Hidden Depths (14 page)

‘I’d rather not, pet. I have this allergy. Direct sunlight. Makes me come out in lumps and blotches.’

So they sat up to the kitchen table. Felicity had made to take the tea things through to the living room on a tray, but Vera had touched her arm to stop her. ‘Eh, we don’t want any fuss. I’m more the hired help than visiting gentry.’

Felicity knew the detective was playing with her and wasn’t quite sure how to take it. She just nodded her agreement, sliced the scones she’d fetched out of the freezer the afternoon before and spooned homemade jam into a pot. When Peter came out from his office, Vera had her mouth full, and spattered crumbs over the table as she tried to speak. Felicity wanted to say to Peter:
Don’t be taken in by this woman. She wants you to believe she’s a clown. She’s brighter than she looks.
But she could tell that Peter had already dismissed her as a fool. As she choked and coughed and swilled tea, he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

At last the pantomime was over and Vera began to speak.

‘I got interrupted last night,’ she said. ‘There are a few questions. You’ll understand. Formalities.’

‘Of course.’

‘You work at the university, Dr Calvert? Miss Marsh was a student there. On the post-graduate education course. You’re sure you didn’t know her?’

‘What did she take for her first degree?’

‘English. She did that at Newcastle too.’

‘However, I never met her, Inspector. My subject is botany. Our paths never crossed. I’m afraid it must be a coincidence. Her teaching our son, enquiring about accommodation and then our stumbling across her like that on the shore.’

A random occurrence, Felicity thought. Like sea watching. Like birds flying past just when you’re there to see them. Except, of course, it wasn’t chance which connected the birders and the birds, as Peter had described it in the watch tower the night before. They took steps to make sure they were there at the right time. They listened to the shipping forecast every night to hear which way the wind was blowing. They consulted tide tables.

‘The girl was murdered,’ Vera said suddenly. ‘Strangled. But you know that already. I told you last night. Something that elaborate, staged, you’d think it’d be easy to find out who did it. They’d leave traces. A jilted lover, maybe.’ She paused.
‘Jilted.
That’s an old-fashioned kind of word. And it seemed like an old-fashioned sort of crime, at first. Something from a gentler age. Looked peaceful, didn’t she, lying there. The flowers. But there was nothing peaceful about her dying. I can’t believe she wanted to go.’

Felicity felt tears in her eyes. As if, somehow, she was being held responsible. She was pleased that Peter seemed moved too, that he kept quiet.

The detective continued. ‘And there are other complications. There was another victim. A lad was killed two days earlier. Name of Luke Armstrong.’ She looked at them both. ‘Are you
sure
you don’t know the name?’

‘You mentioned him before,’ Felicity said. ‘And I saw it on the local news. He came from Seaton.’

‘What I didn’t tell you was that he was put in a bath. Covered with flowers. Like I said last night, it could hinder our investigation if something like that became common knowledge. But you do see what I’m saying. It’s not simple any more. A jilted lover isn’t going to kill a sixteen-year-old boy as a sort of practice run. Why take the risk? Far too elaborate. I’m looking for links here. The mother’s name is Julie. Julie Armstrong.’

‘Wasn’t that woman Gary was raving about called Julie?’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth Felicity regretted them. It was such a stupid thing to say. Why point the inspector in the direction of Gary, who wouldn’t hurt a fly? She could feel Peter glaring at her and tried to rescue the situation. ‘I mean, it’s a really common name. I’m sure it doesn’t mean . . .’

‘Why don’t you tell me anyway, pet?’

‘He met this woman, that’s all. Some gig he was doing the sound for. A local band in a pub in North Shields. That place with the view over the river. Bumped into her in the bar after. They got talking and found out they’d been to school together. You know how it is.’

‘I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you explain?’

‘He talks a big game, Gary. I mean, to hear him, you’d think he had women all over the country. But since his fiancée left him, I don’t think he’s had a real girlfriend. He loved Emily, really loved her. When she went off with someone else, he was devastated. I just got the impression that he clicked with this Julie. He hoped to meet her again.’

