Staverton (25 page)

“Found it.” Michael handed me the phone.

“Thanks.”

“I’m going back to London, so I can give you a lift to the station if you like?”

“Oh...” I hesitated. “Thanks, but I have a taxi waiting.”

“Right. I’ll see you at the end of the month then,” Michael said and bent down to pick up the canvas.

“The end of the month?”

“The exhibition, remember?”

I swallowed. “Yes, but I didn’t think you’d still want to see me.”

Michael sighed. He secured the painting in the boot of his car. “I didn’t exactly appreciate you bringing all that stuff up about my father, but we’ve been friends a long time, Lucy.” He smiled at me.

I stepped forward and hugged him. “I’m glad, I didn’t want to upset any of you.”

I walked off to the waiting taxi and felt a prickling sensation on the back of my neck. I turned to wave, thinking Michael was watching me leave, but he wasn’t. He was moving things around in the boot of his car.

I looked up. A curtain twitched at a second floor window, and I shivered.

***

In the back of the taxi, I scrolled through the numbers on my phone, to find Freddie’s. I really needed to hear his friendly voice.

I was about to dial Freddie’s number when the screen lit up with an incoming call. It was a number I didn’t recognize.

“Miss Lucy Carter?”

“Yes.”

“This is Detective Inspector Alcott. I was the senior officer in charge of the investigation into the murder of Gwen Rutherford.”

I remembered him, remembered his clipped arrogant voice.

When I didn’t say anything, he went on, “My colleague, DC Green, told me you came to the Staverton-on-Sea Station today, with some information regarding Gwen Rutherford.”

“I did,” I said. Not that anyone at the station was interested in what I had to say, I thought.

“Miss Carter, would you be able to come back to the station? There are a few questions I would like to ask you.”

“I’m supposed to be catching a train back to Edinburgh.”

“Please, Miss Carter. It could be very important.”

“All right. I can be there in a few minutes. It won’t take long, will it?”

“I’ll be at the station to meet you,” he said, ignoring my question.

***

As it turned out, he wasn’t there to meet me at the station. The desk sergeant greeted me like an old friend, and this time he ushered me through to a different room, with worn but comfortable padded chairs. In the corner of the room, a kettle and an old brown tea pot sat on the counter.

“Help yourself to tea and coffee,” the desk sergeant said. “One of our PCSOs will be along in a minute.” He smiled and left to go back to his desk.

I had no idea what a PCSO was, but I decided to take him up on his offer of a cup of tea. I selected one of the brightly coloured mugs from the draining board. I flicked on the kettle and looked at my watch. If DI Alcott showed up soon, there was a chance I could get the two o’clock train, but that wouldn’t get back to Edinburgh until after ten.

I picked up a leaflet with PCSO on the front in bold letters. Flicking through, I saw PCSO was short for police community support officer. I settled back into one of the worn seats and sipped my tea.

An hour later, my cup was empty and cold. I picked it up in irritation and took it over to the sink to wash it. Would any of them notice if I left? I put the cup on the draining board.

“I’ll have mine white, no sugar.”

I turned and saw DI Alcott. He didn’t smile, just looked at me through his hooded eyes.

“I’d almost given up on you,” I said and walked away from the kettle. I wasn’t going to make tea after he’d kept me waiting for an hour.

“I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped.”

I noticed a fluffy, blonde woman in a navy-blue uniform standing next to him.

DI Alcott introduced her. “This is PCSO Stevens.”

I nodded at the woman and then made a show of looking at my watch. “Will this take long?”

“Let’s make a start, shall we? It’s more comfortable in here, so we’ll do the interview in here, unless you have any objections?”

“It’s fine.” I sat down, and DI Alcott and PCSO Stevens took seats opposite me. “I’m not sure where you want me to start. I’ve already spoken to DC Green.”

“Start from the beginning,” DI Alcott said.

It took three hours. Three hours of questions, three hours of refuting DI Alcott’s claim my memory might not be accurate five years after the event, and three hours of sneaking glances at my watch.

When DI Alcott snapped the lid back on his pen and stood up, I sighed with relief. If I got the train now, I’d get into Edinburgh at eleven-thirty, late, but at least I’d be home.

