Juliet stood facing the wall of evidence, blazer discarded on her desk. ‘What did you make of that?’
‘I’m not sure Jordan had anything to do with the fire.’ I started with the easiest conclusion. ‘The firefighter doesn’t think a cigarette butt started it.’
‘I agree.’ Juliet didn’t look away from the wall.
‘Other things he said gave me pause.’ I flicked through my notes. ‘Jordan’s clearly more comfortable moving around the estate than we thought, and he has an affinity for dogs.’
Juliet glanced over her shoulder. ‘I’m glad you clocked that too.’
‘Melanie’s murderer knew their way around the forest and wasn’t attacked by a violent dog. Jordan fits at least that part of the picture.’
Juliet flicked through various bits of evidence on the wall, her loose blouse flowing around her arms. My earlier guilt returned.
‘Juliet? I’m sorry for calling you back.’
She let go of the notes from our first interview with Jordan. ‘It’s fine. Keith was being difficult. I didn’t mind leaving.’
This was the closest Juliet had ever come to revealing something about her home life, and I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. Word around the station was that Juliet’s husband was a nice guy and that their strange living arrangement was the result of Juliet’s dedication to her work. There was no hint of anything else.
She snatched up her bag and blazer. ‘We need that fucking forensic report.’
She stormed out. I didn’t know if she was going to harass whoever was working forensics on a Sunday evening or if she was going home, but I’d missed my chance to offer any kind of comfort. It might be better to leave it. Juliet was like a stray cat; if I overwhelmed her, she would run away and never come back.
I took her place in front of the wall of evidence, scanning the pictures and statements. With no word from Benedict Hogan, we couldn’t put Terence in the clear. And Jordan had edged his way into the serious suspect category as well. That made me uneasy. He’d made huge mistakes, but I wasn’t sure shooting his girlfriend was one of them.
If only Karl hadn’t run away. He was a firm suspect as well, but I didn’t want him to be. I could understand his reasoning. He’d carved out a peaceful, history-free space for himself and when it was threatened, he’d fled. It was a defence mechanism, but it had backfired. It made him look more guilty than staying and riding out the storm would have done.
I leant on my desk, staring at Leo and his father’s photos. It would be satisfying to pin this on Dunlow, but I didn’t think it was likely. He still floated above this mess, although half his ancestral home burning down had to have stolen away some of his detachment.
Leo had lied and lied again, but I didn’t think he was a killer. He hadn’t yet told us the whole story of that night, probably because he didn’t want to get in trouble with his father rather than that he’d killed Melanie.
But someone had. Someone chased her into the forest, shot her three times, and left her to be mauled by a dog.
I sighed and gathered up my things. Hanging around here wouldn’t help. Hopefully, Juliet would have some luck with the DNA results. We needed them. If we knew who had sex with Melanie or got any unusual DNA from her body, then we might be able to catch her killer.