He looked at her as if she’d bitten him, but he stopped complaining. She thought there’d been no need to be so sharp with him. Was she less sympathetic because of what Wendy Jowell had said about him being a bully? She was trying to think of something to say to make him believe she was still on his side, but he spoke first.
“I’ll put the kettle on, shall I? Daresay you’re ready for a brew.”
God, she thought, any more tea and I’ll float away up the Humber like one of those bloated container ships. “Aye,” she said. “Why not?”
When he came back, carrying the tray, he was so eager to please, to pour the tea strong as she liked it, that it was easy to appear understanding.
“Why did you want the pleasure of my company, anyway?” she said. “What was it that wouldn’t wait?”
“I saw the lad, Christopher Winter, the day he died. I didn’t know it was him when I saw him. But they had his picture in the paper, asking if anyone had seen him. I recognized him from that.”
“You should have told the officers in the incident room,” she said carefully, not telling him off exactly, just making the point. “It could be important.” But even as she was speaking she couldn’t help feeling a childish satisfaction because she’d got hold of the information before the local team.
“Aye, well. I might have done if they’d been less rude.”
She let that go.
“Where did you see him?”
“In the cemetery at the edge of the village. I’d gone to visit Peg’s grave. It’d been a while since I’d been there and I wanted to pay my respects. Show her I was on my feet again, like.” He looked up. “Daft, I know.”
“Not daft at all,” she said. “What time was this?”
“Early in the morning. Around eight o’clock.”
“What was Christopher Winter doing?”
“Same as me, I think. Mourning. He was standing next to the grave of the lass our Jeanie was supposed to have killed.”
“Did you speak?”
Michael Long shook his head. “He was too upset to notice me. I mean, there still wasn’t much light, but even if there had been, I don’t think he’d have seen. Besides, I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation myself
“What was he wearing?”
“One of those long waterproofs with a jumper underneath. Jeans, I think.”
She nodded. Those were the clothes he’d been wearing when Mary had found the body.
“Did you see where he went after? Or was he still there when you left?”
“He went before me,” Michael said, “but he seemed to vanish into thin air. I walked back to the village soon after he’d left but I didn’t see him ahead of me.”
“Maybe he just walked faster than you.”
“Aye, maybe. But I don’t move badly for my age. It wasn’t the weather to hang about. And if he’d gone back to Elvet someone would have seen him. He’d have had to pass the bus stop and there were a load of kids waiting there.” He seemed to lose his concentration for a moment. Vera waited for him to continue. “At the time I wondered if he’d gone in the opposite direction, towards the river, but I can’t think what would have taken him there at that time of day.”
“Is there anything else?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I might have got it wrong and I know how important it is, not jumping to conclusions…”
“You know how important it is people speaking up. If that lad who saw Jeanie at King’s Cross had said so at the time…”
“I heard him talking,” Michael said. At the time I
thought he was just raving. I mean, that’s what it looked like. Some madman. You could believe he was talking to himself. Later I wondered if he had a mobile phone. The way he was standing, he could have been using a mobile. I saw a couple of lasses at the bus stop later gabbing into one and that made me think.”
“Did you hear what he said?”
“He sounded angry, frustrated. But I couldn’t hear the words.”
“Thanks,” she said. “That could make all the difference.”
She sat quite still for a moment before she remembered what she’d come for.
“You must have worked with James Bennett.”
“Aye, he started a year or so before I retired.”
“What did you make of him?”
“All right. A competent pilot.”
“Did you realize he’d married the lass who found Abigail Mantel’s body?”
“Someone must have told me. A place like this you get to know things without realizing how.”
“When you were playing detective, digging up the dirt on Keith Mantel, did you ever come across mention of Bennett?”
Michael looked at her as if she was crazy. “Of course not. Why?”
“Don’t know,” she said. “A stupid idea probably. Did Bennett ever talk about his past to you, his family, what he did when he was a kid?”
“We weren’t on those sort of terms.”
No, she thought. James Bennett wasn’t on those sort of terms with anyone. She ferreted in her bag for her phone. “I need to make a call,” she said. “Do you mind?”
“I’ll make myself scarce. Wash these pots.”
He was on his way to the kitchen when she called him back. “Would you show me after where you saw the lad? The cemetery first, then we could take a walk to the river. Show me the path you think he might have taken. If it’s no bother.”
“No.” He smiled, glad to be in her good books again. “It’s no bother at all.”
Ashworth must have been in the canteen because she heard a background clatter of crockery and chat.
“Are you OK to talk?” She meant was he on his own.
“Go ahead.”
“Did Winter have a mobile phone on him?”
“No one’s said. Do you want me to find out?”
“I’ve got a witness who saw him early that morning. He thinks Winter was talking into a mobile. Could have been, at least. If the lad did have a mobile on him, they’ll probably already have checked the calls, but this makes it a priority, doesn’t it? And before you give me a lecture I’ll bring my witness in to make a statement this afternoon. You hang on for me there.”
She switched off the phone before he could ask for more details and called to Michael who was making a show of waiting tactfully in the kitchen, “Ready when you are, pet. Let’s take a constitutional. I could do with some air.”
Vera could tell people were taking notice of them walking down the street together. There was nothing obvious, no staring or twitching of curtains. But it was there in the studied way the old ladies in front of the post office continued their conversation, only breaking off later to follow them with their eyes. And the vicar, who seemed about to cross the road to talk to Michael, stopped when he saw Vera and contented himself with a wave. Only a lone reporter approached them, but she flapped her hand at him, and without his colleagues he seemed to lack the courage to pursue them. Vera wondered if the locals were all just curious or if they believed she had a professional interest in Michael. Could they think she was arresting him? Was that the cause of their awkwardness?
She knew about small places, villages where people had grown up together and knew each other’s secrets, but Elvet depressed her. It was something to do with the flat countryside, everything the colour of mud, the unrelenting wind. No wonder Christopher Winter had been reluctant to return once he had escaped. What had dragged him back? He hadn’t been summoned for a special family occasion. He could have kept away.
There was a pile of dog muck on the pavement, and Michael took her arm briefly to steer her round it. She thought people who didn’t know them could take them as a married couple. Shambling and dysfunctional, dependent on each other for survival. She moved away from him and they walked down the lane several feet apart, not speaking.
There were no ancient graves in the cemetery; it must have been established once the churchyard was full. The sun had gone and the breeze was cooler than ever, tearing at the remaining dead leaves on the sycamore, shredding them so only the stalks and the veins were left.