Dead Alone (22 page)

Jessie watched P.J. and Colin through the glass door. A bottle of Bechevelle 1966 stood open next to them. P.J. was chopping cucumber for the salad. He looked as though he’d been there all his life. Above her head the stars peeked out of the darkening sky. She was reluctant to pass on the good news she’d just received from Jones, but she slid the door back and stepped from the deck into the steamy kitchen.

‘Good news,’ she said, trying to sound convincing. ‘It’s safe for you to go home. The skull was a fake. Left by two fourteen-year-old fans. One of the girls’ fathers is an osteopath. Apparently they got the information from a website called fan-extremis.com. It’s anonymous. Impossible to trace who posted it on the net. Sorry.’

‘
Fans
left a skull?’ Colin looked perturbed.

‘Some people are so fanatical they’d shoot you,’ said P.J. drily.

‘Unbelievable,’ said Colin.

‘It’s my fault. I should have checked the box,’ she said.

Jones had made it perfectly clear on the phone
what he thought she should do now.

‘It means you can go home,’ said Jessie, looking at P.J. He continued to slice the cucumber. ‘There is no threat to the boys, or you. It’s safe to go home.’

‘You can’t go,’ said Colin. ‘We want to say thanks for taking the girls off our hands all day. We had a great afternoon, and the –’

Jessie held up her hand. ‘Thanks, Colin, we get the picture.’

‘Besides, it’s late, you didn’t get any sleep last night, you need feeding and a long sleep. Tomorrow is Sunday and it would be uncivilised not to stay for lunch.’

‘But –’

‘The boys are already in bed, and they couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to the girls. Plus, dinner would be ruined and the wine will go to waste. In a nutshell, you’re staying put.’

‘The trouble is –’

Colin interrupted again. ‘Jessie, do you really need to drive back to London tonight?’ He threw some herbs into the pan and gave it a stir. Stubbornness ran in the family.

‘She’s not planning on going anywhere.’ P.J. lowered the knife and looked at Jessie. ‘Are you?’

It was true. She could stay. The thought of a long car journey was unappealing. The thought of P.J. leaving without her was disturbing. The thought of Jones’ disapproval didn’t help.

‘I’ll go and get the boys,’ said P.J.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. It would be dangerous for you to drive – you’ve had a drink, you haven’t slept and it’s a long journey. As a policewoman, Jessie should forbid you to go.’

‘How much have you drunk?’ asked Jessie.

‘Two bottles of beer and half a glass of wine, not counting the wine at lunch.’

‘A big glass, not half,’ said Colin. ‘He can’t drive. You are both staying.’

Mark realised that Irene was a woman too tired not to talk.

‘It’s been hell, all this time, Clare despising that man. If she ever found out …’ Irene looked at Mark. ‘Who do you think has been making sure she never finds Frank? Me. I’ve spent my life sending her in the opposite direction because I’m telling you, something terrible would happen if she found out. I’ve dreaded it all my life.’

‘What happened, Irene? What happened to Veronica, why did she kill herself?’

Irene slumped back into the sofa. ‘If I tell you, will you scupper this investigation?’

‘I can’t do that, but I’ll make sure I keep what I find from Clare.’

‘Veronica felt so guilty. She loved Ray, or she thought she did at first, it was exciting and Trevor, bless him, he was a good man, but … Well, you
can imagine. Ray fell hard. Veronica sort of did that to men. Then Veronica got pregnant with Frank. Trevor, of course, was over the moon. His miracle baby.’

‘Why didn’t she leave? Take the kids.’

‘Ray didn’t want Clare. He was mad about Veronica, but proud, so he didn’t want Clare. Well, Veronica wouldn’t leave her, wouldn’t split those kids up. She came from a terrible family, full of hatred; she’d been deserted, completely deserted, by them. That’s how she ended up living with my family. She wasn’t going to do that to her kids. And then those two women disappeared. Prostitutes – no one gave a damn back then. Police arrested some trucker for it. He was up to his neck in all sorts of stuff anyway and the murders stuck. But Veronica had seen those women at Ray’s club. They’d stolen a lot of money off him. Ray was furious with those two birds. Next thing we know, they’re dead. That man is violent, not a normal violence. The sort of violence that takes time to thaw. He doesn’t explode. It’s slow and calculated.

