Hidden Depths (34 page)

‘Is there any chance he’d go back to the lighthouse?’ Holly asked.

‘Or there’s the stream at Fox Mill,’ Joe said. ‘If the cottage is significant. If Lily came back, met someone there, lost the ring Calvert had given her, the place could have a special meaning for him. It’d be risky with people in the house . . .’

But he doesn’t care, Vera thought again. The risk is all part of the game, part of the performance. He’s come to realize that he likes an audience.

They were waiting for her to make a decision. There was a moment of quiet which sometimes occurs in busy buildings. Outside, a baby was crying in the street and a mother was trying to comfort him.

‘Three teams,’ she said. ‘One at the Fish Quay. Talk to the harbour master. One at Seaton Pool, camped out in the birdwatching hide. And one in the house at Fox Mill. The least the Calverts can do is let you use the house, the runaround they’ve given us. I can’t see him using the lighthouse again. The tide’s such a variable there.

‘But that’s for tonight. Before that I want the detail checked. Go back to the beginning. By this evening it’ll probably be too late. The girl will be dead.’

When Felicity arrived back at the mill from town she saw that there was a car in the drive. A car different from the one belonging to the CSI. She presumed it was someone else to do with the murder enquiry and wondered when it was going to end, this invasion by strangers, the prying into their business. She supposed she should be grateful that the press hadn’t got wind of their involvement and wondered even if the car belonged to some reporter. When she looked at the cottage she saw that the crime-scene tape had been removed.

She’d just had time to take off her shoes and put on the kettle when the doorbell went. From the kitchen window she saw the young detective sergeant who’d come to take Peter away the evening before. She went to answer the door in bare feet and she saw him looking down at her toenails, which were painted a very pale pink. She sensed his disapproval and wanted to say something to him.
Doesn’t your model wife, who belongs to the Women’s Institute, paint her toenails? Or don’t you like it because I’m a grandmother?
But she said nothing. She stood, waiting for him to speak.

‘We’ve been trying to phone you,’ he said. There was accusation in his voice and something else. Anxiety verging on panic.

‘I’ve only just got in.’

‘Where have you been?’

‘Into Morpeth.’

‘Were you with anyone?’

She didn’t answer that. It was none of his business. ‘Why, what’s happened?’ Because she could tell that there was something serious. ‘Another murder?’

He didn’t answer. ‘It would be very helpful if you had some proof of your whereabouts this morning. Did someone see you?’

‘No,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I was there on my own.’

‘A till receipt, then. Something showing the date and time?’

Then she began to panic too. She imagined herself being carted off to the police station in Kimmerston, sitting in a cell, being questioned. Perhaps they thought she and Peter were involved together. What would happen to James then? ‘I didn’t buy anything. I intended to, but I ended up just window-shopping.’

Then she had an idea and went outside, still in her bare feet, the gravel on the drive stinging her soles, to look in her car. At last she found a parking ticket for the Safeway car park under the seat. The date and the time were clearly marked and Joe Ashworth’s attitude changed slightly. He grew more polite and asked if he might come in.

‘A young woman’s gone missing,’ he said. Back in the kitchen the kettle had already boiled and switched off automatically. She made coffee for him without asking if he wanted one. ‘There’s a possibility that it’s linked to the two murders. I’ve been into the cottage. I hope you don’t mind. The CSIs have finished and you weren’t here to ask. In the circumstances . . .’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course. You must do everything you can.’ But she was shocked he still considered the cottage as a potential crime scene. Did that mean the men in white paper suits had found something? Did it mean Peter was still implicated?

‘Did your husband leave for work at his usual time?’ Ashworth asked. His tone was polite and lacked urgency, but she wasn’t taken in. She wasn’t going to tell him that Peter had left early this morning.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At about the usual time. And you’ll be able to check when he arrived at the university. They sign in. Fire regulations.’

He smiled so she realized that had already happened. She wondered if Peter had actually been there when they’d checked or if they’d spoken to his secretary. She would have liked to ask, but had too much pride.

The kitchen clock squawked. Some bird call she didn’t recognize. She saw it was already two o’clock.

‘I haven’t had any lunch,’ she said. ‘I’d planned to have something in Morpeth, but in the end I couldn’t face it. I was going to make myself a sandwich. Can I get you anything?’

He smiled. ‘I’m just going,’ he said. ‘But if you see anything unusual – a car you don’t recognize, people hanging around the cottage – you will give us a ring?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course.’

She was walking to the door with him when the phone went. Her mobile, still in her bag in the kitchen. She knew it would be Samuel, and was preoccupied with the thought, so she didn’t take in the implication of the detective’s next words.

‘Will you be in this evening? In case we have any more questions?’ He seemed not to have noticed the trilling of the phone. Or perhaps he didn’t care if she was inconvenienced.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Oh yes. We don’t often go out.’ She just wanted him to leave.

He smiled again as if that was the reply he’d wanted, as if that was why he’d come in the first place. ‘Excellent. That’s fine, then. I’ll see myself out.’

By the time she returned to the kitchen the phone had stopped. There was no message. Call register brought up the number of Samuel’s mobile. She tried to ring it but it had already been switched off. She left another message, but although she tried his home phone again, she couldn’t get through to him. She kept trying until James came home from school, then she gave up.

Peter arrived home from the university a little earlier than usual. It was only half past five. From the kitchen window Felicity saw him get out of his car and stand for a moment looking over to the cottage.

