10.30am Tuesday 17th December
Jane Campbell had been thinking about the development in the case ever since she’d watched the ten o’clock news the previous evening. It scared her to think that two people had now been targeted.
Wanting to do something positive, she decided that it was now a suitable time for all the bookshop employees to come together and lay flowers at the door of Ashton’s. She knew the general public had been doing so because she’d seen images of the memorial behind reporters who had attended the scene.
She understood as well as anyone that it was difficult for Ashton’s employees to return to the shop knowing what had taken place there, but she felt it was the right thing to do. Jane was under no illusion that it would make any difference to Dennis, but she wanted them all to show solidarity with his family.
In turn she called each of the people who had been working at the shop. Her conversation with most was brief and professional. She wasn’t a woman who believed it was right or proper to show your feelings publicly. And she had not been especially close to Dennis but, nonetheless, his murder was upsetting and disturbing.
After having spoken to the others, Jane dialled Steven Fisher’s number.
‘Hello?’ He sounded as if he’d just woken up.
‘Steven, it’s Jane.’ Her words were clipped. She couldn’t abide laziness. How on earth could he still be asleep at this time in the morning?
‘Jane, hi.’ He yawned.
‘I hope you’re well.’ Her mother had taught her that manners were everything.
‘Yes, can’t complain.’
‘Good, well, I’ve been thinking, and I think it would be a good idea if everyone who worked at Ashton’s arranged for a wreath to be laid at the bookshop, in memory of Dennis. I’ve spoken to everyone else and they are all on board. I wanted to get your approval and donation before I went ahead and ordered it.’
There was a brief silence.
‘Steven?’ She wondered if the line had cut out.
‘Yeah, sorry, just waking up,’ he crackled.
‘I see, well, yes, would you be interested in contributing?’
‘Sure, why not.’
‘Good, that’s excellent. We think that it should be simple. You know, white flowers, greenery, that sort of thing.’
‘It won’t last long in this weather. Maybe something other than flowers might work better.’
Jane did not appreciate anyone interfering with her plans, even if they did have a valid point. ‘I see. What would you suggest?’ She gripped the phone.
‘Dunno. Not really my sort of thing.’
‘Well, if you think flowers are a mistake, then it would be a wise idea if you had an alternative you could suggest.’
‘Do whatever, Jane.’ Steven sighed deeply. ‘It was just a passing comment.’
‘I shall give it some thought,’ Jane said, knowing that she wouldn’t.
‘Okay.’
‘Have you seen the latest reports on the case?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The second murder.’ Jane could feel the excitement creeping into her voice.
‘Oh, you mean that woman?’ There was no thrill in Steven’s voice.
‘Yes. Terrible.’ Jane was disappointed he seemed so uninterested.
‘Sure. Not a nice way to go.’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Seems like the police are going around in circles, though,’ he drawled.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Dunno. Just they don’t seem to be getting very far, do they?’
‘I don’t suppose we are meant to know how the investigation is going. Not the sort of thing they are likely to share.’
‘Guess not.’
‘Did you speak to them?’
‘Yeah I did. Had an interview at the station.’
‘Oh?’ This piqued her interest. ‘They spoke to me at my house.’ There was a touch of smugness in her voice but, in reality, she would have loved to go to the police station. It would have been exciting.
‘Yeah, I think I was last on their list or something and they’ve had their hands full with this woman, I suppose. No time for house calls now they have a double murder to investigate.’
‘Yes indeed. Anyway, I will arrange something…’ That thing being a floral wreath; she hoped he understood her meaning. ‘For the memorial, and then get in touch to arrange a time.’
‘A time for what?’ Steven sat up in bed, perplexed.
‘For us all to go to the bookshop and lay it.’
‘Oh. I thought you just wanted us to give some money towards it.’
‘Well I do, but we should be there to lay it don’t you think?’
‘Suppose. If you think that’s the right thing to do.’
‘I do.’
‘I’ll be in touch when everything is in place.’
‘Right.’ Steven stifled a groan.
‘Have a good day.’ Jane hung up and immediately dialled the number of a local florist and ordered a large wreath, despite the fact the weather report had warned of more snow.
In Balsham, Francesca was hoping to make plans for Christmas. She hadn’t broached the subject with Veronica but with it only being eight days away she was beginning to worry.
Francesca had no intention of letting her sister spend Christmas day on her own, but she also wanted to be back with her husband. Her daughter was meant to be visiting from New Zealand and her flight was due on December the twenty-second.
