Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [124]
‘Who else was there?’
‘Just Dad and myself.’
‘Not Alice?’
‘No, she didn’t feel well that day.’
‘How can you still remember this after ten years?’
‘I just do.’
‘And you saw Joanne again after that?’
‘No, not really.’ It was obvious to Goodhew that Richard was lying.
‘But you liked her?’
‘From what little I saw of her, yes.’
‘Did you want to see her again?’
‘I thought it might happen, but nothing was ever arranged.’
‘Did you ask her?’
He hesitated, then, ‘No.’
Goodhew paused.
Richard took a deep breath. ‘I asked her that day if she’d like to come racing again and she said yes, but it wasn’t a specific invite. I gave her my number, and she called the following week and we met for a drink.’
‘Where?’
‘The Eagle, Cambridge.’
‘Then what?’
Richard pulled the sort of awkward expression that Goodhew guessed was supposed to convey a mix of discretion and candour.
Goodhew decided to fill in the gap. ‘So you went somewhere private?’
Richard nodded.
‘For sex?’ Goodhew waited for another nod, then continued. ‘If you were already in Cambridge, why go to Old Mile Farm? Why not just go home?’
‘I took her out to the stables on the pretext of seeing the horses, in the hope that things would progress once we were there.’
‘I see. So you didn’t meet there for sex just because your father wouldn’t let you bring any women home?’
Richard hesitated. ‘Well, there was that too,’ he admitted.
‘We now know of two women with whom you’ve had a sexual relationship; one is dead and the other has been missing for a decade. Doesn’t make you catch of the week, does it?’ Richard looked away, and Goodhew changed direction. ‘A few minutes ago, the word “justice” came up, and it made me recall that conversation we had earlier in the week.’
Richard looked curious, but said nothing.
‘You told me that you thought it was important to see justice done, and that it’s also seen to be done. You said that’s what you wanted for Lorna.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did you mean Lorna as the innocent victim, or Lorna as the condemned?’
Richard leant back in his chair and crossed his legs. ‘Now you’ve lost me.’
‘Her death was carefully orchestrated. She’d had plenty of experience controlling other people, but she went too far with you. You weren’t going to let her walk away; you needed to punish her. There was a risk you’d be caught, but it had to be out in the open like that, otherwise it wouldn’t have felt like she’d been given a public execution.’
‘And what was her unforgivable crime, exactly?’ Richard said, sitting up straight again. There wasn’t much more fidgeting he could do without breaking into a sweat but, there again, he looked pretty close to breaking into a sweat in any case. Goodhew could see he wasn’t scared, though. The nervousness was just the bubbling by-product of a rage that was nearing boiling point. Richard Moran still had the lid on it, but it was rattling loudly.
‘Perhaps she found out you killed Joanne Reed. Was she trying to blackmail you?’
‘I never killed Joanne.’
‘Come on, you admit you have a problem with jealousy. And a temper, too. What happens when you lose control? Did Joanne end up like Victoria, with her skull caved in? You didn’t have a chance to hide Victoria. And we’re looking for Joanne’s body right now.’
The first visible bead of sweat appeared at Richard’s hairline. It reminded Goodhew of condensation running down the inside of a saucepan. The man wiped it away, and Goodhew kept pushing. ‘She’s buried at the farm, isn’t she, Richard?’
‘Don’t.’ Richard hissed.
Goodhew smirked. ‘Don’t what?’ he said coolly.
‘Don’t.’ Richard said it like it was a threat, but Goodhew remained unmoved, refusing to let it grow beyond the impotent, orphaned word it really was. Without warning, Richard