Guilt at the Garage

TWENTY-FIVE

Carole produced a cheese salad lunch at High Tor. Jude had some but was totally unaware of what she was eating. Her mind was too caught up with fury and confusion.

Carole had very rarely seen her neighbour angry and knew better than to interrupt her thought processes. She almost tiptoed round the kitchen as she made coffee for them.

Suddenly, Jude announced that she was going next door to bring back the diary. ‘There’s got to be something in there we’ve missed! And it’s still really the only physical proof we’ve got.’ As she shot through the hall, she said, ‘Bring down your laptop. We’ll need it.’

Carole thought it wasn’t the moment to say that she normally only used the laptop upstairs in the spare room. She didn’t want to sound petty.

Jude didn’t taste the coffee either, as they once again scrutinized the scribbled entries. After about a quarter of an hour, Carole pleaded, ‘At least tell me what you’re looking for.’

‘If I knew what I was looking for, I’d have found it by now.’

‘Could you give me a clue perhaps?’

‘A clue is certainly what we need. Look, all right, Carole, I’ll tell you what I’m looking for. If our thinking so far is right, the five-hundred-pound payments Bill Shefford was making from his secret bank account were for therapy sessions. But what about the bigger payments, the ones in their thousands?’

‘We don’t know. And have no means of knowing.’

‘I think I do know. I think it’s for dietary supplements. I was just wondering … Bill made a note of everything in here, everything he needed to remember, business and personal. I was thinking there might be a clue in one of the web addresses he wrote down. That’s why I asked you to get the laptop.’

‘You said you’d been through them … and they were all people who either sell cars or car parts.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t check them all. As soon as I’d found the reference to the bait for Bill’s fishing trip with Red, I stopped looking. So, look, if I call out the web addresses, you google them and we’ll see if we get anywhere.’

Carole’s expression told what she thought of the idea, but she didn’t like to argue with Jude in this unprecedented manic mood. Carole did as she was told.

The first six unchecked web addresses were like the others. Car dealers. Car auctions. Car parts. But with the seventh, they hit gold dust.

And at that point Jude’s plan of action became crystal clear. She told Carole exactly what they would do.

Or rather what she, Jude would do. The case now seemed to have become a personal vendetta, sidelining her neighbour completely. But again, Carole did not like to argue.

‘I think we need to meet,’ said Jude.

‘Sure.’ He’d answered on the third ring. ‘Does this mean you’ve rethought your reaction to my therapy centre idea?’

His voice was still deep and intimate. Consoling, seductive. Jude wondered why she’d ever been fooled by it. Wondered why she had ever found it – or indeed him – attractive.

‘Yes, I have thought more about it,’ she replied coolly. ‘And I really wonder whether the area needs a place like that when we’ve got the Magic of Therapy Centre so close by.’

‘I see.’ His tone of voice changed instantly. The charm was still there but there was a harder edge. ‘What’s this about, Jude?’

‘I went to Smalting this morning. To the Magic of Therapy Centre.’

‘Oh?’

‘Saw your friend … colleague …? Dr Rawley.’

‘Ah.’

‘He diagnosed me with breast cancer.’ There was no response. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard from him yet. Because I assume you will be involved. In my treatment. At … what? Five hundred pounds a session?’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I think you know what I’m talking about, Jeremiah. Bill Shefford. Do you deny that you treated Bill Shefford?’

‘Of course I don’t deny it.’

‘You never mentioned it in our conversations.’

‘And do you know why? Bill particularly didn’t want anyone to know he was ill. And if he had wanted people to know about it, there’s no way I would have told you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, come on, Jude. You, of all people, should know the answer to that. A fellow healer? You know about client confidentiality.’

That stung. But Jude riposted quickly. ‘Did you know that Bill Shefford kept a diary?’

‘You’re making that up. He wasn’t the kind to keep a diary.’

‘Well, he did, and I have it. Dates of all your sessions.’ That bit was true. ‘And detailed descriptions of what went on at those sessions, how he felt after those sessions, chronicles of his every mood swing.’ That bit wasn’t true.

Jeremiah seemed somehow to suspect as much. ‘You’re making this up, Jude.’

‘I am not.’ Time to pull out her trump card. ‘There wasn’t only Bill Shefford.’

‘Oh?’

‘There was also Jodie Flint.’

‘We need to meet,’ said Jeremiah brusquely.

‘I agree. Come to Woodside Cottage. Seven o’clock this evening.’