‘Why?’ she asked again.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe they think I’m harmless.’ I gave her my most disarming smile.
She did not smile in return. ‘I don’t think you’re harmless. Quite the contrary. But I said I’d decided to trust you. Oh, yes’ – to the waitress who had appeared – ‘I’ll have the chicken salad and tea.’ She raised her eyebrows at me and I nodded agreement. After two breakfasts I wasn’t actually hungry, but I could pick at my salad as long as I needed to finish our talk. If she decided to talk.
The waitress dismissed, Mrs Elliot pushed her shoulders back. She didn’t have a lorgnette, but the effect was exactly as if she was staring at me through one. I met her gaze. ‘Very well. What do you want to know?’
‘Anything you can tell me about your sons. I want to know what they’re like. Were like. Sorry, I can’t get the tenses right.’
She dismissed that. ‘I may shock you. My feelings are not what you may think of as maternal, or appropriate.’
‘I doubt that, Mrs Elliot. I have no children of my own, but I was a teacher for most of my life and have known many hundreds of children. I am aware that they come in plenty of varieties, some more easily acceptable than others.’
Her laugh held no humour. ‘Yes, you might put it that way. I did not like my younger son, Mrs Martin, and the older one is not a great deal more satisfactory. When I talked to the police about Nathan, I think they found my attitude peculiar.’
‘I was told what you said to them. To me it sounded as though you weren’t entirely surprised by Nathan’s death. Now I must ask you if you are surprised that I believe it was murder.’ I had lowered my voice, though the noise level in the busy little café easily covered our conversation.
This remarkable woman pursed her lips. ‘No,’ she said at last, ‘not astonished, at least. He was a most infuriating person. He was always right, you see, and never shy about letting you know. Saint Nathan.’
The Gospel according to Nathan, the boy at St Jude’s had said.
‘And underneath it all,’ his mother went on, ‘he was a nasty, sneaking person. Even as a child he would spy on his schoolmates and then threaten to tell the teacher or their parents unless they gave him something he wanted.’
‘Juvenile blackmail.’
‘Exactly. He made quite a nice little thing out of it, actually. It progressed rapidly from toys and trinkets to cash, larger amounts as he grew older. He never squandered it on sweets and ices, as another child might have done. No, he hoarded it and gloated over it.’
‘I see. A miser as well as a blackmailer. I agree he doesn’t sound like an attractive child. But how did you find out about his activities?’
‘It was his father, actually. I am a fairly recent widow, Mrs Martin, and not entirely devastated by the fact. My husband was in many ways very like his sons – or they like him, I suppose. Nathan was quite sure that his father would approve of his cleverness when he told him some of what he was doing. Tom looked into it, verified that Nathan was telling the truth, caned him severely, and then took the money.’
‘To give back to the victims?’
‘Surely you jest. Tom said it was part of the punishment. It went into his own pocket, of course, and thence to his wine merchant.’
Our food arrived. I had lost whatever appetite I’d had, but I drank the tea thirstily. ‘And was the punishment effective?’ I asked when I had finished my cup of tea and poured another.
‘In a way. Nathan never told his father anything important ever again. He had never trusted me, so communication foundered in our household. I believe he used to talk to his brother now and then.’
‘And he continued his unsavoury enterprise?’
‘I think he did. He used to brag about how much money he had, how he’d never had to take out student loans even though we’d never given him a penny (this with mournful violins playing softly in the background). But he would never tell us what sort of job, or jobs, he had. “This and that,” he’d say. “I work very hard.”’
‘What was he studying?’
‘I don’t know that, either. We quarrelled about it. He said quite frankly that since I wasn’t paying for it, it was his business.’
‘Was he succeeding academically?’
She shrugged. I thought I knew the answer. The student at St Jude’s had said Nathan was sloughing off his work. But it was interesting that his mother either didn’t know that or didn’t care. I took a bite of my salad and tried to decide where to take this.
Mrs Elliot made the decision for me. ‘You said you wanted to know about both my sons.’
