‘And now he’s killed her,’ Vanessa murmured.
‘That’s why you’re here?’ Thompson asked.
‘I wanted to know if it was Clitheroe. It was, wasn’t it?’
‘I can’t think how it could have been anyone else,’ Thompson replied. ‘Do you want me to get in touch with Alex Hegan? To warn him? Is that it?’
‘No, I’ll drop in on him myself. Do you think we’re in danger?’
Thompson shrugged. ‘It’s hard for me to say. As a policeman I’d have to say yes. It certainly looks as if he escaped from jail intending to come back and murder Kim. Of the three of you, she was the most vulnerable, being the youngest.’
‘Do you know Alex? Do you see him?’
‘We get together occasionally. We’re old friends. He never talks about you.’
If that was meant as a put-off, it didn’t work. But then, why would Alex Hegan talk about her to Thompson? They had knocked about for a few months, then drifted apart, as teenaged people do. Vanessa had seen the name in the paper.
Kim Catchpole.
Not a common name, Catchpole.
Added to that was the fact that the murder had taken place near Sharringford. Vanessa had known intuitively that it must be Clitheroe. She had dropped everything, cancelled all of her forthcoming appointments and come back to Norfolk, thinking that it might be better to be on public view, keeping a high profile. She had been unable so far to contact Alex Hegan, but his stepbrother, Mark, had met her at the Manor House.
A few weeks earlier she had found out that her sister-in-law, Alison, had perished in the Sharringford fire, and she would shortly inherit the Manor House. She had no plans to live in it permanently as yet, though it certainly seemed a good place to make a base while she was there.
‘No, I don’t suppose he does. I imagine he keeps well?’
‘He’s fine. A little eccentric, but that’s par for the course around here. Where are you staying?'’
‘The Manor House. I’ll be fine. Look, I’ve taken up enough of your time. I must be going. Thanks for talking to me. I hope you catch him soon.’
‘Just a matter of time. He can’t have gone far.’
‘Where was he last seen?’
‘Out near Sculthorpe.’
‘Plenty of open country. Ideal for an SAS man,’ Vanessa suggested.
‘You know about that?’
‘I know, yes. Look, I really must go. Let me know if you catch him.’ She stood up and went to the door.
‘When.’
‘Sorry?’
‘When we catch him. May already have caught him.’
‘Wouldn’t they have let you know? Your colleagues?’
‘I’m a bit persona non grata at the moment. I’ll call you.’
He opened the front door, switching on the outside light as he did so. ‘Take care.’
Her answer was a warm smile. Of all the officers who had been involved in the apprehension of Clitheroe he stuck in her mind. Someone had spoken very highly of him then and she had taken the remark in and stored it. For all she knew, that one remark could have been the turning point in her relationship with Alex Hegan. Maybe it was the fact that he was a policeman.
Maybe it had been the uniform.
No uniform now, though.
She smiled again and held out her hand. It was slightly warm to his touch, smooth, soft and warm.
Thompson gave her Alex Hegan’s address and promised to look in on her later in the week.
When Vanessa had gone, Shirley came downstairs and began to prepare dinner. The atmosphere between her and her husband was still tense. While she knew that he had suffered an indescribable trauma during the Sharringford incident, and was still unable to talk about it, she could nevertheless not abide being shouted at, especially by him, whom she loved dearly. They spoke to each other infrequently during the meal, a fact that did not go unnoticed by the children. After the washing-up was done, Shirley again retired to the bedroom, complaining that her headache was worse.
Thompson took her a cup of tea, then settled down at the computer to read his account of what he could remember happening at Sharringford. But he could not concentrate.
Mark and Gail were in Mark's room, listening to a CD. Sally was reading something extraordinarily boring for her French homework. It often occurred to Thompson, who had excelled in French during his grammar school days, that the examining authorities chose the least interesting foreign texts, possibly to sort out the serious students from those who simply wanted an easy ride. Racine, Moliere, Beaumarchais, Balzac. Difficult to get into classical literature not written in your own language. But he had tackled Camus’ La Peste in French, and on a rare visit to London he had bought a copy of Jules Verne’s De La Tierra a la Luna and enjoyed it thoroughly. He had always found Spanish easier than French.