‘Well, after that Veronica was terrified. He kept professing undying love. Then Trevor got shot. That gun going off was no accident. Ray killed Trevor in cold blood. He knew the route Trevor would take home after the job interview. Ray assumed he’d get away with it. He assumed Veronica would go with him, but she wouldn’t leave Trevor’s side. She was terrified. Ray wanted to leave the country with her and Frank. But she
was safe in that hospital. I had the kids. Veronica knew even Ray wouldn’t brave the hospital. Eventually he was arrested. Tip-off, apparently. Not from me, mind.’

‘All this time, Clare has been looking for Ray’s son.’

Irene nodded, blew her nose and lay back against the sofa.

‘Does Ray have Frank?’

Irene shrugged. ‘Never felt the urge to call him up and ask him. Probably. He’s covered up more than that. What difference would it make now, anyway? Clare thinks Frank is dead. Can’t we just leave it at that?’

Mark brought a flask out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Irene. She took a slug. Then another. ‘No blood is better than bad blood, that’s what Veronica used to say. No blood is better than bad blood.’

P.J. joined Jessie on the deck. A third bottle had been opened, Jessie felt cocooned in red wine. They leant over the wooden railing and stared at the reflection of the Milky Way on the oil-slick surface of Ullswater. Floating icing sugar. The low, round hoot of an owl on the hunt passed close by. P.J. looked up at the sheer half-moon and pointed. ‘The sea of tranquillity. It seems closer here.’

She nudged him. ‘Are all your lyrics as cheesy as that?’

‘Haven’t you ever listened to them?’

Jessie laughed. ‘Careful, your ego is showing.’

He leant closer to her. ‘You’re right about this place,’ he said. ‘It is magical. I’d like to stay, watch the boys grow up carefree like Charlotte and Ellie. I don’t want them to be like the other children of famous people. Do any of them turn out normal? What’s in store for Rocco Ritchie, Anaïs Gallagher, Brooklyn Beckham? They won’t be like Charlotte and Ellie, of that I’m certain.’

‘I feel a monologue coming on. Would you like a pen and paper?’

He grabbed her. ‘No. Shh, I’m being profound. People used to become famous as an unfortunate by-product of fulfilling their dreams –’

‘Oh dear –’

‘Now fame is the dream. It requires massive ambition and self-belief, you have to be stronger than the next. It’s the plate tectonics of fame. Thin, flat layers get pushed into the mass of molten lava, insignificant against the force of a huge mountain of presence. But however high the peaks are, the troughs are deeper. The unseen underbelly of fame and power is insecurity and neurosis. Does that make a good parent? Absolutely not.’

‘I think you’re drunk, P.J.’

‘I’m being serious. I’ll tell you a horrible secret. I refused to sleep with Verity without a condom. I didn’t trust her. I would have divorced her if it
wasn’t for Paul and Ty. You’re right about that, the thought of them being dragged off to another man, another house, another unstable life was too much. Couldn’t anyone take responsibility? These boys are people. Not commodities.’

Jessie straightened up. He was being serious. Deadly serious. ‘Is that why you moved into Verity’s ex-husband’s house?’

‘You don’t miss a trick, do you?’

Jessie didn’t say anything. She’d seen enough ‘at home’ photos of Verity Shore and her respective men to know the details of all her soft furnishings.

‘Verity wanted it that way. I was against it at first, but she was right, the boys didn’t want to move again, and they don’t want to move now.’

He turned to her, slid his hand over hers. She didn’t pull it away. ‘I’ve made some terrible mistakes with my family, terrible, unforgivable mistakes. I’m not going to make them with Paul and Ty.’

‘Is that why you don’t speak to your father?’

He nodded.

‘Why you missed your mother’s funeral?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is this to do with your sister drowning?’

‘In a way, I suppose.’

‘And why you are so determined to take care of the boys, someone else’s sons?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Bernie?’

‘Of course Bernie! I trust you, Jessie. I want to tell you things no one knows. I don’t want you to
be suspicious of me, I don’t want to lie, but there are things I have sworn not to say to a living soul. Do you understand? After all these years, I just can’t.’

Jessie frowned.

‘You know, anyway, don’t you? That is why you think so badly of me. I see it in your face.’

