Judy asks again about the ambulance. ‘Why didn’t you call for help? It’s possible that you could have saved her. Didn’t you want to save her?’
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ says Steve. ‘I didn’t want her lying there dead on my carpet.’ Judy gets Steve to recount, in painstaking detail, how he hid Margaret’s body in the boot of his car, went to join the search party and later buried Margaret in his brother-in-law’s allotment. She hopes that this will sound particularly cold and calculating in court.
‘Did Pete know that you had killed Margaret?’ asks Clough.
‘No,’ says Steve. ‘He’s a wimp, Pete. Always has been. He would have gone to pieces.’
‘Didn’t he notice that the ground had been disturbed?’
‘No. It was a new allotment then. Pete had just dug it over and put the compost down. I gave him the horse manure. It was easy to bury her. Pete planted his vegetables on top and never knew a thing. The plants always grew well there and I always wondered whether that was due to Margaret. And my manure, of course.’
Did he really say that? Judy glances towards the camera and wonders what the boss is making of all this.
‘What did you think when Pete married Margaret’s mother?’ she asks, really wanting to know.
‘I was pleased for Pete. I never thought he’d have the guts to ask her. And she was a good-looking woman. Though she’d gone off a bit by then.’
Karen would have been in her thirties when she married Pete but Steve’s tastes obviously lay in other directions. Judy wonders again about his own daughters, not to mention Steve’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
‘Are we nearly finished?’ says Steve. ‘I need to get home. I’m taking Daisy-Mae to her ballet class.’
‘We’re nearly there,’ says Judy.
She can only hope that Steve’s babysitting days are over.
*
While Steve is being charged with murder and possession of a firearm with intent to endanger life, Judy and Clough retreat to Nelson’s office.
‘Good work,’ says Nelson. ‘We’ve got a full confession. We’ll try hard to make the murder charge stick. After all, he assaulted an under-age girl and didn’t call for help when she was hurt. Bastard. What made you realise it was him?’
Judy explains about the seahorses. Nelson makes a noise that seems halfway between admiration and exasperation.
‘What were you thinking of, going there without back-up?’
‘I texted Clough.’
‘I was in the interview room,’ says Clough. ‘By the time I saw your text you were back here handcuffed to Steve Jennings.’
‘I know,’ says Judy. ‘It’s not your fault. I should have waited for back-up.’
‘Instead you had Maddie storming in pretending to be Jo Archer,’ says Nelson. ‘That I would have liked to see.’
‘Is Maddie OK?’
‘Seems so. She’s given a statement and she’s waiting for you downstairs.’
‘I’ve promised her an exclusive.’
‘She can have one as soon we’ve done the paperwork. She deserves it. Seems she’s like her father, always turning up at the right moment.’
‘She is like him,’ says Judy. ‘She’s been driving me mad following me around but she probably saved my life today.’
‘You should never have put yourself in that position,’ says Nelson, glowering again.
‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘So,’ says Nelson, sitting down at his desk. ‘We’ve got Margaret’s killer. And we’ve found Ava. Not bad going.’
‘We just need to solve John Mostyn’s murder and we’re done,’ says Clough. ‘Any chance that Jennings could have done it?’
‘He’s got an alibi,’ says Judy. ‘He was at home with Alison. They had the great-grandchildren staying.’
‘It’s another married alibi,’ says Clough. ‘Could be broken. Especially when the wife finds out about this.’
‘I think Mostyn suspected Steve all along,’ says Judy. ‘Maybe he even saw him with Margaret on the day of the street party. Somehow, he must have realised that Steve had buried Margaret in Pete’s allotment. Remember when we spoke to Pete? He said that he’d talked to John Mostyn about gardening. Maybe that gave him the idea.’
‘Why did he dig her up and bury her at the Saltmarsh though?’ says Clough.
‘So we would find her,’ says Judy. ‘He must have read about the dig and seen his chance. There may have been some other significance too. Remember the witch stones that were found at the site? John Mostyn loved stones and the beach. Maybe that’s why he buried Margaret there.’ Judy still has the witch stone that John Mostyn gave her. It’s in her bag and several times a day she feels for it, the smooth surface, the satisfying void at the centre.
