These Little Lies

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  ‘Take it slowly. What time did you speak to Lauren?’

  ‘About seven thirty. I was driving home when she rang me.’

  ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘Like her usual self. A bit tired, maybe. She did say there were some things she wanted to talk about but she’d wait until we could meet up. She asked me how I was, told me not to work too hard, talked about things the kids had done at the nursery. She felt so much responsibility for the kids, as well as helping nature recover from all the damage we inflict. We both volunteer with Minstergreen and we discussed a bird count at Harfield Country Park planned for next weekend. And she talked about Ade. He was hoping to get a deal from some conference he was at in London, and she was concerned about it going well for him.’

  ‘Do you know Ade well?’

  ‘I know him but not that well. Lauren and I usually met up on our own.’

  ‘The way you say that makes me think you don’t care for him much.’

  Cora was a hair fiddler, touching and smoothing the length of it. She reached behind and pulled it over her right shoulder. ‘I’m not Ade’s biggest fan. Lauren loved him so I didn’t say anything, but I thought he was possessive, overbearing. The few times I met him, I could tell he didn’t like me. I thought he was jealous because Lauren and I had been friends since school. He’s one of those men who like to manage everyone, or try to. And he didn’t like it that I’d introduced Lauren to wild swimming and she’d become a self-confessed addict. She’d get restless if she hadn’t been for a swim. I could see that Ade didn’t want her going off and enjoying herself without him, although he dressed it up as being concerned for her safety.’

  ‘Did Lauren ever say she was unhappy in her marriage?’

  Cora straightened her back, her eyes wide. ‘Do you think Ade killed her?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue. I suppose he could have . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘So — back to my question. Did Lauren ever talk about being unhappy with her husband?’

  ‘She was a very loyal person, so no, she didn’t. She wanted so much to get married, you know. She’d had a lonely sort of childhood, just her and her mum, and then her mum died when she was twenty-one. She was still living at home with her mum up to then. She wanted the security of marriage and lots of kids. Sounds old-fashioned, but then she was kind of old-fashioned — in the nicest way. Dependable, and so kind. Her mum was completely devoted to Lauren. She never worked after Lauren was born, and was always cleaning, polishing and baking. Whenever I went round there, the place was sparkling but really homely, too. We had big homemade pies and delicious cakes.’

  Siv thought how amazing it would have been to have swapped her own flaky, flighty Mutsi for Lauren’s stay-at-home mum. ‘Ade Visser told me that Lauren never knew who her father was.’

  ‘That’s right. Her mum would never talk about it and Lauren learned not to ask. I reckoned Ade was a bit of a father figure — you know, eight years older than her and telling her what she should do, disapproving of things he didn’t like. When they met, I think she took him for some sort of tragic hero because his first wife had died of cancer. She cut him a lot of slack when he fretted about her swimming, because she said he’d been traumatized by that bereavement and it made him over protective. I don’t know, I thought he just liked pontificating.’

  ‘But Lauren didn’t always go along with what Ade said — concerning the wild swimming, for example.’

  Cora laughed knowingly. ‘The swimming, and other things.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Lauren mentioned it on the phone the other night. She was running a campaign about a horrible notice at Lock Lane. You must have seen it when you found her — it’s really offensive about people from eastern Europe.’

  ‘I’ve seen it. Anglers are supposed to have permits to fish there, but I agree that’s not the way to try to enforce the club’s regulations.’

  ‘Right. Well, Lauren phoned your lot, the police, about it but she was told it was a civil, not a criminal matter. She’d found out how much it would cost to make a legal challenge and she started a crowdfunding page. Lauren was quiet and unassuming but once she’d got the bit between her teeth about something she was determined, and she had a strong sense of justice. Ade didn’t know about it. He’d have disapproved. He didn’t mind her volunteering for conservation work because that’s acceptable — fashionable even — and Minstergreen gets good publicity. But he’s dead against things like crowdfunding, says it’s a form of begging and if people want money for something, they should earn it. He’s a snob, really. Likes to spend his time with the horsey, county set, goes on hacks with his mate Harvey Seaton, who thinks of himself as a kind of squire. He wouldn’t have liked the idea that Lauren was involved with immigrants who fish in rivers that should be free to all of us. No one should own parts of rivers, it’s ridiculous.’