“I don’t suppose I could get a lift down to the station, could I?” I asked, looking at DI Alcott then PCSO Stevens. “If we go now, I could get the three-thirty train.”

“Oh, you can’t get the train,” DI Alcott said, shuffling his pile of papers and forms.

I stared after him as he tucked the stack of papers under his arm and left the room.

I turned to PCSO Stevens. “What does he mean?”

PCSO Stevens grimaced. “We have to get your statement typed up, for you to sign.”

“Oh,” I said, deflated. “How long will that take?”

“We’ll have it ready for you to sign tomorrow morning,” PCSO Stevens said as if she expected me to be impressed.

“Tomorrow? But what do I do tonight?”

“There’s a nice B&B just off the high street,” PCSO Stevens said.

Chapter 38

I paid Mrs. Grimshaw for the room up front. The cost of the B&B plus the fact I’d have to buy another train ticket tomorrow made this weekend more expensive than I expected.

Mrs. Grimshaw handed me the key. “Mary told me they’re reopening the case on that murder that happened up at Staverton house.”

“Mary?”

“Mary Stevens. She’s the police community support officer. She went to school with my Brenda.”

“Oh, I see.” I made my way to the stairs with my case.

“It was a horrible thing. You were there when it happened, weren’t you?”

I paused at the foot of the stairs. “I was.”

“Well, if you want my advice, stay clear of that family at Staverton. I have heard all sorts of things go on up there. They’re a funny old family.”

The corners of my mouth twitched. I wondered what Caroline and Michael would make of that description. “Thanks again, Mrs. Grimshaw,” I said and started up the stairs as fast as I could.

The case banged against my shins painfully, but I managed to escape from Mrs. Grimshaw’s malicious tongue.

The room wasn’t bad. On the second floor, with a window looking out at the street, it was decorated in pale pink and cream. A bit frilly and fussy, but at least it was clean.

I kicked off my shoes and lay back on the bed. Within moments, I was fast asleep.

When I woke up, the light was fading outside. I moved to the window and looked out. The pavement below was wet, and I could hear the steady drip from the guttering. I thought about getting some fresh air and looked up at the sky. It had stopped raining, but from the look of the heavy grey clouds, it would probably start again soon.

I grabbed my raincoat and headed out, hoping I could escape without Mrs. Grimshaw noticing. Unfortunately, Mrs. Grimshaw hovered at the bottom of the stairs, almost as if she’d been waiting for me.

“Have you heard?” Mrs. Grimshaw asked.

“What?”

“They’ve arrested Lawrence Harrington.”

I reached out a hand for the banister and gripped it. “When?”

“This afternoon, I just got a call from my...” Mrs. Grimshaw broke off and looked me up and down. “Are you going out?”

I zipped up my coat. “Just for a stroll.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Why ever not?”

Mrs. Grimshaw leaned forward. “They’ve arrested him, for the murder.” She widened her eyes for emphasis.

“Which means it is perfectly safe for me to go out.”

“But the rest of the family are still out and about.”

“The rest of the family? Oh, for goodness sake,” I said. “I’m only going for a walk.”

Mrs. Grimshaw folded her arms. “Suit yourself. Will you be wanting dinner tonight?”

“No, thank you,” I said and opened the front door.

It was cold and wet, hardly the weather for a leisurely stroll, but I welcomed the cool, damp air against my face. I turned right and walked up towards the high street.

It was after six, and all the shops were shut. Only the pub was open, yellow light falling on the pavement from the windows. It looked cosy and welcoming, and I almost went inside, but decided to walk on. I didn’t feel like being around people.

As I neared a small art gallery, I slowed my pace and looked in the window. I stopped. It was one of Michael’s. It had to be.

The painting depicted the beach in front of Staverton house. I looked closer and smiled. On the beach, there were two female figures, one with flaming red hair, that had to be Caroline, and one with blonde hair. Was that me?

The figures were too small to be certain, but further along the beach there was another figure. Another woman with red hair. Gwen.

