The Staveley Suspect

by Rebecca Tope

  When she turned her phone on, having left it charging overnight, a text message pinged through.

  Can we meet today, please? Perhaps lunch somewhere? Gillian.

  Simmy’s main reaction was exasperation. Just as she was hoping to let the whole Staveley/Kennedy business drift into the far distance, here it was again. And once again, she had no realistic choice in the matter. Ben and Bonnie would never forgive her if she tried to back out of her part in it, and however much she might insist that it was ridiculous, and a waste of time, and risked annoying the police, they would still make her do it.

  She replied quickly, before she could think too much about it.

  Okay. I can be at the Elleray at 12.30.

  She didn’t sign it, unsure as to how to style herself. ‘Simmy’ seemed too friendly, while ‘Persimmon’ felt the opposite. For the nine hundredth time she cursed her mother for foisting the name on her. If only there could be a sudden surge of popularity for it – a soap opera character given the name, or a pop singer adopting it would fit the bill nicely. People wouldn’t be so hesitant about using it then. Even DI Moxon found himself unable to utter it, mostly using ‘Mrs Brown’ but opting for ‘Simmy’ in times of crisis.

  The Elleray was her default establishment for eating and drinking. It was close by, easy to park and the service was quick. Bonnie would have to cope in the shop for an hour or so. It wouldn’t be the first time, by a long way.

  Gillian did not acknowledge the suggested time and place, which Simmy thought slightly rude, but not indicative of any change of plan. Indeed, when she arrived at twelve twenty-five, there was Mrs Townsend standing against the wall of the pub, watching the passing traffic. ‘I haven’t got long,’ said Simmy. ‘I don’t close the shop at lunchtime, so Bonnie has to manage on her own.’

  ‘Suits me.’

  They made rapidly careless choices of food and drink, and settled on a table that Simmy had used before. The bar was very long, full of light and poorly patronised. ‘It might get busy any minute now,’ said Simmy. ‘Better go down the far end.’

  ‘I’ve never been in here before. I don’t come to Windermere much.’

  Why would you? Simmy silently wondered. Kendal provided everything that Windermere could, and a lot more besides. ‘I bet you go to Bowness, though,’ she said aloud.

  ‘Well, yes. Clients, and so forth,’ she said vaguely. ‘They’ve got those hotels …’ Which neatly summed up the geographical variations of the area. Bowness did indeed have smart, versatile and welcoming hotels. And the hotels had views of the lake, meeting rooms, discreetly professional staff. Windermere had boarding houses, bed and breakfasts and not a glimpse of the lake.

  Their sandwiches came quickly, and they ate as they talked. Simmy noticed the way Gillian took small bites, chewing thoroughly. It put her in mind of Bonnie and her discomfort where food was concerned.

  Eventually, the main point was broached by Gillian. ‘The thing is, I might have to call on you at short notice, and ask you to act as a witness. There’s nothing concrete yet, but I’ve been putting feelers out. I know somebody in Crook must be able to help, but there’s nothing definite yet.’

  ‘Witness?’

  ‘You did seem to want to help us,’ Gillian reminded her.

  ‘I know, and I do. I just don’t understand what you’re asking me.’

  ‘Nothing yet. Just be available, if you can. I know you’ve got the shop, and it’s busy. I wouldn’t ask you, but there is literally nobody else who would carry such weight as you. You’re known to the police as someone of integrity. You’ve got no axe to grind. And – well, I can’t rely on myself as I used to be able to. It’s Crohn’s disease, you know. Did I tell you?’

  ‘DI Moxon said that’s what it was. I don’t know very much about it.’

  ‘It’s quite debilitating. It can completely immobilise me sometimes. If I had somebody with me, I’d be so much happier.’

  ‘But you won’t tell me where we’ll be going?’

  ‘I would if I knew. I think by tomorrow I’ll have a much better idea. Don’t worry about it. It sounds much more mysterious than it really is. It involves a little group of old gents meeting every Friday evening at their local pub. It’s likely something will emerge tonight.’

