Flesh And Blood (24 page)

‘You still think Susan might be alive somewhere, then?’ Kelly said. ‘Living a different life?’

Elder sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Hold still. Just let me get to the cuticles on this hand.’

A girl poked her head round from the hairdressing side of the salon and asked Kelly if she wanted a cup of tea.

‘Oh, go on then.’

‘Tea?’ the girl said in Elder’s direction.

‘No, thanks.’

It was time for Elder’s other hand to soak. ‘When we talked before,’ he said, ‘you mentioned someone in Susan’s drama group who might have had a bit of a crush on her.’

‘That’s right, yes.’

‘Rob doesn’t ring any bells? Rob Shriver?’

Drying his right hand, Kelly gave it some thought. ‘No. No, I’m sorry. You didn’t come all the way up here to ask me that?’

‘No.’ Swivelling in his chair, he reached round into the inside pocket of his coat and took out an envelope. ‘In there.’

Carefully, Kelly drew out the photograph. ‘Looks a bit startled, doesn’t he?’

‘Do you recognise him?’

Kelly shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’m sorry.’

The girl brought in a mug of tea, set it down on the edge of the trolley and went away again without speaking.

‘Who is he?’

‘He ran the drama group Susan belonged to.’

‘A teacher?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you think they might have been…’ Her expression finished the sentence for her.

‘It’s possible.’

Kelly picked up the Polaroid again and studied it closely. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Looking at this – I mean, I don’t know what sort of a bloke he really was, of course, could’ve been a right bastard – but no, he looks, well, sympathetic somehow. You can imagine it, her falling for someone like this. It’s the eyes, you see. There. Look. The eyes.’

Elder looked. Sympathy wasn’t necessarily what he saw. ‘She never mentioned him, Latham, when she was talking about school or anything?’

‘Never. Not as I remember.’

‘And you’ve not seen him before?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Ah, well.’

‘Here,’ Kelly said, ‘let me put this back in its envelope before it gets polish on it or something. Then I just want to see to these nails, squarish I think, buff them up and they’ll look a treat. Feel better, too, you see.’

♦

Christine Harker was working her afternoon shift at the greengrocer’s near the harbour bridge, the sides of her green overall darkened by the constant rubbing of her hands. When Elder entered, she recognised him right away, acknowledging him with a nod of the head before continuing to serve a middle-aged woman – a woman roughly the same age as herself – with onions, courgettes, potatoes and cabbage.

‘How are things?’ Elder enquired, once she’d tendered the woman her change.

‘Mustn’t grumble.’

‘I wondered if I could show you a photograph?’

Christine Harker’s eyes narrowed. ‘Of course.’

She held the Polaroid between thumb and middle finger, Elder waiting for her to dismiss it instantly, but the disavowal didn’t come. The longer she studied it, the more something inside Elder began to tighten and turn.

But then, ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it is.’

‘You don’t think it’s who?’

‘The man I saw her talking to.’

‘Go on.’ Elder’s innards gripped fast.

‘I thought of it after you were here a week or so back, up at the holiday park. Talking to you, it jogged the memory somehow. I should have got in touch then, I suppose. In case it was important, you know.’

Another customer came into the shop and an assistant in an overall similar to Christine’s came out from the back room to serve.

‘You saw Susan talking to a man,’ Elder guided her.

‘Yes. The day before she disappeared it would have been.’

‘The day after you heard her and her dad, Trevor, having a row.’

‘Yes. That’s who I thought it was at first, her dad. But no. Somebody older, fortyish maybe. Trevor’s age or thereabouts, but not him.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Just up by the main entrance to the site. Standing there, talking to him. I was a way off, just coming out of the office.’

‘And did you – this might be difficult to answer – how well did you get the impression they knew one another?’

‘Oh, I don’t think I could say.’

‘Were they standing close to one another or not?’

‘Normal, you know. Like you and me. I thought he was asking her directions, to be honest, either that or something about the site.’

‘You didn’t see him come in, though, into the park?’

‘No. No. He turned and walked away.’

‘Off down the coast path? To a car, what?’

