Report for Murder

by Val McDermid

  “Okay, so if you know I didn’t do it, what do you want me to tell you? Shall I start with what I told the police?” asked Caroline eagerly. It was hard not to see her as some enormously good-natured but clumsy young bear-cub.

  “Tell us first of anything that struck you as at all unusual at any time all day Saturday,” said Cordelia. Both women were conscious of the need not to waste the opportunity of a witness who seemed both talkative and observant.

  “Well, the whole day was a bit funny, really. Miss Callaghan seemed a bit edgy, but I put that down to the general upheaval, plus she was responsible for both of you. Having a journalist on the loose about the place must have been a bit unnerving for everybody on the official side. I mean, only you know what you were going to say about us. You see, places like this are terribly insular, and being under constant attack from the forces of reason and equality make them even more on the defensive, you know? And then there was the business of Sarah Cartwright throwing a wobbler, which upset more or less everybody—it threw Jacko into a perfect tail-spin and didn’t exactly fill Miss Callaghan with good cheer.

  “You were around, so I suppose you saw that carry-on. It was rather grisly, really. Sarah’s a bit of a loner; I always get the feeling that she hasn’t actually got much more to her life than this place, her father being so busy. I mean, my father is always up to his eyes in work, or climbing expeditions or whatever, but he always makes time to be with his children. It seems to me that Sarah’s father puts work first—you know, if he’s planned to take her off somewhere and work interferes, it’s, ‘Tough luck, old girl, we’ll make it another time.’ So although she doesn’t really have close friends here, I suppose this place is more or less home to her. At least people are pretty impressed by her sporting ability.

  “So of course, when those half-wits started to have a go at her it must have been pretty hellish. And, since Miss Callaghan is always frighteningly perceptive about what goes on inside our tiny heads, it’s my guess that she must have been a bit upset on Sarah’s account. All that would make her a bit iffy, wouldn’t it?”

  “Possibly,” Cordelia replied. “Was she okay by the afternoon?”

  “I don’t know much about what went on then, because I was out with my father. I suppose you know all about him and that bloody woman by now?”

  Cordelia said quickly. “We know a bit. Suppose you tell us what really happened.”

  “It’s been the main event in our family over the last couple of years,” said Caroline, her normal machine-gun delivery slowing down. “I’m not entirely clear how they met, but once my father got to know Lorna, he fell for her like the proverbial ton. He didn’t say anything, but I think Mummy knew something was happening. Anyway, he decided that he didn’t just want an affair, so he told Mummy he wanted a divorce. It was all extremely messy—and very painful for everyone because deep down, he loved us all really.

  “When the whole sordid business of the divorce was over, he went to Lorna and asked her to marry him. He hadn’t seen her for about a month because she’d been off touring in the Far East. She laughed in his face and told him not to be a fool, that she had no intention of marrying him. She didn’t have the sense to see she was turning down the best man she’d ever meet. And he was devastated. Who wouldn’t have been? I mean, he’d thrown his marriage away, torn up his own life and our lives too, and all for nothing.” She paused.

  “I can forgive him,” she went on, “because everyone has the right to make at least one almighty blunder in their lives, and after all, he’s still a part of my world. But I could never forgive her because, if she hadn’t fooled him into thinking she wanted him, he’d have just let it be a stupid affair and that would have been the end of it. But no. She had to destroy his life. So I’m not sorry that someone killed her. Not a bit sorry.” Lindsay detected a trembling in Caroline’s voice as she finished her story.

  “Was there any special reason why he came to see you on Saturday?” she asked, trying hard to avoid sounding eager.

  “He was doing a bit of rock-climbing on Sunday down at Ilam,” she explained. “That’s a limestone gorge about twenty miles from here. He said he’d come up early and take me out on Saturday afternoon. He often does that. I’m sure that’s half the reason he sent me to Derbyshire House. The school he chose for my brother is in Perthshire, so he can get up in the mountains when he goes to see him. I sometimes think he loves the mountains and rocks more than anything else. Mountains, music, his family, and his job. In that order, I suspect. But he gives so much to all of us, he’s never made me feel that a moment spent with me is a moment he’d rather spend doing something else. I’m very, very fond of my father,” she added unnecessarily.

