He stepped away. His eyes, which moments earlier had been soft and warm, were now as hard and cold as flint. “Is that all this is to you? The chance to make a name for yourself? I suppose you see yourself as The Chronicle’s new crime reporter now, do you? The one with the inside story?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. “I wouldn’t do that. And I wasn’t talking about—”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, though, would it?” He cut across my protests, not giving me chance to explain that I’d been talking about writing about Margot, not Tanya. “Kat Latcham, intrepid crime reporter.”
The way he said my name was not to please me, but to wind me up.
“Just go away and leave me alone,” I hissed. I turned my back on him and answered the call.
“Hi Mike,” I said, sounding a lot more upbeat and chatty than I felt. “Good to hear from you.”
“I got your piece about Margot,” he said. “And I just wanted to say well done. It was good. I hope I can use it, although I’ll probably work it in with something else now. But don’t worry, you’ll get the by-line. And, of course, the linage.”
“Something else? What, exactly?”
“I hear there’s been another murder in your village. What’s going on? Is it something they’ve put in the water down your way that brings out the murderous tendencies in everyone?”
I watched Will walk away. One part of me wanted to call him back. The other part wanted to whack him around the head with a baseball bat. First the dig about Anna being out of his league. That had rankled. But then to think that I would use Tanya’s murder as a way of furthering my career. How could he?
But, said this annoying little voice inside my head that had a habit of popping up at the most inconvenient times, isn’t that exactly what you were doing with Margot’s murder? What’s the difference?
Damn it. I wish I hadn’t thought of that. Now I was going to have to apologise to him. Or I would have, if he hadn’t been so po-faced and pompous.
I promised myself I’d call him later, and forced myself to focus on Mike.
“The thing is, Kat,” he was saying. “I’ve spoken to the police but they say they’re not releasing the identity of the body found in the rhine just outside your village. Only that they’re treating the death as suspicious. I don’t suppose you could ask around, could you? Using your local knowledge?”
“I’m sorry, Mike, I can’t do that. The victim was my aunt. It wouldn’t be… appropriate.”
I couldn’t help wishing that Will had hung around long enough to hear me say that. But, even if he had, he’d probably have said he’d shamed me into doing it. So, on balance, I was glad he’d stormed off when he did.
“Oh right. I’m sorry to hear that. Well, can you send me through some details about her? You know what we need. Age, occupation, that sort of thing. Just the usual background stuff that you did before. Nothing heavy.”
My mother would never forgive me. She’d never liked me working for the paper in the first place and would much prefer I was working for her in the salon where she could ‘keep her eye on me’ (her words not mine, obviously).
Besides, there was also that look in Will’s eyes as he’d accused me of using Tanya’s murder to further my career. Not that he was right, you understand. But I just didn’t want him giving me another lecture.
“Mike,” I said, aware of the fact that I was probably kissing goodbye to my career in local journalism. Such as it was. “I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, I’m afraid.”
“Not even like the one you did for Margot?” He sounded put out.
“Especially not like the one I did for Margot,” I said, hanging up.
Prescott and the pub tabby were still engaging in eyeball to eyeball confrontation. I gave his lead a sharp tug and headed back to Elsie’s.
***
After dropping Prescott off and apologising once again to Elsie for her broken fridge door and baked beans shortfall, I set off for home, hoping that by the time I got there Mum would be back.
As I got closer to the house I was relieved to see her car parked in her usual space. But before I could go in, I heard someone calling my name and turned to see Doris Yarcombe, our elderly neighbour, beckoning me frantically.
“What’s wrong, Mrs Yarcombe?” The poor soul looked really worried.
“Oh, my dear, I’ve done such a terrible thing, but I was so upset and confused I didn’t know what I was saying.” Her words tumbled over themselves in her anxiety to get them out. “I really didn’t mean… Now I feel so bad. I don’t know what to do. And your poor dear mother, who’s always been so kind to me, will never speak to me again.”