‘Yes, because I’m quite worried about George. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?’
She shook her head impatiently. ‘The police already asked me that. If I’d had an idea I would have told them, wouldn’t I? He’s a grown man, a successful businessman. Almost as close-mouthed and difficult as Nathan, but at least he’s made something of himself. Why are you worried about him? He’ll fall on his feet; he always does.’
I was becoming more and more annoyed with this woman’s cavalier attitude toward her sons. Maybe they weren’t the nicest people in the world, but they were her children, for Pete’s sake! And she’d never see one of them again in this world. Perhaps not in the next, either. ‘I am worried about him, Mrs Elliot, because someone killed Nathan. I am more than ever sure of that, now that you’ve told me about his illegal activities.’ She glared at me. ‘Blackmail is a crime, you know, and a very dangerous one. I think he went a bit too far with one of his victims, who put an end to the extortion in a very effective way. And if George, who you say was sometimes in his brother’s confidence, if George knows something about Nathan’s death, he could be in very great danger. He left home in a great hurry, and from all appearances in the middle of a violent confrontation. Yes, I’m worried about him!’
‘And you think I should be, too.’
‘I do. The fact that you are not leads me to believe you do know something about his whereabouts, though you deny it. I have just one more question for you, a quick one. Have you any idea who might have hated and/or feared Nathan enough to kill him?’
She looked me straight in the eye. ‘I do not. If I did, I would tell the police. I may not have loved my son, madam, but I am not such an unnatural mother as to condone his murder.’ She stood and tossed some money on the table. ‘Enjoy the rest of your meal.’
Whew! I began to wonder if Nathan had perhaps committed suicide. With a mother like that …
As difficult a woman as she was, though, she’d given me one useful piece of information: Nathan was a blackmailer. I shook my head in exasperation. Of all forms of crime, that’s one of the stupidest. Making enemies left and right for the sake of a little money. Okay, maybe a lot of money, but at what a cost! A cornered rat will bite. A blackmailer may think himself safe, but in fact he’s terribly vulnerable. Nathan had paid for his extortion with his life.
But at whose hands? I was no closer to knowing that, or to finding George. I wished I’d had the ability to follow Mrs Elliot. I was certain she knew where her remaining son was hiding out. I also wished I’d learned more about George, whom his mother didn’t like, either. She approved of his success in life, however. And she’d come a considerable distance to ‘find some trace of George’, she said. Now what did that mean?
I discovered that my teapot was empty and hailed the waitress to ask for more. ‘You didn’t care for the salad, madam?’ she asked, sounding as if she cared.
‘It’s very good. What I actually didn’t care for was my companion.’
The waitress, who was quite young, nodded sympathetically. ‘A rather … um … cold lady. To tell you the truth, I always hope she won’t come to this table, but she nearly always does.’
‘It’s quite private. She comes in here often, then?’
‘Not to say often. A few times, with a younger man. Her son, I think. I’ll be right back with your tea.’
&n
bsp; Drat. I wanted to talk about the son. The café was nearly empty, and I wasn’t due to meet Alan for another half hour.
She did come back quickly, and I was able, without much difficulty, to persuade her to sit down for a moment. ‘I expect your feet hurt. Mine always did, decades ago when I did a little waitressing.’
‘You were a waitress?’ She could hardly have sounded more astonished if I’d told her I’d ridden in a Wild West show.
‘Not really. I mean, I just had a part-time job when I was in college … university. I wasn’t very good at it. What I mostly remember is the sore feet!’
The girl stretched hers out, after giving a quick glance around. ‘I’m closing today, so I can relax for a minute.’
‘Good. I wanted to ask you about Mrs Elliot – the woman I was with. I’ve never met her before, and I wondered if I’d done something to offend her.’
‘Oh, she’s always like that. Cold, like I said. And her son – if that’s who he was – not much better. Stingy, too.’
I reminded myself to add a bit to the money Mrs Elliot had left. ‘Did you know he’d gone missing?’
