Vera Stanhope 06 - Harbour Street

by Ann Cleeves

  Malcolm Kerr’s yard was shut up, the big wooden doors padlocked. Vera was about to wander back to his house when she saw him walking past the fisheries towards the harbour, a dark figure dressed in oilskins and boots, recognizable by his stooped back. She hurried to catch him up.

  ‘I wanted a word.’

  He stopped. It seemed he’d been engrossed in his thoughts, because he hadn’t heard her footsteps behind him and she’d startled him. ‘Well, you can’t. I’ve got work to do.’

  She looked at his eyes and thought he hadn’t drunk so much the night before and had managed some sleep. He was truculent, but more human. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Prof. Craggs left some of his equipment in the water off the island. He didn’t want to pick it up the last time we were out because of the weather. I said I’d come and get it the first chance that I had.’ He carried on walking.

  The boat was already tied up at the harbour wall and ready to go. Not the Lucy-May that carried the trippers around Coquet Island in the summer, but a small open boat with an outboard at the back. A newer version of the vessel that had carried her and Hector out to the island years before.

  Vera looked down at it. It seemed sturdy enough. ‘Room for a small one?’

  He stared at her as if she were mad. ‘You want to come out with me?’

  ‘Why not? You’ll not be long, will you? And like I said, I need a word.’

  He chuckled. ‘Taking a bit of a risk, aren’t you? If I’m a murder suspect, I could pitch you out between here and Coquet, and nobody would know. And, whatever I say, you’ve got no corroboration. It’d never stand up in court.’

  She looked at him for a moment. Of course he was right and it was a daft thing to do. ‘Ah, I’ll risk it.’

  She carefully lowered herself down the metal ladder fixed to the wall and into the boat. Gravity helped. She hoped the tide was on its way in and that the water would be higher when they returned. Then she wouldn’t have so far to climb up. The boat wobbled when she stepped in and she had a moment of panic, imagining herself tumbling into the freezing brown water. Kerr fished a buoyancy jacket from under the back seat and threw it to her and arranged a plastic cushion for her in the middle of the boat. ‘Don’t move. The weight of you, you’ll have us over.’ He tugged on the starting rope and the engine coughed into life.

  There was quite a different perspective on the town from the water. A monochrome vision like a black-and-white film. She could see the backs of the buildings on Harbour Street. The women in the fisheries were getting ready for the lunchtime rush, carrying white plastic buckets of prepared potatoes from an outhouse at the end of the yard. The guest house looked rather grand from here, the narrow windows symmetrical and the grey stonework as solid as a fortress. There was a small garden between the house and the shore. Beyond, the tower of St Bartholomew’s dominated. She felt like a voyeur, a peeping Tom looking at the world from a hiding place. Though they were hiding in full sight.

  ‘Why did you lie to me, Malcolm?’ They were outside the harbour wall now and there was a slight swell on the water. She’d always been a good sailor and was untroubled by it. ‘You said you hadn’t had any contact with Margaret recently.’

  ‘I haven’t!’ But he sounded like one of the young scallies she used to round up as a junior PC, all bluster and swearing.

  ‘Come on, Malcolm man. You were seen dropping her off at the Haven the day before she died.’

  He didn’t reply immediately and the only sound was the rasp of the engine and gulls screaming.

  ‘Look, man, talk to me. This is about as unofficial as it gets, in a bloody boat in the North Sea.’ With me looking like the Michelin man in a bright-orange life jacket.

  ‘We were friends,’ he said. ‘I was probably the only real friend she had round here.’

  ‘Lovers?’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘A long time ago. Not recently. Not many times even then.’ He paused. They were halfway across the stretch of water that separated the island from Mardle. ‘And we didn’t meet much as friends when I was still married. She knew what I felt about her and thought she’d get in the way. She said that it wouldn’t be fair to Deborah. She was kind enough when I was getting divorced, but she made it clear there was no chance of us getting together again.’

  ‘Is that what you wanted?’ They were close enough to the island for Vera to make out details. The warden’s house and the muck on the cliffs where the seabirds had nested. She tried to remember more details of the trip she’d taken there with Hector to steal birds’ eggs all those years ago, but all that came back was the sense of foreboding and the dreadful certainty that they’d be caught. ‘You wanted more than friendship, even now?’

