Chapter Twenty-One
VENN WAS ALMOST AT TIVERTON PARKWAY when his phone rang. No caller ID. He was about to reject the call when he had second thoughts. At this point in an investigation anything might be useful.
‘Yes?’ No name in case it did turn out to be spam.
‘Inspector Venn.’ The voice wasn’t old, but had that fruity, mellow quality that went with confidence and entitlement. It wasn’t a question. The man knew exactly to whom he was speaking.
‘Yes.’
‘You won’t know me. I’m a minor cog in the Home Office.’ A little self-deprecating laugh to indicate that he was, actually, a rather major cog. ‘Chris Appleyard gave me your number.’ As if he and the Chief Constable were best mates. Which, of course, they might be.
‘Oh?’
‘We are rather keen to have the matter of Hannah Armstrong’s death cleared up as soon as possible.
It’s not good for the image of British policing if the investigation into the murder of a minister’s daughter drags on.
Our press is notoriously critical. And there are always rumours in these sorts of cases of conspiracy, that some form of terrorism or radicalization is being hidden from the public. ’
Venn felt a stab of anger but took a moment to answer. ‘I’m sure both young women’s parents are keen for an immediate result too. My team has already moved the investigation forward, and there is no indication of a political motive.’
‘I’m sure you’re all working very hard.’ The anonymous caller couldn’t have been more patronizing. ‘But if you need more resources, specialist advice from London, we’d be delighted to assist.’
‘The Chief Constable made it clear from the start that he preferred a small core investigative team to prevent leaks and the spreading of the sort of rumours you’ve indicated.’
‘Ah, of course.’ Venn could picture the civil servant at a large desk, a thin smile on his face. ‘But we can only agree to Chris’s approach for a limited time. Soon, I’m afraid we’ll have to send in more experienced officers.’
Venn wasn’t sure how to answer that immediately. He was about to say that a result that would hold up in court was more important than a speedy but unreliable arrest, but the call had already been ended.
Matthew had timed the evening briefing for later than usual in case of travel delays.
The call from the Home Office had left him tense and angry, and he drove straight to the police station from Tiverton Parkway, muttering under his breath as he always did about the roadworks on the link road.
He had a horror of keeping people waiting and always scheduled meetings for later than really needed, but his team was already in the ops room.
By now, they understood him, and they were expecting him. They knew he would probably be early.
‘Good trip? Worth the effort?’ Jen was setting up the big screen and laptop.
‘I think so.’ Though he wasn’t quite sure that he could justify the day away.
‘I called into the apartment block where the Kinzalows live when they’re in London.
No sign of them and I chatted to the concierge and neighbour.
Both said they’d know if they were back.
’ He looked out at the team. ‘My impression of Hannah and Lottie was confirmed by Elaine Cauldwell’s PA and their headteacher. ’
‘And that was?’
‘That Lottie was the leader. The teacher called her assertive and confident. I’d think that was a euphemism for entitled and a bully.’
‘Just because she was an assertive young woman?’ Jen looked at him sideways.
Venn smiled.
‘Ah, maybe you’re right. That unconscious bias creeping in again.’
Jen gave a little laugh. ‘Nah, I think that you’re right, boss. The videos Lottie posted online were downright mean. If she could act like that with strangers, I imagine she could be equally nasty with her mates. Did you get anything more out of your London visit?’
Venn thought about that. ‘The teacher was cagey about Elizabeth Kinzalow. I’m not sure what she was trying to hide. Maybe the girl left school because Lottie was mean to her too.’ He turned back to Jen. ‘Was there anything else of interest on the videos?’
‘Other than that she was a sarky little cow?’ Jen shook her head. ‘But we’re just seeing what we’re expecting to see now. It’d be good to get a fresh pair of eyes on the site. And we should get a bit more detail on a bigger screen.’
‘Makes sense.’ Venn took a seat a little way back from the front – this was Jen’s meeting – but he had an uninterrupted view. ‘Let’s have a look then.’
Vicki started running the video. She slowed it down and stopped it when Jonathan came into view.
‘She’s using this shot to put the festival in a poor light, but you say that Jonathan enjoyed it?’
‘Yes, this is just misleading. He had a wonderful time.’ Venn looked more closely at the screen. ‘There’s Hannah and Jake just behind them. And isn’t that Karen Kinzalow looking on? Can we zoom in a bit?’
The figures grew larger as the focus changed.
Jonathan and his friends were no longer in shot.
Hannah and Jake were pictured staring into the distance, but even back on, it was possible to tell that they were happy together.
They were holding hands and seemed oblivious to everything going on around them.
To one side, Karen Kinzalow seemed to be staring at them.
Vicki zoomed in further, but Karen’s features just became blurred.
‘Can we look at other images?’ Venn thought there was something about the woman’s stance that seemed too focused, almost threatening.
‘See if Karen appears again. Or her husband.’ Because, so far, there’d been no sign of Geoff in the mass of people.
Venn wasn’t sure what significance that might have.
Perhaps he was less sociable, or he didn’t like the music.
Venn would have been interested, though, to know where he spent the day.
Vicki continued to show Lottie’s social media posts.
In the very last one, Karen appeared again in the background, part of the crowd.
Once more, it seemed, Lottie hadn’t noticed her.
Venn wondered about that. If Elizabeth and Lottie had been close friends, wouldn’t Lottie have recognized Karen?
Probably not, he thought. London was different from a town like Barnstaple.
The girls could have been close without meeting each other’s parents.
