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‘God, sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s still a bit raw, you know?’
‘Oh, please don’t apologise. I’m the one who should be saying sorry, raking it all up,’ I say quickly. ‘Are you OK to carry on?’
‘Yes, yes of course. Sorry. Right, let’s do this. I have a meeting at 1.30 but we still have plenty of time.’
She sits down again, and for the next hour we chat about Jane. About her childhood, described by Stella as a happy, comfortable one, and about her father, the man known as Big Johnny. I already know a little about him of course, from what Jess told me when the police started looking into the parent-connection thing, and from my own subsequent research online. But it’s fascinating to hear about him from someone who knew him, and to hear about his relationship with his daughter.
‘Yes, there were always rumours about Uncle John when we were growing up,’ Stella says. ‘But we were always told to ignore them, that it was just jealousy, from people who didn’t like how well he was doing. And he was never arrested for anything, you know? And as I said, Jane and I were close. I was round at theirs all the time when we were kids. He was great, good fun, always had time to chat and ask how I was doing at school and all that stuff. And Jane and he weresuperclose. She was an only child, and back then it wasn’t really expected that a meregirl’—she rolls her eyes—‘would take over the family firm, especially one like this, but she was set on it from a very young age, and he absolutely encouraged her all the way. He knew she could do it, and he was right. Her mum passing away was part of it, I think; Auntie Lil died of a stroke at fifty and I think that spurred Jane on. I think she was scared the same might happen to her. And look at what she achieved: two of the biggest casinos in the country, a multi-million-pound business. He would have been so proud. Hewasso proud of her, always. She’d already done great things before he passed away, and I know it made her so happy that he was still around to see her success. I hope they’re together up there now, raising a glass of bubbly.’
She glances towards the ceiling, and smiles.
We carry on chatting, but after a while I realise it’s just like it was in Oxford. Jane Holland was, it seems, a thoroughly nice, caring, successful, hard-working woman. But I can see nothing whatsoever that might connect me and her; nothing at all similar in our backgrounds, our interests, where we’ve lived, who we knew. Nothing significant anyway, although there is one small, throwaway remark from Stella that makes me wonder, just a little. It comes when I ask about Jane’s love life. She was, as far as I know, single when she died, but when I ask Stella if she’d been seeing anyone in the recent past she rolls her eyes.
‘Who knows?’ she says, with a little laugh. ‘Jane was always very secretive about things like that. I don’t think so, though.’
I laugh too, and we move on, and for a while, I forget about it. Stella herself escorts me back down to reception, shaking my hand warmly as we say goodbye, and as I leave, I pause for a few seconds in the opulent entrance lobby, studying a vast floor plan of the building that’s painted on the wall. The locations of the three bars are all marked, and I wonder which of them Pete and his friends drank in the night they came here back in January.
Was Stella working that night?I wonder.Was Jane? Did Pete meet her, speak to her?
I suddenly wonder if I should go back and ask Stella, show her a photo of Pete maybe. But I’m not sure how I could do it without making her suspicious, and anyway, she said she had a meeting now, didn’t she? I tell myself to forget it, to stop worrying about things which clearly have no relevance, and head back outside to my car, nodding my thanks to the two men in black suits as I pass. But as I navigate the traffic on the way to the motorway, Stella’s comment about Jane drifts back into my mind.
Jane was always very secretive about things like that.
Now, I start to consider the remark properly, and wonder. If Jane had secrets, could that mean something? Couldthatbe a connection?
What if this isn’t about our parents after all? What if the connection is that we all have a secret? A secret that the killer somehow knows about? A secret he thinks we need punishing for?
I think about that for a while, driving on autopilot, the sun finally breaking through the clouds and warming my face through the windscreen. And then, abruptly, I dismiss the idea again. Because nobody could know my secret.Nobody.It’s not possible. And killing random people because they all have some sort of secret doesn’t make any sense, does it? Not if the secrets are all different, all totally unrelated. Because there’s no doubt that our secrets would be different, no doubt at all.
Nobody else could possibly have a secret like mine.
But my secret could save my life. And I’m very nearly there now. I know what I have to do, and how to do it. I also know that this is going to be one of the biggest gambles of my life. It could save me, but it could destroy me too.
I just have to decide if that’s a risk worth taking.
