The Windermere Witness (21 page)

‘He was a little beast. It served him right.’

‘I’m not sure that’s the sensible line to take. I’m going to have to grovel and abase myself and plead guilty. The fact that Lucy’s brother, or whatever he was, had just been murdered might count as a mitigating factor, if I’m lucky.’

‘Eleanor’s not going to be very cooperative. She’ll blame me.’

‘It’s your fault, technically. You were
in loco parentis
.’

‘Was I? I had no idea.’

‘Just give me the address, will you? And phone number if you’ve got it.’ Angie stood tall and unyielding, a stoical Englishwoman facing up to her responsibilities. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll come to anything too ghastly. I’ve got liability insurance, thank goodness.’

‘I don’t know the phone number. And I can’t remember the name of the house. I’ll have to ask Bridget.’

Melanie was yet again at her elbow, listening to everything that was being said. ‘You have got them, Sim,’ she said. ‘You did the flowers at the wedding, remember? Eleanor Baxter was paying for them. You’ve got her on your database.’

Simmy smacked herself lightly on the forehead. ‘Gosh, yes. What an idiot. I wasn’t thinking.’ The wedding seemed impossibly long ago. She went to the computer, and copied down Eleanor’s address and phone number onto a card. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’ve been so distracted this week, I can’t think straight any more. The detective man’s been here again. They don’t seem to be getting anywhere at all.’

Angie took the card, with a little frown. ‘You said just now you’d ask Bridget. How could you do that? Isn’t she off with her new husband somewhere?’

Simmy realised how much of the story her parents had missed and felt a strong resistance to bringing them up to date. She threw a warning glance at Melanie, before saying, ‘No, actually. They had to cancel the honeymoon. Bridget’s been in here once or twice since the weekend. She seems to want me to be her friend.’

‘You’d think she’d want to stay as far away from you as possible. You must be associated with two very nasty deaths, in her mind, surely? What does she want from you?’

‘She seems rather short of female friends. Her mother’s too busy with Lucy to be much use. And I do find her intriguing.’

‘Well, good luck to you. Although I’d have thought
Melanie would be more suited as a friend than you. Closer in age, I mean.’

Melanie smirked gently, and said nothing.

Simmy bit back any further half-truths and self-justifications. ‘Sorry, Mum, but we’ve got quite a bit still to do before closing time. I’m extremely sorry about the trouble Lucy and I seem to have caused.’

‘Oh well. Some people just attract trouble. There’s not much anybody can do about it.’

‘Do you mean me?’

‘Of course not. The Tomkinses, obviously. They do everything they can think of to keep the dark side away, and see what happens. A small girl fells their kid in a perfectly safe bed and breakfast house and the only response they can come up with is to sue us. They think that’s the normal way to react – that’s the worst part of it. They’ll go through life blaming other people for every little misfortune that befalls them. They don’t deserve to live.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ said Simmy, with a faint smile. Her mother had quite a lengthy list of people who she felt had no rightful place in the world.

‘I do, actually.’

‘Somebody felt the same about Markie and George Baxter,’ Melanie reminded her, forcefully. ‘And look what they went and did.’

Angie laughed uneasily. ‘Well, I never said I wanted to
kill
them,’ she defended. ‘I just think they’re rather a waste of space.’

‘I don’t think there’s really a shortage of space,’ Melanie came back, stiffly.

‘Stop it!’ begged Simmy. ‘This is one you’re never going
to win. Mum’s had decades of practice. And if you’d met the bloody Tomkins family, you’d probably agree with her.’

‘Huh!’ sniffed Melanie. ‘I doubt it.’

They were saved further animosity by the arrival of Ben, thus making the shop feel rather crowded. Simmy introduced him minimally to her mother, who kinked a questioning eyebrow at him. ‘I won’t even ask what the basis of your relationship might be,’ she said. ‘I’m going home now. If you get a customer, there won’t be enough space for all of us.’

Ben had a raised abrasion on the side of his face. ‘What happened?’ Simmy asked him, when Angie had gone.

‘Peter Harrison-West punched me,’ said the boy. ‘Ten minutes ago.’

‘Where? Why? Does he
know
you?’ Simmy fired the questions at the bemused youngster.

Ben delicately fingered his injury. ‘It does hurt,’ he whined. ‘Is it broken, do you think?’

