Fatlands (21 page)

The service had been arranged at short notice, which presumably accounted for the modest display of flowers outside. There was a simple wreath of chrysanthemums and white gardenias with a card from Christine. I chose not to read it. There were a couple of bouquets from people who sounded like distant relatives and an enormous great cross of flowers from Vandamed. And to the side a small, less ostentatious display of roses. I think it was that that drew me to the card. Well, roses and I would always have a very special relationship. The message read: ‘To you both. James H.'

James H? The writing on the card would be that of the florists, of course. But the message? Some cheapskate relative mourning two corpses with one bouquet, or more than that? If I knew Detective Inspector Peters he'd have somebody out here before long just to match up the cards to the people. Simple detective work. First come, first served. I turned my back on the two security guards and slipped the card into my pocket.

It was raining harder by the time the chapel doors opened. The organ Muzak announced the procession. I stood to one side and watched them filter out. Christine was one of the first. She walked slowly, helping a much older woman on her arm. The woman was crying heavily. Mattie's grandmother? But on whose side? Maybe I didn't need to ask. After them came a middle-aged couple and a younger woman pushing a man in a wheelchair. Then Veronica, on her own, in a stunning black suit. And finally a small clutch of smart men. All-purpose executives—apart from one. The boss. Marion Ellroy.

They stood for a moment in the rain, not quite willing to acknowledge that it was all over. I gathered my courage in both hands and approached. The first public outing for me and my new look.

‘Mrs Shepherd?' Both Christine and the older woman
turned together. The old lady stared at me in pure horror. Christine's reaction wasn't much better. But then her defences were down.

‘I—it's Hannah Wolfe. You remember me? I—'

‘My God, what happened to you?'

‘Er … Someone tried to steal my handbag. Listen, I wanted to say how sorry I was. I mean about your husband …'

‘The car's here. We have to go now, Christine. Your mother needs to get back.' Veronica, polite but insistent, intercepting in the nicest possible way. ‘You'll have to excuse us, Miss Wolfe. There are family duties to attend to.' Which was ironic, considering how difficult it was going to be for her to become one of the family. Once again I admired her courage as much as her poise. I also admired the way she didn't stare at me.

The family group passed on towards the doors of an extremely large black limousine. I watched them go.

‘It seems you didn't give it up without a fight.'

I turned to see the man no doubt responsible for all the elegant expense and security. Not to mention my hospital bed. He looked good in black. It endowed him with a kind of
gravitas
. ‘What?'

‘Your handbag.' He was looking me straight in the face and it didn't seem to give him any trouble. I appreciated the lack of pity. ‘I was hoping you might come. From what I hear you're a very plucky young woman.'

To be honest I didn't quite hear whether he said plucky or lucky. It warranted the same answer, anyway. ‘I had good doctors. Thank you.'

‘You already did. Have the police found him yet?'

‘Him?'

He smiled slightly. ‘I don't know you very well, Miss Wolfe, but I can't imagine you'd have let a woman do that to you.' Very funny. I gave him what passed for a smile
these days, knowing full well that my upper lip made it more like a sneer. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend.'

‘You didn't. It's just my face.'

By now a flunkey had spotted him and was running over, carrying a huge black umbrella to shield his master from the acid rain, but before he reached us Ellroy waved him away and we walked on together, getting wet in perfect equality. When we got to the bank of flowers, he stopped for a moment and seemed genuinely moved by the sight of them. Or maybe it was just the cost of the Vandamed display. I stood to one side and waited. He took my arm for the remainder of the walk, steering me ever so gently towards his car. But when we got there he let me go. ‘Can I offer you a lift, Hannah? I feel sure we have things to talk about.'

I shook my head.

‘Is that no to the lift, or no to the conversation?'

‘Both,' I said softly.

He sighed. ‘It wasn't a bribe, you know.' And I got the impression that I was proving something of a trial to him, a man used as he was to getting his own way.

‘I know that.'

