Telling Tales (36 page)

“I’m not a doctor.”

“As a colleague. A friend.”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Caroline said. “He seemed to be holding it together. Perhaps, though, it was inevitable. He let things get to him, took them to heart.” She paused. “I don’t think he’s stupid, but he wasn’t really up to the job. The politics, the games you have to play. The rules you have to keep to or bend. He says what he means and he can’t understand when other people don’t do the same. He talked about resigning at the same time as me. I shouldn’t have discouraged it.”

“You’d resigned before he went on sick leave?”

“Yes. Getting Jeanie Long to court was the last thing I did.” She paused. “Everyone said I was going out on a high.”

“How soon after the court case was Dan’s illness?”

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to judge time when you look back from this distance. It all becomes a bit of a blur. Not long though. A couple of months. Six at the most. You could check. Personnel might still have it on file. Someone there would probably remember better than me.”

“I don’t really want to make it official. Not yet.”

Vera sipped the wine which was still cold and very dry. Caroline looked at her over her glass. “What’s all this about?” she said again, more forcefully, meaning, Cut the crap, lady. I’ve played these games too in my time.

“Are you sleeping with him?” Vera asked, matter of fact.

“No!” Caroline gave a hoot of laughter, so spontaneous and joyful Vera knew it was genuine. “Where did you get that idea?”

“We all get daft notions in our heads from time to time.”

“You didn’t come out here just to ask me that.”

For a moment Vera didn’t respond. In this investigation, she’d started off thinking she couldn’t trust this woman as far as she could throw her. It came hard now to pass on information she hadn’t even shared with Joe Ashworth.

“Dan Greenwood has a file on the Mantel case. He keeps it in his desk at the pottery, takes it out and reads it every now and again. It could mean anything. Guilt because he didn’t stand up to you over the Jeanie Long arrest. Nostalgia for a time when he was part of a team and he had friends he seems a bit of a loner now. Or it could be more sinister. Some sort of trophy, maybe. It could mean he killed her.”

Caroline listened carefully. She didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand. She knew what it had cost Vera to be there.

“What’s in the file?”

Vera shrugged. “I didn’t have much of a chance to look. Duplicates of the case papers and the investigation log. A duplicate of the post-mortem report. Postmortem photographs. A glossy picture of the girl before she died, looking dressed up and glamorous.”

“We might have asked Keith for a photo for publicity,” Caroline said quickly. An appeal through the media asking for witnesses to come forward. It doesn’t mean Dan knew her before she died.”

“I thought you didn’t bother much with that sort of publicity. You took Jeanie Long into custody pretty quickly.”

“It doesn’t mean we didn’t make other plans at the beginning…”

“Do you remember asking Keith for a photo?”

“No, but I wouldn’t after all this time.”

“Strange, anyway, Dan holding onto it for ten years.”

“Yes,” Caroline said. “Perhaps.” She poured herself another glass and waved the bottle towards Vera, who shook her head. She’d wait until she got back to the hotel, then have a proper drink. They sat again in silence.

“What happened to the clothes Abigail was wearing when she died?” Vera asked.

“God knows. After all this time… Why do you want to know?”

“No reason.”

Caroline looked at her suspiciously, but didn’t push it. “Dan was a bit of a loner even then. I mean friendly enough, a part of the team, no one ever minded being partnered up with him, but not really one of the lads. Do you know what I mean?”

Vera nodded. He wouldn’t get pissed with them. He wouldn’t swear about the bosses, or get sentimental and pour out his heart.

“Has he ever been married? I didn’t check that either.”

“God, no.” Caroline considered, then added. “I don’t know why that should seem so unthinkable. I suppose he didn’t seem the type. And he never mentioned anyone.”

“Gay?”

“No.” Then after more thought, “At least I don’t think so.”

“He fancied you, didn’t he?”

“Probably, but you get used to that. A woman in a team of men who feel the job’s screwed up all the other relationships in their lives. After a while it’s not flattering any more.”

I’d be flattered, Vera thought. Trust me.

“You never felt threatened by his attentions?”

