Telling Tales (27 page)

“I checked with the Public Record Office. He changed his name by deed poll in 1987. Did everything right. Got an old teacher to support the application. It has to be someone who’s known you for at least ten years. Advertised in the London Gazette like you’re supposed to. Signed the deed poll in his old and new name.”

“What was his old name?”

“Shaw. James Richard Shaw.”

“Not a name that you could take exception to,” Vera said. “I mean some names, you can see why someone would want to change them. But not Shaw. So why go through all that effort? Who did he want to hide from?”

“Mantel?” Ashworth suggested.

“Maybe. Bennett went away to sea. That suggests running away to me. Then perhaps he came back when he thought he was safe.”

“To a village where Mantel was living? That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Perhaps the situation had changed. Perhaps he was prepared to risk it for Emma to live close to her parents. People can look a lot different after fifteen years. Do you think the wife knows about the name change?”

“She wouldn’t have to. If you’re already married, you have to notify your spouse of a name change, but banns of marriage can be called in the new name.”

“All the same,” Vera said, ‘it’s a big secret to keep. You’d need a good reason not to tell your new wife that you grew up with another name. And wouldn’t she find out when she met all the relatives?”

“Perhaps she hasn’t.”

“I don’t suppose James Richard Shaw has a criminal record. That he was in a Young Offender Institute until

1987 and he changed his name to put that behind him?”

, “I did check,” Ashworth said. “First thing I thought of

Smart-arse, she thought. “Well?”

“Nothing. Hasn’t been in trouble in either name. Not even a speeding ticket.”

She didn’t speak again immediately. The launch was pulling back into the jetty. She saw two dark silhouettes on the deck, sharp against the sparkling water. They began to climb the ladder from the boat.

“What would you like me to do now?” Ashworth asked.

The figures reached the top of the jetty and she could see them more clearly. One was James Bennett.

“Nothing,” she said with regret. “A bit more digging. If there’s something odd about Bennett we don’t want to let him know we’re onto him. Not until we’ve a bit more of an idea what it’s about.”

She was still sitting outside the cafe when the pilot drove past. She didn’t think he noticed her.

Chapter Thirty

When Michael Long opened his door to her, she was surprised by the response a mixture of irritation and relief.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you,” he said, as if she’d been deliberately trying to avoid him.

“Well, you’ve got me now so you’d best let me in.”

He stood aside and she went ahead of him into the small front room where they’d sat and talked the week before.

“Every time I phoned there’d be someone different to talk to. Sometimes no one at all, just a recorded message. And none of them would put me onto you.”

“They’re busy,” Vera snapped. “A case like this, do you know how many calls they get to the incident room?”

He looked at her as if she’d bitten him, but he stopped complaining. She thought there’d been no need to be so sharp with him. Was she less sympathetic because of what Wendy Jowell had said about him being a bully? She was trying to think of something to say to make him believe she was still on his side, but he spoke first.

“I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Daresay you’re ready for a brew.”

God, she thought, any more tea and I’ll float away up the Humber like one of those bloated container ships. “Aye,” she said. “Why not?”

When he came back, carrying the tray, he was so eager to please, to pour the tea strong as she liked it, that it was easy to appear understanding.

“Why did you want the pleasure of my company, anyway?” she said. “What was it that wouldn’t wait?”

“I saw the lad, Christopher Winter, the day he died. I didn’t know it was him when I saw him. But they had his picture in the paper, asking if anyone had seen him. I recognized him from that.”

“You should have told the officers in the incident room,” she said carefully, not telling him off exactly, just making the point. “It could be important.” But even as she was speaking she couldn’t help feeling a childish satisfaction because she’d got hold of the information before the local team.

“Aye, well. I might have done if they’d been less rude.”

She let that go.

“Where did you see him?”

“In the cemetery at the edge of the village. I’d gone to visit Peg’s grave. It’d been a while since I’d been there and I wanted to pay my respects. Show her I was on my feet again, like.” He looked up. “Daft, I know.”

“Not daft at all,” she said. “What time was this?”

