Hidden Depths

by Ann Cleeves

  There was a silence. Felicity realized she was staring at him, that she was expected to speak. ‘I really can’t remember if she was wearing the ring when she left me. But she was a stranger. Why would she come back? Do you think she’d changed her mind about renting the cottage?’

  Ashworth ignored the last question. ‘Are you sure your husband had never met her?’

  ‘Of course. He told you.’ But while she was saying the words she was wondering if that was true. Peter knew nothing of her affair with Samuel. It was perfectly reasonable that he might have a life which was hidden from her. The idea was horrifying. How hypocritical is that? she thought. What right do I have to be jealous or hurt? But Lily had been so young and pretty. Of course there could be no question of her having an affair with Peter, who must have seemed an old man to her. This anxiety was ridiculous. Then she realized the detective was speaking again and she tried to concentrate on his words.

  ‘I’d like our crime scene investigators to look at the cottage,’ he said. ‘Just in case. You said you found the ring there this morning. Will anyone else have been in since you showed Lily round?’

  ‘I took Inspector Stanhope in at the weekend.’

  He gave a sudden broad grin. ‘Her footprints’ll be distinctive enough,’ he said. ‘Those sandals she wears. The size of elephants’ feet. The CSI won’t confuse them.’

  ‘They won’t find any footprints!’ She didn’t mean to be defiant, but realized that was how she sounded and she couldn’t stop. ‘That’s what I was doing when I found the ring. I was cleaning. I brushed and mopped all the floors, scrubbed the work surfaces. It’s not worth bringing in your experts.’

  He stayed very calm and looked straight at her.

  ‘What about bedding?’ he said.

  ‘I washed the sheets this morning. They’re on the line. I told you, you’re wasting your time. You won’t find anything.’

  ‘Oh you’d be surprised,’ he said, ‘just what we can find. You give us permission, I take it, for us to have a look?’

  ‘Of course.’ She knew it was too late to retrieve the situation. He must be convinced now that she’d cleaned the cottage to destroy any evidence that Lily had been killed there. ‘We’ll help in whatever way we can. We have nothing to hide.’

  From the kitchen window she watched the drama unfold. He stood at the front of the house to make his phone call. He had his back to her and she had no idea what response he was getting. From his car he took a roll of blue-and-white tape. Had he been expecting this outcome? Had he brought it with him specially? He walked across the meadow and stretched it across the cottage door. She wanted to rebuild the rapport they’d had when he first arrived. Should she go out to him, offer him more tea? But she could tell he would consider it an intrusion. They might own the house, but this was his territory now.

  He walked back to the drive, sat on the bank where the crocuses and snowdrops grew in spring and waited. He brushed the pollen and grass seed he’d picked up in the meadow from his trousers. His phone rang. She couldn’t hear it from the house, but she could see him answer. A sudden grin. Triumphant. More scary than when he’d been so cool in conversation with her. She thought she should phone Peter at work, warn him what was going on, but when she dialled his direct number at the university there was no reply. The raucous call of a cuckoo came from the kitchen clock. It was six o’clock. He would already have left. She struggled to remember what she had planned for supper, but the thought slipped from her mind and she returned to look out of the window.

  James wandered down the drive. The girls from the farm must have been called in for tea. He was wearing shorts and his knees were filthy. The detective raised his hand in greeting and James sat beside him on the grass. He was curious now about what the stranger was doing here. They talked for a few minutes. Felicity thought they were getting on well. They seemed to be sharing a joke. Surely he must realize we wouldn’t commit murder We have a lovely son. Too much to lose. We’re nice, respectable people. People just like him.

  James got to his feet and walked into the house. He disappeared from her view for a minute, then appeared in the kitchen. She thought, knowing the image was a silly exaggeration: He’s like a cold-war spy who’s come across from the other side. He might have valuable information. But he opened the fridge and peered inside as if it was any other evening. ‘I’m starving. When’s tea?’

  ‘Won’t be long.’ She tried to keep her voice even. ‘What were you and Mr Ashworth talking about?’

