‘Try farmhouses, places where people might have been outside and seen him. And around Halse woods.’
‘I’m onto it, guv.’
‘And by the way, Patrick, I’m all for positive publicity about what we do on Twitter and the like, but the investigation comes first and that’s what we focus on. We’re not here to feed social media.’
‘Sure, guv.’
He nodded, frowning slightly. She wasn’t sure that he’d got the message. He was making another call as she left to step outside for a breath of air in a small courtyard at the back of the station. The station was an old listed building, previously part of the corn market. It had rained again during the day and the courtyard was pleasantly cool. Ali was also outside, sitting on a bench, smoking and checking his phone. He looked up and smiled broadly at her. Siv went over and joined him. She liked his solid presence.
Ali held his cigarette away to one side. ‘How’d it go with Seaton?’
‘What a smarmy piece of work he is! As soon as I walked into the room I realized that I knew his dad, Colin Seaton. Harvey’s a dead ringer for him. Colin was head teacher at my school for a couple of years. He had a reputation for getting just a little too close to the prettiest girls.’ Colin Seaton was a handsome, well-built man and some of the girls had liked his proximity, played up to him. Not Rikka. She’d jabbed him in the chest with a ruler after he’d breathed in her face. Harvey had his father’s boyish grin and thinning hair. ‘According to Seaton, he had a “fond” friendship with Lauren. They swapped confidences about things their spouses didn’t understand. No sex, just lovely chats and walks. A bit of fondling. All dressed up by him as a “tendresse.” Judging by the shame on his face when I mentioned his wife, I’d say she made him come to see me.’
Ali pulled a face. ‘He sounds a complete eejit. Did Visser know Lauren was playing away?’
‘There’s the question. Seaton says not. He says he’s only just told his wife, but either Ade or Jenna might have found out somehow before now, which would give us motive. Seaton reckons they saw each other from last September to February and then stopped. Mutual guilt.’
Ali blew a smoke ring. ‘And Seaton might have a motive himself. What if he’s lying about the mutuality of the friendship ending? What if Lauren didn’t want it to end and was being clingy? Maybe she was threatening to blab.’
She watched Ali’s smoke ring curl away and fade. ‘He says he was out on his own for a hack when she was murdered, and he didn’t see anyone. I’ve asked Patrick to check out his route. So now we have another possible explanation for the calls and texts Lauren was getting at work, plus both the husband and the fond friend with no alibis for the time around her death, but no forensics to place either at the scene.’
In spite of herself, Siv had to admit she felt some satisfaction that Lauren wasn’t as wonderful as painted and was certainly capable of a deception her best friend wouldn’t have believed. The only person who she felt any real sympathy for was young Matis Rimas, who’d only been caught up in it because he’d got in the way of someone’s plan.
She looked down, her attention caught by Ali’s right foot. She tried not to smile. ‘Your sock’s on inside out.’
‘And there’s me, calling Seaton an eejit.’ Ali slipped off his shoe, turned the sock the right way so that the diamond pattern on the ankle showed. ‘I’ve been out to the Cherryfield estate,’ he said, ‘talked to Rimas’s workmates. They knew about his fishing but not when or where he went. They also know a Bartel Nowak. He’s a roofer and did some work at the site recently. He’s moved on now but the head guy gave me his phone number. And Nowak is also an angler, so we’ve a few more jigsaw pieces.’
‘I’ll speak to Nowak and I’ll try to clarify what time Jenna Seaton arrived at work on Monday morning.’ She felt a fuzziness descend and leaned forward, closing her eyes.
‘You okay, guv?’
She nodded and looked up at Ali. His warm eyes were a comfort. ‘I’m fine. Just a bit tired.’
He nodded. ‘Maybe get an early night? There’s not much a good night’s kip can’t fix.’
‘Are you always so annoyingly optimistic?’ She grinned.
