by Lou Peters
The muffled sound of rattling crockery audible through the closed door, attested the old man was keeping himself busy brewing up another pot of tea for his unexpected, but welcome guests. It was good to have people in the house, even if they were in another room. Donald Headley experienced a rush of guilt at the thought, remembering Ruth and the reason why the police and her niece were there.
‘We were hoping you may be able to help us answer that question,’ Walters said suddenly. For a moment Mrs. Harrison was startled. She’d been intent on watching the young detective sergeant as he’d condensed his large frame into the minimal space.
‘Me, how on earth would I know?’ The woman barked, immediately on the defensive. ‘You’re supposed to be the detective.’ She returned her attention to fiddling once more with the nap of her skirt.
Walters found the habit increasingly annoying. This is madness, he admonished himself sternly. He could feel irritation swell inside of him, battling to replace the constriction he was experiencing in his chest. Get a grip Walters. ‘When was the last time you saw Mrs. Montgomery?’ The detective forced a smile. It was wasted on her. She remained head down refocused on the material of her skirt.
‘Sunday, we came for Sunday lunch as we usually do. Auntie Ruth had it ready for one o’clock. We stayed a few hours and left about three thirty. I normally come again for an hour or two on a Thursday morning. Now that Malcolm has lost his job and at his age has no hope of finding another, he comes with me.’ Her voice was laced with ill concealed bitterness and the look in her eyes as she glared across at her husband, said it all.
‘And, the reason you visited your aunt today?’
‘That’s right. Real shock it was as well, I can tell you.’ The bird like eye contact was there again. ‘We let ourselves in as usual – only to find Auntie laying there – the blood...’
‘Was that normal? To let yourselves in, I mean,’ Walters responded to her querying look. He felt as though he had to make the point, to stand up for the old lady’s rights even though the poor woman was way past caring.
‘We always use the key,’ Rowena said flatly. ‘Auntie might’ve been having a lie down. We wouldn’t have wanted to disturb her.’
At ten o’clock in the morning, Walters reasoned. Pull the other one. It’s the control you like. He couldn’t bear the way the woman spoke. The sound of her abrasive voice set his nerves on edge. Like the squeal of a dentist’s drill. ‘Mrs. Montgomery didn’t use the safety chain on the front door?’ He phrased the statement, as a question.
‘I think she used to put it across before she went to bed at night.’
‘But never in the daytime?’
Mrs. Harrison shrugged.
What a caring niece, Walters thought, but didn’t pursue the subject further. ‘I don’t want to cause you any more anguish than I have to Mrs. Harrison, but I do need to go through this with you. I’ll try to make it as brief as possible. Did your Aunt Ruth have any enemies that you were aware of? Maybe with someone she’d had a recent altercation?’
‘Enemies,’ Rowena spat the word, causing spittle to appear on her lips. ‘You’re asking me if Auntie Ruth had any enemies, any altercations. Are you living in the real world detective inspector?’ For a moment she looked around her, seemingly at a loss for words, before continuing. ‘She wasn’t the type of person to have enemies or as you put it, altercations. My Auntie Ruth wasn’t some well to do business man...’ she scowled. She stopped then. Perhaps some inbuilt self preservation instinct had kicked in, correctly reading the expression in the eyes of the man sitting opposite. ‘Not that she’d told me,’ Rowena revised her tone. However, her voice still contained a hint of belligerence. ‘And she told me everything,’ she placed heavy emphasis on the last word.
‘There were no secrets between us.’
Walters, choosing to ignore the woman’s outburst, didn’t doubt that for a moment. Nothing would get past those bleak eyes. ‘Have there been any strangers around recently that you know of, or perhaps Mrs. Montgomery had mentioned? Maybe workmen in the area, telephone engineer, plumber, door to door salesmen maybe even Jehovah Witnesses’ knocking on doors?’ Walters wasn’t going to rule out any possibility.
Mrs. Harrison again shrugged her scraggy shoulders beneath the opened herringbone coat she wore. ‘How on earth would I know that?’
‘I thought your aunt told you, everything?’
