Harriet shot Juliet a look that said, couldn’t you really do better than him? But at least she managed to stay silent. ‘So, we’re agreed then. Of course, we’re courteous to the police and answer their questions, but we don’t volunteer unnecessary information, and, apart from supplying them with the statement which Mark will write, we’ll have no communication with the press.’
Harriet stood up and left the room, leaving the tray and cups behind her. Juliet was left, as always, in awe of her mother’s ability to get just what she wanted in every situation.
Mark looked up. ‘Has she got something to hide?’
‘You don’t think she killed Lorna?’ Juliet thought humour was the only response to this ridiculous situation. ‘That she went out into the snow while we thought she was dressing up for the party and bashed the woman on the head?’
He smiled. He had an adorable smile and she remembered why she cared so much for him. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s the most ruthless woman I know. And I’ve met a few in the theatre. All those divas.’ He took Juliet’s hand and pulled her down to sit on his lap. ‘Are you okay? I realize I’ve not been much help.’
‘I might go out,’ she said. ‘I feel as if I’ve been stuck in this house for days. Just to clear my head. I might wander up to Dorothy’s.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘If that’s what you want.’ But she heard the distance in his voice and knew she’d disappointed him again. He didn’t offer to go with her, to make sure she was safe.
Outside there was the sound of melted snow dripping from the trees in the park, a tawny owl close by, and as she walked around the corner of the house the chug of the generator used by the crime-scene team to power the lights in the tent. It was already quite dark, but she could see perfectly. The police officers had shown them the route they should use, a path well away from the crime scene, but the lights were so fierce that they lit the track all the way to Dorothy’s place.
The cottage was low, single storey, one of a pair. The other, larger house had been sold off by her father when the estate was short of cash and the tax man was getting heavy. Now it was a holiday home, owned by a businessman in the south, only used in the summer, but quiet and dark at this time of year. Dorothy’s curtains were still open and Juliet looked inside and felt again a tug of jealousy. The baby, Duncan, must just have been in the bath. He was lying on a towel in front of the fire. Karan was drying him. Everything seemed so compact and simple. So manageable. Karan looked up and saw her. He smiled and waved her to come in.
There was a glass porch at the front of the house where they sat on summer evenings drinking tea or wine looking out over the valley. Juliet left her boots there and walked straight into the living room. Karan had scooped the baby into his arms. Through an open door to the back, Juliet saw Dorothy in the small kitchen.
‘I’m sorry to intrude. I just needed to get away.’
‘I don’t blame you. What a nightmare it must be.’ Dorothy was folding laundry.
Still working. Still doing what she’s been doing for us all day.
‘It would have been worse without you to take charge.’
Karan stood up, the boy in his arms. ‘I’m taking this one to bed. I’ll be back soon.’
In the kitchen, Dorothy reached into a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of wine. It would be better, Juliet knew, than any of the stuff she and Mark drank. Dorothy opened it deftly, poured a glass and took a moment to taste it before pouring one for Juliet. ‘I see they’re still there.’
‘According to Vera, they hope to have taken the body away this evening.’ Juliet paused. ‘I guess things will get back to normal then.’
‘I don’t think they’ll be anything like normal until the police find the killer.’ Dorothy lifted the pile of laundry into a basket. ‘We were here when she died. The snow was so thick it’s unlikely anyone else could have got in. Of course, they’ll be asking questions.’
Karan came in and heard the last comment. He poured himself a glass of wine. He was Glaswegian, of Indian heritage, calm, easy. He and Dorothy had met at university; he’d trained as an accountant to please his parents and had given it up to become a teacher. The plan was that he’d start training in the autumn. There were times when Juliet found herself comparing him with Mark, wishing she’d ended up with someone like him.
‘But you didn’t have anything to do with her,’ Karan said. ‘The idea’s crazy! You didn’t even know her.’ He looked at them. ‘Did you?’
‘This is a small place,’ Juliet said. ‘We know everyone.’
Chapter Twelve
HOLLY JACKMAN WAS AT HOME IN her clean, white flat, with its view of the city graveyard, when Vera called. The boss had sent her away at lunchtime, soon after Holly had interviewed Mark Bolitho and Sophie Blackstock, and when the guests were allowed to leave Brockburn. ‘Get on off. I doubt you got much sleep last night. I’ll give you a shout if we need you.’ And now, it seemed, Vera did need her.
‘I hope you managed some kip this afternoon.’
‘A little.’ Holly wasn’t sure what she was letting herself in for. She’d been for a run and then dozed for a while, but didn’t pass on those details. With Vera, it was best to be cautious, to give nothing away.
‘If you’re up for it, I’d like you to go back to Brockburn. The roads are clear there now. I’ve not long got back. I don’t need you at the big house, but it’s been niggling me that nobody’s really spoken
