The Crossing

by Christina James

  The girls nodded, took the cards, and rose to their feet.

  “Thank you,” said Cassandra, taking the lead.

  “Yes, thank you,” said the other two in unison.

  As soon as they’d gone, Kathleen Hargreaves gave Verity a tight nod. “I’ll be getting on, then.” She marched out of the door and closed it behind her.

  “What did I tell you?” said Richard Lennard, but in a friendly way. He was being magnanimous now his point had been proved. “They have vivid imaginations, bless them. And Mrs Painter should know better.”

  “We’ll still arrange to talk to her, even so,” said Verity. “The experience was obviously unsettling and I don’t think it should be ignored.”

  “Unsettling mostly for Leonora Painter and her mother. I got the impression that Isobel and Cassandra were baffled by their behaviour.”

  “You may be right about Isobel. I’m not so sure about Cassandra. Does she have relatives at the school, by the way? Sisters or cousins?”

  “I don’t think so. She’s an only child. Her parents are quite elderly – relatively speaking, of course.”

  “Curious,” said Verity, almost to herself. “I saw a girl last night who would have passed for her double.”

  Richard Lennard smiled benignly.

  “Yes, well, that happens to me quite frequently. When you see as many adolescent girls as I do, you realise there are only so many physical types. Sometimes I catch myself out calling a student the name of someone I knew years ago.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. But you must agree that Cassandra’s looks are unusual. Not many girls are as fair as she is, especially in this area. The girl I saw last night had a similar physique, too: slender but tall and strong-looking, and with similar delicate features.”

  Instead of replying, Richard Lennard glanced at his watch. Verity took the hint.

  “We mustn’t keep you any longer. Here’s my card. Please report it at once if the loiterer comes back. You should make sure you have staff patrolling the school grounds and the area outside the gate when the students are arriving and leaving, at least for a week or two.”

  “Certainly. There should have been staff on duty this morning.” He frowned. “I shall check to see where they were.”

  “We’ll arrange for a patrol car to drop by at intervals to carry out spot-check surveillance.”

  “Well, what did you make of that? I’ve never seen a colleague so badly treated. I’m sorry. I didn’t quite know how to handle it,” said Verity, as she and Giash were walking away from the school.

  “Don’t worry. It’s happened to me before, though not often.”

  “Racial prejudice?” Verity was uncomfortable saying the words, but she thought to ignore the issue would be ridiculous.

  “Perhaps. But it may not be as straightforward as that. My cousin’s family removed their daughter from that school. Mr Lennard may recognise the name.”

  “He didn’t thank me for offering to patrol the area around the school.”

  “No. My overall impression was that he didn’t want us to have anything whatever to do with the school. His attitude to the safety of the girls was hard to understand.”

  Verity found it troubling. Besides the headmaster’s strange behaviour there was the uncanny similarity between Philippa Grummett and Cassandra Knipes.

  She looked at her watch. There was no prospect now of her reaching the Pilgrim Hospital in time to help DI Yates interview Ruby Grummett. She called Tim’s mobile.

  “DI Yates? It’s PC Tandy. I’m afraid that dealing with the incident at school took longer than I thought . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve asked DC Armstrong to accompany me.”

  “Damn!” said Verity aloud, as she ended the call. She’d become intrigued by the Grummett case. Now she’d probably not be asked to help with it again.

  “Bad luck!” said Giash sympathetically. “But don’t take it too much to heart. You’re on his radar now. You’ve made a good impression on him lately.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  JULIET ARMSTRONG HADN’T been near the Pilgrim Hospital since she’d been obliged to spend more than a week there the year before, recovering from Weil’s disease. Her stay had given her plenty to think about, especially after she’d formed an unsettling friendship with a doctor called Louise Butler which had been brought to an abrupt end by a misunderstanding. She took a deep breath as she and Tim went in.

  Having already been primed by Katrin that Juliet might find returning to the hospital difficult (Katrin had reminded him only of how ill Juliet had been when first admitted, though she had an inkling of the Butler dimension), Tim picked up on her nervousness.

  “I don’t suppose this place has good memories for you,” he said, squeezing her elbow briefly and giving her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry I had to ask you to come.”

  “It’s my job,” said Juliet. “Besides, I’m certain I’ll find this more interesting than ploughing through Superintendent Thornton’s cold-case file.”

  They both laughed.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Tim, after he’d thought about it. “Some of our most interesting cases have started out as cold cases: Kathryn Sheppard’s murder, for example, and the skeletons at Kevan de Vries’s house in Sutterton.”

  “I don’t think Superintendent Thornton counts those skeletons,” said Juliet. “They didn’t do anything for his statistics because the crime was too old to get a conviction, even if wasting time on them was mitigated by getting Harry Briggs put away for murder.”

  “Yes. That’s Thornton’s problem with cold cases: they often don’t make much of an impression on the stats. And even though we caught Harry Briggs, Tony Sentance eluded us completely. I’m sure Thornton blames me for that: he thought I was preoccupied with the skeletons so diluted my efforts elsewhere. Perhaps that’s why he’s so against making more than a cursory effort with the current round of cold cases.”

