by Val McDermid
Anthony Catto was waiting for him in the CID room. Looked more like a superannuated hippie with a hangover than a world expert on Wordsworth, Rigston thought sourly as he showed him into his office. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ he said, waving him to a seat.
‘How could I resist?’ Anthony said, crossing one long leg over the other.
‘Feeling a bit more chipper now, eh? You sounded rough when I spoke to you on the phone.’
‘As I said, late night. I was over in Newcastle giving a lecture, then a group of us went out for supper. It was after two when I got back,’ he explained. ‘But the thought of what you might have to show me has perked me up.’ He gave Rigston an expectant look.
Rigston handed over the plastic folder that contained the manuscript page. Anthony held it carefully by the edges and studied it. After a couple of minutes, he looked up. ‘Might I ask where this came from?’
‘I’d rather not say at this point. It’s part of an ongoing inquiry. Does it matter?’
‘Ultimately, yes, it does. It’s a question of provenance. You see, Inspector, this appears to be part of something whose existence until now has been nothing more than rumour and theory. But it has been the subject of…shall we say, some interest lately.’
‘Who’s been interested?’ They were going all round the houses here, but Rigston didn’t mind. Information was always potentially useful.
‘There’s a young woman called Jane Gresham who comes originally from Fellhead. She’s an academic based in London, and a good friend of mine. But she recently uncovered some material which suggested there might be an undiscovered Wordsworth manuscript in existence. And she’s been looking for it.’ He tapped the paper with his finger. ‘This appears to be precisely what she was searching for. If it’s authentic’
‘You still haven’t said what you think it is,’ Rigston said.
‘The handwriting is either that of William Wordsworth or of an expert forger. One would need to test the paper and ink to be certain whether it’s the real thing. One would also need to know the provenance to assess how likely it is to be authentic. The subject matter appears to be a first-person account of matters relating to the mutiny on the Bounty.’
‘And you were aware that this was what Jane Gresham was looking for?’
‘Oh yes, I knew all about it. The new material she found was in our archive. I was able to give her a little assistance right at the start.’
‘What sort of assistance?’
Anthony met Rigston’s gaze. ‘Why are you so interested in this, Inspector?’
‘Humour me. I like puzzles.’
Anthony shrugged. ‘It wasn’t much, really. She came across a reference to some papers being entrusted to a servant. All Jane had was a first name. I was able to provide her with a surname, which gave her a direction in which to focus her search.’
‘So you knew she was looking at the Clewlow family?’ Rigston asked.
‘Was that the name of the man Dorcas married? I didn’t know that,’ Anthony said absently, studying the paper again.
‘You weren’t interested in making your own enquiries? It being your field?’
Anthony looked startled. ‘Good heavens, no. It was Jane’s discovery. She’s a very competent researcher and she has a huge passion for this particular project. Even if I was so inclined, I have far too much on my plate with the new Jerwood Centre to spare the time for chasing something so fundamentally unlikely. I was happy to offer any help I could, but this is her baby.’
Either he was a very good liar or he was telling the truth, Rigston thought. Somehow, he couldn’t see Anthony Catto burgling and murdering his way to anything. The man was too wrapped up in his own world.
‘This is really very exciting,’ Anthony said, as if to reinforce Rigston’s judgement. ‘I can’t tell you how rarely one makes a really important find in this field. And if this is what I think it is, and there is more of it, it’s probably the most significant discovery in English literary studies for a few generations. I’d love to see the rest of it.’ His smile was wry. ‘Are you sure you can’t tell me where it came from?’
‘Maybe you should ask Jane Gresham,’ Rigston said, unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice. ‘We should be letting her out of the cells any time now.’
Jane followed her lawyer out to the car park in a daze. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said. ‘Rigston had me really scared.’
‘He was trying it on. He doesn’t have anything on you. And he’s not going to get anywhere unless Tenille Cole starts trying to lay the blame on you. Even then, it’ll be your word against hers, and yours will carry more weight,’ Terras said, glancing at his watch.
‘She won’t say a thing, she’s loyal to a fault,’ Jane said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help her?’
‘She’s got her own lawyer.’ He grinned. ‘Not as good as me, but not bad for a duty solicitor. She might want to talk to you. If she does, I should be with you.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘I’d drive you home, but I’m due in court. Will you be OK?’
‘She’ll be fine,’ a familiar voice interjected.
Jane swung round. ‘Anthony? What are you doing here?’
‘Waiting to give you a lift home. I’ve been helping the police with their enquiries,’ he said.
‘I’ll be off, then,’ Terras said. ‘Stay in touch.’
Jane nodded, distracted by Anthony’s presence. ‘Surely they don’t think you had anything to do with the murders?’
‘Murders?’ Anthony’s face registered surprise. ‘Murder wasn’t mentioned at all. In fact, now I come to think of it, I don’t recall a single crime coming up in the conversation.’ He moved towards his car and Jane followed. ‘But what concerns me is what they were doing arresting you.’
