‘Yes. Of course. We were in London. Stan and I were. We left early Saturday morning, and Sunday evening we got back to Scarborough. Stan wanted to introduce me to his parents. Why?’
‘It’s about Fiona Barnes, isn’t it?’ interrupted Jennifer.
Valerie nodded. Her check was a pure formality. Neither she nor Reek believed that Gibson had lied. He was definitely not a suspect for Fiona Barnes’s murder.
‘It would be great if you can recall some more details about Mr Gibson, Miss Witty. Anything could be important. His behaviour, things he might have said in passing. Things that sprang out at you … or that didn’t. Everything. Don’t be afraid of talking about trivialities. Often it’s just these things that tell us a lot about a person.’
‘I haven’t known him that long,’ said Ena quietly.
‘Long enough to want to leave him already,’ interjected Jennifer.
Valerie looked at Ena. ‘Is that true? You wanted to leave him?’
‘I … I thought about it, yes. I wasn’t sure, but …’
‘Was it related to his … obsession for Amy Mills? Or were there other reasons?’
‘I couldn’t bear his domineering nature any more,’ said Ena. ‘Everything always had to go the way he wanted it. Always. He was charming and attentive, if you went along with his plans, but he’d quickly get angry if you contradicted him. Then his voice, his facial expression – everything – changed.’
‘Were you afraid of him in those moments?’
Ena hesitated. ‘Not exactly,’ she replied finally. ‘But ‘I could imagine that I would be afraid sometime. He seemed to be getting worse. The first time I refused to do what he said – it was about something negligible – he had his reaction under control. The next time he was less able to control it. The next time even less. You know … I wondered where it would all end.’
‘Did you argue a lot?’
Ena pulled a face. She looked depressed. ‘Inspector, I’m not a woman who often says no. That’s why I went on the course where I met Gwen Beckett. I had never really learnt to stand up for myself. I think that’s why Stan chose me. So: no, we didn’t often argue. That’s why I was so surprised about how angry he got on those few occasions.’
‘Can you imagine that he could lose control completely? That he might get violent, if a person – a woman – went against his plans and desires?’
I could imagine that,’ said Ena.
Valerie nodded. The picture she already had of Stan Gibson was filling out. The pieces fitted together. But none of this brought her a step further as far as evidence went.
She stood up. ‘Thank you, Miss Witty. That was an important point. Please come to the station at two o’clock. And please make a note of everything that occurs to you before then.’
Jennifer accompanied her to the door.
‘Do you think it was him?’ she asked.
Valerie would have liked to give a clear yes, but that was impossible given the scarcity of evidence. ‘What I think is not important,’ she said. ‘What’s important is what I can prove. And at the moment that’s all just hazy.’
‘Goodbye, Inspector,’ said Jennifer.
Valerie nodded goodbye. Stepping outside, she noticed Gwen Beckett getting out of a car on the other side of the road. She was wearing a warm anorak and had her standard plait up in a bun this time. She had not seen the policewoman. After a second’s hesitation, Valerie crossed the road and went over to her.
‘Good morning, Miss Beckett. You’ve come to pick up Mrs Brankley, I presume?’
Gwen jumped. ‘Oh … I didn’t hear you. Good morning.’ As always when someone started talking to her unexpectedly, she went red.
Poor thing, thought Valerie.
‘You’re up and about early.’
‘Yes. As you said, I’ve come to pick up Jennifer. Crazy affair, isn’t it? I could scarcely believe it when Colin told me.’
‘I was just upstairs. I think Miss Witty is much more stable now, and she can be left alone.’
‘Good,’ said Gwen. She seemed a little undecided. She locked her car and put the key in her handbag. ‘I really did dare to come here by car,’ she added, almost apologetically. ‘I don’t like to drive, you know, but I really wanted to fetch Jennifer. The bus is so infrequent … And I could do a bit of shopping. Colin lent me his car. I can park better with his than with my dad’s.’
‘Is Colin … Mr Brankley on the farm?’
‘Jennifer wanted him to stay with the dogs. She’s always worried about them.’
