House of Correction

by French, Nicci

  ‘I didn’t even know that we had CCTV in Okeham. So did it show me doing anything interesting?’

  ‘You were running.’

  ‘That’s not interesting; I run almost every day.’

  ‘And I swim. Just a dip. It’s good for me. It improves my mood. I go swimming, you go running: we probably do it for the same reasons.’

  ‘I do it as a way of thinking.’

  ‘Then we don’t do it for the same reasons. I mainly do it to avoid thinking. On that day, I went for a swim at about a quarter to ten and on my way back, I met you.’

  ‘Yes, I gave a statement about that.’

  ‘I’ve read it. As far as I remember, you said I seemed distressed.’

  ‘It was just an impression.’

  ‘I was probably just shivering. But I’m not going to argue with you. People tell me I must be careful not to interfere with the course of justice.’

  ‘It would be a pity if you got into trouble,’ Mallon said in a dry tone.

  ‘Is that a joke?’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be unfeeling.’ Mallon had been standing up. Now he half-sat on the end of the couch.

  ‘So, Tabitha, you didn’t have an earache and you’ve already read my very uninformative statement to the police. What was worth my taking an afternoon off from my practice?’

  ‘Why did you take an afternoon off in order to see someone who isn’t even your patient?’ asked Tabitha. ‘Is it interesting to take a look at the person who’s the talk of the village?’

  ‘If you’re trying to get me on your side, then this is a pretty odd way to go about it.’

  ‘Are you giving evidence for the prosecution?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know. I was just told that I should make myself available.’

  ‘I suppose it puts me in the village, walking in the right direction.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What did you think of Stuart Rees?’

  Up to now Mallon had looked almost amused. Now he was visibly startled. ‘What do you mean? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘I’m just asking.’

  ‘I don’t even know why you would ask me something like that.’

  ‘It’s like this,’ Tabitha said. ‘When I first started thinking about my situation, there were several things which made it terrible. One of which was that people thought I had a motive for killing him. I was the’ – Tabitha held up her fingers and made air quotes – ‘abused little girl. I had had my’ – more air quotes – ‘innocence taken from me. And meanwhile, the person I was supposed to have a grudge against was the most popular person in the village. Then I started talking to people and it seems like I’m the only person who didn’t dislike him. Or at least, almost everyone turns out to have a reason for disliking him. But you know all about that. You’ve talked to Laura. Or rather, Laura’s talked to you. She said you were helpful.’

  ‘I can’t say anything about that,’ said Mallon.

  ‘Was it about being ill or was it about something in her personal life? People talk to doctors about all kinds of things, don’t they?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter how you rephrase the question, I can’t answer it.’

  Tabitha couldn’t decide whether he was just being professionally correct or whether she had touched on an uncomfortable area.

  ‘You were his doctor,’ she said, ‘and then you weren’t his doctor.’

  ‘People change doctors all the time.’

  ‘Yes, when I lived in London, changing doctors was no big deal. But in a place like Okeham, changing your doctor is like moving house. Except that your old house doesn’t get offended when you move away from it.’

  ‘It’s nothing like that. I’m not offended.’

  ‘I just talked to Laura. She’s come to see me. She’s not someone who seems desperate to be liked, but I quite like her.’ Tabitha waited for Mallon to make some kind of comment, but he didn’t, so she continued. ‘The way she talked about Stuart surprised me. People usually idealise the dead, especially when they’ve just died. But Laura wasn’t like that. The Stuart she talked about was someone difficult, a bit of a troublemaker, a stirrer.’

  ‘She’s upset.’

  ‘And I’m guessing that he didn’t just move doctors. I’m guessing that he made some kind of complaint about you.’

  ‘I can’t comment on that.’

  ‘You’re suddenly sounding like you’re already in court.’

  Mallon stood up and gave a little laugh.

  ‘All I can say is that if someone makes a complaint about you in writing, then murdering them isn’t going to be a very clever way of dealing with it.’

  ‘So he made a complaint about you in writing?’

  ‘It happens all the time. It’s part of the job.’

  Tabitha now stood up as well.

  ‘When they brought you in,’ she said, ‘and they took you through door after door, locking and unlocking them with those big bunches of keys rattling, did it make you feel a bit trapped? Even though you know you can go home?’

  ‘Yes, it did.’

  ‘You probably didn’t enjoy this much…’ He made an effort to say something but she shushed him. ‘A talk like this, whatever else it does, it makes me feel a tiny bit less shut in, just for a few minutes. Maybe you just have a smell of the outside world. Perhaps you could come again, in a doctorish sort of way.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

  Tabitha didn’t think it was very likely.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Tabitha found it disconcerting to see Terry George sitting across from her in the visitors’ room.

  ‘You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside the shop,’ she said.

  ‘It’s your whole life,’ said Terry cheerfully. ‘If you don’t enjoy it, then don’t do it. Because I live above the shop, I open up at seven and I’m not done till half past six. You’ve got to like it. And you’ve got to like people.’

  Tabitha went through the ritual of thanking her for coming, but she was clearly enjoying herself. She had dressed up in a purple velvet jacket over a tight green blouse, and her eyes were bright with curiosity.