‘In a minute,’ Jane said, impatient to hear his story. ‘You first. Tell me what went on with you and the cops.’
As they drove out of Keswick, Anthony filled her in on his interview with Rigston. ‘I can’t tell you how extraordinary it felt to hold that piece of paper in my hand,’ he said. ‘I’m damn sure it’s the real thing.’
‘I think so too.’
‘So it was you who found it?’ He looked away from the road, his excitement palpable. ‘But why is it in the hands of the police? And what’s this about murder?’
Jane groaned. ‘Four murders and a burglary. And from what you’ve been telling me, it sounds as if Rigston has been checking you out as a potential suspect.’
Anthony’s mouth fell open and the car swerved alarmingly. ‘Four murders?’
‘Don’t forget the burglary. Which is where the manuscript page comes in.’
‘I don’t understand any of this. Can you begin at the beginning?’
Jane sighed. ‘It all started with a teenager called Tenille,’ she said. By the time she got to the end of her tale, Anthony had run out of exclamations and had settled for astonished silence. ‘And that’s where we’re up to,’ Jane concluded.
‘But you simply have to find the rest of the manuscript,’ Anthony said. ‘Do you know where it is?’
‘All I know is that it came from Jenny Wright’s house. That’s where the cops picked up Tenille.’
‘You have to talk to this woman, have her show you the rest of it,’ Anthony said as they pulled into the farmyard.
‘I’m too tired to think about it now,’ Jane said, getting out of the car. Anthony followed her into the house, still trying to talk her into it. She had barely stepped into the kitchen when her mother was upon her, enveloping her in a warm embrace, tears running down her face. Her father, Matthew and Dan joined in a kind of group hug and it took Jane some moments to free herself.
Her ears were assaulted by a chorus of demands to know what had happened. Jane put her hands over her ears and shouted, ‘One at a time! I know you’re pleased to see me, but give me some space here.’
It took a few minutes for everyone to calm down, but before too long they were all seated round the
table drinking tea and Jane was forced to tell her story all over again, the narrative disjointed by incredulity, disapproval and outrage from her several listeners.
‘So did Tenille kill these old dears?’ Matthew asked.
‘Of course she didn’t,’ Jane said. ‘What do you take me for? You think I’d shelter someone who was capable of that?’
For once, Matthew was placatory. ‘I’m not questioning your judgement. Just trying to make sense of what’s going on.’
‘Apart from the fact that she’s not a killer, Tenille didn’t know about any of this until after Edith Clewlow’s death,’ Jane said. ‘So that lets her off the hook.’
‘Frankly, I see no point in us trying to play an Agatha Christie parlour game,’ Anthony said, cutting across the discussion. ‘It’s the job of the police to sort this mess out. Your real responsibility, Jane, is to the manuscript. You have to persuade this Jenny Wright to let you see it.’
Jane stifled a yawn. ‘Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Don’t forget, I’m the prime suspect in the murder of four of her relatives. I don’t think she’s going to be handing the manuscript over to me any time soon.’
‘Maybe not,’ Dan said. ‘But Jimmy’s her favourite nephew right now. I could talk to him, see if he can get her to let me take a look.’
Jane tried to hide her disappointment. ‘If you think that will work,’ she said despondently, feeling her dream slipping out of her grasp.
‘I know it’s your thing,’ he said. ‘And I’m not trying to steal your glory. I could get her to let me make a copy of it, maybe? Then you could make a start on it.’
‘It’s not a bad idea, Jane,’ Anthony said.
‘And it means you can stop here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t get into any more trouble,’ her mother added ominously.
Jane sighed. ‘OK. You go and see Jimmy.’ She stood up. ‘I’m going to bed. I am knackered.’ Before she could leave the room, the phone rang. She paused while her father answered it.
‘Just a minute,’ he said. ‘It’s for you,’ he added, passing the phone to Jane.
‘Hello,’ she said impatiently.
‘Dr Gresham? This is DI Blair from the Met.’
Jane groaned inwardly. Not more hassle about Tenille. ‘How can I help you?’ she said wearily.
‘I wanted to let you know that we’re no longer looking for Tenille Cole in connection with the murder of Geno Marley,’ Donna said baldly.
Jane could hardly believe her ears. ‘What?’ she said. ‘Why? What’s happened? Have you made an arrest?’
‘A young man died in the early hours of this morning during police pursuit of a stolen car,’ Donna said, her clipped voice the perfect vehicle for the officialese. ‘Among his effects was Geno Marley’s wallet. The passenger in the car admitted that the driver had in fact boasted to him about blowing Geno away. So the case would appear to be closed.’
‘That’s great news. I mean, not that somebody is dead, obviously, but that Tenille is in the clear.’
‘She’s not quite in the clear. There is the matter of the arson.’