“Not once.”

“Is there any way he could have got to know Abigail socially?”

“I can’t think of one.”

“Perhaps you invited him to one of Keith’s parties?”

“None of my colleagues knew about Keith. We were very discreet.”

“Dan guessed. During the investigation.”

“Did he? He never said.” Caroline seemed amused rather than surprised.

“Where was Dan living when Abigail was murdered?”

“In Crill. He had a flat in one of those big terraced houses on the se afront I picked him up from there a couple of times.”

“Did you ever go in?”

“Once or twice. Sometimes he wasn’t ready if I was early to collect him for a job. Once he asked me in for a beer at the end of a shift.”

“What was it like in there?”

“Bloody cold,” she said. “It had old sash windows that let in all the draughts.” She looked sharply at Vera. “There weren’t any photos of naked schoolgirls on the walls, if that’s what you mean.”

“Did you see inside his bedroom?”

“No. I’ve told you. We weren’t on those terms.”

Well then, Vera thought.

She said, “Abigail was at school in Crill, wasn’t she?”

“Yes, and the bus took her straight there and brought her straight back in the evening.”

“Except when she bunked off.”

“What are you saying?” Caroline demanded. “That Dan Greenwood picked her up on the street and had sex with her?”

I’m investigating possibilities.” Vera stretched out and put her empty glass on the table. There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Is he that sort? Into young girls?”

“Most of the men I’ve ever known have been that sort. They see a schoolgirl walking down the street, fifteen or sixteen years old, face plastered in make-up, uniform, short skirt, they look. It doesn’t mean they do anything.”

“Did Dan Greenwood look?”

“I don’t know!” Caroline was losing patience. “I’m just saying.”

“What sort of family does lie come from?”

“What!”

“Humour me.”

Caroline looked at her as if she should be locked up, but answered anyway. “He’s an only child. I think his parents were getting on when they had him. His father was already dead when he joined the team. He was close to his mum, but I think she’s died since. Money from the sale of her house gave him the cash to start the pottery. Is that enough for you?”

“Aye,” Vera said. “It’ll do.”

“He was a good policeman. Sometimes I thought he took it all too seriously. You could imagine him going home and thinking about work all evening and dreaming it at night. A bit intense, I suppose, and that worried me. He saw everything in black and white. But he worked on other cases involving young girls and I never had any concerns about how he handled them. There was no talk among the team, no complaints from the public’

Vera hoisted herself to her feet. She should have been pleased. Caroline had told her what she wanted to hear. But still she felt bad tempered, edgy.

At the door Caroline started talking again. It was as if she had continued thinking about Dan and like Vera felt that there were still things to say.

“I’m not very good at summing people up,” she said. “I mean it’s so hard to tell. You look at someone and they do something a bit odd, but they could be shy or weird or dangerous. How do you know? The most dangerous man I ever met looked as if he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“I’d have put Dan Greenwood down as harmless,” Vera muttered. “So what does that mean?”

“I could imagine him killing someone,” Caroline said. “If he thought it was the right thing to do. The lesser of two evils. But I’d say the same about most of the men I worked with.”

She shut the door then. Vera stood for a moment on the step, looking down the sloping front garden into the street. In the house opposite the curtains were still not drawn and two children were lying on their stomachs in front of the television. In the distance a car alarm was ringing. Standing there, considering Caroline’s words, she had another sudden goshawk moment, a brief glimpse of the whole picture. She walked on slowly to her car.

She and Joe Ashworth had dinner that night in the hotel. They’d only managed it a couple of times before. Usually the restaurant was already closed when they got in and they’d made do with takeaways in the car or bags of chips. Tonight they only just made it in time. Everyone else was already onto puddings or coffee and the room emptied as they ate. There was no one to overhear. The waitresses were in end-of-shift mood and stood by the desk chatting and giggling. The sweet trolley had been reduced to three sad profiteroles, some browning fruit salad and half a trifle.

Vera told him about finding the Mantel file in Dan Greenwood’s desk. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kept it to myself.”

“Do you want to get a warrant? Have a proper look round?”

