Page 53 of Worse Than Murder

‘For someone who has a detective in the front passenger seat, you’re very reckless with the highway code,’ I say as I hold onto the handle above the door for dear life.

‘I’m a very law-abiding person,’ she says. ‘But I think they’ve gone too far. I’m fine with the big stuff– don’t commit murder, don’t steal, don’t take drugs, don’t park in someone’s designated parking space– but, once you start with laws and rules, people take them further until we get to a point we can’t do anything without fear of being arrested. If I can get to my destination in one piece and not kill anyone, does it matter if I’m doing ninety on a dual carriageway?’

I find it difficult to think of a counter-argument.

* * *

Seascale is a small, picturesque village on the Irish Sea coast of Cumbria with a population of less than two thousand. It seems cooler here than inland where Nature’s Diner is. As I step out of the Punto, and give thanks for surviving, I feel a chill.

According to Damien Ashton’s LinkedIn profile, he works from home as a freelance copy editor. Tania found his address on the electoral register, and she parks outside his whitewashed cottage on the sea front. He has a stunning view from his front garden. For the first time in ages, I wonder if I should move. I live in a former farmhouse with massive rooms, tall ceilings, a formal dining room and its own library. There’s only me there. I don’t need all that. A quaint cottage would do me perfectly well. Something to think about.

As we walk up the short garden path, I see a man in a downstairs room, presumably the living room, turn and look at us. He answers the door before we can ring the bell.

Damien Ashton had been a good-looking man when he was a teacher at High Chapel Primary School in the early nineties. Now in his fifties, his once short dark hair is swept back, thinning and grey. His once smooth face is lined and gives him a tired, hangdog expression. As he smiles at us, his dull eyes wake up slightly, and reveal a hint of the younger, carefree man he used to be.

Tania introduces us both and asks if we can ask him a few questions about the disappearance of the Pemberton twins. It’s usually me leading a conversation. I can’t get used to deputising.

‘Have there been any developments? Have they been found?’ There’s genuine concern in his voice.

‘There has been a development,’ Tania says.

Damien leads us into the house which has the aroma of freshly made coffee. He shows us into a tastefully decorated, yet untidy living room. There’s a desk in the corner with two large monitors and a laptop.

‘Let me just save what I’m working on,’ he says, rushing over to his desk. ‘Take a seat where you can find one. Sorry for the mess. I’m not a tidy worker, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you live alone?’ I ask as I look at the pictures on the walls. They’re all landscapes and works of art. No photos of family members or friends.

‘I do. Yes.’

‘Are you married? Single?’

‘I’m single,’ he says, looking up from his computer as he shuts it down.

‘By choice?’ Tania asks, sitting down and making herself comfortable.

‘Yes, actually.’ He moves to the armchair and hitches up his skinny jeans as he sits. ‘I don’t function well as part of a couple.’

‘Why is that?’

‘You want to talk to me about Celia and Jennifer,’ he says, avoiding Tania’s question.

I go over to the sofa and sit down next to Tania. ‘You remember their names?’

‘Of course, I do. It was a massive news event. I was only twenty-four at the time. I hadn’t been teaching long. It’s strange: I remember thinking teaching was going to be fun, that teaching primary age kids was going to be this worthwhile job. Celia and Jennifer going missing sort of opened my eyes to the reality of adult life.’

‘What does that mean?’ Tania frowns.

‘It was the first time I’d come face to face with evil.’

‘Evil? That’s a strong word,’ I say. I’ve met evil. I’ve fought evil. I’m not sure if I’ve won or not. Right now, it doesn’t seem so. Damien was Celia and Jennifer’s teacher. He wasn’t living with them. He wasn’t personally connected to them enough to be close enough to experience evil firsthand.

‘That’s what it was. Someone took those girls. You don’t have to be a detective to know that when two beautiful little girls go missing it’s for… well, it’s not going to have a happy ending when they’re not found straight away, is it?’ His fingers worry at the cuffs of his long-sleeve T-shirt.

‘You thought they were beautiful?’ I ask. I’ve seen photos of Celia and Jennifer, and they were beautiful. But should their teacher be thinking of his pupils that way?

‘Well, yes. They were. They were always smiling, always clean and dressed nicely. They were lovely girls.’

‘How were they in class? Any problems?’