  “How long did you spend with him on Saturday?” asked Cordelia.

  “He picked me up at half-past two and we went for a walk in Chee Dale and Wye Dale. Then we went to have tea and he dropped me back here about a quarter to six. I told him about the concert, but he wouldn’t come because she was here. I didn’t expect him to. He said he’d send a check for the fund. He went off back to his hotel then, I suppose. He usually does. He has dinner, then sits in his room doing paperwork and listening to his Walkman.”

  “Do you know where he was staying?” Lindsay chimed in.

  “I think he was at the Anglers’ Retreat, in Thorpe Dale. That’s where he usually stays. Anyway, I came back here, had dinner, and then it was time for the concert.”

  “And you didn’t see him again on Saturday night?”

  “No, how could I have?”

  “Have you told the police any of this?” asked Cordelia cautiously.

  “They didn’t ask about anything except the concert. I suppose I was a bit nervy about them thinking my father might perhaps have had something to do with it. They don’t know him like I do, after all. Should I have told them do you think? Could it help Miss Callaghan?”

  “I doubt it would have meant anything to them, Caroline. Don’t worry on that account. Can you tell us what you remember about the rest of the evening?”

  “Well, after dinner I went straight to the hall and collected a load of programs from the music storeroom. I didn’t see anyone around who shouldn’t have been there, I’m afraid. I went back later for some more programs, and went to the loo as well. But I wasn’t paying too much attention; it was pretty chaotic except for the actual corridor down to Music 2, because the only people going down there were the people selling programs. Jess Bennett turned up in the hall at one point, looking for Miss Callaghan, and I sent her backstage because I’d noticed Miss Callaghan there when I came out of the loo, ticking off one of the choir for the state of her hair. That’s about all I remember.

  “It’s pretty frightening, really, isn’t it? I mean, it’s got to have been someone who knew the place well, hasn’t it? And that more or less means someone we all, or at least some of us, know.” Caroline dried up finally. She suddenly looked very young.

  “I’m inclined to think so,” said Lindsay. “Tell me, did you see Sarah Cartwright or her father at all on Saturday after the business at the craft fair?”

  Caroline thought for a moment. “I didn’t see him,” she said positively. “He certainly wasn’t at the concert. As for Sarah—I plodded along to her room when I got back from tea, just to see if she felt like coming in for dinner and wanted a bit of moral support. I knocked at her door, but there was no reply. I tried the handle, but the door was locked. I just assumed she was either asleep or not in the mood for company, so I buzzed off again.”

  Lindsay reckoned there wasn’t much more they could hope to find out from Caroline, so she flicked a glance at Cordelia, got to her feet, and said, “Thanks for being so honest with us. If you fancy a chat about anything, I expect we’ll be sticking around for a few days. Okay?”

  Cordelia’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smile as she followed her friend on to the landing, and she said drily, “The working-class hero never gives up the struggle, does she?”

 
By now Lindsay was beginning to take Cordelia’s mockery in her stride. It forced her to keep her wits about her. So she replied mildly, “This place is so well defended that you can’t expect me to ignore a chink in the armor. Now: do you want a conference, or shall we go straight on to see Sarah Cartwright? We should get her out of the way, I suppose.”

  Cordelia shrugged. “I haven’t anything to say that won’t keep. No flash of genius that will vanish for ever if I don’t give it shape and form immediately. Let’s see her and have done for today. Then we can go and have dinner somewhere and sort out what we’ve got so far.”

  “That should see us through the aperitifs,” said Lindsay wryly. “Now, where do we find her?”

  “It’s just down the corridor here. I checked with Paddy’s list.” Cordelia led the way to Sarah’s room and knocked. After a short pause a low voice invited them in.