“Early in the morning. Around eight o’clock.”

“What was Christopher Winter doing?”

“Same as me, I think. Mourning. He was standing next to the grave of the lass our Jeanie was supposed to have killed.”

“Did you speak?”

Michael Long shook his head. “He was too upset to notice me. I mean, there still wasn’t much light, but even if there had been, I don’t think he’d have seen. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation myself

“What was he wearing?”

“One of those long waterproofs with a jumper underneath. Jeans, I think.”

She nodded. Those were the clothes he’d been wearing when Mary had found the body.

“Did you see where he went after? Or was he still there when you left?”

“He went before me,” Michael said, “but he seemed to vanish into thin air. I walked back to the village soon after he’d left but I didn’t see him ahead of me.”

“Maybe he just walked faster than you.”

“Aye, maybe. But I don’t move badly for my age. It wasn’t the weather to hang about. And if he’d gone back to Elvet someone would have seen him. He’d have had to pass the bus stop and there were a load of kids waiting there.” He seemed to lose his concentration for a moment. Vera waited for him to continue. “At the time I wondered if he’d gone in the opposite direction, towards the river, but I can’t think what would have taken him there at that time of day.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I might have got it wrong and I know how important it is, not jumping to conclusions…”

“You know how important it is people speaking up. If that lad who saw Jeanie at King’s Cross had said so at the time…”

“I heard him talking,” Michael said. At the time I

thought he was just raving. I mean, that’s what it looked like. Some madman. You could believe he was talking to himself. Later I wondered if he had a mobile phone. The way he was standing, he could have been using a mobile. I saw a couple of lasses at the bus stop later gabbing into one and that made me think.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“He sounded angry, frustrated. But I couldn’t hear the words.”

“Thanks,” she said. “That could make all the difference.”

She sat quite still for a moment before she remembered what she’d come for.

“You must have worked with James Bennett.”

“Aye, he started a year or so before I retired.”

“What did you make of him?”

“All right. A competent pilot.”

“Did you realize he’d married the lass who found Abigail Mantel’s body?”

“Someone must have told me. A place like this you get to know things without realizing how.”

“When you were playing detective, digging up the dirt on Keith Mantel, did you ever come across mention of Bennett?”

Michael looked at her as if she was crazy. “Of course not. Why?”

“Don’t know,” she said. “A stupid idea probably. Did Bennett ever talk about his past to you, his family, what he did when he was a kid?”

“We weren’t on those sort of terms.”

No, she thought. James Bennett wasn’t on those sort of terms with anyone. She ferreted in her bag for her phone. “I need to make a call,” she said. “Do you mind?”

“I’ll make myself scarce. Wash these pots.”

He was on his way to the kitchen when she called him back. “Would you show me after where you saw the lad? The cemetery first, then we could take a walk to the river. Show me the path you think he might have taken. If it’s no bother.”

“No.” He smiled, glad to be in her good books again. “It’s no bother at all.”

Ashworth must have been in the canteen because she heard a background clatter of crockery and chat.

“Are you OK to talk?” She meant was he on his own.

“Go ahead.”

“Did Winter have a mobile phone on him?”

“No one’s said. Do you want me to find out?”

“I’ve got a witness who saw him early that morning. He thinks Winter was talking into a mobile. Could have been, at least. If the lad did have a mobile on him, they’ll probably already have checked the calls, but this makes it a priority, doesn’t it? And before you give me a lecture I’ll bring my witness in to make a statement this afternoon. You hang on for me there.”

She switched off the phone before he could ask for more details and called to Michael who was making a show of waiting tactfully in the kitchen, “Ready when you are, pet. Let’s take a constitutional. I could do with some air.”

Vera could tell people were taking notice of them walking down the street together. There was nothing obvious, no staring or twitching of curtains. But it was there in the studied way the old ladies in front of the post office continued their conversation, only breaking off later to follow them with their eyes. And the vicar, who seemed about to cross the road to talk to Michael, stopped when he saw Vera and contented himself with a wave. Only a lone reporter approached them, but she flapped her hand at him, and without his colleagues he seemed to lack the courage to pursue them. Vera wondered if the locals were all just curious or if they believed she had a professional interest in Michael. Could they think she was arresting him? Was that the cause of their awkwardness?

