Vera Stanhope 06 - Harbour Street

by Ann Cleeves

‘I think she’d looked into the possibility of finding a place to operate from, but she said she’d been ripped off. She’d rather trust her clients than the sharks who preyed off sex workers. And there weren’t many clients. We paid well. She was worth it.’

  Joe was suddenly intensely curious about what had gone on between these two people. Despite himself, he imagined them in the attic room in Harbour Street, the shy young teacher and the slightly older woman, who was taking money for sex. He found himself wanting details. Perhaps Booth guessed what he was thinking because obliquely he answered the unspoken question.

  ‘Anna was amazing.’ He paused. ‘I counted the days until I could see her again. Though, looking back, I suppose it wouldn’t have taken much to please me. I was young and awkward and she was older and more experienced. Kind. And there was the thrill of the illicit. I never told anyone about the encounters, not even the friend who’d passed on her name. I loved the fact that our meetings were secret, that the next day I would walk into school to be a respectable, responsible teacher and nobody had any idea what I’d been doing the night before.’

  ‘Why did it stop?’ Joe asked. ‘I take it that it did stop?’ He couldn’t imagine this man in his late fifties climbing the stairs to see Margaret when Kate wasn’t looking.

  ‘I found a girlfriend, Sergeant. Not someone I cared for as I do about Kate, but someone to sleep with. That was less exciting than the visits to Harbour Street, but it seemed more appropriate. And as I got older I lost my courage. I was scared someone would see me. I couldn’t have stood it getting out that I used the services of a prostitute.’

  ‘Did you ever meet any of Margaret’s other clients?’ The thought came to Joe quickly. A sudden flash of hope.

  Booth shook his head. ‘No. As I say, I think we were a select bunch. Margaret presented a respectable face to the world too. A couple of times I saw the back of a man disappearing down Harbour Street in the gloom as I came in. But no faces. Nothing that would be of any use to you.’

  ‘When did you realize that Margaret was still living in the same house?’ Joe thought Stuart seemed almost relaxed now. The relief of sharing his secret had eased the tension.

  ‘Not until Kate introduced us. A sunny lunchtime in the garden. When I found out that Kate lived in Harbour Street I was intrigued. It seemed some sort of omen when it turned out to be the same house. Perhaps I was hoping to regain that youthful excitement. And I have captured it, in a way, though the house was unrecognizable. She’d talked about Margaret, the friend who helped her in the kitchen, but of course I didn’t make any connection. The woman I’d known was called Anna, and I’d last seen her more than thirty years before.’

  ‘But you recognized Margaret?’

  ‘Oh yes, immediately.’ He leaned forward across the scratched table to make a point. ‘She was still a very beautiful woman.’

  ‘And did she recognize you?’

  He thought for a moment before answering. ‘I think she did. I hope so. I had the sense that she was giving Kate and me her blessing. We never talked about our former lives, even on the few times that we found ourselves alone.’

  Joe drove Stuart back to Mardle. He was glad of an excuse to leave Kimmerston and, like Vera, he thought that Mardle was the centre of the investigation. There was still no conversation. Booth directed him to a small development on the edge of the town, a conversion of farm outbuildings where he had an apartment. The place was on the west side of the town and Joe thought that it would be just a short walk across open fields to the Haven. When the car stopped Booth stayed still for a moment and turned to Joe, wanting reassurance. ‘I suppose this makes me a suspect. Because Margaret could have told Kate about my past, I do have a motive of a sort.’

  Joe wasn’t sure what to say. ‘We keep an open mind,’ he said at last. ‘We always do. Everyone who knew Margaret Krukowski is a potential suspect. But we’re grateful for the information. It’s been very useful.’

  Stuart frowned. ‘Do you think I should tell Kate? I suppose if there’s a court case it might come out. It would look better if I told her now.’ He paused. ‘I did wonder if she’d guessed that I knew Margaret. I’d kept a photo of her in my wallet. Margaret gave it to me as a memento when I told her that I wouldn’t be visiting her any more. It’s gone. I thought perhaps Kate had found it, but rooting through other people’s possessions isn’t her style. It must just have fallen out one day.’ He stopped suddenly and seemed terribly sad that he no longer had anything to remember Margaret by.

