Chapter 77

Eve Bowman was making summer jam when Poe knocked on the door. Strawberry, apricot and plum by the smell. She was wearing jeans, a 1 of 100 Rebus T-shirt and a fruit-smeared apron. Her hands looked sticky, as if she'd been raiding Hundred Acre Wood's honey tree.

‘Come in,' she said. ‘And please do forgive the mess.'

‘Nothing to forgive,' Poe said. ‘And I'm sorry for the unannounced visit; we were in the area with a bit of time to kill.'

‘And you could smell the warm jam?'

Poe laughed. ‘It does look good.'

Eve washed her hands then dipped a foot-long wooden spoon into a pot of bubbling yellow liquid. ‘Taste this,' she said, holding out the spoon. ‘It's vanilla peach with whisky. Careful, it's hot.'

When they were seated around the kitchen table, Eve said, ‘Although my jam is award-winning, Sergeant Poe, I doubt it's why you're here.'

‘We're now in possession of your sister's journal, Eve,' Poe said. ‘I wanted to talk to you about it.'

‘Her journal? How on earth did you get that? I assumed she'd taken it with her.'

‘It seems she kept it at her friend's house. That friend recently handed it in to the police.'

‘You don't mean Alice, do you? Alice Symonds?'

Poe nodded. Although it was technically a breach of confidentiality, Bethany had only had one friend and Eve didn't need the brains of Bradshaw to work out where the journal had been stashed. He would have liked to mention Nathan Rose as well. See if Eve knew him, see if she had any insight into his suicide, but that would have been a breach too far. Nightingale would have had him strung up.

‘Gosh, I haven't seen Alice for years. I haven't even thought about her for years, truth be told.'

‘How well did you know her?'

Eve shrugged. ‘As well as any sister knows her younger sister's friends, I suppose. Mum and Dad didn't allow us to have visitors, so we only ever really interacted with other children when we were at school or church. But I knew her well enough to know she was a nice girl. Bethany used to go round to hers after school. She would pretend she was doing extra lessons or had to help the teacher or something. Mum and Dad rarely took an interest in what she was doing so they never thought to check, and Aaron and I weren't going to tell them she was lying.'

Poe nodded. That fitted with what was in the journal.

‘Have you read it?' Poe said. ‘She makes some extraordinary claims.'

‘I saw it every now and then,' Eve admitted. ‘Bethany kept it well hidden most of the time, but I'd occasionally stumble across it; usually when I was trying to find her cigarettes.'

‘She smoked?'

‘Of course, she was a rebel. She smoked, she drank, she fooled around with boys. I never told her this, but I thought she was about the coolest person in the world. The way she stood up to Mum and Dad. I know I couldn't have done it. So, if she smoked, I wanted to smoke.'

‘And the journal entries?'

‘Some were exaggerated, but not much.'

‘It was an accurate account of her childhood?' Poe said. ‘You didn't mention she was being abused.'

‘I didn't realise it was abuse,' Eve said. ‘Not back then. It wasn't until I was older that I began to question whether Bethany caused my parents to treat her the way they did, or if it was the other way round; that she behaved that way as a result of what they did to her.'

‘And what did you decide?'

‘That Bethany had a spark of life that Mum and Dad couldn't stamp out. There was just something about her that they didn't like. They said she was a bad biscuit; pretty much their worst name for someone.'

‘I'm familiar with the phrase,' Poe said. ‘It's peppered throughout her journal entries. They thought she was a bad biscuit and Bethany thought they were bad biscuits.'

Eve nodded. ‘I don't know what their problem was, Sergeant Poe, but when I view things through my older, and hopefully wiser, eyes, I see that although none of us had happy childhoods, Bethany's was dreadful.'

‘Yet you didn't mention this when I spoke to you earlier in the week?'

‘It's . . . hard to talk about your parents like that, Sergeant Poe. Were they monsters? No, I don't think they were. Did they behave monstrously? Yes, occasionally, they absolutely did.'

‘I sense an unsaid "but",' Poe said.

Eve shrugged. ‘But she killed Aaron, Sergeant Poe. I don't care what grievances she had with Mum and Dad, Aaron was a sweet, gentle boy. He worshipped the ground Bethany stood on and he didn't deserve to die. He didn't deserve any—'

A banging noise made her stop. It came from Eve's basement and sounded like something hard and hollow had fallen on to something harder and hollower.

‘That's Thomas,' Eve explained. ‘We have a short break coming up and he's sorting through our camping equipment.'

‘He's not working today?'

‘He never works on jam day. He claims it's in case I burn myself, but really it's an excuse to taste everything while it's warm.' She frowned. ‘I'd better go and make sure he's OK.'

She disappeared, returning less than a minute later.

‘He's fine,' she said. ‘He'll be up in a bit. Says he wants to meet you. I suspect he also wants to try the vanilla peach and whisky. I'll get us all a coffee.'

‘Not for us, Eve,' Poe said. ‘We'll say hello to your husband but we need to get away. We have a meeting nearby and we don't want to keep anyone waiting.'

‘Of course.'

Eve's husband was wearing a cardigan with mismatched buttons and a pair of faded green corduroys. Reading glasses hung from a chain around his neck. He had a sharp nose and full lips. His hair was combed and parted to the side. He was around the same age as his wife.

‘I'm Thomas Gruffud,' he said, reaching across the kitchen table to shake their hands.

‘Everything OK down there?' Poe said, pointing to the basement entrance. ‘We heard a bang.'

‘Ah, yes. I'm afraid that was just me dropping the tent pegs. Made quite the din.'

‘Eve tells me you're a graphic designer in Preston?'

‘For a few years now.'

‘Anything I might have seen?'

‘Not unless you're familiar with French banking law, Sergeant Poe. I lead the team that designs websites, logos and marketing materials for the Bank of France. Last year I redesigned the font they use on their stationery. I'm afraid that must seem rather dull compared to what you do.'

‘Not at all,' Poe lied.

Eve walked up behind her husband and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed the side of his head and said, ‘Thomas is being predictably modest, Sergeant Poe. He's been heading up the company's most important accounts for years now. Without him there is no company.'

Thomas reddened but didn't contradict his wife.

‘Have you always enjoyed camping?' Poe asked.

‘No, not always,' he replied. ‘But as I get older, I find that a digital detox does wonders for my work. It reboots my mind. Reminds me why I got into graphic design in the first place.'

‘You and Eve have talked about my previous visit?'

He nodded. ‘We have. You believe her sister might be up to her old tricks.'

‘It's one of a number of lines of enquiry. I don't suppose I can convince you both to leave the county for a while?'

‘Well, we are heading into the Lakes for a small break, but that's been planned for a couple of months,' Thomas said. ‘My wife doesn't believe she's in any danger from Bethany, Sergeant Poe.'

‘And what do you believe?'

‘I believe my wife.' He glanced over Poe's shoulder at the pots bubbling on the large range. ‘Anyway,' he added, standing up, ‘we can't leave now; it's summer jam week.'