The Sculptress

by Minette Walters

  Watery blue eyes regarded Roz with undisguised pleasure. ‘Well, well. You came back. Come in. Come in.’ He peered past her, frowning at Hal in half-recognition. ‘Surely we’ve met before. What shall I say? I never forget a face. Now when could that have been?’

  Hal shook the old man’s hand. ‘Six years ago,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I was on the Olive Martin case. Sergeant Hawksley.’ The hand fluttered weakly in his, like a tiny bird, but only from old age and decrepitude, Hal thought.

  Mr Hayes nodded vigorously. ‘I remember now. Unhappy circumstances.’ He fussed ahead of them into the sitting room. ‘Sit down. Sit down. Any news?’ He took a firm chair and sat bolt upright his head cocked enquiringly to one side. On the sideboard behind him his violent son smiled disarmingly into the camera.

  Roz took her notebook from her handbag and switched on her recorder again. They had reached a mutual decision that Roz should ask the questions. For, as Hal had pointed out: ‘If he knows anything, he’s more likely to let it slip while talking to a – what shall I say? – charming young lady about Olive.’

  ‘In fact,’ she said in a gossipy voice which grated on Hal but clearly appealed to Mr Hayes, ‘there’s quite a bit of news one way and another. Where would you like me to begin? With Olive? Or with Amber’s baby?’ She gave him an approving look. ‘You were quite right about them finding traces, you know, in spite of there being thousands of Browns in Australia.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, rubbing his hands, ‘I knew they were close. That mean the lad will get the money? What shall I say? It’s what Bob wanted. Fair upset him, it did, to think the government would get it all.’

  ‘He made alternative provisions, you know, in case the boy wasn’t found. It’ll go to various children’s charities.’

  The old man’s mouth compressed into a split of disgust. ‘And we all know what sort of children they’ll be. The worthless sort. The sort as are never going to make anything of theirselves but live off the rest of us till they drop. And you know who I blame. The social workers. They’re namby-pamby when it comes to telling a woman she’s had more children than’s good for her.’

  ‘Quite,’ Roz interrupted hurriedly, reining in the inevitable hobby horse. She tapped her pencil on her notepad. ‘Do you remember telling me that your wife thought Olive committed the murders because of hormones?’

  He pursed his lips at the abrupt change of subject. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Did your wife say that because she knew Olive had had an abortion the previous Christmas?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do you know who the father was, Mr Hayes?’

  He shook his head. ‘Someone she met through work, we were told. Silly girl. Only did it to cock a snook at Amber.’ He fingered his ancient mouth. ‘Or that’s what I reckoned anyway. Amber had a lot of boyfriends.’

  So much for Mr Hayes and Crew in a conspiracy of silence, thought Roz. ‘When did you find out about it?’

  ‘Gwen told my Jeannie. She was that upset. Thought Olive was going to up and get married and abandon them all. It would have done for Gwen, that would. She couldn’t have coped on her own.’

  ‘Coped with what?’

  ‘Everything,’ he said vaguely.

  ‘Housework, you mean?’

  ‘Housework, cooking, bills, shopping. Everything. Olive did everything.’

  ‘What did Gwen do?’

  He didn’t answer immediately, but seemed to be weighing something in his mind. He glanced across at Hal. ‘You lot never did ask many questions. I might have said something if you had.’

  Hal eased himself in his chair. ‘At the time it was clear cut,’ he said carefully. ‘But Miss Leigh has unearthed a number of discrepancies which do tend to throw a different light on the affair. What would you have told us, had you been asked?’

  Mr Hayes sucked at his false teeth. ‘Well, for one thing, Gwen Martin drank too much. She had troubles, I can’t deny that, kept up a good front, I can’t deny that either, but she was a bad mother. She married beneath herself and it made her bitter. Felt life had dealt her a bad hand and she took it out on Bob and the girls. My Jeannie always said if it hadn’t been for Olive the family would have fallen apart years before. It made us sick, of course, what she did, but everyone turns eventually and she was badly put upon one way and another. She shouldn’t have killed them, though. Can’t forgive that.’

  ‘No,’ said Roz thoughtfully. ‘So what did Gwen do all day while the other three were out at work?’

