The Breaker

by Minette Walters

  ‘Why would I think he was making a nuisance of himself?’

  She gave an irritated toss of her head. ‘Because it would make things easier for you if he was,’ she suggested.

  ‘How?’

  ‘You want him to be the rapist, don’t you? Nick certainly does.’

  Galbraith’s grey eyes appraised her coolly. ‘There’s a little more to rape than making a nuisance of yourself. Kate Sumner had been dosed with a sleeping drug, she had abrasions to her back, strangle marks at her neck, rope burns to her wrists, broken fingers and a ruptured vagina. She was then thrown . . . alive . . . into the sea by someone who undoubtedly knew she was a poor swimmer and wouldn’t be able to save herself, even assuming she came round from the effects of the drug. She was also pregnant when she died which means her baby was murdered with her.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I realize that you’re a very busy person and that the death of an unknown woman is hardly a priority in your life, but PC Ingram and I take it more seriously, probably because we both saw Kate’s body and were distressed by it.’

  She looked at her hands. ‘I apologize,’ she said.

  ‘We don’t ask questions for the fun of it,’ said Galbraith without hostility. ‘Matter of fact, most of us find this sort of case very stressful, although the public rarely recognizes it.’

  She raised her head and there was the glimmer of a smile in her dark eyes. ‘Point taken,’ she said. ‘The problem is, I get the impression you’re homing in on Steve Harding just because he was there, and that seems unreasonable.’

  Galbraith exchanged a glance with Ingram. ‘There are other reasons why we’re interested in him,’ he said, ‘but the only one I’m prepared to tell you at the moment is that he’d known the dead woman for quite some time. For that reason alone we’d be investigating him, whether he was at Chapman’s Pool on Sunday or not.’

  She was thoroughly startled. ‘He didn’t say he knew her.’

  ‘Would you have expected him to? He told us he never saw the body.’

  She turned to Ingram. ‘He can’t have done, can he? He said he was walking from St Alban’s Head.’

  ‘There’s a very good view of Egmont Bight from the coastal path up there,’ Ingram reminded her. ‘If he had a pair of binoculars, he could have picked her out quite easily.’

  ‘But he didn’t,’ she protested. ‘All he had was a telephone. You made that point yourself.’

  Galbraith debated with himself how to put the next question and opted for a straightforward approach. The woman must have a stallion or two in her stables, so she was hardly likely to faint at the mention of a penis. ‘Nick says Harding had an erection when he first saw him on Sunday. Would you agree?’

  ‘Either that or he’s incredibly well endowed.’

  ‘Were you the cause of it, do you think?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. ‘My feeling at the time was that it was probably the girl on the boat who had got him excited. Walk along Studland beach any sunny day and you’ll find a hundred randy eighteen- to twenty-four-year-olds cowering in the water because their dicks react independently of their brains. It’s hardly a crime.’

  Galbraith shook his head. ‘You’re a good-looking woman, Miss Jenner, and he was standing close to you. Did you encourage him in any way?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It is important.’

  ‘Why? All I know is the poor bloke wasn’t in absolute control of himself.’ She sighed. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about the woman. But if Steve was involved, then he never gave me any indication of it. As far as I was concerned, he was a young man out for a walk who made a phone call on behalf of a couple of children.’

  Galbraith laid a forefinger on a page of his notes. ‘This is a quote from Danny Spender,’ he said. ‘Tell me how true it is. “He was chatting up the lady with the horse but I don’t think she liked him as much as he liked her.” Is that what was happening?’

  ‘No, of course it wasn’t,’ she said with annoyance, as if the idea of being chatted-up was pure anathema to her, ‘though I suppose it might have looked like that to the children. I said he was brave for grabbing Bertie by the collar, so he seemed to think that laughing a lot and slapping Jasper on the rump would impress the boys. In the end I had to move the animals into the shade to get them away from him. Jasper’s amenable to most things, but not to having his bottom smacked every two minutes, and I didn’t want to be prosecuted if he lashed out suddenly.’

