‘Miranda.’
There was no answer, and really by now she hadn’t expected that there would be.
She walked round the table so that for the first time she could see the woman’s face. Her throat had been cut and was gaping and bloody. It looked almost like a large and smiling second mouth. The idea was immediate and shocking. Not just because of the horror of the image, grotesque and macabre, but because Nina had used the simile before. She’d described this scene. This was her story brought to life.
Later, over strong coffee – she couldn’t imagine ever sleeping again, so caffeine was the least of her worries – she tried to explain to Vera Stanhope. They were back in the chapel. Outside, professionals in blue paper suits, looking oddly androgynous, had covered the whole terrace in a white tent. The other participants of the course had been taken away in taxis to a nearby hotel. Statements would be taken, Vera said. Their belongings would be returned to them once they’d been searched. Then they’d probably be allowed to go home. Holly was in the room too, taking notes. There was no sign of the young male detective. Nina would have preferred him there. He was less intrusive than Holly. Throughout the interview she was aware of the young woman’s presence. Even when taking notes she demanded attention.
‘So how many people would have read your story?’ Vera asked.
‘Nobody. I was going to read part last night. That scene. The body on the terrace. Then Joanna’s Jack arrived and interrupted.’
‘Coincidence then.’
Nina set her notebook on the table. ‘Read it,’ she said.
Vera bent down and took a pair of latex gloves from her bag, then pulled the book towards her and began to read. Once she had problems deciphering the handwriting and asked Nina to give her the word. When she’d finished, she closed it carefully.
‘The way the furniture is arranged is exactly as I described it in the story,’ Nina said. ‘The candle, the colour of the holder, the position of the glasses, the cup and the ashtray. Surely more than a coincidence.’
‘No mention of a handkerchief. We found a handkerchief under the table.’
Nina didn’t know what to say to that.
‘Maybe it had been dropped there during the day.’ Vera seemed lost in thought. ‘Or maybe not.’
‘You think the killer could have left it?’
‘That’d be good, wouldn’t it? Check for DNA and case closed.’
Vera gave a little laugh, and Nina saw she didn’t think it would be that simple.
‘The candle was there last night,’ Vera said. ‘Joanna and her bloke were sitting there, having a meaningful discussion with Giles Rickard.’ She paused.
Nina thought at least the detective was taking her seriously. Otherwise she might think she was going mad.
‘But it was a different-coloured holder. And no ashtray,’ Vera went on. ‘And there were only wine glasses. No coffee cup. And the chairs were in different places. So it was deliberately set up later to resemble your writing. Some bugger’s playing games.’
She leaned forward so that her face was only inches from Nina’s. ‘You do see how it looks? Your sleeping pills used to drug Professor Ferdinand. Now you’ve described in detail the manner of Miranda’s death, days before it happened. As if you’re some kind of fortune-teller. You’re implicated, whether you like it or not.’
‘Why would I kill Miranda? I didn’t know her.’ Nina heard the hysteria in her voice and tried to breathe through it. ‘If someone went into my room to take the pills, they could have gone in to read my story too.’
‘You haven’t started locking your door?’ Vera said. ‘After the pills were taken?’
‘Yes.’ Nina tried to work out the timescale. ‘I’d started writing the story before you told me Tony Ferdinand had been drugged. Besides, I’ve been carrying the notebook around with me all week. Anyone could have picked it up and read it.’
‘Of course they could.’ Vera lay back in her chair. ‘I had already thought of that. I might be old, but I’m not daft.’
Nina found herself smiling in agreement. Whatever she was, Vera Stanhope wasn’t daft. ‘I had a strange conversation with Miranda yesterday afternoon.’
‘Aye. You were seen going into her cottage.’
Nina shot a look at Vera. ‘So that makes me even more of a suspect?’ She wondered who’d seen her with Miranda, again had the feeling that everyone here was being watched.
‘Might have done, if you hadn’t told me about it,’ Vera said. ‘What was going on there then? I didn’t have you down as best mates.’
‘I don’t know,’ Nina said. Now she thought about it, the encounter with Miranda in the late afternoon seemed surreal. It was hard to believe that the woman on the garden terrace had offered her tea, fed the fat tabby cat. All the small domestic interactions that would never happen again. She looked up suddenly at Vera. ‘How’s Alex?’
Vera shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. But tell me about your chat with Miranda Barton.’
‘I was walking on the beach and she was waiting for me. In the garden, where the path flattens out between the shrubs. She startled me. It seemed very out of character. Thinking about it, you hardly ever saw Miranda outside. I wonder why she bought a place right out in the wilds. She seemed more of a city person.’ Nina realized she was rambling, and paused.
‘What did she want from you?’ Vera seemed not to mind the diversion, but prompted Nina back on course.
‘To talk about the murder. And about Joanna. Did I believe Joanna was innocent? I think it had only just struck her that the murderer might still be free. It was almost as if she hoped Joanna had killed Tony.’ Nina closed her eyes for a moment and remembered the warm kitchen, her lethargy. Perhaps that wasn’t quite accurate. Had the possibility of Joanna’s innocence sparked some emotion in Miranda? Had she seemed almost excited?
‘There were lots of people here who hoped that,’ Vera said briskly. ‘How did Miranda seem? Scared?’
Nina struggled to come to an answer. ‘I’m sorry. I just couldn’t work out why she wanted me there. Was she scared? Maybe. But also wired up. Prepared to put up a fight, I’d say.’
‘What sort of fight?’
Nina shook her head helplessly. ‘Nothing was spoken of clearly. It was as if she expected me to know what she was talking about. But in the end I was just confused.’
‘Do you think she knew who the killer was?’ Vera leaned forward again, waiting for the response, and Nina could see how important this was to her.
‘Not for certain,’ Nina said. ‘But I think she might have guessed.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Joe Ashworth arrived just as Vera finished talking to Nina Backworth. He pushed open the heavy door and peered inside.
‘Come in!’ Vera said. It disturbed her how glad she was to see her sergeant; she realized that she’d come to depend on his presence at these interviews. It wasn’t the same with Holly. Vera couldn’t relax with her to the same extent. Not the girl’s fault, and probably not fair. ‘Holly, take Ms Backworth up to her room and help her to pack.’
‘I can manage on my own.’ Nina’s hands were fiddling with a tissue. She looked at the moving fingers as if they didn’t belong to her.
‘I know you can, pet. But the murderer would have scattered lots of blood around when they made that wound. Spatter, we call it. You can see it on the terrace floor. We’ll need to look at your clothes and take some of them away. It’s not personaclass="underline" it’s not just you that we’ve helped to pack.’ Vera stood up and gave her a little pat on the shoulder.
They waited until both women had left the room. ‘I came as quickly as I could,’ Joe said.
‘I know.’ Vera saw he was expecting a bollocking for arriving late, but she was thinking about Miranda Barton. If the novelist had had suspicions about the murderer’s identity, why hadn’t she shared them with the police? Because her thoughts were still too vague? Or because she’d seen the opportunity for making money? Vera wouldn’t have put it past Miranda to try a spot of blackmail. This was a big place to keep up and maybe, with money tighter all round, folk weren’t willing to pay a fortune to sit round talking about books. Maybe it had occurred to prospective visitors that they could stay at home and write and it would cost them nothing. ‘Come and look at the scene,’ she said. ‘Then I want to show you something.’