by Val McDermid
‘What?’ Allan said. ‘Are you out of your minds?’
Judy followed Jane and clutched her hand. ‘There must be some mistake.’
The woman pushed past Allan and began to climb the stairs. ‘Please step away, Mrs Gresham.’ When she reached Jane and Judy, she said, ‘If you’d like to get dressed, Dr Gresham, I’ll have to accompany you.’
‘This is an outrage,’ Judy wailed. ‘How dare you march into my home and arrest my daughter?’
‘Please, Mrs Gresham. We have a job to do. I’d advise you not to make it any more difficult.’ The woman kept coming, forcing Judy back and to one side without actually touching her. She took Jane’s arm in hers, not ungently, and led her upstairs. ‘Which is your room?’
Jane recovered the power of speech enough to say, ‘That one.’ She shook her arm free and walked in, leaving the door ajar for the police officer to follow her. Under cover of her dressing gown, she stripped off her pyjamas and dressed in jeans and a shirt. ‘You’re making a terrible mistake,’ she said as she followed the policewoman downstairs. Her mother was huddled into her father’s protective arm, tears spilling down her cheeks. ‘It’ll be all right,’ Jane said, feeling useless. ‘This is a cock-up,’ she added.
‘What can we do?’ her father asked anxiously.
‘Try not to worry. I’ll be home soon.’ As she passed her mother, Judy reached out to clasp her hand briefly.
‘I hope you’re bloody pleased with yourselves,’ Jane said bitterly as she was escorted out of her own front door to the waiting police car. ‘Are you trying to make a point here? Or is it one of the perks of the job, terrorising innocent people in their own homes?’
‘Shut it,’ the male officer said as he pushed her head down to avoid her hitting the door frame of the car. ‘You’ll get your chance to sound off when we get you to Keswick.’
The journey was long enough for anger to be subsumed by fear. What did conspiracy to burgle mean? It had to be something to do with Tenille, but what exactly? Jane cursed her failure to tell Tenille about the attack on her. She’d thought she was protecting her, but telling her might have had the salutary effect of keeping her from wandering around on her own after dark. What had she done now? And how was it tied into Jane? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Tenille telling a cop that Jane had known what she was up to. It had to be a trumped-up charge.
By the time she was ushered into an interview room, Jane was battling fear with self-righteousness. As soon as Rigston walked in, before he even had the chance to greet her, she was on the attack. ‘How dare you send your storm troopers to my parents’ home in the middle of the night,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe whatever you have to say to me wouldn’t wait till a more reasonable hour.’
‘You’re under arrest, Dr Gresham,’ Rigston said sarcastically. ‘We don’t arrest people at their convenience, we do it at ours. Now, whatever you’ve got to say, save it for the tape.’ He set the tapes running and sat down opposite her.
‘I want a phone call. I’m entitled to a phone call,’ she said.
‘Why don’t we have a little chat first?’
‘I’ve nothing to say to you.’
‘No? We’ve got your friend Tenille just down the hallway. Caught her red-handed in the middle of a burglary. She was coming out of Jenny Wright’s cottage. The next person on your list, unless I’m mistaken.’
Jane’s eyes widened. Where had he got that information from? Then she remembered showing the family tree with its list to River. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
‘Nothing to say? OK. Let’s keep going. We’ve conducted post mortems on all four of the recent deaths in Edith Clewlow’s extended family and we have reason to believe there may be suspicious circumstances.’
Jane gave him a fierce look but said nothing.
‘We’ve also examined the premises where those people were found dead. Care to guess whose fingerprints turned up at all of them?’ He paused. ‘No? Your pal Tenille again. The same little pal who is already wanted for questioning about another murder. Starting to see a pattern here? The thing is, the only connection between a black London teenager and four elderly corpses in Cumbria is you, Dr Gresham. I can’t help thinking that you’re the one who put Tenille up to her nocturnal wanderings. Wanderings that have left four people dead.’
Jane’s eyes were squeezed shut. This was a nightmare and she wanted to wake up from it. She dug her nails into her palms, but all that happened was pain. ‘I want to make a phone call,’ she said again.
‘All in good time. You know what the irony is? The one night Tenille gets herself caught just happens to be the night she found what you were looking for.’
Jane’s eyes snapped open. ‘What?’
Rigston opened the folder he’d brought into the room with him. He took out a transparent plastic sleeve that held a small sheet of writing paper and pushed it towards her. Jane was transfixed as she read the familiar hand. That night, I lay awake considering the import of Bligh’s words. It was clear to me that if I did not endure his iniquitous and unwarranted treatment, I would be forced to suffer a different sort of torture…
Ever since she’d found the first clue, she had refused to allow herself to believe in it completely. She had tried to treat it like a research project, not some romantic quest. Now at last she could let down the barriers and feel. The depth of her emotions surprised her. She was moved almost to tears by this simple piece of paper. She ran a finger over the letters, tracing the movements of Wordsworth’s pen. The heretical thought came to her that she could understand someone killing to possess this.
