Kennedy 01 - Into the Shadows Read online

  ‘I’ll invite Jill Kennedy to lunch one day,’ she said, ‘so long as you promise not to talk religion.’

  ‘Alice,’ he scolded, smiling indulgently, ‘how am I supposed to do my job when I’m not allowed to talk religion?’

  ‘By example/ she retorted, dragging a smile from God only knew where. She rolled over, feigning a yawn. “I don’t know about you, but I’m shattered.’

  ‘It’s been a tiring day,’ he agreed.

  Every day was tiring. It was so hard to live a lie. In the last seven days, there had been twenty minutes of joy in her life. Life was so empty that she was reduced to counting the minutes. Was it so terribly wrong to want more?

  She had Michael, of course, and she should be grateful for that. Next September, though, Michael would be away at university and then her days would seem endless. Pointless and endless.

  ‘It was a good party, though/ Jonathan was saying.

  ‘Yes, Mary always throws good parties. I sometimes feel sorry for Gordon. After working in London all week, you’d think he would want the house to himself.’

  ‘Perhaps he does. Mary rules at the manor, though, and she can’t seem to go a month without having a party for something or other. Tonight’s fireworks must have cost a small fortune, too.’

  ‘Hateful things/ Alice said.

  Jonathan switched out the light. “I enjoy Mary’s sense of fun, though, don’t you?’

  “I do,’ Alice murmured.

  People did have fun - unless they lived at the vicarage.

  Life should be lived to the full, and that’s what most people did. They grabbed it with both hands.

  How long was it since she’d done something impulsive, something purely for the fun of it? A long, long time ago.

  It was a time she tried not to remember.

  In the morning, she promised herself, she would sort out her life. On that optimistic but frightening thought, she drifted into a restless sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Jill held the phone away from her ear as her mother coughed and spluttered on the other end of the line.

  ‘Still not given up the fags then, Mum?’ she said when normality returned.

  “I need some pleasure. And if your dad can throw his money at the bookie, I can spend mine on fags. In any case - God, I meant to tell you. You know the Kelly family?

  Moved into number 14?’

  ‘No.’ Her mother forgot that Jill hadn’t lived on the estate for sixteen years.

  ‘Moved in last year. A mother - as rough as a badger, she is - one son and a daughter. Well, the lad’s been arrested for stealing a car and dangerous driving. I always knew they were a bad lot. Like the Westons. He’s been done for aggravated burglary. Did I tell you? They should lock ‘em up and throw away the bloody key. And then you what?’

  Jill rolled her eyes at the conversation, bickering more like, that was taking place at number 27, River View.

  ‘Your dad wants a word,’ her mum said, coming back on the line.

  ‘OK, Mum, I’ll speak to you soon. And I’ll try and make it for your birthday.’

  ‘That would be smashing, love. If you’re not too busy, of course.’

  The guilt was like a kick in the stomach. Jill really would have to visit. It wouldn’t hurt her.

  ‘And how’s my favourite brainbox?’ her dad bellowed down the phone.

  ‘In Lancashire, not on Mars,’ she replied fondly. ‘There’s no need to shout, Dad. And I’m good, thanks. How are you? Hey, I won a few quid on Manor Girl on Friday’

  ‘What on earth made you back that old thing?’

  ‘Just a hunch. And that old thing, as you call it, came in at 22-1.’

  ‘Huh. Give me a bell if you get any more hunches.

  I haven’t had a decent win in ages. Not that I’d have backed Manor Girl ‘

  Again, Jill had to hold the phone away from her ear as her dad broke off to have a slanging match with her mother. Even with the phone six inches away, she caught the gist of it. Her dad, a man who fished as a means of escaping the house more than anything else, had committed the ultimate crime. He’d left his maggots in the fridge - again.

  ‘They’re in a bloody box, woman/ he was shouting.

  ‘How the ‘ell can they do any harm?’

