Double Jeopardy, page 2
‘We’ll be offering her counselling, of course. There are some excellent doctors who work regularly with police officers.’
The doctor nodded doubtfully.
‘I’m not sure she will be particularly receptive, but we’ll have to try.’
‘May I see her?’
‘Of course.’ The doctor glanced at him. ‘She has already been fully debriefed – she insisted upon it, even though I felt she was too weak at that time.’
Jason raised a reassuring hand.
‘Don’t worry; I know about that – I’ve read the report in detail. I’m not here to undertake anything official. I’m her boss; this is mainly a social visit to see how she is doing. Last time I saw her, she was unconscious with three bullet wounds.’ He didn’t add that it wasn’t just pressure of work that had kept him away since then, although he had made sure of being kept apprised of Julie’s progress all the time. He had been all too aware of the outcome the last time he had been to see someone in hospital and he needed to be sure that she would recover before making a visit. He reflected ruefully that perhaps Julie was not the only one who needed counselling.
The doctor smiled again.
‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.’
Jason wasn’t, but he nodded his thanks and was shown into the neat single room, bright and light with windows overlooking a garden area. Julie Cooper sat up in bed, a bandage across her forehead. Her face was pale and her expression held little of the spark and animation that Jason, who had been in charge of Operation Snowball, knew should be there. She wore a baggy white T-shirt with a Rolling Stones tongue logo on it. A book lay open face down on the bed and she lay back on puffed-up pillows staring across the room at the blank screen of the TV that hung suspended from the ceiling like a geometric bat.
‘Hello Julie.’ He spoke gently, moving a chair closer to the bed and sitting down.
Julie moved her head and dipped it briefly in acknowledgement.
‘Good morning, sir.’ Her voice was stronger than he’d expected, but flat and empty of emotion. He thought briefly that he would rather she was hostile, blaming him for involving her in the operation that had had such a devastating aftershock for her, than showing nothing at all.
‘Your doctor says you are recovering well.’
‘Yes, I could be out of here by the end of next week.’ She spoke like an automation, repeating what the doctors had told her. ‘I took two bullets in the chest and both missed anything vital by a fraction. The first bullet saved my life: it spun me round so that the head shot went across my forehead rather than into it. They say I was very lucky.’ She didn’t sound as though she believed them.
‘You were,’ Jason decided to be brisk and businesslike to try to dent Julie’s veneer of self-contempt. ‘Although being young and fit helped as well.’
Julie didn’t respond. She shifted slightly so that she could talk to Jason without moving her head too much and winced at the sudden sharp reminder of the broken ribs that had deflected one of the bullets.
‘It doesn’t change the fact that my job effectively killed my aunt.’ The fingers of her right hand plucked at the edge of her sheet in a nervous gesture that was totally out of character. Jason felt the growing tentacles of despair – it looked as though the doctor was right and he was probably going to lose one of his best young officers.
‘That’s rubbish, and you know it. We didn’t expect any retaliation once you’d given your evidence. Police officers have been attacked in the past to silence them before they can report or give evidence, but it is very rare for them to be attacked afterwards purely as revenge. There’s no percentage in it and most professional crooks won’t do anything unless it nets them a profit.’ He glared at her, hoping to spark some sort of response.
Julie’s mouth twisted into a humourless smile. She knew exactly what he was trying to do.
‘No, it breaks all the rules, doesn’t it? It’s a shame it isn’t really a game and we can’t just line up all the characters again afterwards and start afresh.’ She paused and for the first time showed a little real interest in the conversation. ‘Has Jarrow admitted that he ordered the hit?’
‘No.’ Jason pulled a face. ‘The bastard admits that he isn’t sorry it happened, but claims he knew nothing about it.’
Julie nodded. No surprises there then. It certainly didn’t mean that Jarrow wasn’t behind the killing. Being in prison is not a deterrent to ordering a murder – or any other criminal action – if you have the right contacts and Jarrow was as well connected as anyone in his area of business, with plenty of money to grease any necessary wheels. Not to mention plenty of time to make the arrangements.
‘And the shooters?’
‘No trace, I’m afraid. They were tracked on CCTV whilst they were in the city centre, but after that they moved off the radar. There’s still a dedicated team working on it in Havenchester, and the Yard is providing back up. We’ve been watching for any known villains who might have been involved trying to leave the country, but nothing’s turned up yet. We’ve followed up a few sightings, but they were false alarms. If they’d any sense, they would have ditched the bike pretty quickly, and anything that’s found abandoned that might be the one has been carefully checked out, but no joy so far. There’s a lot of woodland and forest in that part of the world to search, not to mention several lakes.’ He didn’t mention needles and haystacks, but the thought was clearly there.
That didn’t surprise her either. She nodded slowly.
‘I’ll need to continue my leave once I get out of hospital. I have to go back up to Havenchester for a while.’
Jason frowned.
‘I hope you’re not thinking of taking the law into your own hands?’ He tried to sound disproving, although he privately felt that digging around up there might help Julie to get some of the hurt and self-recrimination out of her system. He made a mental note to speak to someone on the Havenchester force and get her a little unofficial support.
