Then I remembered. Something about Marjorie that had struck me as odd when I’d first seen her body. Apart from the fact that she was half in, half out of the freezer, of course.
“Her shoes,” I said. “They were covered in mud. When she was in the salon earlier that day, they were so highly polished you could see your face in them. But when we found her, they were caked in mud. So that mud could only have got there that afternoon. That was what she was doing up here, then. She must have started to go along Pendle Drove but couldn’t get through because of the mud. But why? What was she doing there? Had she gone there to meet someone, do you think?”
He shrugged. “She didn’t say. And, if she had, how come she ended up in my freezer?”
I gave up. The whole thing made no sense. “I don’t know,” I said wearily. “It must have been after she left you, mustn’t it? Did she say anything? Anything at all, to give us a clue as to where she was going? Or with whom?”
He shook his head. “Not that I can recall, I’m afraid. But to be honest, she could have said she was off to have tea with Elvis and it wouldn’t have registered, I was that hopping mad with her.”
“Hmm. Not likely. I don’t think she approved of Elvis either,” I said, trying to lessen the tension, if only for a moment.
His brief smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve made a terrible, terrible mess of things, haven’t I?” he sighed. “It wasn’t until I saw Will, when he came to collect me from the police station, that I realised how selfish I’ve been and how much I’ve let fall on his shoulders. I vowed there and then that if I get out of this mess without going to prison, I’ll work my socks off to make things right again between us. I can hardly look the lad in the face, and that’s the truth.”
“And have you told him that?” I asked gently.
“No. But I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He reached out and took my hand in his large, work-worn one. “Thank you for believing in me, Katie.”
I blinked back a tear. “That’s what friends are for,” I said gruffly.
“Yes. Yes.” His eyes, I was glad to see, looked a little less bleak, as if talking had lightened some of the heavy black cloud that was weighing him down. “You’re a good girl. Sally always said you were one of the best, and she was a good judge of people, was my Sally. I’m so glad you and Will have made it up.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, you know what we’re like. Fighting like cat and dog one minute, best mates the next. Always have been.”
“Do you know, Sally always hoped that you and Will might make a go of it one day?”
“A go of it? What? You mean…” I swallowed hard and felt my cheeks burn as I suddenly realised what he was getting at. Jeez. I hadn’t seen that one coming. He’d got it all wrong about Will and me. “There’s nothing like that between us, you know,” I said quickly. “Nothing at all. We’re just mates, that’s all.”
“There’s not? Then I’m sorry to hear it,” he murmured. “Sorry, too, if I embarrassed you. You see, girl? It’s not always good to talk, is it? There are some things that are better left unsaid.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
I flashed him a quick, awkward smile as I stood up to go. He came out into the yard with me and pointed at the back of the car. “Looks like your mum’s been in the wars.”
“Worse,” I said. “It was me. Had a disagreement with a gate.”
He bent down, looked closely at the dented boot lid and shook his head. “That’s a bad one, that is. What did your mum say?”
“She doesn’t know yet,” I said grimly. “I’m on my way to tell her now. She’s going to go mad.”
He shook his head. “Can’t help you this time, Katie,” he said as he straightened up. “Looks a bit more serious than when you buckled your front fork riding your bike into the pond.”
I flashed him a smile and started the engine. “No? That’s a pity. Guess I’ll just have to go home and face the music.”
I was impatient to be gone. Will could well be back any minute and I wanted to be well out of the way before he did. After John’s comments about me and Will ‘making a go of it’ as he’d put it, facing Mum with her crumpled car suddenly seemed the less awkward option.
As I passed the pub on my way home, I was surprised to see Gerald’s car tucked away in the far corner of the pub car park. And, parked next to it, a battered old pickup. I slowed down to get a good look and recognised the burly figure of Shane Freeman in the driver’s seat. He had the window wound down and was smoking a cigarette, at the same time drumming the fingers of his other hand on the steering wheel, like he was getting fed up with waiting.
But who was he waiting for? Gerald, maybe? I remembered seeing the pair of them hanging around by the village pond the other evening on my way home from work, although Gerald had disappeared as I approached. But where was Gerald now? And what were the pair of them up to?
There were two ways in to the Winchmoor Arms. The door that led in off the High Street opened into the Lounge Bar, while the one in the car park, to the side of the building, opened into the public bar. I checked my watch. It was almost 4 o’clock. Way past Donald’s normal closing time. And the public bar door, like the one in the front, was firmly shut. If I hadn’t known otherwise, I’d have assumed Gerald had had a heavy lunchtime session and had decided to leave his car and walk home.
So, was Donald having a lock in? It wouldn’t be the first time. But on a Sunday afternoon? Hardly likely. The pub didn’t open on Sunday evenings and Donald was well known for favouring those few quiet hours to take the opportunity to catch up on the complete week’s Countdown.
I stopped the car to get a closer look and, as I did so, the public bar door opened and Gerald came out. As he started across the car park towards his car, Shane Freeman climbed out of the pickup, ground out his cigarette with the heel of his boot and began to amble across towards him. As he did so, Gerald saw me and stopped as abruptly as if he’d just walked into a door. He motioned Shane to stay where he was, hurried across to where I was parked and wrenched open the car door.