  ‘I adored her from the first time we met,’ Kerr said. ‘I should never have married. When I lay next to my wife I was dreaming of Margaret.’

  Vera wondered what that would be like and decided it was probably easier to adore a fantasy heroine than a real woman.

  ‘But you’d spent time together again recently?’

  ‘She’d just found out that she was ill,’ Kerr said. ‘She wanted to tell someone. Not Kate and the kids. She thought they’d get too upset.’

  ‘She told you that morning before you dropped her off at the Haven?’ Vera had to turn in her seat to see his face.

  He nodded. ‘She asked if I fancied going for a walk. We went to the beach at North Mardle. It was freezing and we had the place to ourselves, apart from a couple of dog walkers miles off. Then the sun came out.’ Vera could see that in his head he was back on the beach in the winter sunshine walking beside the woman he’d known since he was a young man. Had he taken her hand? Put an arm around her shoulder?

  ‘She had cancer,’ Vera said.

  ‘I said I’d look after her. Whatever she needed.’ He was almost in tears. ‘She said she had to sort a few things out. Affairs to get straight. “I’ll need you to help me with that, Malcolm.”’ He smiled. ‘Of course I hated the thought of her being ill, but I loved her involving me, making me part of her life again. So we’d be together in a way, even if we didn’t have very long.’

  ‘Did she say what she needed to sort out?’

  But Malcolm didn’t answer immediately. They’d reached a red buoy close to a rocky outcrop of the island. He cut the engine and tied the boat to a metal ring on the rock. The boat swung and he reached out to haul in the rope attached to the buoy. The water was very clear here and Vera watched the object slowly emerge. He lifted it, dripping, into the body of the boat. A weighted metal plate covered in sand. Vera’s attention shifted briefly from the investigation.

  ‘And what did you say is in there?’

  ‘A sediment monitoring plate. The Prof. needs it for his research. I said I’d bring it in, in case there’s a storm over the holiday.’ He slipped the knot from the ring and pushed the boat away from the rock. ‘He’s a good man, the Prof. I don’t mind doing him a favour when I can.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d met Margaret when I talked to you yesterday?’ She was exasperated. ‘We could have saved all this carry-on – half my team having you down as a murderer.’

  ‘I was scared,’ he said.

  ‘You said you’d been in touch with Margaret since your divorce? Did you approach her?’

  He shook his head. ‘She knew how I was fixed. It was up to her. She contacted me about Kate Dewar’s lad.’

  The boat was moving back towards the shore. Spray blew into her face and she could taste the salt on her lips. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He was getting into bother. Skipping classes occasionally. Nothing serious. That house full of women, Margaret thought he could do with some male company. She asked if I could find any work for him around the yard.’

  ‘And you said yes?’

  There was a pause. The strange, dark sky was pierced briefly by one arrow of bright sunlight. ‘If she’d asked me to swim naked three times round the island, I’d have said yes. I loved her.’


  ‘How do you get on with the boy?’ Vera wasn’t sure that kind of passion was healthy. It embarrassed her that Kerr was prepared to talk like that. As if he had no self-control or pride. Much safer to move on to a discussion about Kate’s son.

  Kerr seemed to consider for a moment before answering. ‘I never have any bother with him. He’s just one of those lads who don’t like school. He’s kind of restless. You see him walking the streets at all hours. Too much energy for school work.’ He was bringing the boat round the harbour wall now and the sunlight had disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived. The water was calmer. ‘Ryan was a bit cocky when he started, but he settled down once he realized I wasn’t going to stand any messing. He wants to make something of himself, and I’m glad of the company.’ He paused as if that was a confession. ‘When I was his age I’d already been working full-time for a year.’

  ‘You never fancied staying on and getting an education?’ Because Vera thought that Kerr was more intelligent than he’d seemed to her at first. Margaret wouldn’t have taken up with a stupid man, even briefly.

  ‘Never got the chance.’ Even now this obviously rankled. ‘My Dad needed cheap labour in the family business.’

