House of Correction

by French, Nicci

  ‘I get it. They didn’t like me.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. They’re all just getting off on this. I asked if anyone thought you might be innocent.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She sighed and said the police had been very thorough and she was very sorry to say it wasn’t in much doubt. Then she asked if I knew about what had happened between you and the guy you’re meant to have killed in the past. I said I knew the bare bones. She lowered her voice and leaned across the counter and got very chummy.’

  There was a lightness about Michaela that was completely new to Tabitha. It’s being free, she thought, and a spasm of pain gripped her.

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Things like: you never could tell what people get up to behind closed doors, dark horses or something. Then the vicar came in and she told her I was a reporter, and the vicar said nobody in the village would want to discuss something that had been so distressing. Then she said that she wanted to make it known that she had visited you in her pastoral role or whatever. She said she couldn’t reveal what you had told her but she thought it had been helpful to you to see her.’ Michaela put her head on one side. ‘Was it helpful?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That’s what I reckoned. The two of them smiled at me so much I thought their jaws would crack. They kept saying it was very sad and smiling at me. They asked when my article would come out. And I said I didn’t know. Then I walked to your house.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I wasn’t going to go all that way and not see it. They pointed me in the right direction. It’s pretty, but it doesn’t look like anyone could live there. There was a man painting the porch.’

  ‘Andy.’

  ‘I said I was a reporter and he told me he had nothing to say to me. But he was quite polite about it so I didn’t mind.’

  ‘Yes, he is polite.’

  ‘And that was it.’

  ‘Thank you, Michaela,’ said Tabitha. ‘I’m really grateful.’

  And she was, although in truth she had learned nothing new. Then a thought came to her.

  ‘What was the dumper truck doing at Rob’s? And you mentioned machines as well.’

  ‘The whole place is a huge muddy building site.’

  ‘What’s being built?’

  ‘Houses maybe? That’s what I assumed anyway.’

  ‘I see,’ said Tabitha.

  Terry’s words came into her mind: 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.

  Stuart.

  FORTY-ONE

  The bus driver, Sam McBride, looked more like he belonged in prison than many of the actual prisoners did. He was thin, with an unhealthy pallor that made Tabitha think of days spent indoors, and sandy hair that he wore in a ponytail. He was wearing a combat jacket, and when he took it off and hung it over the back of the chair, Tabitha saw that both his arms were thickly tattooed. He reminded her of a fox, quick and watchful, his brown eyes flickering around the room.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said, his voice surprisingly low. ‘I don’t know what use I am.’

  ‘It was just on the off-chance. I looked at the CCTV of that day and you were in the shop at the same time as me in the morning. You came in to buy cigarettes and I was in front of you.’

  ‘In your pyjamas.’ A little smile chased across his face.

  ‘Right. And I just wondered if you remembered anything.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like, did I say anything?’

  ‘Can’t you remember?’

  ‘The man who was standing in front of me claims I said something offensive about Stuart.’

  ‘That’s not good.’

  ‘Did you hear me, though?’

  His eyes rested on her face briefly. ‘It doesn’t ring a bell.’

  Tabitha paused.

  ‘Do you remember me not saying anything or do you just not remember anything?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know. If you’d shouted or been angry, I guess I’d have remembered that.’

  Tabitha let out a sigh.

  ‘That’s good, I suppose. Did you hear Rob Coombe – that’s the guy – say anything? He looked angry on the CCTV. I want to know what he was angry about.’ She took a breath. ‘Specifically, I want to know if he was angry about Stuart.’

  ‘I see,’ said the driver slowly. ‘That’s what you want.’

  ‘I want the truth.’

  ‘Right. You want that to be the truth.’

  Tabitha smiled, though she felt discouraged. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘There’s a great wall of evidence stacked against me and I want to pull out a few of the bricks. Or loosen them.’

  ‘I wish I could help you more,’ he said and he seemed to mean it. ‘But I go in there most days to buy fags or a can of Coke or whatever, and I don’t really pay attention to what’s going on. Now you mention it, it rings a bell – but that may only be because you’re mentioning it, if you get me.’

  ‘If I asked you to be a witness, would you?’

  He gave a tiny, crooked smile. ‘You must be desperate.’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  He stared at her for a few seconds, considering. ‘If it’ll help.’

  ‘And if anything else does occur to you, like remembering the farmer yelling about Stuart, you’ll tell me.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Do you drive the school bus every day?’

  ‘Yeah. I spend from half seven in the morning till about five in the afternoon, five days a week, driving it; except after the school run, it’s the old people going to community centres and stuff like that.’

  ‘So you know the area well?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly. I only came to Dormouth in November, five weeks before it happened, so I haven’t been doing the job for very long.’ Before she could ask her next question he added, ‘I was in the army and driving a bus is…’ He paused for thought. ‘Restful. And the kids are nice, mostly.’

