The Other Child (55 page)

‘I see,' said Leslie, and she really did understand. Semira Newton's life was full of troubles and hardship. A poor, lonely life. Robin Hood's Bay was an enchanting place, but it was very quiet in the autumn and winter, and she knew that in November and December the fog could sit like lead on the coastline for days, swallowing up all voices and sounds into its dull colourlessness. Then Semira was alone in this crooked old house, making pottery which no one was going to buy until the spring … Or she would be on the bus to Whitby, off to visit a man who was extremely mentally disabled, and who was still waiting for the person who had promised to come over sixty years ago yet would never come. What was her mood like when she returned from these trips to her dark little room?

Leslie shivered to think of it.

She got up. Her limbs were stiff after sitting on the uncomfortable stool for so long.

‘I have to go,' she said and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for having given me so much time, Semira. And for having been so open.'

‘Oh, it's not like I have a whirl of a social life,' replied Semira, smiling. The hand that shook Leslie's was as cold as ice. ‘Nice to have someone come by. And to be able to talk.'

‘I can't undo what my grandmother did,' said Leslie. ‘But … I am sorry. I'm deeply sorry about everything that happened.'

‘Can't be helped now.' Semira got up with difficulty. ‘Nothing you can do about it! I just wonder why all the fuss now. Why suddenly there's so much interest in the old story.'

Leslie, who was about to turn to go, paused.

‘What do you mean, so much interest?'

‘Well, it's strange. No one wanted to know anything for decades and now two people appear in two days, wanting to know everything.'

Leslie held her breath in surprise. ‘Who else?'

‘A man … what was his name? He came here late yesterday afternoon. Mr Tanner, I think, something like that.'

‘Dave Tanner!'

‘That's it. Dave Tanner. A journalist. He already knew a lot. He'd looked through all the old archives, he said. But he hoped to hear some new facts from me. I talked to him for a long time. Of course, it's good for me if the media latch onto the story.'

‘What paper was he working for?'

Semira thought about it. ‘I'm not quite sure,' she admitted. I mean, he did tell me, but I was not really listening. Is it important?'

‘And I suppose you didn't ask to see his press ID?'

‘No.'

‘Dave Tanner isn't a journalist. You mustn't be so trusting, Semira. People aren't always who they say they are. Don't let everyone in. And don't tell people everything you know.'

Semira looked at her in consternation. ‘But then who is Dave Tanner?'

Leslie dismissed the question. ‘Doesn't matter. What's important is knowing why he came here. But I'll find that out.'

‘But you … you told me the truth, didn't you? You are Fiona Barnes's granddaughter, aren't you?'

‘Unfortunately I am,' said Leslie, and stepped out into the dark steep street.

She could hear the sea roaring very near to her.

The tide had reached its height.

13

She sat in the car trying to sort the thoughts racing wildly through her head. What game was Dave Tanner playing? She had asked him this morning if the name Semira Newton meant anything to him. With an ingenuous look he had completely denied that it had.

No. Who's she?

It was now just twelve hours since he had sat with her in Robin Hood's Bay, asking her all kinds of questions. And he had apparently already known a good many details, which probably meant that he had also read Fiona's letters to Chad. Had he got hold of them secretly? Had Gwen given them to him?

Gwen! Leslie smacked the steering wheel with her palm. Typical Gwen. To poke around in her father's emails, find an explosive story which was obviously not meant to be shared in public, and then to show it to practically everyone she knew.

She was so immature. Not at all grown up.

Don't be unfair, Leslie, she told herself. Gwen couldn't cope with what she read. She had to speak to someone about it.

With Dave?

He was after all the man she was going to marry. At least, that was what she had assumed at that time. Could you hold it against her that she had shared something with him which had thrown her into turmoil, played on her mind? The image she had of her father must have been damaged immeasurably.

She had also shown the printouts to Jennifer. Then Colin had been given them. And Colin had shown them to her, Leslie. It had not taken long for the distribution network to kick in.