‘Aye, that’s me all right, blessed with a hopeful nature. Glass half full, but then I know I’m lucky.’ He lowered his voice although there was no one else around. ‘Just to say, guv, hope you don’t mind . . . I know about what happened, that you were widowed. Mortimer told me but only me. He thought I should know.’
‘It’s okay. I understand.’ Funny, she didn’t think of herself as a widow. It seemed to be a word for a much older woman, someone who’d had a long life and memories of years with her husband.
‘Just wanted to say. You know. Must be tough at times. Anyways . . . I wondered if you’d like to come for a drink on the bank holiday weekend. My wife Polly’s a chef at Nutmeg, a place in town, and some of us meet up there once a month. You can have a meal if you want or just a wee drink, it’s up to you.’
Siv fought a surge of anxiety. These days, any questions about how she spent her weekends, or offers of hospitality had this effect. If anyone asked her about her personal life, she might open her mouth and no words would come out. Ali was smiling at her expectantly.
‘I’m not sure. I might be away then. Can I let you know?’
‘Course, no worries. Just a chance to chill out with each other. A bit of craic.’
She watched Ali head over to his desk. Then she put her head back and stared at the light-drenched sky. More than anything right now, she wanted it to be dark and she wanted to be on her own, the rest of humanity securely outside her locked door.
Chapter Fifteen
The evening litter pick at Minster Beach was in full swing. The afternoon had been showery but now the sky was brighter, although it might not last. Betty Marshall rubbed her aching back and looked out at the funnel shaped clouds. Far out at sea there was a charcoal block of sky. A dramatic sky, one for an artist to capture. Terry, her runaway husband, had tried his hand at watercolours and although she’d offered words of encouragement, she never thought he had much talent. She wished now that she’d told him straight out that he’d been rubbish.
She moved on over the shingle, allowing her mind to wander. She’d always loved this beach. Her parents had brought her here as a child, and she and Terry had come regularly with Erica. She’d loved the sea, loved running in and out of the waves on her plump little legs, shrieking and dancing on the shingle. She hadn’t minded the sharpness under her bare feet at all and would kick off the beach shoes Betty had bought her. Helping to maintain the beach, keeping it clean, was a way of honouring her memory.
A pair of abandoned shoes sat at the top of Betty’s orange garbage bag, in a nest of crisp packets, condoms, cans, sandwich and chocolate wrappers and fag ends. Maybe someone had decided to walk out into the waves. She’d felt like doing that in the months after Terry buggered off. But then she’d found reasons to carry on, and had seized control. She’d found resources in herself that she’d never been aware of. She’d got the job at Caterpillar Corner, which meant better money and working conditions. Life had gradually taken shape and meaning again, especially since she’d met Julia.
She smiled involuntarily at the thought of Julia. It was lovely to establish such a good friendship in her fifties. They were both on their own and that was a relief. It was hard being friendly with women who had husbands. They were only available when the husbands were otherwise occupied, and then they would take calls from their spouses when they met up with her. When she was with Julia, she had her full attention. Julia was such a powerhouse, so energetic, always making plans. She was on lots of committees, sang in a choir and went to aerobics twice a week. One of that invisible army of women who formed the backbone of organizations and got things done, Julia claimed that the more she did the more she found time for. When Betty was with her, life felt full of possibilities. They met for a meal in town every week, their regular treat. She was going to help Julia r
un the stall by the harbour on bank holiday Saturday, and on Sunday they were having lunch and a wander around the May festival.
Betty’s thoughts shifted to Inspector Drummond. She’d liked her voice. Even and reassuring. The inspector had phoned her earlier and Betty had told her that Jenna had been at the nursery when she’d arrived there at eight on Monday. Jenna opened up at seven Monday to Wednesday, she’d added, and she did the same on Thursday and Friday. She knew why the inspector was asking but she was surprised that Jenna was a suspect. For the life of her, she couldn’t work out why the inspector would think Jenna had anything to do with it. She made sure she got on with her boss because she loved her job and the environment at the nursery, but the woman had no real interest in the kids. She was all about the money and her own reputation. She could talk the talk though, you had to give her that.