  ‘I’ve been watching you on the CCTV,’ said Tabitha.

  ‘I know, I was there when they took it all away. Quite a business.’

  ‘So I know that you didn’t do it,’ said Tabitha. ‘The camera shows you were there the whole day.’

  ‘I’m lucky if I get two minutes for a toilet break,’ Terry said, laughing loudly. It felt like a laugh that had been developed for getting through the hours in the Okeham village day, from the groups of boisterous children on their way to school and back from school, to the older people in the village who needed someone to talk to as they bought their single baking potato. You couldn’t afford to lose a customer. There were only about a hundred of them.

  ‘I’d have brought something,’ Terry continued, ‘but someone told me that they don’t let you bring anything in.’

  ‘That’s all right. I just wanted to talk to you. I’ve always thought that you’re the person who knows what’s going on in the village.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I try to have a word with everyone when they pop into the shop.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about that. When I looked at the footage of the shop on the morning of the murder, I saw that Rob Coombe was talking to you. He looked angry about something. He was gesticulating a lot.’

  ‘Sounds like Rob.’

  ‘Do you remember what he was saying?’

  ‘No.’

  Tabitha smiled, although she didn’t feel like smiling.

  ‘That’s a bit certain. I thought you might take a moment to try and remember.’

  ‘I can’t tell one day from another. That’s what I told the police. The same people come in and out all the time. I remember the odd ones, the strangers. But not my regulars. So I can’t tell one day from another; I can’t tell one year
from another.’

  She laughed again. Tabitha knew that Terry’s husband had left her last year. People said it was the strain of running the shop. Tabitha thought it could have been the strain of listening to that laugh day after day.

  ‘All right, you can’t remember. But is it possible that he was angry with Stuart Rees?’

  For the first time Terry seemed to be considering how to reply.

  ‘The point of living in a place like Okeham is that it’s like family. You’ve to rub along with people because you’re all living together, you’re seeing each other every day.’

  ‘I know that Stuart had complained about Melanie Coglan. And I think he had some problem with Dr Mallon.’

  ‘I’m not going to say anything against Stuart Rees,’ said Terry firmly. ‘I never do. And I never speak ill of the dead. I’ll just say that nobody went to his funeral who didn’t have to go.’

  ‘Did you go?’

  ‘I have to go. It’s part of my job.’

  Tabitha didn’t quite see how it was part of Terry’s job as proprietor of the village shop to go to funerals, but she let it go.

  ‘But with Rob Coombe,’ said Tabitha. ‘There was nothing specific.’

  ‘No.’ There was a pause. ‘Except for the land.’

  ‘The land.’

  ‘You know the bit of his farm up on the cliff, overlooking the bay?’

  ‘I know that his farm is up there.’

  ‘He was applying for permission to build some holiday homes. It was going to be his pension. Then it was all halted. There was an objection.’

  ‘By Stuart?’

  Terry’s expression changed to one of disapproval.

  ‘That’s what people said. I wouldn’t repeat it myself. I don’t know anything about it. He was just someone who had his finger in every pie, wanted to be involved in everything.’ She looked at Tabitha with a sudden expression of alarm. ‘I didn’t mean… I mean—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Tabitha. ‘I suppose everyone knows now about my…’ She hesitated for a single beat. ‘My involvement with Stuart. Years ago.’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to things like that.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. But you must pay attention to some things. Did you see anyone out of the ordinary on that day? I saw the school bus driver was in the shop at the same time as me.’

  ‘Sam,’ said Terry. ‘He comes in and buys his cigarettes every morning. I always think those bus drivers are a bit dodgy. I think the police should have a word with him.’

  ‘Except that he was driving the bus,’ said Tabitha.

  ‘That’s true,’ Terry said, looking a little disappointed.

  ‘Maybe he heard something.’

  ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Can you tell him I’d like him to visit me? I’ll put him on the list and he can come anytime. But as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  ‘There was the delivery man as well. He delivered the package to Stuart and then got stuck in the village.’

  ‘That’s true. Polish fellow. Poor love. He was sat in the café for hours. He was drinking tea and then he had lunch. The police gave him a right going over. Poles, you know. It’s completely unfair, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Tabitha. Then she had a thought. ‘Rob Coombe was there that day. Was he in the café?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t. I’d have remembered, you know, with the Pole being there.’

  ‘So where was he?’

  ‘Must have been in someone’s house. It wasn’t the day to be hanging around outside.’ She looked at Tabitha suspiciously. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m just trying to work out where everyone was on that day.’

  ‘You should just ask him.’

  ‘I did. He won’t come.’

  ‘He’s moody like that.’

  ‘Can you do me a favour?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ve tried ringing Shona. She’s one of my friends in the village. Can you ask her to get in touch?’

  ‘She’s on holiday.’

  ‘Holiday?’

  ‘Gone to the Canaries, lucky thing. For a week. She should be back any day. I’ll tell her when I see her.’

  ‘Oh. All right.’

  Tabitha always saved the difficult questions till last. ‘Terry, could you do me one more favour?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You know more about the village than anyone. What do they think of me?’

