Maureen smiled after Jenny, then it faded like the Cheshire cat’s when she turned back to Annie. “She’s nice, isn’t she?” she said.
“Very,” said Annie. “Do you know why we’re here?”
“No. Should I? Something to do with Laura? The wedding?”
“Sort of.”
“You must think it’s very odd, me being in bed at half-past two in the afternoon.”
“That’s not for me to comment on.”
“But Dr. Graveney says I need plenty of rest after, you know, the trauma of what happened.”
“Of course,” Annie said. “We won’t disturb you for very long.”
Maureen consulted her watch again. “Robert will be home soon,” she said, as if to herself.
Jenny Fuller reappeared with a tray. “We’ll just let it brew a few minutes, shall we?”
Even as she played mother with the tea, Jenny didn’t have a hair out of place, didn’t spill a drop as she passed over the cups and saucers. When she had done, she sat down in her corner again and set her Moleskine on her lap, as if she were signaling Annie to get started.
“The last time I talked to you,” Annie began, “I noticed that you seemed a bit anxious when I mentioned the possibility of something from your past being connected with the shootings.”
“Did I?” said Maureen.
“Yes. Wendy Vincent.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“It would be only natural. Wendy Vincent was your best friend, and something terrible happened to her.”
“How could that possibly have anything to do with what happened to Laura?”
“We don’t know that it does yet, but it’s the kind of coincidence that makes us prick up our ears. Wendy was murdered, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” Maureen whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“Why should you say that?” Annie asked.
Maureen glanced between the two of them. “You know, don’t you? I should have known you’d find out. Who told you?”
“Know what?” Annie said. She was sure the exasperation sounded in her tone.
“It wasn’t in the papers. I never told anyone.”
Annie felt as if she were struggling to land a particularly slippery fish. “What happened, Maureen?” she asked. It was all she could think of to say. “Were you there? Did you see something?”
Maureen clutched her dressing gown at her throat. “See something? Oh no. Nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?”
Annie thought the silence was going to last forever, then Maureen said in a barely audible voice, “I was supposed to meet Wendy at the bus stop after lunch. I’d been to visit my granny in Bradford. We were going to go shopping in town. Clothes and records. We’d arranged to meet in secret because Wendy’s parents didn’t like us being friends.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I suppose I was a bit more grown up than Wendy. I’d matured quickly. Her father tried to kiss me once. He was drunk and sloppy and I slipped out of his grasp easily enough, but he remembered. He never liked me after that. Wendy was fifteen and never been kissed. A bit of Goody Two-shoes, I suppose, and sporty, but she could be a laugh and . . . well, what can I say, we got along really well. We were different, but we were friends. I didn’t lead her astray or anything. I wasn’t really a bad influence.”
“We’re not saying you did, Maureen. Go on. You were supposed to meet on the day she disappeared?”
“That’s right.”
“And you didn’t tell your parents or her parents where you were going?”
“No. Not even after. And not even later when the reporters came talking to all her friends. And Susan Bramble didn’t tell anyone, either.”
“Susan Bramble?”
“Another girl from school. From the hockey team. Another friend. She told me later she saw Wendy at the bus stop, and Wendy admitted she was waiting for me, but to keep it secret in case the Vincents found out. Susan knew how to keep a secret.”
“But you didn’t meet Wendy?”
“I was late. By the time I got to the bus stop, Wendy was gone. She must have taken the shortcut through the woods. It was my fault.”
“Listen to me, Maureen.” It was Jenny talking again, and this time her voice was concerned but authoritative. “Nobody’s blaming you for anything. Anything at all. Do you understand?”
Maureen nodded, but Annie doubted that she was convinced.
“What DI Cabbot needs to know is what happened that afternoon. What stopped you from meeting your friend? This might be important. Why does remembering that day make you feel so anxious?”
“It was a terrible day,” Maureen said. “Wendy was . . . stabbed and . . . I . . . it was the worst day of my life.”
