Crow Trap

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘Was he as you would have expected?’

  ‘More together, I’d say. More rational. I was afraid it would start his drinking again but he was sober. I asked him if I could help in any way. He said not yet. He needed to sort things out in his own mind first. But it must all have been a brave show. When we went back a week later he’d disappeared.’

  ‘Did you have the feeling that he knew something about Grace’s death? Not that he’d killed her, I don’t mean that. But some idea about what might have been the reason for it. I’m looking into a motive for his own murder. If he’d worked out who killed Grace it’s possible he was murdered so he couldn’t tell anyone else.’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. I just took him to mean that he needed to come to terms with the fact that his daughter was dead. They hadn’t been conventionally close but he was very fond of her. Very proud.’

  ‘You said that Bella Noble was in the same group as Edmund. What group was that?’

  ‘One of the first things I did when I went to St Nick’s was to develop the idea of group therapy. The patients were isolated, not used to trusting people. If you’ve been you’ll know what it’s like. Everyone sitting in his own private hell staring at the telly or at those bloody fish. Bella and Edmund were in the first group. I wanted it to be a success so I chose the participants carefully. Not just those I thought would get most out of it but people who could make it work. Bella was one of those. She was solid as a rock. All the same I think she benefited as much as anyone.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘You know she killed her father?’

  Vera nodded.

  ‘She’d never talked about it. Before the trial her lawyers persuaded her to plead guilty to manslaughter. They told her hospital would be better than prison. In the secure hospital she was isolated and uncommunicative. That was one of the reasons they kept her in. At first in the group she was as silent as ever. She’d join in the exercises and give support to everyone else but she wouldn’t talk about herself. Of course the others loved that. Most of us would rather have an audience than listen to other people’s troubles. It was Edmund who persuaded her to tell us what had happened. He said, “You’re not a stupid woman. Even if it was hell at home I don’t understand why you didn’t just walk away from it.”’

  ‘And Bella said it wasn’t only herself she had to worry about.’

  Christina looked at Vera with respect. ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Since Bella died I’ve had a long conversation with her brother. He won’t admit to anything. Nothing we could charge him with at least, but I understand what sort of pressure she was under.’

  ‘I didn’t realize Bella was dead too.’

  Vera gave an expurgated version of the story which led up to Bella’s suicide. ‘She and Edmund stayed friends.’

  ‘Did they?’ Christina seemed pleased. ‘Couldn’t he have helped her out financially? His family was loaded.’

  ‘I don’t think he saw any of their money.’

  ‘No, I don’t think he did. None of them ever came to visit him in hospital. Except Grace.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her?’

  ‘Not to speak to. I saw her occasionally, hovering in the distance. Waiting for him.’

  ‘Sometimes I feel she’s doing that to me. Hovering in the distance waiting for me to sort out what happened to her.’

  ‘I’d help more if I could.’

  Vera pounced. ‘Could you give me a list of everyone in the group? Not now. Write it down. Names if possible and something on the background of each of them.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I realize it’s difficult after all this time.’

  ‘It’s not that. At least not only that. In one of the boxes in the workshop there are notes. I always meant to turn them into a book. Or at least into a paper. It’s more a question of confidentiality.’

  ‘I’ll come here. I won’t take the list away. You knew them. Grace, Edmund and Bella. I don’t want the medical details. They wouldn’t mean anything. More your personal impression. A reason.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘OK.’

  Patrick must have been listening at the door because he came in that moment with tea. He talked about flutes and folk bands and about how now he’d got a kid he’d really have to get more involved in the fight to keep music in schools. The baby stirred and Christina started to unbutton her tunic to feed her. Hurriedly Vera said it was time to leave and that she’d see herself out. She left them, sitting together on the sofa, bickering amiably about the baby’s name.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  When Vera arrived back at Kimmerston it was seven o’clock. She bought chips from the fish shop opposite the police station. The skeletal middle-aged man in the long apron behind the counter recognized her in the queue and served her first, handing the greasy parcel over the heads of the people waiting, waving away her money, saying he’d take it off her next time.

