‘It’s because of the economies in China and India,’ her mother interrupted. ‘He needs to exploit the new markets, that’s why he’s been away so much.’
Ambrose wished Claire’s mother would keep out of it. He always tried to get interviews to flow like a conversation. That was the best way to get people to reveal more than they intended. He hated it when other people broke across that flow. ‘And that’s all Jennifer said about her plans? That she was going home to bake a cake?’
Claire frowned, reaching back into her memory. ‘Yeah. I was a bit miffed that she didn’t say anything before. Because we’ve got this thing about not letting each other down. “Friends don’t let each other down,” that’s, like, our slogan. I mean, she didn’t even ask me to come back with her and help.’
‘So, at the time, you thought it was a bit strange? Jennifer just announcing this out of the blue?’
‘Kind of.’ Claire nodded. ‘I mean, no big, right? Just kind of not like her. But I wasn’t going to fall out with her about it, you know? She wanted to do something nice for her dad, that’s her business.’
‘Where did you actually say goodbye to her?’
‘Well, we didn’t say goodbye. Not as such. See, we’re at the bus stop and the bus arrives and I get on first, then Jennifer goes, “I forgot, I need to get chocolate for the cake, I need to go to the Co-op.” There’s this little local Co-op five minutes walk from school, see? So I’m on the bus already and she’s pushing past people to get off and the next thing I see is her walking past the bus, down towards the Co-op. And she waves to me, all smiley. And she goes, like, “See you tomorrow.” Well, that’s what it looked like she was saying.’ Claire’s face crumpled and tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘That’s the last I saw of her.’
Ambrose waited while her mother stroked Claire’s hair and gentled her back to composure. ‘Sounds like Jennifer wasn’t herself tonight,’ he said. ‘Acting a bit out of character, was she?’
Claire shrugged one shoulder. ‘I don’t know. Maybe, yes.’
Ambrose, the father of a teenage son, recognised this as adolescent-speak for ‘absolutely’. He gave her a small confiding smile. ‘I know you don’t want to say anything that feels like you’re letting Jennifer down, but there’s no room for secrets in a murder investigation. Do you think she could have been going to meet somebody? Somebody she was keeping secret?’
Claire sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘She’d never keep anything like that from me. No way. Somebody must have got her on her way to the Co-op. Or on her way home after.’
Ambrose let it go. There was nothing to be gained by making Claire hostile to the investigation. ‘Did you guys hang out online together?’
Claire nodded. ‘We mainly used to go online at her house. She’s got a better computer than me. And we talk all the time, instant messaging and texting and stuff.’
‘Do you use a social networking site?’
Claire gave him a ‘well, duh’ look and nodded. ‘We’re on Rig.’
Claire gave a quick sideways look at her mother, as if she had secrets of her own she didn’t want to reveal. ‘We had this kind of code. So nobody could guess. Her password was my initials, plus the last six digits of my mobile. Like, CLD435767.’
Ambrose keyed the code into his mobile. ‘That’s amazingly helpful, Claire. I’m not going to bother you much longer, but I need to ask you: did Jennifer ever talk about anybody she was scared of? Anybody she felt threatened by? It could be an adult, it could be somebody at school, a neighbour. Anybody at all.’
Claire shook her head, her face crumpling in misery again. ‘She never said anything like that.’ Her voice was piteous, her expression desolate. ‘Everybody liked Jennifer. Why would anybody want to kill her?’
CHAPTER 4
Carol couldn’t believe how quickly John Brandon’s presence had been erased from his former office. His decor had been muted and unobtrusive, a single family photograph and an elaborate coffee machine the only real clues to the man himself. James Blake was clearly cut from a different cloth. Leather armchairs, an antique desk and wooden filing cabinets provided a faux country house feel. The walls were hung with unmissable pointers to Blake’s success - his framed degree certificate from Exeter, photographs of him with two prime ministers, the Prince of Wales, a scatter of home secretaries and minor celebrities. Carol wasn’t sure whether this was vanity or a warning shot across the bows of Blake’s visitors. She’d reserve judgement till she knew him better.
Blake, looking buffed and spruce in his dress uniform, waved Carol to one of the tub chairs in front of his desk. Unlike Brandon, he didn’t offer tea or coffee. Or pleasantries, it turned out. ‘I’ll get straight to the point, Carol,’ he said.
So that was how it was going to be. No fake building of bridges, no pretence at common ground between them. It was evident to Carol that the use of her name wasn’t the first step on the road to camaraderie, just a firm attempt at diminishing her by refusing to acknowledge her rank. ‘I’m glad to hear it, sir.’ She resisted the impulse to cross her arms and legs, choosing instead to mirror the openness of his pose. Some things had rubbed off from all those years of hanging around with Tony.
‘I’ve looked at your record. You’re a brilliant police officer, Carol. And you’ve built a first-class team around you.’ He paused, expectant.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘And therein lies the problem.’ Blake’s mouth turned up in a smile that indicated how pleased he was at his own cleverness.