  Sarah Cartwright’s room was furnished exactly as Caroline’s, and had a splendid view of the trees that cut Longnor House off from the bleak moorland behind. But there were few of the personal touches that made Caroline’s room so individual. The walls were bare except for a large black and white framed photograph of a gymnast on the beam, who Cordelia identified as Nellie Kim, the Russian Olympic medallist. The books were all school textbooks except for several on gymnastics, and the desk was almost pathologically neat. On it there was one small framed wedding photo. The man was clearly a younger version of James Cartwright. Lindsay assumed the dark-haired, vivacious-looking woman by his side was Sarah’s mother.

  The girl was sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading a newspaper. As they entered, she folded it carefully and put it down. She had dark brown hair cut short and neat with a straight, heavy fringe, contrasting with pale skin untouched by the ravages of adolescence. She had an air of extreme self-possession, but her dark eyes were watchful. Unlike her father, she seemed prepared to let other people make the running. She looked inquiringly at them.

  Lindsay felt instantly uncomfortable, as if she were an unwelcome intruder on someone else’s private territory. “I’m sorry to butt in on you,” she said, “but I wondered if perhaps you could help us.” Sarah said nothing. Lindsay glanced at Cordelia in a mute appeal for help.

  Cordelia took up the hard job of communication. “Miss Overton has asked us to see if we can uncover anything that might establish Miss Callaghan’s innocence. We’ve been talking to a lot of people in the hope that they might be able to come up with something to help and, basically, you’re next on the list.”

  “I know all about you,” said Sarah. Not surprisingly, there was nothing of the local accent in her tones. She might never have been north of Ascot. “You’ve been to see my father. How absurd of you to think he could have anything to do with this. I don’t know what you think I could tell you either. I was here all the time on Saturday. I saw no one apart from Miss Callaghan. She came over at tea-time with some sandwiches and fruit for me. Anyone else who knocked, I just ignored. There was no one I wanted to see. Except possibly my father, but he wasn’t here.”

  “You must have been very upset by what happened in the morning,” Cordelia probed.

  The girl acknowledged this sally with raised eyebrows. “Of course I was. It’s not terribly thrilling to have people attacking you because of something your father is quite properly doing in the course of his business. Especially when you’re supposedly among friends. All the same, it was quite a useful experience in one sense. It’s helpful to know who your real friends are.”

  “Like Caroline Barrington?” asked Lindsay quickly.

  “Why her in particular?”

  “Well, she did call round to see if you felt like going to dinner.”

  “Did she? I don’t remember. One or two people came by. As I said, there was no one I wanted to see. I locked the door and only let Miss Callaghan in because I felt it might be rather more trouble not to.” The girl’s hostility was now becoming palpable.

  “So you neither saw nor heard anything that might have any bearing on Lorna Smith-Couper’s murder?”

  “Correct. Now, if that’s all, I have things to do. I was about to go down to the gym to run through some floor work before you arrived. Do you mind if I get on with that now?”

  “If you don’t mind, there are a couple more questions I’d like to ask,” said Lindsay pleasantly.

  The girl’s eyebrows flickered and she threw a look of contempt at Lindsay. “If you’ve time to waste, go ahead and ask.”

  “You told the police that Miss Callaghan took you to Music 2 on Saturday morning?”

  “Correct. I told them that because that’s exactly what she did.”

  “Any idea why she took you there?”

  “She was trying to be helpful. I was very upset, as I’m sure you understand. Miss Callaghan had the sense to see that the best thing for me was to be somewhere quiet till I felt all right again. She said, ‘Let’s go to Music 2 because I’m sure it will be empty. It’s been spruced up for our celebrity guest, so no one will be using it today.’”

  Lindsay’s eyes bored into the girl. “Are you sure she said that the room had been set aside for Lorna?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Miss Callaghan doesn’t remember anything of the sort.”

  “I’m sorry about that. But it doesn’t alter the fact that she said it.”

