‘Do you know what happened to Carl’s parents? I tried to phone the farm last night. The number’s the same but it seems to be some sort of office now. Computers.’
‘Alf, the father, died. We didn’t think he was involved in any way with Carl’s disappearance. He was a grafter but not the sharpest tool in the box. Last time I heard, Sarah was in one of those old folks’ council bungalows near the river. I presume she’s still alive. She’s one of those women you imagine would go on for ever. She’ll be a good age now.’
‘And Reeves?’
‘Funnily enough he left the town soon after the investigation was wrapped up.’ His voice, which was heavy with sarcasm, turned to a quiet desperation. ‘To work as a care assistant in a children’s home. I should have told someone. Said something. But he hadn’t been charged and he had a lot of powerful friends. I really didn’t think anyone would take any notice.’
‘Do you remember where he went?’
‘I don’t think I ever knew. Look, I can’t tell you if that body in the lake was Carl’s, but if it was, I can tell you who killed him and I’m glad I’ll be there to see him go down.’
‘There’s nothing we can do until we’ve checked the dental records. That’s happening this morning.’
‘I’d like to talk to Sarah. Now. While we’ve got an element of surprise.’
Porteous had never seen Eddie Stout like this. He was usually the one in the team to caution detachment: ‘We don’t get paid to act as judges,’ he’d say. ‘That’s for God and the chaps with the hairy wigs.’
‘She’ll surely have heard about the body in the lake.’
‘But no details. Not that we’re calling it murder.’
Porteous wanted to say no. If he didn’t feel he owed Eddie, he’d have refused immediately.
Eddie sensed the hesitation. ‘If it is Carl it would give us a head start. Let me see what she’s got to say for herself. You’re right. Of course she’ll have heard about the body in the lake. She might give something away. And I want to find out what happened to Alec Reeves. If he’s still working with children I want to know about it. Things are different these days.’
God, thought Porteous, suddenly feeling very tired, I haven’t been that passionate about anything in years. He sensed that Stout wouldn’t let it go and couldn’t face a confrontation. He shrugged.
‘Why not?’ he said. ‘But I’m coming with you.’
Stout drove. There was no air-conditioning in the car and even with the windows down Porteous felt sticky, slightly light-headed in the heat. The bungalows were grouped around a square of grass which was brown through lack of water. Two old men in white hats stood chatting and broke off their conversation when Stout knocked on the door.
Porteous had worked out that Sarah Jackson must be at least eighty, but she opened the door to them herself, and she recognized Stout immediately.
‘Oh, it’s you.’ She had an underbite and a way of thrusting her jaw forwards to emphasize it. She was skinny and short and the mannerism gave her the air of an aggressive child. A cotton floral dress added to the impression. ‘You might as well come in.’
She led them into a small room packed with shabby furniture which must have come from the farm.
‘I heard you sold up after Alf died,’ Stout said.
‘I could hardly work the place on my own.’
‘Good timing, just before the bottom fell out of hill farming. You were lucky.’
She glared at him. ‘You make your own luck in this world.’
Porteous had the impression that this was a continuation of the sparring which had gone on twenty years before. He sat on a fireside chair that had been covered in pink stretch nylon, and watched.
‘I hear there’s a computer business in the old house now,’ Stout said. He was still standing, looking out of the window.
‘Is that what it was about?’ She hardly seemed interested. ‘I suppose there would be plenty of space.’
‘You don’t miss the place?’ Stout persisted.
‘It was never the same after Carl went.’
‘No,’ Porteous interrupted. He could feel Stout’s anger across the room. ‘It can’t have been.’
She sniffed, slightly mollified, and perched on the edge of an overstuffed chesterfield.
‘What do you want?’
‘You’ll have heard we found a body in Cranford Water?’
‘That’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Why are you so certain it’s not Carl in the lake?’
‘Because he just wandered off. It was the sort of thing he did. I told the social workers he couldn’t take in what you said to him. And it wasn’t because he couldn’t hear. Even with his deaf aid he had his head in the clouds. And he couldn’t have walked that far without anyone seeing him. Where did you find the body? Near the Adventure Centre. That’s the opposite side of the lake from the farm. A twenty-mile walk. At least. You lot were out searching before he could have made it. And, before you ask, he couldn’t swim. Or row a boat.’
She spoke with confidence. It was a well-rehearsed speech.
‘Someone could always have driven him in a car,’ Stout said softly.
‘Which someone are we talking about now?’
‘Alec had a car, didn’t he? A Morris 1100. Navy blue. It was his pride and joy as I remember.’
‘I wondered how long it would be before you got round to Alec.’ She was contemptuous, turning her back on Stout and directing the rest of the conversation at Porteous. ‘My little brother was hounded out of the town by your man, just when I needed his support the most. It was rumours at first. Gossip. Snide, like a lassie. Don’t trust Alec Reeves with your children. Then he went to his boss and accused Alec of taking our Carl. As if he would. He was good to the boy, more patient than me or Alf could ever be. He took him for treats, things we never had the time or the money to give him. The pictures on Saturday afternoons, picnics in the hills…’
She wiped the corner of her eye with an embroidered handkerchief. Porteous, who was looking closely, could see no tears.
‘Please don’t distress yourself,’ he said. ‘We thought you’d rather we came ourselves to tell you what was happening. My people are checking the dental records now – we know that Carl saw a dentist while he was at the day centre. The records are still available. You shouldn’t have long to wait. We’ll have a positive identification by this afternoon.’
Sarah Jackson was so angry that she seemed not to care. ‘That’s all very well,’ she cried. ‘But you shouldn’t have brought that man here. It wasn’t tactful. It wasn’t right.’
She stood up as if she expected them to leave but Porteous stayed where he was.
‘What happened to Alec when he left Cranford, Mrs Jackson?’
‘He did well for himself. Better than if he’d stayed here.’
‘Oh?’
‘He got a job in a home for kiddies. They sent him away to college.’ She was as proud as if she’d been talking about her own son.
‘Is he still there?’
‘He retired. I thought he might come home then. We’d been so close, him and me. Our parents died when he was still at school. I brought him up. But he couldn’t face it after what happened before. All those lies. He bought a bungalow in the Pennines not far from the school. I visit when I can. I’ll go again when it’s not so hot.’
‘Whereabouts in the Pennines?’
‘What’s it to you? I’ll not have him harassed.’ She walked towards the door and threw it open. ‘I’m an old woman. I need my peace. I’ve nothing more to say to you.’
They walked out into the glare of the sunshine. ‘I’ll be in touch this afternoon,’ Porteous said, ‘when we’ve heard back from the dentist.’ But she had already shut the door on them.
They were in the station, walking up the stairs towards Porteous’s office, when they heard footsteps running up behind them. It was Claire Wright, a young DC, flushed, excited, out of breath so she could hardly speak.