Karen’s voice has become almost hysterical. She reaches for her cigarette packet. Pete puts his arm round his wife.
‘It’s hard,’ he says, addressing Judy and Clough. ‘It’s hard being asked to remember all the time.’
‘I hate to ask,’ says Judy, ‘but do you have any idea who could have killed John Mostyn?’
‘No,’ says Karen. ‘I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m sorry about everything.’ She’s crying now.
‘Could it have been a burglar?’ says Pete. ‘There have been a lot of burglaries on the estate recently.’
But, as far as they could see, nothing had been taken from the house on Allenby Avenue. And no burglar, disturbed mid-crime, would have killed with a single shot and then taken the body to an industrial estate on the other side of town. Much as Judy disapproves of the word, this was an execution.
*
Michelle is sitting on a comfortable sofa, George on her lap. She is watching Star carefully adding what looks like a large thistle to a collection of leaves steaming in a teapot.
‘What’s that?’ she says.
‘Blessed thistle,’ says Star. ‘It’s very good for increasing your milk supply. You are breastfeeding, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ says Michelle.
‘Fenugreek too,’ says Star. ‘And fennel and goat’s rue. I’ve got so much milk that I could be a wet nurse, Mum says. I’m expressing too. What about you?’
‘I hate expressing.’ Michelle is not that keen on breastfeeding, to be honest, but she did it with the girls so she is determined to give George the same start. She’ll stop after ten weeks though. She doesn’t say this to Star because she’s so obviously revelling in the whole experience of motherhood.
They’d exchanged mobile numbers yesterday but Michelle had been surprised to receive a text from Star suggesting that they meet for a ‘cup of tea and a chat’ at her house. ‘It’ll be much nicer than that baby group.’ Michelle had been even more surprised when she turned up at the address to discover that it was a large modern house on the Ferry Road.
‘It’s my mum and dad’s place,’ said Star, opening the door with her baby, Ava, on her shoulder.
Michelle approves of the sitting room. It’s rather like hers, neat and comfortable with a fitted carpet, three-piece suite and an array of cushions balanced on their tips. Children’s toys are spread out on a patchwork quilt and sunlight streams in from large picture windows. Star says that she prefers wooden floors and ‘things that are jumbled up a bit.’ But she says that she knows she is lucky to be living with her parents. She’s twenty-one – younger than Michelle’s daughters – and a single mother. ‘But Ava wasn’t a mistake,’ she says, passing Michelle a mug of aromatic tea. ‘I wanted a baby but Ryan, her father, wasn’t quite mature enough to be a dad.’
Michelle had married young; she was only twenty-one when she met Harry, twenty-four when they married. But she can’t imagine going it alone and conceiving a baby with a manchild who isn’t mature enough to be a father. Harry has always seemed grown-up, he was already in the police when they met and seemed able to cope with anything. She’d thought of herself as sensible too but she doesn’t think she ever had Star’s poise, her sweet seriousness that makes her almost seem the older one in the friendship. And they are already friends, Michelle realises with a slight shock, after two meetings.
Michelle puts George down on the quilt and sips her tea. It’s almost tasteless and smells of grass cuttings. It’s comfortingly hot though and there are home-made biscuits on the tray. Star tells her about her meditation classes and they watch the babies lying on their backs making underwater starfish movements as they gaze up at the little glass stars hanging from the ceiling.
‘I put those there,’ says Star. ‘I think it’s good to look up at the stars.’
‘Are your parents at work?’ asks Michelle.
‘Dad is. He’s a teacher. Mum’s gone over to Grandma’s. She lives nearby. Mum’s taken some time off work to help me look after Ava.’
‘That must be nice,’ says Michelle. She is looking forward to her mother coming down next week. Even at her age, there’s something about having your mother around that makes you feel safe.
‘It is nice,’ says Star. ‘Grandma’s been lovely too. She and Granddad even say they’ll look after Ava when I go back to work.’
‘What do you do?’ asks Michelle. It’s not that Star doesn’t seem capable, it’s just that Michelle can’t imagine her doing an ordinary, prosaic job. She’s too ethereal and otherworldly.