  Still eating the chips she stood at the door of the big room where Joe Ashworth was working, staring glassy eyed at a computer screen.

  ‘Where are the other buggers?’ she demanded.

  ‘Still working through the guest list from Holme Park. Lots of them were out during the day.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘No one saw anyone going into the house at the end of the Avenue. No one saw a car parked outside. There were people on foot going up to the Hall but descriptions are pretty sketchy.’

  ‘Have you managed to contact Neville Furness yet?’

  ‘He’s been out on a site visit. And not answering his mobile.’ Reluctantly he turned away from the screen. ‘What about you?’

  ‘More evidence that Bella and Edmund were very close. At the hospital they confided in each other, trusted each other. But as to how relevant that is now?’ She shrugged. Rolled the chip paper into a ball and lobbed it towards a waste bin.

  ‘Anne Preece has been trying to get in touch with you.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘She wouldn’t tell me. Implied it was women’s stuff. Anyway, she said she’ll be in all evening if you want to give her a ring.’

  Vera felt more cheerful. It was a reprieve. She could put off for several hours her return to the house by the railway with its ghost of her father. And of herself as a child, lonely, ugly as a bagful of nails. Once, at an attempt at kindness, Hector had said, ‘I wouldn’t mind, you know, if you’d like to bring a friend back to tea.’ She hadn’t told him there was no one to ask and worried for weeks that he would mention it again.

  I should sell the place, she thought. Get out. Buy a flat in Kimmerston. Something small and easy to manage. Rent even. Spend the profit on a few holidays abroad and a smart new car.

  But she wouldn’t. It was an impossible dream, like winning the lottery. She was tied to the house and the memories of it. Better the ghosts than no sense of belonging at all. She realized that Ashworth was staring at her, waiting for her perhaps to pick up the phone to call Anne.

  ‘I’ll go and see her,’ Vera said. ‘She might have remembered something. It’s better done face to face.’

  ‘Do you want me to come?’ He put as much enthusiasm as he could summon into the question but she wasn’t deceived.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Go home to your babby.’ She thought of Patrick and Christina in their house overlooking the Tyne and wondered what was wrong with her. Even when she’d been younger the thought of producing kids had made her feel ill. ‘The other bastards on the team’ll be home already. They’ll have their feet up in front of the telly. Why shouldn’t you?’

  He was already piling papers away into a drawer, stuffing his thermos flask into his briefcase.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘If you’re sure . . .’ And he was gone before she could change her mind.

  There was no reply when Vera rang the doorbell of the Priory. House martins flew into a nest under the eaves. Clouds of insects hung in the still air. Vera wandered round to the garden at the back of the hous
e and found Anne, standing out against a border of shrubs and plants with deep red blooms. She was edging the lawn, pushing the half moon of steel into the ground with a heavy boot, slicing away the untidy turf. She was dressed in jeans and a sleeveless vest and Vera thought she was wearing well. She didn’t hear Vera until the inspector was halfway across the grass and then she turned, startled. In that first unguarded moment Vera thought she was expecting someone else. Or perhaps hoping for someone else, because she seemed not only surprised but momentarily disappointed.

  ‘There was no need to come out all this way,’ Anne said. ‘It’s not urgent. I just phoned to make an appointment. I’d have come into Kimmerston.’

  She seemed flustered and Vera thought she hadn’t sorted out yet exactly what she wanted to say. She hadn’t got her story straight.

  ‘It’s no problem.’ Vera looked admiringly round the garden. ‘There’s some work gone into this, mind. It’s like something out of a Sunday paper.’

  ‘I love it. I’d really miss it if I had to leave.’

  ‘Is that on the cards?’

  Anne straightened up. ‘I don’t know. The time at Baikie’s was to give me a chance to sort out what I wanted. I don’t seem any closer to making a decision.’

  ‘What about your husband?’

