Ramsay 06 - The Baby-Snatcher (29 page)

As they entered the room Marilyn turned on the piano stool to face them. Bernard looked up from the fire but he did not stand up to greet them. Ramsay thought he was full of food, as lazy as the cat now settled on Mrs Howe’s knee.

Sally sat on an upright chair in a corner. Her face was lit from below by an ugly table lamp with a porcelain base. It made the skin under her eyes look dark, like bruises.

‘I wonder if I might have a few words,’ Ramsay said.

‘Where’s Claire?’ Bernard asked. ‘Is she all right?’ But really he seemed not too bothered. He was asking because it was expected of him.

‘Oh yes. She’s been very helpful.’ For the moment Ramsay had forgotten about Claire. What would happen to her now? ‘I expect you’re wondering what’s going on at Cotter’s Row. You’d like me to explain what all our people are doing there.’

‘Routine, you said.’ Bernard shifted. On the arm of his chair there was a glass bowl containing chocolates in brightly coloured cellophane wrappers. He reached out and took one, unwrapped it carefully and dropped it into his mouth. ‘Because that child was found in our shed.’

‘There’s a bit more to it than that.’

‘Oh.’ He shook his hands out in front of him and began to stretch and flex his fingers. Ramsay supposed it was an exercise to keep his hands supple for the tricks of illusion. He found the movement and Bernard’s contemplation of the dancing fingers so irritating that he wanted to scream at the man to sit still. Instead he continued calmly.

‘We found blood on the floor of your shed.’

‘But I thought the boy was fine. That there was no harm done.’

‘He was imprisoned for two hours. A terrifying experience for a child that age.’

Because he was looking out for it he saw Sally Wedderburn in her corner tense then force herself to relax.

‘But an accident surely. That’s what I was given to understand.’

‘No,’ Ramsay said. ‘ No accident.’

The hands fluttered to rest in his lap. ‘And the blood?’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t notice that. You must have been in there every day for coal.’

‘Yes. And it was clear enough when you pointed it out. But we didn’t notice it None of us did. We had other things, I suppose, on our minds.’

‘There will be tests but we believe the blood is your wife’s.’

‘You think that Kathleen was killed in our shed?’ He didn’t seem shocked by the thought. Rather, he seemed to think it mildly amusing. Here, in his mother’s warm living room he obviously thought himself above suspicion, quite safe.

‘Perhaps. Or left there until it was convenient to dispose of the body.’

Bernard seemed to consider the matter. His head was tilted to one side so the long strands of his hair almost reached his shoulder.

‘Dispose of the body
how
, Inspector?’ he asked at last.

‘We believe that it was loaded into the boot of a car, parked in the alley behind your house, and driven to the jetty. Again, there are tests which will prove the matter.’

A smile appeared on Bernard’s round, white face.

‘It’s clear then that you can’t suspect one of us, Inspector. The shed must have been used without our knowledge. We don’t own a car. We don’t drive.’

‘Of course,’ Ramsay continued, as if Bernard had not spoken, ‘it’s possible that the murderer had help to move the body.’

There was a moment of silence. The cat sneezed then began to pad rhythmically, catching the velveteen material of Mrs Howe’s frock in its claws. She continued to stroke it. Ramsay thought that her deafness had probably excluded her from the conversation. They had been speaking rather quietly. She gave the impression of listening but had no idea what they had been talking about. Certainly now she seemed unaware that they had stopped and when Ramsay spoke directly to her, clearly and loudly, she answered without hesitation, assuming perhaps that it followed naturally from what had gone before.

‘Do you drive, Mrs Howe?’

‘I do. I learned as a girl in the war. In the Land Army.’

It was hard to imagine her dressed in overalls driving a truck.

‘And you own a car?’

‘Certainly. A Standard Ten. I gave Bernard lessons in it. I could tell almost from the beginning that he would never make a driver. His co-ordination was satisfactory but his concentration let him down. He would have been a menace on the road.’

‘Do you still drive, Mrs Howe?’

‘Of course. Why should I not? I’m old but I’m not senile, Inspector.’ She gave a complacent smile. It seemed not to occur to her to ask why the questions were being asked.

‘Regularly?’