Betty looked down at her task. Despite the constant tramp of feet, the shingle beach supported lots of flowering plants: red valerian, slender thistle, silver ragwort and tree mallow. Betty knew them all because last year she, Lauren and a couple of others had surveyed them. Her favourite was the sea heath, with its delicate pink flowers. Lauren had loved starry clover. People dropped their rubbish in among the plants, or the wind whipped it into them. She used her grabber now to extricate a clump of wet wipes from a viper’s bugloss.
It was strange not having Lauren here this evening, but a relief as well. One of the keenest members of the group, Lauren was always so intense. She always wanted everything done by the book, which was okay but not when it made you feel you could have achieved more by other means. These people were volunteers, after all, giving up their time. They’d roll their eyes at each other behind her back. Betty always ached for hours after a litter pick, but Lauren would be urging them on to do a bit longer. Funny how she seemed so mild, yet more than once Betty had thought she was quite selfish.
During these times on the beach, she’d listened to Lauren speak about her marriage. Heads bent together as they harvested litter, the young woman had confided in her. Her husband had turned out not to be the man she thought or hoped he was. She felt suffocated by him. Betty knew all about husbands who didn’t pass muster but she never passed comment. Besides, Lauren never asked Betty how she was — her job was to listen. She’d probably known Lauren better than anyone, but what she knew stayed with her. She wasn’t going to break that trust now, not even to Inspector Drummond. Of course, she had told Julia a few things, but she knew Julia would never tell a soul. And she’d only told the inspector that she’d suspected an affair because she was sure she recognized the signs and she disapproved strongly of such behaviour. If Lauren was that dissatisfied in her marriage, she should have left, not started carrying on with someone else — who was probably someone else’s husband. She’d been on the receiving end of that sort of nonsense, and knew it led to nothing but pain and misery.
Some of the others had suggested having a drink in the beach café when they finished their work, to raise a glass to Lauren. They were a bit subdued tonight, each working in their own separate silence. Betty’d said she couldn’t. She didn’t want to sit with other people and think about Lauren and the way the world was now without her.
She carried on with her work, her anorak rustling in the sharp breeze. Grab and lift, grab and lift. She liked the monotony of it, found it soothing. After a while, she paused to take a breather and stood watching a couple of dogs racing along. If she narrowed her eyes, she could still see Erica running at the water’s edge on that August day, spray glistening around her. The next morning she’d complained of not feeling well and in the blink of an eye, they’d been sitting in front of a consultant. Brain tumour. Inoperable. She died days before her fourth birthday.
She should be walking on the beach with an adult daughter now, someone who provided company, shared memories. Maybe there’d be grandchildren. All those things other people took for granted.
A man stood at the shoreline, gazing out to sea. The tide had started to come in and tiny waves licked at his shoes. She recognized Ade Visser. He’d dropped Lauren off at work a couple of times. He rocked on his heels and from the way his shoulders moved, she thought he was crying.
* * *
Ali’s trousers were too tight. The waistband cut into him as he drove. No matter what he did, and despite Polly’s valiant efforts , the weight still crept up. He’d lost his waist a while ago and he wasn’t sure he’d ever find it again. He tried not to look in the mirror when he stepped from the shower. The nurse at the diabetic clinic would give him the evil eye, he thought. Smoking was supposed to be an appetite depressant, the only possible benefit from polluting your lungs. It wasn’t with him.
Minster View was the unoriginal name of the bed and breakfast run by Nick Shelton. Several miles from the sea, it didn’t have a view of anything much except fields, but the sign outside said No Vacancies, even this early in the season. It looked smart and welcoming. Shelton was outside cleaning the windows when he arrived. He put down his extending brush and wiped his hands on a flannel hanging from his belt, as Ali crossed the drive towards him.
‘My wife says we should get a window cleaner but they never do a thorough job. If you want something done properly, do it yourself.’
