Eve could smell Steve Wilby’s aftershave from ten feet away and she kept her distance as he led her into his small glass box of an office at the back of the Mercedes showroom. He had been easy to talk to on the telephone and was now all smiles, keen to demonstrate his desire to help. It was his lunch hour, he had been at pains to let her know, as though he were making a big effort to be helpful, and he had got them each a cup of nice-smelling coffee from an expensive-looking machine in the showroom.
‘Tell me about Jane McNeil,’ Eve asked, as he pulled up a chair for her. ‘You went out with her after Sean Farrell, is that right?’
Wilby nodded, sitting down behind his desk. ‘Just a few times. That’s all.’ He moved a small pile of papers to one side so that the space in front of him was clear and folded his hands on the desk expectantly.
Working back, Eve assumed he must be in his early forties, although he didn’t look it. Smooth, was how she would describe him, with short, well-cut, dark-brown hair, a pleasant, regular-featured face and nice, hazel eyes. His crisp white shirt had the company logo on the chest pocket, which he wore with a plain, navy-blue tie and dark trousers. Like Farrell, he was short, with broad shoulders and a muscular build, but there the resemblance ended. He had also worn a lot better and was generally in much better physical shape, but of course he hadn’t spent ten years in jail. Eve noticed a thick silver wedding band on his finger and a happy-looking picture of a wife and two children on his desk. It was a future – whether or not Jane had wanted it – that had been denied her.
‘How did you two meet?’ she asked, sipping her coffee, which was nice and hot, with not too much milk.
‘One of the women from the racing yard where she worked introduced us. I was at the local Honda dealer in those days and I sold her a car. We got chatting. She found out I was single and we ended up going out for a drink. There was a group of us, some blokes I worked with, and this woman. She brought Jane along, plus another girl from their office. I got talking to Jane and I ended up asking her out. The woman who introduced us was really narked that I fancied Jane, but that’s life. It’s funny, even though we only went out a few times, I still remember her well.’
‘Probably because of all the stuff in the papers,’ Eve prompted.
‘Yeah, I guess. The pictures didn’t do her justice. She had nice colouring and she was a pretty little thing, particularly when she took off her specs, although a bit on the skinny side for my taste. She had nice eyes too, come to think of it. One was blue, the other brown, like that actress … you know …’ He looked up at the ceiling, then shook his head. ‘It’ll come to me in a minute. Jane was a little self-conscious about it, but I thought it was kind of sexy and—’
‘The woman who introduced you, what was her name?’ Eve interrupted, before he got too carried away down memory lane.
‘I dunno, but I can tell you where to find her. She was behind the till at the Blue Cross in Marlborough a couple of Saturdays ago.’
‘You mean the charity shop?’
‘Yes. It’s in the High Street. There was a toy in the window my little boy wanted, so we went in. Took me a minute or so to place her, but I never forget a face and she don’t look that much different.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘Scrawny, long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, with a white streak at the front. A bit New Age, if you get my drift. She’s got a tattoo of a bird, or something, on the back of her hand. I noticed it when she took my money. She’s the one who tipped the cops off about me when Jane was killed, the sour old cow. Lucky for me I had a cast-iron alibi.’
He was observant, and precise, she noted, and she liked his direct manner. He would make a good witness in court. Hopefully his memories of Jane would be equally sharp. ‘So what happened with you and Jane?’
He shrugged. ‘As I said, we went out a few times together. I’d just finished with someone, and so had she, so we were both treading a bit careful, like.’
‘The person she’d just finished with, was this Sean Farrell?’
‘I think so. She never mentioned anybody else.’
‘What did you do with her?’
‘I took her out for a drink, then for a meal, and we went to the flics after work one night.’
‘You slept with her?’
He met her gaze. ‘Never got the chance. She started making excuses. Then she didn’t return my calls. Didn’t take me long to get the message.’
‘Were you surprised?’
He shrugged. ‘Yeah. It was all a bit sudden. I mean, I thought things were going real good.’
He spoke as though being rejected wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to him often. When she had interviewed Sean Farrell in jail, he had come across as a bit cocky too, although in a more belligerent sort of way. There was also the weak physical resemblance. Everyone had a type, to a greater or lesser degree. For some it was purely a superficial thing, about a body shape or hair or eye colour. For others it went deeper and was about personality and finding somebody who would fit in a particular way. The fact that Jane seemed to be attracted to someone who was confident and full of himself, possibly reflected a lack of confidence on her part and the need for someone else to be in control. She wondered what had put Jane off Steve Wilby so quickly. As far as she could see, he was better looking and had more obvious charm than Farrell.
