‘Nah.’ Jonnie laughed. ‘He’s not gay, but he’s got this secret woman, someone he won’t tell us about. We thought he might bring her to the party on Friday – he hinted that he might. Then he turned up on his own.’
‘And drank himself stupid all night,’ Oliver said. ‘We thought he might be broken-hearted, that maybe he’d just been dumped.’
‘You don’t know anything about her? A name?’
‘Nope. I wondered if she was married, someone his family might disapprove of. He’s always been very close to his parents and sees his dad as a kind of hero. He’d hate to upset them.’
Holly looked at the clock again. Now it was time to drive back to Kimmerston to the evening briefing. She’d go right past her flat on the way there and for a moment, she wondered if she could go home, just phone in what she’d discovered during the day. Then she thought that she had important information, information that Vera would value, and she didn’t want to miss being there for that. But there was something in the flat that she wanted to collect, so she just called in briefly and was on her way.
Chapter Twenty-Three
JOE ASHWORTH WAS HALFWAY HOME FROM Cumbria, had just crossed into Northumberland, and was following the line of Hadrian’s Wall, feeling a sense of relief at being back on familiar territory, when his phone rang. He’d already had a call from Vera to tell him about the disappearance of Constance Browne, but this was a number he didn’t recognize. He answered it anyway.
‘Sergeant Ashworth? It’s Joanne Simmons Wright.’ The psychologist from Halstead House.
He pulled into a lay-by. The car was buffeted by a northerly wind and there was a view of bare moorland. If he got home at a reasonable time tonight, they’d get the wood-burner going, the curtains drawn, spend a bit of time with the kids. His vision of board games and hot chocolate around the fire never seemed to work out in reality – the children got bored, distracted, and started demanding their screens back and Sal was ultra-competitive – but in the middle of this bleakness, the idea was appealing. Joanne started talking and he had to make an effort to listen.
‘I had a few days’ leave at the end of last week, and then there was yoga and my meeting with you, so I’ve only just had the chance to check my voicemail.’
‘Yes?’ He was still planning his idyllic evening in. Perhaps they’d get takeaway pizza. The kids would love that and it would save Sal cooking.
‘There was a message from Lorna Falstone.’
Now she had his full attention. ‘When did she phone you?’
‘Thursday morning.’
Thursday was when Lorna had left Thomas with Connie because she’d had something urgent to do.
‘What did she say?’
‘It’s rather a long message,’ Joanne said. ‘In fact, she called twice. Would you like to come back to hear it?’
He hesitated for a moment. He was halfway home and the over-heated, familiar office in Kimmerston nick seemed very attractive. ‘Of course. I’ll be there in less than an hour.’
The psychologist was waiting for him in the reception hall. Joe could tell she was restless, distraught. She’d changed from the Lycra and sweatshirt into a long skirt over boots, a jersey the colour of chestnuts. ‘I keep thinking that if I’d been here to answer her call, she might not have died.’
She took him back into the same office. There was a filter coffee machine on a sideboard, the jug still almost full, and she poured out two mugs, offered him a little carton of UHT milk. He shook his head. He would have liked sugar, but that didn’t seem to be on offer.
‘This was the first call.’ She pressed a button. Joe had already taken out his phone and set it to record. Lorna seemed to come back to life for a moment, to became more real to him than she had at any time during the investigation. She sounded very young, her accent the gentle rural Northumberland lilt of the hills. It was very similar to Vera’s, but Lorna’s voice was panicky, in places almost shrill.
‘Joanne, I need to talk to you. I thought I was doing fine. I was doing fine. But something’s happened. I need to talk to someone. It feels like it did before, as if it’s all unravelling. I’m losing control. I worry that I’ll be ill again, that I won’t be fit to care for Thomas. That I might hurt myself. Can I come in to see you? I could borrow a car, come over tomorrow. I know it’s early and you probably won’t be in yet. I’ll try again later.’
‘Couldn’t she have asked to speak to another counsellor?’
‘She could,’ Joanne said, ‘but it’s a long time since she was resident here. Staff move on. She couldn’t have guaranteed speaking to someone she knew.’
‘You said there was a second message.’
‘Yes, that came a couple of hours later. The first call came through at seven-thirty in the morning.’
While Joanne reset the phone, Joe put himself in Lorna’s place. Had she had a bad night with Thomas? The toddler was of an age when he’d be teething. Joe could remember how that felt, a child whingeing and refusing to settle, the exhaustion and the guilt because by morning you’d run out of patience and any sympathy you might have felt had long since gone. No partner and parents you didn’t feel you could ask for help. No wonder if she’d felt she needed someone to talk to. But Joe thought the call had been prompted by more than that. Lorna Falstone had sounded seriously scared.
‘Are you ready for the next message?’ Joanne had her finger poised