Jane’s spirits plummeted as quickly as they’d risen. ‘But…’
Before she could go on, Donna cut across her. ‘Dr Gresham, can I speak frankly to you?’
‘Of course,’ Jane said.
‘I think Tenille’s one of those rare kids who can be saved. Everything I’ve heard about her suggests that she could make something of herself. Prosecuting her would destroy any chance she has of that. I don’t believe there’s much prospect of her reoffending. Unless of course we push her through the system and offer her no alternative. But she’s going to need somebody in her corner if she’s to make good on that promise. To put it bluntly, are you going to be there for her?’
Jane didn’t even have to pause for thought. ‘She’s like a kid sister to me. I’m not going to walk away. I promise you, DI Blair, if you give her this chance, I won’t let her waste it. And I don’t think her father will either.’
‘Yeah, well, the less said about him the better. Let her know it’s safe to come home, will you?’
‘Um…it’s not quite that simple,’ Jane said. ‘You’re going to have to talk to DCI Rigston.’
‘In Keswick? Is there a problem?’
‘I’d rather you heard it from him. I’d appreciate you giving him the same message about Tenille that you just gave me.’
‘That doesn’t sound very promising,’ Donna said, her doubts about her own judgement obvious even over the phone.
‘She’s a good kid, DI Blair. She’s redeemable.’
‘I’ll talk to DCI Rigston. I hope our paths don’t have to cross again, Dr Gresham.’
‘I hope so too, in the nicest possible way. Thank you, Inspector. I’ll do my best to make sure your leniency isn’t wasted.’
‘Good luck.’ Donna hung up.
Jane looked around the room, her face cheerful for the first time in days. ‘That was the police in London. Tenille’s off the hook for the murder and arson down there.’
‘That’s great news,’ Dan said.
‘Maybe now Rigston will leave you and Tenille alone and start looking for the real killer,’ Matthew added.
‘Let’s hope so. Now, I really am going to bed,’ Jane said. ‘Perhaps when I wake up, this will all make sense.’
Dan grinned. ‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’
I was naturally alive to the irony of my situation. I had been responsible for setting my captain adrift in an open boat. Yet here I was a scant four years later in precisely the same predicament. Poetic justice, indeed. Now I would find out if I had truly absorbed Bligh’s lessons in navigation. I set my course to bring me upon the western coast of South America & prayed to God for fair weather. My prayers were answered for I was fortunate in that the weather looked kindly upon me What rain I endured was a blessing in that it allowed me to replenish my fresh-water supplies. I sailed for twelve days & nights & saw neither sail nor land on the horizon. On the thirteenth day, a whaler from Newfoundland hove into sight & I made for her. My gold was sufficient to buy me passage without questions being asked & my seamanship made me a welcome addition to the ship’s complement I felt like a free man again and resolved to make my way home to England to clear my name.
41
Jimmy slid into the passenger seat of Dan’s car, parked up at the end of Alice’s street. ‘Mysterious phone call,’ he said, leaning across to kiss him. ‘I feel like a spy’
‘I didn’t want to come to the house without talking to you first, what with the funeral preparations and everything. Have the police been in touch with Jenny?’ Dan asked.
Jimmy’s monkey face screwed into a frown. ‘No, should they have?’
‘The cottage was burgled last night.’
‘No way’ Jimmy breathed. ‘Man, I’m so glad we got her out of there. That could have been the killer, Dan. She could have been lying dead this morning.’ He shook his head.
‘We don’t think the burglar was the killer, Jimmy’ Briefly, Dan outlined the events of the previous night. ‘I don’t think it was Tenille. That means the killer is still out there. Frankly, the best thing Jenny can do right now is to hand over the manuscript to us. Once it’s out there in the public domain, there’s no point in any more deaths. If Jenny wants to make sure she stays alive, she needs to take herself out of the target circle.’
Jimmy nodded, seeing the force of his argument. ‘Let’s go and talk to her now,’ he said. ‘Alice is round at Gibson’s so the coast’s clear.’
They found Jenny sitting in the conservatory drinking tea, watching the birds feasting on Alice’s bird table. She peered suspiciously at Dan. ‘You’re that lad was with Jane Gresham the other day,’ she said, no welcome in her voice.
‘Dan’s a friend of mine,’ Jimmy said.
Jenny raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, aye? You want to let your head rule your heart a bit more, young Jimmy. Handsome is as handsome does and he’s
out for what he can get, this one.’
‘Auntie Jenny,’ Jimmy protested. ‘That’s not fair. If it wasn’t for Dan and Jane, you could be dead in your bed. There was a burglary at your cottage last night.’
Jenny’s hand clutched her chest. ‘Oh my God. What did they take? Did they vandalise the place?’
‘The burglar only took one thing,’ Dan said. ‘A piece of paper. Just one. A sample, you might say.’
‘What are you on about?’ Jenny looked every inch the timorous, confused old lady, but Dan wasn’t buying it.