  Siv took a breath. ‘Was Lauren friendly with any of the eastern European anglers who fish at Lock Lane? It sounds as if she might have discussed this campaign with them.’

  ‘She didn’t mention any but she might have come across them at the Polska centre in West Street. She’d put a poster up there, informing about her campaign over the sign. Ade wouldn’t have liked that. He’d have reckoned she was slumming it.’ She adjusted her hair, pulling it to her left shoulder. A few strands detached and floated through the air.

  ‘Seems a bit odd. Contradictory. I mean, Lauren objected to fishing but she was defending the right to fish at Lock Lane.’

  ‘It was a matter of principle, wasn’t it? Lauren might not have agreed with the fishing but she’d oppose discrimination where she saw it.’

  ‘And maybe she thought that if she caused enough problems for the angling club, the owner would cut his losses and close it down?’

  Cora nodded. ‘We agreed that would be the best outcome — if Nick Shelton decided to stop the fishing there.’

  So, a controlling man and a wife who was a lover of causes and who’d decided to do things behind his back. ‘Was Lauren worried that Ade would lose his temper if he knew about the crowdfunding?’

  Cora screwed up her mouth. ‘It wasn’t so much that. She wasn’t frightened of him. But he’d be kind of heavy and scathing. Censorious. She just preferred to manoeuvre around him.’

  ‘And that wasn’t too hard because he worked away a lot.’

  ‘Right.’

  Cora would know about the passwords. ‘This manoeuvring included changing her account passwords without telling Ade.’

  Cora gave a watery smile. ‘She changed her passwords and pin numbers regularly without telling him.’

  Her voice had become muffled. She was pulling her hair across her mouth and pressing a strand to her lips. Siv felt a sudden, familiar sense of detachment drifting through her and moved her shoulders up and down, refocusing. ‘So, Ade wasn’t in the habit of checking up on her.’

  ‘Suppose not. I think as long as Ade thought he had the upper hand, he was happy. And he just didn’t know Lauren as well as he thought. He made assumptions about her. He mistook her mildness for meekness. They’re not the same thing. Lauren had strong convictions about cruelty to animals, the environment, justice and fairness.’

  ‘Did you ever think that Lauren might have been seeing someone else?’

  ‘What — you mean like an affair?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No way! Not Lauren. She valued her marriage, and she was just this deeply reliable, loyal person.’

  The soundtrack surged upstairs. The seats were comfy and Siv had sunk down into hers. She blinked, suddenly tired. After months of comparative inactivity, her brain was struggling to process so much information. It seemed unreal, sitting in an empty cinema, surrounded by Marilyn’s curves and smiles and discussing how a murdered woman had outwitted her oppressive husband. Or thought she had. Maybe she’d made her own wrong assumptions. She sat up straighter, thinking of the possibility of an affair.

  �
�Did Lauren have any other close friends — maybe in Minstergreen?’

  ‘Not really. She never had much of a social circle. She spent most of her time with her mum until she died and then she met Ade soon after. When she wasn’t with Ade, we hung out. She liked a woman she worked with at the nursery — Betty someone.’

  ‘Betty Marshall is the deputy manager,’ Siv said.

  ‘That’s right. She reckoned Betty was really committed to the job and the kids. And Betty does regular litter-picking, so they shared a concern for the environment. But I don’t think they socialized as such.’

  ‘Going back to Minstergreen — were you at a committee meeting last Tuesday?’

  ‘No. I’m not on the committee, don’t have time. Lauren was.’

  ‘Did she talk to you about a difference of opinion she was having with Mason Granger, the chair?’

  ‘Oh yeah, she did mention that. I got the impression she didn’t have a lot of time for Mason. She thought he was self-important. He likes giving interviews to radio and TV. Lauren reckoned he was empire building. He wanted to expand what we’re doing, but it would be hard to be effective without way more volunteers than we have now. What was it she said? That’s right, she laughed and said Mason had ambitions to be a minor celebrity.’