Ali nodded, although he’d never been tempted to clean a window. He followed Shelton inside. The hall smelled of fresh paint. Shelton took him through to the small private flat at the rear of the building. He was a small, mild-mannered man with a jaunty roll to his walk. He took off his peak cap and offered coffee and biscuits, which Ali refused — one small victory. They sat in a living room furnished with chintzy, striped fabrics.
‘I want to talk to you about Lauren Visser, the woman who was murdered on Monday morning. Her body was found by the river at Lock Lane, on your land.’
‘Dreadful, that. One of your colleagues and Alan Vine told me but of course at that point, I didn’t know the dead woman’s name. As soon as I heard it on DC Hill’s message, I rang and spoke to him. I gather the young chap Alan found was Lithuanian.’
Shelton had such prominent front teeth that Ali reckoned he’d be able to eat an apple through a tennis racquet. ‘That’s right. But staying with Lauren Visser for now — did you know her?’
‘I wouldn’t say I knew her. As I told DC Hill, I met her once.’ He picked up an iPad. ‘I got this stuff ready because I knew you’d be asking me about her.’
‘When did you meet her?’
‘To be strictly accurate, and I always do like to be if I can, I spoke to her on the phone first. She rang me in January. I can’t remember the exact date. I’d no idea who she was. She was haranguing me about a notice I’d put up at Lock Lane.’
‘Yes, we’ve seen the notice.’
‘Okay. Well, she was going on about it, saying it was racist and I should take it down. I told her that I had every right to put the notice up as it’s private land. The members of the angling club pay for the privilege of fishing there and I maintain the land and the river along there. I was fed up with those Polish and other guys just rocking up whenever they felt like it, leaving fag ends and rubbish around. Alan keeps a general eye on it and he told me he’d had to warn some of them away and they just laughed at him. Called him “Grandad,” that sort of stuff. So I told Lauren Visser that they were trespassing. She wouldn’t listen, said she was going to take “further steps.” I told my son about it so he looked at her Facebook page and said she was campaigning about it and crowdfunding. So I rang her at the beginning of February and offered to meet her. I was hoping that if I talked to her in person, I could get her to see my point of view.’ He pulled a face. ‘Fat chance.’
‘It didn’t go well?’
He switched his iPad on. ‘You could say that. She came here on 15 February, a Saturday morning. My wife was here and we gave her herb tea and biscuits — although she said no to the biscuits because she was a vegan. My wife’s done mediation courses so she knows all about trying to find ways of sorting out
disputes. I went through it all with Lauren again. That land has been in my family for almost a hundred years and we look after it, maintain it. I told her I have every right to stop trespassers and thieves. In fact, I’ve considered taking out an injunction against them. She wouldn’t listen. She was insistent. Solemn young woman, never cracked a smile. After she’d gone, my wife said she needed to get out more. The real cheek of it was when I asked her how she knew about the sign and she said, cool as a cucumber, that she went swimming there! I pointed out to her that that was technically trespassing too, so then we had a sermon about rivers and the countryside belonging to everyone. Bollocks — pardon my French. Anyway, we got nowhere and she went off saying she was going to go through legal channels. I just told her to bring it on. I’ve heard nothing more from her since. I thought she’d decided to drop it or more likely, hadn’t raised enough money.’
Ali took out the two photos. ‘Have you ever seen this man or this little girl?’
A shake of the head. ‘I don’t know them.’
‘The man is the one whose body was found near Lauren Visser’s. His name was Matis Rimas. It looked as if he’d been fishing that morning.’
‘Well, I’m sorry. I’ve no idea why he was murdered or who could have done it.’
‘Where were you on Monday morning between 6 a.m. and 8.30 a.m.?’
‘My wife and I got up at a quarter past six. I was here, helping her with breakfasts and the other morning routines, between then and eight o’clock. We’re full and it was busy. I drove my son to school at Bere High just after eight and came back here. Am I a suspect?’ He said it in such an upbeat way that he clearly didn’t consider it a possibility.
These Little Lies Page 15
