The Night Book (28 page)

‘It’ll all be taken care of.’

‘Good. In that case, I’ll get myself down the A66 to this Cathedral Crag place. I just hope her sodding lawyer hasn’t advised her to remain silent during questioning. I need
this woman to talk. I have to trip her up.’

Maxwell Probus had often idly wondered if his surname hadn’t in some way predicated his choice of career in the law. Obviously its Latin derivation was significant in
itself, but the various English translations – which included ‘honourable’, ‘upright’, ‘veracious’ and (less pleasingly) ‘bully’ – seemed
ideal for someone who had decided to become a solicitor.

He’d spent most of his career in London, specialising in criminal defence work. Probus cut his teeth in the infamous Ruth Ellis trial of 1955 – Ellis was the last woman to be hanged
in England – and later acted for two of the men accused of the Great Train Robbery of 1963. But in recent years he had semi-retired to the Lake District, and these days mostly represented
drink-drivers, people accused of common assault, and sundry minor malefactors.

Meriel had engaged him three years earlier when she was accused of driving at almost 90mph on the M6 between Carlisle and Penrith. She had stood to lose her licence, which already carried
maximum penalty points for previous offences.

Probus had mounted an ingenious defence on her behalf which even she hadn’t fully comprehended. Neither had the magistrates, who fined her but were nervous of imposing a ban, such was
Probus’s Augustan bearing in their court.

Now he was sitting in Meriel’s lounge, sipping the repulsive instant coffee she had made him and considering everything she had told him over the last half-hour.

‘Very well, Mrs Bruton,’ he began, but Meriel held one hand up.

‘Please, Mr Probus. I would prefer it if you call me Meriel, or Miss Kidd.’

He bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘Then the latter it shall be. Now then,
Miss Kidd . . .
the facts of this case seem plain enough, as you have described them to
me.’

He carefully put his coffee cup on the little table beside him. He couldn’t bear to touch another drop of the stuff.

‘Your late husband died in a most unfortunate accident. But an accident it was. The coroner’s verdict is indisputable. Misadventure.

‘These . . . shall we say,
diaries
, that you have so frankly informed me you have composed, copies of which are now in the hands of the police . . . setting aside questions of
– forgive me – taste and decency . . . they are works of pure fantasy, are they not?
Private
works, never intended for the eyes of others, still less publication of any
description?’

‘Yes. I only ever wrote them for myself.’

‘Precisely. They may well contain detailed descriptions of Mr Bruton’s death at your hands, Miss Kidd, but they are as inconsequential in law as . . . well, as are dreams. Private
fantasies that simply have no bearing on the circumstances of your late husband’s death.’

Meriel swallowed. ‘Yes, but they could have a very damaging effect on my reputation and career, Mr Probus, if they were to be made public. I’ve been very . . . straightforward with
you this morning. The descriptions in this book are extremely . . . violent.’

The lawyer spread his hands.

‘But if you are not charged with any offence – and I cannot see grounds for that, based, as I say, on what you have told me – the diaries must be returned to you and the police
will have no business in making a single word of them public. And I shall make certain that they do not.’

Probus considered his next words carefully, and when he spoke it was with some delicacy.

‘However . . . if they were so misguided as to bring a charge or charges against you, based on the pages you wrote, then yes, they would be entitled to present them in open court. That
would lead to unfortunate publicity, I’m afraid. But to be frank with you, Miss Kidd, that would be the least of your concerns in such circumstances.’

Meriel nodded. ‘And how do you advise me to respond when the police question me later today?’

Probus smiled broadly.

‘Let us cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we, dear lady?’

Meriel winced. She supposed she’d have to put up with this crass patronage.

‘I will be with you at all times, rest assured,’ Probus continued, oblivious. ‘If I feel you are being dragooned or unduly coerced, I shall intervene. I am very experienced in
these matters, Miss Kidd. You are in good hands, I assure you.’

At that moment there was a heavy knock on the front door and Meriel crossed to the window that looked out on the drive.

‘There’s a police car. They’re here.’

The lawyer beamed at her.

‘Then let them enter, let them enter. You have nothing to fear.

‘Nothing to fear whatsoever.’