She knew about small places, villages where people had grown up together and knew each other’s secrets, but Elvet depressed her. It was something to do with the flat countryside, everything the colour of mud, the unrelenting wind. No wonder Christopher Winter had been reluctant to return once he had escaped. What had dragged him back? He hadn’t been summoned for a special family occasion. He could have kept away.

There was a pile of dog muck on the pavement, and Michael took her arm briefly to steer her round it. She thought people who didn’t know them could take them as a married couple. Shambling and dysfunctional, dependent on each other for survival. She moved away from him and they walked down the lane several feet apart, not speaking.

There were no ancient graves in the cemetery; it must have been established once the churchyard was full. The sun had gone and the breeze was cooler than ever, tearing at the remaining dead leaves on the sycamore, shredding them so only the stalks and the veins were left.

“Was Christopher here before you?” Vera asked.

“Can’t have been. I’d have had to walk right past him to get to my Peg.”

“Did you see which way he came from?”

Michael only shook his head. The place seemed to have knocked all the spirit out of him. Vera stood looking about her for a moment. Beyond the dry stone wall there was open country on three sides, tussocky grass grazed by sheep. In a field there was something dead. It was too small for a sheep, probably a rabbit. It had been picked over by crows, and only bones and a scrap of fur remained. The wall was too high to be scrambled over without a fuss. Christopher Winter must have come through the gate.

“Show me where this road goes, then,” she said, opening it to let him out. “Can you drive all the way down?”

“Aye, some people keep boats there in the summer, and there’s a bit of a car park for folks who want a stroll along the riverbank. Do you want to go back for your car?”

“Is it far?”

“Half a mile at most.”

“We’ll walk it, then, shall we?” She was thinking she should warn Joe Ashworth that they’d be a while getting in to the station, but when she looked at her mobile there was no signal. The lane was straight, with a sparse hawthorn hedge on one side and a full ditch fringed with blackened reeds on the other. The hawthorn bushes had knotted trunks, smeared with green lichen and a scattering of berries. A small flock of redwing chased along the hedge, flipping occasionally into the field beyond. In the distance was a farmhouse surrounded by a graveyard of rotting machinery.

“Who lives there?” she asked.

“No one now. Cyril Moore died a month or so ago. Someone said it’s been sold. They’re going to turn it into a riding school. No money in farming these days.”

The tide was out when they arrived at the river. There were acres of ridged sand and mud, which seemed to stretch almost all the way to the Lincolnshire coast. A cloud of small wading birds, gathered like insects into a swarm, rose in a cyclone above them then settled back onto the mud. The hull of a clinker-built boat rotted upturned on the shore. There was a rough car park containing a red telephone box, a notice board, which might once have given details of how to contact the coast guard but which had faded into illegibility and a white wooden post with a life belt attached.

“Is this it?” Vera demanded. She was hungry and cold and thought she’d come on a wild goose chase.

“I did say I couldn’t think what could have brought him here.”

“So you did.” She tried her phone again. Still it refused to work.

They were back at the edge of the village when she realized how stupid she’d been. She recreated that morning in the cemetery in her head, trying to bring it to life. Christopher Winter had been at Emma’s. He’d sat up all night getting maudlin drunk, decided before it was even light that he needed to visit Abigail’s grave. Then what? He’d phoned someone. To accuse them of her murder? To demand an explanation? Support? Help? If he’d tried his mobile, it would probably be a number he’d kept in his head, or that he’d already saved on his phone. So it would be someone he knew well, or a number he’d checked in advance. But what if the phone hadn’t worked? Perhaps this was one of those black holes which swallowed mobile signals. It was possible that the angry words Michael had heard were the lad venting his frustration on the limitations of technology. What would he have done then? Surely he’d have found a phone box, used that. The nearest public phone was at the river car park. He’d have known it was there. He’d have played all round the shore when he was a boy.