  In theory Joe was a great believer in honesty in a relationship. Though there were certainly things in his past that he’d never discussed with Sal. But this was a murder investigation, and information was power. He imagined Vera’s face when he passed on the news, and thought it gave him power too. At least it would earn him a few brownie points. ‘We’d rather you kept this to yourself for the moment, sir.’

  Relieved to be let off the hook, Stuart flashed him a sudden bright smile, and got out of the car.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Vera stood outside the Georgian symmetry of the Lit & Phil Library in Newcastle city centre, waiting for Holly, and letting her mind wander. Passengers from Central Station swept past her and cars screeched at the lights, but Vera was lost in thought and took no notice. Two women. Margaret Krukowski, bright and smart, born into affluence and wanting to set her affairs straight because she realized that she was ill. Dee Robson, one of life’s unfortunates, someone who’d needed looking after from the moment she was born, though until Margaret had come along, nobody had bothered much. They were linked by geography, living close to each other, on the seaward side of the railway line, and they’d both travelled on the same Metro train the afternoon of Margaret’s death. As had Joe Ashworth. And his daughter Jessie. Vera wondered if it had occurred to Joe that he and Jess might be in danger too. Perhaps it was just as well that he had so little imagination.

  Holly appeared, fighting against the crowd, still immaculately made-up. They went inside and stood at the bottom of the grand stone stairs.

  ‘Do you know the Lit & Phil?’ Vera was a member. Hector had brought her here for lectures on birds and bugs. A love of the building was one of the few things she’d inherited from him.

  ‘Of course. Brilliant, isn’t it?’

  Of course she knew the library. Holly had no areas of ignorance at all. Or so she thought.

  ‘Apparently Enderby’s inside. He left Harbour Street straight after breakfast and told Kate he was coming here. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.’

  They climbed the stairs to the library on the first floor and opened the door to a room flooded with light from the glass domes. The walls were made of books. There was no immediate sign of Enderby either at the reading tables close to the door or at the hatch where coffee was served. The members looked up briefly, but took no notice. The library assistant behind the desk gave Vera a wave. Holly seemed surprised that her boss had been recognized – the Lit & Phil wasn’t the inspector’s natural habitat.

  Scouring the room for Enderby, Vera felt a rising panic. Perhaps the man was cleverer than they’d thought and had misled Kate. Perhaps he was on a train south. She looked round the corner into the other leg of the L-shaped room. Still no sign of him. Ignoring Holly, who was trailing behind her, Vera returned to the desk.

  ‘George Enderby,’ Vera said. ‘Big guy. Balding. From the south. Loves his books.’

  ‘Ah, George.’ The library assistant smiled fondly and Vera saw that the man had worked his charm on her too. ‘Yes, he came in as soon as we opened. He’s one of our southern members. You’ll probably find him in the Silence Room. He prefers to read in there.’

  Vera told Holly to stay where she was and went through the door at the back of the room and down the stairs. The heavy door shut out the sounds of the library. There was the gurgle of a cistern in the distance, otherwise a dense quiet. Vera paused outside the Silence Room. A moment of superstition, as close to prayer as she’d
ever get. Let him be there. She opened the door.

  It was a square room with no natural light. Silent. Of course. Talking wasn’t allowed. Even a cough provoked tutting. At first it seemed empty, but bookshelves jutted into the room at right-angles to the walls, forming small alcoves, and she couldn’t see into those from the door. In one a middle-aged woman typed furiously on a laptop. In another was George Enderby, leaning forward with his head on the small card table, as if he were asleep.

  The rules of silence were entrenched from childhood and she couldn’t bring herself to speak. She came close to him. He was still in his overcoat and must be very warm. She tapped him on the shoulder. For a brief moment there was no reaction and she had the wild thought that he might be dead. Another victim. Then he woke with a start. In his shock he seemed about to talk and she put her finger to her lips. She motioned for him to follow her and left the room.