  For the first time, Terry looked awkward, ill at ease, evasive. ‘I don’t quite know what to say.’

  ‘You don’t need to be polite.’ Tabitha laughed. ‘Look at me. I’m in prison. Things can’t get worse. I just want to know the truth.’

  ‘Well, I mean…’ Terry hesitated, her eyes flickering round the room. ‘You keep yourself to yourself.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You don’t quite fit it in. You’re not a joiner-in. You know how people are. They get suspicious. They don’t see you as…’ She seemed to be struggling to find the words. ‘Your normal kind of… you know.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Like that time you refused to buy a poppy on Remembrance Day?’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘You’d only just arrived then. I’m sure you didn’t mean it. Or when Pauline Leavitt took you for a young man when she first met you and then apologised, but you asked her what was wrong with looking like a man.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Oh. I mean, if it was just up to me—’

  ‘It’s all right. And do they think I did it?’

  ‘Well, you know, people have their own thoughts.’

  ‘And what are those thoughts?’

  ‘I don’t know, that the police wouldn’t do all this for nothing. That’s not my thoughts, of course.’

  ‘Thank you, Terry. This has been interesting.’

  ‘Interesting?’ said Terry. She looked momentarily confused, as if she had just watched a film and been told that she’d missed the good bit.

  FORTY

  Tabitha had always loved the spring. In prison, she had missed the snowdrops, the winter aconites, the daffodils and crocuses. Soon she would have missed the last of the tulips and the bluebells that grew in the woods above Okeham. She would have missed the birds building their nests, the swallows returning. But even in prison, spring showed itself: the sky through her small cell window was often blue and the days were longer. From the library she could see trees in blossom and new leaf. And she no longer needed to wear layers of tee shirts, jumpers and socks at night.

  Spring didn’t necessarily mean hope in Crow Grange. A fifty-year-old woman who had killed her abusive husband hanged herself; a twenty-two-year-old woman who had smuggled drugs cut herself so badly that everyone thought she would die; Vera started attacking warders and sometimes she would stand in the hall and tear her precious sheets of paper into tiny fragments, tears streaming down her old face.

  * * *

  ‘That’s bad,’ said Michaela when Tabitha told her this. Her smooth face darkened.

  ‘You look well, though.’

  ‘I’m OK. I did what you asked.’

  ‘You’ve been to see Rob Coombe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you said you were a journalist?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t really know what journalists are like, but I know they don’t look like me and they don’t sound like me.’

  ‘So he didn’t believe you?’

  ‘You never told me how cool it was there.’

  Tabitha had never really told Michaela anything. They’d lived side by side for those weeks in silence.

  ‘Well,’ she said now, ‘I guess I’m used to it.’

  ‘I sat in the car for a long time, just looking.’ Michaela’s eyes were dark, her expression unreadable. ‘But then I found your farmer, on the top of the cliff with all the mud and the machines.’


  ‘Rob.’

  ‘Not a very friendly character, is he? I’d bought a notebook and a pen and I got out of the car. It was windy enough to sweep you right off the cliff top. I knocked at the door and nobody answered and then I saw him coming towards me out of this barn. I said I was a journalist and he asked where I was from and I said I was from the Enquirer.’

  Tabitha wasn’t used to Michaela talking in long connected sentences.

  ‘It’s OK. He didn’t ask to see my ID or even what my name was. I said I was writing a story about the murder and he said I should fuck off.’

  ‘That’s him. Sorry about that.’

  ‘I didn’t pay him any attention,’ continued Michaela calmly. ‘I said I’d heard he’d accused you of threatening Stuart and he asked who I’d heard that from. I said I couldn’t tell him, but was it true?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He told me to get off his land. His wife came back then and parked next to us and asked what was going on. I told her I was a reporter come to ask them questions about the murder and she glared at the farmer like it was his fault I was there. Then she pointed a finger at me and told me I was trespassing.’

  ‘And you left?’

  ‘Yes. Though there was a great dumper truck blocking my way so I had to sit there while they watched me.’

  ‘Thanks for trying.’

  ‘Are you going to ask me if I drove straight home?’

  ‘Did you drive straight home?’

  ‘No. I went to your village.’

  ‘Okeham.’

  ‘I parked near the hotel and I wandered around. I went into the village shop and I told the woman working there that I was a reporter from the Enquirer and she was much friendlier than the farmer.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘She told me how the village was in trauma.’ Michaela’s brow furrowed a bit. ‘She said that she would prefer not to be named, but that everyone had always thought there was something fishy about you.’

  ‘Fishy.’

  ‘I think that was the word. It might have been dodgy.’

  ‘Right.’ Tabitha wondered which it was better to be: fishy or dodgy.

  ‘She said you hadn’t entered into the village community much. That you wore odd, mannish clothes – well, that’s true anyway.’ And now Michaela smiled at her, a large and unexpected smile that showed a chipped tooth. ‘And you didn’t have much chit-chat. You just worked on your house or swam in the sea when nobody in their right minds would do that in the winter, or stalked around the village in a dark coat, scowling.’