“Okay. There’s four that I can remember. I know for a fact I’ve got the first two right because we used to go there a lot; the other two, I’m not sure.”
“Thank you so much,” said Kate. “You’ve been really helpful.”
Shelley took them back to the front door. They passed the kids, who looked up at them and smiled when they said goodbye.
“I had Joanna Duncan’s message on my answering machine for quite a few weeks after she went missing,” said Shelley when they were at the front door. “I had to delete it in the end. I didn’t like hearing it and wondering what happened to her. It gives me the shivers that you’ve turned up on my doorstep all these years later mentioning Joanna Duncan and David in the same breath.”
17
It had stopped raining when Kate and Tristan left Shelley’s house, and the sun was now shining. They hurried to the car and got inside.
“The Spread-Eagle pub is closed,” said Tristan, when they were inside the car. “I think The Brewer’s too,” he added, looking at the list Shelley had given them.
“I’m more interested to go and have a look at this commune on Walpole Street, in case this Max Jesper is still living there,” she said.
It took them half an hour to cross the city. Walpole Street was by the river, and Kate remembered it for being part of a run-down area. She’d accompanied Myra there once when she put her clapped-out old car in for a service, and she remembered a row of boarded-up buildings next to an old car mechanic. The memory came back to her, bittersweet. Myra had had an aversion to discarding anything unless it was truly broken. She’d got rid of the old Morris Marina only when the engine had crumbled away. On the occasion Kate was thinking of, the car had lived to see another service.
Kate was surprised to see the car mechanic’s was now a trendy barbershop with a tattoo parlor, and the rest of the area by the river had undergone a transformation. There was a row of small, independent shops, a beautiful public garden, a Starbucks, and an old art house cinema that she recalled being boarded up.
The row of shops curved sharply to the right and turned into Walpole Street, which was more residential and made up of terraced houses. At the end of the road was a large four-story house painted crisp white with a new roof of slate blue. The beautiful sash windows shone, and written on a sign above the door was a silver number 11 and JESPER’S EST 2009. There were five stars under the sign, indicating it was a hotel.
There was an elegant outdoor terrace on the pavement, and every table was occupied. Clear glass space heaters warmed the diners with the flicker of tall flames. Tristan found a parking space farther down the road and pulled over.
“How does a squatter end up having his name above a five-star hotel?” he said. Kate took her phone out of her pocket and googled “Jesper’s hotel commune.”
“Here we go, fifth result down: ‘Exeter squatter wins right to prime property,’” said Kate, holding up the article on her phone. “‘A local squatter has become the legal owner of an eighteenth-century townhouse on Walpole Street in Exeter, where he has lived for more than twelve years. Max Jesper, forty-five, was handed the title deeds to the townhouse, thought to be worth over one million pounds, after developers threatened to evict him. Mr. Jesper made a successful claim under squatter’s rights, a Land Registry spokeswoman said. The property was previously owned and run as a boardinghouse. The owner died in 1974, and her descendant, who lived in Australia, inherited, and the property fell into disrepair. The property was sold to developers in 2009, and they sought to evict Mr. Jesper. He was able to prove he had been the sole occupier of the property for the past twelve years and made a successful claim under what is called squatter’s rights.’”
Tristan moved closer as they peered at the photo. “He looks like a real hippie,” he said.
The photo of Max Jesper had been taken on a gray, overcast day in front of the building. He had both thumbs up, and in one of his hands he held a lit cigarette. He was a wild-looking man with spiky black hair and ripped jeans. The building in the photo looked nothing like its current splendor. It was half-derelict with broken windows and big holes in the plaster, and there was a small tree growing out through a hole in the roof.
“Do you want to go inside and have a coffee?” asked Kate. “I’m intrigued to see what it looks like and if Max Jesper is there.” Tristan nodded.
As they got out of the car, there was a rumble of thunder in the darkening sky, and it started to rain. The rain quickly turned into a downpour, and Kate and Tristan made a run for the hotel. Kate hooked the collar of her jacket over her head, but she was instantly soaked by the heavy rain.