‘I’m a qualified aromatherapist,’ says Star. ‘I want to set up my own business. I’d like to teach meditation too. I’ve been going to these fantastic evening classes. They’re really inspiring.’
‘I went back to work when my girls started secondary school,’ says Michelle. ‘I’m a hairdresser. If I’d stayed near my mum I might have gone back sooner. I didn’t really want to leave the girls with anyone who wasn’t family.’
‘I know what you mean,’ says Star. ‘I read somewhere that it takes a whole family to raise a child. Mind you, Mum can be a bit . . .’ She pauses, looking up at the twinkling stars as if trying to think of the right word. ‘A bit domineering,’ she says at last. ‘Of course she’s had a difficult time in the past. Losing her sister like that, I mean. I think she had a complete breakdown when she was still in her teens. It’s made her very protective of me. I know that. I make allowances.’
She sounds like a mother talking about a teenage child. Would Michelle’s daughters be as understanding about her? she wonders. If they knew about Tim, for example.
‘Of course,’ Star is saying, ‘Mum’s a paediatric nurse. She knows all about babies and childcare but Ava’s my baby.’
Ava is a fairy child with a tiny heart-shaped face and Star’s silver-blonde hair. Next to her George looks big and almost rudely healthy, although Ava is actually a day older.
‘That’s so nice,’ says Star. ‘Like twins. Friends for life.’
‘They can grow up and get married,’ says Michelle.
‘We don’t know what their paths will be,’ says Star, sounding like Cathbad. ‘Marriage isn’t for everyone.’
A sound in the hallway makes Star look up. She picks up Ava, although the child is still happily gazing at the ceiling. A large woman in a red coat comes into the room, bringing a chill of outdoor air.
‘Have you heard?’ she is saying. ‘Mostyn’s been killed . . .’
She stops when she sees Michelle.
‘This is my friend Michelle, Mum,’ says Star. ‘And this is George.’
‘Michelle?’ says the woman, clearly expecting something more.
‘Michelle Nelson,’ says Michelle.
‘DCI Nelson’s wife?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Mum . . .’ says Star, on a warning note.
‘My name’s Annie,’ says the woman. ‘I’m Margaret Lacey’s sister.’
It is some moments before Michelle realises the significance of the name.
*
Ruth is glad to dive into the comforting world of the university. She had dropped Kate off at school with some relief. Kate had asked if the man in the window was Frank. Ruth said yes, he had called in last night after Kate was in bed. This much was true at least and, for the present, lost in thoughts of dodgeball, Kate had seemed content to let the matter rest. Ruth arrived at UNN in good time for her lecture on The Archaeology of Disease which was greeted with the usual mix of enthusiasm and bafflement by her audience. Now she is in her office preparing for her seminar on Osteology. She has pinned a diagram of a skeleton on her cork board because, in her experience, students often get the radius and the ulna confused.
She almost ignores her phone when it buzzes but there’s always the thought that it could be Kate’s school (a fall, a sudden temperature, a freak playground accident) or Nelson. But the display says ‘Roz’, Ruth’s forensics contact. She presses ‘answer’.
‘Hi, Ruth. Thought you’
d like to know, we’ve got some interesting stuff back on your bones.’
She means Margaret Lacey.
‘Oh yes,’ says Ruth.
‘We’ve found some pollen and vegetable matter.’
‘That’s great news,’ says Ruth.
‘Yes, and some of it looks very specific. If you carry out a botanical morphological survey it could go some way to establishing the original burial site.’
‘That’s a big help,’ says Ruth. ‘Can you send me a list of the flora and fauna?’
‘I’m emailing it now.’
She wonders whether to ring Nelson but she’s still rather embarrassed about last night, as if Nelson will be able to tell, even over the phone, how the evening ended. In the end she calls Judy.
‘That’s great,’ says Judy, sounding slightly distracted all the same. ‘Will this pollen and stuff help us find the exact place where Margaret was first buried?’
‘Roz did say it was specific,’ says Ruth. ‘So I hope we should be able to narrow it down a lot.’