‘I still think Jennings could have killed Mostyn,’ says Clough. ‘Who else could benefit?’
‘Dead men tell no tales,’ says Judy. ‘That’s what Steve said to me.’
‘Steve Jennings didn’t kill John Mostyn,’ says Nelson.
*
Judy finds Maddie in reception, scrolling down her phone as usual.
‘Want a lift?’ she says.
‘Hi, Judy,’ says Maddie, for all the world as if this is a casual meeting. ‘That would be great. Actually, I was wondering if I could stay at your place tonight.’
‘Of course,’ says Judy.
‘In fact, my flatmates are getting on my nerves a bit so I was wondering . . .’
‘You can move in with us,’ says Judy. ‘Cathbad would be delighted.’
‘It’s only temporary,’ says Maddie, putting on her backpack. ‘I think I’m destined to be a nomad.’
‘Maybe for a while,’ says Judy. ‘But I think you’ll settle down one day.’
‘Like Dad?’
‘Just like him.’
They go towards the exit but, at the swing doors, Judy asks Maddie to wait for her and sprints back upstairs. She comes back down carrying the hamster cage.
‘What’s that?’ says Maddie.
‘Two new pets.’
The more the merrier, she thinks. And she actually means it.
*
By the end of the day, Ruth is feeling exhausted. Last night hadn’t been too bad. Shona had been really kind, offering hot drinks and popping in several times during the night to check that Ruth was all right. And even Phil hadn’t asked too many questions. After Nelson’s phone call Ruth had driven today to Scarning Fen and, ignoring his advice, had examined Pete Benson’s old allotment for signs of disturbance. It was difficult because the soil had been turned over fairly recently – the current allotment owners seem keen on crop rotation – but she thought that, in one place, the earth appeared darker and richer, which could point to something organic having been buried there. She took samples and filled in a report and then she drove to the hospital to see Leif. She had been feeling rather guilty about him. After all, Cathbad had Judy and she had Shona. Who was looking after Leif?
The answer is, half the hospital. Leif, his leg in plaster up to his thigh, is in a small room off the main ward but nurse after nurse comes in to enquire after his progress and to offer fruit drinks and vitamin supplements.
‘I know you’re fussy about your food,’ says one pretty redhead, as if she has known Leif since childhood.
‘You’re really kind, Kerry,’ says Leif. He is on first-name terms with all of them and many have signed his plaster with accompanying hearts and kisses.
‘How are you feeling?’ asks Ruth during a brief lull.
‘OK,’ says Leif, although, close up, his eyes are rather shadowed. ‘We were lucky, I guess.’
‘You came off worst,’ says Ruth, although her head is splitting and she still feels rather sick.
‘The deer came off worst.’
‘Yes. Poor thing. Cathbad feels terrible about that. And about you,’ she adds hastily.
‘I know. He was in earlier. But it wasn’t his fault. Driving conditions were terrible a
nd the stag just appeared in front of us out of nowhere. I still think it might have been Herne the Hunter. I’m just annoyed about this,’ he gestures at his leg, ‘just when I need to tie up the loose ends at the dig.’
‘If there’s anything I can do to help,’ says Ruth, although she knows she sounds unconvincing.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Leif. ‘It’s really just waiting for the lab results now. And for the facial reconstruction. When I’m discharged I’m going to stay with my mother for a few days.’
So Leif does have someone to look after him, thinks Ruth, feeling slightly envious as she often does now when people mention mothers. She wonders what has happened with Laura. If she was living with Leif, she obviously isn’t now.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Leif suddenly. ‘If I hadn’t dragged you all the way to Stanton Drew, this would never have happened.’
‘It’s OK,’ says Ruth. ‘It’s all part of the great web. That’s what Cathbad would say.’
‘He did say it earlier,’ says Leif. ‘But I’m sorry all the same. We’re still friends, aren’t we?’
Were they ever friends? thinks Ruth. Erik had been her friend. Perhaps he still is. She’s not sure what she thinks about the handsome wounded lion in front of her. She still doesn’t quite trust him but she takes the outstretched hand and squeezes it.
‘Of course we’re friends,’ she says. ‘I have to go and collect Kate now.’