  The marbled hands fluttered a contradiction. ‘Amber was at home more often than not. Work-shy, that one. Never stayed anywhere very long. Used to drive her mother mad listening to pop records at full blast and inviting boys up to her bedroom. She was a pretty girl but my Jeannie said she was difficult. Couldn’t see it myself.’ He smiled reminiscently. ‘She was always charming to me. I had a soft spot for little Amber. But she got on with men, I think, better than she got on with women.’ He peered at Roz. ‘You asked me about Gwen. What shall I say, Miss Leigh? She kept up appearances. If you knocked on the door she was always smartly dressed, always held herself well, always spoke with icy correctness, but as often as not she was drunk as a lord. Strange woman. Never did know why she took to the bottle, unless it was the business of Amber’s baby. She was a lot worse afterwards.’

  Roz drew her cherub doodle. ‘Robert Martin was an active homosexual but didn’t want anyone to know,’ she said bluntly. ‘Perhaps that’s what she found difficult to cope with.’

  Mr Hayes sniffed. ‘She drove him to it,’ he said. ‘There was nothing wrong with Bob that a loving wife wouldn’t have put right. The two girls were his all right, so there was nothing untoward in the locker at the beginning, if you get my meaning. It was her turned him off women. She was frigid.’

  Roz let that pass. Mr Hayes was too set in his views to see that what he said was nonsense and, in any case, there was probably some truth in the idea that Gwen was frigid. Roz found it difficult to believe that Robert Martin could ever have got as far as the altar with a woman who had a normal sexual drive. Her very normality would have been a threat to him. ‘But if she was mourning Amber’s baby,’ she said in feigned puzzlement, ‘I don’t understand why she didn’t try and get him back or at least establish contact with him? Presumably she knew who had adopted him or she wouldn’t have been able to tell your Jeannie his name.’

  He tut-tutted impatiently. ‘It wasn’t Jeannie told me the name, it was my son, Stewart, six, seven weeks back. Knew I’d be interested, seeing as how me and Bob were pals.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘You don’t know much about adoption, that’s for sure. Once you sign ’em away, that’s it. You’re not given a dossier. Gwen never knew who’d got him.’

  Roz smiled easily. ‘Does your son work for Mr Crew, then? I’ve not come across him. I thought he took after you and became a soldier.’

  ‘Blooming Army didn’t want him any more, did they?’ he muttered crossly. ‘Cutbacks there, like everywhere else. What shall I say? So much for loyalty to Queen and country. Course he doesn’t work for Mr Crew. He’s running a small security firm with his brother, but there’s precious little work.’ He flexed his arthritic fingers in annoyance. ‘Trained soldiers and the best they can get is nightwatchmen jobs. Their wives aren’t happy, not by a long chalk.’

  Roz gritted her teeth behind another ingenuous smile. ‘So how did he know the child’s name?’

  Archly, Mr Hayes tapped the side of his nose. ‘No names no pack drill, young lady. Always best.’

  Hal leaned forward aggressively and held up a hand. ‘One moment, please, Miss Leigh.’ He drew his brows together in a ferocious scowl. ‘You do realize, Mr Hayes, that if your son doesn’t work for Mr Crew then, strictly speaking, he’s committed an offence by being in receipt of confidential information. The legal profession is bound by the same codes as the medical profession and if someone in Mr Crew’s practice is talking to outsiders, then both he and the police would want to know about it.’
<
br />   ‘Bah!’ the old man snorted contemptuously. ‘You never change, you lot. What shall I say? Quick as lightning to bang up the innocent while the bloody thieves wander around, free as birds, nicking anything they feel like nicking. You should do what you’re being paid for, Sergeant, and not go round threatening old men. It was Mr Crew himself gave out that information. He told my lad and my lad told me. How’s he supposed to know it’s confidential if the blooming solicitor’s telling everyone? Stands to reason he’d pass it on, seeing as how I was the only friend Bob had at the end.’ He glared suspiciously from Hal to Roz. ‘What you bring a policeman for, anyway?’

  ‘Because there’s some doubt of Olive’s guilt,’ said Roz glibly, wondering if being economical with the truth constituted deliberate impersonation of a police officer. ‘This gentleman is holding a watching brief while I talk to people.’