‘The upper jaw doesn’t break easily,’ Melanie assured him. ‘You were lucky it wasn’t further down. Or up,’ she added bitterly, indicating her own ruined eye.

‘Answers!’ Simmy ordered him. ‘Tell us the whole story.’

‘I was with Wilf, and he recognised HW, as he calls him. We followed him, just for a bit of fun, really. He was up by the station, just sort of wandering about. It looked a bit crazy to us.’

‘Searching for Bridget, presumably,’ said Melanie.

‘Why? Is she lost?’ Ben’s eyes widened.

‘
He
thinks so. Did he look as if he was searching?’

‘Not at all. He looked out of it – drunk or drugged. And
wild
. He reminded me of Raskolnikov – you know?’

‘No,’ said Simmy and Melanie in unison.

‘In
Crime and Punishment
. He wanders about with staring eyes, after he’s done the murder. You should read it. It’s amazing how it stays in your mind, every detail.’

‘Peter,’ Simmy prompted him.

‘Okay. Well, that’s more or less it. We thought we should try to help him. He looked as if he might get run over if he went on like that. So we caught up with him, and asked him if he needed anything. He snarled at us like a mad dog and told us to leave him alone. “Haven’t I got enough trouble?” he said. So I said, “Is it something to do with the death of your brother-in-law and father-in-law?” and he just hit me, with no warning. Wilf pulled me away, and we left him to get on with it. I hope he does get run over, the pig.’

Melanie was breathless with excitement. ‘So he
must
be the killer? And the guilt has sent him mad? You know, I often think that must happen to people, once they realise what they’ve done. They can’t bear the reality. It’s so
final
, isn’t it? You can never undo it again.’

‘That’s pure Raskolnikov,’ muttered Ben.

‘Where did Wilf go?’ asked Simmy.

‘He came as far as your door, and left me here. He’s working this evening.’

‘We should tell the police,’ said Simmy slowly. ‘We absolutely have to, this time.’

‘What? That he hit me?’ Ben said dubiously. ‘I’m not sure—’

‘Not just that, but how he was behaving generally.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. Somebody else will have spotted him by now and called the cops. He was really acting very strange.’

‘Poor man,’ said Simmy, surprising herself.

‘What? Why is he poor?’ Melanie demanded. ‘However upset he is, there’s no call to hit an innocent bystander like that.’

‘I know. But he’s lost everything he’s wanted for all these years, hasn’t he? He waited so patiently for Bridget to grow up, and now she’s scared of him and hiding away from him.’

‘With good reason, if he killed her brother and father.’

‘I don’t get it. Why would he do that? What possible reason could there be? It’s completely illogical to think it was him.’

‘We don’t know enough about him. Maybe he’s been psychotic all along, and kept it well hidden. Markie might have said something to him that made him see red, and before he knew what he’d done, the boy was drowned. Then George might have suspected him, so he had to go as well. That’s quite logical, if you ask me.’

‘Maybe.’ Simmy’s doubts were strengthening, the more she thought about it.

‘Ben thinks he’s a murderer, don’t you?’ Melanie nudged the boy.

‘I don’t know. There’s definitely something wrong with him. You know – I think Simmy has the right idea, feeling sorry for him.’

‘What? You said he was a pig just now.’

‘Yes, I know. But he’s sort of pathetic as well. Tell me about Bridget. What’s been happening that I don’t know about?’

Simmy gave a brief summary of the previous evening. ‘I left her there this morning, but I don’t know if she’ll stay. She seems to be a law unto herself.’

‘She’s a user,’ said Ben.

‘A
drug
user?’

‘No, no. She uses
people
. She’s spoilt and pampered and rich, and just does whatever she likes.’

‘I don’t think so. Not exactly. She has had a very free life, admittedly. And everything went right for her until now. But she’s clever and strong, as well. She’s had two gigantic shocks, all at the same time, but she’s still functioning. She told me Peter was weak. That’s another shock. And she’s so
young
.’

Ben and Melanie said nothing to this, seemingly aware of their own youthful ignorance as well as Bridget’s.

‘Anyway,’ Simmy went on, ‘let’s find something for that face. I’ve got some witch hazel in the back room. It works wonders on bruises.’

‘I always think that’s because of its fabulous name,’ laughed Melanie. ‘I wrote a story when I was little about a witch called Hazel.’