‘Well, she couldn’t tell me something if it hadn’t happened, could she? Rowena Harrison responded caustically.
It was clear to Walters his dislike of her was equally reciprocated. He rested against the chair back, mentally distancing himself. He didn’t want the conversation to deteriorate into a full scale slanging match, which was the direction it was rapidly heading. ‘So,’ Walters continued, ‘maybe you could tell us a little about Mrs. Montgomery. Some back ground information, in order for us to build up a picture of what she and her life were like. If she’d any hobbies for instance, or liked to visit friends. Did she have a set routine, certain days when she did her shopping? Or perhaps, you did that for her?’ Here was the opportunity for Harrison to redeem herself. However, she didn’t take it, leaving Walters to presume the old lady brought in her own groceries. The thought hardly surprised him. ‘Anything really you can tell us about your aunt, would be of great help.’ Walters gave her what he hoped was a further encouraging smile. It felt artificial on his face, as though someone had drawn it on.
‘Seems like a waste of time to me.’ She glared across at her husband hoping for some support, but he wasn’t looking at her. It appeared there was something of more interest on the ceiling.
‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘But I don’t know what good it’ll do.’
‘You never know...’
‘Auntie Ruth hadn’t lived in Rasburgh that long, just a couple of years,’ she commenced. ‘I’d been on at her for ages to move down here, to be nearer to us. Seen as how we were her only surviving relatives, after her sister, my mother died, must be three or maybe four years ago now.’
The other little girl in the photograph, Walters reasoned. ‘Had your aunt never married nor had children?’
‘Her husband died early on in the marriage, a brain haemorrhage. She’d never remarried, or had the chance to have kids. Auntie Ruth hadn’t been keen to move down here at first. Reluctant to leave the area she’d lived in, more or less all her life. She’d seen sense in the end. After all, it had been for her own good. Auntie was knocking on a bit.’
Yeah, it’d done her the world of good, the DI mused sadly to himself.
‘What if she’d have had a fall or something and being so far away?’
‘Where did she used to live?’ Cooper enquired politely. Writing down her response in his notebook, he asked, ‘that’s in the North West of England, isn’t it?’
She nodded. ‘Upton by Chester was quite a posh area at one time. We used to love it when we visited as kids...’
‘We?’ Walters interrupted.
‘My mother would take me and my younger brother, Stanley, generally twice a year. He’s dead now too.’ The statement was delivered as a matter of fact, without a trace of longing for a lost sibling. ‘Drank himself to death,’ she added, in obvious distaste at the way her brother had met his end.
Of the children’s father, there was no mention. If the woman’s mother had been anything like her daughter turned out, Walters thought, the poor bloke had probably done a runner.
‘Did your aunt leave many friends behind?’ Walters asked
‘I suppose, didn’t really think about it.’
‘Did she keep in touch with any of them?’
‘No. I told her a clean break was the best thing for her – and she’d agreed,’ she hastily added. ‘After all she had me and Malcolm.’ Harrison hesitated slightly as something came into her mind. ‘There was some old guy who’d taken a shine to her, wanted to come down and visit Auntie Ruth, but I soon put him straight.’
‘You spoke to him
?’
‘Not exactly, I got Malcolm to phone him up. Told him we knew what his game was.’
‘And what was that exactly?’
‘He was after her money, wasn’t he, it was obvious. At her age there wouldn’t be anything else of interest for him. Anyway, the phone call must have worked, because that’s the last she’d heard from him.’
‘Did that upset your aunt?’
‘I don’t know, she never mentioned him again.’
‘That implies she used to talk about him in the past. How close were they?’
‘I’ve no idea. I didn’t have the opportunity to see Auntie that often on my own, with Malcolm always tagging along... She’d mentioned him once or twice, I suppose.’
‘Do you still have his number by any chance?’
‘No,’ she said, incredulous at the very idea. ‘It was well over eighteen months ago.’
‘How about a name or address?’
‘Charlie something or other, is the best I can tell you. Don’t know his address. Hoylake, or Heswall, somewhere on the Wirral that begins with H... Or maybe it was West Kirkby,’ her forehead puckered into a frown.