“I know,” said Jenny moving forward, going on her knees and taking Maureen’s hand. Annie could only look on. Jenny was good with people, she had to admit. “All these years you’ve been blaming yourself, haven’t you?”
Maureen hesitated, then said, “It was my fault. I was selfish. I should have been there to meet her.”
“Where were you, Maureen?” Annie asked. “What happened that afternoon?”
Jenny let go of Maureen’s hand and went back to her place on the sofa. After what seemed an eternity, Maureen picked up her tea. The cup and saucer were shaking in her hand.
“I was with a boy,” she said.
Having got nowhere in the squad room checking out property rentals and purchases in the Swainshead area for most of the morning, Gerry decided it was time to go out and visit a few Walkers’ Wearhouse branches. There was no sign of Doug Wilson, but that was only to be expected as he had Sunday off. She did, too, but she was working anyway. She was better off doing it by herself, she thought. Doug would only sulk or complain and slow her down. Before she left she phoned Paula Fletcher at the Lyndgarth branch to ask her whether the two-for-one sale had extended to all branches. She said it had.
Gerry studied the photocopy of Ray’s sketch. She still didn’t know how closely it resembled their man, but it was a hell of a good drawing. Ray was a talented artist, despite the drinking and childish behavior. The thought passed through her mind that perhaps she should let him paint her in the nude, then her modesty pushed it away quickly. She wasn’t prudish—far from it—but the idea of posing nude in front of Ray Cabbot held no appeal. She didn’t even think her body was worth the canvas. She was too skinny by far, had no true womanly curves like Jenny Fuller, or even Annie. She was all bones and planes. And while she was quite willing to believe in the purity of Ray’s artistic intentions, or at least suspend her disbelief, there was something just a bit too louche about him for her liking. And he was old enough to be her father. Christ, he was Annie Cabbot’s father. He was old enough to be Gerry’s grandfather. Why couldn’t some clean-cut handsome young artist come along and want to paint her, or a composer write a song for her like that Mahler had for his Alma?
She took out the list of branches they had already visited, wondering whether it was worth calling again on any of them with the sketch of the man Paula Fletcher had described. Someone had already talked to the press, and word was getting around that the police now had an identikit picture of their person of interest. While this wasn’t quite accurate, it was enough to make her feel a sense of urgency. She decided it definitely was worth visiting the shops again. On previous visits, they hadn’t had the sketch to show around. It might jog someone’s memory.
She decided on the branches closest to the one in Lyndgarth, where Paula Fletcher had encountered him, guessing that he probably wouldn’t have traveled as far afield as York, Harrogate or Leeds. If she had no luck, then the larger centers, each with two or three branches, would be her next stop, but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Buying the clothing would have been a job he wanted to get over with as soon as possible. As far as Gerry could make out, there were three branches nearby: one in Helmthorpe, one in Eastvale and another in Northallerton, east of the A1.
She started there but had no luck. She also drew a blank in Eastvale. The third branch was on Helmthorpe High Street, opposite the Dog and Gun.
The first young man Gerry spoke to had only been working at the branch since Christmas, but the manager, Henry Bedford, also happened to be in the shop that day preparing for stock taking. He had worked there for over eight years and prided himself on knowing all his regulars, including Martin Edgeworth, who had shopped there often for all of his outdoor needs. “Terrible tragedy,” he said as he examined the sketch.
“If it helps,” Gerry said, “he was wearing a cheap gray windcheater and an open-neck shirt, showing a bit of chest hair and the top of a tattoo. Maybe a bird or something.”
“Yes,” said Bedford, tapping the sketch. “Yes.”
Gerry felt the tingle of excitement ripple up her spine. “You remember him?”
“I do. He seemed to be in a hurry, rather brusque, a bit rude, if you ask me. You tend to remember people who act that way. Impatient, imperious. He wanted two sets of identical items. Anorak, waterproof trousers, woolly hat.”
It was their man, Gerry thought. “Is this sketch a good likeness?”