  ‘So was Danny right about you not liking him?’

  ‘I don’t see that it matters,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘It’s a subjective thing. I’m not a very sociable person so liking people isn’t my strong point.’

  ‘What was wrong with him?’ he went on imperturbably.

  ‘Oh, God, this is ridiculous!’ she snapped. ‘Nothing. He was perfectly pleasant from beginning to end of our conversation.’ She cast an angry sideways glance towards Ingram. ‘Almost ridiculously polite, in fact.’

  ‘So why didn’t you like him?’

  She breathed deeply through her nose, clearly at war with herself about whether to answer or not. ‘He was a toucher,’ she said with a spurt of anger. ‘All right? Is that what you wanted? I have a thing against men who can’t keep their hands to themselves, Inspector, but it doesn’t make them rapists or murderers. It’s just the way they are.’ She took another deep breath. ‘And while we’re on the subject – just to show you how little faith you can put in my judgement of men – I wouldn’t trust any of you further than I could throw you. If you want to know why, ask Nick.’ She gave a hollow laugh as Galbraith lowered his eyes. ‘I see he’s already told you. Still . . . if you want the juicier details of my relationship with my bigamous husband, apply in writing and I’ll see what I can do for you.’

  The DI, reminded of Sandy Griffiths’s similar caveat regarding her judgement of Sumner, ignored the tantrum. ‘Are you saying Harding touched you, Miss Jenner?’

  She gave him a withering glance. ‘Of course not. I never gave him the opportunity.’

  ‘But he touched your animals, and that’s what put you against him?’

  ‘No,’ she said crossly. ‘It was the boys he couldn’t keep his hands off. It was all very macho . . . hail-fellow-well-met stuff . . . you know, a lot of punching of shoulders and high fives . . . to be honest it’s why I thought he was their father. The little one didn’t like it much – he kept pushing him away – but the older one revelled in it.’ She smiled rather cynically. ‘It’s the kind of shallow emotion you only ever see in Hollywood movies so I wasn’t in the least bit surprised when he told Nick he was an actor.’

  Galbraith exchanged a questioning glance with Ingram.

  ‘I’d say that’s an accurate description,’ admitted the constable honestly. ‘He was very friendly towards Paul.’

  ‘How friendly?’

  ‘Very,’ said Ingram. ‘And Miss Jenner’s right. Danny kept pushing him away.’

  ‘Child seducer?’ wrote Galbraith in his notebook. ‘Did you see Steve abandon a rucksack on the hillside before he took the boys down to Nick’s car?’ he asked Maggie then.

  She was looking at him rather oddly. ‘The first time I saw him was at the boatsheds,’ she said.

  ‘Did you see him retrieve it after Nick drove the boys away?’

  ‘I wasn’t watching him.’ Her forehead creased into lines of concern. ‘Look . . . aren’t you jumping to conclusions again? When I said he was touching the boys I didn’t mean . . . that is . . . it wasn’t inappropriate . . . just, well, overdone, if you like.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What I’m trying to say is I don’t think he’s a paedophile.’

  ‘Have you ever met one, Miss Jenner?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, they don’t have two heads, you know. Nevertheless, point taken,’ he assured her in a conscious echo of what she’d said herself. Gallantly he lifted his untouched mug from the f
loor and drank it down before taking a card from his wallet and passing it across. ‘That’s my number,’ he said, getting up. ‘If anything occurs to you that you think’s important, you can always reach me there. Thank you for your help.’

  She nodded, watching as Ingram moved away from the window. ‘You haven’t drunk your coffee,’ she said with a malicious gleam in her eyes. ‘Perhaps you’d have preferred it with sugar after all. I always find the mouse droppings sink to the bottom.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘But dog hairs don’t, Miss Jenner.’ He put on his cap and straightened the peak. ‘My regards to your mother.’

  Kate Sumner’s papers and private possessions had filled several boxes, which the investigators had been working their way through methodically for three days, trying to build a picture of the woman’s life. There was nothing to link her with Steven Harding, or with any other man.

