Her body felt tense against his as he helped her to her feet. He couldn’t blame her.
He said, ‘I really am a policeman. Detective Inspector Cicero from the Romchurch force. I wanted to talk to you about your friend, Jane Maguire.’
He felt her relax slightly. He steered her inside. She pushed open the door of a book-lined sitting room and flopped into an easy chair.
‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked. ‘A drink?’
She said, ‘Not yet. I’ll wait till I see how I am.’
She turned an assessing eye on him and said, ‘How are you feeling?’
He had forgotten his own pains but now they came shooting back.
Massaging his kidneys gingerly, he said, ‘I’ll survive. Do you always come on so strong with intruders? Could be dangerous.’
‘I usually cope,’ she said.
‘I meant for the intruder.’
This brought a faint smile. She was a good-looking woman in her forties with a determined jaw and probing blue eyes. He wondered about her relationship with Maguire. Mother substitute or something closer?
‘Your average man would have been finished by the time you hit the ground,’ she said. ‘Someone trained you well.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ he said. ‘Are you ready for that drink?’
‘Meaning you are. In that bureau. I’ll have Scotch.’ As he poured two stiff measures, she said, ‘You mentioned Jane …’
‘Yes. When did you see her last?’
‘Why?’
‘Will it alter your answer, knowing why?’
‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ she said.
He gave her a glass. She took a long pull.
He said, ‘Her child’s gone missing. Mrs Maguire was in hospital. She’d fainted and banged her head. Like you. Then she vanished.’
Salter was regarding him with a face blank of emotion. How much did she know? Would a woman who’d just heard the news he’d given her react this way?
She said, ‘I feel sick. Excuse me,’ put her glass down and ran from the room.
He waited a moment. It could be that Maguire was here at this moment and Salter was putting her in the picture. He rose and went to the door. He heard the sound of a lavatory flushing, then the woman came out into the narrow passage wiping her face with a towel.
‘Are you OK?’ he said.
‘Yes. The bang. And the news. I’ve just taken in what you’re saying … Noll missing. Christ, that’s terrible. Poor Jane, she must be out of her mind …’
‘That’s why we’re so eager to get hold of her,’ he said, ready to play along with this line, if line it were. ‘So please …’
She led the way back into the sitting room.
‘She was here Saturday evening,’ she said.
‘You mean she stayed the night?’
‘No. She stayed till late, then she headed home.’
‘And the boy was with her?’
‘Yes. He was asleep by then, of course. He half woke up as she took him out to the car.’
‘And he was well? I mean, then. And generally. He was well looked after?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What are you getting at?’
He finished his drink without taking his eyes off her.
‘I think you know, Miss Salter. Could she harm him?’
She shook her head in disbelief, not denial, saying, ‘You men. Always wanting simple answers. Could you harm your wife, Inspector?’
‘I haven’t got a wife.’
‘Perhaps that’s because you’re frightened of what you might do to her. Jane loved … loves that child. But she lives in fear of what she might do to him.’
‘Because of her upbringing, you mean?’
‘You’ve met Mrs Maguire? Of course, that’s how you got on to me. I’ve never met her or even spoken to her. She had my number but she never used it. But what I learned from Jane was that for her mother, physical violence was a first disciplinary sanction rather than a last resort.’
‘And what was that?’
‘The threat of hellfire. Northern Ireland Catholics get it drummed into them early on that there’s a place for little children who do not toe the line.’
‘Are you a psychologist, Miss Salter?’ he asked, glancing at her book case.
‘I’ve done a degree in educational psychology. I started with physical education but somewhere along the road I’ve moved on to minds. Self-protection. It’ll keep me in work when I can no longer climb up the wall bars.’
‘So no doubt you talked about these matters with Mag … with Jane, both as a teacher and a friend?’
