‘That’s a beautiful analogy, Kate.’ The DI’s smile warmed her more than the summer sun.
‘Yes,’ Shirley Bolton said softly. ‘That’s just it. I felt somehow . . . with her being so young . . . it shouldn’t be all darkness and gloom.’
Suddenly, Markham remembered Olivia talking about Rebecca Shawcross moving on to her next adventure. For all the horror of her death, both women saw it as the liberation of a troubled soul.
Noakes was looking thoroughly apprehensive, as though he feared someone might burst into verse at any moment.
Back to business.
‘When we were at the wake, Ms Bolton, you said, “Not everyone in this place is quite what they seem.” Can you perhaps tell us what you meant by that?’
The woman looked nervously towards the community centre.
‘You’re quite safe here. If anyone asks about this interview, just tell them I wanted to know more about Rebecca Shawcross. You can give the impression I wanted to know if she’d upset anyone lately . . . if she had a stalker.’ He kept his tone deliberately light. ‘I don’t think you’re in any danger.’ At least, not unless the killer believed she possessed knowledge that was dangerous.
‘It was something Loraine said to me. She told me . . . I think I’ve got this right . . . someone had lied about their alibi.’
Markham felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. A sixth sense that, here at last, they might have something.
But he gave no outward sign of it, crossing one long leg over the over and leaning back languidly in his chair for all the world as though this was an inconsequential al fresco chat. Should keen eyes be watching, there would be nothing in his demeanour to suggest a breakthrough.
‘Did Loraine mean an alibi for the time Rebecca was killed . . . or could she have been talking about when Peter Elford died?’
‘Peter was murdered too, wasn’t he?’ she said fearfully. ‘Me and Loraine didn’t believe it was suicide despite all the talk.’
Gently, Kate Burton drew her back to the point. ‘What else did Loraine tell you? This could be very important, Shirley.’
The woman folded and refolded the fabric of her maxi dress, as though by this means she could marshal her scattered thoughts.
‘She just said someone told the police they were in one place when she’d seen them somewhere else.’ Again, that anxious plaiting of her costume. ‘I said she should report it . . . but then she more or less clammed up . . . said it would get this person into trouble if it turned out they’d given a false alibi . . . and anyway they weren’t the killer and it was just a misunderstanding . . . She kind of shut me down after that, and I didn’t want to upset her by harping on it.’
‘So she didn’t say anything else after that, luv?’ Noakes was disappointed.
‘No, that was it.’
‘When did you have this conversation with Loraine, Ms Bolton?’
‘Wednesday . . . we had a quick coffee in town before going home. The Neighbourhood Café. It’s a nice vintage place.’
The DI felt a sharp stab of pain as he recalled Ned Chester, arts correspondent of the Gazette and aficionado of vintage tea shops. Victim of another murderer.
‘Yes, I know it,’ he said quietly. ‘Did you see Loraine at all on Thursday?’
‘We were together in the staffroom at one point in the morning. She was a bit distracted, as though something was upsetting her. But she was getting her blood pressure done . . . maybe that got her in a tizz . . . I don’t know,’ she tailed off miserably. ‘Loraine had high blood pressure, you see . . . Fighting the battle of the bulge . . .’
Noakes looked sympathetic. Poor old biddy. He remembered how it felt when the missus issued a fatwa on buns.
‘Did she say anything else?’
‘Something about a difficult conversation she was going to have later on.’
‘A “difficult conversation”? Those were her exact words?’
‘That’s right . . . I wondered if she was going to tackle whoever it was lied about their alibi.’ A shaky laugh. ‘Or she could have meant someone else entirely . . . the bank manager or a stroppy neighbour, for all I know . . .’
‘Were you on your own in the staffroom when she said this?’
‘No, people were dashing in and out for their drinks and elevenses . . . It was quite hectic, so I don’t think anyone was paying any attention.’
The DI suspected someone had been paying attention. Very close attention.
He dredged up a smile from somewhere. ‘You’ve been very helpful, Ms Bolton.’
Tremulously, she replied, ‘What Jayne said at Rebecca’s funeral was true . . . I didn’t care for her . . . She messed with people’s heads . . .’
‘People at the centre?’
‘There was something predatory about her, Inspector. I felt there was something . . . well, something “off” about the way she was with some of the sixth-formers, though I never actually witnessed anything untoward . . . It was just a vibe . . . But she was a good teacher and very hardworking, no question.’
‘What about the