The manager peered at it again. “Yes,” he answered. “Pretty good.”
“How did he pay?”
“I’m afraid I don’t . . . yes, just a minute. Yes, he paid cash.”
Gerry’s hopes faded. “I don’t suppose you got a name or anything?”
“No. Sorry.”
“It’s all right. Tell me,” she went on. “You said Martin Edgeworth shopped here for his outdoor clothes?”
“Yes. He was a regular.”
“Did he know this man? I mean, did you ever see them together? Did he mention Edgeworth?”
“No,” said Bedford. “Whoever he was, he was a complete stranger to me. I never saw him with Martin, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bedford,” said Gerry, heading for the door. “Thank you very much. You’ve been a great help.”
“A boy?” Annie repeated. “What boy? Who was he?”
“It doesn’t matter who he was. He doesn’t have anything to do with it. I think he was called Danny. He was older than me. He’d already left school.”
“Danny who?”
“I don’t remember. Honestly. He was just a local boy. He worked for Sammy Ledgard’s, driving.” She turned imploringly to Jenny.
Annie knew it was time to slow down. “OK,” she said. “We won’t worry about that for the time being. Was Danny your boyfriend?”
Maureen was plucking at the stitching of her quilted dressing gown. She managed a weak smile. “Sort of, I suppose. I was quite pretty back then. I was fifteen. I had a lot of boyfriends.”
“I’m sure you did,” said Annie. “The boys liked you?”
“Not like that. I wasn’t like some girls. Not like they said at school. There were some houses on the old estate over the road, all boarded up. We knew how to get into one of them. It was the only place you could go, you know, to be by yourselves. We were just kissing and cuddling. It was all quite innocent. I lost track of time, and I was late to meet Wendy. She’d set off home. They said later that her leg was hurting from where someone had whacked her with a hockey stick. If she had been feeling better, maybe she would have waited and we’d have got the next bus. You can’t believe how sorry I am for being so selfish.”
“You mustn’t think that way,” Jenny said.
“But if I’d been there, like I should have been, we’d have both gone into town, and it would never have happened. Don’t you see? If it wasn’t for me, Wendy would still be alive.”
“You don’t know that,” said Jenny. “Perhaps she would have told you she didn’t feel like going, and you’d have gone by yourself, then she would have still walked through the woods alone. After all, neither of you thought there was anything to be afraid of there.”
“But it didn’t happen like that, did it?”
“Had you arranged this meeting with Danny before?” Annie asked.
“No. I just bumped into him in the street. I was early to meet Wendy, so I went with him. I thought I still had enough time. My watch . . . stopped. I didn’t realize. But we didn’t do anything wrong. We were just kissing and holding hands.”
“Nobody’s suggesting you were doing anything wrong,” said Annie, smiling. “I liked a kiss and cuddle with my boyfriend when I was that age, too. It’s only natural.”
“But I lost track of the time,” said Maureen, clutching at the neck of her dressing gown. She consulted her watch again. “Robert will be home soon. He will be home soon.” Annie thought it sounded like a kind of mantra she was saying to calm herself down as she struggled to hold back the tears.
“It’s all right, Maureen.” Jenny’s velvety comforting voice came from the far end of the sofa. “You’ve nothing to blame yourself for.”
“But I do!” Maureen said. “Don’t you see? I was kissing a boy while Wendy . . . Wendy was . . . Oh my God.” She held her face in her hands and cried. In a flash, Jenny was kneeling beside her, a tissue materializing from nowhere. Annie wondered how she did it, but she got Maureen calmed down quickly enough and went back to the sofa.
“It’s all right,” Maureen said after a while, looking at Annie now. “Ask me what you want to know. It’s all right. I’ll tell you. Then you can take me away.”
“Nobody’s going to take you away, Maureen,” said Annie. “Robert will be back soon. He’ll take care of you. Why didn’t you tell anyone about this before?”
“Because Wendy and I weren’t supposed to be friends. Because I was ashamed. Because I felt guilty. I thought if they knew, they’d blame me. They already said I was a bad influence.”