‘If you’re asking whether Jane knows that the children of parents who used violence are most likely to use violence on their own kids, then yes, of course she does. If you’re asking whether awareness of the danger removes it completely, no, of course it doesn’t. In choice situations, the violent option may cease to exist, but in moments of stress the concept of option itself ceases to apply.’
‘Hold on,’ said Dog mildly. ‘This isn’t a post-graduate seminar. You mean she could strike her son?’
‘Possibly. In the right circumstances … the wrong circumstances …’
I shouldn’t have hit him. It was all my fault.
‘Hard enough to cause real damage?’
‘As opposed to unreal, i.e. psychological, damage? Now that’s a policeman’s question! Answer it yourself. Out there you weren’t sure whether you’d hit me hard enough to break my back or just to give me a bit of a headache, were you? Damage, inside and out, is totally unforecastable, Mr Cicero. But I dare say you know that already.’ She looked at him closely. ‘Incidentally, don’t I know your face?’
‘Which half?’ he said.
She said gently, ‘See what I mean?’
He said abruptly, ‘What was your precise relationship with Jane Maguire?’
She smiled thinly and said, ‘Meaning, am I gay, like most middle-aged academic spinsters? That’s my business, Inspector. But I’m happy to admit I’ve always loved grace and strength and athletic beauty. That’s what first attracted my attention to Jane. Poetry in motion ceases to be a cliché when she runs. With full-time training she might have managed world-class times, but that kind of existence wasn’t right for Jane. But if they’d given points for style and artistry, she’d have won every gold medal in sight.’
‘So your initial interest was … aesthetic?’
She laughed and said, ‘Let us say educational, shall we? As I got to know her, I got to like her. She really opened out a lot during her time here.’
‘And you thought she’d make a good teacher?’
His voice was casual but she picked him up instantly.
‘You heard about what happened, I see. Yes, I was sure of it. Still am. God knows what went wrong up there on Ingleborough. I wrote, but she didn’t reply so I only know what I read in the papers. Hey, wait a minute, that’s where I’ve seen you before. In the papers. But that was years ago … one of the South Essex local rags. Army hero joins the police. From platoon commander to police constable … it was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Probably. So you had no contact with her after she left teaching?’
‘One postcard, postmarked Boston, saying she was well and intended settling in the States. No details. No address. No follow-up. I thought that was that. Then one day about four months ago, there she was on my doorstep with child in tow.’
‘What did she say?’ asked Dog.
‘That she’d been widowed. That she had got a flat and taken a job in Romchurch.’
Widowed. So Maguire had stuck to that version even here.
‘Had she changed much, did you think?’
‘Yes and no. She’d matured, certainly. She was no longer just a girl. And she was watchful, reserved, even after the initial awkwardness was over.’
‘And did you resent this reserve? Resent the child even? Just a little?’
She said, ‘You’re a sharp old war hero, aren’t yo
u? Yes, a little, in both respects. At first. But not for long.’
‘Did it surprise you when she asked if you’d mind if she gave your telephone number to her mother?’
‘No. She said it was just for emergencies. She didn’t want the expense of putting a phone in her flat when she wasn’t sure how long she’d be staying in it.’
Also a phone listing made you easy to trace. Why was Maguire so keen to cover her tracks? Because she feared the Americans might try to pursue her with their arrest warrants?
‘Do you know someone called Mary Harper?’ he asked.
‘That’s what Jane asked, or rather if anyone with that name had been in touch.’
‘And had they?’
‘No. But I’d not been around much last week. And there were several Marys it could have been, assuming it was a married name.’
‘Close friends of Jane?’
She shrugged, winced.
‘They might have thought so. Few years away from college, taste of the restrictions of married life, it’s surprising how nostalgic some girls can get for those days of freedom. And even the most casual acquaintance can start figuring as a spirit of delight in that golden landscape. Have you never looked back yourself, Inspector, and thought, God, if only I’d known how happy I was then?’
‘Was Jane convinced?’