‘So, you wouldn’t describe her as easy?’ she asked.
‘Far from it,’ he said emphatically. ‘I barely got to second base. And that was after three dates.’
What he said tallied with Farrell’s own account of his relationship with Jane. It also seemed to rule out the theory of Jane’s having had casual sex with somebody she barely knew, who had then killed her.
‘But you were fine about it?’
‘Sure. My heart wasn’t broken, if that’s what you’re thinking. C’est la vie.’ He drank some coffee, then put the cup noisily down in the saucer and leaned back in his chair. ‘The police made a right song and dance about it, saying I was angry and wanted revenge, and all that, but it was a load of bollocks. I’ve been around the block a few times. Sometimes you get on with a girl and sometimes you don’t. End of. Just move on. No big deal. There’s always more fish in the sea.’
He spoke matter-of-factly, without any trace of rancour. The police had checked his alibi and there was no reason for him not to tell the truth after so much time. ‘Did Jane talk about what was going on in her life, at all?’
He shrugged. ‘This and that. She seemed pretty lonely, far as I could tell. She hadn’t been around here that long and I don’t think she knew many people. She didn’t like the girls she was sharing with, that much I remember. Maybe she was a bit of a prude, but she said they were a right pair.’
‘What else did she talk about?’
‘The yard where she worked, mostly, and all the people there, and the clients. She was full of it, like it was the best thing since sliced bread, meeting rich and famous people. To be honest, she talked about nothing else. I’m not into the whole racing lark, so it went right over my head. I also thought she was way too impressed by it all. To be honest, I found it a bit of a turn-off.’
She remembered Farrell’s description of Jane, how she gave herself airs and graces and how he had called her Miss La-di-da. Jane had had dreams of a career in TV, but she sounded naïve and impressionable, possibly easy for the wrong sort of person to lead astray.
‘Tell me about Sean Farrell. I understand he made a scene one evening when you were out with Jane.’
He laughed. ‘He sure did, the stupid git. I’d arranged to meet her in this wine bar in Marlborough, but she was late and I was already there, waiting. She was all in a fluster, when she came in, something to do with work, she said. Anyway, I got up to buy her a drink and while I was at the bar, I remember looking around and seeing this bloke standing over her, talking to her, waving his arms about, like he’s conducting the traffic, or something. I thought he was a friend of hers come over to say hello, but when I get back with her drink, they’re having a right old set-to.’
‘You think he followed her there?’
‘No doubt about it. The bar’s down a side street, so he couldn’t have just been passing and seen us through the window, like he told the police.’
‘Do you remember anything that was said?’
‘It was a long time ago. But the gist of it was, she told him she was a free woman and could see who the hell she liked. I had to give it to her, she didn’t mince her words. He went apeshit after that. You’d think he was her husband, the way he was carrying on, effing and blinding, but she stood up to him. When she told me afterwards they’d only gone out together for a few months, I was totally gobsmacked. I remember thinking the man had a real problem. Anyway, I told him to shove off, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I thought at one point he was going to hit me. I went and found the manager, but before either of us had a chance to do anything, she turned on him and was ordering him out of the bar. She knew how to handle herself, I’d give her that much. She told him exactly what she thought of him. Said some right strong stuff about what a loser he was. Then she said if he didn’t piss off and leave her alone, she’d call the police.’
‘She wasn’t scared of him, then?’
‘Not one bit. She treated him like he was a piece of dog shit on her shoe.’
‘So she clearly didn’t see him as a threat?’
He shook his head. ‘No way, poor girl.’
Again, the image Wilby painted of Jane tallied with what Farrell had told her. Although still a shadowy figure, Jane came across as someone who knew her own mind, who certainly wasn’t afraid to stand up to Farrell. Had she misjudged him?
‘Remind me, when did the scene in the bar take place?’
‘At least a couple of months before she was killed, maybe a bit longer.’