‘I give Olive a lift to the supermarket once a week so she can stock up on groceries for me. In the old days I’d enjoy a spin in the countryside but alas not any more. I’m too anxious at the prospect of breaking down.’ She shook her head, grieving for her jaunts into the hills. ‘ It would be different if Bernard would come with me occasionally but he claims he’s too busy.’

‘Mother!’ Bernard interrupted. Then to Ramsay: ‘What are you saying, Inspector? That my mother is implicated in some way in this crime? That’s ridiculous.’

‘No!’ The cry was involuntary and came out as a shrill scream. Marilyn even stamped her foot to demand their attention, so hard that her body was thrust backwards and Ramsay thought the piano stool would tip over. With her frizzy hair and her petulant face she looked like an adolescent version of Violet Elizabeth Bott.

‘You came here to talk to me,’ she said. ‘You came here to find out why I killed Mummy.’

Ramsay had not meant, with his questions to Mrs Howe, to provoke Marilyn to confession. He was not sure now why he had brought up the subject of her car. Out of malice, perhaps. Spite. Because the case had dragged on for weeks longer than it should have done. Because Bernard, lounging in front of the fire, was annoying him. To put Marilyn at her ease. He had not expected the outburst.

He turned to the girl. ‘ We have a great deal to talk about,’ he said.

‘Yes.’ She had twisted strands of her white hair into a thin, stiff thread. She put the end into her mouth.

‘But not here. In the police station. Then we can get someone to help you and make sure we don’t catch you out with awkward questions. We have to do it properly. For your sake and Mr Taverner’s.’

She looked up.

‘You know about that?’

‘We know most of it. We still need your help.’

‘Here,’ she said. ‘Now.’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

‘Why not? There are two of you. My dad’s here and my nan. If you take me to the police station I won’t speak at all.’

So Marilyn told her story there, still perched on the piano stool, to the audience of adults gathered in the semicircle around her.

‘When did your relationship with Mr Taverner begin, Marilyn?’ Ramsay asked.

She seemed gratified by the description, pleased that he was taking it seriously.

‘Last autumn. Just before his wife died. I went to his classroom after school to ask about some homework. He was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. I thought he was ill. Then I saw he was crying. I talked to him but he didn’t even realize I was there, so I put my arm round his shoulder. I didn’t think about it. I mean I’d fancied him for ages but it wasn’t like that. I was just sorry because he was so upset.’ She paused. ‘He turned around and he held on to me. As if I really mattered to him. It was the most wonderful moment of my life. Whatever happens now I’ve still got that.’

Ramsay was too kind to tell her that at that moment, in the classroom, Mark Taverner had been so desperate that he would have clung to anyone.

‘I held him until he’d finished crying. By that time I’d missed the bus. I told him Mummy would panic if I was late so he offered me a lift. On the way home he stopped the car.’

‘Where?’

‘In the lay-by near that empty farm house on the edge of the dene. He talked. About his wife and how difficult it was at home. I was the only person he had to talk to. Everyone else was sorry for her. They didn’t think about him.’

Nonsense, Ramsay thought. There was Brian. But Brian was all action. Perhaps he was so busy shouting at consultants and being indignant on Sheena’s behalf that he didn’t have the time to listen.

‘He started to cry again. I held on to him and he kissed me.’

‘And then you made love?’

She nodded. ‘He didn’t force me,’ she said defiantly. He wondered what she had made of the groped encounter in the car. He imagined it passionless, selfish. A moment of violence and madness. Hardly the stuff of teenage fantasy.

‘Was that the only time?’

She nodded again, reluctantly. ‘It didn’t mean he didn’t care. His wife died soon after. He couldn’t see me then, could he? I understood that. I was prepared to wait.’

She paused. Ramsay looked at Bernard Howe. He had his back to the fire now, he had turned his chair to face his daughter when she began to speak. He made a small ineffectual movement towards her – whether of support or condemnation Ramsay could not tell – then, the effort proved too much for him, he sank back into his seat and closed his eyes.

Marilyn continued. ‘I tried to talk to Mark, Mr Taverner. He said he was sorry and that it should never have happened. I’d caught him at a vulnerable time but that was no excuse. I said he didn’t need an excuse.’ She caught her breath. ‘By then I was sixteen. It was legal. He said that didn’t matter. Because he was a teacher and I was a pupil it was wrong.’ She was becoming agitated. ‘He didn’t mind spending time with Mrs Coulthard, though. She’s married, isn’t she? That’s wrong too.’

