by Gwen Moffat
‘So Jay knows everything. And Daryl?’
Kristen shrugged. It wasn’t important.
‘We all know now,’ Pearl said, and there was a trace of reproof in her tone, as if there was nothing left to conceal.
Chapter 17
At nine o’clock that evening Ada sent for Miss Pink. Pearl was obviously uneasy when she delivered the message. Kristen had gone to the Markow ranch and the two of them were alone. ‘I think,’ Pearl said, not meeting Miss Pink’s eye, ‘that she just wants to know what’s going on.’
‘I shall reassure her.’
‘Oh? You haven’t reassured me.’
‘Kristen didn’t want to talk about Veronica.’
‘You think Ada does?’
‘This is Ada’s party.’ Miss Pink smiled. ‘She’s calling the shots; you don’t have to worry about her.’ Pearl went to speak and stopped. ‘Or me,’ Miss Pink added, and hoped it was true.
Ada was wearing a yellow dress and a string of amber beads. She wore a touch of lipstick too and her hair was in a chignon as it had been when they met for the first time. Death had invested her with dignity and she received Miss Pink’s condolences with poise. They sat in the dimly lit living-room with a coffee-table between them and a tray with cups and saucers, a china coffeepot and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies.
‘You’ve been baking,’ Miss Pink observed as Ada poured coffee.
‘Funerals are busy times. For the women.’
‘So Avril said.’
‘Was it Avril who told you about Gregorio?’
‘Not in the way you mean. She found her ring so she admits he wasn’t a thief. Otherwise she’s willing to accept that he’s guilty. It makes things easier all round.’
‘In what way?’
‘The accepted story is that Clayton killed Gregorio because the man was the father of Veronica’s baby and so he was also responsible for her death. Then Clayton’s mind became unhinged and he committed suicide.’
Ada had listened carefully. ‘But you have another version; you say Gregorio couldn’t have been the father.’
Miss Pink realised that this wasn’t telepathy; if Kristen had gone straight from Pearl’s house to the Markow ranch, she could have telephoned her mother from there. She spread her hands. ‘The identity of the father is important? Pearl says everything is out in the open; by that she means it’s confined to a small circle, to the village – and Kristen says that the family, that is, you and herself, want to forget. “It’s a family matter,” were her words.’
‘She doesn’t trust you.’
‘Naturally, she doesn’t know me as well as she knows Pearl, but you don’t have to trust me; all the evidence is circumstantial. The police couldn’t build a case on it, and why should they? Murder was committed and the killer committed suicide. And Veronica’s pregnancy? There’s never been any suggestion of rape there; the police aren’t going to look for a crime where there’s no indication of one.’
Ada licked her lips very delicately. ‘But there was Tammy.’
‘It’s over. She’s safe. You’re all safe.’ Miss Pink smiled. ‘Circumstantial evidence: your attitudes have changed completely, your own appearance has changed since he died. You’re all overwhelmed with relief. The clincher was Tammy’s terror, her adamant refusal to come back to the village, and her complete change of mood when Kristen spoke to her on the telephone. Of course, Kristen told Tammy that Clayton was dead.’
‘It was all my fault,’ Ada said. ‘We should have – Kristen should have taken that silly dress away from her. I shouldn’t have gone to the fiesta.’
‘If it hadn’t been the dress it would have been something else. After all—’
‘He was very strict,’ Ada interrupted. ‘He wasn’t balanced where some things were concerned and after Veronica he became even more obsessed.’ She sighed. ‘And there was Kristen and Jay, he was going mad with anger; he lost sight of the fact that Tammy wasn’t his own daughter, she was just a – just any little girl, flaunting – what he thought was flaunting her, her—’
‘Sex?’
Ada’s jumpy eyes became fixed. ‘You know what happened. Kristen says you know.’
‘And then he had to kill her to silence her.’
Ada thought for a moment. ‘That seems to be right,’ she said cautiously.
‘Kristen says he was firing at Tammy.’
‘Don’t you believe her?’
‘I do. It was you who hesitated.’
‘It’s a terrible thing to admit: that your husband tried to kill someone.’
‘It’s more terrible to know why he needed to kill her.’
‘You know that! To silence her.’
‘But when he told Tammy she had to keep quiet after he – attacked her, he said it would be her word against his.’
‘He must have thought better of it; he was afraid Ira would believe Tammy if she told him.’
‘In court, if it had come to a court case, Clayton would maintain that Tammy teased him. We all know she did, she thought it amusing to make him angry; why, Pearl and I were witnesses to that, when we were visiting you shortly after I arrived here. But if Kristen were to back Tammy’s story, people would believe the two of them.’
‘Kristen didn’t know everything that happened that Sunday afternoon, not till much later.’
‘She knew quite enough.’ Ada stiffened. ‘She didn’t have to know much,’ Miss Pink went on, ‘only that Tammy had come in this house when there was no one here except him, that something had happened to frighten Tammy, she didn’t have to know specifically what it was, it was enough to confront him—’
‘He told Kristen—’ Ada stopped.
‘How Tammy was dressed?’