‘She’ll see them soon. Listen …’ Valerie decided to grasp the opportunity she had. ‘Since I have you here … Did you know Stan Gibson?’
‘More in passing than anything.’
‘How well, exactly?’
Gwen thought about it. ‘Not that well. He worked for the construction company that was doing work at the school, and he always managed to have something to do in front of the room we had our course in. It was pretty obvious he had his eye on Ena. And it didn’t take long for the two of them to get together. Sometimes the three of us would walk the same way for a bit after the lesson – I’d head towards the bus stop and Stan and Ena into town. Those were the only occasions I had to get to know him – if you can call that getting to know him.’
‘What was your impression of him?’
‘He was … well, he was obviously very keen on Ena. He was charming and paid attention to her. He brought her a red rose once when he fetched her. But he was also …’
‘Yes?’ prodded Valerie, when Gwen stopped.
‘He was very assertive,’ said Gwen. ‘Nice, friendly, but he never let anyone doubt that everything had to go according to his plan. He always had the evening or weekend planned, and he never asked if Ena might want to do something else. You had the feeling that he could react quite strongly, if you contradicted him.’
‘How could you tell?’
‘I don’t know … it was just a feeling I had.’
‘Did Ena Witty ever contradict him in your presence?’
‘No. But often she did not seem happy. Once or twice I realised that he was trying to discourage her from continuing on the course. He said it was all rubbish, and why did she want to be more self-confident anyway. He made disparaging remarks along the lines that this stuff would only lead to ridiculous women’s libbers … something like that. And he laughed in an almost insulting way when he heard about the role plays from Ena.’
‘Role plays?’ asked a confused Valerie.
Gwen wriggled. She seemed embarrassed by the topic. ‘Well, yes … we used to practise difficult situations. Role plays.’
‘And what were considered difficult situations in the course?’
‘Situations which … well, everything which people like us have trouble dealing with. Going to a party on your own. Going to a restaurant on your own. Approaching someone. Letting a shop assistant advise you in a shop and in the end not buying anything. That kind of thing. That might seem silly to you but—’
Valerie shook her head. ‘Not at all. On the contrary. You have no idea how often I’ve bought things I didn’t really want, just because I didn’t know how to make my excuses to the shop assistant. I think most people have problems like that.’
‘Really?’ asked Gwen in surprise.
I’ve just destroyed her picture of the all-powerful policewoman, thought Valerie. She answered drily, ‘Really. So, Miss Beckett: he made fun of that. He ran down the course, or at least its usefulness. He had no interest in his new girlfriend learning to be a more independent and self-confident person, did he?’
‘No interest at all. That’s what I always thought: Stan Gibson wants a submissive woman. He’s a man who can’t bear to be told no.’
‘Interesting way of putting it,’ said Valerie. ‘What do you think he was capable of doing to a woman who rejected him and his advances? In other words, someone who clearly said no to his approaches?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gwen. ‘But
I’d be afraid of having to say no to him.’
‘I understand,’ said Valerie. She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Miss Beckett. You’ve been a great help.’ She turned to go.
Gwen stopped her. ‘Inspector, is he … I mean … Stan Gibson … did he kill Fiona too?’
It was of course the question which would occur to anyone who knew the whole story.
‘We still don’t know if he had anything to do with the crime against Amy Mills,’ said Valerie. ‘We really are just starting to investigate Mr Gibson.’
Valerie said goodbye and walked to her car. No sooner had she got in and started the engine than her mobile rang. It was Reek, and his voice had an edge of happy excitement.
‘Inspector, get ready for this – I’ve got something for you. I’ve just come from Karen Ward’s house. Dave Tanner has got some explaining to do. Ward confirms that they met in the Golden Ball, as we already knew. But listen to this: after that she went home alone. And stayed alone. That means there are no witnesses as to Dave Tanner’s whereabouts after ten p.m. And it means he’s lied again.’
Valerie gasped. ‘Is she reliable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, well, well. He’s really trying it on!’
