Crow Trap

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘Yes. Right from the beginning. Since he started working here again after leaving hospital. He didn’t have much routine in his existence but it was something he hung on to. A sort of superstition I think.’

  ‘What day was that?’

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘Do you know what he did?’

  ‘Not specifically but he always went out. Even if he’d been on a bit of a bender he usually managed to spruce himself up, have a shave. He’d leave the flat by about ten thirty.’

  ‘But he worked for you all those years and never told you where he went?’

  ‘I didn’t ask. None of my business. It could have been some sort of therapy, couldn’t it? Personal.’

  ‘It must have been somewhere local because Edmund didn’t drive. If it was therapy, after care, would that have been held in St Nick’s?’

  ‘He definitely didn’t go to the hospital. He told me it still gave him the jitters walking past and he never wanted to step foot in the place. Actually I don’t think it was anywhere in town. I saw him once in a queue at the bus stop near the harbour.’

  ‘Do you know where the bus was going?’

  ‘You must be joking. It was years ago. Even if I’d noticed I wouldn’t remember now.’

  On her way into Kimmerston, Vera passed the woman from the Station House. She was climbing over the wire mesh of the hen-run, carrying a shallow basket of eggs. She waved, then gestured a pantomime to show that she had plenty spare if Vera wanted any. The couple had rather taken Vera under their wing. She wondered if they knew what she did for a living and if they’d be quite so friendly if they found out.

  The police station in Kimmerston was red brick and gloomy, set right onto the pavement opposite the bus station. There was dusty blue paint and the brass handles on the outside doors were tarnished. Vera was tempted to stop and find out the times of the buses from the harbour to Kimmerston on a Wednesday morning. She thought that from her office window she could have seen Edmund get off one of the brown and cream buses. If this was where he was heading. Which she felt in her bones that it was.

  But she didn’t stop. If she went into work now she’d never get away. She drove on past the police station towards the car park near the shopping precinct. It was nearly nine o’clock and the traffic was heavy. She felt her blood pressure rising, resisted the temptation to hit her horn or stick up a finger at the slick young man in the silver Mondeo who pulled out in front of her.

  There was only one café in the shopping centre. Despite the delay, when she got there it was still closed. It faced into an enclosed square in the precinct. Sunlight streamed through the glass roof, formed patterns on the concrete as it shone through raindrops. There were white plastic tables and chairs on the paved square outside the shop, but they were piled one on top of the other. Patience had never been one of Vera’s virtues. She rattled the locked door of the café and began to bang on the glass.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  A middle-aged woman with a straight back and a fierce expression came up to her from behind.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘We don’t open until ten. There’s a machine in the arcade if you’re that desperate.’

  ‘I don’t want coffee,’ Vera snapped. ‘I want the answer to some questions.’

  She showed her warrant card. The woman was unimpressed.

  ‘Well, you should know better,’ she said. ‘What sort of impression does it give to the youngsters? This used to be a well-mannered town.’

  Vera muttered under her breath, stamping her feet impatiently as the woman unlocked the door and followed her in.

  ‘I might as well have a cup of coffee while I’m here,’ she said. Belligerently.

  ‘You’ll have to wait until I get the machine going. Unless you can make do with instant.’

  ‘Instant’ll do.’

  The woman plugged in the kettle, spooned powder into a mug. She took a green overall from a drawer and put it on, then set the steaming mug in front of Vera.

  ‘That’ll be sixty pence.’

  Vera wanted to argue but thought better of it and paid up.

  ‘It’s about some of your customers.’

  Despite herself the woman was curious. She stopped fidgeting with crockery in the kitchen and sat at Vera’s table. ‘What about them?’

  ‘I’m interested in a woman called Bella Furness. She came in here regularly on a Wednesday.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Wednesday’s our busiest day and I don’t know many customers by name. Not even the regulars.’

  Vera took out a snap which she’d nicked from the bedroom at Black Law. ‘That ring any bells?’