‘My aunt is dead.’ The minute trace of interest seemed to have died again. She took a deep breath. ‘She had a flat and a business up there and I’m her next of kin. There’s a lot I need to do.’
Jason nodded. If he had noticed that she hadn’t answered his question, he didn’t show it.
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘We’ll arrange some protection for you.’
‘I wouldn’t bother, sir – they won’t try again.’ Her eyes met his and reflected deep pools of pain. ‘Jarrow has already sent me to hell. If he wants revenge he’s got it. Why would he want to put me out of my misery?’
TWO
JULIE GOT OUT of the taxi that she had taken from the station and the driver opened the boot and removed her two suitcases and travelling bag. She paid the driver and added a generous tip – chivalry should be rewarded. For a moment, she stood on the pavement and looked up at the block of luxury flats overlooking the river where her aunt had lived. Tall and slightly curved, the main impression was one of a vast glass yacht, its sail enveloping the wind. The views were, indeed, spectacular, as she well knew. Julie tried to analyse how she felt, depressed at the thought that her aunt would no longer be there when she arrived, but with a underlying comfort at returning to a place of which she had so many good memories, both of childhood and adulthood. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, the sun shone fitfully from a grey, cloudy sky and an occasional spot of rain floated in on the chilly wind. Julie shivered slightly, turned up the collar of her coat, lifted her cases and walked across to the entrance to the flats. Automatic doors slid open smoothly, the warmth of the foyer a welcoming haven from the wind.
A uniformed commissionaire sat at a desk to the right of a row of lifts. The entrance way was clean and bright, a fitting tribute to the level of service charges paid by the residents. The commissionaire lowered the newspaper he had been reading, smiled and nodded to her.
‘Good afternoon, miss, it’s good to see you back.’
‘Thank you, Norman.’ The commissionaire was an ex-soldier who had stood – and sat – guard over the desk since Aunt Joyce had moved in to the luxury apartments ten years before. Normally, Julie would have stopped and chatted for a while unless she was in a hurry, but today she just wanted to get upstairs to the sanctuary of the flat. ‘Mr Kingsley is due at three o’clock. Send him up as soon as he comes, please.’
‘Certainly, miss.’
The lift arrived and took Julie and her luggage swiftly up to the ninth floor – two floors below the penthouse, but if not in the lap of luxury, at least well over its knees. Julie reached her aunt’s door – hers now – took the key from her shoulder bag and let herself in. She knew that Simon Kingsley had arranged for the flat to be cleaned and the beds changed ready for her. The smell of fresh furniture polish hung in the air as testimony to the presence of the cleaner.
Julie walked through the square hall into the large open lounge with its wide picture window, balcony and spectacular views across the river. She went across to the windows and stood for a moment looking out across the north of the city. The sun chose that moment to find a small slit in the clouds and the river gleamed as she watched it, rippling gently, like a thick, silvery brown snake. A barge drifted past and rounded the bend in the river towards Nelson Bridge.
Julie stepped back from the window and took her cases through into her bedroom. It was the one that she usually used, the middle sized of the three bedrooms. She was not yet ready to use her aunt’s room as her own. She lifted the cases on to the bed ready to unpack, took off her coat and hung it up in the long fitted wardrobe with the mirrored sliding doors that made the room seem larger and brighter. The furniture was modern and functional, matching Julie’s own taste.
Julie decided not to unpack immediately and instead started walking slowly through the flat, looking about her as she entered each room, pausing in anticipation. She did not quite know why at first and then she realized that she was waiting for her aunt to appear with her warm smile of welcome and her soft friendly voice. Squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that suddenly welled up, Julie went through to the kitchen and started to get coffee ready for Simon Kingsley’s arrival. Although the pain of her loss had not lessened, she found over time that she could hold it enclosed for a while until she let down her guard and a memory flashed into her mind to tear through the fabric of the flimsy protection she had built up and cause the pain and tears to flood out again as strongly as ever.
She found that busying herself with simple mundane tasks helped and she spent far longer than was necessary preparing cups and saucers and sorting through the larder – which Kingsley had also arranged to be stocked – for biscuits.
Kingsley was prompt, ringing the bell at three o’clock exactly. Julie took his coat and led him through into the lounge. The solicitor placed his scuffed brown briefcase down beside a deep red leather armchair and lowered himself into it. Julie fetched the drinks and biscuits on a tray from the kitchen.
‘Ah, chocolate digestives, you remembered.’ He beamed with pleasure as if her small feat of memory was the most remarkable thing that had happened to him all day.
‘Aunt Jo always said she had to get a packet in specially for you.’
‘Indeed.’
Kingsley was a tall, thin, very intelligent, if occasionally rather pedantic, man in his mid-fifties with a rumpled, kindly face, topped by an unruly thatch of still thick grey hair. He had on a well-worn dark-grey three-piece suit, pale-blue shirt and grey and blue striped tie. His black Oxford shoes gleamed. At first glance, some assumed that he was rather fuddy-duddy, but they soon realized the keen mind that lay behind the mild blue eyes.
