So just before Lorna had gone to Constance and asked her to babysit.
‘Joanne, it’s me again. Lorna. I’m sorry if I was a bit melodramatic before. I’m a bit calmer this time. Look, I’ve found someone to talk to. Someone who runs one of the groups. I still need to speak to you, though. I don’t think anyone else would properly understand. You’re the only person who can help. I know you’re busy and you have other patients now, but please come back to me if you pick this up.’
Joe looked across at Joanne and saw she was almost in tears.
‘She’ll have thought I didn’t care enough to get back to her. She died thinking that.’
Joe shook his head. ‘If she knew you, she’d have understood you’d have called her back if you could.’ He paused. ‘What was the group she was talking about?’
‘It could be an informal group for sufferers of anorexia. Or a fellowship on the Alcoholics Anonymous model. When she left Halstead House, she’d have been given a list of meetings, a phone number to ring. Some people find that kind of support very helpful.’
‘Could you give me the list that she had?’
‘Of course.’ Joanne seemed relieved to be given something practical to do. She went to her computer and the printer started whirring.
Joe scanned the paper. There was a list of venues with contact details next to each one. ‘The closest seems to be in Newcastle.’ Perhaps that was where she was going on her bus trips to the city. To find support in her illness. A lot less glamorous than meeting the wealthy boyfriend invented by village gossip.
‘We try to keep the list updated. She might have been given slightly different information.’ Joanne seemed to have calmed a little now. She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I have to see another patient.’
Joe nodded and got to his feet. It would be afternoon before he got back to Kimmerston, but he’d have time to phone the leader of the Newcastle support group before the briefing. If Lorna had gone to that meeting on the day before she died and confided in the group, they might have a much clearer idea about the motive for her murder.
Chapter Twenty-Four
VERA SAT IN THE CUPBOARD OF an office, which she’d managed to cling on to even when the rest of the team had been forced to go open-plan. It was gloomy even in summer and this time of year the desk lamp was always on. She’d made coffee and wrapped her hands round the mug. The office was either sweltering or freezing and this was one of the days when the heating wasn’t working. She was sitting in her coat. In her more paranoid moments, she wondered if the faltering radiators were part of a conspiracy designed by her unpleasant boss to force her into early retirement. Or into sharing a desk in the office like a goldfish bowl.
The news that Crispin had paid Lorna’s hospital fees had shaken Vera, but it hadn’t surprised her. She hadn’t been convinced by Juliet’s assertion that Crispin couldn’t be Lorna’s father. The response had come too swiftly and too stridently. Vera thought the relationship was a possibility that Juliet must have already considered for herself. Perhaps it had been so distasteful to her that she’d pushed it to the back of her mind, but it hadn’t come as a new idea.
This had implications. Personal implications. If Juliet and Lorna had been half-sisters, then Vera would have been related to the lass too. A cousin of some description. Vera felt an unusual ache of familial responsibility. She couldn’t have known about Lorna’s problems but felt the pain of guilt all the same, a sense that she should have been there to protect the young woman. And now, it seemed, she might also be some kind of distant relative to Thomas. That too might bring with it unwanted obligations.
She was still sitting in her office, mulling over the day’s events, when the team started to gather for the evening briefing. Vera was feeling odd. She was used to being alone in the world. She had her colleagues and felt no need for a family. She’d looked after Hector in his last months out of a sense of duty. Because she was all he had.
She’d known about Juliet and Harriet, of course, but had never thought of making contact, even after Hector’s death. She had too much pride. If she’d made an effort to know them, they might have thought she was on the scrounge too. And it wasn’t as if they needed her. They had the big house and centuries of entitlement and had never acknowledged her as part of the Stanhope clan. What could they possibly have in common?
Now, it seemed, there was that scrap of a child who might have a claim on her affections. The thought that there could be another generation of Stanhopes, as excluded as she had been, made Vera think differently about herself. Of course she couldn’t care for the baby! That would never work. But perhaps she should look out for him in some way. Be a kind of mentor as he was growing up. Not let any bastard take advantage.
Vera picked up her notebook and made her way to the ops room. Everyone was gathered. They must have been waiting for her. She looked at the clock and saw she was five minutes late.
‘Sorry, everyone!’ It was time to focus, to shut out any other emotion until the case was over. ‘Right. What have you got for me? Joe, I got the message that you went back to the private clinic in Cumbria. What was that all about? Your psychologist friend wanted more of your scintillating company?’
There was a snigger from the back.
Joe explained about the voicemails from Lorna. Vera listened to the messages and then