  ‘Oh aye. I remember her. Every Wednesday as regular as clockwork. A toasted tuna and sweetcorn followed by a chocolate meringue. Until a couple of months ago. She hasn’t been in lately. I wondered what I’d done to offend her. She was a bit on the brusque side. The sort who might take offence.’

  ‘She died,’ Vera said. ‘Was she here on her own?’

  ‘No. She usually met a gentleman friend.’

  Out of her large floppy briefcase Vera took a photograph of Edmund Fulwell, the one which had been shown in the local paper requesting information and which today would be on the front page of all the nationals. The woman apparently wasn’t interested in the news. At least she made no comment about having seen the photo before. ‘Aye,’ she said. ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘When you say gentleman friend, did you have the impression that they were romantically involved?’

  As she waited for an answer Vera wondered what Rachael would make of that. St Bella having a bit on the side. It could ruin her faith in human nature.

  The woman considered the question. ‘Hard to say. She was usually here before him. He arrived flustered as if it had been a bit of a rush. He always gave her a kiss. Only a peck on the cheek but at their age anything more wouldn’t have been seemly. Still, these days . . . Folks always seem to be kissing and hugging, don’t they? Even people who’ve only just met. So I don’t really know.’

  Vera contained her impatience. ‘But what’s your instinct? After having thought about it. You work with people all day. You must get a feel for things like that.’

  She was flattered, which was what Vera had intended. ‘I suppose you do. On balance then, I’d say close friends. Not lovers.’ She paused. ‘If anything I’d say he was more attracted to the other one.’

  ‘What other one?’

  ‘The other woman. She wasn’t in very often – perhaps three times all together. But when she was he made a fuss of her.’

  ‘Any idea of her name?’

  ‘None at all.’ She seemed pleased that she couldn’t help.

  ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘She was younger than them but not that much younger. She knew how to dress if you know what I mean. Perhaps a bit overdressed. Too smart for town on a Wednesday.’

  ‘Anything else you can tell me?’

  But the woman had already lost interest. She looked at her watch. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t really remember her. Just the impression that I got of her at the time.’

  ‘But if I showed you a photo you’d be able to say whether it was the woman or not?’

  ‘No, not a chance. Like I said, Wednesday’s a busy day.’

  Thanks, Vera thought, for nothing.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Vera walked back through the precinct to her car. The town was busier now, mostly with elderly people who couldn’t use their bus passes until after nine o’clock. One couple stood outside the grocer’s shop bickering about whether they should buy cabbage or turnip to go with their dinner.

  Vera had a stab of recognition which made her stop in her tracks. For a moment the woman, overweight, aggressive, seen reflected in the shop window, looked very much like her.

  What’ll I do when I retire?, she thought. I’ll not even have anyone to fight with.

  Then a young woma
n pushed a buggy into her shins. Vera turned and glowered and the brief moment of despair passed.

  She had intended to go back to the police station but at the last minute changed her mind and took the familiar road out of Kimmerston towards Langholme. Now that she had evidence that Bella and Edmund Fulwell had kept in touch since they’d left the hospital, she wished she’d listened more carefully when Rachael and Edie had been wittering on about the Nobles. But she thought she’d be able to rattle Charlie’s cage.

  The stables were quiet. A teenage girl in a green sweater with KIMMERSTON EQUESTRIAN CENTRE emblazoned on the breast was forking mucky straw into a barrow. Two stout middle-aged women prepared to mount their horses. Vera thought it all looked very prosperous and well-ordered. There was a customers’ car park, properly laid with tarmac, marked with white lines and bordered by wooden tubs full of bedding plants. Charlie had turned into a canny businessman just like his dad.

  She approached the girl.

  ‘Mr Noble?’

  The girl looked at her dubiously. Vera was wearing her floral crimplene dress and her sandals. ‘Do you want to book a ride?’

  ‘I want to talk to Mr Noble.’

  ‘I think he’s in the house. But he doesn’t really like being disturbed in the mornings.’

