concerned that it’s kept quiet.’
‘There won’t be any lapse of security through me.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Gina, humbled by the continuing sharpness in the voice. Carole felt a twinge of guilt for the lapse of security she’d already committed by telling Jude.
‘So,’ she asked more gently, ‘you haven’t had any information from the police? About the identity of the body, for instance?’
‘Nothing at all. As they always say – unhelpfully – “Investigations are proceeding.” I think the skeleton’s undergoing forensic examination and tests, but we haven’t been told anything definite.’
‘So there have been no developments at all on the case?’
‘None,’ said the Director.
Chapter Eight
The inaccuracy of Gina Locke’s words was made clear as soon as Carole saw Jude that Monday evening. But whether the Director had been deliberately lying or merely ignorant was impossible to know.
‘The police have actually had a confession to murder?’ They were in the sitting room of High Tor and Carole was pouring white wine.
‘Yes.’
‘I’d call that a development on the case. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh yes.’ But Jude sounded distracted. She toyed with a tendril of blonde hair that had escaped the pile on top of her head, and looked around the room. Carole had had the place redecorated the previous autumn by an interior designer called Debbie Carlton, but already the owner’s intrinsic neatness had taken the softness out of the décor. The relaxed pale apricot and dreamy blue of the paintwork was at odds with the disciplined ranking on the books of the shelves, even the exact alignment of The Times on the coffee table. No make-over could ever fully blunt the spikiness of Carole Seddon’s personality.
‘You don’t sound certain, Jude . . .’
‘Oh no, I know it’s happened, but . . . The confession was from Mervyn Hunter.’
‘The one who I saw break down when the body was discovered?’
Jude nodded.
‘But you said you didn’t know anyone locally called Mervyn.’
‘I lied.’
It was said with disarming honesty, but Carole wasn’t disarmed. ‘For heaven’s sake. What is this, Jude? I thought the whole point of our discussions about cases like this was that we shared information. I don’t hold stuff back from you, and I’m pretty angry to hear that you’ve been holding stuff back from me!’
Carole Seddon’s skin was very thin. Only the smallest friction was required to lay bare her subcutaneous insecurity. She was quick to imagine slights, but in this case did not need recourse to her imagination. Her supposed friend had deliberately withheld material information from her.
Jude tried to ease the situation. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I felt there was an issue of confidentiality between me and Mervyn . . . because I’ve met him through the prison.’
‘Through the prison? What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve met Mervyn Hunter at Austen Prison. He’s a lifer finishing off his sentence there.’
‘Jude, how on earth do you come to make the acquaintance of lifers at Austen Prison?’
Jude sighed. Her reticence on the subject had a perfect logic for her, but she knew Carole wouldn’t see it so simply. The last thing Jude wanted to do was antagonize her friend, and yet, given the personality involved, it was all too easily done.
She started out on the laborious process of fence-mending. ‘The last few months I’ve been doing some sessions at Austen Prison.’
‘Sessions? On what?’
‘Alternative stuff. Alternative therapies, alternative ways of looking at life.’
‘Oh.’ The frost in the voice said everything about Carole’s views on such matters. She reckoned trying to lead a straightforward normal life was quite difficult enough, without complicating the issue by offering alternatives.
‘Anyway,’ Jude hurried on, ‘in the course of these sessions I have met Mervyn Hunter.’
‘And does he seem like a murderer to you?’ asked
‘There won’t be any lapse of security through me.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Gina, humbled by the continuing sharpness in the voice. Carole felt a twinge of guilt for the lapse of security she’d already committed by telling Jude.
‘So,’ she asked more gently, ‘you haven’t had any information from the police? About the identity of the body, for instance?’
‘Nothing at all. As they always say – unhelpfully – “Investigations are proceeding.” I think the skeleton’s undergoing forensic examination and tests, but we haven’t been told anything definite.’
‘So there have been no developments at all on the case?’
‘None,’ said the Director.
Chapter Eight
The inaccuracy of Gina Locke’s words was made clear as soon as Carole saw Jude that Monday evening. But whether the Director had been deliberately lying or merely ignorant was impossible to know.
‘The police have actually had a confession to murder?’ They were in the sitting room of High Tor and Carole was pouring white wine.
‘Yes.’
‘I’d call that a development on the case. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh yes.’ But Jude sounded distracted. She toyed with a tendril of blonde hair that had escaped the pile on top of her head, and looked around the room. Carole had had the place redecorated the previous autumn by an interior designer called Debbie Carlton, but already the owner’s intrinsic neatness had taken the softness out of the décor. The relaxed pale apricot and dreamy blue of the paintwork was at odds with the disciplined ranking on the books of the shelves, even the exact alignment of The Times on the coffee table. No make-over could ever fully blunt the spikiness of Carole Seddon’s personality.
‘You don’t sound certain, Jude . . .’
‘Oh no, I know it’s happened, but . . . The confession was from Mervyn Hunter.’
‘The one who I saw break down when the body was discovered?’
Jude nodded.
‘But you said you didn’t know anyone locally called Mervyn.’
‘I lied.’
It was said with disarming honesty, but Carole wasn’t disarmed. ‘For heaven’s sake. What is this, Jude? I thought the whole point of our discussions about cases like this was that we shared information. I don’t hold stuff back from you, and I’m pretty angry to hear that you’ve been holding stuff back from me!’
Carole Seddon’s skin was very thin. Only the smallest friction was required to lay bare her subcutaneous insecurity. She was quick to imagine slights, but in this case did not need recourse to her imagination. Her supposed friend had deliberately withheld material information from her.
Jude tried to ease the situation. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I felt there was an issue of confidentiality between me and Mervyn . . . because I’ve met him through the prison.’
‘Through the prison? What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve met Mervyn Hunter at Austen Prison. He’s a lifer finishing off his sentence there.’
‘Jude, how on earth do you come to make the acquaintance of lifers at Austen Prison?’
Jude sighed. Her reticence on the subject had a perfect logic for her, but she knew Carole wouldn’t see it so simply. The last thing Jude wanted to do was antagonize her friend, and yet, given the personality involved, it was all too easily done.
She started out on the laborious process of fence-mending. ‘The last few months I’ve been doing some sessions at Austen Prison.’
‘Sessions? On what?’
‘Alternative stuff. Alternative therapies, alternative ways of looking at life.’
‘Oh.’ The frost in the voice said everything about Carole’s views on such matters. She reckoned trying to lead a straightforward normal life was quite difficult enough, without complicating the issue by offering alternatives.
‘Anyway,’ Jude hurried on, ‘in the course of these sessions I have met Mervyn Hunter.’
‘And does he seem like a murderer to you?’ asked
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