  They used one of the upstairs rooms for their discussion. Vera had liked Enderby when they’d first met, but had felt even then that he was playing games. All that talk of stories, of Margaret Krukowski as a spy. Now she watched him drink coffee and let him sit in silence, the tension building. He was used to words and didn’t cope well with quiet. He spoke first, as she’d known that he would.

  ‘This is very pleasant, Inspector, but I was surprised to see you, I must admit.’ The shy, boyish smile. ‘Clever you, to track me down! To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Did you know Dee Robson, Mr Enderby?’ A question sharp like sleet on the skin. He hadn’t been expecting it.

  He paused. ‘That poor woman who seems to live in the bar of the Coble? I’ve seen her there of course, and heard the cruel comments.’ He hesitated again. ‘I’ve bought her a drink once or twice. I always sit in the lounge, but passing through the bar, you know, I’ve felt sorry for her. Perhaps it’s because she was one of Margaret’s good causes that I always felt obliged to be kind.’

  ‘You haven’t heard that she’s been murdered?’ Holly asked the question, and Enderby turned towards her and seemed startled by the intervention. It was as if an impertinent child had interrupted a conversation between adults.

  ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I didn’t go into the Coble last night. I had a large lunch before I got back to Harbour Street and managed with a sandwich in my room. How would I have heard?’

  ‘I need to know why you lied to us, Mr Enderby.’ Vera leaned forward across the table. The room was very warm. There was no response. The man stood up and took off his coat, folded it carefully on the back of his chair.

  ‘Well, Mr Enderby?’ Vera was at her imperious best. ‘Why the porkie-pies?’

  ‘I don’t quite understand, Inspector.’

  ‘You told us that you were in the region to sell books. But as far as we can tell, you haven’t been near a bookshop since you arrived. So would you like to tell us what this is all about?’

  He seemed to collapse from inside. Vera had the inappropriate thought that he was like the shiny bag inside a box of wine once all the booze had been drunk. All the gentlemanly politeness had been a protection from the world and, now that it wasn’t working, he was empty. She thought he might cry, but instead he looked up with a quiet desperation. ‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ he said.

  ‘So why all the lies?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Try me.’

  There was a silence. Vera thought he was taking time to compose one of his stories, but in the end the words came out as an unfiltered stream. It was the same pleasant voice, but she sensed this conversation was personal, not his usual performance.

  ‘I was lazy at university – not intellectually lazy, you know. I always found time for work. But emotionally. Can you be emotionally lazy?’ He looked up at them, but didn’t seem to expect an answer. ‘So there was this girl in our tutor group. Pleasant enough. Good-looking in a staid, country-rose sort of way. And she seemed to fancy me, so I thought, why not ask her out? She was from a good family, so my parents liked her. And I didn’t dislike her. It was all very easy, and I could give my energy to my books and at the time that mattered more than anything.’ He paused and took a breath. ‘After university we sort of drifted into marriage. I knew I didn’t love her or anything like that, but everyone expected it and it would have been very unkind, you know, to dump her once we seemed to have got engaged. So I just went through with it. As I explained, a sort of emotional laziness. Or cowardice. Perhaps that would be a better word.’ He stopped again. Vera poured him some coffee. She could see that Holly was wondering where this was leading. She was itching to tell the man to get to the point, but knew better than to interrupt in front of Vera.

  George Enderby continued. ‘And it all seemed to be working out for the best. Diana didn’t need to find a job. Money was never a problem for us. She’d inherited from a wealthy grandmother. Horses were her thing: dressage. She’s really very good. She only just missed out on an Olympic place a few years ago. I do admire her. We both wanted children, and that was a disappointment. When it never happened, I mean.’ He broke off and stared out of the window at the traffic queuing in the Westgate Road.

  ‘That’s the background,’ Vera said. ‘And all very interesting. But it doesn’t quite explain why you’re in Northumberland pretending to be at work.’

  ‘Diana’s left me.’ They expected another torrent of words, but he paused again and then spoke more slowly. ‘I suppose I just felt the need to run away, and this is where I feel most at home.’ He put his head in his hands again. ‘I considered leaving her a few times. The relationship was never entirely satisfactory. So why do I feel so dreadful? So hurt.’

