LITMIR.BIZ

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the images on the website, although his face looked more gaunt and he had grown a rough sort of a beard. As he closed the door behind him, Eve caught a glimpse of a darkened room, with what looked like an unmade camp bed pushed up against the wall.

      ‘You’re here about Sean Farrell, right?’ He ran his fingers quickly through his thick, brown hair, peering at her through narrowed eyes, as though dazed by the daylight. His voice was croaky and he spoke slowly as though every word was an effort. His frayed jeans hung low on his hips, pulled together loosely with a silver-buckled belt, an old denim shirt half tucked in at the front and open to his mid chest, the buttons done up incorrectly. It struck her that he had just hauled himself out of bed and dressed in a hurry on hearing her arrive.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You’re with the police.’ The tone was hostile.

      ‘I’m not here in an official capacity.’

      ‘Why are you here, then?’ He met her gaze defiantly, his eyes an intense, watery blue.

      It was all very well for Peters to assume that Dan Cooper would do what he was told and cooperate, but experience had taught her otherwise.

      ‘I’ve been asked to help,’ she said quietly, aware that Zofia had stopped tapping on her keyboard and was no doubt listening.

      Dan shook his head dismissively. ‘We don’t need any help. Thanks.’

      He was frowning and his hand shook a little as he reached in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes and lit up. The night before, she had read various articles he had written and watched a short video clip on the 4Justice website of him talking about a different case, which he had investigated and where they had succeeded in overturning a guilty verdict. He had all the vigour and clarity of a successful campaigning journalist and when she Googled him, she saw that he had won a number of journalistic prizes and accolades. He had had a promising career in mainstream journalism and she wondered what had taken him off on a detour into charity work. She also wondered what had gone wrong. Peters had mentioned Kristen Harris as being his ex-partner but it wasn’t clear if he had meant it in a romantic, as well as a business, sense. Out of curiosity, she had watched a couple of other short clips from a TV programme presented by Kristen, highlighting a recent 4Justice case. She was good-looking, in an offbeat way, with long, wavy, dark hair and shiny red lips. Her presentation was slick and professional and she seemed very sure of herself as she talked and smiled at the camera. But it was all a bit over the top, a little too knowing and self-serving, Eve thought, given that Kristen was supposed to be presenting a programme on the serious issue of a miscarriage of justice, which had ruined somebody’s life, rather than The One Show. By contrast, Dan Cooper had come across as earnest and genuinely passionate. Based on the little she had seen, she knew which one of them she would rather have as an advocate. But the man in front of her seemed to be falling apart and she understood why Duran thought he might need help.

      She got to her feet, holding his gaze. ‘Look. You may think you have everything in hand. I hope, for Sean Farrell’s sake, you’re right. But I have a job to do. I’ve been asked to take a look, as a favour for someone. Just in case I can turn up something. If I find anything, you can have it. What have you got to lose?’ He made no reply and she continued: ‘I’ve worked many, many murder cases—’

      ‘Yes. Yes. I know exactly who you are,’ he said, with a vague wave of his hand. ‘But I still don’t get why you’re here.’

      She shrugged. ‘What I’m trying to say is, I’m used to dealing with this sort of thing and I understand how the system works. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes can be of use.’

      ‘Why are you so interested in Sean Farrell?’

      His expression was still sceptical and she gave him a hard stare in return. ‘I’m not. I’d never heard of him until yesterday and, to be honest, I’d much rather go home and leave you to it. But as I said, I’m just doing a favour for somebody who, like you, believes Sean is innocent. That’s all. I’m not here to spy on you. I’m not checking up on you. And I won’t get in your way. But from what I hear, there’s not much time to turn things around and Sean needs all the help he can get right now. I just need you to fill me in on a few things, then I’ll go away and leave you alone. OK?’

      He studied her for a moment, his full lips slightly apart, as though weighing things up in his mind.

      ‘I thought Alan Peters had explained everything,’ she said sharply, when he made no reply. ‘Do you want me to call him now and put you on the phone?’

      ‘He has. It just seems very odd, that’s all. But I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as they say. So long as you’re not a Trojan horse.’

      ‘I’ve told you who I am and why I’m here. I’m not going over it again.’

      He sighed deeply as though it was too much trouble to resist any longer, slid out a chair from behind one of the desks and thumped down heavily onto it. He swung his feet up onto the desk, nudging aside a pile of papers with the heel of one of his ancient-looking cowboy boots, took a long, deep drag on his cigarette, then looked up at her through the smoke. ‘OK. Fine. But be quick. I’ve got to go and see somebody in half an hour.’

      He didn’t look like a man with anything urgent to do. She sat down again and took out a notebook and pen. She wasn’t leaving until she had what she needed. ‘Before we talk about the case, can you tell me a little about Jane and what her background was, that sort of thing?’

      He coughed, then looked round at Zofia. ‘Can you get me a coffee please, Zofia. My throat’s really dry and sore.’

      Zofia shot him a sharp look, then rose from behind her desk with an audible sigh. ‘What sort of coffee?’

      ‘Black. Triple espresso. Maybe just a dash of hot milk. And something to eat. I’m absolutely famished.’ He looked back at Eve and added as an afterthought: ‘What about you?’

      ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

      ‘And some Hedex Extra,’ he shouted after Zofia, as she grabbed her coat and strode out of the room. He swivelled back towards Eve. ‘What were you saying?’

      ‘You were going to tell me about Jane.’

      He nodded slowly and half closed his eyes as though it was all an effort. ‘She was an only child, born and brought up in a small village just outside Lincoln. Her father was an equine vet and she wanted to be a vet too, but didn’t get the grades. She’d been working at the Michaels’ yard for about six months.’

      ‘Before that?’

      ‘For a bloodstock insurance broker in Newmarket, I think.’

      ‘So she was relatively new to the Marlborough area?’

      ‘That’s right. She wanted to work for a racing yard, or at least that’s what her mother said. Reading between the lines, I think she also wanted to put some distance between herself and her parents.’

      ‘You’ve spoken to them?’

      ‘Just the mother. Briefly, on the phone and then about a year ago in person. She practically slammed the door in my face when she found out we were trying to help Sean. They’re convinced Sean killed her.’

      ‘Based on what?’

      ‘What the police told them, I guess. They certainly don’t want us digging it up all over again. They’ve been quite vitriolic, in fact.’

      ‘I’m not surprised.’

      She had seen it before and understood why they wouldn’t welcome Dan’s efforts. Families wanted closure so that they could grieve and then, if possible, move on as best they could with their lives. Jane’s parents would want to believe that the police had got it right, that her killer was locked away behind bars for as long as possible, and that the murder of their daughter had been avenged. From their point of view, opening up the case all over again, with all the media attention and speculation, would reawaken the past, with all the

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