‘Oh, is he the one! Well, who’d have thought! He seemed like a respectable sort. The kind that make a parade of being respectable, you know?’
‘Uriah Heep,’ I suggested, but that brought only a puzzled expression. ‘I mean, yes, I know the type. They always look like they’ve smelled something unpleasant.’
She giggled. ‘Exactly like that! I’d never have thought he’d be one to do a runner.’
That was a new idea. ‘You think that’s what he’s done? Run away from something, maybe debts?’
She nodded sagely. ‘Now I think about it, it is high mucky-mucks, sometimes, who come a cropper. Good at putting on a front, you know. I heard his house was in a frightful state. Maybe a bill-collector trying to find some money?’
That seemed pretty far-fetched to me, but I nodded thoughtfully. At least the bill-collector idea was an interesting one. There are all kinds of bills.
I looked at the name badge pinned to her uniform pocket. ‘I’m a stranger to these parts, Melanie.’
She nodded. ‘American. Or maybe Canadian?’
‘More or less. Anyway, if you wanted to get lost quickly, where would you go?’
She wrinkled a cute, turned-up nose. ‘Never thought about it. There are some places up in the hills, caves and that. It wouldn’t be very comfortable, though, and you’d have to know the area. I don’t think this man lives here, does he?’
‘He does now, but he’s from Birmingham originally.’ Oops.
Her face changed. ‘You know more about him than you pretended! What are you after?’
‘I’m trying to find him, Melanie. I’m not sure he went away of his own free will, and I’m worried about him. I’m sorry if I led you to believe otherwise. I really am on the side of the angels.’
‘Yes, well … I have to go.’
She picked up the cash from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. I drank a little of my now lukewarm and unwanted tea, put down a handsome tip, and went to find Alan at the imposing town hall.
‘Nice lunch?’ he asked innocently.
‘Bits of a salad, dressed with vitriol.’ I looked around to make sure Mrs Elliot wasn’t lurking somewhere. ‘Given a choice between lunching with her and with a tarantula, I’d choose the latter. And you know how much I love spiders.’
‘That bad, eh? Was it worth it?’
I made the rocking ‘maybe’ gesture with my hand. ‘I got a few things. Did you eat at all?’
‘Found a good pub and had an excellent ploughman’s. Shall we go and find you some proper sustenance, and you can tell me all about it?’
TWENTY
I opted for a lovely beef sandwich on a crusty roll, with lots of horseradish. While I devoured it, with eyes streaming, I told Alan about the blackmail. ‘Remember I told you he bragged about having plenty of money? Now we know where he got it. How often in your career did you have a case involving a blackmailer who got himself dead?’ I gulped some of my pint to counteract the horseradish.
‘Not quite as often as in the fiction you dearly love, but often enough. Blackmail as a profession is fraught with occupational hazard.’
‘Indeed. And since the law is often helpless in such cases, because the victim is afraid to tell the police about it, perhaps – but no, I won’t say the punishment is merited. Nothing justifies murder. However, are you now ready to accept my certainty that Nathan was deliberately pushed into the river?’
‘Yes. We have nothing that could make a case, though. It’s all supposition and theory, and while I do now find it convincing, there’s nothing to get hold of.’
‘I know. And time is running out for Amanda. Have you heard from David at all?’
‘No.’
We finished our beer in dispirited silence.
As we got up, Alan looked at his watch. ‘Still hours before the opera. What would you like to do?’
‘Well. This isn’t a market day, so there’s not a lot of interesting shopping to be done, and anyway shopping bores you to tears. I wonder where George’s house is.’
‘I knew you’d ask that,’ said Alan smugly. ‘I checked with David before we left Durham. It’s a bit far to walk, and I’m sure it’s sealed off as a crime scene, but we can take a taxi if you like.’
‘I like. I know it’s silly. The police will have seen anything there is to see, but I’d feel like a shirker if I didn’t at least look.’