  ‘Is that his name?’ He was drinking orange juice straight from the carton. She restrained the urge to snap at him to fetch a glass. ‘He told me to call him Joe. He was asking me about Miss Marsh. What she was like as a teacher. How she got on with the kids in our class.’ His voice grew more excited. ‘They’re bringing in crime scene investigators to look at the cottage. Like on the television. There might be some trace in there to help them find out who killed Miss Marsh. Wait till I tell Lee Fenwick.’ Lee was his best friend and keenest rival. In winter they played chess together every evening.

  She heard the faint sound of a vehicle turning in from the lane. She expected it to be Peter. Please keep your temper. Please be polite. He’s only doing his job. But it was a white van. A man and a woman jumped out, greeted Joe Ashworth as if he was an old friend. They pulled on the paper suits she’d seen in films and started lifting equipment from the back of the van.

  James had forgotten about food. ‘Do you think I could go out and watch?’

  ‘No,’ she said sharply, then regretted her tone. Of course he was fascinated. So was she in a horrible, frightening way. ‘Won’t you get a better view from your bedroom?’

  James ran off and she felt a sudden relief that she no longer had to pretend that everything was normal. When he’d opened the fridge she’d seen a bottle of white wine, started the night before, and realized she was desperate for a drink. She took it out, removed the vacuum stopper and poured herself a large glass. Her hand was shaking.

  Back at the window she saw Peter’s car coming down the drive. His normal parking place had been taken by the van. She saw him get out and prepare to demand it was moved. Then he realized what was happening. He saw the two figures dressed in white walking across the meadow. Their weight was tilted towards each other, because of the heavy metal box they carried between them. Like James, he had watched enough television to understand what they were doing. Felicity saw Joe Ashworth approaching him, hand outstretched, but Peter hadn’t noticed. His focus was still on the cottage, the androgynous figures who had now reached the door. His face was very pale and still. My God, Felicity thought. He looks guilty. Guilty as hell. If I was Joe Ashworth I’d think he’d killed the girl.

  She didn’t dare ask herself if she thought the same thing. The thought hovered at the back of her mind and she pushed it away, concentrated on the fish she’d cook for supper and on whether she should make sandwiches for Ashworth and his friends in the cottage. Now Peter and Ashworth were deep in conversation. They walked together towards the house. She prepared herself to be normal and welcoming, took a deep breath as the door opened.

  Peter looked at her with the expression he put on when he’d received bad news, a paper rejected, a record dismissed. Aggrieved. She knew he wanted reassurance, but she didn’t have the heart to give it. In the end it was Ashworth who spoke.

  ‘Dr Calvert’s agreed to come to the station in Kimmerston to have a chat with DI Stanhope. A few points we want to clear up. It shouldn’t take long.’

  She forced herself to smile. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I told you, anything we can do to help…’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Vera thought Ashcroft had made a mistake bringing Calvert in. The botanist was hardly likely to leave the country. She believed they were showing their hand too soon. Perhaps she’d made a mistake in phoning Ashworth to tell him that Charlie had found the antique shop in York where Lily’s ring had been bought. There was still no evidence that Calvert
was the lover. An older man with an attractive young woman, the owner had said. Tall, fit for his age. That could describe a lot of people, including Samuel Parr. They’d found a photo of Calvert on the jacket of a textbook he’d written, but it had been published nearly twenty years before and his hair then had been longer and dark. No wonder it had sparked no recognition. If Calvert had been the man in the shop.

  The ring had been bought in January and paid for with cash. The owner had drawn his own conclusions about that. ‘It’s not unusual. He wouldn’t want his wife finding it on his credit-card statements, would he?’ And perhaps that did point to Calvert. Samuel Parr no longer had a wife to check up on him.

  ‘Can you remember anything about the gentleman?’ Charlie had asked. Vera could imagine him standing in the smart shop, looking scruffy and out of place. York wouldn’t be Charlie’s sort of place at all. Except for the races. He’d be quite at home there.