  ‘Male pride,’ Vera said briskly. She was curious about this strange marriage and would have liked to know more. Had the couple shared a bed, for example? Had they had sex once they’d decided there’d be no children? But she supposed that was hardly relevant to the inquiry and might be considered intrusive. ‘We need to know where you were when you were pretending to be at work. Where were you yesterday, Mr Enderby?’

  ‘When poor Dee Robson was killed, you mean?’ He seemed shocked that she still considered him a suspect after he’d bared his soul to her.

  ‘And before that, when Margaret Krukowski was stabbed.’ Vera thought George had slid through life using his charm to protect him. Now he had to face the consequences of that emotional laziness. Or cowardice.

  ‘I wasn’t even here then,’ he said. ‘I was driving up from London. I arrived just before you, if you remember.’

  ‘No!’ Vera almost shouted the word. ‘No more lies. You were in the Coble in the afternoon. The landlord remembers you.’ She began running through the possibilities in her mind. George Enderby trailing Margaret to visit Dee, then onto the Metro to Gosforth. He would blend in very easily with the respectable residents of the smart suburb. Then following her back through the snow, his hand on the knife’s handle in his overcoat pocket. ‘Did you kill Margaret Krukowski?’

  ‘Of course not! The idea’s ridiculous. Why would I kill Margaret?’

  And that was the central question in the case, Vera thought. Why would anyone want to kill Margaret Krukowski?

  ‘Where were you yesterday?’

  He shrugged. ‘Is it really relevant? Or are you accusing me of killing Dee Robson now too? The idea is quite preposterous.’

  ‘No, Mr Enderby. It’s preposterous to refuse to answer my questions. Especially after you lied to me previously.’ She leaned forward across the table again, so that she was almost touching him. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer to come with us to the police station. The custody suite might provide a suitable escape from your domestic problems.’

  This time he answered immediately. ‘I spent the night before last with a friend who lives in the Tyne Valley. It wasn’t planned. Nothing was planned. But when first I arrived, the day that Margaret was killed, Kate presumed that I was working and that I’d follow my usual routine. Two nights here, one away and the
n back for a night. I didn’t want to explain.’ He looked wistfully out of the window. ‘I hoped that it would carry on snowing and I’d be stranded in Mardle.’

  ‘And the name of the friend?’ But Vera thought she already knew. The heart of this investigation was Harbour Street and all the characters in the piece were linked by the place.

  ‘Michael Craggs.’ Enderby looked up and smiled. Vera thought that smile was a habit, a reflex, like a nervous tic. ‘He’s a marine biologist, based at Newcastle University. I met him in the guest house in Mardle. He’s a regular there when he’s on the coast for research. I always envied him actually. He seemed to have everything – a perfect marriage and a perfect family, satisfying work. I envied him so much that I wanted to dislike him. But nobody could dislike the Prof.’

  ‘And how did that work?’ Vera asked. ‘The invitation, I mean. Did you just phone him up? I’m pretending to the world that I’m still happily married. Give me a bed for the night so that I can hide.’

  ‘There was no need to phone him.’ Enderby looked up at her. ‘He was here in Harbour Street, the afternoon I arrived. The afternoon of the snow.’

  The afternoon of Margaret’s murder. There was a pause. Vera wondered if he understood the implication of his words. Perhaps he was deliberately pointing them towards Craggs as a possible suspect. Enderby was beginning to irritate. He was slippery and selfish.

  The man continued. ‘Mike was walking up the road to collect his car when I drove up. He asked me how I was. I said: “Shit actually.” He must have realized that I was pretty desperate. He took me to the Coble and bought me a drink and said I could stay with him any time.’ He gave a brief, brittle smile. ‘I didn’t fancy it much. I wasn’t really in the mood for happy families. But I didn’t want to explain to Kate that Diana had left me.’ He paused and Vera sensed that another confession was on its way. ‘I’ve always had a bit of a crush on Kate, actually. I was about to declare my love when Stuart appeared on the scene. I never could get my timing right. So I asked the Prof. if I could stay the night with him when I was supposed to be in Scotland.’