‘And he’s been calling her again and again since yesterday,’ continued Reek. ‘To get her to say the right thing, I suppose. Unfortunately – for him! – she had just decided to make a clean break from him. So she hadn’t answered his calls.’
‘I’m just in front of Ena Witty’s flat,’ said Valerie. ‘I’ll be at Tanner’s place in five minutes.’
‘Me too,’ said Reek and hung up.
6
At first sight the Beckett farm looked almost deserted. Chad’s old car was parked by a shed, but no one was to be seen. As Leslie got out of her car, she noticed that the wind, which that morning had been blowing in from the sea, had abated. The day had taken on a strange immobility. Nothing seemed to move. The clouds hung leadenly in the sky.
Dave got out too. He seemed tense. They had gone on a long walk, had sat on the cliffs and smoked cigarettes, had spoken, sometimes even laughed. It was noon by the time they left for Staintondale. In the end Dave himself had pushed for them to get going.
‘I just want to get out of this whole thing,’ he had said. I want to sort it out, finally.’
Suddenly it seemed that he could not wait to get rid of Gwen, to free himself from his web of lies.
‘It doesn’t look like anyone is at home,’ said Leslie. ‘The Brankleys’ car isn’t there, in any case.’
They went over to the house and knocked. They could not hear anyone move inside, so Leslie put her hand firmly on the door handle. The door was not locked.
‘Hello?’ she called out.
A shadow appeared in the kitchen door opposite – a large, stooped man who had trouble walking. Chad Beckett.
‘Leslie?’ he asked.
‘Yes, it’s me. And Dave. Is Gwen home?’
‘Drove off this mornin’ to pick up Jennifer. An’ she wanted t’ do some shoppin’. Probably two of them ’ave gone somewhere to eat. No idea.’ His gaze fastened onto his almost-son-in-law, who had popped up behind Leslie. ‘Day, Tanner. Police were ’ere askin’ after you.’
‘When?’ asked Dave in irritation.
‘Two hours ago, perhaps. Don’t know what they wanted.’
‘I’ll get in touch with them,’ said Dave. ‘But first I’d like to talk to Gwen.’
‘You’ll ’ave to be patient.’
‘Why is Gwen picking Jennifer up? And where?’ asked Leslie.
Chad’s brow knitted. ‘Jennifer went t’ police yesterday, with a friend of Gwen’s, if I ‘eard rightly. Seems the lass’s boyfriend ‘ad summat to do with t’ murder of that student back in July. The lass found out and turned to Jennifer.’
Dave and Leslie stared at him. ‘What?’
It was clear that Chad was not particularly interested in the story and had probably not been listening carefully enough to know many details. ‘Ask Jennifer yourselves. She’ll tell you better than me. I just know what Colin told me after she called. She stayed t’ night with Gwen’s friend. Apparently she were near to breakin’ down, couldn’t be left alone. Anyroad, Gwen wanted to fetch ‘er today.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ said Leslie in shock.
‘Does that mean they know who murdered Amy Mills?’ asked Dave.
Chad seemed as unfazed as ever. ‘Maybe.’
‘At least I’m not a suspect any more then,’ said Dave.
‘Where’s Colin?’ asked Leslie, who harboured the hope that the younger man might have more information. She asked herself what all who heard the news asked themselves: if Amy Mills’s murderer had been found, did that mean that Fiona’s murderer had also fallen into the police’s hands?
‘Colin’s out with their dogs,’ explained Chad.
At the moment it did not seem they were going to find out more. Leslie rubbed her hands on her temples, trying to focus. She had just heard something completely crazy, but as she could not talk to either Jennifer or the police right now and ask them the hundred questions she had, she should remember why she had come.
‘Chad, can I talk to you for a minute?’ she asked.
Chad agreed. ‘Come in t’ kitchen. I’ve just made meself summat to eat.’
‘I’ll wait outside,’ said Dave. ‘I need some fresh air, anyway.’
Leslie followed Chad into the kitchen. A pan with pale yellow, rather slimy scrambled eggs was on the table. He had sliced a few pieces of fatty sausage and added them to the pan. They lay on the top and were probably cold.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you at a mealtime,’ said Leslie.