  ‘I see,’ said Mr Hayes. But it was obvious he didn’t.

  ‘I’m nearly finished.’ She smiled brightly. ‘I found the Clarkes, by the way. Had a chat with them a week or so ago. Poor Mrs Clarke is completely senile now.’

  The watery eyes looked amused. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. She was pretty far gone when I knew her. I sometimes thought my Jeannie was the only sensible woman in the road.’

  ‘I gather Mr Clarke had to stay at home to look after her?’ She raised her eyebrows in enquiry. ‘But he spent more time with Robert than he spent with her. How friendly were they, Mr Hayes? Do you know?’

  It was obvious he understood the point of her question. He chose – out of delicacy? – not to answer it. ‘Good friends,’ he muttered, ‘and who can blame them? Bob’s wife was a dipso and Ted’s was the silliest creature I’ve ever met. Cleaned the house from top to bottom every day.’ He gave a grunt of contempt. ‘Hygiene mad, she was. Used to walk around in nothing but an overall, no undies in case she spread germs, swabbing everything with disinfectant.’ He chuckled suddenly. ‘Remember once she scrubbed the dining table with neat Domestos to sterilize it. Hah! Ted was hopping mad. He’d just paid for the thing to be french polished after Dorothy’s last effort with boiling water. And now she’s completely senile, you say. Not surprised. Not surprised at all.’

  Roz sat with her pencil poised above her notepad. ‘And can you say,’ she asked after a moment, ‘if Ted and Bob were lovers?’

  ‘No. It weren’t none of my business.’

  ‘OK.’ She gathered her things together. ‘Thank you, Mr Hayes. I don’t know if there’s anything Mr Hawksley wants to ask you.’ She looked at Hal.

  He stood up. ‘Only the name of your son’s security firm, Mr Hayes.’

  The old man eyed him suspiciously. ‘What you want that for?’

  ‘Just so I can put a quiet word in the right ear about the leak of privileged information.’ He smiled coldly. ‘Otherwise I shall have to report it and then there’ll be an official complaint.’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. You have my word I won’t make an issue out of it, not unless I have to.’

  ‘The word of a policeman, eh? That’s not something I’d want to rely on. Certainly not.’

  Hal buttoned his jacket. ‘It’ll have to go through official channels then, and it’ll be an inspector coming to see you next time.’

  ‘What shall I say? Blooming blackmail, that’s all this is. STC Security, Bell Street, Southampton. There now. Let’s see if your word’s worth something.’

  Hal looked past him towards the photograph of his son. ‘Thank you, Mr Hayes,’ he said pleasantly. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  Eighteen

  ROZ WALKED BACK to the car deep in thought. ‘What’s up?’ Hal asked her.

  ‘Just something he said.’ She put her bag on the roof and stared into the middle distance, trying to pick up an elusive thread. ‘It’s no good. I’ll have to go back through my notes.’ She unlocked the door. ‘So what do we do now? Go to the police?’ She released Hal’s door and he climbed in beside her.

  ‘No. We’d be there all day answering questions and there’s no guarantee they’d act at the end of it.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And it’s no good tackling Crew either. If we’re going to nail him we’ll have to do it through Stewart Hayes and his security firm.’

  Roz winced. ‘We? Listen, Hawksley, I’ve already had my hair pulled out once by that gorilla. I’m not sure I fancy it a second time.’ She meant it, too.

  Hal put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t think I fancy it much either.’ He could smell the scent of soap on her face and with a sigh he moved away. ‘But we’ve got to get it settled one way or another,’ he said coolly. ‘I can’t stand much more of this.’

  Her insecurities resurfaced. ‘Much more of what?’

  ‘Sitting around in confined spaces with you,’ he growled. ‘It requires too much blasted self-control. Come on. Let’s grasp the nettle. I’ll phone Geoff Wyatt and see if I can persuade him to hold my hand while I offer the Poacher for sale.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to have Hayes arrested?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Breaking and entering.’

  ‘On what evidence?’

  ‘Me,’ she said. ‘I can identify him.’

  ‘He’ll have an alibi by now.’ He flicked a strand of hair from her cheek with a gesture of casual affection. ‘We need to tempt Crew into the open.’