She was driving without another car in sight on the main road between Scarborough and Whitby. It was dark and the road was lined with silent woods. The beams of her headlights took in the sides of the road. At one point the eyes of an animal shone in them. She thought it was a fox. She realised how fast she was going and decelerated. No one should die, just because she was so nervous.

When she saw a wide dirt track heading into the woods to the left, she quickly decided to turn onto it and stop. She needed a moment's calm, to think.

She leant back in her seat and breathed deeply. Dave had read the notes, or Gwen had told him what was in them, and then he had wanted to take a closer look for himself and had visited Semira Newton. Just like her. He had lied about who he was. That too was understandable, as he had no way of knowing whether Semira would talk to him if he did not seem to be someone important. It was not a bad idea to present himself as a journalist to a woman who – he could imagine – found it hard to bear the lack of attention people had paid to Brian Somerville's tragedy.

And why did he lie to me?

Because I'm Fiona's granddaughter. Because he could not guess what I do and don't know. Because he didn't want to be the person to tell me things about my grandmother's character which would shock me
.

She closed her eyes. She saw Semira Newton's face behind her eyelids. It was slightly bloated, revealing that she had taken far too many medicines for far too long. Her body must have been a wreck when she was found. No doubt some days she feels pain in every bone and muscle of her body. And every movement is torture. She thought of Gordon McBright, the man who had left his half-dead victim in the wood like any old rubbish, the man who had died in preventive detention.

Fiona and Chad had handed Brian Somerville over to a man who not even the most well-meaning of psychiatrists had later allowed to live in freedom again. She opened her eyes. The images were too horrific to bear.

Two people had a clear motive to kill Fiona Barnes and throw her body into a wooded gorge: Brian Somerville and Semira Newton. One of them must be between seventy and eighty years old, mentally disabled and living in a care home in Whitby. The other one was in her mid-sixties, and could only move with difficulty and the aid of a Zimmer frame.

‘Neither one could have done it,' said Leslie out loud in the darkness. But they could have paid someone to do it – at least Semira Newton could have.

Dave Tanner?

But Dave Tanner had only visited Semira the day before. Many days after Fiona had been murdered.

Apart from that: would Dave Tanner kill for money?

Not the Dave she knew, if she was honest. She liked him. But she did not know him. For a moment she realised in astonishment that it did not follow that he did not know her.

One thing was clear. It was no longer all right to keep what she knew about what had happened to herself. She had to let Detective Inspector Almond know, as quickly as possible.

Otherwise I'll be guilty, she thought. Again she had the thought that had come to her once before: Chad Beckett could be in great danger.

She turned on the inside light and rummaged around in her handbag. She found DI Almond's card in a side pocket.

The policewoman had given it to her after their first conversation. In case anything occurred to her regarding her grandmother's murder, however trivial it might seem …

‘And what I have for you, Inspector, is not at all trivial,' she murmured to herself.

She keyed the number into her mobile. Reception was not great out here in the wood, but she had a couple of bars. DI Almond answered after the fourth ring. She sounded out of breath. ‘Yes?'

‘Inspector? Leslie Cramer here.'

‘Dr Cramer! I wanted to call you this evening.'

In the background Leslie could hear car horns, the sounds of engines and voices. Valerie Almond seemed to be walking through town.

‘I have to speak to you urgently, Inspector,' said Leslie. ‘It's about my grandmother's murder.'

‘Where are you right now?'

‘I'm on my way back from Robin Hood's Bay, near Staintondale now. I could be in Scarborough in twenty minutes.'

‘I'm just on the way to a pizza place,' said Valerie, adding with a little embarrassment, I haven't eaten yet today. Do you want to meet me there? In Huntriss Row.'

‘Yes, of course. I know where it is.'

‘By the way,' said Valerie. ‘Did you know we have a suspect for the Mills case? Did Mrs Brankley tell you?'

She remembered Chad's rather confused description that morning. ‘I heard from Chad Beckett, yes.'