He switched off the computer and sat next to his daughter. She was probably not yet aware that Kim Catchpole had been murdered.
'Sally, can I ask you something? It won't take long.'
'Sounds serious, Dad.' She put down the book, carefully keeping her place with a bookmark she had made a few years earlier.
'It's about Kim Catchpole.'
'What about her?'
'I'm afraid it's bad news.'
'Has she been in an accident?'
'Worse than that. She's been found murdered.'
Sally's eyes went round with horror and her face went white.
'No, Dad! When?'
'This morning. We don't yet know when she was actually murdered. The thing is, we know who the murderer is, but we haven't caught him yet. I think you and the other kids should stay home until he's caught. I think I might give the head a call this evening, see if he wants to close the school.' He hated calling them kids, but it was becoming the norm, and although he was no sheep, he did not want to stick out like a sore thumb in such matters. Go with the flow, Shirley said.
'Do you think he might kill again, then?'
Thompson put his arm round her shoulders, drawing her to him. Of the three children, she was the closest to him. She adored him, and would always take his side in a family argument, even though she might know he was in the wrong. In her eyes, he could say, or do nothing wrong.
'Yes, I'm afraid I do. The man who did it was jailed about thirteen years ago for something similar, but he escaped from jail a few days ago. What I have to do now is to find out why he would want to kill Kim Catchpole specifically, or if he's just repeating his apparently motiveless crime in order to get back at me.'
'Did you arrest him?'
'I and another officer, yes.'
'Oh, Daddy!'
'If it was a premeditated murder, that is, if he set out to kill Kim Catchpole, then two other people and maybe me are at risk.’ And if I’m at risk it means my family are at risk as well! Christ! He hadn’t thought about that earlier. Aloud, he continued, ‘But it's just a matter of time before we get him. What can you tell me about Kim?'
Sally shrugged her shoulders.
'She goes - went around with a couple of other girls, Kerry Macklin and Mary Howard, most of the time. And.....she sleeps around.....with older men, I’ve heard. Most of the time she's with Kerry during the daytime. Some of the girls think she and Kerry may be - you know - selling themselves. She was staying with Kerry, I think, for a few days, because their parents were both away for a few days, at some conference in London. Well, Kim’s parents have been away for some time, a couple of weeks, I think, Kim was staying with relatives in Sharringford.' Thompson smiled to himself at her repeated use of the present tense when she spoke about Kim.
Sharringford.
A cloud passed through Thompson's head, accompanied by a sharp pain in his lower abdomen.
'Do you know who that was?'
'I could find out. Is it important?'
'Yes. How can you find out?'
'Donna will know.'
'But you think Kim was supposed to be staying with Kerry?'
'Yes. Neither of them have been at school. Kerry telephoned yesterday morning to say that she had the 'flu. I was standing next to the secretary when the call came through, she asked me to tell the teacher.'
'Did she mention Kim?'
'I don't know, Dad, the school secretary sent a note with one of the year sevens. No-one said anything about Kim.'
'No. Don't worry. Would you mind ringing Donna for me, ask her who Kim was staying with in Sharringford?'
The pain penetrated again, and he winced visibly. Sally was already picking up the telephone. She seemed to know the number off by heart.
'Hallo, Donna, it's me, Sally. Do you know who Kim was staying with? No, not with Kerry, before that, she was staying with some relatives in Sharringford, wasn't she? Oh, yes, that's right, thanks. Why? Hang on a minute. Dad, should I tell her......?'
Thompson shook his head.
'Donna, I just want to ring her to ask her something about the French homework. No, I know you don't do it, that's why I need Kim. Thanks. Bye.'
She returned to her father's side.
'Mrs Robertson.'
Sharringford.
Joanna Robertson.
Thompson's head was throbbing with an almighty pain.
'Dad, are you all right?'
'It's just a headache.'
'I'll get you a tablet.'
'Thanks. You get on with your homework, I'll get it.'
By the middle of the evening the headache had subsided. He telephoned the school head, apprised him of what had happened, and left the decision of closing the school to him. The head politely declined, expressing the opinion that keeping the children in one place, under close supervision, would probably assist the police while they tracked down the killer. Thompson agreed. The head was probably right.
At ten-thirty he went to bed, locking all of the doors and windows securely. There was no point in being careless.
