Then she saw that someone was standing behind Alderley. A smart woman, late fifties, maybe early sixties, dressed in a dark grey trouser suit, looking so like her daughter it was not possible to mistake her identity. Tall, slim, with nondescript features but a tight, hard, determined mouth and sandy coloured hair. Joanna felt a rushing in her head. This was not possible – surely? A grim voice answered her silent question. In life and death anything is possible. But this would turn the entire case on its head, remove every motive, every assumption. She fixed her gaze on the woman, as though worried she would disappear, walked up the room and waited for Alderley to introduce them, yet knowing already.
‘Th-this woman,’ Alderley was stammering, ‘says she’s Mrs Grimshaw.’
Joanna gaped at the woman, absorbing everything about her, from the thin, almost gaunt frame, to the hard stare of the hazel eyes, so like her daughter’s, the thin mouth, the defiant attitude.
‘We-ell.’ It was all she could manage.
She dismissed the briefing. It was pointless trying to proceed with the case until they had assimilated this new information, threaded this hitherto unknown and significant fact into the investigation. It would alter everything. Change the entire balance. At the back of Joanna’s mind, the policewoman in her had already added the new suspect to the list and begun to analyse motives. Grimshaw had died intestate. Avis was still his legal wife, therefore his main beneficiary. Had Grimshaw’s wife hated him? How would Judy respond to the resurrection of her mother? Had she realised that her father’s story was nothing but a cruel trick? Joanna met the woman’s eyes, held her hand out and received a limp shake. ‘Shall we go into an interview room?’
The woman’s gaze slid into hers. Joanna was again reminded of Avis’s daughter, stroppy, sneaky and unpleasant. There was something equally and overtly hostile about her mother’s stare.
The battle was about to begin.
She and Korpanski sat opposite Mrs Grimshaw, but Joanna found it hard to begin the questioning. Where do you start?
We believed you dead, fed to the pigs?
Where have you been for the last eight years?
Have you kept in touch with your daughter? Is she in on this?
What part did your neighbour, Dudson, play in this?
Was he your lover? If not he, whom?
Suddenly helpless, she looked at Korpanski, whose eyes were resting on her, warmed to the colour of toffee with humour. He well knew that for once she was at a loss for words and was enjoying every moment of it. He was laughing at her, hardly bothering to conceal it.
She put her hands on the desk. ‘Mrs Grimshaw,’ she began. ‘You are aware that your husband has been—’
She got no further.
‘Yes, yes,’ the woman replied impatiently. ‘I know Jakob met with a violent end.’
‘You left Prospect Farm.’
‘Years ago.’ The same impatient, irritated, rather rude tone. ‘Being a farmer’s wife didn’t suit me.’
Joanna replaced the words impatient and rude with condescending.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Is it anything to do with the investigation?’ Her voice was razor sharp.
Korpanski cut in, frostily. ‘We don’t know yet, Mrs Grimshaw. We’re just collecting facts at the moment. We had heard—’
Without warning, Mrs Grimshaw burst into peals of laughter. ‘Oh, the pig story,’ she said, then leaning in, added, ‘I never thought Jakob had such a vivid imagination.’
‘Can you think of any reason why your husband would confess to such a crime when it obviously isn’t true?’ Korpanski asked.
Mrs Grimshaw smiled. ‘Jakob had a mischievous sense of humour,’ she said. ‘He knew what a nosey little thing young Judy was. He knew she’d go prying, looking for things.’
Sense of humour? Joanna almost shuddered. She wasn’t exactly close to her own mother, but to plant this cruelly false evidence in the mind of a daughter didn’t seem like humour, exactly.
But an explanation of sorts.
‘Have you had anything to do with your daughter in the years of your absence?’
‘No.’ Said flatly, almost confrontationally. ‘I thought it best.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘Abroad.’ Almost a smirk crossed the woman’s face. ‘I ran a bar in Spain. Then a few years ago I moved to Eastern Europe. Poland, the Czech Republic, and so on. I’ve travelled around.’
