IT WAS CHARLIE WHO TRACKED DOWN Judy Marshall, former teacher, former charismatic changer of young people’s lives. She was working in a food bank based in a church hall, just off Kimmerston Front Street. It was only half a mile from the police station, so the detectives decided to walk.
‘How did you find her?’ Joe realized that Charlie had a network of informal contacts but this was quick work, even for him.
‘One of my elderly neighbours is a volunteer there. She’s chatty. Lonely, I suppose. I’ve only got to be in the garden five minutes and she’s there, offering cups of coffee and home-made cake.’
‘You want to be careful. She might have designs on your body … A handsome bloke like you…’
Charlie was single now, with a daughter who was a final-year student at Newcastle Uni. He’d been through a patch of loneliness and depression himself, after a messy divorce. There’d been times when Joe would have been more careful, and certainly wouldn’t have made bad jokes about a new relationship. But these days, his colleague seemed in a much better place.
Charlie grinned. ‘I think I could do better than that, even if I was in the market for romance. She’s eighty if she’s a day.’ A pause. ‘Does good cake though. I remembered her talking about a Judy who works with her. A woman who used to teach at the Grammar. Apparently, it’s our Judy and she’s in charge at the food bank today.’
A gust of wind blew a scrap of litter along the pavement. Joe picked it up and threw it into a bin. He’d been in the food bank before. He’d taken along a young lass who’d been picked up for shoplifting. She’d had no previous convictions and it’d been baby milk she’d been hiding under the quilt in the pram, not luxury items for her own use. Her man had been made redundant when the firm he worked for went bust. Joe had seen desperation in her face, and shame, and in the end, they’d let her go with a caution. Vera’s decision. And it had been Vera who’d sent Joe after the lass.
‘Take her to the food bank at St Paul’s. Go in with her. She’ll be too proud or too embarrassed to go there herself. Make out you’re a friend. Last thing she needs is to go in with a cop.’
Joe had felt awkward walking into the building, anxious despite himself, that he’d be seen by someone he knew. Knowing it was ridiculous, but feeling second-hand the stigma of someone who couldn’t feed their kids.
The church was old and squat. He and Sal had been married there, and had had their photos taken on the steps outside. His family had been a bit wary at first. They were Methodist not C of E, and were worried they might get things wrong, but the elderly vicar had put them at their ease, and they’d recognized all the hymns. The food bank was in the hall next door, a big barn of a place, built at a time when the congregation had been bigger, when the Sunday School had been thriving.
Judy Marshall was quite clearly the person in charge. She was tall and slender, with white hair, cut short, slightly curly. Her skin was clear and her eyes were very large and very blue. She moved like a dancer and Joe could tell she’d have been stunning to look at as a young woman. She was supervising the filling of the shelves and must have said something amusing, because suddenly the people around her began to laugh.
She walked up to them with a smile of welcome. The hall was high-ceilinged, dusty. She was wearing a long sweater over leggings and ballet pumps, which added to the first impression Joe had of her as someone who could dance. The soft shoes made a sliding sound on the wooden floor. ‘How can I help you? Is this your first time?’
‘You are Judith Marshall.’
‘That’s me!’ The voice was still professionally cheery, but she was curious. ‘At least that was my maiden name. It’s Judith Sinclair these days. Judy to my friends.’ She looked at them. ‘Did I teach either of you?’
Joe shook his head, smiling. Her good humour was infectious. ‘Any chance of a chat?’ He introduced himself and Charlie, and held out his warrant card to convince her.
‘Of course.’ She called out to a colleague. ‘Can you take over for a bit?’ She led them down the length of the hall, past makeshift wooden shelves piled with tins and jars, and through a door, which led down a short corridor and into the church itself. There was a smell of wood polish, candle wax and incense. At the centre of the church she stopped, so suddenly that Charlie nearly walked into her. She turned towards the altar and bowed her head, a gesture of reverence, and stood for a moment before continuing. An automatic response, but one that still seemed deeply felt. She was a believer then, a member of this church. They walked through another door and into the vestry. The vicar’s robes were hanging on a coat hanger on a hook on the door. There was an electric kettle on a tray, half a dozen mugs and a jar of instant coffee.
‘Can I offer you a drink?’ She seemed completely at home. ‘This is my sanctuary when things get too much at the food bank. The vicar’s very good about letting us use it. We hear such heartbreaking stories and sometimes we need a place of escape.’
Joe shook his head.
‘What is this about, Sergeant?’