  ‘Why? What does he get up to?’

  The girl blushed, confused.

  ‘Only joking, pet,’ Vera said. ‘Never mind, I’ll find my own way.’

  She strode on, past the newly converted stable block to the freshly painted house, thinking that if she smelled anything at all, it was money.

  Charlie Noble himself opened the door. She didn’t think she’d have recognized him if she’d bumped into him in the street. He was younger than her. When she’d last seen him he’d hardly looked more than a schoolboy, spotty, graceless, obviously cowed by his bully of a father. He had the same expression but now he was old, stooped, bespectacled.

  ‘Yes?’ he said crossly. He was wearing a sweater and breeches. ‘I was just going out.’

  ‘Don’t you recognize me, Charlie?’ she asked, hearty as a jolly aunt.

  ‘I’m sorry . . .’ He hesitated, squinting at her over his specs.

  Good God, she thought. I must have aged as much as him. ‘Come on, Charlie. I may have put on a few pounds but I can’t have changed that much. Or perhaps you don’t recognize me without the uniform? We spent a lot of time together, you and I, in that mausoleum of a house when your dad passed away. Drinking cups of tea while we waited for the bosses to get their act together.’

  He stared at her. She thrust out her hand, grasped his unresisting one. ‘Vera Stanhope,’ she said, beaming. ‘Inspector now. Only a constable then.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stepped back from her as if she was a dog you had to treat with caution. ‘I remember.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in then? A cup of tea for old times’ sake.’

  ‘I was going out,’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘You must have a few minutes for a chat. And I’d like to meet your lady wife.’

  She stepped past him into the house. ‘Mrs Noble!’ she shouted into the silence. ‘You’ve got a visitor. Put the kettle on, pet.’

  They drank filter coffee in the room where Edie and Rachael had been taken on their last visit. Louise carried it in. She was wearing a sleeveless linen dress, navy, very smart, and said breathlessly that she’d leave them to it. She was meeting some friends for lunch and she needed to get ready.

  ‘You look ready enough to me,’ Vera said. ‘I’ll not keep you now but I’d be grateful if you could spare me a few minutes of your precious time later. Before you leave.’ She smiled fondly.

  Louise shot a look at her husband. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course.’ She backed out of the room and shut the door.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Charles said.

  ‘Well, I’m not just here for a chat though it’s always nice to catch up on old acquaintances. It’s about Bella.’

  ‘I didn’t know anything about her suicide before those women came to tell me.’

  ‘So they said. Shocking, isn’t it? All those years living just up the valley and never met.’ Vera paused. ‘She killed the old man for you, didn’t she, Charlie?’

  He stared at her in horror.

  ‘I thought so at the time, though I was only a plod and a girl at that so who would listen to me? When I came to the slaughterhouse to tell you your dad was dead you were expecting it. But you were very good. Have you ever thought of joining the Kimmerston Amateur Dramatic Society? They’re always short of a strong male lead. But you weren’t really surprised.’

  He started to splutter a response but she wouldn’t allow him to speak.

  ‘Did he beat you up when you were a kid?’

  There was a silence. A nerve in his cheek twitched angrily.

  ‘Not just when I was a kid. Until he got ill.’

  ‘So she felt guilty for leaving you there, going away to college, being a teacher, enjoying every minute of it. And I bet you made her feel guilty. Why didn’t you leave yourself?’

  ‘I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. And I didn’t have any qualifications. What could I have done?’

  ‘Didn’t have the guts,’ Vera said dismissively. ‘It wasn’t only the old man who wanted her back, was it? It was you as well.’

  ‘You don’t know what it was like.’

  ‘No?’ She spoke softly, deliberately. ‘Listen, Charlie, you understand nothing about me or what I know.’

  ‘It was just talk, wishful thinking. I didn’t really mean her to kill him.’

  ‘Didn’t you? But you planned it. And every day you put pressure on her. So she had the old man on her back all day and you all night. No wonder she cracked.’ She poured herself more coffee. ‘How did you know it was going to be that day?’

