“Yes, but there’s a chance that Joanna did phone Shelley to talk about that asbestos-removal story on her street. Which would mean she wasn’t contacting her about David Lamb. It would have to be a big coincidence, though. Joanna happens to be looking for David Lamb, and she happens to contact his best friend, Shelley, on an unrelated story.”
“What if the story isn’t unrelated? We should look into that asbestos story,” said Tristan.
Kate nodded in agreement, but her heart sank that they might be opening their investigation out even wider. This gave her an idea.
“Shelley said that David was questioned by the police about the death of that older man . . .”
“Sidney Newett.”
“David was released without charge, but what if he has a criminal record? And what if Gabe Kemp and George Tomassini also have criminal records?”
“If they did, we might be able to find out more about them, their addresses, other stuff from their personal history,” said Tristan.
“I’ll give Alan Hexham a call and see if he can find anything for us,” said Kate. Kate had first met Alan Hexham, the county pathologist, through Ashdean University. Alan had been a guest lecturer on her criminology course and had supplied cold cases for her students to work on. He’d known about her background in the police, and when they’d started up their detective agency, he had offered to assist her where he could.
“What about Noah Huntley? It would be worth doing a deep dive into his business links,” said Tristan. “It could also be worth talking to him.”
“Do you think he’d want to talk to us?” asked Kate.
“He might want to talk to me. I could be his type.”
“I feel odd about pimping you out,” said Kate. “I’d want to find a way to talk to him that included us both. We could let him think we’re concentrating on Joanna and then surprise him with questions about David Lamb, George Tomassini, and the commune.”
Tristan’s phone pinged.
“Talking of whoring me out. It’s Bishop,” he said, checking the screen. “He wants to meet for coffee tomorrow afternoon at Starbucks in Exeter.”
“I said pimping, not whoring.”
“Is that better?”
“Why don’t you suggest the Stage Door café behind the Corn Exchange?” said Kate. “Easier to have a quiet conversation.”
Tristan nodded and started to text him back. They came to a set of traffic lights. Kate put on the hand brake and looked at her phone. She’d forgotten to take it off silent mode.
“Seems we’re both popular,” she said, reading a text message. “Joanna’s old school friend Marnie has just got back to me. She wants to meet tomorrow afternoon,” said Kate. The lights changed. She put her phone down in the console and followed the line of traffic onto the motorway.
“That’s good,” said Tristan. “We can do them separately and kill two birds with one stone. Where does she want to meet?”
“She’s suggested her flat on the Moor Side Estate in Exeter. Her ex-husband has got the kids for their access day.”
“Didn’t Bev used to live on the Moor Side Estate?”
“Yeah. It’s where she brought Joanna up. They were neighbors. It could be interesting to have a look at it.”
“Be careful. The Moor Side Estate is pretty rough. Do you want me to come with you?”
“No. Go and meet Bishop. He could give us some more background about Jesper. I’ll be going to visit Marnie after lunch. It’ll be light.”
“I’d still take your trusty can of pepper spray,” said Tristan.
She sighed, a sudden gloom coming over her as it began to rain again and the motorway was reduced to a blur of gray. She remembered her days back in the Met Police, pounding the beat around the housing estates of South London, coming face-to-face with violence and despair.
It made her sad to think about Joanna Duncan. If she were alive now, she could be a high-powered newspaper executive living in London, happy and fulfilled. Joanna had almost escaped her upbringing.
Almost.
19
It was a long wait until nightfall. The sun didn’t set until nine p.m. All the anger Tom felt toward Hayden had gone, because Hayden was no longer anything. He was just rotting meat to be disposed of.
Under the cover of darkness, Tom loaded Hayden’s body into the car and drove toward Dartmoor. It had rained on and off all afternoon, but as he left the motorway, the rumbling sky erupted into a storm. Rain pelted the windscreen, lightning flashed, and he felt the Land Rover shift as it was pummeled by the wind.
It was now late, and the country roads were quiet. He’d passed a couple of small cottages, set back behind trees and hedges with light glowing in the windows, and then he went for a mile without seeing a house. The rain was now so heavy, the windscreen wipers couldn’t keep up, and he almost missed the gate through the swamped windscreen.
He stopped the car, switched off the headlights, and immediately felt safer when he was swallowed by the darkness. The storm was right above him as he ran to open the gate, head down, glad of the thick waxed jacket and heavy boots he was wearing. The trees were creaking and keening in the wind, dark shadows high above his head. When he looked up, a flash of lightning lit up the skyline, and he saw that the row of large oak trees lining the road were bending far over in the wind.
He hurried to the car and drove through the gate, getting back out to close it.
The gate led to a piece of moorland popular with walkers. On a clear day, it stretched out for miles, dotted with trees whose branches towered and stretched out over the moor. An ancient Roman road ran straight through the middle. Its original stones had long ago been covered by moss and grass, but the road was built to last, and with the regular footfall from walkers, the grass, worn away in patches, revealed the shiny white granite flagstones.
Tom had explored this location before, and he’d planned to use the Roman road to drive deep into the moor without fear of the car getting stuck in the soft earth or sinking into the boggy marsh.
He put the car in a low gear and started across the grass toward the beginning of the road. Lightning forked across the black sky. Deep, rolling rumbles of thunder added to the symphony of the storm, and rain hammered relentlessly on the roof of the car with a low roar.
He usually felt safe on the moor, but as the storm raged around him, Tom felt scared for the first time.
As he passed under the canopy of a large tree, its branches bent and swayed, as if it were reaching out for him. The car stopped bouncing and lurching, and he felt the grass smooth out and firm up at the beginning of the Roman road.
There was a groaning, cracking sound up ahead, and the lightning lit up a huge hornbeam tree, which must have been several hundred years old. Its trunk was more than three meters wide, and its vast canopy of branches extended out over the road. It seemed to bend and rise up, and then the giant tree toppled toward the car. Tom hit the brakes, put the car in reverse, and had just pulled back when the tree fell across the road with a crash and a loud ripping sound, pulling up a wide circle of the earth with it.