‘Did you leave with anyone?’
Mrs Grimshaw shook her head. Her pale eyes met Joanna’s. ‘He travels fastest who travels alone,’ she quoted.
‘Kipling,’ Joanna muttered under her breath.
Mrs Grimshaw continued. ‘Once I’d decided to go,’ she said, ‘I knew I must leave Judy behind.’
‘Why didn’t you just file for divorce?’ Korpanski asked, prosaic as ever.
She looked at him, then at Joanna. ‘I don’t expect either of you to believe this,’ she said haughtily, ‘but Jakob’s farm was his life – and his inheritance. If I had divorced him the farm would have been split up. It was hardly viable, anyway. Half would have been impossible.’
Joanna nodded. This, at least, made sense. Even if none of the rest did.
She decided to proceed on a different tack. ‘When did you return from your travels?’
‘A little over two weeks ago.’ There was a direct challenge in the woman’s statement. She must have known when her husband died.
‘Why?’ Korpanski asked bluntly.
‘I got bored with travelling.’
She hesitated. ‘And,’ her shoulders dropped, ‘to be honest, someone from Leek came into the bar where I was working in Bratislava. He recognised me and told me how things were at the farm. I realised that Jakob was probably about to sell up. He told me about the land deal and I realised I could use the money.’ She gave a smile that was really a sneer. ‘Bar work doesn’t exactly pay well, you know.’
Joanna nodded in mock sympathy, all the while thinking that this certainly complicated things for Judy Grimshaw. No longer her father’s next of kin, she was about to be supplanted. Interesting.
‘Have you seen your daughter since you’ve been back?’
‘No. Not yet.’ For the first time since the beginning of the interview some doubt crept into the woman’s voice. And this time her smile appeared genuine. ‘To be honest, I didn’t how to approach her. After the story Jakob had spun she might faint if I showed up at her house. She might be angry.’ Her eyes challenged. ‘But a telephone call seems a little cold, don’t you think? After all this time,’ she tacked on almost casually.
Joanna and Mike stared back woodenly.
I would love to be a fly on the wall at the reunion, Joanna thought.
‘How did you learn about the pig story?’
Avis Grimshaw licked her lips. ‘Judy told the friends I was staying with a couple of months ago.’ She smiled. ‘They never believed it and tried to tell Judy it couldn’t be the truth but she swallowed it.’ A wry smile twisted her face. ‘If you see what I mean.’
‘Didn’t that make you want to see her?’
‘Yes and no,’ Avis said. ‘More yes than no.’
Joanna leant across the table. ‘Did you see your husband on your return?’
Avis Grimshaw hesitated, so Joanna pressed on.
‘Do you know anything that might have a bearing on your husband’s death, Mrs Grimshaw?’
She shrugged. ‘Not a thing,’ she answered. ‘I’m well out of touch, Inspector.’
‘And where have you been in the time since you’ve been home?’
Again Mrs Grimshaw’s face changed. She stared at the wall. ‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘I’d had a great idea of walking back into people’s lives.’
‘Anyone in particular?’ Korpanski asked with meaning.
But the spark had left Grimshaw’s widow. ‘I…tried to look up a few old friends.’
‘Where?’
‘I have – had – a brother in So
merset. He apparently died three years ago. I didn’t even know. And his widow is – with someone else now.’
She hesitated. ‘I contacted a few more friends.’ She crossed her legs. ‘Life has changed,’ she said, ‘in the years since I’ve been away. I expected to be the wanderer returned. The lost sheep. The prodigal son. In fact I am a stranger to everyone – even, probably, to my daughter.’
Joanna was tempted to blurt out, ‘What do you expect?’ but uncharacteristically she held the words back because Mrs Grimshaw looked truly and sincerely upset.
‘And the farm?’
She was holding something back. Joanna knew it and when she looked at Korpanski she could see he did too. The gaze from his dark eyes was unblinkingly on Avis Grimshaw, as though if he blinked he might miss some swift but vital sign.
‘The farm,’ Joanna repeated. ‘Did you go there?’
