Darkness Falls (Kate Marshall, #3)(78)

The other half of the cover was a police mug shot of Peter Conway, which was taken on the day he gave evidence at his preliminary trial. In this photo, his hands were cuffed, and he was smirking at the camera. His eyes were wild and pupils dilated. This was before he’d started on the cocktail of drugs to deal with his schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder.

“Is it hard to look at, the book cover?” asked Marnie. Kate didn’t know she’d been staring at it for so long. Marnie had made two mugs of tea and was putting one on the table in front of her.

“Yes. You see in the mug shot, Peter has stitches above his left eyebrow?” said Kate, tapping her finger on the photo. “That’s where I hit him with a lamp when he was attacking me . . .” Kate stood up and lifted her T-shirt to show Marnie the six-inch scar on her abdomen, which curved close to her belly button. “And that’s where he sliced me open. I was four months pregnant with Jake; I didn’t know that at the time. The doctor said the knife missed him by millimeters. It was a miracle he wasn’t killed . . .” Marnie was nodding with her mouth slightly open in shock. “So, when I said no about signing this book, I had my reasons, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” said Marnie softly. “What made you change your mind?”

“Jake did. He’s my little miracle. It made me think about your kids, and how you need help.”

Kate took a deep breath, opened the book, and found the title page. She signed her name between Enid’s and Peter’s names. She blew on the ink to make sure it was dry and wouldn’t smudge, and she closed the book.

“Thank you,” said Marnie.

“You should ask for two and a half grand. I had a look last night, and there’s a bloke in America who sold this book with just Peter’s signature for three thousand dollars on eBay,” said Kate.

Marnie nodded. They sipped their tea in silence for a moment.

“I saw on the news about that lad and Noah Huntley. They mentioned Jo too. Do you think they’ll reopen the investigation?” asked Marnie.

“I hope so. We’re still working on the case . . . I think that the commune on Walpole Street is the answer. The missing guys that Joanna was investigating lived there. Quite a few of the men we’re looking at visited the commune and then invested in the hotel, but the owner, Max Jesper, and his partner, Nick Lacey, seem to be evading us.”

Marnie frowned and sat back in her chair.

“What?” asked Kate.

“Nick Lacey?”

“Yes. Didn’t I mention him before?”

“No.”

“Do you know him?”

“No, but the name sticks in my mind.”

“Why?”

“You know I told you that the day after Jo went missing, I backed into that brand-new BMW? The guy who owned it was called Nick Lacey.”

“There’s probably more than one Nick Lacey,” said Kate, trying not to get too excited. “What did he look like?”

Marnie shrugged.

“I don’t know. I left my details under his windscreen wiper. And then I only heard from his solicitor . . . I don’t know what possessed me to own up. I should have just driven off. It cost me a fortune to claim on my insurance and his. I lost my no-claims bonus,” she said.

“Do you remember Nick Lacey’s address?” asked Kate, her mind moving fast. If it was the same Nick Lacey, why would he have been parked outside the morning after Joanna went missing?

“No, but I keep stuff. I might still have the claim forms,” said Marnie. She got up and went to a drawer in the kitchen. It was full of paperwork, and she started to dig around. Marnie then went out into the corridor and down to the living room, where she opened the door. Kate heard her opening drawers and cupboards; she came back a few minutes later with a piece of paper.

“Here, this is it. The insurance claim papers,” said Marnie, handing the sheet of paper to Kate. “He’s local, Nick Lacey. He’s got a Devon and Cornwall address.”





44


Tristan had just arrived at the office and was making coffee when Kate burst in holding a piece of paper. She went straight to her laptop, opened it, and started typing.

“Morning?” said Tristan.

“Sorry! Morning,” said Kate. He joined her at her laptop. “Look at this,” she added, handing him a piece of paper.

“It’s a car insurance claim form between Marnie Prince and Nick Lacey?” he said, reading it. He watched as Kate logged on to the UK Companies House website, where you could check the details of people who are limited company directors. She found the entry for Nick Lacey. There was a list of confirmation statements going back to 1997.

“What are confirmation statements?” asked Tristan.

“Every year, company directors have to either confirm their details are the same, or they have to update any changes,” said Kate. “What’s his address on the form?”

“Thirteen Maple Terrace, Exeter, EX14,” said Tristan. He looked up. Kate had the same address on the screen.

“Jesus. It’s the same Nick Lacey,” said Kate.

“What’s happened?”

Kate told him about visiting Marnie and finding out that Nick Lacey owned the car that Marnie had reversed into the morning after Joanna went missing.