I gave a startled yelp as he thrust his angry face into the car. It was so close to mine I could see the tracery of thread veins across his nose. Smell the sourness of whisky on his breath. I shrank back but my head connected with the headrest and I could go no further.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he roared. His angry voice reverberated around the tiny interior and made my ears ring. “Are you following me?”
“Of course not. Why would you think that? I’m on my way home. I’d just stopped to take a phone call and—”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” he snarled. “You were up in Compton Wood earlier. Don’t try to deny it, you stupid girl. I saw you. Let’s face it, this ridiculous car is hard to miss. I wondered what your mother was doing up there on a Sunday afternoon. But of course it wasn’t her. It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I – I was trying to find my dog.” As excuses went, it was a pretty lame one. But the best I could come up with in the circumstances.
“You don’t have a dog.” His voice went up several decibels and I began to fear for my ear drums. And, from the redness of his face, for his blood pressure.
“I – no. Did I say my dog? I meant Elsie Flintlock’s little dog. Prescott. You know how he’s always running off. I – I’ve just taken him home. Elsie was ever so grateful. Well, I must be off. Mum will be wondering where I am.”
“Good idea. Oh, and Katie,” I felt the headrest creak as I shrank back against it as he leaned in still further. Another inch and he’d have been on my lap. “Keep your sticky little beak out of things that don’t concern you. Ok?”
As he did so, something within me snapped. I stopped cowering back, sat up straight and faced him. I’ve never had much time for bullies. I’d learnt, the hard way, when I was eleven and Will was off school with tonsillitis, and so unable to defend me like he usually did, that the best way to deal
with bullies was to stand up to them.
Ok, so I got a bruise on the top of my arm the size and colour of a Victoria plum for my pains, but the bully had an even bigger one on his cheekbone and his eye swelled up so much, it closed completely. And I got detention for fighting on the school bus. But it had been worth it, even if I did have sore knuckles for a week, and Will said I was all sorts of a fool for mouthing off to the hardest kid in the school. But the bullies never bothered me again.
And they weren’t going to start now. I held up my phone and took Gerald’s picture. He jerked back as if stung and I clicked again. It wasn’t his best look, that was for sure, and I could understand he wasn’t happy about it. But I felt his language, and some of the names he called me, were wholly inappropriate considering we were within shouting distance of the church. And it was Sunday afternoon.
“And there are more pictures where that one comes from, Councillor Crabshaw,” I cut in crisply, when it looked as if he was never going to run out of swear words. “Of you and a certain lady. With a lovely shot of Compton Wood in the background. Now what was her name? It’ll come to me in a moment. By the way, does Mrs Crabshaw know where you were earlier this afternoon? What did you tell her? That you were out for an afternoon of bird watching?”
The way he clenched his fists, I could see another punch to the forearm heading my way. So I quickly closed the door, started the engine and drove off. I was glad he couldn’t see how much I was shaking, although maybe he could have worked it out from the way Mum’s little car jerked its way down the High Street in a series of bunny hops a kangaroo would have been proud of, never mind a rabbit.
As I turned into our road, I looked back and in my rear view mirror I could see Gerald’s face, scarlet with rage. While Shane Freeman stared after me, his mouth hanging open.
Chapter Sixteen
What was it about this bloody place that people felt they had the right to stick their noses in everyone else’s business all the time? Was there something in the water, he wondered?
This time, they’d gone too far. Well, one of them had, at least.
Did that stupid, stupid girl think he was going to let her spoil everything he’d worked for, schemed for and risked everything for – just so she could run around playing cops and robbers?
It was about time she found out that murder wasn’t a game. And he was just the person to teach her. It would be his pleasure.
“So, she likes to be called Kat, not Katie, does she?” he murmured to himself. “Well, little Miss Call-Me-Kat Latcham. Have I got plans for you. You’re about to find out exactly what curiosity did to your namesake.’
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. Murder was like learning to drive, he reflected. The more you did it, the easier it got.
Chapter Seventeen
The confrontation with Mum, painful though it was, wasn’t the cause of my sleepless night. I crawled out of bed next morning, feeling, and looking, I realised as I peered at my morning face in the bathroom mirror, as if I hadn’t slept a wink. Because every time I drifted off, images of Marjorie, half in, half out of the freezer, complete with woolly grey tights and mud-encrusted shoes, became superimposed on Gerald Crabshaw’s angry face. Sometimes I saw him in the bar, ranting on about Marjorie. Other times it would be when he’d stuck his head in the car yesterday, and accused me of following him. But each time, his snarling message had been the same. The same words. The same fury.
‘Keep your sticky little beak out of my business. Remember what happened to Marjorie. Stupid, stupid girl.’
I would then be jerked back to wakefulness, bathed in sweat, my heart banging against my rib cage like a startled canary. Gerald was Marjorie’s killer. I was sure of it. The thing was, what to do about it? Should I tell Ben, or PC Newton, as I had to remind myself to call him?