  “You also told the police that Miss Callaghan had been opening cupboards in the room and picking stuff up. You’re still sticking to that, are you? Because Miss Callaghan has no recollection of that happening either.”

  Sarah’s eyes flashed as she replied angrily, “Yes, I’m still sticking to the truth. Why should I lie, for God’s sake? I like Miss Callaghan.”

  “I can think of several reasons why you might be telling less than the truth.” Lindsay paused, but Sarah refused to take up the challenge. Lindsay shook her head sorrowfully and said, “Sorry we’ve been such a nuisance, I hope we haven’t put you off your exercises.” Then she turned and walked out, followed by Cordelia. She marched down the stairs in a state of frustrated fury, then suddenly saw the funny side and whirled round on Cordelia with a grin, saying, “There is something about me that seems to get right up the Cartwrights’ noses. I can’t have gone to the right school.”

  Cordelia dissolved into a violent fit of giggles, much to the amazement of a couple of sixth-formers who passed by as the two women staggered into Paddy’s room.

  15

  Cordelia sat at Paddy’s desk scribbling furiously in her notebook, while Lindsay wandered round the room, smoking and fiddling with the assortment of objects on the mantelpiece. Eventually she headed for the drinks cupboard and poured herself a small whisky. “You want one?” she asked.

  “That depends. Are we going out for a meal? And if so, when?”

  “Must we go out? I’m just not in the mood tonight for all the palaver of menus and waiters and posing about the wine list. I thought I’d go off in search of an Indian takeaway. Buxton may not be the cosmopolitan center of the universe, but it must have some kind of fast food apart from fish and chips. Unless you have any other ideas?”

  “I was rather hoping we could find a nice little restaurant and splash out a bit.”

  “Every day I spend down here is a day when I’m earning precisely zilch. I don’t feel much like splashing out. Especially since I’ve got Paddy on my Presbyterian conscience.”

  “My treat, Lindsay. I’ve got it, we might as well spend it.”

  Lindsay looked outraged. “No way,” she retorted. “We have to know each other a lot better before I let you pay for me. If you feel the need to go out and spoil yourself, fine. But I’ll settle for what fits in with my lifestyle, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Cordelia looked thunderstruck. “My God,” she complained, “you’re so bloody self-righteous sometimes. Why the hell don’t you just relax? There’s no need for all this puritanical shit.”

  “What do you mean, puritanical shit? Just because I’ve
always paid my own way and I’m not about to stop now. I’ve worked hard to keep my independence and I’m not about to throw it away.”

  Cordelia shook her head in bewilderment. “Look, I only offered to buy you dinner, not become your sugar momma. You can let someone buy you a meal without becoming a kept woman, you know.”

  Lindsay scowled. “In my business, you learn quickly that there’s no such thing as a free lunch.”

  “God, you’re impossible. All right, go and get a bloody curry if it makes you feel better. We’ll split the cost to salve your conscience.”

  Lindsay stormed out, slamming the door behind her. By the time she returned with an assortment of Indian food, she was regretting the scene. She found Cordelia lying on the sofa with a glass of wine, reading one of Sunday’s papers, ignoring her return. Lindsay began unpacking the tinfoil containers of chicken, lamb, and vegetable curries and rice, and said gruffly, “I’m sorry. I was out of order.”

  Cordelia didn’t put the paper down. “How much do I owe you,” she remarked coldly.

  “Look, I said I’m sorry. Let’s forget it, eh? Come and eat. Then we can talk about the information we’ve dug up.”

  Cordelia folded the paper and got up. “Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll forget it. But don’t push your luck, Lindsay. You should have the sense to know I’m not trying to buy my way into your life. You going to behave now?”

  Lindsay nodded. She launched straight into her analysis of their current position, eager to re-establish their previous closeness. “If we look at our original list,” she expounded, “we can cross off Paddy, of course. And you.”

  Cordelia smiled. “That’s very generous of you. But you haven’t been able to prove I didn’t do it. You’re simply reacting on instinct. And that goes for Paddy too.”