  Vera turned back to face him. ‘Just like mine.’ They grinned.

  With an easy move he had the boat next to the ladder in the wall. It occurred to her that he’d done this so many times that he’d manage it with pinpoint accuracy even with his eyes closed.

  ‘Your friend the professor said you were back in Mardle by three o’clock the afternoon Margaret died,’ Vera said. She took off the life jacket, but stayed sitting. ‘Where did you go when you got in from the water?’

  ‘The Prof.’s wrong about the time. You know what these academics are like. Not fit to be let out in the real world. It was later than that. Nearly dark.’ He took her hand to help her to her feet and then leaned across her to grab one of the rails to hold the boat steady. She hoisted herself onto the ladder, aware of how close to him she was. When she got to the top and looked back, he had the engine running and the boat on its way back to its mooring. He waved at her and she waved back.

  As she walked along the wall to Harbour Street, the pavement felt uneven under her feet. Even after such a short trip she could still feel the motion of the boat. The smell of frying fish in the chip shop almost tempted her inside, but she carried on past. She phoned Holly.

  ‘Did you get hold of a social worker to check up on Dee Robson?’

  ‘I spoke to social services. Her key worker’s a guy called Jim Morris.’

  ‘And?’ Sometimes, Holly Clarke, you really wind me up.

  ‘There’s absolutely no chance that anyone will get round to see her before Christmas. And there’ll just be a skeleton staff on over the holidays. Emergencies only.’

  Vera switched off the phone without answering. For a fleeting moment she considered inviting Dee home with her for Christmas. Her neighbours, Joanna and Jack, wouldn’t judge the woman. They’d all sit round the table in the farmhouse, drinking too much and eating Joanna’s fabulous food, and if Dee flirted with Jack they’d just laugh. But Vera knew that it wouldn’t do to have a suspect in a murder inquiry as a temporary lodger. She grinned as she imagined Joe Ashworth’s outrage if she suggested it.

  She phoned Holly again. ‘Have you got the number of that hostel, the Haven?’ Holly, as efficient as ever, found it within seconds. Vera had to keep her talking while she got into her car and found a pen. ‘Just repeat that number again, Hol, would you?’

  Her call was answered by someone with a motherly voice and a Scottish accent. Vera explained who she was.

  ‘Inspector, how can I help?’

  Vera explained that she was anxious about Dee Robson. ‘She’s an important witness. She’s spent quite a lot of time with Margaret Krukowski recently. She has a very chaotic lifestyle and, without Margaret’s supervision, I’m frightened that she’ll just disappear.’

  There was silence on the other end of the phone.

  ‘I wondered if you might put her up at the Haven, just over the holidays. So we know where to find her, if we need to interview her again.’ Vera could tell she was wheedling and hated it. She’d never been good at asking for favours.

  ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, we’ve just taken another emergency resident. I’m afraid that we have no vacancies.’ The phone went dead.

  Out in the street, Vera looked briefly into the Coble, thinking that Dee might be there. It was still early and almost empty. In the bar a couple of elderly men played dominoes. There was no sign of the woman, and Vera knew better than to look in the lounge. That wasn’t Dee’s territory. On impulse she went into the fish shop and bought two haddock and chips to take away. Even wrapped in paper and in a carrier bag, the smell walked with her down the alley between the church and the Metro line.

  She walked quickly up the concrete stairs of the flats, feeling the strain on her legs from when she’d climbed the ladder at the harbour. Eh, Vera, pet, you’d best catch this killer quickly or there’s a danger that you’ll get fit. She knocked at Dee’s door, but didn’t expect an immediate response. When they’d turned up there before, the woman had checked who was on the doorstep before letting them in. There could be a man from the council in the corridor wanting his rent, or some irate wife. Dee had at least some notion of self-preservation.

  But the door opened when Vera hit it. She stayed where she was and shouted in. ‘Are you there, Dee? It’s Vera Stanhope. I’ve brought fish and chips.’