  ‘Has it got something to do with the Roger person who Declan was staying with?’

  ‘Who? Oh – him. No, no. Of course not. He wouldn’t help us to save his own life. Debbie’s already got to him, well and truly.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I know it sounds horrible. Debbie’s such a sweet girl, and she hasn’t done anything to deserve all this trouble. I hate to say it, but I think she’s rather lucky to have the ghastly Spencer Kennedy to watch out for her. He’ll make sure she’s all right financially, at least. Everyone wants to make things as good as they can for the poor girl – even my mother worries about her.’

  ‘I still can’t begin to understand what went wrong between Anita and her children. Wasn’t there some sort of terrible argument last week, that made Declan go off without a word?’

  Gillian absently pressed a hand into her belly, as she did habitually. ‘That was something between Debbie and Declan. Anita wasn’t involved in it at all.’

  ‘But she did know he’d gone off without saying where. You were talking about it on Friday.’

  ‘My mother again, I’m afraid. She never stops trying to bring everybody back together. She told Anita about it, thinking she might force her to make some effort to help her daughter. She came into our office on Friday morning and stayed for ages, mostly talking to Anita. I managed to raise the subject of the party – which is where you came in. I suppose my mother and I are alike in that way – we’re always trying to find something positive to focus on.’

  ‘That’s nice. I think I’m a bit the same, actually.’

  ‘Of course, it can backfire sometimes,’ said Gillian regretfully.

  Simmy looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go soon,’ she warned.

  ‘All right. I’m very grateful to you for coming. I couldn’t have said what I have over the phone.’

  ‘Well, I’m still confused. All I’ve gleaned is that somebody might come up with some evidence and you want me to be with you when you follow it up.’

  ‘Exactly. That’s it exactly.’

  ‘And it’ll be in Crook, because that’s where Declan was knocked off his bike. And a car hitting a bike would make quite a lot of noise. There might have been shouting, screaming, all sorts of things.’

  ‘Quite possibly,’ nodded Gillian. ‘Now, one last point I need to make, which is that you were driving along that road at just about that time, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t hit him,’ said Simmy stupidly.

  ‘Don’t be idiotic. Of course you didn’t. But I want you to think hard about that stretch of road. About half a mile past the main village, such as it is. The road runs straight, but undulates. It would be easy to miss a pedestrian or cyclist until it was too late, if you were speeding – and that adds weight to the theory that it was an accident all along. It’s desperately important that we establish what time it happened, you see.’

  ‘I don’t think I can help with that. I didn’t see anything. Aren’t there ditches along the road? And the light was going. And you don’t expect to see crumpled bicycles and dead men on the side of the road, do you?’

  ‘I’m just saying you might want to have a think about it, now you know he was very likely there as you passed. Something you saw from the corner of your eye and then completely forgot. Maybe you could drive along that way again, this evening, at the same time, and see if that jogs your memory. That could prove really helpful.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ Gillian smiled to soften the words. Her eyes were wide and warm on Simmy’s, and she put down her glass to press Simmy’s hand. ‘I know you’d help us if you could. You’ve met Anita, you can see how distressed she is by all this suspicion. We like you,
and the way you’ve been so friendly and nice. And of course, when we do get around to the retirement party, it’ll be lovely having you do all the flowers for it.’

  It was all so easy and amicable that Simmy had almost no qualms in agreeing to drive over to Crook again in the hope of jogging her memory. ‘But I don’t think I can do it this evening,’ she demurred. ‘The thing is, my dad’s not well, and they need my help with the bed and breakfast business. It’s all a bit of a crisis, really.’

  Gillian smiled again, adding a little laugh. ‘What a very British way of putting it,’ she observed. ‘Your whole life in meltdown, and all you can say is, “It’s a bit of a crisis”. Funny old lot, aren’t we?’

