The Windermere Witness (20 page)

‘Who were you talking to?’ asked Bridget, when she finally went back into the living room.

‘The detective inspector. It’s all right. He won’t tell Peter where you are.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ There was more resignation than anger in the voice. ‘We can’t trust the police.’

‘I think we can.’ A thought struck her. ‘Where’s your car? I didn’t see it when I came home. If anybody’s looking for you, they might see it.’

‘I walked. It’s only about five miles. I’ve done it about five million times before – from the Ambleside house, anyway. The new one’s a bit further, but no big deal.’

‘I’m impressed,’ said Simmy sincerely. ‘I’d be lost after ten minutes.’

‘Peter showed me all the tracks, when I was about ten.’

‘So – won’t he guess where you are? If you used to come here all the time? He’ll know I live here now. He’ll make the connection.’ In spite of herself, she felt a burgeoning fear, speeding her breathing and churning her insides. Peter Harrison-West was an unpredictable character, as she had already discovered. ‘He can be quite … violent,’ she pointed out.

‘I left him a note, actually, saying I was going down to see Penny in Wiltshire. Then I hid the car on the other side of Rydal Water. I was quite clever, you see.’

Clever enough to kill two men and get away with it?
wondered Simmy.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that before I phoned the police?’ she demanded, feeling that she’d been foolishly precipitate.

‘Why should I? Anyway, I didn’t think you’d sneak off and do it without telling me first. I should be cross with you, but I’m too tired.’

‘That makes two of us. Look – we need some supper. I’ll do scrambled eggs or something. We can watch a bit of telly and then go to bed.’

Wasn’t this too much of a repeat of Monday night, when Melanie had stayed? Was she fated to act hostess to a succession of young women with assorted reasons for wanting to use her spare room? Who was it going to be next?

‘You don’t approve of me, do you?’ Bridget’s expression was defiant. ‘No job, no A-levels, a childhood spent roaming around the fells. Marrying a man more than twice my age. I’m not your idea of a success, am I?’

Simmy’s mouth opened and closed three times before she constructed a response. ‘I don’t
disapprove
,’ she
protested. ‘It’s not for me to judge. I’m curious, I admit. It’s a long way outside anything I’ve come across before. But I absolutely don’t disapprove. You’ve got me all wrong, if that’s what you think.’

‘I liked you when we came about the flowers. You were great. That seems
years
ago now.’

‘Does disapproval bother you, then? Is that what you expect everyone to feel?’

‘More or less. Everyone except Markie and my father, really. I’ve lost the only two men I could fully trust.’’

There was just a shade too much self-dramatization in this speech for Simmy to be convinced that the girl was entirely pitiable.

‘And Peter’s friends,’ she prompted.

‘They don’t count. They only see it from his point of view, don’t they?’ She heaved a pitiful sigh. ‘The thing is – I thought that if somehow it
did
go wrong, I’d always have Markie to run to. And if he couldn’t cope, then Daddy would save the day. He’d send me off to some friend in Singapore or somewhere and everything would be all right. And I know that makes me sound like a spoilt little rich girl.’

‘It does a bit,’ Simmy agreed. ‘At least it sounds as if life’s been just a game for you up to now.’

Bridget frowned doubtfully. ‘Not a
game
, exactly. Marrying Peter was quite serious, believe it or not. He wanted it so badly, and was so lovely about it, I never thought there’d be any problems. We’ve only been sleeping together for a year, you know. He wanted to wait until I was properly grown up. He said I had to pass my driving test first,’ she giggled.

‘But not the A-levels,’ Simmy could not resist adding.

‘There! I
knew
you disapproved of that part.’

‘I didn’t even know you hadn’t done them until just now. It never crossed my mind to wonder what exams you’d passed. I’m nothing like as conventional as you seem to think.’

‘Aren’t you?’

They both examined the subject in silence for a minute. It had never before occurred to Simmy to assess her own rating in terms of conventionality. She wondered how DI Moxon regarded her in that respect. ‘My mother’s a complete rebel,’ she said at last. ‘I suppose she thinks I’m boringly ordinary compared to her. It depends where you start from, doesn’t it? I can’t see myself getting arrested for any of the thought crimes that exist these days, but I might well go on a march to protest against the abandonment of proper planning laws.’

‘Planning laws!’ Bridget’s mockery was gentle, but real. ‘Wow!’

‘And,’ Simmy pressed on, ‘I can see there’s not a lot of sense in ploughing through years of education with hardly any prospect of a decent job at the end of it, if you’re not interested in it for its own sake.’