  And then the owner had come out with the one useful bit of information they’d got from him. ‘He was in town for some sort of conference. It was lunch-time and he said he had to go back for an afternoon session. The young lady didn’t like that at all. She was trying to persuade him to miss it. There wasn’t a row, not quite that. But a disagreement. That’s why I remember. And because she was such a beauty.’

  Vera would have liked some confirmation that Calvert was at a conference in York before sitting opposite him in an interview room. She’d phoned everyone she could think of, but this time in the evening there was no one around to ask. She’d set Holly onto the internet, university websites, botanical societies, but most of the sites had been updated. There was no record now of an event which had happened six months earlier.

  She made sure he was treated with respect. She didn’t want to waste time dealing with complaints and she wanted him to underestimate them. He’d give more away if he was feeling superior. At the last minute she asked Holly to join her in the interview room instead of Ashworth. Maybe Calvert would feel the need to show off in front of a pretty young woman. Among the rest of the team there was a bubbling excitement. They thought it was nearly all over.

  She made coffee for Calvert – from her own supply, not the crap from the machine – and carried it through to the interview room.

  ‘Sorry to ask you in before you’ve had time for supper,’ she said. She took time to settle herself, let papers fall out of her bag when she put it on the floor, picked it up again to search for a pen. ‘Still, this shouldn’t take long. Just a few things to clear up. You don’t mind if we tape the conversation? Standard procedure.’ She looked at him for the first time. He seemed composed enough. Ashworth had said he’d almost fallen apart when he’d seen the CSIs walking towards the cottage and that was one of the reasons why he’d brought him in. She introduced Holly and Calvert nodded, gave an insinuating smile which was enough to make your flesh crawl.

  ‘Did you attend an academic conference in York in January?’

  He hadn’t been expecting the question and it threw him. She saw his mind racing. He’d been so careful, paid for everything by cash. How could they possibly know? Ashworth had been right. He had been Lily’s lover.

  ‘Dr Calvert?’ She kept her voice quiet, tentative. Then, when he still didn’t answer, ‘You do realize we’ll be able to check.’

  He pulled his thoughts together. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. Yes, I was there. I just can’t see the relevance to your enquiries of my giving a paper at a conference.’

  ‘You had a companion,’ she said. ‘Not at the conference, but in York.’

  This time his response came more quickly. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So my sins have found me out.’ He gave the smile which was supposed to be charming. ‘You must be able to understand why I lied about that, Inspector. I have a wonderful wife and family. So much to lose. I hoped I’d get away with it, that they wouldn’t have to be hurt.’

  ‘You were having an affair with Lily Marsh?’

  ‘Yes. At least, I’d had an affair. It was all over by the time of her death. But you can imagine the shock of seeing her body in the water. And of realizing that my son had known her.’

  ‘You can’t expect us to sympathize, Dr Calvert.’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘No. But I’m trying to explain why I handled the situation so badly, why I wasn’t entirely truthful.’

  ‘You weren’t truthful in any way. That has to end. I can’t consider your sensibilities when I’m investigating a murder. Two murders.’ She realized she sounded like a Sunday school teacher, but he seemed to respond.

  ‘I really don’t know anything about the first murder,’ he said. ‘Luke Armstrong. I’d never met him.’

  ‘You had heard of him, though. Gary Wright had fallen for his mother. He was talking about it in the pub after the last Bird Club meeting.’

  ‘Was he?’ Calvert seemed genuinely confused. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t have been listening. Some things had been said at the meeting to which I took exception. A criticism of an article I’d written in last month’s Birding World. I suppose it seems trivial now, but I was preoccupied.’

  ‘Tell me about the affair with Lily. How did you meet her?’

  ‘Quite by chance last summer. I went into the shop where she worked to buy a birthday present for Felicity. It’s an awkward situation for a man. What do we know about women’s clothes? She was very helpful. We talked briefly and she explained she was a student. Then I saw her at the university, bought her a coffee to thank her. At that point there was nothing more to it than that. I couldn’t believe she’d be interested in someone like me. I suppose I was flattered, a foolish old man.’