‘No. She got very agitated. When I asked her why it mattered so much she tried to pretend it didn’t. I got irritated. I like to help my friends but it’s two-way traffic and I don’t care to be used. I’d had the sense of something bugging her ever since she returned, but I thought, in time she’ll tell me. Now time was up.’
She spoke defiantly, even defensively. Dog said gravely, ‘Was that all?’
She said, ‘That really is a detective’s nose you’ve got there! All right, it was me too. I wasn’t in the mood for offering tea and sympathy. I shouldn’t have been there at all. I’d planned a weekend away with a friend, only everything had gone wrong, we had a bust-up and I came back after only one night. So Jane picked the wrong moment to irritate me.’
‘What happened?’
‘One thing led to another. We exchanged mutual insults, hers about whether someone with my tastes in sex was fit to look after students, mine about whether someone with her track record in teaching was fit to have children. It was nasty, it was loud. It woke Noll up and he started crying. It ended with her picking him up and walking out …’
So, three times in a single day Maguire had taken it on the lam – from the social worker, from her mother, from her friend. She must have been really strung out.
Madeleine Salter was still speaking, in a low, almost inaudible voice. ‘If anything happened because she didn’t stay the night here, I’d never forgive …’
Dog cut in. ‘If cause and effect were as simple as that, the dole queues would be full of bookies. Save your guilt and your grief till we find out what has happened, Miss Salter. I assume Jane hasn’t tried to contact you tonight?’
‘I don’t know. I only got in half an hour ago. I felt so miserable all day yesterday that I decided this morning I couldn’t face another day like that. So I jumped in my car and drove down to Devon to see my friend, the one I’d had the bust-up with. I was ready to grovel, only grovelling’s scored for a duet, and there was somebody else there … I just got back half an hour ago. It was a nightmare drive, lots of flooding, and I felt I just had to stretch my legs after all that time in the car. Then I saw you …’
‘I remember,’ said Dog. ‘You were pretty quick on the draw.’
‘Women alone can’t afford to shout Who goes there? And the caretaker had reported seeing someone prowling around the previous week. Look, Inspector, what can I do? Even if I didn’t feel as guilty as I do, I’d want to help all I can. I love Jane, and her kid too, and you can take that any which way you like.’
Their gazes locked, both steady, unblinking. He thought, she can’t have been listening to her car radio or she’d be even more upset than she is.
He said, ‘You can let me know straightaway if Jane contacts you, or if anyone contacts you about Jane …’
As if it had been waiting for the cue, the telephone rang.
Madeleine reached for it automatically, then withdrew her hand sharply as the possible implications struck her. She looked at Dog, who said, ‘Answer it,’ and moved close to her so he could listen.
She picked up the receiver and said, ‘Hello?’
‘Miss Salter?’
‘Yes.’
‘Miss Salter, my name’s Blake, Father Blake. I’m a friend of Mrs Maguire, Jane Maguire’s mother, and she’s been trying to phone you to ask …’
Dog took the receiver from the woman’s hand.
‘Father Blake,’ he said. ‘Inspector Cicero.’
‘You’re there, are you, Inspector? I should have guessed. Is there any news? Mrs Maguire’s distracted, as you can imagine, and there’s not been any reply from Miss Salter’s number, and she doesn’t have any other way of getting in touch …’
‘No,’ said Dog. ‘I’m sorry. No news. Jane hasn’t been in touch here.’
‘Are you quite sure, Inspector? I mean, them being such good friends, maybe the lady wouldn’t be as open with you as she should.’
‘I do know my job, Father,’ said Dog.
‘Yes. I’m sorry. But I know mine too. Listen, my visit to the Priory is over, but I’ve got to visit a couple of text-book warehouses in London before I head back to Dublin. Mrs Maguire’s asked if I’d take the trip out to Romchurch to see you while I’m down there.’
‘I don’t see any point …’
‘She wants to come herself, Inspector,’ said Blake grimly. ‘The only way I could stop her was to promise.’
