by Ann Cleeves
“Was any of that true?”
“Some of it. I changed my name when I was twenty-one. Legally. There were reasons. I can tell you, if you want to know.”
“What about your family? Are they really all dead?”
“Not all of them.”
“So you lied to me from the beginning.”
“No. By the time I met you, this is who I was.”
“Did you kill my brother?”
“No,” he cried. “Why would I?”
“Why would you lie to me?”
She couldn’t face it. She needed the comfort of a familiar story. She turned suddenly and ran back across the street towards the forge.
Emma runs across the square and, keeping to the shadows in case the drinkers in the Anchor are still watching, she reaches the forge. She pushes open one of the big doors which form an arch, like the door of a church, and she stands inside. The roof is high and she can see through the curved rafters to the tiles. She feels the heat of the kiln and sees the dusty shelves holding unglazed pots.
At first, it seems that the pottery is empty. Everything is quiet. She shuts the big door behind her, still making no noise. It stands a little ajar, but a person walking past on the square outside would see nothing but a strip of light. She walks slowly forward. She knows that Dan is here. She can sense it. Soon he will come out. He will take her into his arms. He will come with her to Springhead so she can be with her baby. She can’t face all this alone.
“Dan.” The word is strained, like a whimper, but still it echoes around the high space. “Are you there, Dan?”
From the little storeroom there comes a scrabbling. Hardly human. It makes Emma think of rats nosing through rubbish.
“Dan,” she says again, and then he does appear, as she has always imagined, crumpled and untidy and eager to see her. She stands very close to him and can smell the clay on his hands. She waits for him to touch her. As she looks up, she sees someone else framed in the storeroom door. Not the inspector this time. Someone altogether unexpected.
Chapter Forty-Two
After seeing Ashworth off on his fishing trip, Vera went to the pottery. The doors were closed and padlocked. It was still early so she drove to the little house on the Crescent where Dan lived, but when she knocked on the door, no one answered. A young woman, with a toddler in a buggy, came out of the house next door. Just as well she’d been out the day before, Vera thought.
“Mr. Greenwood won’t be in at all today,” the woman said. A trade fair. Harrogate. He left very early and he’s not back until this evening, then he’ll have to go to the pottery to unload.”
“Oh,” Vera said. “Right.” She was surprised that Dan had given away so much. She’d always thought of him as being very private. The woman was attractive in a pale, washed-out way. Perhaps they were more than neighbours. Perhaps she wore black sequinned pants, though Vera couldn’t really picture it.
“Is it business?” the young woman said. “I can always take a message.”
“No, no message. I’m an old friend. I’ll call again.”
She spent the rest of the day at headquarters in Crill. She breezed into Holness’s office. “Can I borrow one of your people for an hour or two. A bit of research.”
He looked up from a desk piled with paper. Worse than hers, she saw with satisfaction. “Is it urgent?” He was probing for information on the Mantel enquiry. Well, he’d get nothing from her.
“It’ll not take long. A few phone calls, a bit of sniffing around.”
“I’ll need more than that before I release someone,” he said.
“Bugger off then, I’ll do it myself.” She flashed him a grin and he didn’t know how to react.
She walked into the incident room, responding to the stare of the officer at the nearest computer with a wave. “Don’t mind me, pet. You’ll not know I’m here.”
She found herself a spare desk and a phone and began a lot of fruitless conversations with the manufacturers of ladies’ underwear. At the same time she was eavesdropping on the Winter enquiry. The way she saw things, they hadn’t much to go on. They were still trying to trace the details of Christopher’s mobile, but he hadn’t bothered registering it, and they hadn’t found anyone in Aberdeen who had the number. He’d never given the number to Emma, or to his parents, which Vera thought was odd. After an hour she got bored and went back to pester Holness. She leaned on his door frame and looked into his office.
“Did anything come of the search of that farm by the cemetery?”
“The lad was there,” Holness said. “There was a fingerprint on the door of the stable.”
“Did you find anything to suggest he met someone?”
“A couple of other prints both left by one other person. No one known to us. Might be useful if we ever get as far as pulling in a suspect.”
“And he wasn’t seen all day?”
“We think he must have hidden out in the farm until it got dark. Otherwise he’d have been noticed. Elvet’s that sort of place. Nosy.”
Halfway through the afternoon she cracked and phoned Ashworth. She’d been thinking about him since he’d left in the morning. It was clear he couldn’t talk without being overheard. He sounded pleased with himself, though, and she wished she’d taken on the job. Delegation was supposed to be about shipping out the crap, but she’d never seemed to have got the hang of it. Usually she was left with that stuff herself. She went back to the hotel, had a long bath and tried to contain her impatience.
Her phone rang at about eight thirty and she snatched it from the bedside cupboard, thinking it would be Joe Ashworth at last with some news. It was Paul Holness and disappointment made her lose concentration for a moment. She missed what he was saying because she was wondering what could have happened to Joe.
“Sorry,” she said, ‘it’s a terrible line. Would you mind repeating that?”
