She was sitting outside with Mark at a picnic table painted blue and white. There was space for only a handful of patrons and she was thankful that the busy period had passed prior to their arrival. A small group of ramblers funnelled past the table, clutching takeaway coffees and some home-made cakes and biscuits. It was a fine afternoon for a walk. Janssen appeared from the interior carrying a tray. On it were two coffees, one for each of them and a bottle of coke for Mark. Setting the tray down, he lifted a pint glass off it containing a wooden spoon, a large number four was written on it in black marker. She looked around them at the empty tables and then past him, into the interior. It was devoid of customers now.
“You think they’ll struggle to know who the rolls are for?” She nodded towards the spoon, the marker to guide the staff to the correct table with their order. Janssen smiled but said nothing, placing her coffee before her. She thanked him.
“I ordered you a fried egg in yours. That was right, wasn’t it?” Janssen asked her, she nodded. She didn’t eat meat, having been raised a vegetarian but she still wasn’t prepared to go vegan. Not yet. Although, every trip to visit her family imposed it. Mark sipped at his coke. She watched him for a second before speaking.
“You were with Holly on Friday night.” She could have tested the boy’s honesty by asking but was keen to progress the conversation. At this stage, she didn’t see him as the most probable killer. Never in her experience had she come across a killer who disposed of a victim, only to return to it the following morning carrying his breakfast. Sociopathic narcissists could do such a thing, those devoid of all empathy, but they kept their victims secreted in their homes, not on public display. “One of your friends at the party told us.”
Mark looked her in the eye. “None of them are my friends. Only Holly.” The animosity in his tone was obvious.
She acknowledged the correction, making a mental note. “What time did you and Holly leave the party?” He shook his head, offering an accompanying shrug. “Where did you go?” He seemed reluctant to answer but she didn’t sense he was trying to conceal something or fabricate an answer. “It’s important, Mark.”
“There’s a place. I go there when… when I need to be alone.”
“And you went there with Holly?” Again, he paused, looking down. She was about to push when the waitress arrived with their food. She was an upbeat, enthusiastic women, passing round their orders, cutlery, and offering them sauces. The interruption passed and the three were alone again. Tearing open a tiny packet of salt, she sprinkled it over her egg and then secured the top of the roll in place. Mark struggled to open a ketchup packet for his bacon roll and Janssen assisted him.
They began to eat, allowing the boy a moment of peace. He set about the food with such gusto, she wondered when he last ate. “Mark. You took Holly to your place. Is it special to you?” He looked up at her, bobbing his head in answer as he chewed a mouthful. Wiping ketchup from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, he smiled.
“She was keen. I always told her I would take her one day.”
“And did she like it?” Biting down on her roll, she tried to keep the conversation low-key and relaxed. The yoke split and ran from the bread, over the back of her hand. Placing it down, she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin and then cleaned her hand. “Did she?”
Mark shook his head. “We never made it.”
“Why? What happened?” she asked him, glancing at Janssen. He wasn’t contributing. To the uninitiated, he was paying little attention, merely eating his food and sipping at his coffee. She knew better. He was absorbing every detail, every nuance, no matter how slight.
“She changed her mind.”
Tamara waited for him to elaborate but nothing was forthcoming. “Just like that?” Mark nodded, crestfallen. “Was that unusual for her. To behave like that, I mean?”
“No, not really,” he replied. His tone was melancholic now, disappointed. “She would blow hot and cold. Some days I think she would be so excited around me and others… well… she was changeable as the weather, that’s what my mum used to say.”
“About Holly?” she asked.
“No. People in general. Fitted with Holly, though.”
“And where did she go, then?” Mark shook his head to indicate he didn’t know. “When did you next see her?”
“Saturday morning, on the path… when I…” He fell silent, probably reliving the memory, she suspected. Looking to Janssen, he met her eye with a flick of one eyebrow.
“Why did you run, Mark?” she asked him, applying a stern tone to her voice in order to convey the seriousness of the question.
“Because of her. That woman.” He spoke with such venom that it threw her off guard, albeit for a second.
“Jane Francis?” Janssen asked softly. Mark looked to him, his eyes narrowing. “What is it about her you don’t like?”
The answer was almost spat with anger. “She’s evil, that’s what.”
Chapter Thirteen
Tom Janssen pondered their discussion with Mark McCall. For a young man of seventeen, he seemed awfully naïve about the ways of the world. That assessment was exacerbated by the family he sprung from. If there were a family whom you could rely on to be cynically manipulating people or the system for their own benefit, it was the McCalls. However, Mark fell short of what he expected and that threw him. He’d be lying if he denied slotting the lad into the frame almost as soon as they heard Mark and Holly were involved with one another. That’s not the