‘No, she didn’t know that until she learned it from you. What he did say was Tammy asked him to – to—’
‘I know. He put all the blame on Tammy. They do that.’
‘Oh. So – they quarrelled: Kristen and her father. Kristen was afraid of what might happen – not knowing that it had already.’
‘She’d been afraid of it for a while.’
‘Yes. She told you that?’
‘And he repeated to her that it was Tammy’s word against his, and Kristen said she could, would confirm Tammy’s word. Because Kristen had always known he was obsessed with young girls.’
The hooded eyes closed and opened again. ‘It was all in the past,’ Ada said, adding, fighting to the last, ‘whatever happened.’
‘It’s happening now.’
‘How can it be? He committed suicide. Can’t you let it go?’
‘I accept that’s the official version.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘If it wasn’t for the fact that Kristen has alibis all over the place, I’d say she shot him, although Jay had to help her get the body in the river.’
‘That’s pure fantasy – but it’s clever. You’re a clever woman. Tell me why you’d think Kristen would shoot her own father.’
Miss Pink looked thoughtful. ‘Everyone – except Clayton – seems to have liked Gregorio. Perhaps he was kind to Veronica – I mean kind,’ she added sternly, ‘I’m not for one moment suggesting that there was any sexual relationship. But Gregorio had been chosen for the fall guy and Kristen knew it. She shot her father because he was mad, and he was dangerous not only to Tammy and any other child who attracted him, but to you, because you knew. The reason why Kristen was helping Jay produce marijuana was so that they could get you away from here. She would do anything for money so that you could move right away, and growing grass was an easy way to get it. Why wouldn’t you go anyway? Why didn’t you – I’m sorry.’ She’d lost her cool and tried to retract.
‘People always ask those questions,’ Ada said. ‘“You knew what he was like; why didn’t you leave him?” And the wives, the ones who stay, can’t answer – but they feel, they feel guilty. I did think it was all over, once she got older.’
‘But Veronica was immature,’ Miss P
ink said quietly. ‘So being older in years didn’t count with her.’
‘She was like a child.’ There was a world of sadness in that. ‘How did you know all this?’ It was said without much curiosity but Miss Pink answered it all the same.
‘I didn’t. You asked me to come here so that you could find out how much I knew. It was just enough to be dangerous, and now you’ve told me the rest, but we’re agreed: it’s fantasy, women’s gossip.’
Ada nodded. ‘Like you said: there’s no evidence, what I told you was the ramblings of a bereaved widow with a history of nervous complaints. But you don’t know everything.’
‘I don’t know anything; it’s all guesswork. I do know that for a girl to shoot her own father she’d need more compelling reasons than what she thought he might do in the future, and if she’d known about incest all along why didn’t she act before? What brought things to a head at this time?’
‘You did. And she didn’t know.’
‘What?’
‘They forget what happens when they’re very young, or maybe they forget deliberately. Kristen was a feisty child and he had – there was Veronica to turn to and she never talked, not until near the end, and then Kristen didn’t believe her. You have to understand that Veronica had all kinds of fantasies – and dreams; she thought her dreams were real. So Kristen didn’t – couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she never told me; she tried to spare me trouble always. But when Veronica was taken out of the river and the doctor told us about the baby, then she knew that some of it, at least, was true, and she wondered about the rest. When you arrived and found what was left of Gregorio, I think at that stage she knew everything: knew, suspected, it doesn’t matter.’ Ada slumped in her chair.
‘Veronica didn’t drown herself.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘I have to say this’ – Ada was listless – ‘although it sounds dreadful with what we know now, but she seemed to be a happy girl, and she couldn’t hide much.’
‘But she did, didn’t she?’
‘No, she told Kristen!’ The fine eyes closed in pain. ‘And she didn’t believe her.’ She went on, in a voice drained of emotion, ‘We never let her go out on her own, only way she could have reached the river was with one of us taking her, one night when Casey was gone to Palomares. She had to be killed because when it was seen that she was pregnant, he knew we’d find out who the father was.’ The eyes rose to Miss Pink’s. ‘So now you know everything.’ Slowly she seemed to regain strength. ‘I’m not pleading,’ she said calmly, ‘and no way would I threaten you – not that I don’t think killing can be justified. But the way I look at it is laws were made by men, and here was a man used his own child worse than a beast, and drowned her when his sin was about to be discovered, and then he killed another innocent to make that dead man take the blame. Then he starts over with the next victim and he tried to kill her when she became a threat. If someone kills that man before he can do more harm, that’s justice. And who should take the responsibility except his own kin? But we’re all in it,’ she assured Miss Pink, ‘Pearl, Jay and me, like you said: we’re Kristen’s alibis. And now you do know everything, what will you do?’
‘Nothing. Lock the door and throw away the key. Although I shall remember some things.’
‘Loyalty?’
‘Yes, and confidence.’ Miss Pink looked surprised. ‘You all know where you’re at.’
‘Some of us do.’