Simmy went out to her first-aid kit, and when she got back a third youngster was in the shop. At first she assumed it was Ben’s brother Wilf, but on closer inspection, he seemed to be more closely linked to Melanie. ‘This is Joe,’ the girl explained. ‘He wanted to come and meet you.’

Joe the police constable was sandy-haired, with a wide loose smile. For reasons she could not immediately explain, Simmy was not glad to see him. He was a complication, a rogue link in a twisted chain. He would be eager to extract information from her about the Baxters and Harrison-Wests, in an effort to earn himself some gold stars with the CID. He would distract Melanie, and interrogate Ben.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid it’s all rather busy just now.
We’re closing in a few minutes, and I’ve got to tally up the takings and a whole lot else.’

Melanie gave her a reproachful look. ‘He only came to say hello,’ she said.

‘That’s fine. No problem,’ Simmy lied. ‘Ben, you’d better come through to the back for a minute. Make a bit of space.’ She could not have explained her resistance to telling Joe the story of Peter’s attack on Ben. Melanie would tell him anyway, she supposed. She herself had wanted to report it to Moxon.

‘What happened to your face, mate?’ Joe asked, thereby destroying any lingering hope that it might go unnoticed.

Ben, however, was ahead of her. ‘Bit of bother in the playground,’ he said, staring hard at Melanie. ‘Had to separate a pair of Year Nines that were trying to kill each other. Got in the way of a fist in the process.’

Simmy closed her eyes for two long seconds. The lie would be sure to get out, sooner rather than later, and Ben would have to explain himself. But for the moment she was profoundly grateful to him. ‘Come on, then,’ she said warmly. ‘We’ll soon have the sting taken off it.’

‘Just wanted to say,’ Joe began, with some effort, ‘that I know you’ve got the Harrison-West lady at your house. I’ve been driving past all day, checking to make sure there’s no bother.’

Simmy halted in her tracks. ‘Oh?’ she gulped, wondering why she felt so guilty. ‘Does the whole police force know where she is? Because if they do, I imagine it won’t stay a secret for long.’

‘Just me and a couple of others. I thought she needed protection?’

‘I don’t know what she needs,’ Simmy flashed crossly. ‘The whole thing is a bloody mess.’

Joe, she remembered, had been at Storrs on Saturday. He had told Melanie about Markie Baxter’s murder, and Melanie had immediately rushed to summon her. Joe probably felt himself to be in a special role. Perhaps with some justification, if Moxon had selected him as Bridget’s guardian.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just getting a bit too much for me, that’s all. Come on, Ben.’ She almost dragged him into the back room.

‘We’ll be off, then,’ called Melanie after them, her voice full of anger. ‘If you don’t need me any more.’

‘Okay. Thanks, Mel. I’ll see you on Saturday morning.’

‘If not before.’ It sounded like a threat. The doorbell pinged as they departed, and Simmy let out a long breath.

‘We’ve upset her,’ she said.

‘It’s the boyfriend’s fault. Why did she have to take up with him, anyway? He’s got no more brains than a mollusc.’

‘It probably won’t last. But why did we do that? It was awful of us.’

‘It was me, more than you. I guess we just weren’t ready. We need to process everything first.’

‘You’re right,’ she realised. ‘Completely and absolutely right.’

‘Nobody’s ever hit me before. It’s very unpleasant.’

She laughed. ‘I think it’s meant to be.’

‘No,’ he said seriously. ‘It’s more than that. It steps over a line, changes how you see things. It’s a failure.’

‘Failure?’

‘It shows the limitations of reason and argument and
language.’ He was groping for words. ‘It puts us back with the animals.’

‘My husband hit me once,’ she said. ‘That’s when I knew we were finished. I think that might be why he did it – to show me. It wasn’t very hard. I don’t think I minded it as much as you do. My baby had died – being hit didn’t seem so terrible after that.’

He examined her face, rather as DI Moxon had done. She felt under scrutiny from someone much more mature than a schoolboy. ‘You didn’t think he might kill you if you stayed with him?’

‘It never entered my head.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t really see HW as a killer, either. Hitting and killing aren’t the same thing.’

‘Except you can kill someone if you hit them too hard.’ She thought of the child Lucy, doing such damage to the annoying little boy.

