High Island Blues

by Ann Cleeves

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was dusk. Heavy rain clouds to the north had cut the day short and there was a wind. The deputies still stood by the gate of the Oaklands Hotel but no one attempted to come in. The street outside was quiet. A couple of news people waited but the wind was cold and most had returned to the studio or to cover fresher stories – a stabbing in a High School in Galveston, new revelations about a senator’s life.

  Connie May sat on the Oaklands porch and wished the light was better. She’d brought her crochet, though Russell had laughed at her, had said this would be the trip of a lifetime and there would be no time for that. She was glad of it now. It had been a dreadful day. There had been enough gossip and rumour for her to imagine what Esme Lovegrove’s body had looked like, dumped in the doorway like a bag of rubbish left out for the bin men. The thought of it made her feel sick. The same sort of sickness as when Russell had taken her on the steamer from Ilfracombe to Lundy Island and they’d anchored in the swell to let passengers off in little boats. It was only by concentrating on the crochet that she stopped herself throwing up.

  When George came to sit beside her she knew at once that he wanted something. He was a pleasant man but not the sort to be sociable just for the sake of it. She finished her row, wound up her wool and waited for him to speak. He seemed very tired and she wondered if there was a wife somewhere, who should be looking after him.

  ‘A couple of days ago you asked if you could help me,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you tell me about Esme? I never really got the chance to speak to her.’

  He was surprised that she did not answer immediately. She had seemed eager to be part of the investigation.

  ‘Could we go somewhere else?’ she said. ‘I mean right away from here. Just for a couple of hours. We were going to hire a car but we never got round to it. I mean it’s a lovely hotel, but after all that’s happened…’

  She looked at him, hoping he would understand.

  ‘Of course. Why don’t I take you and Russell out to dinner? We’ll take the ferry to Galveston. That’s a city. There’ll be more going on. Lots of people. And they won’t all be talking about the murder.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’

  It was the same road as he’d taken when he’d gone to the Bolivar Flats with Oliver. There were lights on in the bars in Crystal Beach and Gilchrist. The wind rattled the billboards and blew sand across the street. At Bolivar, at the end of the peninsula, they had to wait for a ferry. They watched it approaching, bobbing on the choppy water and Connie was reminded again of the Lundy steamer and hoped she would not make a spectacle of herself by being sick. They were first in and a small, hunched man waved them to park right in the bow. They spent the ten minute crossing sat in the car, and could see nothing. The water came over the side and drenched the windscreen with salt spray.

  George found the restaurant where Oliver and Julia Adamson claimed to have had lunch the day before. It was the ground floor of a converted warehouse with a covered terrace which looked right out into the bay. Tonight everyone was eating in. The place was noisy and crowded and they had to wait for a table. It served seafood with a cajun flavour; blackened snapper and shrimp and dirty rice.

  A waiter in a starched white shirt and tight black trousers led them to a table, handed them enormous laminated menus, began his spiel:

  ‘Hi! my name’s Carl. I’m your waiter for tonight. First off, can I get y’ all a drink?’

  ‘Orange juice,’ Connie said firmly. ‘That’s all.’

  ‘Yes ma’am. Hey! aren’t you English?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘From the West Country.’

  ‘Isn’t that something? I served two English people only yesterday.’

  ‘At lunchtime?’ George asked, not quite believing his luck.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Perhaps they were friends of mine. A man and a woman? About forty? She’s a blonde?’

  ‘That’s them!’

  ‘I don’t suppose you remember what time they were in. I’d arranged to meet them yesterday and I missed them.’

  ‘Sure. It was early. The place was quiet. Must’ve been before twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Thank you,’ George said. So Oliver and Julia had been in Galveston as they’d said, but if they’d eaten at midday they would still have had time to return to the Oaklands Hotel to murder Esme Lovegrove.

  Esme Lovegrove wasn’t mentioned throughout the meal. They talked about the birding friends they had in common and Russell’s preparations for Sunday’s race. He seemed as determined as Rob that it should go ahead.