  “What’s his take on the railway accident? Does he want to see Ruby Grummett prosecuted?”

  “My guess is he’d prefer to see the railway company charged with negligence. He does have some social conscience. Besides, it would be a bigger case. I think he’d like a prosecution. He’s taken a shine to the new woman working at the prosecutor’s office, Melanie Trotter.”

  Juliet laughed.

  “I can’t imagine him taking a shine to anyone, not in the romantic sense, anyway.”

  “I didn’t mean that, exactly,” said Tim. “But you never know. I don’t think his marriage is all plain sailing.”

  “Have you met Mrs Thornton?”

  “No. As you know, she doesn’t deign to come to police socials. But I’ve heard him speaking to her on the phone. I think he’s paid quite dearly for sticking with his little-woman-in-the-home ideals. Mrs Thornton may enjoy not being part of the workforce, but she sounds as if she’s anything but a meek wife. He may have got the worst of both worlds: no second income, and no say in what goes on at home, either.”

  “You’re making me feel sorry for him!”

  “Don’t bother . . .”

  “Excuse me! DI Yates?”

  “Staff Nurse Shaw! Good morning.”

  “Good morning, DI Yates.” The nurse eyed Juliet curiously and gave her a grin. “Is PC Tandy coming today?”

  “No, she’s on another case. This is my colleague, DC Armstrong.”

  The nurse gave her a nod.

  “I’m sorry; I’m afraid you may have had a wasted journey,” he said. “Mrs Grummett is no better today; in fact, she’s considerably worse.”

  “How is she injured?” asked Juliet.

  “She has no physical injuries, but her mind has been deeply afflicted by the accident. She’s under heavy sedation now. I think it unlikely that Dr Butler will let you see her today.”

 
“Dr Butler?” Juliet felt her face flush. She hoped neither Tim nor the nurse had noticed.

  “Yes. Mrs Grummett is her patient. Do you know Dr Butler?” His benevolent brown eyes shone with curiosity.

  “She treated me when I was a patient last year,” said Juliet quietly.

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you again. She’s talking to Mr Grummett now, but she’s asked to meet DI Yates. That’s why I’m here.

  “Bob Grummett is here, too, you say?” said Tim.

  “Yes. He went home yesterday evening, but was back here just after breakfast. He’s very worried about his wife.”

  “He’s bound to be,” said Tim. “I’d like to speak to him after Dr Butler has finished with him. Could you provide a room where we can talk in private?”

  “There’s the little waiting room at the top of the ward. No one’s using it at the moment and since it isn’t visiting time you’re unlikely to be disturbed.”

  “Thank you,” said Tim. “Juliet, I’d like you to talk to Dr Butler while I see Bob Grummett. Find out how long she proposes to sedate Ruby and ask her to let us know when we’ll be able to interview her.”

  Juliet couldn’t decide whether Tim was trying to be helpful or mischievous.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. She turned to the staff nurse.

  “Where should I wait?”

  “You may as well wait with DI Yates. You’ll see Dr Butler when she comes past the window. I’ll let her know you’d like to see her. I don’t think she’ll be long.”

  Juliet didn’t have to wait at all. As Staff Nurse Shaw opened the swing doors to the ward and stood to one side to let her and Tim in, she saw Louise Butler approaching. She looked tired. Her hair was fastened back in a severe chignon and she was wearing dark-rimmed spectacles which Juliet thought too heavy for her face. She was momentarily taken aback when she saw Juliet.

  “DC Armstrong! I didn’t expect you.” She turned to Tim. “Good morning, DI Yates. I did know that you were investigating the level crossing accident. Staff Nurse Shaw told me. And I do want a word. But I had the impression that you’d be accompanied by a policewoman today – a WPC, I mean.”

  “He’s right – I’d intended to bring PC Tandy with me. She was here last night, shortly after Mrs Grummett was admitted. But she’s been called to another case today, so I asked DC Armstrong instead.”

  Louise Butler gave Juliet an appraising look.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said, although without much warmth. “I hope you’re quite well?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Juliet. She felt and sounded awkward.

  “Well, I’m afraid you may both be disappointed,” Louise Butler continued briskly. “We’ve had to keep Mrs Grummett under sedation. She isn’t coping well with the trauma. You won’t be able to see her today.”

  “We half-expected that,” said Tim genially. “Thank you for updating us. May I see Mr Grummett, if he’s here?”

  “He’s by his wife’s bedside at the moment. I suppose it’s all right for you to talk to him here, as long as you keep it brief. Staff Nurse Shaw, would you mind asking Mr Grummett to come in? I’m not sure that his wife is entirely asleep and I don’t want her to be alarmed. Well, if you’ll excuse me . . .” she continued.

  Tim spoke quickly. “I wonder if you could spare DC Armstrong a little of your time? We’d like some more details about Mrs Grummett’s condition. How long she’s likely to take to recover, when we can talk to her, that sort of thing.”

  “I’m not sure I can answer those questions, but if you come with me, I’ll see what I can do,” said the doctor, meeting Juliet’s eye.

  “Thank you,” Juliet said humbly. “I’d appreciate it.”