She and her daughter, Natalie, were complete opposites. Natalie was a free spirit who had flown the nest at her earliest opportunity. She was an artist who had fallen in love with a Kiwi and had moved back to his home country to build a life with him. There was no animosity between mother and daughter, but they would never really understand one another.
Francesca was sad that her only child lived on the other side of the world and that she had little idea about what her life in New Zealand was like. But she did like Leo and could sleep easy knowing that he was taking good care of her daughter.
Natalie had not been back to Britain for nearly two years and this was the first time she would see her mother since her last visit. Francesca had been looking forward to her arrival ever since the trip had been planned in June. But now the day was growing ever closer Francesca was worried her time spent with her daughter was in danger of being cut short.
Veronica was in the sitting room looking blankly at the television screen, on which a breakfast morning show was discussing if the religious meaning of Christmas was still relevant. Francesca, as a Christian, was offended by this. She took it upon herself to switch the television off and start a conversation about what the next few weeks held in store for her sister.
‘Here you are.’ Francesca put a cup of tea down on the table next to where her sister was sitting. ‘I put two sugars in. You need to keep your energy up. I noticed you didn’t have any breakfast this morning again.’ Veronica stared at the mug but didn’t pick it up. ‘Anyway,’ Francesca continued, ‘I know this is difficult, but I think we need to have a talk about next week.’
‘Next week?’ Veronica was distant.
‘Yes, it’s Christmas.’
‘Not for me it isn’t.’ She hung her head. ‘Dennis always used to buy the tree. There won’t be one this year.’ She looked at the space in the living room where a tree should have been standing proudly with twinkling lights.
‘I know it is the last thing you want to think about but I need to know what I’m doing.’ Francesca sat on the sofa next to her sister and rested her hand on her knee. Veronica was still in her dressing gown. ‘Natalie is coming over, remember I told you? She lands on the twenty-second and I really don’t want to miss spending as much time with her as possible.’
‘Natalie? Oh yes.’ Veronica had been a good aunt to Natalie when she was young, but as soon as she grew up and left the country the relationship had ended. It wasn’t that Veronica was a mean woman, she was just forgetful. Natalie was far away and for Veronica out of sight was out of mind.
‘Well, I want to know where you would like to be. I think it would be wise if you came back to Yoxter for a while. What do you think?’ Since offending Veronica with her suspicions about Andrew, Francesca had consciously decided to be softer with her sister. ‘We could meet Natalie at Heathrow on the twenty-second and travel back with her to Somerset. I think it will do you good to get away from this place for a while.’
‘You want me to leave this house?’ Veronica looked appalled.
‘Just for a little while. Come back home with me. We’ll take good care of you. I’ve spoken to Doug and he thinks it is a good idea.’
‘Doug wants me to come and stay?’
‘Of course. You’re his family too.’ Francesca was lying about Doug. She hadn’t run the idea past her husband at all, but she knew she didn’t need to. She wore the trousers; Doug always allowed his wife to make the decisions and fell into line with them.
‘But you want to spend time with Natalie. I’d just be in the way.’
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ she lied. ‘I’m not going to leave you here alone.’
‘But I won’t be any fun. I can’t pretend to be jolly. I don’t want to eat turkey or open presents. It’s just not right. Not without my Dennis. And I’m worried sick about Andrew. How can you expect me to celebrate?’ A large tear streamed down Veronica’s plump and pale face.
‘No one expects you to want to celebrate. If you want, you don’t even have to join us for Christmas lunch, but I won’t leave you here alone and I can’t stay. I just can’t. I’ve not seen Natalie for two years.’ Francesca felt flustered by the stress of it all.
‘Okay,’ she finally agreed, seeing the despair on her sister’s face. ‘I’ll come with you. You’re right. There is no point staying here on my own. It won’t do me any good.’
‘That’s that then.’ Francesca clapped her hands together with relief and stood up. ‘Natalie can sleep on the sofa and you can have her room. I’ll tell Doug to have everything ready. He can meet us at Heathrow and drive us all back. Don’t you worry about a thing.’ She picked up the now cold and untouched cup of tea and took it into the kitchen, leaving Veronica alone. She felt relieved that they had cleared up one matter but knew there was another pressing subject she still needed to address.
Before too long, she would have to speak to her sister about Dennis’s funeral but that could wait for another day. They all needed to take things one step at a time and, as Francesca filled the sink with hot water and washing up liquid, she looked out of the window over the garden. Snow was beginning to fall again.