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed a bird race,’ he said. ‘And I hear you’re going to be a member of the team, too, George.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ George said. ‘I don’t think so. I haven’t been asked.’

  ‘I think you’ll find Rob’s counting on you.’

  Over coffee Connie brought up the subject of Esme herself: ‘She was a silly woman, though I dare say there was no harm to her.’

  ‘In what way silly?’

  ‘Spoilt. As if she’d never grown up. You could tell she was pretty when she was young. When you’re young you can get away with things. Flirting, chatting up other people’s husbands. When you get a bit older it’s not very nice.’

  ‘Did she chat up your husband?’

  ‘Whenever she got the chance,’ Connie said placidly. ‘Though I don’t suppose he noticed. Did you Russ?’

  ‘No!’ He seemed shocked, mildly flattered. ‘To tell the truth I thought she was a bloody nuisance. Always wanting to look through the telescope. Always asking questions. That’s what I thought she was after.’

  He gave an embarrassed giggle as if he had made a particularly risqué joke. Connie gave him a disapproving stare and continued.

  ‘I didn’t mind for myself, George. We’ve been married for nearly forty years and I wouldn’t have stayed with Russ if I couldn’t trust him. But I didn’t like the woman making a spectacle of herself. I thought she was an educated lady and she should have known better.’

  ‘Was it just your husband she took a shine to?’

  ‘Goodness me, no. Anything in trousers as we used to say when I was a girl.’

  ‘Did you see her yesterday?’

  ‘In the morning. We all went on a bus trip to the coast. Russell was keen and I thought I might as well. It wasn’t much what I was expecting. A bit run down. I suppose when I think of the seaside I think of Weston. A prom and a cream tea after.’ She laughed at her own silliness. ‘I sat across the aisle from Esme on the coach.’

  ‘Did you talk?’

  ‘Well she talked,’ Connie said. ‘I didn’t get much of a chance.’

  ‘What did she talk about?’

  ‘She talked about cream teas too. Perhaps that’s what made me think of it. She runs a tea shop somewhere in the Cotswolds. She said that’s what High Island needed. An old-fashioned tea shop. It would make a fortune. She said it was the most interesting job in the world because you got to hear everything that was going on. “You wouldn’t believe some of the scandals I’ve overheard in my establishment.” She went on like that all the way. Gossip and tittle tattle.’ She paused. ‘ To be honest there wasn’t much worth listening to. I didn’t take it in. I pretended. Nodded in the right places. But I wasn’t really listening.’

  ‘You can’t remember anything else she said? It might be helpful.’

  ‘Well she talked about the murder. I don’t suppose you can blame her. We were all doing that.’

  ‘Did she have anything new to say? Any real information?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘ I don’t think so.’

  ‘Did you have the impression that he was more than a chance acquaintance, that she had known Mick Brownscombe previously?’

  ‘Oh, no. Nothing like that.’

  The waiter in the tight trousers shimmied over to refill their coffee cups. George waited until he’d gone before speaking to Rus
sell.

  ‘You say that Esme followed you around when you were at Bolivar Flats. Did she talk to you?’

  ‘Nothing sensible. She asked me to point out birds to her when all I wanted was to get to grips with them myself. Perhaps I was a bit short with her, but she did leave me alone and went off to pester someone else.’

  ‘Rob Earl?’

  ‘That’s right. Poor chap. But at least he was being paid for it.’

  ‘Did you talk to Miss Lovegrove after the coach trip?’

  Connie replied. ‘Not really. Russell asked them to join us for lunch. He was afraid he’d offended Esme and he wanted to be polite. But both sisters rushed off to sit with Mr Earl. We didn’t mind of course. We’d just as soon be by ourselves.’

  They smiled at each other. Russell reached over the table and patted her hand.

  ‘You never saw her again?’ George asked.