  ‘Jeremy? I haven’t talked to him. He’s got problems of his own. His business isn’t doing brilliantly. Besides, I can never really take him seriously.’

  ‘I always find it’s dangerous,’ Vera said, ‘to underestimate anyone to that extent.’

  ‘Do you?’ Anne gave an awkward little laugh. ‘What a peculiar thing to say. Jeremy wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s not in this evening. Some meeting with a business contact in Newcastle. Someone who’s going to make him a fortune. Apparently. Jem’s always optimistic’

  ‘I’d like to have met him,’ Vera said easily. ‘But I suppose now we can chat in peace. Over a beer perhaps. If you’ve got any beer in the fridge. After the day I’ve had I could do with a drink.’

  They sat in the kitchen with the back door open so they could hear the last of the birdsong outside. At the end of the garden the hill rose steeply. Its shadow edged towards them.

  ‘Well?’ Vera demanded. What can I do for you?’ She was pouring lager carefully into a straight pint glass. ‘Have you remembered anything about finding Edmund?’

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that. I’m not sure that I should say . . .’

  ‘I could have had a beer in my own house. And I’ve not come all this way to look at the scenery. So spit it out. It’s not your place to decide what’s important. You can leave that to me.’

  ‘I wondered if you’ve talked to Barbara Waugh.’

  ‘Who’s she when she’s at home?’

  ‘Wife of Godfrey, the quarry boss. And a partner in the business, I think.’

  ‘I talked to him briefly after Grace was killed to try to get a handle on that Environmental Impact report. I’ve had no cause to speak to the wife. Is she a friend of yours?’

  ‘Not exactly. I met her first more than a year ago. Slateburn Quarries had put some money into a Northumberland Wildlife Trust reserve and the Waughs were there for the opening. She came up to me and started talking about the Black Law development. She must have heard that I opposed it. I was expecting an earful but she was very generous. She even invited me to her home for lunch.’

  ‘What was all that about? Was she nobbling the opposition?’

  ‘No. She wasn’t very happy about the quarry either. She felt the company was being bumped into it.’ Anne paused. ‘She made allegations, all of them unspecific, about Neville Furness. That he was a ruthless businessman. That he had more influence on her husband than she thought was healthy. She even implied some sort of blackmail. She said that was why Godfrey was so single-minded about the Black Law development. If it was left to her she’d favour a more flexible approach.’

  ‘She didn’t say what grounds Neville might have had for blackmail?’

  Anne turned away, stared out into the garden. ‘No. It was all very vague.’

  ‘Did you believe her?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure. Not then. But what reason would she have to lie?’

  ‘Have you seen her since?’

  ‘Just before the party at Holme Park. She’d phoned here several times the week before and left messages with Jeremy. I went to have tea. The daughter was there. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t talk but I think something had happened. There’d been some threat. She seemed terrified but she wouldn’t tell me what was wrong.’

  ‘Do you think her husband beats her up?’

  ‘No!’

  The answer, instant and vehement, surprised Vera. ‘It does happen,’ she said mildly. ‘Even in the best of families.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s what frightened her. I wondered if it had anything to do with Neville Furness. And now he seems to be taking an interest in Rachael . . .’

  ‘You think I should find out what’s at the bottom of it. Did you mention any of this to Rachael?’

  ‘I tried to warn her but she’s besotted.’

  ‘Has she seen him again?’

  ‘I think so. She phoned last night to see how I was and I thought I could hear his voice in the background.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Vera drained her glass and set it regretfully on the table. ‘Edie won’t let her do anything silly.’

  ‘Edie won’t be able to stop her if she sets her mind to it.’

  ‘I’ll have a word. Find out what’s going on.’

  ‘Will you talk to Barbara Waugh?’

  ‘Do you want me to?’

  ‘Something was scaring her. She wouldn’t tell me. She might talk to you. But don’t let on I sent you.’

  ‘So I just drop in, do I, to have a friendly chat and a cup of tea as I’m passing?’