The dust was soft and the street showed pale in the starlight. Under the brilliant canopy and the black bulk of the cliffs the lighted windows looked like sanctuaries in the wilderness. Frogs were chattering in the creek bed, an owl called in the rocks, and behind the insect screens the women could be seen working in their kitchens, going methodically about their business of baking cakes and cookies for the funeral of Veronica’s daddy.
THE LOST GIRLS
Table of Contents
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1
By July the water had sunk so low that the remains of the drowned village had started to appear. The field walls had been visible for some time but they always showed in a dry summer and this was the driest for forty-five years.
The dam was built in the fifties, five miles below the village. The people were relocated elsewhere, most of them preferring to stay in the county. Some accepted other hill farms, a few moved into town, two families emigrated to Canada. The authorities breathed a collective sigh of relief when the evacuation was over; Orrdale had always been a headache, isolated as it was at the end of a minor road, difficult to administer, impossible to supervise adequately. Doctors and the Church, Highway departments and the police, all considered it for the best that the village should pass out of existence. Some even welcomed it unreservedly, trusting that the waters of the new reservoir would erase the memory of little Joannie Gardner as effectively as they covered her remains, wherever they were.
Memories stirred with the reappearance of the village. As the water continued to recede Orrdale’s old residents were fascinated by the image on their television screens. All the same no one went up there — with the exception of Isaac Dent who grazed sheep on the fells above the reservoir. There wasn’t much to do with the sheep after shearing but he drove to the head of the dale several times a week to keep an eye on things. The drowned village was proving a tourist attraction. Tourists broke down walls and their dogs chased the sheep. Isaac kept a shotgun in his Land Rover.
In this corner of the Lake District farmers were rumoured to shoot loose dogs on sight. The ramblers knew that, so the party setting out from the dale to the south of Orrdale were critical of the lone girl who’d caught them up. She was accompanied by a collie, running loose. They pointed out that it made no difference that the dog was fat and scared of sheep, but they’d needed to come on quite heavy before she put him on a length of baler twine. She slipped it off as soon as she left the hikers. She could grab the dog if a farmer appeared. Now that was a joke. Once the others had gone the world was empty of people.
She hadn’t noticed at first. What with getting away from the Mondeo guy and racing after the hikers the background had been just that, background. It had stayed that way for a time even when she was alone again; she’d taken one glance at the view, such as it was — a skin of thin grass and all the rest sky — and she’d shut it out. A couple of miles, they’d said: keep to the path and she’d come out above Orrdale; she’d see the reservoir below, she couldn’t miss it.
At least the path was level, but dead boring; there was nothing to do but think. She was used to that, it was the only occupation when you were alone in a barn or a squat and you had to go to bed early because there was no one to talk to, and no light, no warmth either except in the sleeping-bag.
She didn’t travel much at night, the cops were liable to pick you up and the end of that would be another foster home, another Uncle Bill. The world was full of Uncle Bills, even the cops had their share. She cultivated the hard look: the hair-style, the climber’s rucksack, the Nikes (the last two spoils from a brief liaison with a ram-raider who specialised in outdoor equipment) and yet that bloke in the Mondeo had come on to her before she’d been in the car five minutes. Waited for the clincher till he’d got her in a lonely valley though. Scared of Aids but drooling. They all were. Safe sex was a blow job? You could have fooled Perry. His money was good though: twenty quid. She could live on that for a fortnight, throw in a few free meals. And she might meet more like the Mondeo driver, she could handle the type, she could run faster.
‘What was he like?’ one of the girl hikers had asked, fascinated by her story.
‘Weird,’ Perry responded glibly. With hindsight he’d
been totally predictable but she was acting the injured party here and she needed the protection of this group. She had to go on; he could be waiting for her if she turned back. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘what kind of guy is it that picks up a girl, as good as rapes her, and he’d said this was a short-cut to the motorway? Then he throws her out of the car.’
‘Why should he send you over the pass?’ one of the men asked. ‘Why not tell you to go back down the dale?’
‘He meant her to get lost,’ a girl said.
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘No?’ Perry raised thin eyebrows. ‘He had a new Mondeo. He was some kind of inspector, he wore a tie. I’m — vulnerable.’ She’d been about to say she was under-age. ‘He wouldn’t want me alive to testify. He wanted me dead.’
‘What did he do exactly?’
She could kill the suspicious sod, he wasn’t believing a word of it. She made a move to lift the Ray Bans but remembered in time that the shiner was too black to be recent. She touched the side of her head and winced. ‘Banged me skull against the window, didn’t he? That’s assault, apart from the rest.’
Actually she’d been lucky to escape unmarked this time; pick up a girl with a black eye and you guess she’s used to violence, that’s how his mind would have worked. Perry knew men. But she’d snatched his money, nicked his shades and scarpered. He’d had the last laugh though; brought her up the wrong valley, told her there was this short-cut over the top of the hill. Why did he tell her that before he came on heavy? Drifting across the pass, her eyes on her Nikes but not seeing them, visualising the well-fed sweaty face of him, the little eyes wet with lust, she knew that the bastard meant to dump her right from the start. Well, of course — he had to call on the locals; he wouldn’t want her with him.