IWe’ve just had a phone call from Veronica Lee, the landlady at the Anchor. It seems Michael Long’s made some sort of scene there. He’s in a bit of a state, she says. Wants to speak to you. We could send one of our lads if you like, but I thought you might want to go. Jeanie’s dad, isn’t he? Nothing really to do with us.”
“Yes,” she said. “Probably best if I do it. He knows me! She thought she was a sad old bat, because a phone call like that could suddenly make her come alive.
She parked in the square and noticed that there was a light on in the Old Forge. She hesitated briefly, tempted to go there first to talk to Dan. But that could wait, she thought. He wouldn’t be leaving the village again tonight. She’d best see what had rattled Michael’s cage first. There was no sign of drama in the Anchor when she went in. Half a dozen kids were gathered round the pool table, a few middle-aged couples sat at the tables in the window, two large-bellied men were playing darts. They stared at her, then looked away. By now everyone in the village knew who she was.
“Veronica about?”
The barman was thin and spotty and scarcely looked more than a boy himself.
“She’s out the back. She said to go on in.” The short side of the bar was hinged. He lifted it for her to go through. She felt a sudden thrill to be there, standing behind the bar between the taps and the optics. It was like going backstage at a theatre. She imagined herself retired, running a small pub in a village in the hills, but knew it would never happen. She’d offend the customers and drink all the profits.
She’d thought the door behind the bar would lead through to the landlady’s living quarters, but she emerged into a kitchen where, earlier in the evening, bar meals had been cooked. The sink was full of dirty pans. Michael sat at the table looking dazed. A half-drunk cup of tea, with a film already forming on the top, stood in front of him. Veronica was looking at him anxiously. A man with pebbly eyes stood leaning against the counter looking down at them. He was eating a cheese roll and his mouth was half full.
“You’d best go back, Barry,” Veronica said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on the bar
.”
“Sam’ll manage.”
“No,” she said. “He won’t. I’ll not be long myself. Michael doesn’t need an audience.”
Barry seemed inclined to argue again, but she shot him a look and he slouched off, still clutching the cheese roll.
“What’s all this about, then?” Vera said. She realized she was speaking as if Michael was an invalid or a naughty child and tried again. “They said you wanted to talk to me.”
He looked up and seemed to recognize her for the first time.
“I found out about that pilot. He used to know Mantel, changed his name. I imagined all sorts. You know the way your mind can work. He was in here tonight with that young wife of his.” The words tumbled over themselves. He looked at her fearfully, anticipating her disapproval. She saw that he’d fallen apart since she’d last seen him. Jeanie’s death had finally caught up with him.
“Did you tell her what you’d found out?” she asked. “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
“He told the whole bar,” Veronica said. “Made a bit of a scene. I should have realized what sort of strain he was under. I thought he was coping. I’ve called the doctor.”
Vera took a seat beside Michael. “You should have come to me. I’d have explained.” But what? she thought. What could I have told him?
“It was Mantel, wasn’t it?” Michael said, desperately. “He was behind it all.”
Again, she didn’t know what to answer. “It won’t be long now,” she said. “This time tomorrow we should have someone in custody. It’ll not bring Jeanie back…”
He finished the sentence for her. “But I’ll know…” For a moment he seemed to be more himself. Veronica reached across the table and took his hand.
Out in the square, Vera stood to collect her thoughts. A dog or a fox had been at a bin and scraps of rubbish blew across the street. They wouldn’t like that, the respectable people of Elvet. They liked their muck firmly shut away. She walked to the Captain’s House and banged on the door. James opened it almost immediately. At first she misinterpreted his anxiety.
“Sorry,” she said. “I should have thought before making that noise. I’d forgotten there was a baby in the house.”
“No, Matthew’s not here. Robert and Mary are looking after him. I thought you were Emma.”
“Where is she?”
“There was a scene in the pub. She ran off.” He hesitated. “You were right, of course. I should have told her myself.”
“Where’s she gone? To her parents?”
“No. The car’s still here.”
“And you just let her go off by herself?” In the dark? A week after her brother was murdered?
“She’s quite safe,” he said. “I saw where she went. She ran over to the forge. Dan will look after her.”
“Why did she go to Dan?”
“I suppose she needed someone to talk to. He’s my friend. Perhaps she thought he’d understand, make her understand. Perhaps she thought I’d discussed it with him.”
“Are they close, the two of them?”
“No,” he cried. “Not like that.”
“I’ll go over,” she said. “See what’s going on.”
“I’ll come with you:
“Best not. Give her a chance to think about it. Mind, I work for the police, not marriage guidance. I’ll not try to persuade her either way.” If she’s there. Alive and safe.
Back on the pavement she saw at once that there was now no light in the forge. She thought there had been when she’d left the pub, but she’d not heard a car leaving when she’d been talking to James. Standing just inside the hall, the door still open, she’d have heard, might even have heard the big doors being shut to, the snap of the padlock. She remembered what Dan’s young neighbour had said about his unloading after the trade fair. Perhaps there’d been a van parked in the yard in the back. Perhaps they’d left in that. But where would he take her?
All this she was thinking as she hurried across to the pottery, and then came the fanciful thought that she was like a piece of rubbish, blown backwards and forwards across the square.