‘One of your former pupils died at the weekend. Rick Kelsall.’
‘Yes. I saw the news. I remember him, of course. Not just because he went on to become something of a celebrity. He stood out even then. We all knew he was destined for something special.’ She paused. ‘It wasn’t only that he was academically gifted. He had a confidence, an ambition that set him apart from the other students.’
‘Is that why you remember him so well? You must have taught thousands of pupils over your career.’
‘One of the reasons. But I was in my first year as a qualified teacher. Very young. Very idealistic. I saw teaching as a vocation. I remember most of that cohort. The ones who came later have become rather a blur.’ She paused and stared at him with the startling blue eyes. ‘Why are you speaking to me after all this time, though? I haven’t seen Rick for years.’
Joe didn’t answer directly. ‘You were never invited to one of their reunions?’
She paused, playing for time, he thought. Something about this conversation was making her uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’
‘Rick Kelsall and a group of other students became close friends at a weekend you organized called Only Connect. Now, they come together every five years in the Pilgrims’ House on Holy Island. You must remember it, because it was where the first weekend took place. That happened in your first year as a teacher too.’ Joe waited for a moment, but she didn’t respond. ‘It seemed to have made a huge mark on them at the time. One of the parents described the kids as coming back different, lit-up, almost evangelical.’
‘They were a very sensitive group. It was a privilege to be there with them. Actually, it was probably the highlight of my teaching career. I never managed to achieve the same response from any other group of students.’
‘Yet you didn’t go to their first reunion? I’d have thought they would have invited you to join them. As you were so influential.’
‘They did invite me to the first reunion,’ Judith said.
‘But you didn’t go?’
She shook her head and seemed to be choosing her words carefully. ‘I was a bit naive when I first started teaching. I wasn’t much older than the sixth-formers and I was in a strange town, a long way from home. Perhaps I didn’t keep sufficiently detached from them. That was probably why I found the weekend so moving, why it was such a success. I was a part of it, as much participant as leader.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘It changed me as much as it changed the kids. Something very special happened in those quiet evenings in the chapel.’ Another pause. ‘It was the start of a journey into faith. When we got home, I started to come here, to St Paul’s. I met Martin, my husband, here.’
‘You’re married?’
‘I’m widowed. My husband worked as an intensive care nurse throughout his career. The week after he retired, he was killed in a road traffic accident.’ She looked up at Joe. ‘A truck swerved across the carriageway and into his car. The driver was on his phone and lost concentration.’
There was a moment of silence. Joe couldn’t think of anything at all to say. It seemed such a tragedy, such a waste. He couldn’t understand how the woman could remain so positive. He was still struggling to find an appropriate response, when Judith continued talking, explaining her relationship with her pupils.
‘By the time the first reunion came around, five years after the Only Connect weekend, I was a bit more savvy, and I’d developed more appropriate friendships. By that time, I was going out with Martin. I was flattered to be asked, of course, but I knew it would be a mistake to go.’
‘Even though by then you were no longer in a position of responsibility where they were concerned?’ Joe wasn’t sure he bought this explanation. ‘I can see you’d want to keep your distance when you were teaching them, but not when they were adults.’
‘As I said, by then I’d moved on. The last thing I wanted was to spend a weekend with a bunch of young people in an uncomfortable house on the island.’
‘When was the last time you met Rick Kelsall?’
‘Oh gosh, years ago. He was on the other side of Kimmerston Front Street and I went up to him and introduced myself. I was a bit starstruck I suppose – not my style at all – but he was at the height of his fame at that point. He had his wife with him. Charlotte. I taught her too.’
‘Did they remember you?’
‘They did! It was all rather wonderful. Rick said I’d given him a love of the written word. We chatted for a bit and then they went on their way.’
‘They didn’t talk about Only Connect? It was so important to them they’ve been meeting every five years ever since.’
Judith shook her head. ‘I don’t really think it was so important, you know. The Only Connect weekend seemed to have taken on a kind of mythical status within the school, but that group would have become close friends anyway. They were into the same things. Music. Drama. They all took part in the school play that I produced.’ She seemed to think carefully before speaking. ‘I think it was the island that made it so special, the evenings in the chapel, the sense of history and spirituality. Did you know that one member of the group later became ordained?’
‘Philip? He was there this weekend when Rick Kelsall died.’
‘Yes, Philip. I have kept in touch with him. He’s spending this week in my holiday cottage on Holy Island and he’s invited me to go and see him. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘You own a property on the island?’