  Still no reply. Vera set the carrier bag on the floor in the corridor outside and went in, noticing again the stain of damp on the wall by the door. The living room was empty. The empty paper bag that had held the cakes she’d brought as a previous peace offering still lay ripped on the table.

  ‘Dee, are you there?’

  The bedroom door was shut and Vera listened before going in. Not through embarrassment, but because she wanted to know what to expect before she burst in on Dee Robson at work. Silence. Vera opened the door. In the bedroom Dee lay on the mattress staring at Vera. She was dressed for work: short skirt and white lacy top, shiny white plastic shoes. Glitter blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick slightly smudged. There was a kitchen knife in the side of her neck. It was the knife with which Vera had cut the custard slice the day before.

  Blood had pooled under her head and her neck, a dark background to the very pale skin. Her skin was icy blue, except where her bare legs touched the mattress, and there it was dark, almost purple. The flesh looked like plastic. Vera was reminded of a big blow-up doll. The woman had probably died not long after she and Joe had visited the previous day.

  Vera went to the hall to make the phone call. She smelled the fish and chips and was almost sick.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kate was waiting for George Enderby to arrive. She wanted to book him in quickly because Stuart would be here soon. She was already excited, listening for the sound of Stuart’s key in the door. They had plans. The Metro into Newcastle for an afternoon of culture – a new exhibition at the Baltic on the river and a stroll round the Laing Art Gallery. Then dinner. Stuart had a mate from the Ramblers’ Association who’d opened a restaurant near the cathedral. ‘Nothing pretentious,’ Stuart had said. ‘But decent enough, and he could do with the support. You know.’ Stuart didn’t have many mates, but he was loyal to them. She liked that. She thought he’d be loyal to her.

  And afterwards they had tickets for a concert in the small hall of the Sage. A Danish poet and a musician from the Faroes. ‘It’ll probably be awful,’ Stuart had said, ‘but if we don’t go we might miss something important.’ He was full of surprises. She’d never have thought he would go for something so experimental. It seemed to Kate that her world had shrunk with her marriage to Robbie and it was as if she was being given a second chance to explore it. They’d get the last Metro home and Stuart would stay over. She was daydreaming about that too. Since Rob had died all she’d had were daydreams; now there
was flesh and skin, touch and taste. Some days it seemed that thoughts about sex swamped her brain, leaving room for nothing else. Maybe that was why she’d become such a crap parent and why she felt so little grief at Margaret’s murder. Had her infatuation for Stuart left her heartless and cold?

  In the past there would have been no problem about leaving the guest house. Kate would have asked Margaret to let George in and show him to his room. Margaret would have made his tea and left it in the lounge, just as he liked it. She’d have kept an eye out for the kids too. Today Ryan was out and probably wouldn’t get back before Kate and Stuart. She never knew where he was. Sometimes he just wandered around the neighbourhood, marking the boundaries of his world. Even as a small child, if anything had upset him he’d walk miles, backwards and forwards from Margaret’s flat at the top of the house to the basement. Chloe was at the kitchen table, her nose to the laptop and the pile of books higher than ever. But she had her phone on the table next to her and Kate saw her attention stray to it occasionally, as if she was willing it to ring. She knew what that was like.

  ‘It’s the start of the holidays,’ Kate had said, trying to keep her voice light. Stuart never said anything, but she could tell that he thought she nagged the kids too much: Chloe for working too hard and Ryan for not doing enough. ‘Give yourself a break!’

  But there was some competition apparently, run by a national science magazine, and Chloe thought it would look good on her CV if she won. So that was her project for the holiday. When she had a project she thought of nothing else. Except, apparently, the call she was waiting for, as her eyes moved again to her phone. They looked dark and bruised and Kate thought she’d been up all night brooding. About the project or about some lad? Kate wasn’t sure which would worry her most.

  The doorbell rang and George Enderby was standing there with his wheelie suitcase full of books.

  ‘Me again. The proverbial bad penny.’ He gave her a hug and kissed both cheeks as he always did. Then he stood back to look at her. ‘You’re looking very smart. Going anywhere nice?’ She blushed and, though there was no hint of reproof in his words, she felt guilty. Should she be going out enjoying herself when Margaret was so recently dead?