  Time was precious so Tabitha steered the conversation back to 21 December. ‘So do you remember anything about that day?’

  ‘What kind of thing?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you were there in the morning and again in the afternoon and I wondered if there was anything you saw that struck you.’

  He pondered. ‘That man running,’ he said eventually. ‘He’s always running in his little shorts with his bare legs even when it’s freezing. Terry in the shop says he runs marathons. He probably takes that coastal path that goes all the way along the cliff. Oh, and there was a little kid who fell over in front of the bus as I was driving into the village and I had to step on the brake. I know it was that day because of the ice on the road. Maybe there was a man carrying a bag.’

  ‘What kind of man? What kind of bag?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably not even true. Or it’s true of a different morning. I see him sometimes walking through the village with his holdall.’

  Andy, she thought.

  ‘Then there were Christmas trees lit up in the windows,’ the driver continued. ‘Smoke coming out of chimneys. And the vicar with her dog. I always seem to see them. It’s a nice dog, not one of those skinny little things you could put in your shopping bag. This isn’t helping, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did you see Stuart?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not that I remember.’

  ‘Or his wife?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You mean you might have?’

  He gave a small grin. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t even know what she looked like.’

  ‘Nothing else you can think of?’

  ‘It was just an ordinary day. And it was still pretty dark.’

  ‘Of course. Did you see anyone coming into the village as you left?’

  ‘You mean in a car?’

  �
�Anything.’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps a van.’

  ‘A van.’

  ‘I said perhaps.’

  ‘I know I’m clutching at straws, it’s just—’ She stopped and spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  ‘Sure.’

  Tabitha frowned in concentration, thinking of the CCTV footage. Then it struck her that of course most of this was irrelevant: Stuart had more than two hours left to live after the bus had left Okeham. A feeling of glumness settled on her and she tried to push it away and think of anything she could ask that was of any possible use.

  ‘What about Rob Coombe?’ she said eventually.

  ‘I’ve told you what I remember, and don’t.’

  ‘No, I mean did you see him after that? He didn’t leave the village.’

  ‘Maybe he was with his girlfriend.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘That nice nurse.’

  Tabitha leaned forward, gripping the table. ‘Nurse?’ she said.

  ‘I think she’s a nurse. I’ve seen her in her uniform.’

  ‘Rob Coombe is having an affair with her?’

  ‘I’m just the bus driver. But sometimes after he’s dropped his kid off at the bus he drives away and then stops further up the village and walks back to her house.’

  ‘How do you know it’s her house?’

  ‘I saw her answer the door to him once. I had to stop the bus on my way out of the village because one of the kids wouldn’t sit down and there she was. I’m quite high up so I get a good view.’

  ‘I see,’ she said.

  There was only one nurse in Okeham.

  * * *

  After he left, Tabitha sat forward, her chin in her hands and her eyes half closed. Rob and Shona, Shona and Rob. Did that mean anything? And if it did, what?

  FORTY-TWO

  She sat on her bed, knees drawn up, leafing through her notebook. It was more than half filled now with lists and timelines and thoughts, maps and tasks, all written in her meticulous hand.

  She examined the map, drew another tiny boat on the sea, hatched the cliff more neatly. She put a small car on the turning circle, and a bare tree at its junction with the track that led to Stuart’s house and her own.

  She wrote up the notes from her meetings with Terry, Laura, Dr Mallon and the bus driver. She wrote down what Michaela had told her. Then she looked at the list of the people who had been trapped in the village on the day of Stuart’s murder. Surely she could cross off Pauline Leavitt, who was in her eighties and sometimes walked with a stick? And the man in his wheelchair, who wouldn’t even make it up her driveway with all its potholes and bumps. And presumably the two sisters with their toddlers. Then there was Terry, who had been in Okeham throughout the day but hadn’t left the shop.

  That left Shona – and what the bus driver had said about Shona returned to her; Rob, with his holiday homes that Stuart had tried to put a stop to; Dr Mallon, who had received Laura’s confidences and whose practice Stuart had left. Then there was Mel the vicar, who had fallen out with Stuart, and who Stuart had complained about to the bishop. Andy, who had told the police she had tried to prevent him finding the body. Luke Rees, who had been bullied by his father and who was protective of his mother.

  Tabitha thought about Laura, so angry behind her very English restraint, so lonely. But she had been away that day, with her failed meeting. Once more, Tabitha thought about both Laura’s botched appointment and Stuart’s attempt to leave the village. Where had he been going?

  And of course, she had been there all day herself. She tapped the pen beside her own name.

  She put the names in a circle and Stuart’s name in the middle, then drew arrows connecting them: everyone except Terry and Andy had one that joined them to Stuart. Then she linked Shona to Rob Coombe, herself to Andy, because he was her only real friend in the village. She chewed her pen. Was she also linked to Shona because she had gone to school with her? And was Owen Mallon everyone’s doctor – and was that even remotely relevant?

