Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vera was stranded in the deep armchair. It was too low for her to climb out with any sort of dignity. She ate the last chip, licked her finger and collected the last scraps of batter, then screwed the greasy paper into a ball and hurled it overarm towards the waste bin in the corner. Dan Greenwood retrieved it from the floor. They were in the Old Forge, in the room next to his office. Just her and Greenwood. She’d sent Ashworth to the FE college where Emma had worked, to talk to Nicholas Lineham who, when he was a lad, might once have had sex with Abigail Mantel. So many connections, she thought. People waltzing in and out of each other’s lives. She felt her eyes glaze as she pictured the patterns, the lines of connection. Her lids began to droop. At her age she deserved a nap in the afternoon.
“Did you make that coffee?” she said. Some temptations you couldn’t give into.
He nodded to the tray on the upturned crate beside him.
“Well, it’s no good to me there.”
He lifted the mug to within her reach.
“How did you know Mantel was screwing Fletcher?”
“I didn’t.” Defensive, touchy.
“You’re not surprised though.”
“She was never happy without a man in her life. She doesn’t come across as the needy sort, but it was like she couldn’t believe in herself without a man to admire her.”
“Oh, God.” She leaned back in her chair, legs stretched ahead of her, heels on the floor, and stared at the ceiling. “Not another one.”
“What?”
“I’ve had Ashworth spouting psychobabble ever since he arrived.” She pulled herself more upright so she could look Greenwood in the face. “Did she ever have a go at you?”
“What do you mean?” He took out a tin of tobacco and began to roll a cigarette. His hands were shaking.
“Don’t go all coy on me, Danny. You know what I’m getting at.”
His neck, underneath the beard was flushed. “Nan,” he said. “I wasn’t important enough. She never took me that seriously.”
“Did you ever see them together Fletcher and Mantel?”
He shook his head slowly. “I heard a phone call. She didn’t know I was there. I mean, it could have been to anyone. By that time my judgement was shot and my paranoia was sky high, but I thought it was to him.”
“What did she say?”
, “It was just after we’d taken Jeanie into custody. She was telling him that she’d be charged by the end of the day. That was all. But it was the way she was saying it. Like she was a little girl. A good little girl who’d done as she was told.”
“Christ,” Vera said. “You’d want to puke.”
“I felt sorry for her really.” Greenwood nipped the end off the cigarette. “Like I said, my judgement was shot. I should have stood up to her. I knew we were cutting corners.”
Vera drank her coffee as if she couldn’t trust herself to say anything.
He rolled the cigarette in his fingers but still he didn’t light up. “I met her last week.”
“You met Fletcher?”
“She phoned me, asked if we could go out for a drink. I told her I was too busy. Just a quick one before closing time, she said. She picked me up from here…” He looked at Vera, but she refused to help him out. “By then the pubs were closed so we went back to my place.” He blushed. “Nothing happened. Nothing like that. Just a drink and a chat.”
“What did she want then?”
“Ib know if I’d heard anything, if you’d been in touch. She couldn’t understand why she’d not been contacted.”
“And you told her. Of course.”
“I felt sorry for her. I explained. She’s not as tough as she makes out.”
“You do realize she’s a suspect in a murder enquiry? Probably the prime suspect as things have turned out.”
“No.” A rejection of the whole notion.
“She certainly had a motive for killing Abigail Mantel and arresting Jeanie Long. We’ve only her word for it that she didn’t speak to Christopher Winter at the time of the original enquiry. It’s possible that he saw her with Abigail that afternoon and she persuaded him it was of no importance. You can see she could be persuasive. Especially with a young lad. Perhaps that was why he turned up in Elvet now. He wanted to set things straight.”
“No,” Greenwood said again. She thought he would like to put his hands over his ears and shut out her words.
“She was there the night he died,” Vera went on relentlessly. “She had possible motive, opportunity. And she disappeared just before the body was found. There’s a stronger case against her than against anyone else involved.”
He’d been looking at the cracked and dusty tiles on the floor. Now he looked straight at her. “You don’t really believe she’s a double murderer?”
“Probably not,” she said. “But she’s bad news. If she gets in touch with you again let me know.”
They sat for a long time, staring at each other in silence.
“What do you know about James Bennett?” Vera said at last.
“He’s a pilot on the Humber.”
“I know that, man. It’s all anyone says about him.”
“You can’t have him down as a suspect. He wasn’t living round here when Abigail Mantel was killed.”
“How do you know?”
“He only moved into the village when he married Emma and they bought the house over the square.”
“When was that?”
“Not long. Two years at the most.”
“You’re mates, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so.” The concept seemed to embarrass him. “We both play cricket for the village team. Have a few pints together after a game.”
“So he’ll have talked about his background, his family. You know where he grew up.”
“Not really,” Greenwood said. “Mostly it’s talk about the mid-order collapse or where we can find a decent bowler.”
“You’re winding me up.”
“He likes talking about his work. Pilotage.”
“Safe ground,” she said. “He won’t be caught out on that.”
“What do you mean?”
“According to Mantel, he’s not who he says he is.”
“How would he know?”
“He recognized him apparently.”
“And you believe Mantel?”
“Yes,” Vera said. “I think I do.”
She stood up. She’d arranged to meet Ashworth in the teashop over the road. It would do as an office for the time being. Better than the station in the town which had turned out to be enemy territory. Eventually, she supposed, she’d have to put in another appearance there, show her face round the door of the incident room, smile to show they were all on the same side, working together, but at the moment it suited her to keep her position ambiguous and detached. Better all round if no one knew where she was and what she was up to. Caroline Fletcher, it seemed, still had a way of inspiring loyalty among her former colleagues. She looked down at Greenwood. He was hunched forwards, his shoulders tense.
“Will you be all right?” Trying not to fuss.
He looked up and forced a smile. “Sure. It’s about time I did some work here. There’s a trade fair at the end of the week. I should be preparing for that.”
“You should find yourself a good woman.”
He paused before speaking and she waited, expecting some confidence, but obviously he thought better of it. “Yeah, well. Easier said than done. I’ve never had much luck in that line.”
He looked straight up at her. Those dark eyes that made you think like something out of a soppy magazine.
I’d be your woman. Good or bad. Only no man has ever wanted me. The words came suddenly into her head and she was shocked by their bitterness. She turned away. Outside the light had almost gone and the street was quiet. There was a smell of wood smoke. Not from a bonfire. There’d be wood-burning stoves in the big houses on the other side of the square. It was a wealthy village this, she thought. It wasn’t showy like the estate where Fletcher lived, but there was plenty of money around. As she waited to cross the road Ashworth pulled up. While he was parking she watched a group of girls in school uniform come out of the post office with cans of Coke and bars of chocolate. She wondered what they’d do in a place like this for a good night out. All kids liked to take risks, but until the murders you’d have put this down as one of the safest places on earth. So what would they do? Hang around each other’s houses looking for porn sites on the Internet,? Drink too much? Have sex with unsuitable lads? A girl like Abigail Mantel must have been bored silly here. What games had she been playing to bring a bit of excitement to her life?