‘That’s different. These killings were planned, and the person escaped. It’s someone cunning and full of hate. HW isn’t like that.’

‘He came here, you know. Yesterday.’

‘You told me. He was angry. Now he’s wild and half mad.’

‘Could it be that something’s happened?’ Simmy wondered why this hadn’t struck her sooner. ‘Has he found Bridget? She might have phoned him, at least. She might have told him she wasn’t going back to him. Or Eleanor might have spoken to him for some reason.’

‘Bridget’s mother? His mother-in-law.’

‘Right.’

‘Do they like each other?’

‘Good question. She’s less than ten years older than him. It’s bound to be a bit peculiar for both of them. But she seemed happy enough about the marriage, even if she doesn’t like weddings. She’s paid for the flowers, anyhow. It showed up on the computer this morning. How’s that for efficiency?’

‘Cold-blooded, if you ask me.’

‘Maybe so,’ nodded Simmy.

‘What’ll you do if Bridget isn’t there when you get home?’ he wondered. Then he grinned and added, ‘And what’ll you do if she
is
?’

‘Get on with it, either way, I suppose. You know, I
do
feel a bit used, now you’ve drawn my attention to it. She should definitely have gone to her mother for protection, not me.’

He was still fingering his face, pressing the edges of the contusion experimentally. ‘I’ll have to tell my mum something. And then tell Wilf what the story is.’

‘Is the truth out of the question?’

He pulled a face. ‘It seems to be, yeah. Don’t you think?’

‘I’m not sure. Won’t Peter expect you to report him, at least to your parents?’

‘He was past caring. And he doesn’t know who they are.’

‘There’s something very primitive about all this. Men fighting and killing each other, while the women stand back and take the consequences.’

‘I prefer my violence to be virtual,’ he grumbled. ‘It doesn’t hurt that way.’

She gave herself a shake. ‘This is all very bad for business. I’ve got a lot to do yet before I can go home.’

He looked around, peering into the window display. ‘Still not quite right,’ he said critically. ‘I could come and do it for you on Saturday, if you like. And we’ll make some sketches for the model of the clock tower. You
are
up for that, aren’t you?’ He squinted anxiously at her, as if expecting disappointment.

She responded with an effort. ‘There’s nothing wrong with the display. I don’t know what you mean. But yes, I like the idea of the model, if we can find a way to make it stay up.’

He grinned. ‘Just let me at it. I won’t break anything, I promise.’

‘We’ll see. Saturday still seems rather a long way off, at the moment. I’ve got a mountain of work lined up for tomorrow, first.’

‘See you, then,’ he chirped, and was away before she could say another word.

It was seven o’clock when she got back to Troutbeck. There were no lights in the front windows, and she found herself hoping that Bridget had taken herself off somewhere, to leave her in peace. The thought of the girl making free with her house was less disturbing than she would have anticipated, but it was still mildly disagreeable. She had no desire to act as nursemaid to another Baxter daughter, despite being curious as to Bridget’s personality. She let herself in cautiously, braced for almost anything.

Bridget was sitting in darkness, in the living room, a cushion clutched to her chest. She jerked violently as Simmy
entered the room, putting the light on automatically. ‘Oh, it’s you. Thank God,’ she breathed. ‘Put the light off.’

Simmy did as instructed. ‘Why? What’s been happening?’ Everything looked normal at first glance.

‘Pablo. He was here, shouting for me, banging on the door. Your neighbours heard him and came out to see what he wanted. They told him you were at work, and they were sure there was nobody in the house. I was down there, hiding.’ She pointed at the floor under the window. ‘He peered in, but he couldn’t see me. He went round the back, as well. I thought he was going to break in, but luckily he didn’t.’

‘When? What time was it?’

‘This afternoon. About four, I think. It wasn’t dark.’

‘There’s been a policeman patrolling past all day. Have you seen him? I suppose he didn’t see Pablo by any chance?’

She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be difficult to wait until he was out of the way. I never saw anybody, anyway. Was he on foot?’

‘In a car, I think. Useless, really. But Pablo went away?’

‘Yes. But I can’t stay here, can I? Not now. Someone’s sure to see me.’ She was huddled down on the sofa, as if afraid of being spotted from the window. ‘I should have closed the curtains, but then I thought the neighbours might notice, and know someone was here.’