  According to Dr Anand, Cora was too small to have stabbed her friend and Rimas but the question had to be asked. ‘Where were you on Monday morning between six and eight thirty a.m.?’

  ‘Wow! That’s a bit below the belt!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s okay, I get it. I was in bed with my boyfriend. We got up at seven thirty, had breakfast. We both left for work at half eight.’ She yanked her sleeve down and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Lauren was my friend for so long, I don’t know what I’ll do without her. I can’t believe she won’t phone me any minute.’

  Siv felt a ripple of sadness. She sat silently with the grieving woman for a couple of minutes, struggling with her own memories, then thanked her and left the cinema.

  The light outside was strong and vibrant, striking her eyes and making them water. The sun was pure gold on the harbour and the bunting that had been installed for the May festival. She crossed to the harbour and stood at the railing, looking out across the fishing boats to the ivy-covered Martello Tower. Gulls swooped and screamed across the sandbanks and shingle. A cruiser puttered through the harbour mouth and manoeuvred into a berth. She thought about mild but not meek Lauren. Cora had given her more of a sense of the dead woman, still a gentle sort but with grit and always ready to push her causes. She still had no understanding of where Matis Rimas fitted in. It seemed unlikely that he and Lauren had been having an affair. Surely she’d have mentioned it to Cora. She kept thinking that Lauren had been the primary victim, because of that photo, but what if she was wrong? Best not to get hung up on it. She found the phone number for Filip Mazur and rang it. When he replied, she could hear a baby crying. He said grumpily that it was okay for her to call by.

  * * *

  Mrs Mazur, the mother, was dishing up the evening meal when she arrived and insisted that Siv sit with them and have some.

  ‘Eat! Eat! You so thin! You want a beer?’

  She said no to beer but accepted a meat pie sitting on top of a potato pancake. The small living and kitchen area was very warm and Mrs Mazur drew a thin, rose-patterned curtain against the sun. Mazur dwarfed the small table, Siv’s knees almost touching his huge thighs. He wore a paint-stained T-shirt, jeans and a beanie hat. His mother saw Siv looking and clicked her tongue.

  ‘I tell him to shower and change before dinner but he don’t listen.’

  ‘Leave it be. I have the boss telling me what to do all day. I washed my face and hands,’ Mazur muttered. His manner was rough and ready but his tone to his mother was affectionate. He held the baby in one arm while he cut his pie. The large infant sucked on a cherry-coloured dummy and stared intensely at its father. It was going to take after him in size.

  ‘I’m very sorry about your friend Matis.’ It was hard to talk through the dense, tasty food. The pie was packed with lamb mince and thick, herby gravy.

  ‘Any idea who killed him yet?’ Mazur asked.

  ‘Not yet. I understand that you got to know him last year?’

  ‘That’s right. We were working together for a while, got chatting. Nice bloke, interesting, although his head was full of nonsense about aliens and space ships. His English wasn’t great so I helped him with a few things he was struggling with, about tax and insurance. He didn’t like where he was living and we had a room, so he moved here.’

  ‘We’ve been able to take a look at his phone. He did know or know of Lauren Visser, the woman who was murdered around the same time. She was campaigning about a sign at the river, warning eastern European anglers to stay away. Did Matis mention that to you?’

  Mazur swallowed and lifted his bottle of beer, downing half of it. His face was sun-reddened, his eyes bloodshot. ‘He said something about a sign once. He laughed about it, said it didn’t stop him fishing where he wanted. That was it.’

  ‘He didn’t mention a campaign to go to court about the sign?’

  Mazur shook his head. ‘You mean something legal?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘No. He just caught fish and brought them home.’

  ‘Lovely carp,’ Mrs Mazur agreed. She watched Siv keenly as she ate.

  The baby waved an arm and grumbled. Mazur rubbed his stubbly chin gently over its head and it smiled.

  ‘Can I just show you these photos again?’ She showed Mazur and his mother the photos of Lauren and the little girl. ‘Are you sure you’ve never seen them?’ They both shook their heads. ‘Did Matis ever mention someone called Nowak?’