“You should eat something,” Mum said. She was still ploughing her way through her frogspawn porridge, which that morning looked more like wallpaper paste and she was, as always, eager to share its benefits with me. I shook my head. Even chocolate biscuits had no appeal.
And yet, sitting there in Mum’s familiar kitchen, my fears, which had seemed so real and frightening in the small hours, started to seem a bit over the top. Or even just plain daft. The truth, I realised, was probably something much more mundane. Yes, Gerald was a nasty piece of work, a total sleaze-bag, in fact. And, as Liam suspected, it was highly likely he was abusing his position as a member of the planning committee to get up to something iffy. It would probably also explain his fling with Doreen Spetchley. The rather plain, grey woman was not his usual type at all, I wouldn’t have thought. But what do I know?
Like all bullies, he was nothing but bluster. Look how he’d pulled back yesterday when I’d stood up to him. I was willing to bet that what had set him off was mentioning I’d seen him with Doreen. Even if I hadn’t named her. He was trying to cover up his affair. Nothing more sinister than that.
Marjorie’s killer had to be a stranger. Some maniac who’d come across her, alone and vulnerable, around Pendle Drove. The poor soul had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Even so, although I decided against telling Ben Newton, I thought it would be a good thing to tell Liam about the threat Gerald had made. I tried his phone several times that morning, but each time got his voice mail and decided against leaving a message, apart from asking him to call me.
Ten minutes later, my phone rang. I snatched it up but was disappointed to see the caller was Jules, not Liam.
“Fancy coming round for coffee?” she asked. “Well, coffee for you. I still can’t face it.”
The truth was, I couldn’t face another lecture from Jules. I glanced around the empty salon. “I’m not sure I can get away,” I said quietly. “Mum would have me scrubbing the floor with a nail brush if she could find one.”
“That bad, eh?”
“Worse. The thing is, you see, I had a little prang in the car yesterday and she’s making me work it off. Another time, eh?”
“For goodness sake, go,” Mum said, coming in behind me. “Get out from under my feet for a bit, or I really will have you scrubbing the floor with a nail brush. You’re looking peaky this morning. It’s a lovely day out there. Go and get some fresh air. Just don’t take my car.”
She was obviously still working on a suitably grim penance for that. Floor scrubbing would probably be the least of it.
“OK, Jules,” I said. “It looks like I’ve just been given some time out for good behaviour. I’ll come round, shall I? Unless you want to come here?”
“You come to me. I’ve got some chocolate digestives I need to share, otherwise I’ll end up as wide as I’m high by the time this baby is born.”
I laughed. “Chocolate digestives? You remember my weakness, then?”
“I remember all your weaknesses, girl,” she said. “But I won’t go on about them, I promise. And I’m really, really sorry about Saturday. I was way out of order. Forgiven?”
The sun might have been shining but a keen wind was blowing as I stepped outside. I shoved my hands in my pockets and made my way towards the small housing development at the far end of the village where Jules and Ed lived. Ten minutes later, I was moving a pair of fairy wings and a glittery plastic tiara from a chair in Jules’s cramped, chaotic kitchen. The fresh air had restored my appetite and I was on my second biscuit when Jules said, “I meant what I said. I’m sorry for letting rip on Saturday. You had every right to tell me to mind my own business. Eddie says living with me at the moment is like living on the edge of an active volcano, just waiting for the next eruption.”
“He said that?” I was impressed. Ed must have paid more attention in geography lessons than I’d given him credit for. “Have you told him about the baby yet?”
Jules nodded. “I had to, didn’t I? Now that Gran and Elsie knew about it. Actually, he was pretty cool about it. More cool than I am to be honest, but then, he’s not the one being sick every single day.”
“The tablets the doctor gave me last week are helping a bit but it’s still not great. But hey, I didn’t ask you round here so I could whinge on about morning sickness. I wanted to say I was sorry. To your face.”
“Which you’ve done, so let’s forget it, eh?” I said quickly, eager to change the subject. I didn’t want her harping back to me and Will again. “Hey, what did you mean in your text when you said something weird happened in the pub at lunch time on Saturday?”
“What did I mean?” Jules frowned as she thought back. “Oh yes. That’s right. It was Creepy Crabshaw. I wanted to ask you what on earth you did to him to freak him out like that. He came in to the pub not long after I did, in a right old state. Ordered a neat double whisky and his hands were shaking that much I thought he was going to spill it. Then he knocked it back like he was dying of thirst. And yet, less than five minutes earlier, when he spoke to us—”
“Overheard us having a spat, more like it.”
“Whatever.” Jules flicked some chocolaty crumbs from her blouse. “But he was his usual pervy self, wasn’t he? So what did you say to him to set him off like that?”
“Me? Nothing much.” I cast my mind back. What was it? It wouldn’t have been about Doreen. That was yesterday. “Well, I had a go at him about getting me the sack, which he denied. Not that I believed him. Then I asked him where he was the afternoon Marjorie was killed. That didn’t go down too well, as you can imagine.”
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