  ‘You gave her money?’

  ‘Yes, something towards her rent. Her parents couldn’t help out. My daughters had finished university. I suppose I wanted to make a gesture. Do something generous. I expect you think I was naive, that she was only going out with me for the money.’

  Vera didn’t answer that. It wasn’t her job to reassure him. She didn’t believe it was true, though. Lily had been an obsessive. Money hadn’t been the object of her desire.

  ‘So you started seeing her. Where did you meet?’

  There was a slight hesitation. ‘This does sound so squalid. Afternoons in cheap hotels. Occasionally in her flat when she knew her friends were away. At first I suppose the secrecy was part of the excitement. Later it all became rather unsatisfactory.’

  ‘Did she ever come to your house?’

  ‘Not to the house, no. That would have seemed quite wrong.’

  She picked up the precise wording, the slight hesitation. ‘Not to the house. But to the cottage?’

  He hesitated again. ‘Yes, we met in the cottage. A few times. When Felicity was at a concert or the theatre and James was staying with a friend. Lily loved it there. I found it a bit close to home. I could never quite relax.’

  He was lost in thought and for the first time Vera did feel a small moment of understanding. Was he remembering a specific evening? Winter, perhaps, frost on the grass in the meadow and a fire lit in the grate. But never really enjoying it, listening out for a car on the drive, the danger of interruption.

  ‘Did she have a key to the cottage?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I had one cut for her. She never gave it back.’

  ‘Who ended the relationship?’ The question was peremptory. She couldn’t allow herself sympathy here.

  ‘Neither of us. Not really. We just agreed that it had to end. Before it became general knowledge.’

  ‘That wouldn’t matter to Lily, would it? She wasn’t married after all. What would she have to lose?’

  ‘She must have seen that the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. I suppose she wanted all the things her friends had – a shared home, real companionship, a family eventually. She was very fond of children. I’d never have been able to give her that.’

  It sounded very plausible. But Lily Marsh hadn’t been like her friends.

  ‘Why do you think she turned up to l
ook at the cottage? If your relationship had ended amicably, it seems an odd thing to do.’

  ‘Perhaps she was struck by the coincidence of having James in her class and came to look at the cottage for old times’ sake. She might even have seen it as a weird kind of practical joke. She’d expect Felicity to tell me she’d been.’

  ‘Was it coincidence, having James in her class?’

  ‘Of course. What else would it have been?’

  She arranged it, Vera thought. She was obsessed by you in the same way as she was obsessed by Ben Craven. She found out where James went to school and she asked Annie Slater for a placement in Hepworth. She got to know the boy, orchestrated the visit to look at the cottage. Why? To put pressure on him? A form of blackmail? They sat for a moment in silence. Calvert seemed preoccupied, but not anxious. Was he so arrogant that he believed he could get away with murder? In the end he broke the silence.

  ‘You are looking for the same person for both murders?’

  ‘That’s the theory we’re working on just now.’ She wasn’t going to commit herself further than that. They’d kept the details of the Armstrong crime scene out of the press, but word got out. Friends and family talked. Police and CSIs were only human. A good story was for sharing. She couldn’t rule out the possibility that Lily’s death had been a copy-cat killing. Someone wanted her dead and had used the details of Luke’s murder to muddy the water. The phrase stuck in her head. Muddy the water. She supposed it was apt.

  ‘I couldn’t have killed the boy. I was looking at the notes on my book. I made a phone call on Wednesday night. Ten-thirty. A detail I needed to check with a friend. There’ll be a record, I presume, on my phone bill. It was a long call to a mobile.’

  Vera didn’t answer immediately and Holly spoke for the first time. ‘That’s very convenient, Dr Calvert. What a shame you didn’t mention it before. We’ll need to talk to your friend, of course. Otherwise the call could have been made by anyone in your house.’