‘Hard to tell,’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘All I got was a load of “he started it”. You know what it’s like.’
‘He’s finding it hard to settle here,’ Manon said.
‘Mmm. Everything at home …?’
What? She wanted to ask. Everything at home dysfunctional?
‘How does he feel about the baby?’
‘He hasn’t said. He didn’t want to leave London. This was my idea, coming back. I wanted to give him a fresh start but it’s not really panning out that way.’
‘In that case we need to keep a very close eye on him,’ he said kindly and she wondered if he was single and might sleep with her. ‘Perhaps the Christmas break will do him good. Allow him some time away from school. It’s very difficult to switch at his age, friendship groups tend to get established in Year Seven. He’ll probably come through it.’ She’d wanted Mr Jenkins to say, ‘I’m sure he’ll come through it’ but he wasn’t sure, evidently. ‘I’m not going to punish him for this. I don’t think it’s in his best interests. He’s been under strain, we all know that. But you might want to talk to him.’
‘Sore head tomorrow!’ Ann-Marie is saying now, as the refrigerators hum beside them, pumping out cold. Shakin’ Stevens’ ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’ is being piped through the store. This woman is gurning away, searching Manon’s face. What does she want, a fucking round of applause? ‘Honestly, when our lot get together it gets messy.’
‘Sounds exhausting,’ Manon says.
‘Ah no, it’s a great laugh, a big party.’
Needy Ann-Marie pushes her trolley on, seemingly fortified by the bereft expression on Manon’s face.
Manon puts her basket back on its stack.
Davy
Here he is again, in the darkness of his car, this time with a tray of six mini pork pies, a jar of Branston Pickle and a teaspoon. He is bound to drop the odd brown cube of pickle into his lap in the act of spooning it onto the meat of the pie. He doesn’t care.
Exactly one week since Ross was stabbed; same time, same place. He is taking a chance on Judith Cole being a creature of habit, though it’s a bit of a long shot – who sticks to their routines on 21 December? Isn’t normal service suspended? Still, there’s no harm in sitting here eating pork pies, just in case.
At the sight of a man approaching Judith Cole’s front door, Davy squirms more upright in his seat, drops his pie paraphernalia onto the passenger seat and gets out his phone, readying the camera.
The front door opens. No slippers this time. High heels in fact.
He photographs Judith Cole letting a man who is not Mr Cole into her home. Arm about the man’s shoulder, glances out to the driveway, towards the neighbours. Is that a kiss on the lips Davy sees, as she draws him towards her over the threshold?
Enough to bring her back in for interview, put the photograph before her and ask her to recap the events of 14 December with her memory somewhat sharpened. He pictures her outraged face. ‘Where did you get those? Who took those? Have you had me followed? On what grounds have you been watching me?’
Davy will have to have a strategy for this one. An hour after the man’s arrival, the stranger leaves Judith Cole’s house.
Day 9
22 December
Davy
The following morning Davy is straight on the phone to the forensics lab.
‘The DNA on Judith Cole’s clothing,’ he asks a lab technician. ‘Was there anything unusual there?’
‘Hang on, let me get the file,’ she says. There is a delay, some rustling, laughter in the background.
‘Right, here we are, um … Yes, so there was her own, and the victim’s as you’d expect from her proximity to him at his time of death. And we found a third strand, in her underwear. Not the victim, not her husband. We ran it through the database and got a match, actually.’
‘Right,’ Davy says. ‘Who is it?’
‘Chap called Jeremy Mitchell, geography teacher at Hinchingbrooke School. He was swabbed years back in relation to the disappearance of a pupil; no involvement, just routine inquiries. But it’s his DNA.’
‘You say in her underwear …’
‘D’you want me to spell it out, DS Walker?’
‘No, no. It’s fine, thanks.’
‘I really don’t know why I’m back in here. I’ve got a shocking amount to do to get ready for Christmas – supposed to pick up the KellyBronze from the butchers today,’ Mrs Cole is saying, looking at her watch. Her voice is hard; her gaze to the side, not meeting Kim and Davy’s, who are across the table in interview room two.
‘I’m sorry to bring you in again. There’s just a couple of things,’ Davy says, ‘that we need to clear up. Some confusion—’
‘About the dog,’ says Kim.
Enough with the dog, he thinks.
He says, ‘We are not sure you have told us everything about the evening in question. In particular why you chose Hinchingbrooke Park and, as my colleague says, whether you were in fact walking the dog. I want to stress, Mrs Cole, that we are not investigating you or your personal life. Your … intimate circumstances are not of any interest to us. However, this is a murder inquiry and it is vital you do not obstruct the course of our investigation. I would hate for you to end up in court yourself. So …’ He looks at her calmly, pauses. Lots of eye contact. ‘The truth, if you don’t mind.’
He has the confidence, so well armed is he, and as Mrs Cole looks into his face, he thinks she can see his knowledge about Jeremy Mitchell written there. Her eyeballs flicker. She is pausing, evaluating. Somewhat startled; perhaps the fight or flight response is generating some adrenalin in her body.
‘We are retrieving additional CCTV from the woodland path, so we’ll be able to ascertain whether the dog—’ Kim begins, but Davy places a hand on her arm to stop her. He’s got Mrs Cole where he wants her, doesn’t need Kim kicking her into touch.
Mrs Cole takes a deep breath, the tips of her fingers on the edge of the table. ‘I was meeting Jeremy,’ she says at last.
‘Jeremy?’ says Davy.
‘Jeremy Mitchell. He’s a teacher at my sons’ school. We’ve been … Well, I don’t need to go into details, do I? I mean it’s none of your bloody business. I usually meet with Jeremy at home. Wednesdays, my sons have tennis club, but my husband—’
‘Was unexpectedly working from home that day?’ says Davy.
‘Yes, so I told him – Jeremy, I mean – not to come. I texted him to meet me across the road in the park. At the time I saw Mr Ross, Jeremy’d gone, we’d … finished. Then I saw Mr Ross fall, and the rest you know.’
‘So you would’ve been facing the opposite way. Your original statement says you were walking away from home, towards the park,’ Davy says. ‘But in fact, you would have been walking back home.’
‘Yes, yes I suppose so. Look, please don’t say anything to my husband. I can’t bear for him to find out.’ Her voice is quiet and sad. ‘I’ve made such a mess. But I’ve never had any intention of leaving him – Sinjun, I mean. He’s a good husband. I just …’
‘Just to return to the crime scene. So Mr Ross was walking towards you when he fell. You were facing each other?’
Mrs Cole nods.