‘I wouldn’t want you to break a promise,’ grunted Dog ungraciously. ‘A priest, Father Blake. Friend of Mrs Maguire’s,’ he said as he put the phone down. ‘I met him up there. Now he’s coming to see me.’
‘Thinks he’s Father Brown, does he? Sorry. Don’t mean to offend the faith. You’re one yourself, aren’t you? Catholic, I mean.’
‘Why do you say that? The name? There are Italian protestants.’
‘Not just the name. Something in the way you spoke to the Father.’
‘It’s a virus that stays in the blood,’ he said. ‘Did Jane ever talk much about Ireland?’
‘Of course. She grew up there till she was seven or eight. We all like to talk about when we were kids.’
‘Why did they leave?’
‘Her lather was killed. There was an incident, some shooting. He got caught in the crossfire. After that her mother decided she’d had enough. She went to Northampton because that’s where her brother was.’
‘The priest?’
‘Yes. Brother and Father. A troublesome combination for a bossy sister.’ Maddy managed a faint smile. ‘Jane says they were never ten minutes in each other’s company without bickering. He was a teacher at some big Catholic boarding school in the area. When Jane was fifteen, he took ill and when they diagnosed cancer, his Order sent him back to Ireland to die. Mrs Maguire thought of going with him but the end came very quick, so she and Jane stayed put.’
‘How did they live?’
‘There was a small pension, and Mrs Maguire worked as a seamstress. Also there was the compensation money.’
‘Compensation?’
‘For the shooting. It was a Brit bullet that killed Jane’s father.’
Dog could detect no note of accusation in the statement but it felt like one. He rose, frowning, and went to the door. He stood there a moment looking round the room.
‘You’ve a lot of friends,’ he said.
‘What? Oh, the cards. Everyone likes to be teacher’s pet,’ she said, self-mockingly.
‘Including Jane Maguire?’
‘Could be. But not everyone runs like a red deer in full flight. You’ll find her, won’t you, Inspector?’
It was almost casually put, but he felt the passionat
e need for reassurance behind the question.
He thought, she’s in full flight now. I wonder if she still looks like a red deer.
‘We’ll find her, Miss Salter,’ he said. ‘Wherever she is, whatever she’s doing, we’ll find her.’
14
Jane Maguire lay on her back, felt the rough hands squeezing her nipples, felt the hot hard flesh forcing its way into her unwelcoming dryness, felt the desperate mounting rhythm of his thighs.
It didn’t last long. He was young and impetuous and came quickly. He rolled off her, panting heavily, his narrow chest palpitating like a frightened bird’s. It disgusted her that someone so young should be so unfit. This was the only emotion she let herself feel.
He reached down to pull his jeans up, not for decency but to take a pack of cigarettes from the pocket.
‘And what were you thinking of, Janey, my love?’ he asked between puffs. ‘I hope you weren’t lying back and thinking of England. A good Irish girl should get a lot more excited when she thinks of England.’
‘I was thinking of Noll,’ she said in a dead voice.
He turned towards her and blew smoke across her face. She didn’t turn away. His power over her was absolute. There was nothing he couldn’t make her do, and, knowing that, she knew it was futile to waste energy in resistance or debate. There was a strength in her body and her mind which was best left hidden until it could once again be profitably tapped.
‘You’ll need to do more than think,’ he said. ‘Thinking’s not going to bring him back.’
She said, ‘All I want is …’
‘Yes?’
‘You know what I want.’
Pretending to misunderstand her, he put his hand on her breast and said, ‘Now you’ll have to wait a wee while for that, at least till I finish my fag.’
The door opened, a voice said, ‘I thought you might like …’ and a woman came in holding a cup of tea. Her voice choked in disbelief as she took in the scene before her.
Then: ‘What the hell is this?’ she shouted.
The man rolled sideways off the bed, the woman flung the cup at him, missing by a yard, but splattering hot tea over his shoulder.
The Only Game Page 8