Clare was frowning. “But, if it wasn’t Angelo, who does that leave?”
I drained the last of my coffee. “I wish I knew,” I said. “I’m going over to see Ailsa this afternoon to see if there’s anyone she can think of that they’ve had trouble with at the Lodge. A husband or boyfriend maybe. After all, it seems that our murderer was hanging round there on a couple of occasions before he got Joy.”
Besides, I’d promised Dave his first self-defence lesson, and the Lodge was as good a place as any to teach him.
They stood silent as I climbed back into my waterproofs. Clare had hung them in the inglenook near the Aga, and they were not only bone dry, but the plastic material was almost too hot to touch.
“I could be way off base about it all, in any case,” I said as I made my way, rustling, to the front door. “Just because Angelo beats up his girlfriend doesn’t mean he’s a murderer. It could be someone else at the club who’s involved with the drugs, and gave the computer to Terry. I don’t have a shred of proof. I just wish I knew if there was any forensic link. That would really clinch it.”
“I’ll try my contact on the crime desk again, but she’s going to get very suspicious if I suggest something the police haven’t already come up with by themselves,” Clare said. “I’ll come round on the bike on Sunday morning and let you know what she says. We can have a blast up to Devil’s Bridge together.”
I nodded, aware that when Clare said a blast, she meant it. I usually struggled to keep up.
Now though, she was still frowning in thought as she came to the door to see me off, hugging herself against the cold. “There must be some other way to find out, isn’t there?”
“I’m sure there is,” I said. I pictured myself calling up MacMillan and asking to pick his brains. It would be a cold day in hell, I predicted, before that happened. I gave her a wry smile. “I just haven’t thought of it yet.”
Jacob came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders, smiling. “What you need is a tame doctor,” he said to me. “Don’t you know anyone you could sweet-talk?”
It wasn’t until I’d said my goodbyes, coaxed the Suzuki into life, and was halfway back to Lancaster that Jacob’s words sparked a thought. A thought that was so ridiculous it made me snort with suppressed laughter inside my helmet.
Yes, I did know a doctor. Was very well-acquainted with him, as a matter of fact, but whether I could sweet-talk him into anything was another thing altogether.
My father.
***
When I got back to the flat, I went straight upstairs to the phone, without even stopping to take off my waterproofs. I knew my parents' phone number off by heart and I dialled it without having to think about it. Maybe if I had, I would have hesitated.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was my father who answered the call.
“Good evening,” he said, giving his number clearly and precisely. I knew I should tell him it was bad practice to do that, but at the same time I knew I wouldn't bother.
“Hi, it's me,” I said.
There was the fraction of a pause. This really was a very bad idea. “Charlotte,” he said neutrally. “It's nice to hear from you. Are you keeping well?”
“I'm fine. No, that's not true, I'm not fine,” I said crossly. The gulf between us seemed suddenly wider than the Grand Canyon. I had no idea how to begin going about crossing it.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. “What seems to be the matter?”
I sighed. I hoped he showed more warmth to his patients, but I wouldn't bet on it.
I swallowed. “I need your help,” I said. God, it was difficult to say.
There was a longer pause this time. “In what way?” he asked cautiously. Not, yes of course. Not, anything I can do. Not, you only have to ask, darling . . .
“There've been three murders in Lancaster over the last few weeks,” I said, forcing myself to speak quickly in case I changed my mind. “Two of them are rape murders of women that are definitely connected, but the third was a stabbing of a man. I think there's a link between all three. The police don't. I need to know if there's any forensic evidence that relates them.”
I rushed on, listing the names before he had a chance to refuse. When I'd finished I held my breath, tense, waiting. It seemed to take him a long time to speak again.
“May I ask what makes you think I might be able to help?” His voice sounded cold over the phone line. It wasn't quite the response I'd been hoping for.
The tension snapped. “Of course you could help – if you wanted to!” I cried. “How long were you a consultant at Lancaster hospital for heaven's sake – ten years? You should know everyone there, or didn't you ever speak to the pathology department?”
He chose not to answer that one, asking instead, “Don't you think the police are perfectly capable of handling something like this without your somewhat amateur interference?”
“Probably,” I snapped. “In the meantime someone's beaten me up, trashed my flat, and threatened to cut my throat. I'm sorry if that doesn't mean anything to you!” I gave a laugh, more of a half-hysterical yelp. “Of course, how silly of me, I was probably asking for it, wasn't I?”
I slammed the phone down, staring at the pattern of the fabric on the sofa for a few moments, determined not to cry.
He'd never been like other fathers, but I should be used to that by now. As a teenager I'd always been quite proud of the fact that he hadn't embarrassed me with public shows of emotion like the other kids' dads. That he hadn't tried dancing at the school disco. Hadn't make a fool of himself on sports day.
I shook my head to clear my vision of the tears that had been threatening dangerously to spill over. I grabbed my helmet again and moved to the door. I didn't care about the filthy weather. I just needed to get out there and ride. To give the bike some pain, get it out of my system.
Most of all, I needed to get away from the silent telephone. To escape from the fact that I'd just dropped an emotional bombshell on my father. And it didn't seem to have gone off.
Nineteen
Dave was standing in front of me with both his hands clasped round my throat and, in my opinion, he was putting a bit too much gusto into pretending to strangle me.
“I can only show you roughly the sort of things I normally teach,” I told him. “Most of my students won't be as physically strong as their opponent. They have to be a bit more scientific because half the time brute force just won't cut it. See?”
I demonstrated by tugging at his wrists. All I succeeded in doing was making him tighten his grip round my windpipe. Throwing him a sideways glance I said, “This will be the shortest set of lessons in history if you choke me to death on the first day.”
He slackened off slightly with an apologetic half-smile, but was obviously happy that he'd proved his point. That the only reason I wasn't getting hurt was because he was being gentle, not through any level of skill on my part. Typical macho bullshit.
We were alone in the ballroom at Shelseley Lodge. I hadn't particularly wanted to teach Dave at the flat, and he claimed his own place was so small that swung cats left with a blinding headache.
The Lodge had seemed a logical compromise, and Ailsa had put forward no objections. The police had finished combing their way through the gardens, she told me, although the area where Joy had fallen was still fenced off with fluttering yellow incident tape.
I'd spent a little time with Ailsa before Dave had shown up, seeing if she could think of any possible suspects. There were plenty of women who'd passed through Ailsa's care with violent and unpredictable men in their lives, but no one specific sprang to mind.
“Besides, the police already asked me all this, love,” she said, giving me a tired smile. “I had some hawk-like Superintendent round yesterday, asking endless questions.”