‘Is Gary married?’ She’s so obvious sometimes. She wasn’t even looking at me, she was putting onions and garlic into a pan and watching them sizzle.
‘I didn’t ask.’ Though I did and he wasn’t. We’d also arranged to meet for a drink tomorrow night. It was only so that I could get some gossip about the staff at Talgarth but I still didn’t tell Mum. I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. And, besides, too much excitement is bad for her.
‘He’s done well if he’s a teacher,’ she said, in a faux casual voice, adding spices.
‘It’s no cleverer than being in the police,’ I said, no doubt a bit defensively.
‘I think being in the police is very clever,’ she protested, turning to look at me. ‘I’m always showing off about you.’
I doubted this. I was sure that my parents tried to change the subject whenever my name came up at the gurdwara. ‘What’s Harbinder doing?’ ‘Is she married yet?’ ‘Children?’
Sultan started barking which meant that Dad was coming in. I looked at the clock, which is a weird copper thing in the shape of India. The little hand on Mysuru. Seven o’clock. The shop shuts at nine so Kush must be taking over.
My parents run a small convenience store in Shoreham. They used to sell DVDs but Netflix has done for these. Now they make most of their money from alcohol sales, even though neither of them drinks, not even my Prosecco-spraying mother. When I was young, we all used to help in the shop and I’d have to yell for my parents if anyone wanted to buy beer or wine. I never thought of questioning anyone’s right to buy the stuff. Nowadays it’s just Kush and Dad and sometimes Kush’s son, Hakim, serving. They spend a lot of time asking to see IDs.
‘Look, Bibi,’ Dad said when he saw me. ‘Our little girl is home.’ He does this because he knows it gets on my nerves. He stooped to kiss me and I smelled his aftershave. My father never looks tired or untidy or anything less than immaculate. His kurti is always snowy white and his turban dark blue. He always smells of aftershave and soap, even after serving in the shop all day.
‘How’s the case?’ he said, getting a spoon to taste the curry, a habit that drives my mother mad.
‘It’s so sad,’ said Mum. ‘That woman, that teacher, was so beautiful. I saw her picture in the paper.’
‘Would it be less sad if she was ugly?’ I said.
‘Be careful, Bibi,’ said Dad.
‘Of course not,’ said my mother, with dignity. ‘I’m just making an observation.’
‘The case is a pain,’ I said. ‘We’re pretty sure she knew her killer, which should narrow it down, but it hasn’t.’
‘We’d better lock the doors at night,’ said Mum.
‘We always do,’ said Dad. ‘And we’ve got a guard dog.’
They both looked dotingly at Sultan, who was lying in the middle of the floor as if determined to be as big a nuisance as possible.
‘He wouldn’t protect us,’ I said. ‘He’s too soft.’
‘He’s a trained killer,’ said Dad.
‘Trained by who?’
‘By me. Sultan!’ He addressed the dog. ‘Play dead.’ The dog’s muscular tail pounded the floor.
‘He’s already playing dead,’ I said. ‘How long will supper be? Have I got time to have a shower first?’
I had never meant to live at home as an adult. I joined the police straight from university and, at first, I shared a flat with three other cadets. But, I don’t know, they just got on my nerves after a while. They were so untidy and they never cooked proper meals. They’d come in at two a.m. with kebabs and, in the morning, I’d find beer cans and shredded lettuce all over the kitchen. They drank my special milk and they wanted to watch I’m a Celebrity. After a year, I moved back in with Mum and Dad. It was meant to be a temporary measure. ‘Just until she gets married,’ I heard Mum say to Auntie Dipa. Well, that will be a long wait. Same-sex marriage doesn’t qualify for the Blissful Union (which always sounds a bit like an ocean-going liner but is the literal translation of the Sikh wedding ceremony). My parents don’t know that I’m gay and, in my current, more-celibate-than-the-Pope stage, I don’t really feel it’s worth telling them. Maybe I’ll just wait until they’ve given up all hope of me finding Mr Right. I think my mum might be all right about it, actually. She’s very friendly with Steve and Duncan, who run the pet-grooming place opposite the shop, and she adores Graham Norton. But I’m pretty sure that, like Queen Victoria, she’s never really entertained the idea of women having sex with each other. Far better not to tell her for now. Like I said, too much excitement is dangerous at her age.