  Everyone in her address book was contacted without results. They proved, without exception, to be people she had met since moving to the south coast and matched a neat Christmas card list in the bottom drawer of the bureau in the sitting room. An exercise book was found in one of the kitchen cupboards, inscribed: ‘Weekly Diary’, but turned out, disappointingly, to be a precise record of what she spent on food and household bills, and tallied, give or take a pound or two, with the allowance William paid her.

  Her correspondence was composed almost entirely of business letters, usually referring to work on the house, although there were a few private letters from friends and acquaintances in Lymington, her mother-in-law, and one, with a date in July, from Polly Garrard at Pharmatec UK.

  Dear Kate,

  It’s ages since we had a chat and every time I ring the phone’s off the hook or you’re not there. Give me a buzz when you can. I’m dying to hear how you and Hannah are getting on in Lymington. It’s a waste of time asking William. He just nods and says: ‘Fine.’

  I’d really love to see the house since you’ve had all the decorating done. Maybe I could take a day off and visit you when William’s at work? That way he can’t complain if all we do is sit and gossip. Do you remember Wendy Plater? She got drunk a couple of weeks ago at lunchtime and called Purdy ‘a tight-arsed prick’ because he was in the hall when she came staggering back late and he told her he was going to dock her wages. God, it was funny! He would have sacked her on the spot if good old Trew hadn’t spoken up for her. She had to apologize, but she doesn’t regret any of it. She says she’s never seen Purdy go purple before!

  I thought of you immediately, of course, which is why I’ve been ringing. It really is ages. Do call. Thinking of you,

  Love,

  Polly Garrard

  Attached to it by paper clip was the draft of an answer from Kate.

  Dear Polly,

  Hannah and I are doing well, and of course you must come and visit us. I’m a bit busy at the moment, but will ring as soon as I can. The house looks great. You’ll love it.

  You promised on your honour The story about Wendy Plater was really funny!

  Hope all’s well with you.

  Speak soon,

  Love,

  Kate

  The Spender brothers’ parents looked worried when Ingram asked if he and DI Galbraith could talk to Paul in private. ‘What’s he done?’ asked the father.

  Ingram removed his cap and smoothed his dark hair with the flat of his hand. ‘Nothing as far as I know,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s just a few routine questions, that’s all.’

  ‘Then why do you want to talk to him in private?’

  Ingram’s frank gaze held his. ‘Because the dead woman was naked, Mr Spender, and Paul’s embarrassed to talk about it in front of you and your wife.’

  The man gave a snort of amusement. ‘He must think we’re the most frightful prudes.’

  Ingram’s smile broadened. ‘Just parents,’ he said. He gestured towards the lane in front of their rented cottage. ‘He’ll probably feel more comfortable if he talks to us outside.’

  In the event Paul was surprisingly open about Steven Harding’s ‘friendliness’. ‘I reckon he fancied Maggie and was trying to impress her by how good he was with kids,’ he told the policemen. ‘My uncle’s always doing it. If he comes to our house on his own he doesn’t bother to talk to us, but if he brings one of his girlfriends he puts his arms round our shoulders and tells us jokes. It’s only to make them think he’d be a good father.’

  Galbraith chuckled. ‘And that’s what Steve was doing?’

  ‘Must have been. He got much more friendly after she turned up.’

  ‘Did you notice him playing with his phone at all?’

  ‘You mean the way Danny says?’

  Galbraith nodded.

  ‘I didn’t watch him because I didn’t want to be rude, but Danny’s pretty sure about it, and he should know because he was staring at him all the time.’

  ‘So why was Steve doing that, do you think?’

  ‘Because he forgot we were there,’ said the boy.

  ‘In what way exactly?’

  Paul showed the first signs of embarrassment. ‘Well, you know,’ he said earnestly, ‘he sort of did it without thinking . . . my dad often does things without thinking, like licking his knife in restaurants. Mum gets really angry about it.’