“Slow down and tell me what’s wrong. I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
“Oh but it is, my dear. It is. And now your mother’s going to be arrested and it’ll be all my fault.”
“Nobody’s going to be arrested. Just calm down and tell me what’s wrong.” I was worried she was going to have a heart attack. “What are you talking about?”
“I – I told the police that I heard your mother threaten to kill that poor woman. Don’t you remember? The time I got the wrong date for my hair appointment? I told that nice young policeman what I’d heard, and now he’s going to arrest her. And it’s all my fault.”
Chapter Seventeen
I froze as I tried to recall Mum’s exact words.
“You remember, dear,” Doris went on, gently. “It was Friday afternoon. I got in a muddle over the date and when I went into the salon, there was no one there. Then I heard voices. So I followed the sound and found myself in your kitchen. And there was your mother, in such a state. I told the police that she’s normally very quiet and calm, but this was something…” she broke off as she struggled to find the right words. “Something totally out of character.”
“And you told the police what, exactly?” I asked.
“Oh dear,” her hand fluttered to her mouth again. “Well, my dear, I’m afraid I told them the truth. Because, well, let’s face it, that’s what you have to do, don’t you?”
“And what was that? What did you tell them?” I repeated the question as quietly and calmly as I could. But my heart was thudding. I had a bad feeling I knew where this conversation was going.
“I told them I heard your mother say quite clearly that she would kill… whoever it was she was shouting at,” she whispered. “And I then saw the lady who’d been staying with you – the one who wore all those jingling bracelets and skin-tight trousers – walking past your kitchen window. So I realised Cheryl must have been shouting at her. And now she’s dead. But, oh my life, I wish I hadn’t said anything to that young policeman. I didn’t mean to. It just came out when he asked me if I’d seen or heard anything. And now I think poor Cheryl is in serious trouble, and it’s all my fault.”
I took the old lady’s papery hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No, Mrs Yarcombe. It is not your fault. The fault lies with whoever did that awful thing to my aunt. And it was not my mother, I promise you. So you needn’t worry.”
Her face cleared and she gripped my hand. “Are you sure?”
“I am absolutely one hundred per cent certain.”
“Oh, my dear, that’s such a relief. You have no idea how worried I’ve been. I’ve been standing here wondering if it would be better to go and see Cheryl and warn her about what I did. But now I know there’s no need. I’m so glad I saw you.”
“So am I,” I smiled. “Now you go on back indoors and make yourself a nice cup of tea.”
“I will, dear. And thank you. My son’s always telling me I worry over nothing. I suppose that’s what he’ll say this time.”
He might, I thought ruefully as I watched her shuffle back into her house. But I wished I really believed it when I’d told her that it was nothing to worry about. Because I was worried. A lot.
Mum was poking around in the fridge when I went into the kitchen.
“Where are those soba noodles from Saturday?
” she said. “Have you and your father eaten them all?”
“I think Dad must have had the last of them,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. I didn’t, after all, say that he’d eaten them, and hoped he’d had the sense not to leave them in the kitchen bin where she’d see them.
“It’s really good to see you, Mum,” I went on. “I’ve been so worried.”
She gave me a hug. “I didn’t mean to worry you, sweetheart. I thought you’d realise I’d gone to Grandma’s. After all, where else would I go?”
Before I could say anything, there was a rap on the back door. It was the same rap Dad and I had heard that morning.
“That’ll be the police,” I said quickly. “Mum, they’re going to want to know where you were at four o’clock yesterday afternoon. I’m going to have to let them in.”
“Well, yes, of course you are,” she said.
Her face cleared when she saw Ben Watkins come into the room. But it darkened again, when she saw he was not alone.
Ben introduced the man with him as Detective Sergeant Miller. He was a short, dapper little man, who looked more like a bank manager than a policeman. The sort of bank manager who would take great pleasure in calling in your overdraft.
“Sit down, Mrs Latcham,” he said brusquely. “You, too, Miss.”