All in all, it’s not so bad living with the old dears. I have an en-suite shower room and an endless supply of wonderful food. My parents don’t ask when I’m coming home in the evenings, although I know my mum won’t go to sleep until she hears my key in the lock. They don’t nag me too much about boyfriends and Mum has finally stopped putting me in touch with distant cousins in the Punjab. They’re good company, most of the time. I love watching old films with them on a Sunday, listening to Mum’s delusional belief that she looks like ‘an Indian Ingrid Bergman’ and Dad’s wry commentary. ‘Oh, here he is, the comic foreigner, lobotomised to mispronounce his own name.’ I like seeing my brothers at weekends and — especially — my nieces and nephews. It’s fun to be the cool aunt with a police walkie-talkie and a siren on my car, even if my sisters-in-law do sometimes say, ‘She’s so good with children. It seems a pity . . .’ But I don’t particularly like kids. No, that seems insulting. I like a few, specific ones, just as I have a small but very select group of friends. ‘You’re too choosy,’ Mum tells me. She married the first man her parents presented to her. She got lucky but that doesn’t alter the fact that she wasn’t choosy enough.
After my shower I went into my room to check my emails. My phone was buzzing. Donna. I put on some clothes because it seemed wrong to talk to my boss wrapped only in a towel.
‘We’ve had the CSI results back,’ she said. Her mouth was full and I was sure that she was still at the office, eating chips. Donna is married with two young children and she once told me that it was easier to wait at work until they had gone to bed.
‘Anything interesting?’ I said.
‘No prints on the knife.’
‘What about the note?’
‘Nothing. Apparently there’s a trace of plastic coating. It might mean that it was kept in one of those freezer bags.’
‘Can we trace the make of bag?’
‘No. They’re all the same, I think. Ten a penny.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Our best bet is some thread caught on a bush in the garden. Looks like it might have come from some sort of outdoor clothing. A waxed hiking jacket or similar. I’ve got the lab looking into it now.’
I thought of Tony Sweetman’s suntan. ‘A skiing jacket?’
‘Perhaps. How did it go at the school?’
‘One interesting thing. A Year 11 boy had a crush on Ella. Sent her a valentine card.’
‘How old’s Year 11?’
‘Fifteen to sixteen.’
Some thoughtful chomping. ‘Old enough.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Old enough. He was big too, strongly built, plays rugby. He didn’t seem obsessed, though. Kept saying it was all just a laugh.’
‘It’s still a lead. We should check him out.’
‘He doesn’t have much of an alibi,’ I said. ‘He says he was at home playing war games on the computer.’
‘Like all teenagers everywhere.’
‘And there was no one else at home. I suppose we could do a location trace on the computer.’
‘Interesting,’ said Donna. ‘Let’s dig a bit deeper.’
‘I met an old friend who’s teaching at the school,’ I said. ‘I’m meeting him tomorrow. I’ll see if I can get some inside stuff.’
‘Good id
ea.’
‘My mother’s all excited. She thinks he might be The One.’
Donna laughed. ‘What are you eating tonight? Tell me so that I can salivate.’ Donna has only eaten at our house once but she still goes on about it.
‘Lamb passenda, chapattis and rice.’
‘Can I move in?’
‘Go home, Donna,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring some chapattis into work tomorrow.’
Chapter 14
I’d temporarily forgotten that it was Halloween. I’d arranged to meet Gary in The Compass, which is in the nearest village to Talgarth High. The streets seemed to throng with midget witches and devils as doting parents ushered their offspring on a middle-class begging spree. Hell is empty and all the devils are here. I hoped Mum would have some callers tonight. She would love the chance to coo over a bunch of mini-zombies. If it was me, I’d turn off the lights and pretend to be dead.