  Jill wondered, not for the first time, how she and her sister had survived life at number 27. Fights between their parents were a regular occurrence and the bickering was constant. To an outsider, it must look like hell on earth. The most amazing thing, however, was that they were devoted to each other. If her dad won on the horses, he’d walk through the door hidden behind an extravagant bouquet of flowers and his wife would melt in his arms. There would be kisses and cuddles for, oh, at least five minutes.

  Then the bickering would start all over again.

  ‘Your mum’s in an evil temper today,’ he chuckled, coming back on the line. ‘I’d better go and sort her out.’

  Mum, Jill knew, would take some sorting out. She was a strong woman. Strong, opinionated, pushy - and Jill thanked her lucky stars that she was. If it hadn’t been for her mum, pushing her to do schoolwork and get into university, Jill might be raising half a dozen kids at River View.

  ‘OK, Dad. You take care and I’ll be down to visit soon.’

  She replaced the receiver and immediately picked up her diary. Perhaps this Saturday would be a good time to visit …

  ‘It’s open!’ The shrill ring of her doorbell had her sliding her feet into her shoes but she didn’t get a chance to grab the cash she’d put ready.

  ‘Then it bloody well shouldn’t be! Jesus Christ, Jill!’ Max slammed the door shut and strode into the sitting room.

  ‘Why in hell’s name can’t you use the bloody lock? God, if you saw a tenth of what I see ‘

  ‘I’ve ordered a takeaway and thought you were the delivery man.’ Jill’s heart raced uncomfortably at the shock of having Max filling her air space.

  ‘That’s a bloody good epitaph for half the people who end up with a tag round their big toe.’ He shook his head in the cynical way he had. “I suppose you reckon nothing happens in sleepy old Kelton Bridge?’

  Jill took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. Doing this to keep calm was an art she’d mastered while she and Max had lived together.

  ‘What brings you here, Max?’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector to you,’ he said, and the slightly self-conscious smile touched her.

  That was the problem with Max. She loved him, she hated him, she despaired of him, but she couldn’t be unmoved by him.

  “I heard.’ She’d seen his photo in the local paper with a small write-up of his promotion. It had been cut out and put in her ‘special box’. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So how’s it going?’ Badly if the smell of whisky on his breath was anything to go by. Nothing to do with her, she reminded herself. If he wanted to lose his job, fine.

  ‘Ups and downs. Downs at the moment.’ He took off his jacket, black suede, and threw it over the back of a chair.

  “I need a slash.’

  As he raced up the stairs, Jill picked up his jacket and hung it on the peg in the hall. Then, remembering her days of tidying up after him were long gone, she took it off the peg and threw it back on the chair. He wouldn’t be staying long enough for it to bother her.

  She could hear him moving around upstairs. What the devil was he doing up there? She was about to go and find out when she heard him coming back.

  ‘It’s Day of the Bloody Triffids up there/ he said, shaking his head with amusement.

  “I like plants in my bathroom.’ Her bathroom. ‘So what are you doing here, Max?’

  ‘This afternoon ‘

  The ringing of her doorbell interrupted him.

  ‘It’s open/ Jill called out, smiling sweetly at Max.

  He was never more than six inches from her right shoulder while she thanked the man and paid him, opened the cartons, took out a pl
ate and cutlery.

  ‘That smells good. I don’t really have time, but I haven’t eaten all day’

  Suppressing a sigh, she took another plate from the cupboard.

  Samuel, too, had appeared from nowhere. All human food was high on that cat’s list, but chicken was his favourite. Chefs at Indian and Chinese restaurants could do with it as they pleased; it was still Sam’s favourite.

  She had hoped Max wouldn’t be staying long, but there was too much food for one, although probably not enough for two, not when one of the two was Max. But his need would be greater than hers; he seldom remembered to eat without being prompted.

  He forgot to eat because he never found time, and he drank because - well, Jill reckoned life in general stressed him to hell and he reckoned he simply enjoyed a drink.

  They’d agreed to differ on that long ago. Not her problem, she reminded herself. They’d parted almost a year ago now. So long as they could be civilized on the rare occasions they saw each other, that was fine. It wasn’t easy, but it was OK.