  ‘I told you. She’s a partner in the business. Isn’t that excuse enough?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Vera sensed that Anne wanted rid of her but she was reluctant to go. There’s something you’re not telling me, lady, she thought. But what is it? She sat, waited.

  ‘I thought I might go back to college,’ Anne said suddenly. ‘Try for a degree in environmental science. Get a real job so I can pay my own way.’

  Is that all it was, Vera thought. You didn’t want to admit to academic pretensions. But she wasn’t convinced. ‘Why not?’ she said out loud. ‘You might find yourself a toyboy.’

  It was a flip remark because she could think of nothing better but Anne seemed embarrassed.

  ‘Or have you already found one?’

  ‘No,’ Anne said. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I’d better go then. Thanks for the beer.’

  Anne showed her out through the house to the main door. In the hall there was a picture of Jeremy at a do, flamboyant in a silk bow tie.

  At the door Vera hesitated. ‘Do you ever go into that coffee shop in the precinct?’

  This time she was sure Anne flushed. ‘Occasionally. Why?’

  ‘Bella Furness used to go in every Wednesday. At lunchtime. Did you ever meet her?’

  ‘No. I’m sure I didn’t.’

  So who did you meet, Vera thought. Edmund Fulwell or someone altogether different?

  At home she drank whisky because there was no beer, phoned Edie to make an appointment to see her the following day, watched an Orson Welles movie on the television and fell asleep before the Aberdeen sleeper rumbled past. As she drifted off she thought of Neville Furness. Dreaming, she confused him with a pirate she’d read about as a girl in a favourite picture book. She must have had a last moment of lucidity before sleep because she wondered suddenly why it had been so hard to pin him down for an interview.

  Chapter Sixty

  Conventional policing had drawn a blank. Even her boss who was a believer in persistence and routine, who was convention personified, who knew nothing else, had to admit that. By the time the team met the following morning they had contacted ever
yone on the Holme Park guest list but they were no further forward. It seemed that the heat and the drink had dulled the partygoers’ senses. They could remember snatches of gossip – an amusing conversation with an ex-diplomat from Tokyo, a ravishing frock, a tired and emotional old woman eating strawberries – but nothing outside this social contact. Certainly nothing as prosaic as whether a car had been parked outside the semis at the end of the Avenue.

  Vera’s instinct was always to keep important information to herself until she was sure of it. As a young detective other people had taken credit for her work, mocked her when details hadn’t checked out. Now she built a case privately, discussing it, if at all, with Ashworth. He accused her of paranoia, occasionally protecting her when her refusal to co-operate got her into bother. Now she realized secrecy wouldn’t do. The team was dispirited. The troops needed something to keep them going. A story they could believe in.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ she said, grinning at their confusion because it was the last thing they expected. ‘Once upon a time there were two brothers. Let’s call them Robert and Edmund. Good old-fashioned English names. The elder brother was good and dutiful and did as his mother told him. As a reward he inherited the big house and the family business. He married a pretty young girl who gave him sons. The younger brother was a wastrel and a drunkard. He got a local lass pregnant and had to marry her. Then he ran away to sea. The wife committed suicide and the daughter, who if she wasn’t beautiful was certainly clever, was taken away by social workers.

  ‘Now when the younger son returned from his adventures he wasn’t treated like the prodigal son in the Bible story. Nobody loved him. Nobody except his daughter and the barmy old woman who’d looked after him as a boy.’ She looked up at them, asked sharply. ‘With me so far?’

  They nodded at her, compliant as kids in a kindergarten. They might think she was a barmy old woman but no one was prepared to risk a confrontation.

  ‘I’ve come to realize that what Edmund loved, more than his clever daughter even, was the countryside where he grew up. He loved it so much that when his enemies planned to build a quarry there he forced his daughter to tell lies for him. They wanted to bring machines to dig out the rock and he couldn’t stand the thought of it. It became an obsession.’