He seemed unaware that he was making any dramatic revelation and Ramsay’s conviction that he was the murderer was shaken by Carpenter’s frankness. The policeman felt he needed time for reflection. He was too involved in the case. He had spent too much time in the grey terraced streets of the village and the school on the hill. The seaside walk along the promenade with Patty Atkins seemed to have happened a long time ago.
While he was interviewing Matthew Carpenter, Ramsay saw Patty hovering in the playground and the children pulling at her coat, trying to persuade her to go. He thought at first she was waiting for her father, then remembered he had asked her to speak to Hannah Wilcox. He was so convinced that the answer to the murders lay in the school that he was sure she would have little information of value. He was touched, though, by the effort she had made. He remembered the walk along the seafront with pleasure, because it had been a break from the depression of Heppleburn and because she had not criticized him. He was so used to being alone on this case that her company had been comforting. As soon as the interview with Matthew was over he rushed out to see her, but she had gone. He stood in the empty playground in the dusk, feeling he had been deserted.
Because she felt that the information from Hannah Wilcox was so important, Patty left a message for Ramsay at Otterbridge police station. The policeman there was unpleasantly insistent that she should talk to him rather than to his superior, but she refused. She had the impression that he was sneering at Ramsay. She felt she owed a loyalty to Ramsay and besides, although she would not admit it to herself, she knew his response to her message would provide an excuse for them to meet.
They did meet, but almost by chance, the next day at lunch-time in the main street of the village. He still had not returned her call and she had been restless all morning. Perhaps she went to the post office in the hope of seeing him. She stood in the street and looked at the advertisements in the window. Mrs Mount was advertising for a care assistant to work in the nursing home. Angela must have told her already that she would not help there. Then she turned round and he was standing on the pavement beside her, apparently in a dream.
‘I tried to see you,’ she said. ‘There’s something I think you should know. Have you time to talk to me now?’
‘Of course!’ The preoccupation disappeared and the flattering manner returned as if at the flick of a switch. He can’t help it, she thought.
‘Can we get something to eat at the Northumberland Arms?’ he asked. ‘We can have lunch together and you can talk to me then.’
It’ll be all round the village in an hour, she thought, that I’ve been to the pub with the good-looking policeman. She wondered briefly what her husband would think, but she nodded and followed him into the lounge bar. Jim would understand. She chose a table in a corner, furthest away from the bar, under a poster of last year’s leek show. Ramsay would not want to be overheard. They ate beef sandwiches and drank lager while she told him about Hannah’s discovery that Paul Wilcox too had been threatened by blackmail, that Wilcox had been in the school house on the night of the bonfire and that someone else had been there too.
Ramsay listened with great care. ‘He didn’t give her any idea who that was?’
Patty shook her head.
‘So Angela Brayshaw was involved with Wilcox too,’ Ramsay said. He was thinking aloud. ‘She gets around, that woman, doesn’t she? A regular little gold-digger. Your father saw them together but I couldn’t see them as a couple.’ He looked at Patty. ‘Tell me a bit more about her.’ He was asking out of interest. He was still committed to the theory that Matthew Carpenter was involved with both murders.
‘I don’t know her very well,’ Patty said, ‘although her family have always lived in the village. Her dad died when she was young and apparently her mum used the insurance money to send her to a private school in Jesmond. Mrs Mount, her mother, was always a snob. She runs that private nursing home in the big house on the way to Morpeth and Angela helped there in the school holidays. She was never allowed out to parties or discos with us. Her mam thought we’d lead her astray. She had dreams of Angela going away to college, I think, but she didn’t do very well at school. I remember talking to her once on the top of the bus into Newcastle when we were both sixteen. She wanted to work in a smart hairdresser’s and do day release at the tech but Mrs Mount wouldn’t have it. Too common for her only daughter. In the end Angela worked in the nursing home too.’
‘I see,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘ So she would have learned to lift there. She would have had to lift the old people into bed. Even though she’s tiny she’s quite strong.’
‘You think she killed Harold Medburn for his money?’ She was beyond caring now who had killed the headmaster. She just wanted the thing cleared up. ‘There were all those rumours that she owed a lot to her mother and was having to work at the nursing home to pay it back. She always hated it there. She won’t need to do that now.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that. But it’s important to keep an open mind. Has she got a car?’
Patty nodded. ‘ Her mother bought it for her when she was separated. It’s a Mini.’
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘She started work at the nursing home. What happened then?’
‘She married David Brayshaw,’ Patty said. ‘ I never met him but everyone said he was far too nice for her.’ Then, realizing how bitchy she must sound she added: ‘Of course she was very pretty.’
‘Was he local?’
‘From Monkseaton I think. He was a trainee manager in a carpet factory. Angela gave up work in the nursing home as soon as she was married. Everyone knew she hated it. I don’t think David was happy in his work either because he packed it all in when he left Angela.’
‘When was that?’
‘Soon after Claire was born. I don’t know what he’s doing now.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’re a mine of information. Considering you don’t know her very well.’
She realized he was laughing at her. ‘I know it’s all gossip,’ she said.
‘I was being serious,’ he said. ‘ Really. You’ve been a great help.’
‘There is something else,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘Mrs Medburn used to help out at the old people’s home. She’d go in at weekends to be in charge so that Angela’s mother could get away. That’s probably how Angela first met Harold.’
It seemed to him then that the whole village was in some way related and that the relationships were so tenuous, complex and informal that he would never untangle them. It occurred to him that he might be keen to accept Matthew Carpenter as the murderer because the teacher was an outsider and then the whole thing would be less complicated. As he had told Patty, it was important to keep an open mind.
‘Will you talk to her?’ he said. ‘ Just as a neighbour. Don’t ask any specific questions, but if you come across anything suspicious let me know.’
‘It’s awkward,’ she said. ‘We’re not particularly friendly.’
‘But you’ll try?’ It was an echo of Hannah’s plea for help. ‘ She’ll not talk to me.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll try.’ She was angry with herself because she agreed so easily. What was she? A mother to them all? The maternal responsibility of curing ills and making things better seemed an awful burden. But she was good at nothing else. It was all she could do.
It was odd to walk out of the dark, humid pub with its wood panels into broad daylight. It should have been evening, yet it was only half past one. There were two and a half hours before she needed to collect the children from school. She did not relish the thought of an interview with Angela Brayshaw and decided it would be better done now. She would get it over. But when she knocked on the glossy, green door it opened immediately and Angela stood on the threshold, her coat fastened, handbag and keys in her hand, obviously on her way out.