‘Is that where Lorna was on the Thursday before she died, the day Connie Browne was looking after the bairn?’
‘Yes, at least there was no group meeting that morning, but they met up in the woman’s home.’ He paused. ‘I couldn’t get much out of her over the phone. She’s called Olivia Best, she’s a midwife and she was just rushing out to go on shift, but I’ve arranged to visit tomorrow morning. She lives just down the road from me.’
‘Champion.’ Vera felt a spark of optimism. It was clear from the voicemail message that Lorna had been frantic, that she had something important to discuss. They had to find out what that was. ‘You’ve had a productive morning, Joe. For the rest of you, our sergeant here discovered that Crispin, father of Juliet, paid all Lorna’s hospital fees. Now, he could just have been a charitable soul, with a sense of obligation to his tenants. But as he had a reputation as a lecherous old goat, there’s also a possibility that he was Lorna’s dad.’ She pointed at Charlie. ‘I’ve warned Juliet that we’ll need a DNA sample from her. Can we do that asap? I’m not sure how that’ll move us forward in the inquiry, but it might explain Robert Falstone’s coldness to his daughter, and that’s one fewer thing to chase up.’ A pause. ‘How did you get on with the Blackstocks yesterday, Joe? And was your psychologist able to shed further light on any relationship between them and Lorna?’
‘She remembered them both – Paul and Sophie – but my impression was that neither was particularly close to Lorna.’
‘Just a coincidence then that they happened to be in Brockburn the night Lorna died?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe. Sophie job-shares with Mark, and he’s running the place full-time while she’s on maternity leave. That’s why they came to be there.’
‘They’re just colleagues? Nothing closer?’
He shrugged again, unwilling to commit himself either way, and Vera turned her attention to Holly.
‘You’ve had a day in the city, Hol. What have you got for us?’
‘I’ve found out that Mark Bolitho’s a liar.’
‘Is he, now? And how do we know this?’
‘He left home at six this morning. At that time of day, it wouldn’t have taken longer than an hour to get into work, but he didn’t get to his office until nine. He claims he had breakfast in a cafe near his flat. Avocado on toast.’
Vera wondered when that had become a thing. ‘I’m not sure we need a breakdown of his breakfast preferences.’
‘Trust me, boss, it’s relevant. I checked with the cafe. This morning there was no avocado.’
‘Oh, Mr Bolitho! If you hadn’t been so clever, adding the details in the hope we’d believe you, so arrogant, we’d never have caught you out.’ Vera gave a little chuckle. ‘Well done, Hol. Any idea what he was doing in his spare two hours?’
‘I’m checking CCTV in the city.’
‘Check CCTV out to the coast too. Maybe he went to Tynemouth to see the lovely Sophie.’
Holly nodded. ‘The guy in the cafe did say he went in sometimes with a skinny young woman. That could have been Sophie. She was a colleague.’
Vera considered for a moment. ‘Or it could have been Lorna.’ She had a brief tremor of revulsion. She hoped desperately that this lying city boy wasn’t the father of the child, with whom she now imagined she had a connection. How unimaginative, how pathetic, if Mark had followed in his father-in-law’s footsteps and slept with one of the Brockburn tenants! She couldn’t think how Juliet might cope with the knowledge.
Holly was talking again. ‘I spoke to Joshua Heslop’s friends. He was definitely with them on Friday night, so we can rule him out of Lorna’s murder. Even though he didn’t join them until eight-thirty, he couldn’t have killed Lorna and got to Newcastle in that weather. He must have left Kirkhill earlier in the day.’
‘Did we learn anything more about him?’
‘They admire his art. He has an exhibition in a small gallery here in Kimmerston. They were expecting him to bring a girlfriend with him, but she didn’t show.’
That sparked Vera’s interest. ‘Had they met her? Was she Lorna?’
‘They didn’t know anything about her. He’d been very mysterious. Friday was to be the evening when he’d finally introduce her to his arty mates.’
Holly paused, but Vera could tell there was something else. ‘What’s bothering you, Hol? Spit it out!’
‘When Charlie and I looked round Lorna’s house on Sunday, we saw her paintings. There was one subject that she painted over and over again. It seemed to haunt her. A cottage in the forest. I haven’t been able to forget it because it seemed so important to her. I thought the image was imaginary, kind of symbolic. Only one was titled and that was wintry, the most recent. She’d called it “The Darkest Evening”, and that seemed familiar. There was a book of poetry on her desk – a collection of Robert Frost’s work. It’s been inscribed inside by Constance. I did Frost’s poetry at school and I still had the book at home. I picked it up on my way through from the Baltic Gallery.’
Holly paused. Vera could tell the others in the room were bored, but she was interested. She nodded for Holly to continue.
‘One of the poems is called “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”.’ Holly stopped and opened the book. ‘This is the second verse:
‘My little horse must think it queer . . .’ She was interrupted by a muffled snigger from the back of the room.
Vera turned to the offender. ‘You’re not in the playground now! How old are you? Go on,