  What was this stupid diagram doing anyway?

  She drew a red line though the whole thing, shut the book and lay down in bed. She closed her eyes, and the grainy film started to play again in her head, figures moving in and out of the frame while the leafless birch swayed in the wind and the sleet fell.

  FORTY-THREE

  ‘You look great,’ said Tabitha.

  Shona was glowing from her week in the Canaries. Her face was tanned, there were new freckles on the bridge of her nose, and her chestnut hair had paler coppery streaks in it. She wore a yellow shirt, rolled up to the elbows, and seemed to bring sunshine into the drab visitors’ room. Sitting across from her in her grubby grey sweatshirt and jeans, Tabitha felt a stab of pure envy.

  ‘I needed to get away.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Tabitha. ‘Did you go alone?’

  ‘I went with Jules – Jules Perry. Do you remember her from school?’

  Tabitha did, though she tried not to. Tall, long-limbed and mean. She attempted a smile but her mouth felt stiff. ‘I think she probably arrived after I’d left,’ she said. ‘I was only there till I was sixteen.’

  ‘She lives in Nottingham now so I don’t see her that much. We had such a laugh, remembering old times.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And the sun, oh God, I soaked up the sun. Though it’s spring here now as well.’ She suddenly looked contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Tabs.’ (Tabs? thought Tabitha.) ‘Listen to me going on about holidays and spring and all the time you’re stuck in here. How are you?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I mean, really, how are you?’

  Tabitha suddenly felt that she didn’t want to tell Shona how she ‘really’ was.

  ‘I’m working on my defence.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘It seemed like I had ages, the weeks just stretched out in front of me, and now time’s running out. My trial is on June the third and we’re already almost in May.’

  Shona nodded. ‘Tell me how I can help,’ she said. ‘I feel I haven’t really done anything. Do you want to talk it through?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Is there anything you need in here?’

  ‘I’ll let you know if I do.’ Tabitha paused. ‘I really want to talk about something else. I’m trying to work out what everyone who was in the village that day was doing.’

  ‘Why?’

  Tabitha couldn’t bear the thought of going through the whole case again with Shona. ‘It could be useful. For example, where were you all day?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle,’ said Tabitha.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So where were you?’

  ‘At home. I mean, I went to the shop, I think.’

  ‘Yes, you did. Twice.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I saw you on CCTV.’

  Shona looked bewildered. She gave a small laugh. ‘Then you know already.’

  ‘But you didn’t go out at all apart from those times?’

  ‘Why would I? It was foul out there.’

  ‘Was it a work day?’

  ‘Yes. I was on call. Two of my mothers were overdue, one of them already nine days late. But of course, I got stuck. It was nice really, an unexpected little holiday. Like those snow days we sometimes had when we couldn’t go to school, do you remember?’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Not much. Why?’ Tabitha waited. ‘Just pottered. I had a bath – a bath in the middle of the day, bliss. Made myself lunch. Wasted time online.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Apart from when I went to the shop, you mean? Nobody.’

  ‘Nobody?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘Did you see Rob Coombe?’

  Shona’s face turned blank. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked after a pause.

 
; ‘Honestly I don’t care what you do in your personal life. I just wanted to know if he was with you.’

  ‘Why would he be?’

  ‘Well, was he?’

  ‘Who’s been spreading rumours?’ asked Shona. Her face flamed.

  ‘None of that matters,’ said Tabitha. ‘But if he was with you then I need to know.’

  ‘I think it’s time to go.’

  ‘Listen, Shona, I don’t care who’s fucking who, who’s betraying who, I only care about where he was and where you were on that day.’

  ‘Have you said anything to Andy about this gossip?’

  ‘What’s Andy got to do with it?’

  ‘Nothing. Sorry. I just – never mind. I’m a bit confused by this, to be honest, and we’re friends but all of a sudden you’re not talking to me like a friend.’ Shona’s brown eyes were reproachful.

  ‘You still haven’t told me.’

  ‘It was just a little fling, after Paul and I broke up and I was a bit of a mess and Rob was nice to me. I didn’t mean for it to happen and I really don’t want everyone in the village finding out. It’s been over for ages and it’s got nothing to do with anything.’

  ‘So? Was he there?’

  Shona fidgeted in her chair. ‘Maybe,’ she said at last.

  FORTY-FOUR

  It almost felt like she was being released. Mary Guy collected her from the cell and led her through four doors. Tabitha never got used to the laborious unlocking and locking, the rattling of the keys, but this time they took a different route and she was signed out like any other visitor and emerged blinking into the car park in front of the grand Victorian gateway. Tabitha looked around, but there was only a dark silver saloon car with a middle-aged man sitting in the driving seat looking at his phone.

  ‘Where’s the van?’ said Tabitha.

  ‘Unavailable,’ said Mary Guy. ‘We’re taking a cab.’