  ‘My life isn’t in meltdown,’ said Simmy. ‘Dad’s doing very well, actually, considering the scare he gave us. And everything else is going along quite nicely. It’s just my parents who need some help.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Silly me. But I need your help, Simmy. Can I call you that? I suppose it’s my life that’s in meltdown, and I was putting it onto you, stupidly. I honestly am very worried about poor Anita. And given that I’m her legal representative, I owe it to her to try and get her out of this ridiculous trouble she’s in. If only we could somehow get a lead on who actually killed Declan, it would all come right. You do see that, don’t you? It’s clutching at straws, obviously, but seeing that you drove that very stretch of road at roughly the same time that it happened, it would be neglectful of me not to check that out. I mean, how brilliant it would be if you could remember some little detail that pointed us in the right direction.’

  The coincidence finally hit Simmy. That she should have been on that road at all was remarkable. With the timing, and the links to Anita and Gillian, it was almost beyond belief. And yet, such things did happen. It was a small area, with few roads, and sooner or later flowers would be delivered to every tiny hamlet within seven or eight miles of Windermere. ‘Wasn’t it an amazing coincidence,’ she said. ‘That I should pass that spot on the way to you, just at the time Declan was hit?’

  ‘Amazing,’ Gillian nodded. ‘Although it was the rush hour, if that means anything around here. I suppose it does – the bypass does get very busy in the late afternoon.’

  ‘Bypass?’

  ‘The dual carriageway, between Ings and Kendal. The Staveley people still call it the bypass. It used to go right through the village, you see. Now Staveley’s as quiet as anything. All they get is visitors going up to Kentmere.’

  ‘You’ve known the area a long time, then?’

  ‘All my life, apart from when I was a student, and a few years after that. Robin and I are both local – we went to the same school, although he was four years ahead of me. We both went to a reunion, five years after I left, and got together then. It was rather romantic, actually.’ Gillian smiled again, her face pink with remembering.

  ‘A bit like me and Christopher,’ said Simmy. ‘Although not very, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh?’

  But the clock was against them, and the food was all finished. ‘I’ve really got to get back to the shop.’ She stood up. ‘I don’t see that I can be of any use to you, you know. I understand how desperate you must be to track down that car, but surely the police are in a better position to do it? They’ll have got tyre marks and located the exact spot … all that sort of thing. And they’ll be watching out for a car with scratches or blood or whatever on it.’

  Gillian sighed and nodded. ‘I know. But we can’t just sit around doing nothing, can we? And you seemed like a gift from heaven, if that doesn’t sound daft. You really are a very dear girl, you know. Even my mother took to you, and she takes quite some pleasing, I can tell you.’

  Flattered, Simmy merely smiled and made her departure. Nobody had called her a dear girl since her grandmother had died.

  Bonnie appeared calm and contented, back in the shop. Simmy had not mentioned her assignation with Gillian, merely that she might take longer than usual because she had an errand to run. Bonnie naturally assumed it was something for Angie, and asked no questions. Now Simmy was not sure whether or not to come clean, and if so, how much to disclose. Ben and Bonnie were, after all, not favourably disposed towards Anita, and by extension, Gillian. It felt as if a trial had already begun, with each side keeping its powder dry, its weapons under wraps. The implication that trust might be misplaced, and tricks played, was disturbing.

  ‘Two more orders for Mother’s Day, and I sold a dozen tulips,’ the girl reported. ‘Nothing else happened.’

  ‘Oh well, that just about covers the rent for a couple of days, I suppose,’ said Simmy. ‘I wonder whether the Hawkshead Hotel will want me to do flowers for them again this summer?’

  ‘Call them and ask. Or even better, make it sound definite that they do want you. There’ll be new people there, who’ll just assume it was agreed at some point. Say you’re phoning to check that Easter’s the starting date.’

  ‘You’re very businesslike,’ Simmy smiled.

  ‘I am, aren’t I?’ Bonnie smirked. ‘It’s fun as well.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘But not as much fun as working with Ben on this Staveley case. That’s really brilliant, even with him hardly having any time for it.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Well, it’s not so good if you think we’re on opposite sides. We’re not, you know. It’s just the best way of getting to the truth. Based on the legal system that’s lasted for a thousand years, or whatever it is. Dialectic, that’s what Ben calls it.’ Bonnie frowned. ‘I’m still not entirely sure what that means.’