Chad made a dismissive gesture and sat down on the bench. He took one of the plates which had been piled on the table since breakfast, wiped the crumbs off it and shovelled his unappetising meal onto it. ‘No fun eatin’ alone. Want some?’
She felt queasy. ‘No thanks.’
He looked briefly at her. ‘You’re too skinny.’
‘Always was.’
He made an unrecognisable noise. Leslie sat down opposite him, opened her bag and took out the pile of paper which Colin had put in her hands only a few days ago.
‘Do you know what this is?’
He looked up, munching. ‘No.’
‘Printouts of computer files. The files were attached to emails which my gran wrote you. Over the last half year.’
Chad went rigid for a moment when he realised what she was holding. He lowered his fork. ‘Where d’you get them?’ he asked sharply.
‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘You were at your grandmother’s computer?’
Leslie thought that it would be simplest if he believed this for now, so she did not contradict him.
‘It contains lots of things I already knew. And some things I had no idea about. I had never, ever heard about Brian Somerville.’
Her voice rattled as she said the name that now hung, strangely clear, hard and unavoidable, in the air.
‘Brian Somerville,’ repeated Chad. He pushed his plate away. As untouched by everyone and everything as he always made himself out to be, this did seem to have ruined his appetite.
‘Yes. Brian Somerville.’
‘What d’you want to know?’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Don’t know. I don’t even know if he’s still livin’.’
‘Don’t you care?’
‘I’ve finished with it.’
‘About sixty years ago, if I’m to believe what’s written here.’
‘Aye. ‘Bout sixty years ago.’
They looked at each other across the table. In silence. In the end Chad said, ‘If you’ve read it all, you know we had no choice in the matter. I’d’ve never brought Brian here. I had no responsibility for ’im. I made sure ’e found somewhere to stay. A roof over ‘is ‘ead. He couldn’t stay ’ere.’
‘You should have informed the author
ities.’
‘You know why I couldn’t. Easy to come here now and—’ He interrupted himself, stood up and went over to the window. He looked out at the motionless scene.
After a while he added, ‘Course, it all looks different lookin’ back.’
‘I can’t understand that you weren’t interested in finding out what happened to him.’
‘Then don’t understand.’
‘Who was Semira Newton?’
He turned around. Leslie saw that a vein on his forehead was pulsing. He was more upset than he let on. ‘Semira Newton? She … discovered ’im back then.’
‘Brian?’
‘Aye.’
‘1970?’
‘Don’t know exactly. It’s a long time ago. Sometime … aye, coulda been 1970.’
‘She discovered him? What do you mean?’
He turned back to the window. ‘What I said. Discovered. Made a right old fuss. Police. Press. The lot.’
‘She discovered him on Gordon McBright’s farm?’
‘Aye.’
Leslie got up. She was shivering although it was not cold in the kitchen. ‘What exactly did she discover, Chad?’
‘She found ’im – Brian. She saw ’im and ’e wasn’t … in the best state. By gum, Leslie, what the ‘eck d’you want to know?’
‘Everything. What happened. The things that Fiona’s letters don’t talk about. That’s what I want to know.’
‘Ask Semira Newton.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Believe she lives in Robin ‘ood’s Bay.’
Robin Hood’s Bay. The fishing village halfway between Scarborough and Whitby. Leslie knew it. It was small enough that you could find someone just by asking after them in the village.
‘So you don’t want to talk to me about it?’ she persisted in asking.
‘No,’ said Chad. ‘I don’t.’ He continued doggedly looking out the window.
‘Aren’t you at all afraid?’ she asked.
‘Of what?’
‘That something terrible has happened, Chad. You can’t make it go away by not talking about it. You and Fiona, you were in this up to your necks. Have you considered that Fiona’s death might not be unrelated to this whole thing? And that, if it is, you could be in danger too?’
Now he turned around, genuinely surprised. ‘Fiona’s murder? But they’ve got their man now. Man’s got nowt to do with Brian Somerville.’
The Other Child Page 38