‘I didn’t see a car. But then he didn’t look like a hiker either, no rucksack or anything like that. Of course, if he’d had a car it could have been parked back up the road a bit out of sight.’

Elder nodded. ‘You say he didn’t look like a walker – how was he dressed?’

‘Just sort of ordinary, as I remember. Beige sort of trousers – they might have been those, what d’you call them? Chinos. That and a shirt. Like I say, ordinary.’

‘And when he moved away, Susan, what did she do?’

‘I don’t know. I mean, it was only a few moments I saw them. If it hadn’t been for that set-to with her dad the day before, I doubt I’d have given it as much attention as I did.’

‘So could she have followed him, when he turned away?’

‘No, I don’t think so. At least, I never saw her. She was just stood there when I walked back down towards the shop.’ She gave Elder an apologetic smile. ‘That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.’

‘No, it’s fine. You’ve done well. Especially after all this time.’

Christine Harker smiled. ‘Gets that way, don’t it. As you get older, I mean. Ask me what I was doing day before yesterday and I’d draw a blank.’

Elder smiled in return. ‘I wonder, did you mention this to the police when they interviewed you?’

‘I’m honestly not sure. I mean, I might have. It was all a bit of a blur at the time. I really don’t know.’

There had been no reference to it, Elder thought, in the case notes he had read.

‘Can I ask you,’ he said, ‘to look at the photograph again?’

She did so, taking her time, not rushing, but again she shook her head. ‘No, it’s not the same. This man, for one thing, he may not be any younger, but somehow he seems it. I don’t know if that makes any sense. It’s not what he’s wearing even, not from what you can see. His hair, maybe.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t explain it better than that. I’m sorry.’

‘You shouldn’t be. Like I say, you’ve done brilliantly. If more witnesses had your recall the job would be a lot easier.’

A job I don’t really have any more, he thought as she walked with him to the door.

‘I don’t think I’ve been a lot of help,’ she said again.

‘Not at all.’

‘Tell me one thing,’ she said, concerned. ‘If I had remembered this at the time, made more of it say, would that have made a difference? To finding Susan, I mean?’

‘It’s hard to know. But on balance, no, I’d say probably not.’ Briefly, he rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve nothing to reproach yourself with, don’t worry about that.’

The bridge was about to be raised to let a tall-masted boat through into the inner harbour and Elder was going to have to wait before being able to cross. Stepping back on to the cobbled road by the old Customs House, he looked up the Guiseleys’ number in his notebook and transferred it to his mobile phone, which was proving useful after all.

Esme answered on the fourth ring, surprising Elder by recognising his voice right off.

‘I don’t suppose Don’s around?’ Elder said. ‘I was hoping I’d catch him.’

‘If you’re in Whitby,’ Esme said, ‘you might be in luck. I’ve told him he’s got to pick up a few things at Safeway, and when he does that he usually has a pint or two in the Board. It’s near the foot of the steps.’ A smile came into her voice. ‘He’s either in there or he’s slipping around.’

‘Okay, Esme. Thanks.’

If Don Guiseley was surprised to see him it didn’t show. ‘You can top this up if you’ve a mind.’

Elder nodded and went to the bar where he ordered a pint for himself and a half which he poured into Guiseley’s glass.

‘Taken a shine to this part of the world, then?’ Guiseley said.

‘Not exactly.’

Guiseley worked tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with his thumb. ‘Still chasing shadows?’

‘That what I’m doing?’

‘You tell me.’

Succinctly, Elder told him of his suspicions about Susan Blacklock and Paul Latham, about the meeting between Susan and a so-far unidentified man the day before she disappeared.

Guiseley held a match to his pipe, then laid the matchbox across it and drew hard; dissatisfied, he shook out another match and tried again. A bit like fishing, Elder thought, smoking a pipe: most of the fun was in the preamble, rather than the thing itself.

‘The business with the teacher,’ Guiseley said finally, ‘I’ll buy that. Commonplace, I don’t doubt. There was a bit of a trend for it the other way round a while back, d’you remember? Women teachers in their thirties, married most of them, takin’ off with lads of fifteen or sixteen. Papers were full of it. Mind you, not hard to see why. Four or five times a night at that age, bloody women must think they’d died and gone to heaven, some of ’em.’