  ‘Well don’t ask me.’ Simmy laughed. ‘I think even my dad might struggle with that one.’

  ‘It’s all to do with opposites, answering one argument with another on the other side, and testing them for credibility. Like they do in a trial. Except it’s got dreadfully corrupted, especially in America.’

  A customer interrupted what threatened to be a lengthy diatribe, for which Simmy was thankful. The indecisive woman could take all the time she needed, as far as Simmy was concerned. When she finally left, it was half past two. ‘Is Ben coming in today?’ Simmy asked.

  ‘Don’t know. That experiment’s gone wrong, so he had to start again. But it’ll be quicker this time and he’s got Dave Rowland to help him. That’s another sixth-former doing biochemistry.’

  Sometimes Simmy worried that Bonnie lived too much through her boyfriend, with hardly anything in her own life apart from him. How would the poor girl manage when Ben disappeared to Newcastle in the autumn? There had been hints of an intention to go with him, which would leave the florist in need of yet another new assistant. That prospect made her feel weak.

  Gillian’s request nagged at her, with her attempted refusal seeming more and more churlish as the afternoon went on. It wasn’t much to ask, after all, and she could make a loop through Crook and Staveley and back up to Beck View in about twenty minutes, even if she crawled slowly along the stretch of road where she believed Declan Kennedy had met his end. It wouldn’t matter if she didn’t get to her parents’ house before six. They probably wouldn’t even notice. She wouldn’t be doing anything to annoy Moxon or concern Ben, but merely refreshing her murky recollection of Friday’s drive. To leave it any longer would probably only dim the memories even more.

  She wouldn’t say anything to Bonnie. The matter had not arisen so far, and even if it did, Simmy had questions of her own. The youngsters had told her almost nothing about their visit to Debbie Kennedy, which made it easier to withhold her own findings from them. Although ‘findings’ was putting it a bit strong. What had she ‘found’ anyway? Nothing that wasn’t common knowledge, as far as she could think. Anita disliked her son-in-law, but the animosity was much stronger in the other direction. Anita was a perfectly pleasant, if somewhat remote, person. She had a loyal and affectionate friend in Gillian, but Gillian’s husband was not so enamoured. There was a son, Matthew Olsen, who Simmy had not yet met. Oh – and where was Mr Olsen senior? Be
n Harkness, of course, would not have left without ascertaining name, address and possible motive. Even now, given the fact of his existence, Ben would easily find him. And whose side might he be on, if located? Only then did the possibility strike her that Debbie and Matthew might well have already supplied these details and a lot more, when the youngsters went to Staveley. If so, and they had withheld it from Simmy, that would be upsetting. In fact, the increasing sense of being in opposition to them was already getting her down. Talking to Bonnie had become awkward, with unaccustomed silences where they would previously have shared everything.

  Another Mother’s Day order came in, and Simmy began to give serious consideration to the logistics of so many deliveries. ‘Did you ask Corinne if she’d help out, the weekend after next?’ she remembered to say.

  ‘Oh – yeah. She’s not sure, to be honest. There’s going to be some gig in Penrith she might want to go to.’ Corinne had developed a passion for music festivals in the past few years, to the point of offering her own performances on occasion. Simmy had heard her singing once or twice, and not been unduly impressed. The songs and the guitar reminded her of singers favoured by her parents – Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Maddy Prior. Corinne might look like a woman of the twenty-tens, but she sounded like someone from the 1970s.

  ‘Oh. Well, I do need to know for sure. It would make a huge difference.’

  ‘We’ve got Tanya, don’t forget.’

  ‘Assuming she’s old enough to be of any use.’

  ‘She’s fourteen and fairly sensible. I’ve been getting to know her better, and she’s definitely the best of the three. Natalie’s a total pain, and Zoe’s never around.’