What a terrible thing! And how ironic that Dawn should have escaped the fire only to be killed in a road accident! It was almost as if she was fated – as if her death was meant to be . . .
Meant to be . . . The phrase resonated somehow, and for a moment I couldn’t understand why it should, so the thought, when it occurred to me, shocked me all over again.
Supposing Dawn had been meant to die in the blazing flat? Supposing someone wanted her dead so badly that they’d started the fire with exactly that intention, and when it hadn’t worked, they’d tried again – and succeeded? It could be, of course, that I was making a leap too far here, too ready to think the worst because I was so eager to find a story that I was inventing one, but it was either a tragic coincidence that Dawn had died so soon after her lucky escape from the fire – or she had been deliberately targeted not once, but twice. And I didn’t really believe in coincidences.
If I was right, of course, it would definitely mean that Brian Jennings had been wrongly convicted. He was already behind bars when Dawn was killed. And even if he hadn’t been, this wasn’t the act of a deranged oddball – it was cold, calculated, carried out by someone with deadly intent. It would mean that Dawn, not Lisa, was always the target. This was all about her, and she was the one I should concentrate on.
I would need to check out the details of the hit-and-run – exactly where and when it had happened, and whether there were any witnesses. Alice had said the driver hadn’t been caught, but that didn’t mean no one had seen anything. There might have been information that the police hadn’t been able to capitalize on – a partial number plate, a vehicle type and colour, a glimpse of the driver – was he male? Female? Young? Old? Black? White? But the vital clues lay here, in Stoke Compton, I felt sure. It was here the whole thing had begun, where, perhaps, Dawn had met someone who had eventually decided she had to die. But who? And why?
Once again I ran over possible motives. Revenge, jealousy, fear. Any of the reasons I’d listed to Mum could be the trigger for murder. And there would be more besides, reasons I hadn’t even thought of yet, as to why someone might want Dawn dead. There always were. To find out I needed to talk to people who’d known Dawn. I should speak to Lisa again, obviously, but I had a feeling she was going to be a hard nut to crack. But Dawn must have had other friends – she’d been an outgoing sort of girl from what I knew of her, with a full social life that probably hadn’t included Lisa – the amateur dramatics society, to name but one source of possible friends, and I was pretty sure I’d be able to find out where and when they met at the library. Libraries usually kept information on all local activities and the contact details for officials.
I also really wanted to talk again to Alice. They had, after all, worked together, and confidences were often shared between colleagues; all kinds of personal matters were discussed over a cup of coffee and a cream cake. There was no point in going back to Compton Properties here and now though; Alice had made it abundantly clear that Lewis Crighton didn’t want Dawn, and what had happened to her, discussed in the office. I needed to get her on her own if I was to elicit any useful information.
I fished in the pocket of my jacket for the paperwork Sarah had given me. She’d clipped a business card to the form, which bore the office telephone number. My mobile phone was in my bag; I got it out and dialled.
The phone was picked up almost immediately, but I didn’t know the voices of the two girls well enough to be sure which of them had answered it.
‘Would it be possible to speak to Alice?’ I asked.
‘I’m sorry. Alice is at lunch. This is Sarah. Can I help?’
Damn. Where had the morning gone?
‘It really was Alice I wanted to speak to,’ I said. ‘When will she be back?’
‘One fifteen. We take our lunch break in relays. But are you sure I can’t . . .?’
‘I’ll ring again later,’ I interrupted her.
‘Can I tell her who called?’
Damn again. I didn’t want to put Alice on her guard, or blow my excuse for going to the office by drawing attention to my interest in Dawn.
‘No, it’s all right. Sorry to have bothered you.’
I disconnected, and glanced at my watch. Ten to one. Mum would be expecting me back; Dad would think I’d crashed his car. But I wasn’t ready to leave Stoke Compton just yet.
I punched in my home number. Mum answered, sounding concerned when she heard my voice.
‘Is everything all right, Sally?’
‘Fine. But I’ve still got a few things I want to do here. Is it OK with Dad if I don’t get back for an hour or so?’