Jayne was still in her car near to the garden centre when Dan called her.
‘How is it going?’
She looked at the half-full car park. ‘He’s gone for a sail in a bloody narrowboat.’
‘A pleasure cruise?’
‘Looks like he owns one. He keeps it in a marina by a garden centre.’
‘Leave him sailing, then. Can you speak to Rosie’s mother instead? She’s called Karen.’ He reeled off an address. ‘Just keep quiet about where you’re from. She blames Pat, and me indirectly, I suppose, for Sean getting out.’
‘What am I trying to find out?’
‘Follow your instincts. She won’t know where the weapon is hidden, or else she’d have spoken out, but she knows Sean Martin. What he does, where he goes.’
‘Will do. And what about you?’
‘I’ll go back to my trial preparation. We’ll talk later.’ And he rang off.
It wasn’t a long journey to Karen Smith’s home, a small detached house at the end of a cul-de-sac on the edge of Highford. It was unassuming, shadowed by trees and hemmed in by the buildings and cars around it, almost as if the place had been chosen as a hideaway.
Jayne was nervous; she knew there was grief here and she was about to trample all over it. Sean appeared to have done quite well out of killing Rosie, whereas all Karen Smith had left was a hole in her life.
The door opened before she reached it. A woman stood in the doorway, her hair cut into a grey bob, her arms folded.
‘Karen Smith?’
‘Are you the press? I know Sean has got a book out, but if you’re here about him, and a glory piece, I’m not interested.’
‘No, it’s not that. I’m a private investigator, working for a client who’s trying to prove that Sean murdered your daughter.’
She put her head back in surprise. ‘That’s quite an opening. Who’s the client?’
‘I can’t tell you, I’m sorry. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’
Jayne felt bad about the slight bend in the truth, but Karen thought for a moment before stepping aside. ‘You’d better come in.’
Jayne went along a hallway lined by wooden flooring and into a living room with sagging sofas, candle jars dotted around the room, their sides blackened and the walls bearing dark streaks from their smoke. Framed photos adorned the walls, all showing a girl growing up, from baby to teenager. They were starting to fade, which made them more poignant somehow, a future snatched away.
As they sat down, Karen said, ‘Why should I trust you? I’m pretty washed out of trust, you see. I trusted Sean and he took away the most precious thing I had. His whole life was a sham: his time with me; how he was with Rosie. One big lie.’
‘Why was it a lie?’
‘He was playing at happy families, except none of it was true. Have you seen who he’s with now? You must have read the press stuff, all about lovely Trudy, the childhood sweetheart who never lost faith in him. Except that she never stopped being there, throughout our marriage. You remember what Princess Diana said about her marriage, that there was always a third person there? That’s how it was with us.’
‘He was seeing Trudy when you were married?’
‘He didn’t have to be running around with Trudy for her to be there, because she was always in here.’ She slapped her chest with her hand. ‘The love he couldn’t walk away from.’ She screwed up her face. ‘Don’t make me laugh. She was never there during his trials, but she popped up as soon as he was freed, thinking there was money to be made. Who cares about me though?’
‘What makes you think he still loved her?’
‘Come on, I know you’re young, but you know how it is with old sweethearts. When you talk about them with your current partner, you slate them, because you want your new man to think that there’s nothing to worry about. And you’re supposed to be able to make little digs about your partner’s ex, because that’s just how it is.’ She snorted a laugh. ‘I couldn’t do that with Trudy. God, no. Not ever. If I ever said anything against her, he’d defend her, couldn’t stop himself. It always felt like he really wanted to be with her but couldn’t, for whatever reason. That he was somehow stuck with me.’
‘Were they having an affair?’
‘I don’t know. Why does it matter now?’
‘Because the whole point of the case was that he murdered Rosie to cover something up. What do you think it was?’
‘All I know is that I’m the one who bears the guilt that I didn’t watch him enough. I should have realised what was going on. I mean, why did he pick me? Look at me compared to Trudy. You don’t have to be polite. I’m frumpy, plump and quiet, a single mother. Was that the reason? That it was never about me but about Rosie? I’ve lost more hours of sleep than I can count going over it all in my head. Were there nights when he wasn’t in my bed because he’d crept into her bedroom? Do you know how it feels to think that and then realise that I could have stopped it, but I was blinded by love?’
‘And you had no suspicions?’