Kate is fascinated by the plaster on Ruth’s forehead, which is now looking a bit grubby at the edges. She wants to hear the story of the crash again and again: the stone circle, the rain, the deer in the road.
‘Remember our crash?’ she says. ‘With the rabbit?’
It takes Ruth a few minutes to realise that Kate is talking about the first time that she met Frank. He had literally crashed into them, driving his hired car on the wrong side of the road. There had been a dead rabbit on the verge, completely unrelated to the accident. Ruth hadn’t known that Kate had noticed it.
‘Are we going to see Frank today?’ asks Kate after they have reminisced about the time a man with a ‘funny accent like a cowboy’ drove his car into them.
‘Not today,’ says Ruth. ‘I’m too tired today.’
‘I’m tired too,’ boasts Kate. ‘Tasha and I didn’t sleep all night. We played games on her tablet and we ate Haribos at midnight.’
Kate seems lively enough when they get back, rushing to tell Flint all about her sleepover. Flint is slightly offish with Ruth for abandoning him last night but he consents to eat a special tuna supper and to sit with them while they watch some teenage TV show that Ruth is too lethargic to turn off.
Kate must be a bit tired though because, when Ruth tells her that it’s time for bed, she only puts up a token resistance. Ruth heaves herself off the sofa, ready to run the bath, when there’s a fusillade of knocks on the front door. Only one person knocks like that.
‘Nelson. What are you doing here?’
‘Came to see how you were,’ says Nelson, thrusting a rather battered bunch of carnations at her. Ruth recognises the wrapping from her nearest petrol station but she appreciates the gesture. She remembers Valentine’s Day and her vision of Nelson presenting Michelle with beautifully wrapped red roses.
‘Dad!’ Kate comes downstairs and barrels into Nelson’s chest. ‘I had a sleepover last night. I ate sweets at midnight.’
‘That’s nice, love.’ Nelson sits on the sofa and, despite often declaring herself nearly grown-up, Kate climbs onto his lap. Flint, on the other hand, walks off in disgust.
‘I had a sleepover too,’ says Ruth.
‘Did you?’ Nelson gives her a sharp look. ‘Who with?’
Ruth feels like telling him to mind his own business but it seems too much hassle so she says, ‘With Shona and Phil. The hospital said that I shouldn’t go home on my own.’
Nelson’s face seems to relax. ‘But you’re OK now?’
‘I’m fine,’ says Ruth. ‘I went to Scarning Fen today.’
‘I told you not to.’
‘It’s lucky that I don’t have to do what you tell me,’ says Ruth sweetly. ‘I examined the soil at the allotment and I think it’s possible that a body was buried there until fairly recently.’
‘Oh, we’ve found Margaret’s killer,’ says Nelson.
‘You have?’ says Ruth. ‘Who is it?’
‘A family friend called Steve Jennings. It’ll be in the press tomorrow, probably in an exclusive written by Maddie Henderson.’
‘Maddie? How come she’s involved?’
‘It’s a long story. Johnson made the breakthrough but nearly got killed for her efforts. Maddie saved her.’
‘Wow,’ says Ruth. ‘That is a good story.’
‘Will you read me a bedtime story?’ Kate asks Nelson. ‘I still have stories sometimes.’
So Nelson stays to read Kate a bedtime story and, afterwards, he and Ruth drink wine in front of the fire. It’s almost like the first time, when Nelson turned up at Ruth’s door after Scarlet’s body had been found. Except, this time, they’re not going to sleep together. Ruth is quite certain about that.
But it turns out that she’s wrong about this too.
Chapter 37
Nelson and Freddie Burnett are sitting on Cromer pier. The tide is out and the sand stretches in bands of blue and gold. They have brought coffee from the café and sit companionably in deckchairs watching the cockle-pickers pulling their nets along the beach.
‘It’s a beautiful spot, isn’t it?’ says Freddie. ‘I always thought that I’d end my days here.’
‘It’s a nice beach,’ says Nelson. Though, in his opinion, it could be improved by a roller-coaster and a few donkeys.
‘How are they doing?’ says Freddie. ‘Margaret’s family?’