She nodded. ‘My husband and I bought it years ago. It was our escape from work.’
‘Did you spend the whole of your career in Kimmerston Grammar?’ Charlie asked. ‘You never wanted a change?’
‘Well, it became a comp soon after of course, but yes. Martin was a local man. We settled down and had children. Any ambition I once had seemed less important than the family. I suppose I got complacent. I was happy enough as a classroom teacher and I never wanted to go into management. Our sons have grown up and moved away.’ She paused. ‘It was dreadful when Martin died. Such a shock and we had so many plans, so many adventures left to experience. I struggled at first, but I’ve got good friends, and the church. I’ve thrown all my energy into the work here.’ She gave a little smile. ‘When I meet the folk who use the food bank, I realize I’m so much better off than many people of my age.’
Charlie seemed satisfied by the response. Joe wasn’t convinced. He didn’t think the woman was lying, but there was something missing, something she wasn’t telling them.
‘Have you kept in touch with any of the others? Any of Rick’s friends, I mean, besides Philip Robson.’
‘Not really. I see Annie Laidler in Bread and Olives when I go in. I do see more of Charlotte. I treat myself to a weekly class in her new studio. I’ve always enjoyed yoga and after Martin died, I found her meditation sessions very helpful. She’s rather a good instructor. Much more empathetic than you might expect.’ She paused to emphasize her confusion. ‘But really, Sergeant, I don’t understand this fixation with the past.’
‘Rick Kelsall was murdered,’ Joe said. ‘Somebody put a cushion over his head and held it there until he could no longer breathe.’ He looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction. ‘And he died at the Pilgrims’ House, at one of the reunions when he was with his old school friends. They all have to be considered potential suspects. That’s why we’re fixated with the past.’
There was another silence. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t realized. Of course, then I can understand the focus on the old friendships.’
‘I know it’s a long shot,’ Joe went on, ‘but nothing happened all those years ago, which might have come back to haunt them?’
Judith held his gaze for a moment, before shaking her head.
‘After fifty years? Really, Sergeant, I don’t think that’s very likely, do you? They were kids, interesting, lively kids. I didn’t meet anyone there who would possibly have gone on to become a killer.’
Back at the station, Holly was at her desk, speaking on the phone, intense, focused as only she could be. She ended the call and looked up at Joe and Charlie as they walked past.
‘I’ve just arranged calls to someone at the TV production company where Rick worked and with his agent. They won’t be free until this afternoon.’
‘Giving them time to get their story straight.’ Charlie could be a cynical bastard, Joe thought, but this time he was probably right.
‘Probably.’ Holly gave a quick grin. ‘But they wanted to foist me off with a secretary and someone from HR, and at least I’ve persuaded them to speak to me in person.’ A pause. Joe sensed an elation, a moment of triumph. ‘But that’s not the most important call I made today. I’ve finally tracked down the complainant in the Rick Kelsall sexual assault case. I told the boss earlier. It was Katherine Willmore’s daughter Eliza.’
‘Well,’ Charlie said. ‘The PCC didn’t pass on that gem of information when she was talking to our Vera yesterday. I’m not sure how she thought she’d be able to keep it secret.’
‘Willmore’s got powerful friends,’ Holly said. ‘She worked in London before she moved here. She’ll have contacts in the police and the press. And she knows the law well enough to persuade them of the need to keep the victim’s identity secret.’ She tipped her head towards the ceiling. ‘The boss is talking to Watkins now.’
‘How did you get the info?’
‘I was at school with a journo on one of the tabloids.’
‘Is that who you were talking to when we came in?’
Holly shook her head. ‘No, that was Rick’s mobile provider. They’ll send through the full list of transactions but I wanted to know if there’d been any significant calls in the days before his death.’
‘And?’
‘Apart from a couple of texts to his kids, there were only two numbers, both phone calls, both incoming. One was the call he took when he was at Charlotte’s on the Friday morning before heading to the island. The other he received late on the evening of his death. That’s probably the most important because it might give us a more precise time of death. I’m trying to track it down. I’ll let you know as soon as I get it.’
Joe nodded. This was all valuable information and would probably be more use to them than a foray into the past, but he was still thinking of Judith, still trying to reconcile the seventy-year-old woman in the food bank with the idealistic young teacher who’d changed the way a group of teenagers had looked at the world. He thought of the faded photograph, the group of kids squinting into the sun, and the teacher in the centre, who’d looked no older than the rest of them.