She thought back to the timeline of Jane’s six months in Marlborough. She had met Farrell quite soon after arriving and gone out with him for nearly three months. She must have dumped him not long before meeting Wilby. In Farrell’s defence, the wound was still very fresh and raw when he saw Jane in the bar with Wilby. The fact that he had followed Jane there, just proved he was jealous. Wilby’s account tied in with other accounts of Farrell’s jealousy and it was good to hear it at first hand. But although jealousy was a strong motive for murder, the gap between the incident and Jane’s killing was a couple of months at least. As far as she knew, there were no other reports of Farrell’s stalking Jane during this time. What had he been doing with himself? Maybe after what had happened in the bar and the things Jane had said to him, he had finally decided to leave her alone and get on with his life. Or was he still brooding over it all that time, the pressure mounting? If so, it seemed odd that there were no other recorded incidents until the one in the gym, the morning of the day Jane had disappeared, and the accounts of what had happened there were not consistent.
She met Wilby’s gaze. ‘Did you ever get the impression when you were with her that she might have been seeing someone else as well as you?’
He was silent for a moment, then he clicked his knuckles loudly one by one. ‘I dunno. She was nice-looking, but she wasn’t a knockout, or anything. The quiet ones can sometimes surprise you, but if she had someone else on the go at the same time she was seeing me, she kept it well to herself.’
Again, her impression was that he was telling the truth. Why would he lie, or hold something back, ten years on? He had nothing to gain. But instinct was telling her there had to have been someone else in Jane’s life. Why else would a lonely, shy girl like Jane suddenly ditch Wilby? He was certainly several notches up on Farrell. Even if Wilby wasn’t Mr Perfect, surely quiet, lonely Jane would have held onto him for bit longer if there was nobody else around?
‘Was that the last time you saw her?’
‘It was the last time we went out together. But I saw her once after that, in London.’
‘When was this?’ There had been no mention of it in the file Peters had sent over to her.
‘Just a few weeks before she died. It was late morning. She was standing on a street corner, talking to a man. I thought he was her dad.’
‘Can you describe him?’
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I gave the police a description at the time, but it’s pretty basic. All I remember is he was an old boy, with thick white hair.’
‘Was he short or tall? Fat or thin?’
‘Nothing that stood out. He was in a suit, with a stupid bowtie. He looked like a right dick.’
‘You assumed he was her father because of the way he was dressed, or was it the age difference, or their body language?’
He frowned. ‘I dunno. It was just my impression. Nobody young wears a bowtie, do they? He looked like a businessman. With money.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘The suit was well-cut. Expensive. I used to work in a posh showroom in London in my twenties. I know what I’m talking about. Who else would he be, if he wasn’t her dad?’
‘Her father was a country vet,’ she prodded.
He shrugged. ‘Maybe he was an uncle, or a godfather, or something. They were just chatting. Not close together, or nothing. She was smiling at him, though. Like she was pleased with something. It was all over in a flash. Maybe I missed something.’
‘You’re sure it was her?’
‘A hundred per cent.’
‘Did she often go up to London?’
‘I remember her saying something about it one evening. Said she was meeting up with a friend for lunch, I think. I just assumed it was a woman.’
Perhaps successful vets from Lincoln wore expensive suits when they went to London. Or maybe Jane had been seeing a much older man. Was the cash that Farrell had mentioned related in some way? If so, was Jane moonlighting as an escort on her days off?
‘What was Jane wearing?’
‘Nothing special. I mean, she just looked like Jane, with her specs and ordinary clothes.’ He smiled. ‘She didn’t look like a hooker, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, pleased that there wasn’t much that escaped him. It added weight to everything else he had said. ‘OK. Just to make sure, there was nothing at all intimate about the way they were together?’
‘No. I’m sure I’d have noticed. I told you, I thought the man was her dad. I’m sorry. That’s as much as I can tell you.’
‘Understood.’ The last thing she wanted was to push him too hard and make him say something for the sake of it. She drained the remains of her coffee, wishing she had time for another, and stood up. ‘One last thing. Where was this?’
‘The corner of Berkeley Square, right outside the Porsche garage. I always slow down and look in the window when I’m passing, which is how I spotted her.’
He got to his feet and walked her to the door. ‘You know, I feel real bad about what happened to her,’ he said, thoughtfully, holding it open. ‘Not that I could’ve done nothing to stop it. But I never dreamt the bloke I saw in the bar with her would kill her. Now you’re saying he’s got an appeal going, or something?’
‘That’s right. He’s always maintained he’s innocent.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Well, he looked like a right nutter to me.’ He turned to face her. ‘Do you think he’s innocent?’
She sighed. He had been straight with her and she didn’t want to lie. ‘To be honest, I really don’t know. That’s what I’m here to find out.’