‘Not bad,’ says Nelson. ‘I think it was a relief to learn the identity of Margaret’s murderer, although it was a shock too, especially for Pete, the stepfather.’
‘Killer was his brother-in-law, wasn’t he? Are you telling me this Pete had no idea?’
‘He says not and I believe him. Pete’s a gentle soul. I don’t think he ever realised what his brother-in-law was.’
‘Scum, that’s what he is,’ says Freddie. ‘They should throw away the key. What about the other business, with the baby?’
They have, so far, managed to keep Annie’s name out of the press. It was helpful that Steve Jennings’ arrest, and Maddie’s exclusive on it, led the news for many days. Annie is out on bail and receiving psychiatric treatment. Her psychiatrist says that Annie abducted Ava while suffering from delusions brought on by the stress of Margaret’s body being discovered. Her family seem to have accepted this and, according to Judy, Star has seen her mother and apparently forgives her. Ava is still doing well. She’s currently at Nelson’s house for a ‘playdate’ with George.
‘The baby’s fine,’ says Nelson. ‘The family are coping well. Considering.’
‘What about Mostyn?’ says Freddie. ‘You pinning that on Jennings too?’
‘Freddie,’ says Nelson, ‘Steve Jennings didn’t kill John Mostyn. You did.’
Freddie turns to look at him, his still-bulky frame blotting out the sun.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I suspected from the beginning,’ says Nelson. ‘It was such a professional killing. I knew it either had to be a criminal or a copper. The way he was killed, just one shot and the bullet taken away. No prints on anything. The body moved just for a bit of misdirection. Even the CCTV at the Canada Estate. The killer knew where the cameras were, they’d even covered up the logo on their coat. I did see some dark skin though. You got very tanned in Tenerife, Freddie.’
Freddie stares at him, his eyes bright in a face which is still the colour and texture of shoe leather.
‘You’ve got no evidence.’
‘Then I remembered the phone call,’ says Nelson. ‘You phoned me when we had Mostyn in for a DNA test.’
‘I asked you if he was g
oing to get away with it again. And you gave me some crap about doing things by the book.’
‘The thing is,’ says Nelson, ‘you were meant to be in Tenerife but, when I checked the call location, you were ringing from Norfolk.’
‘Bloody mobile phones,’ says Freddie. ‘There’s no privacy these days.’
In Nelson’s opinion, being watched is no problem if you don’t break the law. But he doesn’t say anything. He wishes, more than anything, that he could leave Freddie sitting on the pier enjoying his retirement. No one’s going to worry too much if John Mostyn’s murder goes unsolved. They’ve caught Margaret’s killer and they’ve restored Ava to her mother. The golden-haired girl and the innocent baby, those are the victims that the public cares about. Not a seventy-year-old man who collected stones and lived alone with his hamsters. Funnily enough, it’s the thought of Sonny and Fredo, now happily residing with Cathbad and Judy, that strengthens Nelson’s resolve. John Mostyn deserves justice and Nelson, like Agatha Christie’s Poirot, does not approve of murder.
‘You’ll have trouble making it stand up in court,’ says Freddie.
‘I’m confident we’ll get your DNA from the scene,’ says Nelson. ‘It’s a different world now, Freddie. It’s almost impossible to get away with these things. DNA has changed everything.’
‘Changed it for the worse,’ says Freddie. ‘There’s no real policing any more.’
That depends on your definition of policing, thinks Nelson.
In a different voice, Freddie says, ‘I thought you’d let him off. You’re getting soft in your old age. All that “innocent until proved guilty” crap.’
‘He was innocent,’ says Nelson.
Freddie gives a mirthless laugh. ‘Well, I know that now, don’t I?’
They are both silent, looking out towards the sea, now only a line of darker blue against the sky.
‘What’ll I get, do you think?’ says Freddie. ‘Ten years with good behaviour?’
‘Maybe less,’ says Nelson, ‘and you could serve most of it in an open prison.’
‘I’m sixty-eight,’ says Freddie, ‘and I’ve got prostate cancer. I’m not going to see the outside world again.’
It’s the first time that Nelson has heard about the cancer. He watches Freddie as the older man sips his coffee, eyes narrowed against the spring sunshine.
The Stone Circle: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 11 Page 27