And with that thought came guilt and remorse. Her search had opened floodgates whose existence she hadn’t even suspected. And now four people were dead.
Rigston waited patiently, his eyes never leaving her. When she finally looked up, she could feel the tears in her eyes. ‘I want to make a phone call,’ she said, her voice unsteady.
‘If it’s not you and Tenille, Jane, who is it that cares enough about that piece of paper to want to kill for it? Who else knows the starting point for your search?’ Rigston’s voice was softer now, his body language less threatening.
Even in her daze, she recognised the slide into her first name. He was trying to soften her up. And this was something she could give him at no cost to either herself or Tenille. ‘Most of Edith’s extended family,’ she said. ‘There was a roomful of people there when I spoke to Alice.’
Rigston shook his head. ‘Nice try, but that was after Edith’s death. We need names of people who knew before she was murdered.’
‘My brother phoned Edith on the Saturday morning to ask her if she had any family papers. I’m sure she would have told other members of her family then. They were close. And I bet they’re not going to be admitting it now if she did tell them.’
Rigston pounced on the solid fact. ‘Matthew knew?’
Jane sighed. ‘Yes. As did my colleague Dan Seabourne, Anthony Catto at the Wordsworth Centre, and a document dealer called Jake Hartnell. I’m not sure how much he knows or when he knew it, but he does know something. And that’s about the least likely list of murderers I can think of. There must be someone else, someone a hell of a lot more unscrupulous.’
‘Someone like Tenille?’ Rigston said.
Jane stared down at the sheet of manuscript. She’d dreamed of holding this in her hands. She just hadn’t expected it to be in a police interview room. How had it come to this? She looked up at Rigston. ‘Somebody tried to kill me yesterday and that certainly wasn’t Tenille,’ she said.
Rigston looked sceptical. ‘How convenient. Another drunk driver trying to run you down, was it?’
Jane clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God, it never occurred to me. That must have been his first attempt.’
‘You’re really clutching at straws now,’ he said sarcastically.
‘I’m serious,’ she insisted. ‘I went for a walk up to Langmere Force. I was sitting on the edge of the rock o
utcropping, like I’ve done for years. And someone crept up behind me and hit me over the head. I fell into the waterfall. I was lucky that Derek Thwaite saw me fall. He and his dog got me out. I would have drowned otherwise.’
‘You could have waited till you had a rescuer to hand and thrown yourself off,’ Rigston said, just as she’d predicted.
Jane leaned forward, parting her curls to show the tender lump. ‘I couldn’t have done that to myself, could I?’
‘It’s not impossible,’ Rigston said. ‘You could have smacked your head into a tree or something.’
Jane banged her fist on the table. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’
‘Because you’re not very credible, you and Tenille.’
‘Right. That’s it. I’m not saying another word until I get my phone call.’
‘You’re sure about that?’ Rigston said. ‘Because now’s your chance to get Tenille off the hook of a quadruple murder charge. You stick to your guns and she’s going down. With her background, she’s a good fit. Unless you admit she was doing what she was doing at your instigation, she’s not going to have a leg to stand on. She’ll be carrying the can all by herself.’
For an instant, Jane almost fell for it. Guilt and responsibility almost swamped her good sense. But at the last moment, she stopped herself. ‘I want my phone call,’ she said.
Rigston stood up. ‘Have it your own way. Someone will escort you to the custody desk. You can call from there.’
At length, I felt myself enough recovered to effect my escape proper. I waited for the first night when there was little wind & the sea was calm & then I loaded the jolly-boat with my provisions. I still had little use of my left arm, & dragging the boat to the waters edge was hard going. Once aboard, I had some difficulty in handling the oars. By good fortune, the natives had fashioned paddles for the boats since they found our methods alien to them. I was better able to manage the paddle, & though my progress was painfully slow, by the time dawns first light streaked the horizon, I was well clear of Bounty Bay & able at last to raise my jury-rigged sail. I took a last look at my failed Eden, then resolutely set my back to it & faced the Pacific Ocean, my heart filled with a mixture of relief & terror.
40
It was, Dan thought, like being in a house where someone had died recently. The inhabitants shocked out of the ability to communicate, desperate for something to do but unable to figure out what that might be, the core of the room an absence. Judy and Allan Gresham sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped, mugs of tea untouched and cooling in front of them. Matthew paced restlessly, unable to settle.
‘I don’t understand why she called you,’ Matthew had said when Dan explained he’d come to the farm in response to a phone call from Jane.
‘Because she thought your parents would be too upset to take it in. She didn’t know you were here.’
‘Of course I’m here. Who else would Mum and Dad call?’ Matthew actually grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged at it. ‘So what did she tell you?’
Dan pulled up a chair and sat opposite Judy and Allan, who looked at him with mute fear. ‘It turns out she’s been sheltering Tenille–her friend from London.’
Judy looked puzzled. ‘Why would she do that? And where?’