  Bob Grummett came shambling up to Tim, who noticed for the first time that he walked with a sideways roll, like a music hall sailor. What remained of his hair was dishevelled and sticking up in greasy tufts on his head. He was wearing the same shirt as the day before. In the broad light of day he looked crumpled and creased, dirtier than someone who had merely missed one morning’s ablutions. He glanced sideways at Tim from beneath droopy eyelids.

  “Now then, cock,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

  He laughed loudly, obviously thinking this mode of expression – or perhaps his gratuitous insolence – was amusing.

  “Could you keep your voice down?” a passing nurse hissed testily.

  “Mr Grummett, hello. Should we go into the waiting room? Then we won’t be disturbing anyone else.”

  Bob Grummett shrugged.

  “It’s all right by me, as long as Rube doesn’t wake up. I want to be with her when she does.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s in quite a bad way. It was all one hell of a shock to her. I doubt she’ll ever be the same again,” he replied, with more than a hint of melodrama. They’d entered the small ante-room and Tim had shut the door firmly. Bob Grummett seemed to be incapable of speaking quietly.

  “It’s understandable that she’s ill after such a horrific accident. I’m certain she’ll recover, though. You’d be surprised at how resilient people are.”

  Bob Grummett stared at him blankly. Tim realised he hadn’t understood the meaning of the adjective.

  “Any way,” Tim continued, “I wish her well. We’ll be checking in every so often, monitoring her progress.”

  “Why’s that? So that you can charge her when she’s better?” The railwayman had turned sullen and mistrustful.

  “I’m not in a position to be able to say whether there’ll be any charges to face,” said Tim. “There’ll have to be an enquiry into how the accident happened and there’ll certainly be an inquest for the man who died. If Mrs Grummett is charged, it’s likely she won’t be expected to bear the blame alone. Her employers will come under scrutiny as well.”

  “Come again?” Once more, the puzzled look. Tim struggled to put his observation more simply.

  “The railway company. Your bosses. It may be that some or all of the blame lies with them.”

  “Aye, I shouldn’t wonder. That won’t help Rube, though.”

  “The main thing is that Mrs Grummett gets better. All the rest of it will take months to sort out. We can’t speculate – there’s no point in trying to guess what will happen.”

  “What’re you here for, then? Rube can’t talk to you now, anyway.”

  “No, I know that, though I did hope to see her. But I mainly came to have a word with you.”

  Bob Grummett’s face shut.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I wanted to pick up where we left off yesterday,” said Tim firmly. “You know what I’m talking about: the money in the pyjama case. Where did it come from?”

  “I told you, it’s Kayleigh’s. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “You have no objection if I do that?”

  “She’s a grown woman.”

  “She is, but a very young one. I understand she’s eighteen?”

  “Yes.”

  “I get the impression that she’s quite . . . naïve.”

  “Come again?” Bob Grummett repeated. This time Tim was irritated. He couldn’t believe the man was as dense as he was making out.

  “If we question her, would you like to be present, Mr Grummett?”

  “I suppose so. If you think it will do any good. And if she likes the idea.”

  “Is she still staying with the Cushings?”

  “As far as I know. I haven’t spoken to her since the accident.”

  “Have you spoken to either of your daughters today?”

  Bob Grummett looked perplexed. Tim hoped that he wasn’t going to say ‘Come again?’ a third time. If he did, Tim thought he might hit him. There was a long pause.

  “Oh, you mean Philippa,” he said, almost to himself. “No, I haven’t spoken to
her or Kayleigh. Why do you ask?”

  “I just thought they might have been worried about their mother, want to know how she was,” said Tim, his voice heavy with an irony that was completely lost on its target.

  “No,” said Bob Grummett in a neutral tone, “but I’d better be getting back to her myself.”

  “Would you like some tea or coffee?” asked Louise Butler, gesturing to Juliet to take one of two chairs placed opposite each other at the small table in her office.

  “Thank you. Tea, please.”

  “I’m glad you said that. I’d have had to go to the canteen for coffee, but I can make tea myself.” She filled a small kettle at her sink and plugged it in. “You really are quite well now?”

  “Yes,” said Juliet. “It took a few months to get my energy back, but I’m as good as new. Thanks mostly to you,” she added shyly.

  Louise gave her a sharp look.

  “I seem to remember you were quite run down when you were admitted here,” she said, “to use the popular term for being over- stressed and anxious. I hope you’re making sure you get some time to yourself. I know your job makes unreasonable demands at all hours of the day or night, but being able to switch off is the key.”

  Juliet laughed.

  “I doubt you get much opportunity to practise what you preach,” she said. “As it happens, I have been trying to take more time for myself recently. I’ve joined Fenland Folklore. It’s a society that meets to discuss old Lincolnshire legends and customs.”

  “Excellent! I suppose you were influenced by DI Yates? He’s interested in history, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but he’s a bit of a purist. He thinks Fenland Folklore is for amateurs and therefore beneath his contempt.”

  “Well, I know you have more sense than to take notice of that. Tell me more about it. I’m interested in old Lincolnshire myself.”