‘For the spare room. So I can work late without waking you up by going into the kitchen.’
With that, he picked up the fridge and took it upstairs. Maggie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
‘I’ll nick you a commode from work as well, shall I? Then you can lock yourself away for days searching for the elusive Jimmy bloody Nunn!’
Jack bounced down the stairs, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her back up. In the spare bedroom, they both faced his ever-growing evidence wall. Jack stood behind her with his arms wrapped tightly round her waist.
‘You were right, Mags. I did need a better reason to exhume Rawlins’ first grave and now I’ve got it. This Rose Cottage case goes back way further than we thought... this far.’ He swept his hand through the air in front of Maggie’s face, indicating every piece of evidence collected. ‘Right back to 1984. Back to the diamond robbery. Back to Harry Rawlins. Ridley’s sold on the idea now, so all I need to do is persuade him that something relevant is hidden in that grave.’
Jack couldn’t see Maggie’s face, but it was a combination of worry and confusion. What the hell is he talking about?
‘The diamonds, Mags! They’ve never been found and they’ve got to be somewhere.’
‘Jack...’ Maggie started.
‘I know what you’re going to say. But this is as relevant to the Rose Cottage case as it is to mine.’
‘You haven’t got a case!’ Maggie flicked her hands dismissively towards his evidence wall. ‘This... This is not a police investigation. This is a personal... God knows what!’ She turned in Jack’s arms to face him. ‘You’re not supposed to be doing this and, more to the point, you don’t need to be doing it. You have a dad. Why do you need another one? Especially this one, Jack — he sounds awful.’
As Maggie talked, Jack looked deep into her eyes. His eyebrows were up, his eyes were wide and inviting and she could see that this was the version of her partner she’d been waiting for. He was excited. Animated. Happy. Jack was alive again.
‘I’m not trying to replace anything I have now, but my past, Mags, has holes in it that you could drive a bus through. There are missing pieces and I need to find them. Jimmy’s not an appealing man, you’re right, but my God, he lived. I just want to meet him. I need to know where this restlessness comes from. I can’t focus on “now” until I do.’
Maggie realised that she had to support Jack through this — whatever this was — and she hated that thought. But, as she smiled back at him, she also realised that this was how she’d get her husband back. The man she looked at now was the strong, driven man she’d fallen in love with back in Totnes. Their passions rose and, before she knew it, Jack was kissing her, perching her on the edge of the spare bed and pulling down her silk pyjama shorts. As she unbuckled his trousers, he kissed her neck until she tightened her legs round his waist to bring him to her. She felt now as she had felt the first time they made love; she had been desperate to experience the new man in her life and, as such, it was over in minutes, but what an explosive few minutes they were. She had that same frantic feeling now. Maggie once again felt desperate to experience this ‘new man’ in her life, but this time was better, because this time was also filled with love. Jack knew her, knew how to touch her, knew how to move her. Maggie arched her back, allowing Jack to be however he wanted to be. She loved him, she trusted him, and she wanted him.
Audrey Withey was one of those people who’d always lived life just the wrong side of the law, but never really saw it like that. She’d never declared an income, she’d not think twice about buying smuggled European fags and anything off the back of a lorry was fair game. Her home was nice enough for a three-bedroomed flat, but nothing matched — clearly Audrey scooped up anything that was getting chucked out by anyone else. One man’s trash...
Audrey was an almost skeletal 76-year-old woman who looked like she’d be blown over in a strong wind. When she took a drag on her cigarette, her face almost turned inside out and it was blatantly obvious from the smell that there was a large brandy in her coffee. As she walked Ridley and Jack into her lounge, she didn’t offer them any refreshments or, indeed, a seat. So, they both remained standing.
The décor would give lesser men a migraine. The curtains and walls were a fag-smoke tan colour and, although the flat was tidy, it wasn’t clean. Audrey had ‘gone to pot’. She was an old woman, wearing old clothes, surrounded by old things, in an old flat. Her days of making an effort had long gone. There were four photo frames on the sideboard: one picture of Shirley, aged 20, in a beauty pageant sash; one of Mike, at the same age, in his army uniform; one of Greg, aged about 14, in his school uniform; the fourth frame contained a tiny pink baby bonnet and mittens. Badly knitted. Never worn. These photos showed the pinnacle of each child’s life, and they were displayed with a huge amount of love and pride. They were the only things in this room not covered in dust.
Ridley sighed heavily. Shirley had been shot to death in a botched diamond raid, Greg was in prison on his fifth compulsory drug-rehab programme, there was obviously a miscarriage in the mix somewhere, and he was about to tell Audrey that Mike had been bludgeoned to death and then burnt beyond recognition. Sometimes Ridley hated this job — no mother should outlive one of her children, let alone three.
Ridley knew that, after the death notification, he’d lose any co-operation from Audrey; he opted to delay the bad news until he’d had the opportunity to ask a few questions.
‘Mrs Withey, back in 1995 there was a train robbery in Aylesbury, do you remember? Mike was still on the force back then, under the command of DCI Craigh—’
‘We never spoke about work.’ Audrey shut Ridley down before he could start. ‘What you asking about ancient history for, when you should be looking for my boy?’
‘I presumed Mike would have mentioned this particular case to you, seeing as it involved Dolly Rawlins.’
Audrey pursed her sallow lips and jabbed her yellow-tipped finger at Ridley.
‘You don’t mention that woman’s name in my house,’ she snarled as the instinctive, uncontrollable hatred bubbled quickly to the surface. ‘I only let you in ’cos you said you wanted to talk about Mike. And now you’re mentioning that bitch and talking about some train robbery. Not trying to pin that on him as well, are ya?’
‘As well as what, Mrs Withey?’ Ridley was annoyingly calm, making Audrey jump to her feet.
‘Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m thick. You’re in my house! I been around the block, son, so don’t try and trick me into incriminating Mike. Yes! I remember the train robbery — ’cos it was just months before your lot booted Mike out. He served his country, home and abroad, and what did you do? You treated him like a criminal.’ Then Audrey smiled. ‘You got no clue where he is, ’ave ya? Well, good. All you want to do is use him as a scapegoat again. If he’s running, good!’
‘Why would he be running?’
‘’Cos he knows your game. When she was released, we grieved all over again for our Shirl and...’ Audrey glanced at the photos, gulped and regained composure. ‘The bonnet and mittens are pink ’cos I so desperately wanted it to be another girl. I’d have called her Eve — that was my Shirl’s middle name, after my mum.’ When Audrey looked back in Ridley’s direction, her eyes were red but the tears were being held back by the hatred. ‘Stress, the doctors said. Stress made my body neglect my unborn child and she died inside me. Dolly Rawlins did that!’ She pointed to the line of four photos. ‘She did all of that!’