‘Tom was a good friend as well as an employee. I'm going to miss him a lot. The police tell me you saw him the day he died.'

I nodded.

‘How was he?'

‘Depressed.'

‘I wondered if he said anything … I mean something that took you back to Suffolk for some reason. Maybe something about Malcolm Barringer, although I don't see how they ever would have known each other …'

‘No,' I said. ‘He didn't say anything at all.'

He shook his head. ‘Jesus, I'd like to get my hands on those bastards.'

‘Yes. So would I.'

He looked at me, then put out his hand. ‘The offer still stands, you know.'

‘If I was still working, I'd take it,' I said. ‘But I'm afraid I've had enough.'

He nodded. ‘I know how you feel. Well'—I took his hand and shook it firmly, one professional to another—‘good luck to you, Hannah Wolfe.'

I stood and watched him walk away—the best meal ticket I would ever have.

When I got back to my car, the family entourage had already left. Luckily I was a woman with ‘intelligence' . I drove into London slowly. By the time I got to Sutherland Avenue it had stopped raining. I parked across the street from the limos and sat and waited. It wouldn't have been my choice for a wake. But then she could hardly have taken them back to Veronica's flat, and this had been Mattie's home. Presumably it could be hers again now, though I couldn't imagine she'd want it.

They started to leave at around 4.00. The man in the wheelchair took the longest. I gave them ten minutes alone, then went up and knocked. Veronica put the chain on before opening the door. The last time I had been here he had done the same.

‘She's had enough for one day. Whatever this is it can wait till another time.'

‘Except every time I wait, something worse happens,' I said. ‘To me as well as other people. I don't want to talk to her. I just need to see his study.'

It's what's called the foot-in-the-door technique. I'd like to tell you I knew what I was doing, but truth is better than fiction so I'll admit to a certain level of improvisation. Miss Marple would have called it intuition. I'm more a Freud girl myself. Whatever it was, it got me inside the house.

I had a clear memory of that room from ten days before: carpet rumpled, cabinets exploding with files and documents, and Mattie standing by the phone with that sheaf of papers in her hand. Things had changed. The place was very, very tidy now. And the cabinets were locked. There was a selection of keys in the top drawer of the desk. It didn't take long to find the right one. Given how little was revealed, there didn't seem much point in having locked them in the first place. Where were all the files? Someone had done a big clear-out. I went through the little there was. Being an arts and languages graduate put me at a distinct disadvantage, but even I can tell the difference between cancer cells and agricultural feed. And there was nothing about pigs.

I was still looking when I heard her in the doorway. I turned, guilty without cause. Unlike Mattie.

‘Find anything?' Veronica had changed into a pair of summer trousers and a white T-shirt. Lovely. I wondered how often men got the wrong idea. I shook my head. ‘How is she?'

‘Asleep.'She looked around. ‘Tidy, isn't it? The police said it's not uncommon. For a man to put his affairs in order. I say he might at least have left her a note.'She ran her hand over the oak desk surface, spotless. After death comes the housekeeper. ‘I don't like this room,'she murmured. ‘It smells of secrets.'

What had Mattie said about Christine using this phone for her private calls? Like mother, like daughter. I heard again Mattie's voice as I came in on her that night.
‘Listen I'm not stupid … I know what I'm looking for. And I'm telling you …'
Telling me what, Mattie? If I stood here for long enough in the silence, would you tell me again?

‘Yes,' I said to Veronica, ‘I know what you mean.'

She shot me a glance. ‘Were you looking for anything in particular?'

I hesitated. ‘No.'

She smiled, as if she understood the lie. ‘You know, I didn't expect it to end like this. I only met him twice. But I can't say he seemed like the suicide type. Too angry, too stubborn. Too sure of himself to admit making mistakes. I never thought he'd be this vulnerable.'

Me neither. But I didn't want to talk about it. ‘What will you do now?'