  He stood up and stared out of the window so he had his back to her. Pretending that she wasn’t there, that he couldn’t hear her.

  ‘You had such a lot to gain,’ Vera went on. ‘We would have thought it was you, if you’d had the opportunity. That’s why it was such a good day for it to happen. You were at work with all those witnesses. Not just your colleagues, but the Ministry of Agriculture inspector. And you didn’t leave your office, did you? Except for five minutes to go to the lav. Did you phone her then? Tell her that you couldn’t stand any more of the old man’s bullying? If something didn’t happen soon you’d top yourself? And God knows why but she cared about you. Like I said, she cracked.’

  He continued to look into the distance, gave no indication that he’d heard her.

  ‘But I’m not here to discuss that now,’ Vera said conversationally. ‘That’s all water under the bridge. No one took any notice of me then. They might now, but what point would there be in mentioning it? It’s not a crime to make a phone call.’

  Charles turned back to face her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘So why don’t you get your lovely wife in for a chat and we’ll say no more about it.’

  She watched him carefully as he left the room, making sure he understood the threat implied in the last remark.

  When Louise came into the room Vera stood up as if they’d never met before, as if it was someone else entirely who’d brought in the coffee earlier.

  ‘Come on, Charlie,’ she said jovially. ‘You make the introductions.’ When he didn’t speak immediately she went on, ‘My name’s Stanhope. Inspector Vera Stanhope. I want a few words about Bella Furness.’

  ‘I’ve never met her.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to her though, on the phone. Edie Lambert told me.’ Vera thought the Nobles were two of a kind. Neither seemed able to face the real world.

  ‘Only once.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’

  ‘It was a week before she died. It can’t have had anything to do with her suicide.’

  Vera watched Louise calmly. Again she was reminded of a girl. A child who, accused of being naughty, cover
s up too eagerly, too elaborately with lies. And yet, so far, she had been accused of nothing. An idea formed.

  ‘I’m surprised that she only phoned once. She said she would call back. You’d think she’d want to speak to her brother, her only relative before she died.’ She turned to Charles. ‘Are you certain she didn’t speak to you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  And you wouldn’t dare lie, Vera thought. Not with what I’ve got on you.

  ‘Mrs Noble?’

  The woman twisted her coffee cup in its saucer.

  ‘I can understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to the Lamberts,’ Vera continued. ‘Why should you? Two nosey women turning up late at night, wanting to know your business. But this is different. This is a police matter. Besides, we could always check the telephone records for the relevant dates.’

  Louise looked up. ‘She did phone. Later that week.’

  ‘You didn’t say.’ Charles was stunned, hurt. Poor dear, Vera thought maliciously. This has all been too much for him.

  ‘What did she want?’ she asked.

  ‘To speak to Charles. But he was away for the weekend. Some of our young riders were at a show in Richmond and he’d gone with them. I told her that. She said I’d have to do. She couldn’t wait.’ Louise hesitated. ‘She said she needed her money.’

  ‘What money would that be?’ Vera’s voice was bland.

  ‘When he sold their father’s house he put the money into an account for her.’

  ‘In her name,’ Vera said. ‘Of course. Edie Lambert told me.’

  ‘No,’ Charles said. Not in her name. It was a separate account, but I signed for it. Of course it was meant for her.’

  ‘Ah’

  ‘We hadn’t heard anything from her. She’d been out of prison for years, but not bothered to get in touch. We didn’t know where she was. The money was just lying there.’

  ‘So you spent it?’

  ‘We invested it in the business. We need to expand. Holiday cottages. A leisure complex. We’ve our daughter to think of. I saw it as an investment for Bella.’

  It was hard to see the Nobles as ruthless business tycoons. They were too pathetic. So what had driven them? Vera thought they were like spoilt children with a bag of sweeties. They’d wanted the cash. They didn’t want to share it. So they’d taken it. There was no more to it than that.