‘You really don’t know who the other bloke was?’ This was Joe, getting impatient, while she was staring out of the window lost in thought.
‘I’ve seen him about in Harbour Street,’ Lawrence said. ‘He goes out with Malcolm Kerr in the boat to the island. Some sort of research.’
Mike Craggs, who’d also lied. He’d said he drove home to the Tyne Valley as soon as he got back from Coquet Island.
Vera thought that Enderby and Craggs were stupid men. She couldn’t see them as killers, so why hadn’t they told the truth? Unless this was a great conspiracy and all the suspects were in it together. She smiled at the thought. She was back to Enderby and his fantasies, his wild fictions. ‘Thanks. You’ve been very helpful.’
Lawrence didn’t ask anything about the investigation. She liked his gentleness and his lack of curiosity. He’d make a better priest than Peter Gruskin. ‘I’ll show you out,’ he said and padded ahead of them, his bare feet splayed and huge like a bear’s.
Downstairs it was quiet. The cleaner had moved into the toilets. In the lounge there was a painting of a fat old woman. She was leaning forward with her elbows on the bar. It wasn’t a brilliant painting, but it gave an impression of someone strong and eccentric.
‘Who’s that?’ Vera nodded towards it as they passed.
‘Val Butt.’ Lawrence smiled. ‘She managed this place for years. I took over from her. She was quite a character. A fierce lady. People still tell stories about her.’
Out in the street the morning was moving on. Women were already in the fisheries preparing to open for lunchtime. Vera phoned Holly. ‘Tell me you’ve found another connection between Margaret and Enderby.’ Looking up the street, she could see that his car was still there. Why was he staying two more days, instead of only his usual one? Perhaps he was one of the ghouls who found a murder investigation exciting, who travelled from crime scene to crime scene like a rock-star groupie.
‘Nothing of any real importance. As we already know, he went along to the winter fair at the Haven a few weeks ago. He’d donated some books for them to sell and acted as their Father Christmas. According to the woman in charge, he spent a fortune on raffle tickets and whenever he won a prize he put it back on the stall.’
‘Did you get a list of residents who were staying there then?’
‘Of course.’ Holly was still full of herself after making the discovery about Enderby. ‘The same bunch as are there now, apart from an emergency admission, a woman who’d been beaten by her husband. She’s since got an injunction and is back in the family house.’ She paused. ‘Dee Robson was there for the afternoon too. Margaret took her along for a treat.’
Vera remembered Jane Cameron’s words. Not just for a treat, but to make a point.
‘Boss?’ Holly still on the line and impatient.
‘See if you can track down Professor Craggs,’ Vera said. ‘We need to talk to him too.’
She switched off the phone and started up Harbour Street. Joe Ashworth followed and caught up with her, so they were walking side by side. ‘You can’t really think that Enderby and Craggs planned the murder?’ He thought she was mad.
‘They’ve lied to me,’ she said. ‘Both of them.’
‘People lie to the police for all sorts of reasons.’
‘But they shouldn’t.’ She stopped abruptly to catch her breath. ‘They shouldn’t lie to me.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kate was drinking coffee in the kitchen with Stuart when there was a knock at the door, so loud that she jumped and felt an irrational surge of fear. They’d had a lazy morning. George Enderby had come to the dining room for breakfast as usual and then had disappeared. The kids were out. The house was still and quiet; it rarely was, and she thought that in the future their life could be like this, peaceful and easy. Then there was the knock at the door and Stuart looked up from the newspaper on his lap, frowning. ‘Shall I go?’
But he seemed so settled there, and a little elderly in the harsh light of a working kitchen, so she got to her feet and kissed his forehead as she went past him and felt the skin very dry on her lips.
She looked through the hall window before opening the door and saw the fat detective and her sidekick standing outside.
‘Sorry to disturb you, pet. Do you mind if we come in?’ And by the time Vera Stanhope had finished the words she was inside the house, the younger man trailing after her. Kate wondered how that must make him feel, always in the fat woman’s shadow.
Vera stood in the hall, rubbing her hands against the cold, as if they’d been waiting outside for hours and not just a few minutes.
‘I was wondering if we could get breakfast,’ she said. ‘I mean, we’d buy it of course. We’d have to. These days even a freebie fry-up might be taken the wrong way. Bribery and corruption.’
And she flashed a bright smile, so Kate wondered if this was the only reason for the visit – if they’d disturbed her perfect morning just to make them bacon and eggs. Or if this was some kind of weird joke. She remembered the rush of adrenaline when she’d heard the banging on the door and felt angry. The cheek of the woman! It was hard to believe this was happening – the strange woman invading her house and demanding breakfast. But then it was hard to believe that two women had been killed in the town.
Vera was still talking. ‘You’re not on your own, are you? I thought you still had guests staying.’
‘Only George,’ Kate said. ‘George Enderby.’
‘Ah, I thought I saw his car outside. We wouldn’t have disturbed you if we’d thought you were planning to take the day off.’ She walked further into the house, looking round her. ‘Is Mr Enderby around?’ She made the question casual, but Kate could tell it was important.
‘He went out,’ Kate said.
‘Oh?’ Still the pretence that it didn’t really matter. ‘But his car’s still there.’
‘He got the Metro into town.’
‘Did he say where he was going?’ Vera’s eyes were sharp as tacks and there was no mention now of Kate cooking breakfast for her. It seemed that was just a pretext to get through the door.
‘Some library? Something about getting a fix, a visit to a proper place for books to be cherished, before he heads south tomorrow.’ George had mentioned it at breakfast, but Kate hadn’t taken much notice.
‘The Lit & Phil Library?’
‘Yes!’ Kate thought the inspector must be some sort of witch to have guessed that right. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s where book-lovers hang out.’ Vera flashed her another smile. ‘And the lonely and the slightly mad. I should know. I’m a member myself.’ Another pause. ‘Can you show Joe here into Mr Enderby’s room? I need to get back to work.’
Kate hesitated. She found it hard to stand up to the fat detective. ‘But I can’t do that. It’s an invasion of his privacy.’
‘It’s your house, pet. Give us permission and we don’t need a warrant.’
They stood for a moment staring at each other, and finally Kate gave in. She didn’t owe George Enderby anything and, if he was involved in these murders, then it was her duty to help the police. She wondered what Stuart would make of it. Surely he would agree too. And perhaps there’d always been something a bit odd about the man, something a bit unsettling.
Kate went into the kitchen to fetch her keys and, when she returned, Vera Stanhope had disappeared. It was hard to imagine that such a big woman could move so quickly or so lightly. The sergeant followed her up the stairs and waited in silence while she opened the door. She thought he would send her away, but he nodded for her to go in first. Perhaps he needed her there as a witness. Kate hadn’t been in to make up the room yet, but it was tidy as always, the duvet folded back to air the bed, the cup on the tray next to the kettle.