Even The Compass had got in on the act. I had to duck under spiders’ webs to get to the bar and, when I spotted Gary, he was sitting at a corner table with a pumpkin-shaped candle in front of him.
Gary insisted on getting the first drinks. He had a pint but I stuck to orange juice. People often assume I don’t drink because I’m a Sikh, but actually I’m quite partial to a glass of red wine or a gin and tonic. Mum and Dad are teetotal so there’s never any alcohol in the house, although Mum once bought me a bottle of Baileys at Christmas ‘because that’s what young people drink’. It was unbelievably disgusting, liquid vomit flavoured with coffee powder. I really felt like a large Merlot but I was driving, and besides, I wasn’t about to start drinking with Gary.
‘Halloween was never such a big deal in our day,’ I said, when he had fought his way back through Shelob’s lair to our table.
‘It’s the influence of America,’ said Gary, and I guessed this was something he’d said many times before. ‘We see it all the time at school.’
‘But in America, kids dress up as anything, don’t they? Superheroes, princesses?’ I said. I’ve never been to the States. ‘Here it’s all the black magic stuff. Oh, how cute. Dress your kid up as the undead.’
Gary laughed. ‘Still the same old Harbs.’
I wasn’t sure how to take this, and what did he mean anyway? Still funny? Still mean-spirited and a bit weird? And I hadn’t heard Harbs for years.
‘How long have you been teaching at Talgarth?’ I asked.
‘Ten years,’ he said, with a slightly self-conscious laugh. ‘It was my first job after my NQT year. Bit pathetic, isn’t it? Still living and working in the same place where you were brought up.’
‘At least you’re not still living with your parents.’
‘No,’ he laughed heartily then got the point. ‘Oh. Are you?’
‘Yes. Still at home with Mum and Dad.’
‘I liked your mum,’ said Gary. ‘I’ll never forget those meals at your house. I’ve never eaten food that good ever. But I was always a bit scared of your dad and your brothers.’
‘They’re pussy cats,’ I said. ‘Mum has always ruled the roost.’
‘I always thought you’d get married,’ said Gary. ‘Seems like everyone from school is married with kids now. Except me.’
‘And me,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been married.’
‘But you joined the police,’ said Gary, obviously wanting to cheer me up. ‘That’s cool.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes! Have you . . .’
‘Don’t ask me if I’ve got a gun.’
Gary laughs the embarrassed laugh again. ‘Sorry.’
‘British police officers don’t routinely carry guns,’ I said, relenting. ‘But I have done a firearms course.’
‘Well, that’s still cooler than being a geography teacher.’
‘What’s it like teaching at Talgarth?’ I asked.
‘OK,’ he took a gulp of beer and wiped the foam from his upper lip. ‘Tony’s a hard taskmaster. Always on about getting the data right, knows all the trendy buzzwords. But there’s no doubt that he’s improved the school. Discipline’s much better now. You don’t live in fear of being locked in the stationery cupboard.’
He laughed again but I wondered if this example was taken from personal experience.
‘Must have been tough this week,’ I said. ‘The news about Ella.’
Gary’s face crumpled slightly. He’s in quite good shape for his age but, at certain moments, he looks like a much older man. ‘It’s been awful. People gossiping all over the place. People who didn’t even really know Ella.’
This was interesting. ‘Did you know Ella?’
He blushed. ‘A little. We both did the staff talent show every year. She sang and I . . . you remember . . . I play the guitar.’
My God. Gary’s guitar playing was one of the things I had managed to forget over the years, but he said it with a tender light in his eyes that showed he still thought of himself as the Jimi Hendrix of Shoreham. I went to the bar to get us another drink. I was tempted to have a glass of wine to get myself through the reminiscences that would surely follow but I needed to keep my wits about me. This is work, I told myself.
Back at the table, Gary told me that Ella was a ‘lovely person’.
‘Really talented too,’ he said. ‘She could sing and dance. She could have made it as an actress.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’
I said it a bit too bluntly and he looked taken aback.