Mum and I obediently sat on one side of the kitchen table, Ben on the other. DS Miller remained standing.
Ben took out his notebook and cleared his throat. “We’re asking everyone who had contact with your sister-in-law when they last saw her. You weren’t here when I spoke to your husband and daughter this morning. So, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us now?”
“The last time I saw Tanya was on Friday,” Mum said. “I was preparing lunch and she came in to say she’d be moving in to the pub. She’d been staying here for a couple of days, you see, while she and her husband…” she paused.
“They’d been having a few problems,” I put in. “In fact, Tanya told Richard she wanted a divorce. Have you managed to trace him yet?”
Ben opened his mouth to answer, but DS Miller got in first.
“Can you tell us where you were at four o’clock yesterday afternoon, Mrs Latcham?”
“Four o’clock?” Mum look flustered, even though I’d warned her they were going to be asking her this very question. “Well, let me see… yesterday afternoon… Well, I went to see my mother. She, um, she lives just outside Taunton.”
“What time was that?” asked DS Miller.
“I’m not really sure. I suppose I left here about half past three.”
“We’ll need your mother’s name and address. So we can check the time you arrived with her.”
Mum’s face drained of colour. I shifted my chair closer, worried she was going to keel over.
“Well, to be honest…” she began.
“Honesty is always best, Mrs Latcham,” DS Miller said, and there was more than a hint of a threat behind his words.
“I – I didn’t go straight to Mum’s,” she said in a low voice. “It was a nice afternoon so I thought I’d stop off at the RSPB bird reserve at Greylake. It’s lovely down there and, if you’re lucky, you’ll see the cranes. The birds, I mean,” she added with a laugh that didn’t sound at all like hers. “Not the things you see on building sites.”
“Can anyone confirm that?” DS Miller asked, his tone getting more abrasive by the minute. “Did you meet anyone while you were…” he paused. “Looking for the cranes?”
Mum flushed. The significance of his pause was not lost on her. “No. There were only a couple of cars in the car park but no-one was in them. I assume they were in one of the hides. I – I sat in the car for a bit, thinking, and then realised time was getting on. So I drove to Mum’s. I must have got there about six.”
“What were relations like between you and your sister-in-law, Tanya Latcham? Did you get on? Had you quarrelled?”
I really admired Mum for the way she kept her cool. If he’d been barking questions at me like that, I’d have barked back.
Instead she didn’t rush to answer but thought for a moment. “I’ve known Tanya for years. We used to be friends, but over time we’d drifted apart, as you do. In fact, if we hadn’t married brothers, I dare say we’d have lost touch completely.”
“Have you managed to trace Uncle Richard?” I asked Ben before DS Barking Mad Miller could get in any more questions. Ben looked towards his sergeant who gave a quick nod.
“We have,” Ben said. “He’s on his way back now.”
“On his way back from where?” I asked.
At another nod from the sergeant, Ben went on: “Yorkshire. He was staying overnight in a very remote part of the Dales where there was no phone signal.”
Mum and I exchanged puzzled glances. “Yorkshire?” I echoed. “But what was he doing up there? He didn’t say anything about going to Yorkshire when we saw him yesterday.”
When it looked obvious that neither of them were going to answer my question, I tried another tack, if only to keep them away from Mum’s ‘relationship’ with Tanya: “Did you know Tanya was about to buy a cottage in the village?”
“What?” Mum looked startled. “Why would she do that? She always said how much she hated this place.”
I was about to tell her about Tanya’s plans to open up a rival hair and beauty salon, but checked myself in time. I didn’t want Ben or his hatchet-faced sergeant to get the wrong idea about Mum and Tanya being business rivals. Or rivals of any sort, come to that.
“You know what Aunty Tanya was like. Always buying things on a whim. And, of course, she and Uncle Richard were divorcing, so I suppose she was looking for somewhere to downsize.”
