Intrigued I ripped it from the cellophane wrapping and, before anyone noticed, I pocketed it.
12
Jess
‘Have you shown that card to Ted yet?’ asks Jack, wheeling his chair over to me with a glint in his eye. ‘This could be a story in itself.’
‘Not yet,’ I reply, tapping at my keyboard, my eyes glued to the screen. I’ve filed the eye-witness story, so I’m working on a Clive and Deirdre background piece. But now I’m worried I’ve done the wrong thing. I shouldn’t have pocketed the card. It would be interfering with a crime scene. If Clive or Deirdre had enemies, the police will want to know. I can’t afford to take one step out of line. Ted had told me that when he offered me the job.
Jack had been so excited when I showed him the card in the car. He’d turned it over in his fingers and kept asking me what I thought it meant.
‘It means that one or both of them had enemies,’ I’d said. Other than that I didn’t fully understand why I’d decided to take it. Maybe to prove Clive Wilson wasn’t the squeaky-clean uncle, brother and son that his family had tried to portray. Unless the message had been meant for Deirdre. I doubted that. She looked like a lovely, doting grandmother. Maybe the killer had shot herbecause she’d got in the way or had come home unexpectedly. But, then again, perhaps Deirdre wasn’t who she’d appeared to be.
I still can’t bring myself to think of Heather as the killer.
There has to have been some mistake.
I recall my conversation with Margot yesterday. She’d insinuated there might be some doubt, although I found it interesting that Adam had quickly shut her down. Something doesn’t seem right there.
‘You don’t think Heather was in it with someone, do you?’ asks Jack now. ‘Or someone paid her to do it?’
I can’t help but laugh at Jack’s wild imagination. ‘She’s not a professional assassin. And this is Tilby we’re talking about, not some big city. It’s the biggest crime that’s been committed there for as long as I can remember.’
Since Flora, I think, although I don’t say that to Jack.
‘But how do you know?’
I swivel in my chair so that I’m facing him. ‘I’m sure the police would have noticed if she’d received a large payment recently.’
‘Could have been made in cash.’
‘I’m sure the police are in the process of going through everything.’
Jack shrugs. ‘They have a caravan park. Money must go in and out all the time. It might not be noticeable. Maybe they were in debt. Maybe her husband was in on it, too.’
I think of Adam. What is his background? His story? I know nothing about him, other than that he’s a brooding, abrupt man to whom I’ve taken an immediate dislike,even though I can’t put my finger on why. I’m sure he’s hiding something. How could Heather have ended up with someone like him?
But still. Jack’s theory does sound a bit far-fetched. I can’t imagine Margot would let her caravan park be used as a front for criminal activity. But I don’t want to burst Jack’s bubble.
‘This could be a good story, Jess. It’s only Thursday,’ continues Jack, eagerly. ‘We’ve got until Monday lunchtime to find out more before the deadline for Tuesday’s paper.’
I suppress a sigh. Jack looks like an eager puppy, but then I remind myself this is probably the biggest story he’s ever worked on. He’s hungry for it. I can’t blame him for that. ‘Like what?’
He flops back in his chair. ‘I don’t know. You’re the reporter. I’m just saying it looks dodgy. Clive had enemies. This card implies that someone isn’t surprised he’s dead.’
I hold up my hands in mock-surrender. ‘Okay, okay, I get your point. I’ll talk to Ted and see what he suggests.’ I glance across the desk at my mobile. It’s disappointingly quiet. I’d been hoping Margot would call. I’d thought I was getting somewhere yesterday. I bet Adam talked her out of speaking to me.
I get up from my seat while Jack scoots his chair back to his own desk, a self-satisfied smile on his face at the thought we might get to play detective. I sometimes wonder why he didn’t go into the police force, like his boyfriend.
I stand at the threshold to Ted’s ‘office’ and, when he doesn’t look up from his computer, I clear my throat.
‘Yep,’ he says, still not looking at me.
I push the card across his desk, explaining where I found it. He glances at it, then at me, interest registering on his usually cynical features. ‘You know you’ll have to give this to the police.’
I nod.
‘We can’t withhold any evidence, Jess. You know that, right?’