‘When everything's sorted out, we'll go away. I have friends in Australia. A lot of people would like to see us fail. But for Mattie's sake we're going to try and make a go of it.'

Yeah. A little optimism at last. Just what this story needs. ‘What about this place?'

She smiled. ‘Oh, this place is taken care of. Vandamed has agreed to buy it. Above market value. And they're paying his pension in full. With a little golden handshake on the side.'She paused. ‘Suicides don't qualify for life insurance, apparently.'Some time soon I must sit down and add up just what all of this had cost them. ‘Model employers, eh?'she said in a bitter echo of before.

We went downstairs together. On the landing a door opened. The sleep had left Christine Shepherd looking pale and rather lovely. As if all the grief had finally washed her clean. Behind her I recognized the landscape of Mattie's bedroom. Talking to the dead about the future. Australia, I thought. New country, new life. Who says there's no such thing as rebirth? But no children. I wondered how they felt about that one. Yet another question I didn't feel I had the right to ask.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?'

‘I think I found what I expected. Mrs Shepherd, did you, Mattie or your husband know anyone by the name of James?

She frowned. ‘James? No. I don't think so.'

‘What about in Suffolk? Was there anyone at work he was particularly close to? Anyone he might have talked to?'

She thought about it. ‘There was a man on the experimental farms. A vet. He got ill before we came to London. I think he took early retirement. But his name wasn't James. At least, I don't think it was.'

And sometimes what you get is better than what you hope for. There was just one more detail. I didn't like to bring it up really, in this atmosphere of healing. But I needed to know and she was the only one who could tell me. The problem with the ignition switch. She told me what I expected to hear.

‘Well, the fact was she couldn't. I mean not really. Tom had taught her the basics on the country roads but she'd never really driven in traffic. I don't think she could.'

But being Mattie, of course, she'd give it a go anyway. Just as loverboy had known she would. It all seemed so obvious now.

Veronica saw me out. I wished her luck. She was going to need it. I wanted to tell her how brave I thought she was. And how capable. But it didn't seem right, being so personal. She did it for me. ‘You should try arnica.'

‘What?'

‘For the bruising.'

‘Yeah. You got anything that'll help the pride?'

She smiled. ‘Who was it? Do you know?'

‘A man.' I paused. ‘Bastards, aren't they?'

She gave a little shrug. ‘Depends how close to them you get. I hope you get a chance to slug him back.'

‘You got any advice?'

She grinned. ‘Go for the balls. I've always thought they'd be better without them.'

*   *   *

So now I had a theory. Well, to be honest I'd had it for a while, but it was still so young and weak that it could have expired at any time. Given how much grief there's already been in this story, I hope you'll understand if I keep it to myself for a bit longer.

Back home I made a few phone calls. The florists who'd supplied the roses were as helpful as helpful could be. But then I was a bereaved wife wanting to thank all the donors and too distraught to remember all my husband's 's friends. They said they'd call me back. It was 5.15. I also needed to contact the local registrar's office for Framlingham to check on a small country death, but I didn't want to clog up the telephone lines, just in case.

The phone rang five minutes later. I jumped on it. Not what I was waiting for, but as good as. Now the story was moving again, everybody but everybody, it seemed, wanted to get in on the act. It was Ben Maringo. The man with the rabbit, the baby and the prison record. And he knew a man who knew a man who had something to tell me.

‘They could always call. I mean I don't think my line is being tapped.'

‘I'm just passing on a message, all right. If you want to talk to them that's where you have to go.'

‘OK. Give it to me again.'

I wrote the address down. It was fifth-lamp-post-on-the right stuff. Not at all the kind of place where innocent people go to meet. Especially at night.

‘What's wrong with the daylight?'

‘I told you—'

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. You're only the messenger. Tell them I'll be there. But that if anybody tries to beat me up I'm going to be very pissed off indeed.'

‘What?'

He didn't understand. But then I didn't think he would.
Still, a girl should at least pretend to learn from experience. I dialled Frank's number. The answering machine connected.