‘I did quite like school, as it happens. I was extremely good at languages, and art. I can draw brilliantly.’

‘Well, I guess that means you’ll find a job easily enough if it comes to the crunch.’

‘Don’t you think the crunch might be rather horribly close?’ The giggles had rapidly died away, to be replaced by pathos. ‘I don’t feel old enough to deal with it, that’s what it is. I’m a little lamb lost in the wood, and there’s nobody I trust to look after me. They’ve all turned into wolves.’

‘Even Peter?’

‘Even Peter,’ she confirmed miserably.

Melanie was in the shop promptly at noon next day, eager to report everything Joe had said the night before. Of course – Simmy remembered – Wednesday nights were always nights out with Joe, as well as Fridays and Saturdays. That would be why there’d been no further mention of staying at Simmy’s in a protective role.

‘He says there’s scarcely any evidence for either of the killings. They’ve been doing door-to-door stuff in Bowness, but nobody’s said anything useful. The people at Storrs just want to get back to work as usual, as quick as they can. You can’t blame them, can you?’

Simmy had debated with herself, on the drive back from Coniston, whether or not to tell Melanie that she had a new lodger. If there was to be any reality to the idea that they might work together to identify the murderer, she obviously had to mention it. But Bridget would certainly have forbidden any such disclosure, if she had been
consulted. As it was, Simmy had crept out of the house at seven-thirty, leaving the girl asleep in the spare room. The undisturbed night had been a great relief, once she had satisfied herself that it really had been undisturbed. She had slept so well, there was every chance that Bridget had been abducted at 2 a.m., without Simmy waking. But no. When she peeped into the room, there was her guest peacefully curled under the duvet, evidently far from the point of natural awakening. Simmy left a note with her phone number, and a suggestion she have a long serious think about what she ought to do next.

‘Listen, Mel – something happened last night, at my house.’

‘My God! Don’t tell me somebody tried to break in? Did you keep them out? Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. Somebody
did
break in, sort of. Well, she had a key—’

‘She? Who? I don’t get it.’

‘Bridget. She used to go in and out all the time, when Markie lived there, and kept a key, apparently. I called the police to tell them where she was, in case Peter reported her missing.’

Melanie went into deep thought, her prosthetic eye staring fixedly, while the other one flickered to and fro. It gave her a look both robotic and vulnerable. ‘That’s very weird,’ she said, finally. ‘Does she think Peter did the murders, then? She’s run away from him twice now, after all. And he
is
pretty aggressive. I suppose I’d be scared of him, as well, if I was her.’

‘She doesn’t know who she can trust. I think there was a lot she wasn’t telling me.’

‘But she let you call the cops. What did they say?’

‘I spoke to the Moxon man. And Bridget didn’t actually
let
me. I went off into the kitchen and did it of my own accord. He was interested. Said I shouldn’t assume she was as innocent as she seems. Something like that, anyway.’

‘He thinks
she
killed them? But she was up in that bridal room, wasn’t she – the whole time? So she couldn’t have drowned Markie. She wouldn’t be strong enough, anyway.’

‘I know. He’s probably thinking the whole lot of them conspired together to do it. That they’re all lying their heads off, to keep him from guessing what really happened.’

‘Could be he’s right.’

‘I don’t think so. They all seem much too edgy for that. All scared of each other, because nobody knows who – if any of them – did it. Glenn followed me and Eleanor outside, on Sunday, for a private word. Pablo comes here on his own looking for Bridget, then Peter the same. It doesn’t feel to me like a gang working together.’

‘The big picture!’ Melanie congratulated her. ‘Isn’t that what you’re meant to be good at? Looks to me as if you really are. It’s a great skill.’

‘Seems like plain common sense to me,’ said Simmy modestly.

‘So what happens next? How long is Bridget staying at yours? Is she in the same bed I was in?’

‘Of course. I made it up fresh for her, like a good hostess. My mother would be proud of me. One thing she’s really conscientious about is the sheets.’

‘You’d have to be,’ Melanie agreed absently. ‘They’ll find her, won’t they? They might be there already, for all we know.’

‘She’ll be all right. She’s very clever. She hid her car somewhere near Rydal Water and walked all the way to Troutbeck, over the fells. That’s pretty intrepid, with everything so muddy.’

‘Or desperate. It must be six miles, at least.’

‘She said five. Made very light of it.’

‘But Peter knows she’s capable of that sort of thing. He’ll follow her trail.’

