Did you ever see him speaking to Lauren Cole?’ he asked instead.

‘No. Never.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

‘I’m surprised Alison hasn’t told you about it,’ Jill said, hands stuffed in the pockets of her coat for warmth. ‘As you’re so close, I mean.’

‘I expect she didn’t want to bother me,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for it all. When it’s all blown over, then she’ll tell me.’

‘No doubt,’ Jill agreed. ‘When was the last time you saw Steve?’

‘On Sunday. After the service, the three of us went out to lunch. We often do.’

‘How did he seem?’ Jill stood up and towered over them. Max guessed she was trying to bring some circulation back to her feet.

‘Fine.’

‘Just fine?’

‘Yes. Quite normal. Smiling and talking.’

‘Would you say that he and Alison had a good marriage?’ she asked him.

‘Of course.’

The atmosphere was becoming even chillier, Max noticed. Father Gosling’s answers seemed guarded, and he was taking a few moments to think before giving them.

‘I only ask,’ Jill pushed on, ‘because losing a child is so difficult, isn’t it? It’s hard for couples to cope with such a tragedy. Especially without other children to hold them together.’

‘You’re talking about Maisie,’ he said, and he seemed extremely rattled. ‘That was a long time ago, Miss Kennedy. It’s over. Forgotten. We can’t debate the right and wrongs of God’s will, can we?’

‘God’s will,’ she repeated. ‘Ah, yes. But even if that were the case, it can’t necessarily follow that the parents have come to terms with the loss.’

‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. That’s how people
do
come to terms with such things. Christians know and accept that it is God’s will.’

‘But if one of them didn’t accept it—’

‘People do, Miss Kennedy.’

‘So, having accepted it, one would assume that more children would come along,’ Jill said.

‘One would,’ he agreed, ‘but sadly, Alison couldn’t have more children.’

‘Ah, I didn’t know that. So poor Steve—’

‘Accepted that,’ the priest snapped.