She sat for so long in silence that he was about to repeat the question. “No,” she said at last. “No need. I had a hit of a poke about myself.” She explained about her search of the house in the Crescent, felt like a guilty kid.

Ashworth looked at her as if she should know better. “How do you want to handle it?”

“We’ll keep it to ourselves for the time being. No need to tell the Yorkies. We don’t want the rumours flying if there’s nothing to it. There’s nothing to link him to the Winter case. But we’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll go and have a chat tomorrow. See if I pick up on anything.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve got something special for you. A bit of a fishing trip. An away day. You’ll love it.”

Chapter Forty-One

Emma drove Matthew to Springhead. Arriving at the house, she sat for a moment in the car, reluctant to take him inside. She wasn’t sure now that she wanted to let him out of her sight. Would her parents be able to cope with him?

Inside though, Mary was looking out for them. She must have heard the car and the kitchen curtain was pulled aside. Emma saw her silhouetted against the yellow light and imagined her peering into the darkness. She gathered Matthew into her arms and prepared to be cheerful. Inside, her parents were drinking tea, pretending not to be waiting.

“I’ve expressed some milk so I don’t have to hurry back,” Emma said in a jolly voice she hardly recognized as her own. She handed the baby to Robert. She wanted to say, He’s only a loan. Not a replacement for Christopher. Not yours to keep. But that would have been foolish.

Back at the Captain’s House, she and James sat awkwardly at the kitchen table. She thought there was a peculiar restraint between them, a shyness. They were like a couple in a Victorian novel who had escaped the chaperone, though Matthew could hardly count as a chaperone. Now they were alone they weren’t quite sure how to proceed.

“What would you like to do?” James asked. “I could cook for you. We could go out for a quiet meal.”

“I’m not sure I want quiet,” she said. “There’s been too much of that recently. Noise would be good. Music. Talk. Would you really hate it if we just went for a drink in the Anchor?”

“People will want to ask about Christopher,” he said. “You know what they’re like. You won’t mind?”

“No. I think I’d like it. It seems healthier somehow than pretending it didn’t happen. There might be people who knew him there. Friends from school.”

“It could be a sort of wake?”

“Yes,” she said gratefully. “Exactly that.”

She went upstairs to run a bath. The oil she used had sandalwood in it and patchouli. He’d teased her when she first used it, called her a hippy, but she’d never been the sort to camp out at Glastonbury and hadn’t known what he was on about until he explained. On his way to the bedroom to change, he stopped on the landing and looked in on her. She’d propped open the door to let out the steam. The bathtub was old, made of a hard, stained enamel. It was very deep. She’d lit candles on the window sill and their scent mixed with the bath oil. She’d already washed her hair and tied it in a thin silk scarf in a knot on the top of her head. She lay back in the water, allowing her legs to float and her eyes to shut. Then she opened her eyes and saw him there, staring at her.

“Come in,” she said. He seemed poised to make an announcement. There was a long silence. She thought he was composing a sentence in his head and wondered what he could have to say. Suddenly he seemed to lose his nerve.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” he said. “Let you relax.” But the moment was spoilt for her and she climbed from the tub.

She made special preparations to go out, although they were only going across the road to the pub and she wasn’t dressing up. She’d already put jeans and the striped jersey she’d bought on her last trip to town on the chair. She came into the bedroom wrapped in a big bath towel, and sat in front of the dressing table. She used straighteners on her hair after drying it, her eyes fixed on the mirror. The towel slipped when she raised her arms above her head and she had to fasten it again. Then she took time to apply her make-up. Throughout, she was aware of James sitting on the bed and watching her.

She waited for him to come behind her and touch her, but he sat, quite still, watching. She felt breathless, light-headed. Let’s stay here, she was tempted to say. Let’s not bother to go out. I’m making all this effort for you. But the same shyness prevented her and anyway she thought she would enjoy the anticipation, being in the same room as him surrounded by people, aware of his eyes on her, knowing that soon they would come back here.

She caught his eye in the mirror and smiled.

“Well?” she asked. “Will I do?”