The doors were bolted inside, but not padlocked. She banged on them with the flat of her hand, rattling them until her palms were stinging, but there was no reply and she moved on down the street, looking for a way into the yard at the back.
Access was through a tunnel, which cut through a terrace of houses. It led to an alley where domestic cars were parked. At the end of the alley was a set of wooden gates, now propped open, and the yard at the back of the pottery. There were no street lights in the alley, but it was lit from the windows at the back of the houses. This was considered private space and many hadn’t bothered to shut curtains. She had brief glimpses of ordinary lives: a mother hanging nappies on a radiator, an elderly man washing-up. In another room a young couple sat after a late supper, the kitchen table transformed for romance with a paper tablecloth, a candle and a bottle of wine.
The yard behind the pottery was empty. If Dan had been there with a van, he’d already gone. He must have Emma with him, unless he’d left her inside. Vera had a picture of her in the dusty storeroom, tied perhaps, scared, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Was she dead already? Strangled like her brother and her best friend? Vera shook her head, trying to clear away the nightmare. She wiped dust and cobwebs from the narrow windowpane with her sleeve and peered in, but it was dark inside and impossible to see. There was a small back door. She tried that, but it was locked. The paint was peeling from it, but the wood was sound and she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to break in. She leaned her shoulder against it and shoved. Nothing moved. She thumped on the door then put her ear to it and listened. There was no sound. She gave up.
James was watching from his window. As she approached the house the curtain fell back into place but she’d seen his white face pressed against the glass and the door opened before she knocked.
“She’s not there, is she? I can tell the place is all locked up.”
“Has she got a mobile phone?”
She watched panic flash across his face. “Like Christopher, you mean? You think there’s some connection?”
“No,” she said. “Not like Christopher. You could call her. Find out where she’s gone.”
He gave an embarrassed laugh, lifted the phone in the hall and dialled. Vera realized they were both holding their breath, that she was straining to hear Emma’s voice. From the kitchen came an electronic tune. Something lively which she recognized. Something from an old film. The Entertainer. Slowly James replaced the receiver. “That’s her mobile,” he said. “She must have left it here. Probably thought she wouldn’t need it in the pub. She knew I had mine with me.” He paused, made an effort to hold himself together. “She’ll be all right with Dan, though. He used to be a policeman.”
“Yes,” Vera said. “I know.”
She left him in the house. Someone had to be there, she said. Emma couldn’t come home and find the place empty. Besides, Dan might talk some sense into her. She would probably phone.
She sat in the car, knowing that James would be watching and expecting immediate action. People were coming out of the pub though it wasn’t quite closing time. Every time the door opened, there was a blast of music like cold air. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. There was the baby to think of too. It wasn’t like her to be indecisive and the lack of direction made her anxious, the first stage of panic. Her phone rang and she punched the button, glad to be distracted for the moment at least.
It was Ashworth. “You were right,” he said. “But then you always are.”
No, she thought. Not any more. My judgement’s worth nothing these days. I thought I was sure about Dan Greenwood. Once.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“On my way to the house. That’s what you want, is it?”
Is it? “Yes.”
“I’ll see you there, shall I?”
“Yes,” she s
aid again, more quickly, glad that the decision had been made for her.
“Are you all right?”
“Of course,” she said. “Of course.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Ashworth was sitting in his car at the end of the drive to Springhead. Vera pulled into a gateway leading into a small patch of woodland and walked down the road to join him. There was a smell of wet leaves and cows. She felt better, though anxiety about Emma had settled at the pit of her stomach, a dull ache. She couldn’t cope with breaking more bad news. And she couldn’t cope with being wrong about what had happened here. She climbed into the passenger seat. Joe was listening to the radio. Classic FM. He was doing an evening class in music appreciation. She reached over and switched it off.
“Well?” she said.
“I did as you suggested, talked to the neighbours. It wasn’t very useful at first. Most of them had moved in since the Winters left. It’s one of those classy areas where everyone’s too busy to wonder what’s going on behind closed doors. Big houses, lots of garden. Then I tracked down one elderly woman who remembered them. “A lovely family,” she said. “Such a shame when they moved.” He put on an old lady’s voice, high pitched, with a BBC accent. Vera thought he’d be good in the local pan to He could play the dame.
Joe went on. “She was a widow even then and she used to babysit for the Winters when the kids were small. Until they stopped asking. She’d been upset by that, wondered if she’d done something wrong, if the children had taken against her for some reason. It troubled her so much that she went to see Mary. “Of course I was worrying quite unnecessarily. One of Robert’s colleagues had a daughter who needed the money. It was only natural that they should ask her instead.”
“Ah,” Vera said. A sigh of relief and satisfaction.
“The colleague’s name is Maggie Sullivan. There’d only been four of them working together. Three architects and someone to run the office. Two of them an architect and the office manager had been close to retirement, a bit old to have teenage daughters, so it wasn’t hard to work out she was the most likely. She’s still working in York. When I explained what I was there for, she was only too pleased to see me. She felt guilty because she hadn’t gone to the police when it happened.”