‘She left a note saying she’s gone to Wiltshire to see Markie’s mother. Penny, she’s called.’

‘He’ll find out with a phone call that she’s not there, won’t he?’

‘Probably. Unless she’s already got Penny to tell him she
is
there. She might have thought of that already.’

‘Dodgy,’ said Melanie, but she seemed impressed. ‘Meanwhile she’s camping out at your place for how long?’

‘No idea,’ sighed Simmy. ‘I imagine she’s waiting for something to happen, like the rest of us.’

The next thing to happen was a not entirely unexpected visit from DI Moxon. He came in as before, deliberately, looking all around. His hair, Simmy noted, was greasier than ever. His dark eyes seemed smaller, with pouches beneath them. ‘You look tired,’ she said, without thinking.

‘Mm.’ He waved away the comment. ‘I thought I should see you in person, make sure you’re all right. Have to look after the witnesses, you know.’ It was a feeble attempt at jocularity and she shook her head in protest.

‘I never actually witnessed anything, did I? I can’t have been the slightest bit of help with either of the murders. I’m probably a complete waste of time. A red herring.’

‘No, no. You’re very far from that. I told you before – your involvement is extremely useful. Possibly dangerous, as well.’

‘Yes, you told me that before, too. I actually believed you on Monday. Since then I’ve got a lot braver. It’s not looking as if I’m seen as a threat, after all.’

‘Too soon to say,’ he warned her. ‘Much too soon.’

‘Especially now she’s got Bridget under her wing,’ said Melanie. ‘That might upset whoever-he-is quite a lot.’

‘But if he doesn’t want to get caught, he’s going to steer clear, isn’t he?’ Simmy responded. ‘He’s going to carry on as normal, and hope the police don’t find any evidence. Every passing day must be making him feel more and more confident.’

‘Girls, girls,’ pleaded the detective. ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. All this guesswork only clouds the issue. Somebody somewhere is playing a very nasty, dangerous, cruel game, and everyone needs to be very, very careful.’

‘Be afraid. Be
very
afraid,’ teased Simmy.

The others both gazed at her as if she had very definitely overstepped a mark. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m usually quite a serious person. It was just … well, you
did
sound awfully doomy,’ she told the man. ‘I guess I wanted to put a more female perspective on it. Life goes on, the flowers keep blooming – that sort of thing.’

He blinked at her. His eyes looked dry and sore. ‘Last night you shouted at me for saying we can’t be sure of Mrs Harrison-West. You said she was a victim, and I was all wrong for treating her with suspicion. Is that still true?’

Melanie and Simmy exchanged a glance. ‘She
is
very
clever,’ Simmy admitted. ‘But she’s definitely confused and scared. She doesn’t trust her husband, and that must be horrible. She says he’s weak, which I think is a whole new perception for her. It makes her feel alone, I assume. And she’s terribly sad about Markie.’

‘Not to mention her dad,’ contributed Melanie.

‘Exactly,’ Simmy agreed.

‘She thinks Harrison-West is weak? Was that your impression?’ Moxon asked Simmy.

‘Not at all. We didn’t tell you, did we, that he came in here yesterday, when Mel was on her own, and behaved very threateningly.’

‘You did not,’ he said heavily. ‘When was this?’

‘After lunch. I had to take flowers up to a house in Kentmere, and when I got back he was waving a fist in Mel’s face.’

‘And you didn’t report it?’ His disbelief came close to eliciting another flippant response, but she clamped her lips together firmly.

‘We did think about it,’ defended Melanie. ‘But the idea seemed a bit … inappropriate.’

‘Disproportionate, she means,’ said Simmy. ‘He’s got enough to worry about, after all. At least, that’s what we thought at the time.’

‘We almost felt sorry for him.’

‘We did,’ Simmy realised. ‘And that suggests he might be a bit weak, after all. All bluster and bluff, hiding who knows what. And he’s quite short, isn’t he?’ she added inconsequentially.

Moxon peered from under his dark brows. ‘What bearing does that have?’

She guessed he himself was about five feet ten. ‘When you’re as tall as me and Melanie, short men can be difficult. They feel as if they’re at a disadvantage. It’s quite natural, but it’s sometimes irritating. It makes them louder than they might be otherwise. Thinking about it now, I’d say that’s all it was with Peter.’

‘Throwing his weight around? But don’t you think a man with so much money, all those loyal friends, and a lovely new young wife would be confident enough to stand up to you, even if you are an inch or so taller than him?’

