The Grave Tattoo (40 page)

Ever since she’d found the first clue, she had refused to allow herself to believe in it completely. She had tried to treat it like a research project, not some romantic quest. Now at last she could let down the barriers and feel. The depth of her emotions surprised her. She was moved almost to tears by this simple piece of paper. She ran a finger over the letters, tracing the movements of Wordsworth’s pen. The heretical thought came to her that she could understand someone killing to possess this.

And with that thought came guilt and remorse. Her search had opened floodgates whose existence she hadn’t even suspected. And now four people were dead.

Rigston waited patiently, his eyes never leaving her. When she finally looked up, she could feel the tears in her eyes. ‘I want to make a phone call,’ she said, her voice unsteady.

‘If it’s not you and Tenille, Jane, who is it that cares enough about that piece of paper to want to kill for it? Who else knows the starting point for your search?’ Rigston’s voice was softer now, his body language less threatening.

Even in her daze, she recognised the slide into her first name. He was trying to soften her up. And this was something she could give him at no cost to either herself or Tenille. ‘Most of Edith’s extended family,’ she said. ‘There was a roomful of people there when I spoke to Alice.’

Rigston shook his head. ‘Nice try, but that was after Edith’s death. We need names of people who knew
before
she was murdered.’

‘My brother phoned Edith on the Saturday morning to ask her if she had any family papers. I’m sure she would have told other members of her family then. They were close. And I bet they’re not going to be admitting it now if she did tell them.’

Rigston pounced on the solid fact. ‘Matthew knew?’

Jane sighed. ‘Yes. As did my colleague Dan Seabourne, Anthony Catto at the Wordsworth Centre, and a document dealer called Jake Hartnell. I’m not sure how much he knows or when he knew it, but he does know something. And that’s about the least likely list of murderers I can think of. There must be someone else, someone a hell of a lot more unscrupulous.’

‘Someone like Tenille?’ Rigston said.

Jane stared down at the sheet of manuscript. She’d dreamed of holding this in her hands. She just hadn’t expected it to be in a police interview room. How had it come to this? She looked up at Rigston. ‘Somebody tried to kill me yesterday and that certainly wasn’t Tenille,’ she said.

Rigston looked sceptical. ‘How convenient. Another drunk driver trying to run you down, was it?’

Jane clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God, it never occurred to me. That must have been his first attempt.’

‘You’re really clutching at straws now,’ he said sarcastically.

‘I’m serious,’ she insisted. ‘I went for a walk up to Langmere Force. I was sitting on the edge of the rock outcropping, like I’ve done for years. And someone crept up behind me and hit me over the head. I fell into the waterfall. I was lucky that Derek Thwaite saw me fall. He and his dog got me out. I would have drowned otherwise.’

‘You could have waited till you had a rescuer to hand and thrown yourself off,’ Rigston said, just as she’d predicted.

Jane leaned forward, parting her curls to show the tender lump. ‘I couldn’t have done that to myself, could I?’

‘It’s not impossible,’ Rigston said. ‘You could have smacked your head into a tree or something.’

Jane banged her fist on the table. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘Because you’re not very credible, you and Tenille.’

‘Right. That’s it. I’m not saying another word until I get my phone call.’

‘You’re sure about that?’ Rigston said. ‘Because now’s your chance to get Tenille off the hook of a quadruple murder charge. You stick to your guns and she’s going down. With her background, she’s a good fit. Unless you admit she was doing what she was doing at your instigation, she’s not going to have a leg to stand on. She’ll be carrying the can all by herself.’

For an instant, Jane almost fell for it. Guilt and responsibility almost swamped her good sense. But at the last moment, she stopped herself. ‘I want my phone call,’ she said.

Rigston stood up. ‘Have it your own way. Someone will escort you to the custody desk. You can call from there.’

40

It was, Dan thought, like being in a house where someone had died recently. The inhabitants shocked out of the ability to communicate, desperate for something to do but unable to figure out what that might be, the core of the room an absence. Judy and Allan Gresham sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped, mugs of tea untouched and cooling in front of them. Matthew paced restlessly, unable to settle.

‘I don’t understand why she called you,’ Matthew had said when Dan explained he’d come to the farm in response to a phone call from Jane.

‘Because she thought your parents would be too upset to take it in. She didn’t know you were here.’

‘Of course I’m here. Who else would Mum and Dad call?’ Matthew actually grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged at it. ‘So what did she tell you?’

Dan pulled up a chair and sat opposite Judy and Allan, who looked at him with mute fear. ‘It turns out she’s been sheltering Tenille–her friend from London.’

Judy looked puzzled. ‘Why would she do that? And where?’