Mrs Grimshaw looked from one to the other, her eyes almost frightened. ‘I did call in,’ she said finally, ‘on the Monday.’
Korpanski interrupted. ‘Do you mean the 10th or the 17th?’
‘The 10th. I had rung him early in September just to warn him. He was furious. Absolutely furious.’ She was pale. ‘Angry with me for leaving him, the farm, our daughter.’ She gulped in some air. ‘I told him I wanted a divorce and that would mean I would be entitled to half the farm. It would finally have to be sold.’ Another of the twisted smiles. ‘So when I called in I didn’t exactly expect much of a welcome.’
Joanna gave a sharp glance at Korpanski. ‘How was he?’
Avis didn’t realise how significant the question was. She shook her head.
‘I can’t tell you,’ she said simply. ‘I didn’t see him. He wasn’t there.’
Joanna couldn’t resist giving Korpanski another swift glance.
He asked the next question. ‘And the dog,’ he asked, ‘Ratchet?’
‘Fast asleep,’ Avis said. ‘Not much of a bloody watchdog, if you ask me.’
‘Did you walk round the farm?’ Joanna asked.
Avis shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t. I knocked on the door, stuck my head round it, shouted for a bit, stood in the yard and yelled for a bit longer but the place…’ she turned innocent eyes on Joanna, ‘was completely deserted.’
‘Any animal noise?’
‘Not that I remember,’ she said. ‘Possibly from the barns. I can’t be sure. I stayed less than ten minutes and then went to an old friend’s house.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘One of the few I’d managed to track down who could stomach being with me.’ Her smile widened. ‘There’s something about being regurgitated from a pig that makes you less than an ideal dinner companion.’
For the first time since the beginning of the interview, Joanna was tempted to smile too. ‘Carry on,’ she said.
‘I stayed with her for a couple of days, went to London on the Thursday. She rang me and told me what had happened, including the fact that his body had lain undiscovered for around a week. I was frightened then. I knew it was unlikely that you would know exactly when Jakob had died, which would make it probable that I would become a suspect. I thought the best thing would be for me to come here and make a statement rather than have my story unravelled bit by bit during your investigations.’
Joanna could not help but feel some respect for the woman’s intelligence. Grimshaw’s widow had got it all worked out. And now she had got it all off her chest she seemed to relax. ‘That,’ she said quietly, ‘is the truth. I swear it.’
‘You may have to in court.’ Joanna let the words sink in. ‘Where will you be staying?’
‘You mean “don’t leave town”.’ The ghost of a smile accompanied her answer. ‘I won’t. I’ll be staying in Derby Street. I have a friend there.’
‘One more thing.’
It provoked an instantly wary look.
‘It was mentioned that you had been friendly with
Mr Dudson, the neighbouring farmer.’ Mrs Grimshaw composed her features into a neutral stare. ‘I was friendly with his wife. There was nothing else between us. His wife was dying. In fact, it was one of the reasons why I stayed for so long at Prospect Farm.’ A swift spasm of emotion crossed her face. ‘I was really fond of her. She was a lovely woman and appreciated the food I prepared and a few little things only a woman would do around the house. In an odd sort of way, her death paved the path for me to go.’
‘Oh?’
Mrs Grimshaw smiled. ‘I’m sure this is an indictable offence. I applied for a passport in her name,’ she said simply. ‘In one of our many conversations, she mentioned that she’d never been abroad so I knew she’d never had one before. It meant I really could disappear. But it wasn’t just that. I didn’t want to live my life like hers. She – and I – had done so little, married young, never travelled, had children, been a mother and a farmer’s wife. She died in that role. I wanted more from my life. As I watched her getting weaker, I strengthened my own resolve. It is not a decision I regret,’ she said with dignity.
‘I see.’ Again Joanna was at a loss for words. But she must ask one more thing.
‘Did you kill your husband, Mrs Grimshaw?’
Again, the woman’s answer was puzzling. ‘There would have been no point, Inspector,’ she said. ‘At least not for money.’