  Mazur shovelled the remainder of his pie into his mouth and his mother immediately popped another one on to his plate. ‘Don’t think so. I don’t know a Nowak. Common Polish name. Could be someone he worked with. Lots of Polish guys in building.’

  Mrs Mazur had finished eating and leaned over to take the baby from her son. ‘Maybe he meet this Nowak at Polska centre. He go there sometimes. He like Polish beer. You have another pancake?’

  ‘No, thank you. This is delicious. Had Matis argued with anyone?’

  Mazur shook his head. ‘The other police guy asked me that. I don’t know anyone he fell out with. He was too busy working and fishing to argue. Sending money home. No time to have rows.’ His phone rang, vibrating on the table beside him. He glanced at the screen, said it was a call about work and went into the hallway.

  The baby spat its dummy out. Mrs Mazur dipped her little finger into the gravy on her plate and nudged it into the baby’s mouth. It sucked greedily.

  ‘Boy or girl?’ Siv asked.

  ‘A boy. Filip. Like his papa.’ She repeated the move with the gravy, glanced at the hallway and looked at Siv. The grooves around her eyes and mouth were scored deep. ‘You okay, you and the other policeman. Polite. We here four years now. Much better life. Good work. Happy. Settled. Filip and his wife work. I look after baby. Don’t want no trouble.’

  ‘I understand, Mrs Mazur. I’m doing my job. I know you’ll understand that.’

  She nodded. Mazur came back in and fetched another beer from the fridge.

  ‘You talk to Matis’s family?’ Mrs Mazur asked.

  ‘My sergeant, Ali Carlin, talked to police in Krosna who spoke to his family. Unfortunately they can’t afford to come here.’

  ‘Sad,’ Mrs Mazur said, with a faraway look. ‘Sad to come so far from home and someone kill you. So far from people who love you. Your own people.’

  ‘It is very sad. All I can say is that we will find who did this.’

  Mrs Mazur gave Siv what seemed to her an unbelieving, pitying look, then she asked if Siv would like pyraga cake. ‘Is good, much fruit. I make today.’

  ‘No thanks. I’d better be going. Thanks for the food.’

  Mrs Mazur saw her to the door. ‘Is okay if I use things in
Matis’s fridge? Nice carp in there. Pity to waste.’

  A pragmatic attitude to death. Mrs Mazur would be a woman used to making the most of what she had. ‘Yes, that’s fine. His catch might as well get cooked.’

  A decent dinner. The young man hadn’t left much of a legacy. She walked to her car, full of pie and potato. What Ed would have called a good plate of artery fur.

  At home, she donned Ed’s sweatshirt and sat for a while out on the decking, drinking akvavit and watching the sun vanish. The goats were bleating. Corran had explained that they got talkative at this time of the evening. They sounded uncannily like children screaming. She wondered again about that little girl and what she had to do with Lauren Visser. The killer had left them a message, or had wanted to signify a meaning to her death.

  She cradled her glass and checked herself out. Today had been Okay-ish. No shaking legs at least. She was tired but too wired to sleep. Nothing about these murders made sense so far. Cloud was building and the night was growing cool. Bats flitted to and from the trees by the river.

  Her phone rang, breaking the silence. ‘Hi, Patrick.’

  ‘Guv, I had a call from Nick Shelton, the guy who owns the land at Lock Lane. We’d left him a follow-up message about the victims. He met Lauren Visser once, at his home. Said she contacted him about the notice and he agreed to talk to her.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Beginning of February. They couldn’t come to any agreement. He said he hadn’t heard from her since.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for that. I’ll get Ali to talk to him tomorrow. Can you put that little girl’s photo out on Twitter, ask if anyone recognizes her?’

  ‘Will do. Night, guv.’

  Inside, she lit the wood burner. She went into the bedroom and took the paper shape she was working on from the wardrobe. She’d designed the piece herself, a multifaceted geometric fold of wall art in grey and blue. She was shaping it from Korean duo paper, based on twenty-two icosahedrons. It would take weeks.