Yeah, right. Tanya’s idea of downsizing would be moving from their present five bedroom detached house in a smart area of Bristol to a four bedroom detached house in an only slightly less smart area of Bristol. I never for a moment thought she’d settle in Much Winchmoor, and was quite sure she’d only told me she was going to in the hope that I’d tell Mum.
But the police didn’t need to know that. Particularly DS Barking Mad Miller, who had no right to bully my mother the way he had been.
Neither, I decided, did he need to know what Mary had told me about Tanya taking a phone call from someone she was planning to meet. He probably knew that anyway, if they’d found her phone.
“Please make yourself available for further questioning, Mrs Latcham,” DS Miller said. “Our enquiries into your sister-in-law’s death are still very much ongoing.”
As he and Ben turned to the door, I gave a silent sigh of relief. He was obviously not going to say anything about the row between Mum and Tanya. I could see Mum start to relax too.
“Oh yes, just one more thing, Mrs Latcham,” he said, pausing with his hand on the door handle. “I’ve had it from several sources now that you and Mrs Tanya Latcham had a violent disagreement on Saturday afternoon. Would you care to tell us what that was about?”
Mum gave a short, breathy laugh. “Oh, that. It wasn’t a disagreement, as such. It’s just, well, Tanya is – sorry, was – a fussy eater. Nothing was ever quite to her taste. And I’d be the first to admit, I’m not the greatest cook in the world. But I’d worked really hard to make a wholesome, vegetarian meal for Saturday lunch. Lots of lovely tofu and noodles, really tasty and nourishing. But she looked at it, then at me and, very rudely I thought, demanded to know if I was trying to kill her? By starvation. Said my food was inedible and disgusting and the next thing I knew, she’d taken herself off to the pub. Hardly the most polite way of saying thanks for your hospitality, I have to say.”
Until that moment, I had never known my mum to lie. But I had to hand it to her, if I hadn’t been there at the time of the falling out, I’d have believed her. Ben, who knew Mum’s cooking of old, bought in to her story wholesale. DS Miller, maybe not so much.
Nevertheless, they left and this time both Mum and I breathed a genuine sigh of relief as I closed the door behind th
em.
“Ok then, Mum,” I said as I turned towards her. “What’s going on?”
She checked her watch. “I’ve texted your dad. He should be home any moment. I’d rather tell you both at the same time, if you don’t mind.”
As if on cue, we heard the sound of Dad’s car pulling up outside and the slam of the door.
He stood framed in the doorway, looking at Mum. His hands were shoved deep in his coat pocket.
“I saw a police car as I was coming down the road,” he said. “Had they been here?”
Mum nodded. “They wanted to know where I was yesterday afternoon. At the time of Tanya’s… accident.”
“It was no accident,” Dad grunted.
“I know,” Mum said. “It’s just – just such a horrible word.”
“It’s a horrible act,” Dad said shortly as he took his coat off and hung it up. He looked across at Mum, his face grim. “So, where have you been? And why didn’t you call? Katie and I have been worried sick about you.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I – I had some thinking to do. So I went to Mum’s.”
“Oh really?” Dad’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “And, of course, your mother’s place is just perfect if you’ve got a bit of thinking to do, isn’t it? She doesn’t give anyone time to draw breath, let alone think.”
“I’d done my thinking before I got to Mum’s,” she said. “I – I was just buying myself a bit of time.”
“Ok.” He sat down in the chair at the far end of the table, leaned back and folded his arms. “So, what were you thinking about? Are you going to share it with us?”
“Of course.”
“And is this the bit where you say you’re very sorry but you realise now what you’ve always suspected? That you married the wrong brother and that you and Richard…”
“For God’s sake, Terry, don’t talk such bloody rubbish!” Mum’s angry voice rang across the kitchen and stopped Dad in mid sentence. Mum hardly ever shouted (she didn’t have to, one of her looks was usually enough) and she certainly didn’t swear. Right now she was doing both.
Rough And Deadly (A Much Winchmoor Mystery Book 2) Page 17