‘Because she believed in Tenille’s innocence. I’m not sure where she was hiding her. One of the outbuildings, I think.’

‘Bloody madness,’ Matthew muttered, throwing himself into a chair. ‘But I still don’t understand what happened tonight.’

‘The police caught Tenille red-handed in a burglary. And apparently Tenille finally found what we’ve been looking for.’

‘What? Where did she find it?’ Matthew interrupted.

‘Does it matter?’ Dan said, unable to keep a momentary flash of anger from his eyes. ‘Jane didn’t have time to give me any details. What matters is that the police put two and two together and made five. Jane was looking for the manuscript, Tenille burgled the cottage and came out with a page of manuscript, Jane knows Tenille, therefore Jane must have put her up to it.’

Judy shook her head. ‘That can’t be right. Jane wouldn’t do something like that. She wouldn’t.’

‘We all know that,’ Matthew said impatiently. ‘We need to get her a lawyer. We need to get her out of there.’

‘That’s what she asked me to do,’ Dan said.

‘Why you? You don’t know any lawyers up here,’ Matthew said.

‘She asked me to talk to you and your parents,’ Dan said mildly. ‘Matthew, she only called me because she didn’t want to give you guys any more hassle than you’re already having. So, who do we call?’

Matthew threw his hands upwards. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know any criminal lawyers. I’m a teacher, for fuck’s sake.’

‘I can’t bear to think of her locked up,’ Judy whispered. ‘I can’t bear it.’

Allan released Judy’s hand, patted it and pushed his chair back. ‘I’m going to call Peter Muckle.’

‘He does land and contracts, Dad. He doesn’t know anything about crime,’ Matthew said.

‘He’ll know someone who does,’ Allan said stolidly.

‘It’s barely six,’ Judy said weakly. ‘He won’t thank you for it.’

‘I was at school with Peter, he won’t mind.’

Dan watched him shuffle out of the room, diminished by fear and uncertainty. He leaned across the table and put his hand over Judy’s. ‘It’ll be all right, Mrs Gresham,’ he said.

Judy gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘You’ve got no idea, have you, lad? No idea at all.’

Although it was after eight when Rigston called Anthony Catto, he sounded half-asleep. When Rigston introduced himself, there was a momentary silence, then Anthony cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I had a very late night. I’m not quite with it. You’re with the police in Keswick?’

‘That’s right. I was wondering if you could help me with something.’

‘That sounds rather ominous, Inspector–helping the police with their enquiries.’ Anthony sounded cautious.

‘It’s nothing like that, sir. A piece of manuscript has come into our possession and I wondered if you might cast an eye over it and tell me whether you think it might be authentic’ Rigston rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself. He always became formal to the point of pomposity when he was dealing with people he felt were his educational superiors. It was a miracle it hadn’t scuppered his relationship with River.

‘I’m not a manuscript expert by any means,’ Anthony said hurriedly. ‘My field is a somewhat narrow one.’

‘I appreciate that, but if this is what we think it might be, it’s your field.’

‘I’m intrigued now, Inspector.’ The voice was warmer, the tone more interested. ‘When would you like me to come and take a look at it?’

‘No time like the present, sir. I could send a car for you.’

A short pause. ‘No, that won’t be necessary. It’ll be quicker if I drive myself. I should be with you in, say, forty minutes?’

‘Perfect.’ Rigston replaced the phone. Another brick in the wall. Before he could make another call, the phone rang.

‘Custody suite here,’ the voice said. ‘Neil Terras is here. Says he’s representing Jane Gresham.’

The family weren’t hanging about, Rigston thought, trying not to feel pissed off at this exercise of Jane Gresham’s rights. He was probably screwed now as far as getting anything out of her. Terras was the shrewdest operator of the criminal law for miles around. He was surprised the Greshams knew that. ‘You’d better let him see her, then,’ he said.

‘He’s asking for disclosure,’ the custody sergeant said.

‘I’ll be right down.’

Half an hour later, Rigston felt like he’d been gutted and filleted and stitched up like a kipper. Terras’s forensic questioning had left him without a leg to stand on. ‘It’s all suspicion,’ Terras had said. ‘I wouldn’t even grace it with the term “circumstantial”. You’ve got nothing against my client whatsoever. I’m going to talk to her now, and when I come out of there, I expect you to be ready to let her go.’

Rigston knew his case against Jane Gresham was weak, but he had been hoping her unfamiliarity with the legal process might have provoked her into revelation. There was no chance of that now. If he bothered to interview her again, he knew she’d be going ‘no comment’ while the ticking clock imposed by PACE ran down. Best to put off the interview until he had more leverage. It was the end of the game.