  ‘Is there any wine in this place?’ Max began searching, first the fridge, then the cupboards.

  ‘There’s a bottle of red in the cupboard above the microwave.’

  He found the bottle and soon had it open. It was only the second time Max had visited her here, yet he managed to make himself comfortable as if he’d known no other home. The knowledge irritated.

  Having eased her conscience by phoning her parents, Jill had planned to curl up in the sitting room with her food.

  Deciding the kitchen was less intimate, however, she put their food on the table and sat down. Max sat opposite. At least with two of them eating, it would be easier to keep Sam off the table.

  It was ironic, she thought, but she and Max had probably sat down to eat together more times in the last year than they had during the time they’d been together.

  She wondered if there was anyone else in his life. She never asked, of course, but she would dearly love to know. Half of her was jealous at the idea, but the other half, the sensible half, knew the poor woman was welcome to him.

  ‘So?’ she prompted, spearing a hot chunk of pineapple.

  ‘You were about to tell me why you’re here.’

  ‘This afternoon,’ he said, ‘a woman was killed in Kelton Bridge.’

  ‘Killed?’ She thought he was referring to an accident, but Max wouldn’t be involved in that. ‘You mean murdered?

  Here? In Kelton?’

  “In sleepy old Kelton Bridge, yes.’ His smile was mocking.

  ‘Must have been expecting a takeaway’

  She ignored his sarcasm. ‘Who?’

  ‘Alice Trueman. The vicar’s wife.’

  ‘No! Alice Trueman? But I only saw her on Friday night.

  I was talking to her.’ It simply wasn’t possible. Yet she knew it had to be true. ‘Are you sure she was murdered?

  It couldn’t have been an accident?’

  ‘Difficult to accidentally slit your throat from ear to ear.’

  ‘Good God. Who on earth would want her dead?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. How well did you know her?’

  ‘I don’t really know her. I met her at a party on Friday night.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  Was.

  Jill pushed her plate aside, her appetite gone, and leaned back in her chair.

  ‘Very attractive,’ she said, causing an impatient raising of dark eyebrows. ‘Sorry. Um - down-to-earth, homely type, proud of her son, embarrassed by her husband. The vicar - what’s his name? - oh, yes, Jonathan Trueman is a bit of snob. As soon as I said I’d already met Michael, the son, he had to make sure I knew that Michael was soon off to uni and that his job at the filling station was only a Saturday job. Alice wouldn’t have liked that. She stopped him talking religion at me, too.’

  And now she was dead.

  ‘She was incredibly attractive, though/ she went on.

  ‘No make-up, no expensive haircut, no showy clothes and yet she was stunning. An incredible figure, and long, shapely legs.’

  Dead.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘The vicar arrived home shortly after two o’clock this afternoon to find his son holding her. She was naked, his clothes were covered in blood, and he was holding the knife.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘Yes, we’re questioning him at the moment.’

  ‘You think Michael killed his mother? Never in a month of Sundays.’ Something else occurred to her. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Eighteen. He had his birthday six weeks ago.’

  He’d looked younger, but Jill knew that was merely a sign of her own age. When you hit thirty, and she’d done that four years ago, everyone else started looking younger.

  “I thought I’d have a chat with you,’ he said, ‘and see what you knew about the family’

  She wasn’t convinced. With a murder inquiry only seven hours old, it would be action stations. There would be no time to waste. By now they would have spoken to dozens of people who knew Alice better than she had, people who had known her for years.

  ‘You’re wasting your time then, Max.’

  ‘Hm. There’s something else,’ he said, and Jill wasn’t surprised. “I thought I ought to warn you that Meredith’s planning to coax you back.’

  ‘Ha! He’ll be wasting his time, too.’ Although she was grateful for the warning. ‘I’ve given all that up, Max.

  I write. It’s what I enjoy.’

  ‘He’s not asking you to give that up. He’s simply asking ‘

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not, for God’s sake?’

