“We only fleetingly saw Max and Nick, and they were the hosts,” said Juliet.
“Why were you invited? If you barely know them?” asked Kate.
“Why not? Past business. The business and commerce world in the West Country is very small,” said Ashley.
“These kinds of parties are always a good networking opportunity,” said Juliet. “So much of what we do is about networking.”
“I spoke to one of the waiters who worked at that party,” said Tristan. “He said Noah Huntley offered him money to have sex with him in the sand dunes.”
Juliet’s eyebrows shot into her hairline.
“Oh dear. I barely know Noah’s wife, Helen, but I don’t know why she stays with him,” she said. “Once a politician, always a politician. I’ve had to deal with many of them in my line of work, and I’ve heard so many stories of affairs and adultery. So many of them seem to be gay and yet married.”
“Which is a good point, because another reason we were encouraged not to report on the Noah Huntley rent-boy story,” said Ashley, “was because of the climate at the time. The Blair government had abolished Section 28; they’d legalized same-sex civil partnerships. ‘Outing’ people for the sake of news was no longer legal. Without having a rent boy who would go on record, Noah Huntley was just another closeted gay man having consensual sex.”
“What does his wife, Helen, do?” asked Tristan.
“She’s his secretary, and presumably, she turns a blind eye. I think that Noah invests with Nick’s companies.”
“Do either of you currently do business with Nick?” asked Kate. They already knew the answer was no, after looking at the Companies House records, but it was worth asking.
“He’s a private-equity investor. I’m wary of the stock market. It’s my working-class roots,” said Juliet. “I prefer to keep my money in property, or in the bank, where I can see it.”
Kate nodded and looked at Tristan writing it all down. More spiderwebs were entangling between the same people.
“If we can go back to Joanna Duncan. Would her work have been stored on a central database at the West Country News?”
“Only her published work. Back in 2002, we’d only just got internet access for the office a couple of months before. We had a very basic intranet,” said Ashley.
“Was there a central hard drive where she kept her work?”
“No. She had a laptop,” said Ashley.
“Did she leave it at work?”
Ashley pulled an exasperated face.
“Jesus. That’s specific. I don’t know? I don’t think so.”
“The police don’t know what happened to Joanna’s laptop or her notebooks,” said Kate, studying him carefully.
“Nor do I.”
There was a long pause. Kate could tell Ashley and Juliet wanted to end the meeting.
“Could we ask you some practical questions?” said Tristan. “Ashley, you were away on Saturday the seventh of September, when Joanna went missing?”
“Yes. That’s what I told the police in my statement. I was in London, meeting with a friend from university, who at the time confirmed this,” said Ashley.
“Yes. The friend was called Tim Jeckels,” said Tristan, looking up from his notebook. “You were staying with him for the weekend in North London, where he had a flat.”
“Yes. He was a theatre director, and I went up to see his new play. Tim sadly passed away five years ago.”
Kate noticed an awkward moment between Juliet and Ashley. A fleeting look.
“I was at home, here, I think,” said Juliet. “The police didn’t ask what I was doing, just to confirm that Ashley was away.”
“We’ve been trying to contact Rita Hocking, who worked with Joanna and was at work with her the day she went missing. Are you still in contact with her?” asked Tristan.
“No, I’m not in contact with Rita. She’s now in America, yes?” asked Ashley.
“Yes. She works for the Washington Post. We’ve tried to contact her but haven’t heard back.”
“It’s a shame that Minette isn’t alive. She ran the copy room with a rod of iron. She knew everything that was going on.”
“Was something going on?” asked Kate. Ashley rolled his eyes.
“No, of course not. It’s a figure of speech,” he said, exasperated. “But she probably knew more about Joanna than I did.”
“What was her second name?”