  Galbraith gave a nod of agreement. ‘You’re a bright lad. I should have thought of that myself.’ He stroked the side of his freckled face, considering the problem. ‘Still, rubbing yourself with a telephone’s a bit different from licking your knife. You don’t think it’s more likely he was showing off?’

  ‘He looked at a girl through the binoculars,’ Paul offered. ‘Maybe he was showing off to her?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Galbraith pretended to ponder some more. ‘You don’t think it’s more likely he was showing off to you and Danny?’

  ‘Well . . . he talked a lot about ladies he’d seen in the nude, but I sort of got the feeling most of it wasn’t true . . . I think he was trying to make us feel better.’

  ‘Does Danny agree with you?’

  The boy shook his head. ‘No, but that doesn’t mean anything. He reckons Steve stole his T-shirt so he doesn’t like him.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s just an excuse because he’s lost it and Mum gave him an earbashing. It’s got DERBY FC on the front and it cost a fortune.’

  ‘Did Danny have it with him on Sunday?’

  ‘He says it was in the bundle round the binoculars but I don’t remember it.’

  ‘Okay.’ Galbraith nodded again. ‘So what does Danny think Steve was up to?’

  ‘He reckons he’s a paedophile,’ said Paul matter-of-factly.

  WPC Sandra Griffiths whistled tunelessly to herself as she made a cup of tea in the kitchen at Langton Cottage. Hannah was sitting mesmerized in front of the television in the sitting room, while Sandy was blessing the memory of whatever genius had invented the electronic nanny. She turned towards the fridge in search of milk and found William Sumner standing directly behind her. ‘Did I frighten you?’ he asked as she gave a little start of surprise.

  You know you did, you stupid bastard . . . ! She forced a smile to her face to disguise the fact that he was beginning to give her the creeps. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘That’s what Kate used to say. She’d get quite angry about it sometimes.’

  Who can blame her . . .? She was beginning to think of him as a voyeur, a man who got his rocks off by secretly watching a woman go about her business. She had stopped counting the number of times she’d glimpsed him peering round a door jamb like an unwelcome intruder in his own house. She put distance between herself and him by removing the teapot to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. There was a lengthy silence during which he sulkily kicked the toe of his shoe against the table leg, shoving the top in little jerks against her belly.

  ‘You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?’ he said suddenly.

&nbs
p; ‘What makes you think that?’ she asked as she held the table firm against his kicks.

  ‘You were afraid last night.’ He looked pleased, as if the idea excited him, and she wondered how important it was to him to feel superior.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she declared bluntly, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke deliberately in his direction. ‘Trust me, if I’d been remotely afraid, I’d have taken your fucking balls off. Cripple first and ask questions later, that’s my motto.’

  ‘I don’t like you smoking or swearing in this house,’ he said with another petulant kick at the table leg.

  ‘Then put in a complaint,’ she answered. ‘It just means I’ll be reassigned.’ She held his gaze for a moment. ‘And that wouldn’t suit you one little bit, would it? You’re too damn used to having an unpaid skivvy about the place.’

  Ready tears sprang to his eyes. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like. Everything worked so well before. And now . . . well, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.’

  His performance was amateur at best, diabolical at worst, and it brought out the bully in Griffiths. Did he think she found male helplessness attractive? ‘Then you should be ashamed of yourself,’ she snapped. ‘According to the health visitor you didn’t even know where the vacuum cleaner was, let alone how to work it. She came here to teach you elementary parenting and housekeeping skills because no one – and I repeat no one – is going to allow a three-year-old child to remain in the care of a man who is so patently indifferent to her welfare.’

  He moved around the kitchen, opening and shutting cupboard doors as if to demonstrate familiarity with their contents. ‘It’s not my fault,’ he said. ‘That’s how Kate wanted it. I wasn’t allowed to interfere in the running of the house.’

  ‘Are you sure it wasn’t the other way round?’ She tapped the ash off her cigarette into her saucer. ‘I mean you didn’t marry a wife, did you? You married a housekeeper who was expected to run this house like clockwork and account for every last penny she spent.’