It was indeed sealed off, as we discovered when the cab dropped us off, with strict instructions to be back in half an hour. The cabby darted a significant glance at a nearby pub, grinned, and took off.
‘Is that the pub? The one the pseudo policemen came out of?’
‘Grammar, darling!’
‘I’m with Winston Churchill on that one. “A silly rule, up with which I will not put.”’
‘Right. As to the pub being the pub, I don’t know, but I assume it is. It’s the only one nearby.’
‘Okay, then, I don’t understand. The show tonight is in the theatre at the town hall. What was part of the cast doing here?’
‘Don’t know that, either. We’ll have to ask when we see them tonight. Meanwhile, the garden isn’t sealed off, only the house. Do you want to walk round and peer in the windows?’
‘The neighbours will probably call the police. Of course I want to, but let me take this scarf off. I don’t want to snag the silk, and those roses look pretty fierce.’
The house was in good repair, the roof sound, the trim recently painted, but George had neglected the garden. There was a scrap of grass on either side of the front walk, and it was neatly mowed, but the only flowers to be seen at either front or back of the house were rambler roses which had lived up to their name. The one over the front door had covered the small porch-like enclosure on both sides and the roof, and hung down to assault the unwary with needle-like thorns.
Alan and I skirted the thorns carefully to peer through the window in the door. Or we tried to peer. The window was covered with a curtain, and although it hung askew, we could see almost nothing in the dark interior.
We circled the house. More roses, more curtains. A few of the roses bore half-open blooms in a rich yellow; the effect would have been beautiful if the plants had been pruned and properly trellised. As it was, I was reminded of the Secret Garden: wild, unchecked growth, almost savage in its intensity. ‘Nature red in tooth and claw,’ Alan commented as a thorn caught the back of his hand and made a small gash.
‘Ouch!’ was my elegant reply. It had got me on the arm.
And the exercise was futile. We could see almost nothing of the inside of the house. I glimpsed clutter here and there, but the curtains had shut out light as well as prying eyes, and nowhere were we able to see enough of any room to help us at all.
‘Well.’ We gave up before our cab was due to return. ‘That was a sheer waste of time.’
‘But i
t might not have been,’ Alan comforted. ‘One never knows.’
‘My father used to say, “One never knows, does one, and even then one can’t be sure.” I realize now he was being funny, but at the time I didn’t get it at all.’ I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time. ‘Still five minutes, if he’s back on time. I’m going to take another look in that window on the front door. I thought I maybe saw a handkerchief on the floor. That could be a source of information – DNA and all that.’
Alan just smiled.
The sun had shifted slightly, enough to show through the small opening in the curtain that what I had seen was a piece of paper. I backed away from the door and stopped, my hair caught in the welter of roses. I couldn’t get myself loose. ‘Alan, help!’ I called. ‘The monster’s got me!’
He came and carefully untangled my hair, collecting a few more scratches in the process. ‘We deserve hazardous duty pay,’ he growled. ‘Hello, what’s this?’ He stopped tugging at my hair; I couldn’t turn around to see what had attracted his attention.
‘Alan, I’m still stuck!’
‘Sorry, love. One second. Do you still carry that Swiss Army knife around with you?’
‘Of course. It’s in my purse.’ Which was dangling from my arm. He reached inside, fumbled around, and apparently found the knife and its tiny pair of scissors. I heard a couple of snips, and then one more, and my head was free.
‘I had to cut only one small lock; I don’t think I’ve ruined your hair.’
I dismissed that; my hair at its best looks extremely casual. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’
‘A button.’ He held it out on the palm of his hand. It was still attached to a bit of rose cane and could, at first glance, be mistaken for a rosebud. I reached out to touch it; Alan pulled his hand back. ‘I don’t travel with evidence bags these days. Would you perhaps have an envelope or something similar in that capacious purse of yours?’
Oh. Evidence. Yes, of course. I mentally smote myself on the forehead and rummaged in my purse, pulling out the aged Tesco bag I always carry with me. ‘Will this do?’
Death Comes to Durham Page 15