He chuckled and swallowed down some beer.

‘You’d have your work cut out, mind, proving anything after all this time. ’Less you can scare a few witnesses out of the woodwork, of course, turn up a few mucky photographs. But even if you did, though, on its own, what does it mean? A bit of hanky-panky for the pair of them. For the lass, a modicum of heartbreak, I dare say. Tears before bedtime. I doubt we’re talking grand passions here. Life and death. Or is that the way your mind’s heading?’

‘I don’t know.’

For a moment, Guiseley glanced over his shoulder, attracted by some small commotion down on the beach. Two small dogs in conflict over the same ball, their owners trying to prise them apart, threats and harsh words. The ball, meanwhile, forgotten, floated out on the tide.

‘She’d’ve been in love with him, of course. Thought she was. But the other way about? Unlikely, for all that.’

‘But not impossible,’ Elder said.

‘Okay, say that’s right. He loves her, she’s turned his life around; he’s besotted and for her it’s just a bit of fun. He gets all serious and she doesn’t want to know. It frightens her, she’s out of her depth. She tells him she doesn’t want to see him again.’

‘And then what?’ Elder said.

‘You tell me.’

Elder stared back at him.

‘You think he killed her,’ Guiseley said.

‘I think it’s possible.’

‘How? Why?’

‘Because of what you said. She’s saying it’s over and he won’t accept it. She’s written him a letter, let’s say, while she’s off with her parents on holiday. He follows her up here, wanting to change her mind. They argue, fight, maybe what happens is an accident, a rush of temper, I don’t know.’

Guiseley was back to fiddling with his pipe. ‘You needed the woman, didn’t you? Harker, is that what you said her name was? You needed her to identify him and she didn’t.’

‘She was a good seventy metres away, possibly more.’

‘She’s a good witness, you said so yourself.’

‘It doesn’t mean he didn’t meet her another time.’

‘And it doesn’t mean that he did.’

‘I know,’ Elder said. ‘You don’t have to spell it out.’

‘Hang about,’ Guiseley said, rising slowly to his feet. ‘My turn to get them in.’

The pub was still fairly quiet, a smattering of early-evening drinkers, regulars, gathered around the bar. A few visitors, out-of-towners sitting around the periphery. Music, low and pointless, papering over the cracks.

‘One thing,’ Guiseley said, returning. ‘One thing you should ask yourself: if when you’d met him, this Latham, he’d turned out to be a grand chap, salt of the earth, dedicated, friendly, the sort of bloke you could see yourself spending time with, a few pints of an evening, much like this, would you still be going after him the way you are?’

Elder sipped his beer, sipped then swallowed. ‘I think so, yes. If I thought it likely he’d harmed her. Yes.’

Guiseley released a sigh. ‘Well, you know your own mind, of course. But I will tell you this. If I were your commanding officer, me a super and you a young DI, I’d say where’s your evidence, lad, imagination aside? I’d reckon you were flying a kite, head in the clouds instead of down on earth.’ He laughed. ‘And you’d be calling me an old fool, behind my back at least.’

‘No,’ Elder said. ‘No, Don, you’re not that. Not a fool, at least.’

Without a ready change of subject they continued to drink in silence.

By the time Elder arrived at the house, some minutes after eight, Helen Blacklock was sitting out on her front step, smoking a cigarette. A glass of wine, half-empty, alongside her.

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

‘It’s all right.’ She smiled at him warily with her eyes.

‘I met up with somebody, got to talking…’

‘It’s all right.’ Her face was slightly flushed. The first glass, Elder wondered, most likely not.

‘I like to sit out here of an evening.’ She laughed. ‘Gives the neighbours something to think about.’ She drew on her cigarette and stubbed it out against the underside of the step.

‘It’s a nice evening,’ Elder said.

There were martins swooping low over the house, round and down and round again in shallow loops; martins or swifts, he was never sure which. Swallows he could recognise.

‘I suppose we’d best go in,’ Helen said.

He offered her his hand, but she ignored it and got to her feet with just a little help from the adjacent wall.