‘Could you zoom in on Karen’s face, please, Vicki?’
This time the image was clearer. Hannah was nowhere in shot, but Karen’s face was turned to the camera, and she was staring at Lottie. Tears were running down her cheeks. She seemed inconsolable.
‘Have we heard from the digital team?’ Venn asked. ‘They were checking some of the malicious messages Armstrong received.’
‘Not yet.’ Vicki looked up from the laptop. ‘Want me to give them a push?
‘Please.’ It occurred to Venn that if Lottie took a strange pleasure in posting unpleasant videos on her social media, she might find it equally amusing to troll the father of her best friend.
She wasn’t the sort of ignorant, left-behind person Armstrong had described, but she had been tech-savvy and malicious.
Besides, the Home Office is on my back, demanding action, a speedy resolution, and to know if we’ve found any terror-related material.
He felt the politics of the situation like a hovering threat, insubstantial in the present, but looming. He thought he’d ask for a meeting with Appleyard. He’d move things on more quickly and perhaps allow them to dismiss the political angle altogether.
It was nearly dark when he arrived home. The sun was low over the horizon, a semicircle of fire beyond the dunes. Jonathan was waiting for him, drinking beer from a can. There was salad on the table on the terrace, a crusty loaf. The barbecue was lit.
‘Marie dropped in some mackerel.’ Marie was a neighbour who had a small boat. Jonathan smiled and turned his face for a kiss. He smelled of fish and beer. ‘I thought I’d do something quick and simple. You’ve had a long day.’
‘Wonderful.’
Matthew watched. Everything was in shadow now.
One outside light had come on automatically as the light faded, but it didn’t reach much beyond the terrace where he was sitting.
The charcoal in the barbecue glowed and spat as the oil from the fish fell onto it.
Jonathan was a silhouette, brandishing tongs and deftly turning the mackerel.
Matthew could have sat, an entranced audience of one, all evening.
There were times when he thought he loved his husband so much that it made him vulnerable.
To hurt and to loss. Jonathan was self-sufficient and resilient.
He’d cope with whatever life threw at him.
Matthew had always been anxious, fretting about past mistakes and worrying about future dangers.
The hypervigilance made him a good detective but a troubled man.
Surely now, though, he should be able to relax, even with a new family thrown into the mix.
They ate in silence. Jonathan was clearly starving. He ripped bread from the loaf and smeared it in butter, then used it to wipe the juice from the plate.
‘There’s an image of you on one of our victims’ socials,’ Matthew said. He’d cleared the plates and made coffee. The least he could do. Lottie’s posts were public, so he couldn’t see any problem in showing his husband the video. He opened his laptop and ran the snippets of film.
Jonathan was more upset than Matthew had expected. ‘That’s a travesty! Everyone had a great experience. I’m sorry that she’s dead of course, but what a bitch!’
Matthew found photographs of Lottie and Hannah on his phone. ‘Did you see either of these girls while you were there?’
Jonathan took the phone and looked closely at the images. He pointed at Hannah. ‘I didn’t see her, but the other one, I did see.’ A pause. ‘It was hard to miss her. She wanted to be noticed.’
‘She’s the girl who took the images for her socials and made the videos.’
‘That makes sense.’ Jonathan poured more coffee from the pot. He could drink a gallon and still sleep. Venn, on the decaf instant, was jealous. ‘She seemed lonely. A bit desperate. I can see how she might take her unhappiness out on the world with those snide films.’
‘You thought she was unhappy?’
‘Oh yes. Unhappy and lost.’
‘Was she with anyone else when you saw her?’
‘Not then. I saw her later that evening, though, with some guy, as we were leaving the festival.’
That would have been the Saturday night, Matthew thought. We know both girls were alive the rest of the following day. All the same, it would be interesting to know if she’d hooked up with somebody that evening.
‘Who was with her?’ Matthew thought it might have been Daniel. Either he’d have been trying his luck with Lottie, or she could have been flirting with him, if, as Jonathan had said, she was desperate for attention.
‘A middle-aged man. I wondered if it could be her father.’
Venn found a photo of Geoff Kinzalow that Vicki had sourced from one of his magazine articles. ‘This chap?’
Jonathan stared for a moment. ‘Honestly? I can’t tell. It was already getting dark, and I’d had a few drinks.’
‘Any idea what was going on? Was the encounter friendly? Hostile?’ Venn thought Jonathan might find this question easier.
He understood theatre. It was in his bones, and he’d worked with actors and directors since the Woodyard had opened.
He might not have seen the man’s face, but he’d have picked up on the body language, some sense of the relationship between the two.
Again, Jonathan took a while to reply. ‘Neither of those things,’ he said at last. ‘It seemed intense. He was leaning towards her, as if he were persuading her about something. He had his hand on her shoulder. That’s why I thought they were related. Father and daughter.’
Matthew wasn’t sure what to say about that. They sat for a moment in silence. Matthew was running various scenarios through his head – could Keith Cauldwell have been in the UK after all? – when Jonathan interrupted his imaginings.
‘I’ve booked us a room for Saturday night for our trip to Cornwall. A little hotel on the coast, close to the village where my mother lives.’ He corrected himself. ‘My birth mother.’
‘What time have you arranged to meet her?’
‘Early evening. Six o’clock. I thought that would give you the morning in the office if you needed to be on top of the investigation, and we could be back by Sunday lunchtime if you’re still working that case.’
‘Great,’ Matthew said. ‘Great.’
That night, despite his long day, he hardly slept at all.