He watched Terras go off to commune with his client then turned to the custody sergeant. ‘When he’s done, bail her pending further enquiries.’

He walked back to his office, feeling every minute of the long night in his bones. He was getting too old for this kind of thing. Working through the night was a young man’s game.

Anthony Catto was waiting for him in the CID room. Looked more like a superannuated hippie with a hangover than a world expert on Wordsworth, Rigston thought sourly as he showed him into his office. ‘Thanks for coming in,’ he said, waving him to a seat.

‘How could I resist?’ Anthony said, crossing one long leg over the other.

‘Feeling a bit more chipper now, eh? You sounded rough when I spoke to you on the phone.’

‘As I said, late night. I was over in Newcastle giving a lecture, then a group of us went out for supper. It was after two when I got back,’ he explained. ‘But the thought of what you might have to show me has perked me up.’ He gave Rigston an expectant look.

Rigston handed over the plastic folder that contained the manuscript page. Anthony held it carefully by the edges and studied it. After a couple of minutes, he looked up. ‘Might I ask where this came from?’

‘I’d rather not say at this point. It’s part of an ongoing inquiry. Does it matter?’

‘Ultimately, yes, it does. It’s a question of provenance. You see, Inspector, this appears to be part of something whose existence until now has been nothing more than rumour and theory. But it has been the subject of…shall we say, some interest lately.’

‘Who’s been interested?’ They were going all round the houses here, but Rigston didn’t mind. Information was always potentially useful.

‘There’s a young woman called Jane Gresham who comes originally from Fellhead. She’s an academic based in London, and a good friend of mine. But she recently uncovered some material which suggested there might be an undiscovered Wordsworth manuscript in existence. And she’s been looking for it.’ He tapped the paper with his finger. ‘This appears to be precisely what she was searching for. If it’s authentic’

‘You still haven’t said what you think it is,’ Rigston said.

‘The handwriting is either that of William Wordsworth or of an expert forger. One would need to test the paper and ink to be certain whether it’s the real thing. One would also need to know the provenance to assess how likely it is to be authentic. The subject matter appears to be a first-person account of matters relating to the mutiny on the
Bounty.’

‘And you were aware that this was what Jane Gresham was looking for?’

‘Oh yes, I knew all about it. The new material she found was in our archive. I was able to give her a little assistance right at the start.’

‘What sort of assistance?’

Anthony met Rigston’s gaze. ‘Why are you so interested in this, Inspector?’

‘Humour me. I like puzzles.’

Anthony shrugged. ‘It wasn’t much, really. She came across a reference to some papers being entrusted to a servant. All Jane had was a first name. I was able to provide her with a surname, which gave her a direction in which to focus her search.’

‘So you knew she was looking at the Clewlow family?’ Rigston asked.

‘Was that the name of the man Dorcas married? I didn’t know that,’ Anthony said absently, studying the paper again.

‘You weren’t interested in making your own enquiries? It being your field?’

Anthony looked startled. ‘Good heavens, no. It was Jane’s discovery. She’s a very competent researcher and she has a huge passion for this particular project. Even if I was so inclined, I have far too much on my plate with the new Jerwood Centre to spare the time for chasing something so fundamentally unlikely. I was happy to offer any help I could, but this is her baby.’

Either he was a very good liar or he was telling the truth, Rigston thought. Somehow, he couldn’t see Anthony Catto burgling and murdering his way to anything. The man was too wrapped up in his own world.

‘This is really very exciting,’ Anthony said, as if to reinforce Rigston’s judgement. ‘I can’t tell you how rarely one makes a really important find in this field. And if this is what I think it is, and there is more of it, it’s probably the most significant discovery in English literary studies for a few generations. I’d love to see the rest of it.’ His smile was wry. ‘Are you sure you can’t tell me where it came from?’

‘Maybe you should ask Jane Gresham,’ Rigston said, unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice. ‘We should be letting her out of the cells any time now.’

Jane followed her lawyer out to the car park in a daze. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said. ‘Rigston had me really scared.’

‘He was trying it on. He doesn’t have anything on you. And he’s not going to get anywhere unless Tenille Cole starts trying to lay the blame on you. Even then, it’ll be your word against hers, and yours will carry more weight,’ Terras said, glancing at his watch.

‘She won’t say a thing, she’s loyal to a fault,’ Jane said. ‘Is there anything I can do to help her?’

‘She’s got her own lawyer.’ He grinned. ‘Not as good as me, but not bad for a duty solicitor. She might want to talk to you. If she does, I should be with you.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘I’d drive you home, but I’m due in court. Will you be OK?’