‘Did he say any more about her? Like whether she had kids?’

‘No, nothing like that.’

‘What about you, Dr Calvert? Did he talk to you about this woman?’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector. It’s not really the sort of thing men talk about.’

‘Isn’t it?’ As if she was genuinely surprised. ‘Well, I can ask Gary about it, can’t I? Get it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

Felicity thought that the ordeal was over then. Vera Stanhope licked her finger, swept up the remaining pieces of scone from her plate, drained her teacup.

‘What were you both doing on Wednesday night? Late. Between ten and midnight.’

Felicity looked at Peter, waiting for him to answer first.

‘I was here,’ he said. ‘Working.’ He looked at his wife. ‘I was still in my office, wasn’t I, when you got in?’

‘And what were you up to, Mrs Calvert?’

‘I was at the theatre,’ she said. ‘The Live, down on the quayside. It was the work of a young local playwright. I’ve seen some of his stuff before. It’s very evocative. I think it’s important to support new writing.’ She stopped talking, realizing she was saying too much.

‘Were you on your own?’

‘No, I went with a friend. Peter doesn’t enjoy the theatre very much. Not that sort of play, at least. I was there with Samuel Parr. You met him here last night.’

‘Of course,’ Vera said. ‘Samuel the librarian.’ Felicity expected some sly comment, but none came. ‘What time did you arrive home?’

‘It probably was nearly midnight. We had supper after the show and it’s quite a trek from town.’

‘Thanks for that, then.’ This time Vera did get to her feet. ‘I’m sure you understand why I had to ask. I’ll let you get back to your work, Dr Calvert.’

Felicity walked the detective back to her car. The sun was covered by a thin layer of mist, but it didn’t look as if it would lead to rain. Gardening would be more pleasant now that it was a bit cooler. She didn’t think she would go back to it, though. A bath, she thought. That would relax her. Then she remembered what the inspector had said about Luke Armstrong being found in the bath and the image of a body, strewn with flowers, flashed in front of her eyes.

Vera stood by her vehicle. Felicity started to walk back into the house.

‘Just one thing, Mrs Calvert. Would you mind if I had a look at the cottage? The place you showed Lily Marsh the day before she died.’

Felicity had a moment of revulsion. She didn’t want to be in the space where she’d been close to Lily Marsh, close enough to see the stitching on the hem of her skirt as she walked ahead of Felicity up the stairs. Then she told herself that was ridiculous. She’d have to go into the cottage sometime. Why not now? Better, surely, to humour the detective than antagonize her.

‘Of course. I’ll just get the key.’

They walked through the meadow to the cottage door. Inside, it was all as it had been since her last visit, except the roses in the bedroom were dead. Felicity took them from the jug to take to the compost heap, held them carefully because of the thorns. Vera followed her down the stairs, but then she seemed reluctant to leave.

‘This was the last time anyone saw her alive,’ she said. ‘Last time anyone will admit to, at least. She didn’t go into school on Friday. We talked to the head teacher this afternoon, finally tracked her down.’ She looked sharply at Felicity. ‘And that’s not for public consumption either’ She looked out of the window. ‘What a beautiful place. You’d have thought she’d have jumped at the chance to stay here.’

‘I wondered if she thought she wouldn’t have been able to afford it.’

‘What rent were you going to charge?’

‘I don’t know. I hadn’t really considered it.’

‘Didn’t she ask?’

‘No,’ Felicity said. ‘She just said she’d think about it. Then she ran off.’

Julie was back in her own home. Her mother opened the door to Vera, pulled her close for a conspiratorial whisper.

‘We’ve asked her to stay with us for a while, but she says she’d never face coming back. So I’ve moved in to keep an eye. Just for a week or two.’

Vera nodded, walked on into the house, kept her voice low too.

‘What about Laura, Mrs Richardson? How’s she?’