Kingsley leant forward, selected a biscuit, took a bite and surveyed his client anxiously for a few moments through gold-rimmed spectacles. He had known Joyce Kemp for many years, as a family friend as well as her solicitor and had met Julie on several occasions. He thought she looked drawn and tired, which was hardly surprising, considering what she had been through. Sitting opposite him on the settee, she nursed her coffee cup on her lap, her legs together in an almost schoolgirl pose.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
Whether it was his position as her solicitor, or whether it was his links of friendship to her aunt, Julie felt she could be more open with him than she had been with the psychologist she had seen a few days earlier and who had tried in vain to get through her barrier of grief.
‘Physically, I’ve amazed the doctors. Everything seems to have healed up pretty well. There’s a scar on my forehead still, but that’s starting to fade. People will soon stop thinking I’m Harry Potter’s elder sister.’ She pulled a face. ‘Mentally, of course, as I’m responsible for killing Aunt Jo, it’s a rather different matter.’
‘You aren’t responsible at all.’ As a long time friend, Kingsley permitted himself the luxury of speaking rather sharply. ‘The people who are responsible are the bastards who fired the shots and whoever paid them to do it.’
Julie sat silently for a moment. Then she gave a brief nod of acknowledgement.
‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘In fact you’re better at it than some of the doctors. Not any more convincing, I’m afraid, but better.’ She paused and looked at him. Kingsley almost winced at the depth of torment in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, you are sweet to be concerned, but this is something I’ve got to try to deal with in my own way and in order to do that, I need to accept it in my own way, too. So let’s just deal with business please.’
Even as she spoke, she knew that one small thing had changed. As she had been growing stronger and healing, she had found that there was another emotion as well as the grief building up inside her. It had begun in a small way, but had gradually grown to equal status – the rage (anger was too mild a word) that demanded retribution. But that was something she had no intention of sharing with her solicitor – not at the moment, anyway.
Kingsley deliberated on having another go, but decided (correctly) that it would be useless.
‘Very well, you are, after all, the client.’
He lifted his case on to his knees and opened it, taking out a slim file.
‘It’s actually quite simple. Your aunt owned this flat and a number of very valuable investments. She also owned a half-share in the three antique shops that she ran with Laura Tilling. You inherit this flat, its contents, her car and the savings. Mrs Tilling inherits the half-share in the shops.’
‘And how much are the savings?’
‘They are considerable. The shops are very successful and have made her a lot of money. Even after death duties, you could live here quite comfortably without having to work again.’
Julie nodded slowly.
‘Aren’t I the lucky one?’ she said in a detached, flat voice.
The River Haven bisected the city in a series of twisting curves, narrowing as it moved into the surrounding countryside before disappearing underground in a roughly north-easterly direction.
The main shopping area, including a vast new covered mall, was situated in the centre of the city on the north bank of the river. Citizens of Havenchester spoke of going north in the same sense as Londoners spoke of going up west. Apart from the new mall, most of the shops were in original Regency or Georgian buildings which were rightly protected by the city’s planning laws and so an aerial view of the area showed tall buildings to the south and generally much shorter ones to the north, as if the city had been given a rather lopsided Mohican haircut. Spreading out from the central hub of shops lining the river itself, rather like the rays of a sun half dipping over the horizon, were a number of narrower streets, some merely cobbled, which had survived the centuries and housed many of the more exclusive shops and businesses.
JL Antiques was situated in one such small street in the centre of the city. The street consisted of several very exclusive shops that served the needs of the very rich and those who aspired to be. On one side was a gentleman’s bespoke tailor whose family had been clothing the rich and famous since the late eighteenth century. On the other was a jeweller, the contents of whose windows sparkled under carefully positioned artificial light. On the day after Simon Kingsley’s visit, Julie walked from her apartment block to the shop. It took nearly an hour, but she felt the need for the exercise after having been confined to her bed and hospital for a number of weeks. She wore jeans and a padded jacket and felt warm from the exercise despite the cold wind. There was a steady stream of pedestrians filing past the shop windows, although most seemed to be browsing rather than seriously considering a purchase. Having glanced at the prices in the jeweller’s window, Julie couldn’t say she blamed them.
There were bow windows on either side of the antique shop’s doorway. One window contained five Victorian paintings displayed on easels that perched on steps of wine red velvet. Each painting displayed portraits of various no doubt eminent persons of their age, apparently in various stages of dyspepsia. The other window contained two modest displays, one of delicately painted porcelain figures and the other of silverware.
A bell rang with an appropriately subdued toll in the depths of the shop as Julie opened the door and went inside. There were two well-dressed assistants, one male and one female, both dealing deferentially with clients – a shop like this wouldn’t dare admit to having a customer. The shop appeared well stocked without being cluttered, with a series of smart display cases for the smaller items and larger pieces placed strategically around the floor. A number of paintings hung around the walls, all of them cleverly lit to show them to maximum advantage. An attractive woman with short-cut brown hair and wearing a simple black trouser suit and white blouse came forward quickly from the back of the shop as she saw Julie come in.