‘Are you . . . do you suspect . . . ?’
‘I just want to get a sense of her as a person,’ I said soothingly.
‘I don’t think she had a boyfriend,’ said Gary. ‘She mentioned someone at her old school once or twice. I think she’d been badly hurt. She didn’t want to get involved again.’
‘Involved?’
‘Well, most of the staff are married or in relationships,’ he said, a shade defensively. You’re not, I thought.
‘So she wouldn’t get involved with a married man?’
‘No, I’m sure she wouldn’t.’
‘You mentioned gossip. What are people gossiping about?’
Gary looked really uncomfortable now. ‘Ella was so attractive,’ he said, at last. ‘People always gossip.’
‘About Ella and Rick Lewis?’
Gary let out a sigh of relief. ‘So you had heard that. I didn’t like to say. People talked about Rick and Ella but I don’t think there was anything between them. For a start, Rick had a thing for Clare.’
‘Clare Cassidy?’
‘Yes. Have you met her? She’s another English teacher. Good-looking but a bit stuck-up, in my opinion. Clare and Ella were great friends though.’
‘I’ve met her,’ I said. ‘So Rick fancied Clare?’
‘Yes. We all knew about it. He had a real thing for her a while back. I heard that he used to sit outside her house for hours. He’s married, too, but that didn’t stop him.’
‘What did Clare think about Rick?’ I asked. I was thinking of the little house in the shadow of the old factory. Had Rick really been stalking Clare? If so, why didn’t she tell Tony and get him sacked?
Gary laughed again but this time it had a harsh, cynical note. ‘Clare wouldn’t look twice at Rick Lewis. She’s the sort of woman who only goes out with merchant bankers.’
This was obviously Gary’s idea of unobtainable wealth.
‘What about the students? Did any of them have a crush on Ella? It happens, I know.’
‘I know,’ Gary stared mistily into his beer. ‘I remember fancying Miss Creed. You remember, the drama teacher? I was mad about her.’
‘I don’t remember her at all,’ I said. ‘I was never very keen on acting. So did anyone have an adolescent crush on Ella?’
‘Not that I know of.’ He suddenly seemed to remember that he was talking to a detective. ‘You
can’t suspect one of the students?’
‘I think Ella knew her murderer,’ I said. ‘That means you might know them too.’
That effectively killed the atmosphere.
I left when I’d finished my drink. I didn’t think I could take another Britvic and Gary had started talking about ‘the old days’. He might have happy memories of teenage parties and football games but I left all that behind the day I left Talgarth High. Never go back, that’s my motto. Gary even suggested that we get together one day ‘for a curry’. Is he joking? Why would I eat at an Indian restaurant when my mum cooks the best curries in England? I muttered something non-committal and escaped to my car. I offered Gary a lift but he said he’d walk home. He lives in the village apparently. Above the betting shop.
The High Street was deserted. All the mini-devils had gone home. There weren’t any street lights and the Downs loomed above, dark and silent. It was a bit spooky sitting there in the car park. I suddenly wanted to be at home, listening to my parents argue about the ten o’clock news. Before I set off, I checked my work phone, just for form’s sake, and saw that I had two missed calls from an unknown number. I pressed Voicemail.
‘DS Kaur. This is Clare Cassidy. Can you give me a call back? There’s something I have to tell you.’
Chapter 15
I always give my card to everyone I interview but it’s rare for anyone to use it. I rang Clare back immediately.
‘Something’s happened,’ she said. ‘I think it might be important.’
‘Are you at home?’ I said.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll come over.’
The roads were dark but deserted. I kept my beam on and it illuminated hedgerows and farm gates, a spectral signpost in the middle of a crossroads, a dead badger on the grass verge, a fox trotting past on some nocturnal adventure of its own. Was it the thought of Rick Lewis sitting outside Clare’s house that made me decide to prioritise her call? Maybe it was just the desire to do something useful after spending the last few hours wallowing in the past. At any rate, I was there in ten minutes.
The Stranger Diaries Page 11