“But you’ve blamed yourself all these years,” said Jenny. “Maybe if you’d told your parents or someone, you’d have been able to get the help you needed.”
“What good would it have done? Nobody can undo the past. Wendy was dead and it was all because of me. What does it matter now? Laura’s dead, too. I thought you’d got the man who did it?”
“We have to follow up on things that come up, even if they don’t seem connected.”
“Do people have to know?”
“Have to know what?”
“That I lied. What I was really doing.”
“I don’t see any reason why they should. Nobody knew about this but you and Danny?”
“Only Mark Vincent.”
Annie ears pricked up. “Mark Vincent?”
“Wendy’s younger brother. He was on his way to the gang meeting in Billy Dowson’s garage. He must have seen me and Danny holding hands, but he didn’t say anything. He was only eleven. He probably didn’t know what holding hands meant.”
Annie tried to work it out. Susan Bramble had seen Wendy at the bus stop shortly before she was killed, but had said nothing to anyone. Mark Vincent had seen Maureen walking hand in hand with this Danny, and he had also said nothing. But why should he have? He didn’t know that Maureen was supposed to meet his sister. The meeting between Maureen and Wendy for the trip into town was a secret. Only Susan Bramble knew about it. Annie wasn’t sure what it all meant, if anything. “Where is Danny now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We lost touch. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“You knew Frank Dowson, right?”
“I knew who he was. He was Billy Dowson’s older brother. But I didn’t know him.”
“You knew his brother?”
“Only because he was mates with Wendy’s brother Mark. They were both eleven. They were in some sort of silly gang, and they used to meet in Billy’s dad’s garage. He never used it to keep his car in there. It was an old banger and he left it in the street. People said he had a lockup across town where he stored stolen goods, but I don’t know if that was true or not. Billy had a key to the garage. They just used to sit around and smoke and tell dirty jokes. He thought we didn’t know about it, but Wendy and Susan and me listened outside once.�
�
“Who else was in this gang?”
“Just local kids. Mark, Billy, Ricky Bramble, Susan’s younger brother, Tommy Jackson and Mick Charlton. Maybe others. I don’t remember. They wouldn’t let girls in. As if we’d want to be a part of it. They were just little kids.”
“Maureen, you do know that Frank Dowson was arrested for Wendy’s murder just a couple of years ago, don’t you? And that he died in prison last year?”
“I saw it on TV.”
“Was Frank in the gang?”
“No way. He was a grown-up. Maybe twenty-one or something. And he didn’t come home very often. We hardly ever used to see him. He was in the merchant navy. We were all a bit scared of him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The way he looked at us. How he was so big and quiet. We’d heard there was something wrong with him. You know, in his head.”
“Did you see him that day you were supposed to meet Wendy?”
“No. Wendy and I had arranged to meet at the bus stop just before half-past one. That was when the bus went. There wasn’t another one for twenty minutes. It was nearly quarter to when I got there. I thought she might still be waiting and we’d get the next one, but she was gone. I just thought she’d gone home. I didn’t see anyone around.”
That was something that simply couldn’t happen today, Annie realized, in the age of mobiles, of constantly being in touch. When she found out she was running late, Maureen would probably have texted Wendy and got a response—either she would wait or she was going home. They would probably have been in touch earlier, too, and Wendy would have texted Maureen that she’d taken a nasty hit on the hockey pitch and didn’t feel too well, so she’d have to cancel the trip to town for today. It might not have made any difference to the outcome, if she had taken the shortcut and bumped into Frank Dowson, but communication might well have brought about a different course of action entirely. Still, it was pointless speculation. With today’s methods, Frank Dowson would have been caught pretty quickly, too—but it hadn’t happened in the twenty-first century; it had happened in 1964.
“What did you do when you found Wendy wasn’t there?” Annie asked.
Sleeping in the Ground: An Inspector Banks Novel (Inspector Banks Novels) Page 27