By two o’clock Meriel was sitting alone in a small room at county police headquarters. One entire wall was darkly mirrored and she was certain it was a singular
arrangement, with others able to see into the room from the other side.

Probus, who had offices in Penrith less than ten minutes away, had returned to his chambers, promising her he would be back the moment questioning began. ‘I envisage you being home again
in time for your evening meal, my dear,’ he informed her confidently as he left.

DI Thompson had been formal but polite earlier when he arrived at Cathedral Crag. He explained to Meriel that he had applied for a warrant to search the house, but that everything would be put
back the way it was when his officers had finished. He’d asked her for a sample of her handwriting, and she gave him some programme notes she’d been working on. These were carefully
placed into a clear plastic evidence bag which was then deliberately sealed in front of her.

Next she had been escorted to the big Rover squad car waiting in the drive, asked to sit in the back, and off they’d set for Penrith, Probus following close behind in his silver Jaguar.
Meriel had not been formally arrested. That, she reasoned, must at least count for something.

There were three plastic chairs in the interview room, two on the other side of the table from hers. She’d spotted the fresh copies of
The Night Book
straight away; she could
hardly miss them, placed as they were squarely in the middle of the table. It was obviously a crude attempt by the police to throw her off balance, and Meriel decided not to oblige them by looking
at even a single page. She was sure someone was watching from the other side of the mirror. She also suspected that later they’d ask her to read some extracts aloud, but hopefully Probus
could put a stop to any of that kind of theatre.

Just as she had during Seb’s monologue last night, Meriel crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap, and sat calmly waiting. In her head she endlessly replayed the same mantra, a
comfort blanket of words.

‘I was the only one there. I am the only one who knows what happened. I was the only one there.’

Seb insisted on driving himself to the police station. He’d been bullish when the call came from a Sergeant Furness in Penrith, explaining that Seb was wanted for
questioning and that a police car would shortly arrive at Lake District FM to bring him in.

As a reporter Seb had had many dealings with the police and he wasn’t intimidated by them.

‘Forget it, sergeant,’ he said. ‘Unless I’m a suspect, which obviously I’m not, I don’t have to get into one of your squad cars and I’m not going to.
Have a parking space ready for me down there. I’ll be in a Triumph Spitfire. You can expect me within the hour.’

He’d been delaying having a conversation with Bob Merryman, but now that couldn’t be put off any longer.

‘A word, Bob?’ he called across to the news editor as he put the phone down. ‘In private?’

The others in the newsroom looked up curiously. Had Richmond been offered another job? He was certainly the network’s blue-eyed boy these days. Maybe he was going to ask Merryman for a pay
rise.

When they were alone in a spare studio, Seb came straight to the point.

‘Obviously you know about Meriel and me.’

Merryman looked faintly amused. ‘No, Sebastian, I had no idea. Whatever do you mean?’

Seb ignored the irony.

‘Listen, Bob, this is heavy stuff. Seriously.’

Merryman stopped smiling and frowned. ‘Go on.’

‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure that Meriel’s been arrested this morning or, if not, she’s at least been taken in for questioning. She’ll be down at Cumbria Police
HQ in Penrith right now.’

The news editor gaped.

‘
What?
What the fuck for? What’s she done?’ Seb took a deep breath.

‘She might have murdered her husband. His drowning may not have been an accident.’

He thought his boss was going to fall off his chair.

‘Hold on. Just hold on a minute, Seb. You’re telling me Meriel Kidd maybe killed Cameron Bruton and now she’s in custody? How the hell do you know all this?’

Seb picked his words with care.

‘I found something, Bob. Yesterday. Something hidden at Cathedral Crag. I can’t say what it is, but it was . . . incriminating. There’s other stuff that I know, or suspect,
that if I’m honest with you I’ve been trying to forget or ignore for weeks. But I simply can’t do that any more, not after what I found yesterday.’

Merryman was slowly beginning to recover his poise.

‘So you took this thing, whatever it was, to the police?’

Seb shook his head. ‘No. I couldn’t bring myself to. I took it to the coroner instead. That didn’t seem quite so . . . perfidious.’