  It was Roz’s turn to sigh. In the cold light of morning, she was having doubts. ‘It’s all guesswork, Hal. Crew could be squeaky clean as far as the Poacher’s concerned. Mr Hayes likes to give the impression he knows more than he does. It makes him feel important.’

  ‘But it’s the only scenario that makes sense.’ He stroked his jaw and smiled at her with a confidence he didn’t really feel. ‘My nose is twitching. It’s always a good sign.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘That I’m on the right track.’

  ‘You’ll lose the Poacher if you’re wrong.’

  ‘I’ll lose it anyway.’ He drummed his fingers on the dashboard. ‘Come on,’ he said abruptly. ‘Let’s go. Head for the city centre. Bell Street runs parallel with the main shopping area. We’ll stop at the first telephone we see. And keep your eyes peeled for an electrical goods shop.’

  She fired the engine and pulled out into the road. ‘Why?’

  ‘You’ll find out.’

  He dialled Dawlington police station and asked to be put through to Geoff Wyatt. ‘It’s Hal.’ He let the angry recriminations run for a moment, then broke in. ‘Save your breath. I’m trying to sort it now, but I need your help. What do you have on STC Security in Bell Street? No, I’ll wait.’ He propped the receiver under his chin and took out a notepad. ‘OK. Hayes. Ex-Army. Clean as a whistle. You’re sure? Right. Can you meet me there in half an hour?’ More squeaks. ‘For old time’s sake, that’s why. No, you bastard, I don’t give a monkey’s toss if you still feel sick. At the very least, you owe me for Sally. Half an hour.’ He hung up.

  Roz examined her fingernails with studied uninterest. ‘Who’s Sally?’ she asked.

  ‘My ex.’

  ‘Why does he owe you for her?’

  ‘He married her.’

  ‘God!’ She hadn’t expected that.

  He smiled at her startled expression. ‘He did me a favour but doesn’t know it. He thinks it’s why I left the Force. His guilt is huge and extremely useful at times like this.’

  ‘That’s cruel.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘It hurt at the time.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said regretfully. ‘I keep forgetting we both have pasts.’

  He pulled her against him. ‘The marriage was long dead, and Geoff didn’t set out to poach Sally. He’s a decent sort. He held her hand out of friendship, and ended up with more than he bargained for. And that’s genuine gratitude talking, Roz, not bitterness.’ He kissed her nose. ‘Poor bastard. He had no idea what he was signing on for.’

  ‘Olive’s revenge,’ she said slowly
.

  He frowned as he dialled Directory Enquiries. ‘I don’t follow.’

  Roz gave a hollow laugh. ‘She makes clay figures in her room and then sticks pins into them. She did one of me when she was angry with me. I had a migraine for a week.’

  ‘When was that? Yes,’ he said into the phone, ‘STC Security, Southampton, please.’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Someone beat you up a couple of weeks ago,’ he pointed out. ‘That’s why you had a migraine.’ He wrote a number on his pad and hung up.

  ‘My ex-husband,’ she agreed. ‘I told Olive I wanted to kill him and he turned up out of the blue. I could have killed him, too, if I’d had a knife, or been better prepared. I was angry enough.’ She shrugged. ‘And then there’s you and Crew and the Poacher, and Wyatt taking your wife, and her father dying. All people she blames for what’s happened to her.’

  He looked surprised. ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

  She laughed. ‘No, of course I don’t.’ But she did. Only she knew how much her head had hurt when Olive turned the pin.

  ‘STC Security,’ said a woman’s bright voice at the other end of the wire.

  Hal looked at Roz as he spoke. ‘Good morning. I’d like to discuss security arrangements for my restaurant with Mr Stewart Hayes.’

  ‘I’m not sure he’s available to talk at the moment, sir.’

  ‘He will be for me. Try his number and tell him that Hal Hawksley of the Poacher is on the line.’

  ‘One moment, please.’

  Several moments passed before she came back to him. ‘Mr Hayes will talk to you now, Mr Hawksley.’

  A bluff, friendly voice swelled down the wire. ‘Good morning, Mr Hawksley. How may I help you?’

  ‘You can’t, Mr Hayes, but I can help you. You have a window of opportunity which will stay open for the length of time it takes me to reach your office. Roughly half an hour.’