There’s a short silence. Ruth wonders if Judy’s driving. Then Judy says, ‘Have you heard the latest development?’
‘No,’ says Ruth. ‘What?’
‘John Mostyn, our prime suspect, has been found dead. Shot. This is confidential for now, by the way.’
‘Understood.’ There’s no one Ruth could tell anyway. Kate? Flint? Her thoughts veer towards Frank and away again.
‘I’d better go,’ says Judy. ‘I’m on my way to do some interviews. Can you come in tomorrow to talk about the pollen and the other results? About ten?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Ruth looks at her timetable. She’ll have to miss a department meeting but it will be worth it. ‘See you then.’ She can hear her students scuffling outside the door. She sighs and gets up to let them in.
*
‘Good old Ruth,’ says Clough. They have been listening on hands-free because Judy is driving.
‘Yes,’ says Judy. ‘If we can find out where Margaret was originally buried, that’ll be a great help.’
‘I still think Mostyn was the most likely person to have killed her,’ says Clough. ‘That’s why he was killed. It was a revenge killing.’
‘This isn’t The Godfather,’ says Judy. Clough is obsessed with the Godfather films and can quote them at length. In order to stop him doing so she says, ‘Shall we see Annie next? Then I can go on to interview Kim Jennings’ parents, if you’ve got other things to do.’
‘OK,’ says Clough, who is looking at something on his phone, probably a message from Cassie full of heart emojis and kisses. He’s silent for a minute, scrolling, then he says, ‘Why did you say that thing about seahorses, when we were talking to Karen and Pete?’
‘It was something Kim said,’ says Judy, taking the turning where the Campbell’s Soup Tower used to stand. ‘I asked her if there was anything random that she remembered from the day Margaret vanished. She said “seahorses”.’
‘Is that one of your cognitive interview things?’
‘Don’t knock it,’ says Judy. ‘I’ve got results that way before.’ But Clough is looking at photos of his beloved dog Dexter and doesn’t respond.
Chapter 18
At Annie’s house, Judy is surprised to find Michelle loading a baby seat into her car. She is watched by a blonde girl holding a baby and by Annie herself, who has her arms folded and is looking rather critical of Michelle’s baby-wrangling skills.
‘Oh, hi, Judy.’ Michelle has succeeded in installing George in the back seat and looks up, pushing her hair back with one hand. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ says Judy. Clough is making faces at George through the window.
‘I’m friends with Star,’ says Michelle, with a trace of something that sounds like defiance. ‘We met at a mother and baby group.’
Judy had loathed mother and baby groups, the fake camaraderie, the subtle put-downs (‘Oh, I remember Jordan doing that months ago’). It’s another reason not to have another baby.
‘Star?’ she queries.
Michelle points to the blonde girl, which turns into a wave. This must be Annie’s daughter. Judy remembers Karen saying that Annie had just become a grandmother. But Star looks young enough to be Michelle’s daughter, younger than her daughters, in fact. Judy is quite impressed by this inter-generational friendship.
‘I won’t keep you,’ she says. ‘Bye, Michelle. Bye, George. Stop that, Cloughie, you’ll give him nightmares.’
‘He likes it,’ says Clough, straightening up. ‘He’s a little cracker, Michelle.’
Michelle gives him a genuinely warm smile and a modified version for Judy. She says goodbye and drives away. Annie greets them as they walk up the drive. ‘I know why you’ve come. It’s about John Mostyn. I’ve just come from Mum’s.’
That was quick, thinks Judy. Mind you, they would have been there sooner if Clough hadn’t insisted on stopping for chips.
‘I’m going to put Ava down,’ says Star. ‘She’s almost asleep.’
‘Have you winded her?’ says Annie.
‘Yes,’ says Star, with what sounds like elaborate patience. She smiles at Judy and Clough and retreats into the house. Annie ushers them into a modern kitchen, all gleaming surfaces and concealed gadgets. They sit at the breakfast bar, where the stools are just a little too high for Judy. She hates having swinging legs like a toddler. Clough grins at her but doesn’t say anything.
Annie makes coffee with a certain amount of cup crashing but it’s delicious and she gives them biscuits too.