  She stared back at him, heart pounding with a mixture of emotions, uppermost of which was anger. They were no closer to catching Valentine, the serial killer, and every two months or so, despite being off the case, Max tried to persuade her to return to her job. Now, it seemed, he had the backing of his boss. It was easier for them; having Rodney Hill’s blood on their hands didn’t seem to bother them as much.

  She’d enjoyed her work, but offender profiling was still met with a huge degree of scepticism. It was often a last resort, something to try in desperation. It was over, though. She was happier writing. So long as the public was crying out for self-help books, she was guaranteed an income.

  ‘Why not? How long have you got? Firstly, I’m no longer employed - I gave it up, my choice. Secondly, I don’t know how Meredith has the cheek. What does he call my work?

  Psychology bollocks!’

  Max was still eating, still looking infuriatingly calm.

  ‘OK, so if you don’t want to get involved with Valentine again, how about helping me with Michael Trueman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Just like that. I couldn’t work with you, Max.’

  ‘You used to enjoy spending time with me/ he pointed out mildly.

  ‘You used to enjoy spending time with me,’ she snapped back, ‘until something better, something younger and more attractive, came along.’

  ‘Oh, for ‘

  ‘Ah, I forgot. We brush the past under the carpet. You screw around, you come crawling back to me, you expect me to congratulate you on your pulling power, and then forget it ever happened.’ She could feel her voice rising hysterically, but she felt hysterical. It hurt like hell. Even now.

  ‘My head was fucked at the time/ he reminded her.

  ‘What with pressure at work, you threatening to leave me every fortnight because of your stupid guilt trip -‘ He took a calming breath. ‘We’ve done this to death and I refuse to go over the same old ground. It happened, I’ve apologized till I’m blue in the face, and I wish to God I’d never met the bloody woman. But that’s it. Case closed.’

  Forget it, he was saying. Your problem, Jill, you deal with it.

  But she couldn’t forget it. She still had moments of frightening fury at his betrayal. Just as she still had sudden painful visions of him and that woma
n together. Forget it, she instructed herself. He’s not worth it. Be civil, be civilized, pretend it doesn’t matter and get him the hell out of here.

  A taut silence stretched between them.

  When Max had come crawling back to her, his expression not hers, she’d been so angry that she’d hit him hard enough to draw blood. Then, as he’d held her close, told her it meant nothing, and asked her to marry him, she’d cried and cried. She’d clung to him, even agreeing to marry him.

  They were together for nine weeks after that. Jill hadn’t been able to stand it. Emotions had been too raw. Yet she’d never quite known if she was more angry or hurt …

  ‘Everything we did together, we did well,’ Max said at last, his voice level and calm once more. ‘And I mean everything.’

  Jill’s head was filled with the scent of him, his masculine warmth as he made love to her ‘We

  worked well together, too, Jill. We care about the same things, and we think in the same way’

  She couldn’t deny that. It was another reason she loved him - used to love him.

  ‘Michael Trueman/ he went on, forcing her mind back to the reason for his visit. ‘We’re interviewing him now, but he’s not talking. Ask him if he smokes, if he wants a drink - nothing. Zilch.’

  ‘Shock probably,’ Jill said.

  ‘Will you come and see him? Talk to him?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘What harm will it do?’

  Jill gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Ask Rodney Hill.’

  ‘Jill.’ His voice was softer now, gentle. He could coax bees from honey if he put his mind to it. ‘We arrested Hill because we thought he was guilty. The fact that he matched your profile was neither here nor there. You’re not responsible.’

  She’d heard all that before. It didn’t help.

  ‘Please, Jill. As a favour to me?’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, but I can’t.’

  ‘I’m senior investigating officer on this one. I want it sorted, and fast.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You can’t keep living in the past, you know.’

  The intensity of those blue eyes shocked her momentarily It shouldn’t have. Max had been using that piercing gaze to his own advantage for years. Now, though, she almost felt as if he could read her every thought.