‘Eh, I don’t know. Not eating. Keeps to herself. I’ve asked if she wants her friends round but she says not.’

‘Is she in now?’

‘Aye, she’s in her room.’

‘I’ll just go up for a quick word. I’ll see Julie on my way out, if that’s all right. Would you mind telling her I’m here?’

Laura was lying on her bed, curled on her side, a magazine beside her. It was open but she didn’t seem to be reading. The window was shut and the room was hot. It was at the back of the house, looking out over a paddock, where a couple of tired ponies cropped the parched grass, and then a field of arable. Vera had knocked at the door and walked in without waiting for an answer.

The girl looked up. ‘What do you want?’ She was skinny, angular. Fourteen but no figure to speak of. Her hair was cut short and spiky. Eyes that glared at you. A rash of freckles across her nose which made her seem younger than she was. Soon, Vera thought, she might become an interesting beauty. Now she was sullen, miserable, lonely. There’d been a time when Vera had been desperate for children. The longing had come on her suddenly, when she was in her late thirties, shocking her with its intensity. It had been more potent than her dreams of men and sex. Just as well it never happened, she thought now. I could never have coped with someone like this.

‘I’d just like a chat,’ she said. ‘Now you’ve had a chance to think about things.’

‘I don’t know anything about what happened that night. I was asleep.’

‘I wanted to talk to you about that, pet. Are you sure you didn’t hear anything? A knock on the door, voices, a scuffle. You might have heard, thought it was Luke and his mates larking about. Nothing to feel guilty about if you did.’

‘I don’t feel guilty.’

‘Because I find it hard to believe you slept through all that.’

‘I sleep like a stone,’ Laura said. ‘Ask Mam.’

She glared at Vera, who felt out of her depth. She would have pushed another witness, but this was a young girl who’d just lost her brother. ‘Still,’ Vera said. ‘You might be able to help. I need to talk about Luke’s mates, what he got up to, who he mixed with. You’ll have a better idea about that than your mam.’

‘No, I won’t.’ Aggressive. As if Vera was crazy even to consider it.

‘He didn’t talk to you, then?’

‘No.’ That tone again. The one teenagers did when they really wanted to wind you up. Sneering. The voice that made you want to slap them. ‘I didn’t want him to.’

‘You didn’t get on?’

Laura pulled herself up onto her elbow. ‘I’ve had all the lectures, OK? From Mam and Nan and the teachers at school. I know it wasn’t his fault, the learning disability. I know I’m a bitch. But I couldn’t stand it. Everyone pointing at me, knowing I was his sister. Sniggering behind my back when he did something stupid. As if I could help it. We didn’t
not
get on. I just wanted him out of my life.’

She realized the implication of what she’d said as soon as the words came out, but wasn’t going to show she was sorry. She sank onto the bed and turned her back on Vera. Vera knew something of what she was going through. When she was a kid, people had sniggered about her too. She’d lived on her own with a mad father. No mother. No one to iron the school uniform or bake cakes for sports day. No one to take her to the hairdresser’s or explain about periods. Just Hector, who spent his spare time prowling the hills looking for raptors’ nests, who seemed to care more for his egg-collecting friends than his ugly daughter. But it wouldn’t help if she talked about that to Laura. Young people saw the middle-aged as a different species. How could Vera’s experience mean anything to the miserable girl lying on the bed?

She reached out and touched Laura’s shoulder. ‘Eh, pet, it’s not your fault. And you might be able to help without realizing.’

The girl turned onto her back, stared at the ceiling.

‘I didn’t know any of his friends.’

‘What about Thomas Sharp?’

‘He’s dead.’

Vera kept her voice even. The team back at Kimmerston would be astonished, she thought, that she could be this patient. ‘But you must have met him when he came to the house.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘What did you make of him?’

There was a silence. Vera wondered if she’d pushed too hard.

‘He was OK,’ the girl said at last. ‘Better than the others Luke had knocked around with. A laugh.’