The DI, reminded of Sandy Griffiths' similiar caveat regarding her judgment of Sumner, ignored the tantrum. "Are you saying Harding touched you, Miss Jenner?"
She gave him a withering glance. "Of course not. I never gave him the opportunity."
"But he touched your animals, and that's what put you against him?"
"No," she said crossly. "It was the boys he couldn't keep his hands off. It was all very macho ... hail-fellow-well-met stuff ... you know, a lot of punching of shoulders and high-fives ... to be honest it's why I thought he was their father. The little one didn't like it much-he kept pushing him away-but the older one reveled in it." She smiled rather cynically. "It's the kind of shallow emotion you only ever see in Hollywood movies, so I wasn't in the least bit surprised when he told Nick he was an actor."
Galbraith exchanged a questioning glance with Ingram. "I'd say that's an accurate description," admitted the constable honestly. "He was very friendly toward Paul."
"How friendly?"
"Very," said Ingram. "And Miss Jenner's right. Danny kept pushing him away."
"Child seducer?" wrote Galbraith in his notebook. "Did you see Steve abandon a rucksack on the hillside before he took the boys down to Nick's car?" he asked Maggie then.
She was looking at him rather oddly. "The first time I saw him was at the boat sheds," she said.
"Did you see him retrieve it after Nick drove the boys away?""
"I wasn't watching him." Her forehead creased into lines of concern. "Look ... aren't you jumping to conclusions again? When I said he was touching the boys I didn't mean ... that is ... it wasn't inappropriate ... just, well, overdone, if you like."
"Okay."
"What I'm trying to say is I don't think he's a pedophile."
"Have you ever met one, Miss Jenner?"
"No."
"Well, they don't have two heads, you know. Nevertheless, point taken," he assured her in a conscious echo of what she'd said herself. Gallantly he lifted his untouched mug from the floor and drank it down before taking a card from his wallet and passing it across. "That's my number," he said, getting up. "If anything occurs to you that you think's important, you can always reach me there. Thank you for your help."
She nodded, watching as Ingram moved away from the window. "You haven't drunk your coffee," she said with a malicious gleam in her eyes. "Perhaps you'd have preferred it with sugar after all. I always find the mouse droppings sink to the bottom."
He smiled down at her. "But dog hairs don't, Miss Jenner." He put on his cap and straightened the peak. "My regards to your mother."
Kate Sumner's papers and private possessions had filled several boxes, which the investigators had been working their way through methodically for three days, trying to build a picture of the woman's life. There was nothing to link her with Steven Harding, or with any other man.
Everyone in her address book was contacted without results. They proved, without exception, to be people she had met since moving to the south coast and matched a neat Christmas card list in the bottom drawer of the bureau in the sitting room. An exercise book was found in one of the kitchen cupboards, inscribed "Weekly Diary," but turned out, disappointingly, to be a precise record of what she spent on food and household bills, and tallied, give or take a pound or two, with the allowance William paid her.
Her correspondence was composed almost entirely of business letters, usually referring to work on the house, although there were a few private letters from friends and acquaintances in Lymington, her mother-in-law, and one, with a date in July, from Polly Garrard at Pharmatec UK.
Dear Kate,
It's ages since we had a chat, and every time I ring, the phone's off the hook or you're not there. Give me a buzz when you can. I'm dying to hear how you and Hannah are getting on in Lymington. It's a waste of time asking William. He just nods and says, "Fine."
I'd really love to see the house since you've had all the decorating done. Maybe I could take a day off and visit you when William's at work? That way he can't complain if all we do is sit and gossip. Do you remember Wendy Plater? She got drunk a couple of weeks ago at lunchtime and called Purdy "a tight-arsed prick" because he was in the hall when she came staggering back late, and he told her he was going to dock her wages. God, it was funny! He would have sacked her on the spot if good old Trew hadn't spoken up for her. She had to apologize, but she doesn't regret any of it. She says she's never seen Purdy go purple before!
I thought of you immediately, of course, which is why I've been ringing. It really is ages. Do call. Thinking of you.
Love,
Polly Garrard
Attached to it by paper clip was the draft of an answer from Kate.
Dear Polly,
Hannah and I are doing well, and of course you must come and visit us. I'm a bit busy at the moment, but will ring as soon as I can. The house looks great. You'll love it.
Hope all's well with you.
Speak soon.
Love, Kate
The Spender brothers' parents looked worried when Ingram asked if he and DI Galbraith could talk to Paul in private. "What's he done?" asked the father.
Ingram removed his cap and smoothed his dark hair with the flat of his hand. "Nothing as far as I know," he said with a smile. "It's just a few routine questions that's all."
"Then why do you want to talk to him in private?"
Ingram's frank gaze held his. "Because the dead woman was naked, Mr. Spender, and Paul's embarrassed to talk about it in front of you and your wife."
The man gave a snort of amusement. "He must think we're the most frightful prudes."
Ingram's smile broadened. "Just parents," he said. He gestured toward the lane in front of their rented cottage. "He'll probably feel more comfortable if he talks to us outside."
But Paul was surprisingly open about Steven Harding's "friendliness." "I reckon he fancied Maggie and was trying to impress her by how good he was with kids," he told the policemen. "My uncle's always doing it. If he comes to our house on his own he doesn't bother to talk to us, but if he brings one of his girlfriends he puts his arms around our shoulders and tells us jokes. It's only to make them think he'd be a good father."
Galbraith chuckled. "And that's what Steve was doing?"
"Must have been. He got much more friendly after she turned up."
"Did you notice him playing with his phone at all?"
"You mean the way Danny says?"
Galbraith nodded.
"I didn't watch him because I didn't want to be rude, but Danny's pretty sure about it, and he should know because he was staring at him all the time."
"So why was Steve doing that, do you think?"
"Because he forgot we were there," said the boy.
"In what way exactly?"
Paul showed the first signs of embarrassment. "Well, you know," he said earnestly, "he sort of did it without thinking ... my dad often does things without thinking, like licking his knife in restaurants. Mum gets really angry about it."
Galbraith gave a nod of agreement. "You're a bright lad. I should have thought of that myself." He stroked the side of his freckled face, considering the problem. "Still, rubbing yourself with a telephone's a bit different from licking your knife. You don't think it's more likely he was showing off?"