  ‘No. Well, not exactly.’ He waited for her to explain. She looked flustered and slightly embarrassed. ‘I didn’t say anything to the detective who talked to me this morning. I know I should have done but I wasn’t sure you see and I don’t find him very easy to talk to. He probably doesn’t mean to bully but I find him quite frightening. And he asked about after lunch, and this happened before. Before we’d even asked Esme and Joan to sit with us.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘You know the little lounge, opposite reception?’

  He nodded. It was the lounge used by the elderly residents, where he’d talked to the old man who remembered the Oaklands Hotel when it was run by Mary Ann’s mother.

  ‘I waited for Russell in there before lunch. I didn’t fancy the bar. I just wanted somewhere quiet and cool to sit.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I didn’t see anything but I heard. I didn’t mean to listen but I couldn’t help it, and it didn’t seem important.’

  He nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  ‘I heard Esme out in the lobby. She just said: “About three-thirty then. I’ll see you there.” I didn’t really think anything of it. I just wondered who she was chatting up this time.’

  ‘And who was she chatting up?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘That’s all I heard. From where I was sitting I couldn’t see into the lobby. If anybody answered he must have spoken more quietly. And I wasn’t really interested, George. I told you. She was just a silly woman.’

  She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her forehead, though the restaurant was air-conditioned and quite cool.

  ‘I’m sorry she’s dead,’ she said. ‘But I have to tell you how it was.’

  ‘Of course.’ He paused, tried to picture the room where he’d sat, chatting to the old Texan. ‘I wonder if you noticed a large mirror,’ he asked. ‘It’s on the wall above the mantelpiece. If you’d looked in there you’d have been able to see anyone in reception.’

  She shook her head. ‘I was sitting in the window,’ she said, ‘looking out over the garden, enjoying the view.’

  Russell leaned forward, clasped both his wife’s hands.

  ‘You can’t think Miss Lovegrove was arranging to meet the man who killed her, George. I thought she died much later. After seven o’clock.’

  ‘Her body was moved after seven,’ he said. ‘It’s more likely she was killed in the afternoon. That’s when she disappeared.’

  ‘We can’t help you then,’ Russell said. ‘ We had a walk through Boy Scout Wood. I wanted to get a clear picture of all the trails. You know, George. Ready for the bird race on Sunday.’

  Oh, yes. George thought. The bloody bird race.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When the Mays had gone to bed he stood for a moment in the lobby. Mary Ann appeared from the bar. Her face was grey but she was as chic and well groomed as always. Her little black shoes tapped hurriedly across the tiled floor. He thought she had been waiting for him.

  ‘I wondered if we could talk,’ she said.

  ‘Of course.’ He was exhausted but she looked troubled. He could not ask her to wait until the morning. Always a soft touch for a pretty face, Molly would say.

  ‘Come into my apartment.’

  She led him down a corridor, past the kitchen, to a room at the back of the house, the room he had seen from the car-park the evening before. It was long and narrow, almost empty of furniture. There were wooden floors, a white sofa, a low, light wood table. Bookshelves covered one wall.

  ‘A drink?’ she asked. ‘Scotch?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ After an evening of abstinence with the Mays he realized how much he needed a drink.

  There must have been a small kitchen because she went out through a swing door and came back with glasses filled with ice, a bottle.

  ‘What do you want to tell me?’ he asked. He thought he knew.

  She twisted the glass in her hand.

  ‘It’s probably not important,’ she said. ‘The storm brought it all back. A memory of something that happened twenty years ago. I’m not sure how accurate it is. It seems more like a dream after all this time.’

  It was not what he had been expecting. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘It was when Laurie and the boys came to stay, one night at the end of their visit. The noise of the wind in the trees reminded me because there’d been a storm that day too. It had brought the electricity cables down and there were no lights in the house. I think I was scared for some reason. Perhaps I still needed a lamp in my room to get me to sleep and I woke up in the dark. I went out on to the veranda. It had stopped raining and everything was wet, shining. There must have been a moon. The whole house was quiet apart from the water dripping from the roof and the trees.