Walters exchanged a glance with Cooper.
‘Malcolm, what was that bloke’s last name?’
‘Can’t remember,’ Malcolm grunted. The man had jumped slightly in his chair, taken by surprise to be a part of the conversation for the first time. Perhaps he’d been waiting for his wife’s permission, before being allowed to speak.
‘Yes you do Malcolm; it was the same as a place name. You commented on it at the time. It was something to do with where you send people.’
‘On holiday?’
‘No, don’t be stupid...’ There was real vehemence in Rowena’s voice. It was apparent to both officers that Mrs. Harrison didn’t have a very high opinion of her husband.
‘Coventry?’ Arnold Cooper suggested helpfully, saying the first thing that’d come into his head.
‘That’s it Coventry, Charlie Coventry that was his name.’ For a second a look of triumph, nearly passing for a smile, cracked her face. The action deepened the wrinkles in the loose folds of Rowena’s skin.
‘Since your aunt has been living in this area, has she made any friends?’
‘No detective sergeant, my auntie liked to keep herself to herself,’ she replied brusquely. ‘Don’t get me wrong she wasn’t stand offish, she’d talk to people in the street. You know, neighbours, if there were any about. Most people are busy with their own lives, working, or with young families to look after. She liked her own company,’ Harrison said decisively. ‘And I popped down a couple of times a week. Auntie Ruth had my telephone number in case of emergencies or the like. She was a big one for reading and doing crosswords and made good use of the library at Boynton, normally on a Tuesday. That’s the day she’d take the early bus into town and have a browse around the open air market. Every now and then she’d do a bit of shopping for Mr. Headley. As he’s not been feeling too good recently, she’d made him the occasional casserole or pan of soup and brought it around for him.’ She lowered her voice, in case the old man in the kitchen should overhear. ‘I told her not to make too much of a habit of it, otherwise you don’t know where it’ll lead. You know what I mean?’
Walters wasn’t sure that he did, unless it was to friendship. ‘Your aunt led quite a solitary existence, after she’d moved here. Leaving her friends behind, as she did. Did you never encourage her to make new friends? Perhaps, join a club of some sort?’ Walters couldn’t help it. It was as plain as the nose on Cooper’s face why Mrs. Montgomery had been forced down here and it had less to do with her well being, as keeping an eye on the golden goose. He hoped the old lady had made a will and had left everything to charity, or this Charlie Coventry character.
‘No, as I’ve just said, if you’d been listening, Auntie Ruth liked her own company. We were the only ones she needed, Malcolm and me. Isn’t that right Malcolm?’
Malcolm Harrison nodded, but said nothing.
Walters was beginning to feel sorry for the guy. No wonder he over indulged, he was probably trying to bring on an early heart attack to get away from his missus. ‘So, Mrs. Montgomery hadn’t mentioned anything unusual having happened recently? No one she’d met or strangers hanging around? Perhaps kids being a nuisance?’
‘No I’ve told you, nothing – except….’
‘Except what, Mrs. Harrison?’
‘No – it’s nothing.’
‘Please Mrs. Harrison. What may not seem important to you could be highly significant.’
‘It’s just – well, auntie started to tell me something yesterday and then she’d stopped.’
If Walters had been a cartoon character, his jaw would have dropped to his knees. ‘You saw Mrs. Montgomery yesterday, the day of her death?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘I thought you said the last time you’d seen your aunt was on Sunday?’
‘Well, it must have slipped my mind. I only came in for a few minutes to borrow her sewing machine, that’s all. I didn’t even stop for a cup of tea.’
‘What time was this?’
‘What?’
‘When you saw your aunt yesterday, what time was it, morning, afternoon evening?’ Walters asked sharply.