Elly Hale sat at her desk going through the reports on the phone calls that the Crimestoppers helpline and the station had received since the press conference. They had received a lot of bogus calls from people who were either lonely, mad or bored. But when she came across a statement from a group of students who had been out partying late, she felt a glimmer of hope.
It seemed a young woman had seen a person hanging around outside the back of Ashton’s Bookshop on the night of Dennis Wade’s murder. The woman claimed that, at first, she thought the person might be homeless, but when she spotted the figure peering in through a window she realised they were watching the premises. At the time, she said, she hadn’t given it much thought as a blizzard was blowing and she and her friends were late for a party at one of the halls of residence. When the witness had been asked what time this took place she said she thought it was around eight o’clock in the evening. She had described the figure as tall and wearing a dark hooded coat or jacket. The description was strikingly similar to the image the police had found on CCTV. Elly scribbled down the contact details of the witness and returned to trawling through the rest of the recorded calls.
Unlike the city centre of Cambridge, Ickleton had practically no CCTV so even if the killer had been scoping out New Barn there would be no evidence.
When Elly knocked on Barrett’s door to give him an update a thought occurred to her.
‘Sir?’ She let herself in, conscious that he hadn’t given any verbal permission.
‘Yes?’ Barrett was hunched over his computer.
‘We have an eye-witness report claiming they saw someone acting suspiciously outside Ashton’s Bookshop on the night of Mr Wade’s murder. She hadn’t brought over the transcript of the recorded conversation for her superior to look at. ‘I’ve made a note of the witness’s telephone number and home address.’
‘Good.’ He slid the paperwork back to her and continued tapping on his keyboard expecting her to leave. But when she didn’t, he finally looked up. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve been thinking.’ Elly bit her lip for a moment. ‘It might be a good idea to look back over CCTV footage further back than the night of the murder. If, as we believe, the killer has been following his victims for some time, in order to familiarise themselves with their routines, then it is possible that there may be more footage of our suspect. Perhaps even footage that might give us a better look at our perpetrator.’ Elly held her breath waiting to hear what her boss thought about her suggestion.
‘Excellent idea. Get onto the CCTV control room and ask them to go through footage over the last three months.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Elly was extremely pleased that her idea had been welcomed.
‘If they need more manpower to trawl through the footage, then you can go over there, and take Singh with you.’
Suddenly Elly wasn’t so thrilled.
‘Good work, Hale.’ Barrett stopped typing for a moment. ‘Anything useful on the Matlock murder?’
‘Not yet. The weather hasn’t helped. Most people are tucked up in their homes, not walking around the streets. It’s going to be difficult to find a witness who saw anything in Ickleton.’
‘Difficult yes.’ Barrett stopped and put his long bony finger in the air. ‘But not impossible. Keep digging.’
‘Shall I stay here and continue doing that or do you want me to go with Singh down to the control room?’ Behind her back Elly crossed her fingers.
‘Do I have to make every decision myself? Show some initiative.’ Barrett waved her away and Elly returned to the incident room knowing full well she had no intention of spending the next few days cooped up in the dingy control room. Singh, unbeknownst to him, had drawn the short straw.
Palmer was sitting at his desk, with a serious expression carved onto his face. Elly spotted him from the other side of the room and decided to share the development with him before delivering the bad news to Singh.
‘What’s up?’ She sat on the edge of his desk, her pencil skirt tight on her thighs as she crossed her legs.
Palmer straightened in his seat, doing his best to ignore her curves. ‘I’ve just got off the phone to the French police. It seems Andrew Wade is still nowhere to be seen. An APB has been sent out to all the hospitals and businesses in the local area, where he was last seen, but no one has reported any sightings.’
‘You think he’s guilty?’ Elly cocked her head, letting her poker-straight espresso-coloured hair fall down over one of her shoulders.
‘No, I don’t. But I think the sooner we bring him in the sooner we can dismiss him from this enquiry.’
‘He does have a motive,’ Elly said thoughtfully.
‘For Dennis Wade, yes, but Matlock? I don’t think so.’ Palmer shook his head to emphasise the point while trying to dismiss the idea that Elly might be deliberately flirting with him.
‘Still nothing to link the victims?’ She tucked her hair behind her ear.
‘No,’ Palmer grunted. ‘Not a sodding thing.’