‘He wasn’t having an affair with Mrs Coulthard,’ Ramsay said gently. ‘She was a friend, someone to talk to.’

‘But he could have talked to me!’ It came out as a cry. He was reminded of David Coulthard in the middle of a temper tantrum. She gave a little sob. ‘ Did he tell Mrs Coulthard about me?’

‘I think he probably did. He felt very guilty about the way he treated you.’

‘It wasn’t fair. He thought I was a baby. Not that you could blame him. Look at me. No decent clothes. No make-up. Do you know what Mummy called him? The baby-snatcher.’

‘Why did you tell your mother about him?’

‘I was angry.’ He could already see that she was subject to rages. Usually they were hidden by politeness and good manners. Occasionally they would be uncontrollable.

‘Why?’

‘Dad had gone up to the Coastguard House to discuss doing magic at the party. He saw them there together. He said when he got here she was half-naked. Are you
sure
they weren’t having an affair?’

‘Quite sure.’ Because he had already discussed this with Mark Taverner. Mark was sitting still in the Interview Room at Otterbridge police station. When they’d brought him in he hadn’t stopped talking. Ramsay supposed that someone with his background would be into confession.

‘Couldn’t you tell anyone else about this?’ he’d asked.

‘I told Emma about Marilyn, and the letter I got from Mrs Howe. She promised not to tell Brian. She didn’t want to. She thought it would upset him to know I’d done something like that.’ Mark had lowered his voice, forcing himself to come out with the words. Confession again. ‘ That I’d seduced a schoolgirl … Then after Kath Howe died she wouldn’t see me.’

‘Did she suspect you of killing Mrs Howe?’

‘I don’t know.’ He was shocked by the thought. ‘Perhaps she did.’

‘Why couldn’t you talk to Brian Coulthard? I had the impression you were very close.’

‘I tried. Several times. It was as if he didn’t want to know.’

He believed you were having an affair with his wife, Ramsay thought but did not say, and he wanted you to be happy so he didn’t stand in the way.

Mark had looked up from the varnished table which was scratched with graffiti like one of the old desks at school.

‘I think Marilyn’s been following me. When she threatened the kids I believed her.’

In Mrs Howe’s overheated room in Ferndale Avenue Marilyn waited impatiently for more questions.

‘What did you tell your mother?’ Ramsay asked. ‘Everything?’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course not.’

Of course not. Because if Kath Howe had known what had gone on in the teacher’s car she’d have rushed up to the school immediately, accusing him of rape, demanding his prosecution and immediate dismissal. And because kids never told their parents everything.

‘What exactly did you tell her?’

‘That Mr Taverner fancied me. That he’d given me a lift home and kissed me. That as soon as I left school we’d live together.’

The fantasy.

Marilyn continued. ‘ I didn’t mean to tell her. I was angry and it all came out.’

‘So she wrote to him, threatening to tell the authorities.’

‘I couldn’t understand why she made so much fuss. There was the same age gap as between Claire and Dad and she put up with that.’

There was a silence broken by Mrs Howe’s snoring. Her head had tilted back and her mouth was open. The cat jumped from her knee to be closer to the fire but she didn’t wake.

‘I think we should go to the police station now,’ Ramsay said. It wasn’t only that he wanted a watertight case. It was because he wanted her to plead guilty. He couldn’t bear the idea of her going through a trial.

‘No!’ she screamed. She flung her arm in front of her like a Nazi salute. Warning him to keep his distance, threatening to push him away if he should try to move her. A gesture again of the furious child. ‘ I want to tell you how I did it.’

And in the end it was easier to sit back and listen. In the stuffy room he’d run out of energy. If she had a tantrum he didn’t want to have to drag her away.

‘I didn’t plan it,’ she said more calmly.

‘No.’

‘But she was driving me crazy. It was bad enough before. Never letting me out of her sight. Always wanting to know what I’d been up to. After I told her about Mr Taverner it was a hundred times worse. She’d sent him the letter. You’d have thought that would be enough for her.’

‘But it wasn’t.’

‘That Saturday morning she wanted to come to school with me. She said she’d sit in the back of the hall. Check that nothing was going on. Can you imagine what the others would think? What
he
would think? I just couldn’t allow it to happen.’