  ‘You remember it very well.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I can see it, you know, in flashes, like one of those jumpy early movies.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I heard noises coming from the front room, the room where the Adamsons are staying now. There was a door then from the room right out on to the veranda and it was open a crack. It wasn’t much of a room and my mother had put the boys in there. Sort of camping out. One of them had a mattress on the floor. Then they must have lit some candles because suddenly there was light from the window and when I looked I could see their faces. They were all gathered round one candle. Like kids trying to spook each other with ghost stories.’

  ‘And it was just the boys who were there?’

  ‘No, Laurie too. I remember her most. She had her hair loose and all frizzed out around her head. She was the centre of attention. The others were playing up to her. Trying to impress. Competitive. Even at my age I realized that.’

  She sipped from her glass, returned to her memories.

  ‘Like I said I thought they were telling ghost stories. They had that intense look. I’d been away at girl scout camp during the Easter vacation and that’s how the girls had looked around the camp fire when they were trying to scare each other.’

  ‘But they weren’t telling stories?’

  She shook her head. ‘ It was some sort of game. Laurie was in charge of it. You could tell it was her idea.’

  ‘What sort of game?’

  She seemed to sense disapproval in his voice, became suddenly a modern sophisticated woman instead of a twelve-year-old child.

  ‘Not what you think. No undressing or groping in the dark. Nothing to shock or deprave.’

  ‘It’s not only nudity which can shock or deprave,’ he said lightly.

  ‘It was a truth game,’ she said. ‘Laurie was asking the questions.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Perhaps it had been going on for a while, before I went out on to the porch, before they lit the candles.’

  ‘But you heard some of it?’

  She nodded. ‘Laurie asked them how many women they’d made love to. That had me hooked. I was twelve years old. I mean sex was exciting, forbidden, never talked about. I couldn’t move. Oliver went first.
One too many, he said. They all laughed. I didn’t understand the joke. Rob told a story. I think it was supposed to be funny but I was too innocent to know what it was all about.’

  ‘And Mick?’

  ‘He said he never had. Made it with a woman. As if it were a terrible admission, you know. As if it were the worst thing in the world.’

  ‘What did Laurie say to that?’

  ‘“Well, I think that’s real sweet.” I thought she was teasing him but he took her seriously. He was sort of grateful because she didn’t laugh out loud.’

  ‘Did the boys laugh out loud?’

  ‘Not really. They couldn’t after what Laurie had said.’

  ‘Was that it? Was that the only question?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Laurie asked what was the wickedest thing they’d ever done. She said that evil was far more interesting than sex. I thought that was so profound! She looked like a witch with her wild hair caught in the candle light, staring at each of them in turn, waiting for them to speak. I can’t remember what Oliver said. Something flip, I expect.’

  ‘But you remember the others?’

  ‘Rob said he’d cheated at a Birdathon, though I don’t think he called it that. Anyway, it was the sort of competition we plan to hold here on the peninsula on Sunday. Laurie told him that didn’t count. It was like cheating at an exam. No one really got hurt. He said it felt wicked enough to him. A stringer was the lowest of the low. I’m sure that was the word he used. Stringer. Does that mean a cheat?’

  George nodded. ‘What did Mick say?’

  ‘That once when he was drunk he’d stolen his father’s car. Rob said that a father like his deserved to have his car stolen. If he wasn’t such a mean bastard he’d have bought Mick a decent car of his own. “ He didn’t deserve to have it smashed up!” Mick said. They laughed but I thought at the time it must have been a bad accident because Mick looked all shaken just thinking about it.’

  ‘Was that the end of the game?’

  ‘No. The boys wouldn’t leave it like that. Why should Laurie ask all the questions? Rob said it was her turn to answer. Which of the three of them did she like the best. She smiled, teasing, then said she liked them all. Rob said that was a cop out. It wouldn’t do.