‘I’d have stopped him if I had. He deceived me. I shouldn’t say this to you, because you’ve got so much of your life ahead, but men are just pigs. That’s how it feels. My first husband walked out on me not long after Rosie was born, preferred other beds to mine. Then Sean came along, and look what he did.’
Jayne winced. ‘I wish I could offer some comfort, but my past isn’t so great.’
‘My mum used to say, “Don’t hang around waiting for a good one, because there aren’t enough of them to go round.” She was wrong. Don’t grab the first one that comes along. Look how it ended for me.’
‘Why do you think he killed Rosie?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you think he did? Because that’s why you’re here. You said you’re trying to prove that he did it, so what’s your theory?’
‘I haven’t got one. I’m just digging around for now.’
‘But why?’
Jayne paused as she worked out what to say. ‘I’m working for a defence firm, and we think there might be a link with our case and Rosie’s murder.’
‘What kind of link?’
Jayne knew the answer was that she had no idea, but she wasn’t prepared to admit that to the person most affected by Sean’s case. ‘I’d love to tell you but there’s the client confidentiality thing.’
‘Promise me one thing though: that you’re not working for him. For Sean.’
‘I can promise you that much.’
Karen sat back. ‘That will have to do, then. I know nothing can bring Rosie back, but I’ll help no one who wants to help him. He killed her. I knew it as soon as the police accused him, that it all made sense, just from how he was. I’ve never doubted that.’
‘What stands out the most?’
‘His coldness,’ she said, nodding. ‘He’s dead inside.’
‘Was someone called Lizzie Barnsley one of Rosie’s friends? Perhaps your daughter might have known her from school? She’d have been about twelve when Rosie died, so they wouldn’t have been in the same class, but –’
‘It doesn’t sound familiar, but I can check her stuff. Hang on.’
Karen left the room and returned shortly afterwards, holding a large black photograph album, the sort that you add pages to, a relic from the days before digital cameras.
She put it down on the table at the other end of the room. As Jayne walked over, Karen turned the first page.
‘That’s Rosie as a baby,’ and there was a picture of Karen looking much fresher and younger, beaming from a hospital bed.
Karen clenched her jaw and turned instead to the pages at the back. ‘I’m sorry, you haven’t come here for my nostalgia.’
Jayne reached out to put her hand on Karen’s wrist. ‘I’d love to spend a day with you, I owe you that much at least, but I’m pushed for time today.’
Karen started flicking back through the pages, each shiny with a cellophane cover. ‘These are what I saved after she died. Not the cuttings about her murder but the tributes from her friends.’
The pages were filled with small notes and clippings, some photographs. Karen leaned closer, trying to read what was on the pages. ‘I can’t see the name Lizzie anywhere and I don’t remember hearing it. I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologise, and I’m sorry for taking up your time.’
‘It’s never a waste of time to think about Rosie. But who is this Lizzie?’
Jayne’s mind raced, not wanting to reveal her link to Molloys. ‘Oh, just a name that was mentioned in relation to Sean. One more thing: was there ever anywhere special that Sean used to like to go?’
‘He spent a lot of time on his boat. Too much time, as if he used it to get away from us. I hardly ever went on it because he said it was his retreat. You know how men like to have their own special place, like a shed. The boat was his and he didn’t like me on it. He used to live on it before he met me, although he spent most of his time at Trudy’s house. I know they’ve got a fancy place in the countryside now but, back then, she lived in a small house near that mosque you can see from just about everywhere.’ She scowled. ‘Yeah, they’ve done all right out of Rosie’s murder.’
‘He never talked about a certain place, then?’
‘Thinking back, he didn’t say much to me at all.’
‘What about a mason’s mark? Have you ever heard him use that phrase?’
Karen shook her head. ‘Never.’
Jayne was about to leave when she glanced back at the photograph album and she spotted a newspaper clipping. ‘What’s that?’
Karen passed the book over.
In the black-and-white picture, six teenage girls were sitting in a circle on a patch of grass, each holding a candle. It was a vigil, their faces lit by the small flickering flames. Their names were underneath.
‘Are these Rosie’s friends?’
‘Yes. They were so good to me, so strong. It was such a comfort to know that there were so many people who’d loved her.’
Jayne jotted down their names and thanked Karen again for her time.
Just before she left, Karen scribbled her number on the back of an envelope. ‘If you hear anything that proves Sean killed my girl, let me know.’
Jayne made the promise, and she felt she was making some progress as she left the house.
For now though, it was time to report back.