He was wrong. The doubt in her face was for herself only. But she had begun to suspect why P.J. had acted the way he had. It was watching him on the boat with the boys during the day, the things he said, things he referred to. She was beginning to think that there had been a relationship with Bernie, a long time ago, after his sister drowned. Understandable in the circumstances. The product was Craig. But he had left her, a pregnant fifteen-year-old, and gone to the States. He returned a pop star and never went home again. Whether it was youthfulness or recklessness, he had missed out on all of Craig’s childhood and deserted his dead sister’s best friend. He had behaved abominably and he couldn’t make it up to Craig, and he probably couldn’t truly make it up to Bernie either, though he cared and paid for them now. All P.J. could do was make sure it didn’t happen again. To Paul and Ty. That was why he was so protective. That explained why he stuck it out with Verity Shore.

‘I didn’t kill Verity. I am desperate to prove that to you, so desperate I will betray the trust of the one person in the world who actually loves
me and who I love back, properly, like family should.’

P.J. was gripping her hand.

‘If Craig is your son, P.J., people might think it gives you a motive. That you and Bernie wanted Verity out of the way to play happy families. Do you understand that? Eve and Verity were lovers, lovers tell each other things, so then you had to deal with Eve.’

‘I would have thought it was quite obvious to you that I’m not in love with Bernie. And if I’m not in love with Bernie, there is no motive. So go ahead. Ask.’

‘Is he your son?’

P.J. blinked at her. His eyes filled with tears. The door to the balcony slid open and Kate and Colin spilled out laughing. ‘Oops, sorry, didn’t know you were out here. Have a glass of this brandy – we’re celebrating! Kate just told me. She’s pregnant!’

Jessie pulled away from P.J., who cheered loudly. Only Jessie heard his voice breaking and knew he was cheering to hide his own anguish.

Jessie hugged Kate. ‘I’m so happy for you both.’

‘To Kate,’ said Colin, raising his glass. ‘The best woman in the world.’

P.J. raised his glass and eyes to the moon. He downed the brandy and held out his glass for more.

Mark Ward walked slowly down the well-trodden corridor of the police station. There was a light on under Jones’ door. Jones was probably the only person in the world he wanted to talk to. He knocked.

‘Hello, sir, what are you doing here at this time of night?’

‘Seems I’ve become DI Driver’s dogsbody.’

Mark smiled. ‘You and me both.’

‘Women. It’s a revolution we aren’t going to end.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Still a bit feeble, but much better on the whole. Got a nice scar, do you want to see it?’

‘No thanks, don’t want to give myself nightmares. Wouldn’t mind a nightcap, though. Care to join me? There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’

‘If it’s a bitching session about Jess –’

‘No, guv, it’s more important than that.’

They walked side by side along the corridor. Tired men and women came off shift and tired men and women arrived. A night-cleaner slapped a mop on to the vinyl floor and began to move the dirt around in mind-numbing circles. Jones pushed open the exit door and received a blast of cold air. They walked silently across the road into the pub.

‘I want to talk to Ray St Giles, I want to bring him in.’

‘Not you as well. Is this some shit between you and –’

‘He was having an affair with Veronica. She
killed herself to stop that fact coming out. There is no trace of the boy, so Ray must have him.’

‘No.’

‘No what?’

‘You can’t go bursting in there unless you know. Unless you are sure. Jessie did, and it isn’t looking good. He’s smart, he’ll screw you.’

‘What the fuck was Jessie doing?’

‘Had a tip that he was involved in these recent murders.’

‘Bollocks he is! From who?’

‘An insider.’

‘Fine. Get her over here, we’ll put a call through together, co-ordinate. Sort of thing that makes you happy.’

Jones rubbed his face. Mark picked up on it instantly. ‘Where is she?’ Jones was not an untruthful man, but if he answered that question, Jessie’s career would be all but over.

‘Sir?’

‘Out of town.’

Mark chuckled. ‘In the middle of a murder investigation? Come on, where is she?’

Jones didn’t reply.

‘She’s up to something, isn’t she? Oh no, it hasn’t got anything to do with that pop singer bloke. Fry told me she’d been giving him the softly-softly approach.’

‘Leave it, Mark.’

‘Fucking hell –’

‘I said leave it.’

Mark placed his glass down with careful precision. ‘So let me get this straight: I can’t question a murdering bastard who possibly stole a kid from social services, nor can I get to Jessie’s insider because she is busy getting familiar with the bloke who should, if she could do her job, be the prime fucking suspect.’ He sat back. ‘Oh, guv, good work. Bet you’re glad you gave her the promotion, eh?’