‘The new young wife had just run away from him – for the second time. Two people closely connected to her are dead. The loyal friends are itching to get back to their normal lives somewhere else. I imagine all that might have shaken whatever confidence he had on Saturday …’ Simmy paused, rather proud of herself.

‘So do you or don’t you think he’s weak?’ persisted Moxon.

‘I don’t know, to be honest. On the whole, I think he’s much the same as anybody else would be in the same situation.’ She hesitated. ‘Except for something that still bothers me – why didn’t he show up on Sunday, with Mr Baxter? I asked him and he said he knew nothing about it.’

‘But Baxter told you he was definitely coming? Harrison-West, I mean.’

‘As far as I can recall, yes. I kept thinking he’d appear at any moment.’

‘I’ve got a note of it,’ he said, distractedly, before taking a deep breath and looking at his watch. ‘I’ll have to go. Just one more thing. You said Bridget ran away twice?’

‘Oh. Yes. On Tuesday. She came here, and Pablo caught
her and took her back.’ Every time she spoke the name
Pablo
, something warm trickled down her spine. She noticed it more strongly with each repetition.

‘Like rounding up an escaped captive,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘Exactly like that, yes. And now she’s hiding at my house so they can’t round her up again.’

‘Is she afraid for her life?’

The stark question hung in the air. Was it possible for everything to change for Bridget so quickly and so totally? ‘I’m not sure,’ she answered. ‘She’s known Glenn and Peter since she was a little girl, and the others for nearly as long. She must think there’s a good reason to lose trust in them, but I wouldn’t say she’s actually terrified. More defiant than that. There’s quite a lot to her. And she’s massively upset about Markie.’

‘Not to mention her dad,’ repeated Melanie loudly. ‘He was shot, remember.’

‘And we need to find the gun,’ Moxon said. ‘Except it’s probably at the bottom of the lake, or under a rock up on Wansfell or Kentmere Pike.’

Simmy and Melanie murmured sympathetically. The detective went on, ‘Although it is quite a special piece, according to the lab. Not something you’d throw away lightly. So the hope is that it’ll show up again one of these days.’

‘Just like that?’ queried Melanie sceptically.

He sighed tiredly. ‘No, not just like that. Every gun attack anywhere in the world from here on will be compared with this one, by computers.’

‘But that presupposes it’ll be used to kill someone else,’ objected Simmy. ‘Do you think that’s likely?’

‘Who can say?’ He was almost through the door. Before leaving, he looked around the shop again. ‘Don’t get many customers, do you?’

‘Enough,’ she snapped. ‘A lot of the business is done on the computer and phone, anyway.’

He looked at the window display and raised his eyebrows disparagingly. Before Simmy could react, he was gone.

As if to confound his remarks, two customers materialised over the next twenty minutes. A man wanted red roses – always a worrying sign – and a smart woman wearing leather gloves was looking for a canna lily. ‘A canna lucifer, if possible. They’re red, with yellow edges.’ She spoke with determination, as if able to conjure the flower by sheer willpower. Simmy’s failure to supply it was a major personal insult, it seemed, and she stomped out with a toss of her head. ‘I had some last week,’ mourned Simmy to Melanie. ‘And nobody wanted them.’

‘That’s life,’ said Melanie, with scant sympathy. ‘Get a whole lot next week and put them in the window.’

When the door opened again, both Simmy and Melanie were in the cool room, constructing an order for the following day, trying to anticipate weekend demand. ‘Shop!’ came a familiar voice.

‘It’s your mum,’ said Melanie, superfluously.

Angie was not a regular caller at Persimmon Petals, although she liked to keep a display of fresh flowers in the hallway, and would insist on paying the full price for them when she got them from Simmy. Russell did his best to keep her supplied from the garden, but there were inevitable lean times when nothing presented itself.

‘All right?’ Simmy asked automatically, trying to remember which day it had been when she last saw her parents. The week was passing jerkily, leaping from crisis to crisis. Sunday – it had been Sunday. Of course.

‘Not entirely,’ said Angie.

‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘Those bloody people, of course. The ones with the kid on Saturday. They won’t shut up about it. They’re pressing charges against us. I need to get a solicitor. We’ll have to provide name and address for Lucy, I expect. You’ll have to tell her parents what happened.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! I thought children banged their heads all the time. Aren’t they designed to cope with it?’

‘This one’s different, apparently. There’s a subcranial haematoma and he’s got to have surgery to relieve the pressure. It could be serious, actually. It can cause epilepsy and a whole lot of things, if the pressure gets too bad. He
did
hit the fireplace quite hard, I suppose.’