‘
Perfidious?
What is this, Shakespeare?’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake then . . .
disloyal
. OK? The coroner said he’d hand it over to an assistant commissioner he knows personally, first thing this morning.
That’s clearly what must have happened because I just had a call from police headquarters. They want to question me as a witness. Now. This afternoon.’

The news editor noisily blew out his cheeks.

‘Christ almighty, Seb, what the fuck have you got yourself into here? This is going to be
huge
, and you’re right in the bloody middle of it. In fact, it sounds like you
could be a material witness. That means I’ll have to pull you off the story.’ He paused, thinking furiously. ‘D’you know if the cops are going to put out a statement of any
kind? Announce that they’ve pulled Meriel in on suspicion of murder?’

Seb stood up to leave. ‘I have no idea. If they do, I know she has a solicitor who’ll handle things for her. But you don’t need to wait for the police to announce anything, do
you? I’ve just given you the exclusive, haven’t I? You can run this ahead of everyone else.’

Merryman nodded grimly as he too rose to his feet.

‘I suppose you’re right there; thanks to you we’re ahead of the pack.’ He shook his head. ‘Jesus . . . I’d better go see Peter Cox. Right now. I’ve no
idea how we’re going to cover this. Meriel’s one of our own. As are you, you stupid bastard. Why couldn’t you keep it in your trousers? I warned you, didn’t I? I bloody
warned you.’

The two men went out into the corridor. ‘Seriously, what about you, Seb?’ the news editor asked his reporter flatly. ‘Do you want us to sort you out a solicitor?’

Seb shook his head as he headed for the lifts.

‘No. I don’t want to add to the drama of this thing. I can handle it myself.’

‘Well, OK . . . call me if you change your mind. Don’t underestimate the police. They can be tricky bastards. I once knew a –
Peter? PETER!
’ The station manager
had stepped out of his office a little further down the passage. He spun around, startled.

‘Bob? Christ, what’s up? Something serious happened?’

‘Serious?’ echoed Merryman. ‘
Serious?
’ He began to walk towards his boss. ‘Peter, you have absolutely
no
fucking idea.’

Unlike Meriel, who remained sitting quite alone – but observed – Seb was questioned almost as soon as he arrived at police headquarters. He was shown straight into
an interview room where Mark Thompson immediately joined him.

‘Hi, I’m DI Thompson,’ he said, shaking Seb’s hand. ‘This isn’t an interview under caution, Mr Richmond, so I’m not going to record it or ask anyone
else to be present. We’ll need to do a formal interview with you at some point, get a few things on the record, but this afternoon you’re simply helping us with our inquiries.
OK?’

Seb nodded. ‘That’s fine. But you’ll appreciate how extremely difficult this is for me, Inspector, given my close relationship with Meriel Kidd.’

‘Of course. That’s one of the reasons I want to keep this as informal as possible. But I really need your co-operation, Mr Richmond. Are you willing to be completely open with
me?’

Seb gave a weary shrug. ‘Look. I’ve thought this all through as best I can and I’ve decided that the only thing I can possibly do now is what I think is right. Dr Young was
very useful last night in getting me to see things straight. And call me Seb, by the way.’

The detective sat down opposite.

‘Thank you, Seb, I will. Now . . . let me be quite frank with you. Miss Kidd is still awaiting questioning here. That’s because I wanted to talk to you first. So I’d like you
to take me through it all, starting with how you stumbled across this manuscript of hers yesterday.’

Seb had barely finished going through the events leading to his discovery in the fuse box when the door opened and a uniformed constable poked his head into the room.

‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but the officer organising the search at the house is on the line. He says it’s important.’

The DI sighed. ‘Apologies, Seb, I have to take this. Constable, bring Mr Richmond here some tea, would you?’ He left the room.

Five minutes later he was back, thoughtful.

‘Well, well,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘My men have discovered a second manuscript – another set of photocopies. They were in an envelope taped behind a radiator in
the kitchen. It sounds to me as if they’re exactly the same as the ones you found yesterday. But I can’t understand why Miss Kidd would go to such lengths to duplicate her pages and
then hide them. Can you shed any light on that?’