A Question of Guilt(80)

But if so, why had Dawn been frightened when it was all over? She might have had her suspicions about who was really responsible; she might have felt guilt that Brian Jennings had been wrongly accused. But Lisa was her friend, and she and Paul were just an ordinary couple. They might have set a fire to get what they wanted, but I couldn’t see them as murderers.

Perhaps after all the two events were unconnected. But that brought me back to my very first conclusion. For Dawn to have been trapped by the fire and then mown down by a hit-and-run driver was a huge coincidence, and I didn’t like coincidences. Either Dawn was incredibly unlucky, or there was a link. And I was no nearer to finding out what it was.

‘So though she had doubts about Brian Jennings being the culprit, Dawn still gave evidence at his trial?’ I said.

‘Only about him stalking her.’ Grace was twisting her wedding ring round and round on her finger. ‘She did say she couldn’t see him being the fire raiser. But I don’t remember his barrister ever asking her about that in court, I must confess.’

So, poor Brian Jennings had been represented by a lazy lawyer who hadn’t really fought his case properly. Well, that happened – in fact it was what I’d suspected all along.

‘Did Dawn ever mention anyone else who might have wished her harm?’ I asked.

Grace shook her head vehemently.

‘Dawn was really popular. She was a lovely girl – you know that.’

It didn’t quite tally with what I’d heard of Dawn in Stoke Compton, but I wasn’t about to upset Grace by saying so.

‘You said she was frightened,’ I said instead. ‘Do you know who, or what, she was frightened of?’

Grace shook her head again.

‘Not really. She didn’t want to talk about it.’

I decided to take the bull by the horns.

‘Could it have been Lewis Crighton?’ I asked.

‘Oh – no, no!’ Grace sounded quite shocked. ‘She was very fond of Lewis. He was a wonderful employer. And he thought the world of Dawn.’ She broke off, her forehead creasing beneath her neat blonde fringe. ‘I do think it had something to do with her work, though,’ she went on after a moment. ‘Not the estate agency – the auctions. And Lewis’s partner. She did once say she didn’t trust him . . .’

‘His partner!’ I repeated, startled. ‘I didn’t know he had a partner. I thought it was his own business.’

‘Well, yes, as regards the estate agency, it is. Certainly he’s the front man, and runs everything on a day to day business. But the auction side of it is a different matter. There’s definitely someone else in the background.’

‘Do you know who?’ I asked, holding my breath.

‘I’m sorry, no. I don’t think Dawn ever mentioned a name, or if she did, I don’t remember it.’ She broke off, thinking. ‘I don’t suppose there would be anything in her diary that might give a clue?’

‘Her diary?’ I sat forward eagerly. ‘Dawn kept a diary?’

‘Always. From the time she was a little girl. She wrote it up every night without fail – sometimes I had to get cross with her when I’d find her scribbling away when she should be asleep. It was a ritual with her, right down to the book she wrote it in. She’d buy exercise books, then cover them with fancy paper and attach a sticker with the dates and something pretty to decorate it – a star, or a flower . . . the very first one, when she was about six or seven, I remember, was a picture of a puppy, and the gold paper was the wrapping from a birthday present . . .’ Her eyes were misting as she remembered her little girl. A little girl who had grown up, but still stuck to the childish ritual of decorating her diaries as she always had.

‘And she kept on writing them up after she came home?’ I asked.

Grace recovered herself with an effort.

‘Oh, I think so. I must say I haven’t looked – I couldn’t bring myself to. It would have upset me too much. But they’re all in a shoebox on top of her wardrobe Even after she went to live in Stoke Compton she would bring each one home when it was completed and store it with the others.’

My heart was thudding with excitement. Was it possible the key to all this was here, in a shoe box, in Dawn’s own hand writing? There was just one problem, though.

‘Presumably the one she was keeping at the time of the fire will have been destroyed, though,’ I ventured.

‘Funnily enough, no,’ Grace said. ‘She was here the weekend before the fire, and I remember her taking it out of her bag and up to her room. Her dad was teasing her about it, saying she’d be able to write a book one day. She must have just started a fresh volume, so it would only be a couple of days’ entries that will have been lost.’