‘So Mostyn is dead,’ she says. ‘God rest his soul.’
This isn’t said in a very religious tone, more in the way that Judy’s Irish father tags the phrase onto reminiscences about unloved relatives, but it’s interesting for all that. It seems that Annie, too, thinks that John Mostyn was innocent.
‘Oh, he was just a simple creature,’ she says. ‘Going round showing us stuff that he’d found on the beach. I never thought that he’d taken Margaret. Even Dad didn’t think that and he suspected everyone at some point.’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes.’ Annie frowns into her coffee mug for a moment. ‘The whole thing sent him a bit nutty for a while. Well, it did all of us.’
‘John Mostyn’s death is confidential for now,’ says Judy, ‘but it will come out in the press and, of course, people will make the connection with Margaret. We just wanted you to be prepared.’
‘Oh, we’re used to it,’ says Annie. ‘The things the papers used to make up about Dad, about all of us. Even Luke. Implying that he might have . . . Margaret was his little sister, for heaven’s sake.’
Judy has read the press cuttings and, whilst there are several veiled hints about Bob Lacey, she can’t remember ever reading anything about Luke. But there must have been rumours, she’s sure. She remembers Nelson’s comment about him being ‘old enough’.
‘Can you think of anyone who did think that Mostyn killed Margaret?’ asks Clough. ‘Anyone who might have felt strongly enough to kill him?’
‘A lot of people suspected him at the time,’ says Annie. ‘They used to shout things at him in the street, throw stuff at his house. I remember his mother, she was in a wheelchair, attacking these kids with an umbrella when they said something about John.’
Judy remembers Mostyn’s frightened whisper. People will see and they’ll think I did it. They’ll throw things. She feels guilty all over again. Did they fail John Mostyn? Is this their fault?
‘Can you think of anyone who felt particularly strongly?’ says Clough. ‘Maybe someone who could have got worked up by the recent publicity?’
Annie stares at them. She doesn’t resemble her mother, or Margaret (although Star does), but suddenly there’s an expression that reminds Judy of one of the pictures on Karen’s wall. Margaret in flared jeans, sitting on a wall and looking straight at the camera.
‘Everyone felt strongly at the time,’ she says, �
�but then people forgot because that’s what they do. Everyone forgets.’
‘Do you mind telling us your recollections of the day that Margaret went missing?’ says Judy. ‘We’re reopening the case and we’re doing everything we can to find her killer. We hope that her remains will give us some forensic evidence but anything that you can remember will help as well. Even if it didn’t seem significant at the time.’
Annie gives them the stare again and, for a moment, Judy thinks she’s about to refuse. But then she sighs and says, ‘It was such a lovely sunny day. Everyone was happy. I helped Mum lay out the food for the party. Luke had disappeared off with his friends playing football. That’s how it was in the eighties. Girls were still expected to help around the house and the boys got out of everything. I made sure that all my children learned to cook and clean, Matt as well as Sienna and Star.’ She pauses, and Judy is afraid that she’s going to go off on a tangent about modern parenting but, after an eloquent eye-roll, Annie drinks some coffee and continues. ‘Margaret was there with her friend, Kim. They helped a bit but they were too busy being silly and messing around. When Luke came back, Kim got very giggly. She had a crush on him, I think. I can’t remember when Margaret left the party. I was with some friends, we were singing, and someone had got hold of some beer. There was a boy I liked too, Jimmy Preston. I remember sitting on his knee for a bit. The first thing I knew was when Mum came over and asked if I’d seen Margaret. I said I hadn’t. Kim wasn’t there either – she’d gone home but I didn’t know that – and I thought they might be at our house. I went home but there was nobody there. I started to worry then. Mum came back and rang Kim’s parents but they hadn’t seen her. Mum went to get Luke and Dad. I stayed home in case Margaret came back. It was strange, it was still broad daylight and kids went wandering off all the time then but even so I think I knew that something bad had happened. I remember sitting there in our kitchen and shivering, though it was a hot day. I think that, even then, I knew I wouldn’t see her again.’
The Stone Circle: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 11 Page 12