He’s thinking about the girl. He misses her.
A lump of jealousy, solid, like food stuck in the throat, making her want to gag.

James must have seen him too from where he was playing in the garden. He ran round the house to greet him. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he started talking as soon as he saw his father. Some news about school. Peter smiled and picked the boy up and swung him over his head.

Felicity watched, thought how fit he was despite his age, how strong. Peter put his arm round his son’s shoulder and they walked together towards the house. The land line rang. Felicity went into Peter’s office to answer it, glad of a chance to compose herself before she greeted them.

It was Samuel.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’ She had tried several times while she was in Morpeth that morning. There’d been no reply from his home phone or his mobile. She’d plucked up courage to go to the library, but the woman behind the desk had said he’d taken a day’s leave. Then she’d gone to his house and knocked at the door. There’d been no reply.

‘Why? What’s happened?’ His voice sounded strange, a little blurred. She wondered if he’d been drinking.

‘I can’t really discuss it now. Peter’s just come home, if you’d like to talk to him.’ She kept her voice light and easy as she always did when there was a possibility of being overheard.

‘No. It’s you I wanted.’

‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘Where have you been all day?’

He didn’t answer immediately. She heard Peter calling her from the kitchen, put her hand over the receiver and shouted back, ‘I’m just on the phone. Won’t be a minute. Stick the kettle on, will you?’

Still there was no response from Samuel.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked again.

‘I thought you might have worked it out.’ It was the sort of thing he might have said when they were alone together. Teasing. Implying a shared understanding. But now he just sounded bitter.

‘Are you all right?’ she said. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘I need to see you.’

‘I don’t think that’ll be possible,’ she said. ‘Not this evening.’ She’d forgotten all about her plans to accuse him of keeping the secret about Peter’s affair with Lily Marsh. Forgotten the bubbles of lust which had sustained her since they’d got together, made her smile to herself when nobody was looking. Now she wanted to extricate herself from the relationship as soon as possible and with as much dignity as she could manage. With this phone call, she was starting to consider Samuel as a liability.

‘It’s the twentieth anniversary of Claire’s death,’ he said.

Of course, she thought, that had been mid-summer too. She remembered the funeral. A still, humid day. Swarms of insects under the trees as they waited outside the church. The awkwardness, because suicide was such an embarrassing form of bereavement. She’d felt almost that they should be commiserating with Samuel for being dumped. Later they’d brought him home with them and he’d described finding his wife. ‘She looked more peaceful than I’d seen her for months. Her hair floating around her face.’

She had a sudden shock, as she realized he could be talking about the recent victims, then she pushed away the picture of Samuel as a murderer. Samuel was a gentle man. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have remembered.’ She knew he was waiting for her to agree to meet him, and for a moment she hesitated. Perhaps she should go to him. Just as a concerned friend. James had switched on the television in the living room. She heard the signature tune of an early evening soap. Peter yelled from the kitchen that tea was ready. This was the important stuff, she thought. The everyday trivia of family life. This was worth fighting for. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry but I can’t. Things are difficult here. The police took Peter in for questioning last night. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him?’

Samuel didn’t answer.

‘Everything’s such a mess,’ he said at last.

‘Where are you?’ she asked.

‘Forget it.’ More bitter than she’d ever heard him. He switched off his phone.

Peter had made her Earl Grey, with a splash of milk, just as she liked it. ‘Who was that?’

She hesitated for only a moment. ‘Samuel. He sounded a bit upset. It’s the anniversary of Claire’s death. I tried to get him to speak to you.’

‘I’ll talk to him later.’

‘That young detective was here this afternoon. Another young woman has gone missing.’

Peter carefully set down his cup, but she could tell the news had upset him. Perhaps it reminded him of Lily.

‘Do they think that has anything to do with the murders?’

‘That was what Ashworth suggested. He wanted to know where I’d been this morning.’

‘They’ve been trying to track me down all day.’ Peter leaned back in his chair, stretched, implying that he’d been so busy that he was exhausted.

‘Where were you?’

‘A meeting. Extremely tedious and abysmally chaired, which is why it went on so long.’

‘Really?’

‘You can’t think I had anything to do with this abduction?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Of course not. Not that. I went into Morpeth this morning. I tried to phone you. But I couldn’t get hold of you either.’

‘You suspected I was with another woman?’

‘I’m sorry. It did cross my mind.’

‘Never again,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll never do that again.’ He moved his head to take in the house, James in the next room, the view of the garden. ‘This is all too important.’ She realized he was echoing the thought she’d had earlier, when she was talking to Samuel.

After dinner, she and Peter watched television with James. Later, they went together to put the boy to bed, then they took their drinks onto the veranda and watched the huge orange sun floating low over the hills to the west. Peter seemed anxious, preoccupied. He returned several times to the subject of the abducted young woman. What else had Ashworth told her?

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Really. But if they find her and catch the person who took her, you’ll be in the clear, won’t you? It’ll all be over.’

But that thought seemed to give him no comfort. He couldn’t settle. At one point he went into the house to make a phone call. She assumed it was to Samuel.

‘How was he?’ she asked when he returned.

‘I don’t know.’ Peter was frowning. ‘He wasn’t answering.’

The police officers arrived just as it was getting dark. She’d never met them before. She’d locked the front door and they walked round the side of the house, a man and a woman. They seemed impossibly young to her, gauche, inarticulate, though they made every effort to be polite.

‘Sergeant Ashworth said we could watch the mill race from here. You told him it would be OK?’