‘Just after nine in the morning, as it happens, and I don’t think I like your tone very much detective inspector. My auntie has just been murdered, unless that fact has completely slipped your memory. I was the one who found her bloodied body and now you’re harassing me like this.’ She’d seemed to have forgotten her husband had been with her when she’d made the grim discovery. Rowena fumbled in her coat pocket for a handkerchief and brought out a piece of crumpled kitchen roll. Walters could see it was specifically designed for the Christmas market, snowmen in top hats printed around the edges. The woman dabbed at her eyes in pretence of drying her nonexistent tears, which Walters surmised was a bid for sympathy. She’s not even crying over the death of her aunt. Only putting on a facade for the benefit of herself, Walters thought contemptuously.
‘I’m sorry Mrs. Harrison; I’m not trying to harass you.’ No matter how frustrated the detective inspector felt, or what he thought of this excuse for a supposedly caring relative, he needed to know the information she was holding on to. ‘Earlier, you led us to believe you had last seen your aunt days ago and now it turns out you saw her yesterday. You see how that could make you a possible murder suspect?’ Walters didn’t think so. The timing was out for one thing, unless Rowena Harrison had returned later that day, or George Morris had got his initial estimation of the time of death completely wrong. However, the DI was gratified to see any remnants of colour drain from the woman’s face.
‘Oh my Lord, I was only there for a few minutes,’ she said, genuinely perturbed. ‘You don’t really think I killed her, do you?’ The bluster had left her voice to be replaced by a whine. Walters didn’t know which one he found the more irritating.
‘That remains to be seen Mrs. Harrison. Was Mr. Harrison with you when you called in on Mrs. Montgomery yesterday?’
‘No,’ she swallowed. ‘It was Malcolm’s day to sign on at the job centre.’
If Walters had thought Malcolm Harrison would spring to his wife’s defence, he would’ve been disappointed. Her husband remained seated. Legs outstretched staring down at his well worn suede boots, visible through the glass topped coffee table as they rested on top of the magazines. He wore a blank expression on his face, as if he wasn’t even in the room, never mind a supposed participant of the conversation. The man had hardly said two words the whole time
‘I need to know what it is Mrs. Montgomery had started to say to you. It could be very important.’ There was a hard edge to the detective inspector’s voice. He’d had enough of this old harridan.
‘It was nothing much. Nothing to make a fuss over... Auntie had had a bit of a fall while she’d been out shopping on Tuesday morning, probably tripped over something.’
Ironically, Walters couldn’t he
lp thinking, the very thing her move to Rasburgh was meant to prevent.
‘Auntie Ruth hadn’t hurt herself. She’d started to tell me she thought she’d seen someone she’d recognised. However, she then clammed up. Said she couldn’t remember who it was and that she was probably mistaken anyway, what with her eyesight.’
‘Where was this, and were the two incidents related?’
‘I think they must have been. Auntie didn’t go into any detail. It was while she’d been visiting the market in Boynton. But that’s all I know.’
‘Did she say where she may have known the person from?’ Cooper asked. He’d been watching his senior colleague throughout the conversation. He could see the Harrison woman was getting under Walters’ skin. At the moment, it looked like the DI was a hairs breadth away from taking the old bird by the scrawny neck and strangling her to get the information.
‘I don’t know why, but I got the impression it was someone from the past.’
‘Male or female?’ Walters interjected.
‘She didn’t say and I was in a hurry, so I took the sewing machine and left.’
In other words you weren’t interested. Walters felt disgusted and didn’t much care if it showed in his face. There was no remorse in the fact if Rowena Harrison had not left her aunt alone, she would have remained alive.
CHAPTER FOUR
Early hours Thursday Morning 10 December 2009
It’d been another bitterly cold night, the fifth in succession. Moonlight boldly streamed in through the un-curtained window without a trace of hesitation. Elongated criss-cross shadows spilled across the bare wooden floorboards. Encouraged by the room’s freezing temperature, ice crystals reformed in delicate symmetry on the inside of the window panes. Rachel lay alone unable to sleep, abandoned in the bed she normally shared with Richard. Through the portals of remaining clear glass between frost and sky, she glimpsed far away stars. Faintly in the distance the chimes of the clock set high in the bell tower of the Norman church in Rasburgh village, a mile away, wafted across the frozen fields, disrupting the silence. Alerting her to the fact it had been three hours since she’d wearily climbed the stairs up to bed at midnight.