‘The investigation is tricky, but we can already exclude the possibility that the suspect is Fiona Barnes's murderer. He has an alibi for the time.'

This did not surprise Leslie overly.

‘Inspector, reception is bad here, I'll be there soon and—'

‘One more thing,' interrupted Valerie. ‘Do you know where Dave Tanner could be?'

She could have answered:
Yes, this morning he was at the Beckett farm and if you don't find him there, then he's probably already in my grandmother's flat
.

Instead she just asked cautiously, ‘Why?' Perhaps she felt a kind of loyalty to him, but she was also loath to let the policewoman know that Tanner had found temporary accommodation with her. It could have looked compromising.

‘We've got a warrant out to find him,' explained Valerie. ‘His statements about where and how he spent Saturday night were false. We have to talk to him urgently.'

For a moment Leslie could not reply. Her mouth felt dry and she tried to swallow.

‘Can you hear me?' asked Valerie.

‘Yes, yes, I heard you. But it's difficult … I'll be right there, Inspector.' With that she disconnected the call and put her mobile back in her bag.

She could feel her heart beating wildly.

She knew the story he had dished up for Valerie Almond. It was the one he had told her that morning: the night of love with his ex. Everyone would understand why he had hidden the story until then, as it put his relationship with Gwen at risk. Only when the situation had got difficult for him did he pull the ace out of his sleeve. And now what? Was his ex refusing to play ball? Something must have happened that meant Valerie no longer believed him. And had even put out a warrant.

He had lied again. He had lied when she had asked him about Semira. He had lied about where he had been at the time of the crime. He had lied at the start when he claimed to have spent the whole night peacefully in his bed.

He lied whenever he opened his mouth.

And she had taken him to the Beckett farm. Had left him there alone with Chad Beckett, the man whom a few minutes ago she had thought might be in real danger. Chad, a slow, old man who was physically no match for Dave Tanner.

She started the engine. The wheels spun on the sandy track as she put her foot down. Then her car shot out onto the road with a screeching of tyres. She gunned the engine to the maximum, driving much faster than the limit. When she came to the small country road that led to Staintondale she did not stay on the main road to Scarborough. She turned off. She had to be sure.

Detective Inspector Almond would have to wait a little longer.

14

The first thing she noticed was that the Brankleys' car was still not in the yard, just like at lunchtime. Could it be that Jennifer and Gwen had not yet returned from town? It was just after seven now. What on earth had they spent the whole day doing?

She parked and got out.

There was not a single noise and she asked herself why the silence annoyed her, until she realised that she had been used to the barking of the dogs over the last few days. Jennifer's Great Danes. They always made a racket when someone arrived at the farm. They had not at lunchtime because Colin had been out walking with them. Was he walking them now too?

In the dark?

She could not see any lights on in the house, although of course she could not see the back windows from the yard. She knocked on the door, out of habit, and then stepped inside.

She turned on the light.

Somehow the house seemed strangely deserted to her. As if no one in it were breathing, and no heart beating.

The dogs, she thought. It's really the dogs which are missing. When you expect two giant, lively Great Danes to jump up and try to lick your face, then of course you feel like you've entered a mausoleum when they're no longer there.

She asked herself why she had thought of a mausoleum just then, but quickly brushed aside the thought. She could not get carried away dreaming up horrors now.

‘Dave?' she called. Her voice sounded far too quiet. She cleared her throat.

‘Dave?' she called more loudly. ‘Chad?'

Nothing and no one could be heard. She walked down the hall, peeked into the kitchen, and turned its light on. Empty. A mess. As chaotic and dirty as usual. It did not look as if anyone had prepared dinner.

The living room next to it was empty too. The smell of burnt wood revealed to Leslie that a fire had burnt in the grate earlier. She saw that a few of the embers were still glowing. Then she found two empty cups on the table and she found that somehow calming. Two cups of coffee and a fire – that suggested a normal atmosphere, something which the last few hours had taken her far away from.