But that wasn’t strictly true. Jakob had died intestate. He and his wife had never divorced so she would be the beneficiary.
When the woman had gone, leaving behind traces of lemony perfume and sadness, Joanna turned to Mike and spread her hands out in a gesture of utter puzzlement. ‘So where does this leave us, Korpanski?’
He folded his arms. ‘With another suspect to add to the list,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘And an interesting story.’
She almost cuffed him.
‘Maybe we should have another talk to Mr Dudson,’ she said, pushing her chair back. ‘Was he in on this or not?’
They found the farmer sitting in a tractor, about to take a large and smelly machine across one of his fields. He looked less than pleased to see them but he was, at least, polite.
‘Inspector,’ he said, climbing down from the cab. ‘What can I do for you?’
She waited until he was on the ground, facing her. ‘It seems,’ she said, ‘that Mrs Grimshaw is alive.’
Nothing passed across his face. No surprise, puzzlement. His blunt features remained a perfect blank. ‘Well,’ he said finally. ‘So—’
‘You didn’t know?’
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘I did not. I believed what she told me.’
‘Who, Mr Dudson?’
He looked faintly irritated with himself for having blurted that out. ‘Judy,’ he muttered.
‘And when did she tell you?’
Dudson looked furtive. ‘Can’t remember exactly.’
Korpanski climbed into the tractor and switched the ignition off. ‘I think it would be a good idea if you came down to the station. Maybe that’ll jog your memory.’
For a minute, Joanna thought the farmer would refuse. Then he bent his head. ‘Give me a minute,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll change out of these work clothes.’
He reappeared less than five minutes later in a clean pair of green corduroys and a Barbour coat.
Joanna knew that the answers Dudson gave would be significant. And that he knew this. So she took her time, skirted round the issue.
‘Your wife was a local girl?’
Dudson blinked then narrowed his eyes. ‘What the devil’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question.’
‘She was,’ he said, leaning forward. ‘Local born and bred.’
A twist of cynicism crossed his face. ‘You wouldn’t find anyone else to put up with the conditions round here.’
‘It’s a tough life,’ Joanna mused.
Dudson nodded in agreement.
‘And you haven’t married again?’
Dudson shook his head. ‘Didn’t really have the
heart for it,’ he said gruffly.
‘You were friendly, though, with Mrs Grimshaw.’
Dudson smiled. ‘Friendly, yes. Anything more, no.’
‘Think back, Mr Dudson, to when you last saw Mrs Grimshaw.’
‘It were the day after the funeral,’ he said. ‘She came round with a shepherd’s pie. She looked sort of…’ he fumbled for the word, ‘distracted. Bothered about something. She put her arm round my shoulders and said we would both be mourning together.’ He smiled. ‘She looked smart. As though she were going somewhere. So when Jakob told me afterwards that she’d gone with another man it all made sense. I believed it.’
‘But then Judy told you otherwise.’ Joanna said softly.
Dudson nodded, glanced furtively around the room. ‘She’s a nasty girl, that one,’ he said. ‘Used to beat that poor little pony of hers something rotten. She had a cruel, unforgiving streak in her. Something like her dad. Jakob was like that,’ he mused. ‘He found things funny that weren’t. She took after him.’
‘So tell me about the day that Judy told you what her father said had been her mother’s fate.’
‘It were a Sunday,’ he said. ‘She appeared in the doorway holding a piece of paper. It were a letter. She read it out to me.’ Dudson was quietly chewing his lip. ‘At first I couldn’t believe it. I thought it were Jakob pulling the wool over my eyes. I couldn’t understand why he’d written it down. He’d know that she would find the letter one day.’
Korpanski leant in. ‘How did she seem? Angry?’
Dudson swivelled round to look at him, and then turned back to look Joanna straight in the eyes. ‘There’s two sorts of angry,’ he said. ‘There’s hot angry and there’s cold angry. She was cold angry. Every muscle in that woman’s body was full of hate.’
Joanna couldn’t ignore the look of triumph Mike gave her.
Grave Stones Page 20
