The woman turned. She was slim, dark, well groomed. Her nails were the same colour as the wine.
“If I was a bitchy cow,” Vera said, “I’d have said she’d had a nose job. What do you think?”
Emma was about to say that she’d never seen the woman before in her life, then the way the sleek, black hair swung when she moved, reminded her. “It’s Caroline Fletcher, the detective in charge of the Mantel case the first time round.”
“Full marks for observation.”
“You’d have thought she’d want to keep a low profile,” Emma said. “After all that comment in the press.”
“From what I hear, our Caroline’s never done low profile in her life. But she’s got nerve. I’ll give her that. Rattling a few cages, I’d say. Putting on the pressure. They tell me she was a decent little detective in her time. She’ll not have lost the knack. Or it’ll be a fishing expedition, maybe. Everyone friendly and informal, more likely to gab. She’ll want to know which way the wind’s blowing.”
Vera was muttering almost to herself. If she’d bumped into her in town, Emma thought, she’d have put her down as a bag lady, one of those smelly women of indeterminate age, who sit on park benches talking to the trees. She looked around for James, thought he might be amused that this was the detective who had been sent to sort out the case, but he seemed to have disappeared.
“You must already have talked to Caroline about what happened back then,” Emma said.
“Must I? Na, pet. That’s not the way I work. I make up my own mind first. Look at the notes, talk to the people who count. And the police don’t count for much in most cases. I’ll talk to Caroline when I’m good and ready.”
“Perhaps that’s why she’s here. To talk to you.” “You think?” Vera gave a little laugh and walked away, helping herself to someone else’s lager as she went. When Emma saw her next she was still muttering, but now into Dan Greenwood’s ear. Dan had been a cop, Emma thought. And he seemed to count. When she looked for Caroline Fletcher, the dark woman had disappeared too.
The screaming started at about the same time as the fireworks, so for a short time Emma missed it, because it was hidden by the screech and wail of exploding rockets. She heard it first because she was standing furthest away from the fire. She didn’t like to admit it, but fireworks scared her. It was the breathless moment between their lighting and the rush of sound. In that beat of silence she felt her heart pound and she became faint. She would have liked James’s arm around her so they could cover the silence with conversation, but he was talking to Dan Greenwood and Robert. They were standing, all blokes together, laughing. A rocket shot into the darkness, exploded in a shower of gaudy stars and she heard screaming.
She walked around the side of the house towards the road because that was where the sound seemed to come from. The lane was lit with sparse street lights and the skinny moon. A woman was standing and screaming. It was like when she had found Abigail Mantel’s body, but in negative, a reverse image, a parallel universe. Because this time it was her mother who screamed and she who ran. And her mother pulled her arm and pointed into the ditch by the side of the road. And again there was a body.
But Abigail Mantel had looked ugly in death, much uglier than when she’d lived. Christopher, lying on his back in the ditch, was lit by the moon so his skin had a frosty blue sheen, which reminded her of the fabric of a bridesmaid’s dress she’d worn once to a cousin’s wedding. A densely woven satin with a matt finish and silver threads. All this was going through her mind as she took Mary into her arms and whispered the same reassurances she’d been given ten years before, “It’ll be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” Not believing what she was saying, but feeling her mother’s sobs subside and her breathing grow calmer.
Then Vera Stanhope appeared, solid and brusque.
“Who’s this, then?”
“It’s my brother, Christopher.”
There was a horrified pause then, “Oh, pet,” she said, and briefly cupped Emma’s face in her huge hands, so for a moment, in her confusion, Emma thought she intended to kiss her. Instead she put her arm round each of the women’s shoulders and led them away from the scene. Then she stood in the middle of the road so no cars could pass and spoke urgently into her phone.
Part Two
Chapter Twenty
The eczema on Vera Stanhope’s legs distracted her. Her limbs felt alive, as if small burrowing animals had penetrated the surface, were living off the fat and the blood. She imagined she could sense the snuffling and digging. It was always the same when she wore trousers. She longed to let the air to the skin, but there wasn’t much she could do about that now. It wouldn’t be seemly for a senior investigating officer to drop her pants in front of the hoopla of a crime scene. Whatever would the pathologist, the examiners in their white paper suits and the local detectives make of it? If she was to be the senior investigating officer, which had still to be established.
Her doctor had said that stress made her skin condition worse, but it wasn’t stress she was experiencing now. It was exhilaration and guilt. She didn’t believe police officers who denied being excited by murder. Who would fail to be turned on by the drama, the costume and the show? Why else had they joined the service? It was different for the relatives, of course, and that was where the guilt came in. She had a responsibility. She’d been playing this slowly, nosing around like the mythical creatures under her skin, feeling her way into the complexities of the situation, picking up on hostilities and lies. She worried that if she’d adopted a more orthodox approach, this other death might not have occurred.
Aye, and you’d still be in the dark, pet. If you’d had them into the station, taken them through their original statements, word for word, you’d be none the wiser than the day you arrived. This way at least you understand the people. You have a feeling for what went on.
She’d never been lacking in confidence and usually didn’t see the point of regret.
They’d rigged up spotlights and a tent over the ditch. There was the rumble of a generator, four-wheel-drive vehicles reversing at the bottom of the narrow lane, earnest conversation. She thought there was nothing to be gained here now. She’d been liaising on the Mantel case with a local DI called Paul Holness. He was a middle-aged man, bluff and cheerful, and he’d joined the force from Lancashire since Abigail’s murder. Ambitious in theory, he was too idle on the ground to be any threat. No way would he want to be Senior Investigating Officer. Too much responsibility in this particular case. Too much shit flying around. He was talking to the pathologist in the gateway to the Old Chapel. She made her way to join them.
“Definitely murder,” Holness said. “You can’t see with him lying on his back, but his head’s bashed in.”
Any sign of the murder weapon?”
“Not yet, but they’ve not had a chance for a proper search. We’re organizing that now.” He stamped his feet and wrapped his arms across his chest. He was wearing sheepskin gloves but he still seemed to be feeling the cold. Vera thought they were a soft lot, these
Yorkies. “What was the mother doing out here anyway?” he asked. “Has anyone said?”
“She was feeling the cold and came to get an extra jacket from the car, according to the husband.” She hadn’t been able to get any sense out of Mary. “Any idea of the time of death? I mean could he have been here for hours, only nobody noticed him on their way in?”
Holness shook his head. “You know pathologists. They never like to commit themselves. But highly unlikely, she said. She thinks he was dead for less than an hour when Mrs. Winter found him.”
“Can you take over here?” Vera asked. “I want to talk to the witnesses before they have time to embroider. You know what it’s like. Everyone wants a consistent story and they fill in the gaps, without realizing what they’re about.” She saw with some satisfaction that she’d lost him. “I’ll be at Springhead House if anyone needs me.” It wasn’t a bad thing to stamp her authority, she thought. Make sure everyone realized she saw this death as part of the Mantel case. That she was still in charge.