‘Because she believed in Tenille’s innocence. I’m not sure where she was hiding her. One of the outbuildings, I think.’
‘Bloody madness,’ Matthew muttered, throwing himself into a chair. ‘But I still don’t understand what happened tonight.’
‘The police caught Tenille red-handed in a burglary. And apparently Tenille finally found what we’ve been looking for.’
‘What? Where did she find it?’ Matthew interrupted.
‘Does it matter?’ Dan said, unable to keep a momentary flash of anger from his eyes. ‘Jane didn’t have time to give me any details. What matters is that the police put two and two together and made five. Jane was looking for the manuscript, Tenille burgled the cottage and came out with a page of manuscript, Jane knows Tenille, therefore Jane must have put her up to it.’
Judy shook her head. ‘That can’t be right. Jane wouldn’t do something like that. She wouldn’t.’
‘We all know that,’ Matthew said impatiently. ‘We need to get her a lawyer. We need to get her out of there.’
‘That’s what she asked me to do,’ Dan said.
‘Why you? You don’t know any lawyers up here,’ Matthew said.
‘She asked me to talk to you and your parents,’ Dan said mildly. ‘Matthew, she only called me because she didn’t want to give you guys any more hassle than you’re already having. So, who do we call?’
Matthew threw his hands upwards. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know any criminal lawyers. I’m a teacher, for fuck’s sake.’
‘I can’t bear to think of her locked up,’ Judy whispered. ‘I can’t bear it.’
Allan released Judy’s hand, patted it and pushed his chair back. ‘I’m going to call Peter Muckle.’
‘He does land and contracts, Dad. He doesn’t know anything about crime,’ Matthew said.
‘He’ll know someone who does,’ Allan said stolidly.
‘It’s barely six,’ Judy said weakly. ‘He won’t thank you for it.’
‘I was at school with Peter, he won’t mind.’
Dan watched him shuffle out of the room, diminished by fear and uncertainty. He leaned across the table and put his hand over Judy’s. ‘It’ll be all right, Mrs Gresham,’ he said.
Judy gave him an uncomprehending look. ‘You’ve got no idea, have you, lad? No idea at all.’
Although it was after eight when Rigston called Anthony Catto, he sounded half-asleep. When Rigston introduced himself, there was a momentary silence, then Anthony cleared his throat. ‘Sorry, I had a very late night. I’m not quite with it. You’re with the police in Keswick?’
‘That’s right. I was wondering if you could help me with something.’
‘That sounds rather ominous, Inspector–helping the police with their enquiries.’ Anthony sounded cautious.
‘It’s nothing like that, sir. A piece of manuscript has come into our possession and I wondered if you might cast an eye over it and tell me whether you think it might be authentic’ Rigston rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself. He always became formal to the point of pomposity when he was dealing with people he felt were his educational superiors. It was a miracle it hadn’t scuppered his relationship with River.
‘I’m not a manuscript expert by any means,’ Anthony said hurriedly. ‘My field is a somewhat narrow one.’
‘I appreciate that, but if this is what we think it might be, it’s your field.’
‘I’m intrigued now, Inspector.’ The voice was warmer, the tone more interested. ‘When would you like me to come and take a look at it?’
‘No time like the present, sir. I could send a car for you.’
A short pause. ‘No, that won’t be necessary. It’ll be quicker if I drive myself. I should be with you in, say, forty minutes?’
‘Perfect.’ Rigston replaced the phone. Another brick in the wall. Before he could make another call, the phone rang.
‘Custody suite here,’ the voice said. ‘Neil Terras is here. Says he’s representing Jane Gresham.’
The family weren’t hanging about, Rigston thought, trying not to feel pissed off at this exercise of Jane Gresham’s rights. He was probably screwed now as far as getting anything out of her. Terras was the shrewdest operator of the criminal law for miles around. He was surprised the Greshams knew that. ‘You’d better let him see her, then,’ he said.
‘He’s asking for disclosure,’ the custody sergeant said.
‘I’ll be right down.’
Half an hour later, Rigston felt like he’d been gutted and filleted and stitched up like a kipper. Terras’s forensic questioning had left him without a leg to stand on. ‘It’s all suspicion,’ Terras had said. ‘I wouldn’t even grace it with the term “circumstantial”. You’ve got nothing aga
inst my client whatsoever. I’m going to talk to her now, and when I come out of there, I expect you to be ready to let her go.’
Rigston knew his case against Jane Gresham was weak, but he had been hoping her unfamiliarity with the legal process might have provoked her into revelation. There was no chance of that now. If he bothered to interview her again, he knew she’d be going ‘no comment’ while the ticking clock imposed by PACE ran down. Best to put off the interview until he had more leverage. It was the end of the game.
He watched Terras go off to commune with his client then turned to the custody sergeant. ‘When he’s done, bail her pending further enquiries.’
He walked back to his office, feeling every minute of the long night in his bones. He was getting too old for this kind of thing. Working through the night was a young man’s game.