The rain started to fall again, and drops fell on the gallery window, zig-zagging their way down the glass, obscuring my view. I hugged my coat tightly around myself. I couldn’t imagine what Michael and Caroline were going through right now. They must hold me responsible for Lawrence’s arrest.

I moved into the shop doorway, which was undercover and gave me some shelter from the rain. I pulled out my mobile phone and sent a text message to Caroline and then one to Michael, telling them I was sorry and that I was staying at the B&B in the village. They would probably delete the messages, but I needed them to know how sorry I was.

I didn’t know what I expected to happen after I reported Lawrence’s affair with Gwen to the police, but I hadn’t wanted this. The situation had escalated beyond my control.

I walked back up the high street, heading back to the B&B. As I passed the pub, a young man with rosy cheeks spilled out onto the pavement in front of me. “Cheer up, love. Might never happen,” he said.

I walked past, ignoring him.

I was almost back to the B&B when I smelt fish and chips. The vinegar scented the air, and my stomach rumbled in response. I spotted the shop across the road and decided fish and chips were exactly what I needed right now.

I stepped inside the shop, breathing in the thick, delicious smells, and ordered cod and chips. After I paid, the lady behind the counter handed me the paper-wrapped parcel, and I headed back outside.

The rain was really coming down heavily now. I didn’t want to eat standing in a doorway, but I knew Mrs. Grimshaw wouldn’t approve of fish and chips in her guest house.

I stuffed the hot parcel inside my jacket and jogged back to the B&B. What Mrs. Grimshaw didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her.

Chapter 39

As I approached the guest house, I saw a man waiting outside. It was hard to see clearly in the gloom of the evening. He had his back to me, the collar of his black coat turned up against the rain. When I got closer, I recognised him.

“Michael?”

He turned, and my heart plummeted. He looked furious. How could I have done this to him? To Caroline? What kind of friend was I?

“I’m so sorry, Michael.”

He strode across the road to meet me and pulled me towards him so hard I stumbled. He steadied me and stopped me from falling. Then more gently, he guided me into an alcove, so we were sheltered from the rain.

“I got your text.”

I nodded and looked up at him. His hair was saturated. I wanted to reach up and wipe the rain from his face, but I kept my hands in my pockets.

He ran a hand through his hair, flicking little drops of water into the air. “Can we go inside?” he asked.

“Oh, of course.” I fumbled for the key Mrs. Grimshaw had given me, but the front door wasn’t locked when I gave it a tentative push.

I paused inside the hallway. No sign of Mrs. Grimshaw. I beckoned Michael to follow me.

Once inside my room, Michael turned to me. “Why are we sneaking about?”

“I didn’t want the lady who owns this place to spot you.”

“Why? Ashamed to be seen with me?” He didn’t smile to soften the words.

I set the parcel of fish and chips down on the dresser. “She seems to be a bit of a gossip, that’s all. I didn’t want to give her anything else to gossip about.” I shook off my coat and held out a hand for Michael’s.

“I’m so sorry about your father. Mrs. Grimshaw told me he’d been arrested.” My hands shook as Michael passed me his coat.

“Why didn’t you speak to me first, Lucy? Don’t you trust me?”

I couldn’t answer that. I swallowed hard.

“I’ve never lied to you,” Michael said. “If you’d come to me, if you’d spoken to me first, we could have sorted it out without involving the police.”

“That’s just it,” I said, my voice shaking. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

Michael stepped closer to me, his eyes glaring down into mine. “You can’t seriously think that my father could have killed Gwen.”

I took a step back. “I don’t know what to think. All I know is what I saw that night, and Malcom asked me...”

“What you
think
you saw, Lucy. It was a dream,” Michael said. “My father’s lawyer has come down from London. He’ll be released by tonight.” Michael shook his head. “It’s all been a mistake.”

I hung both coats on the back of the door. “I know it is my fault Lawrence has been arrested, and I know you’ll probably never forgive me, but I couldn’t stand by and let Malcolm stay in prison for something he didn’t do.”

“How do you know he didn’t?” Michael said in a cold voice. “You’re not making any sense.”

I couldn’t stop shaking. He was right of course. I didn’t know that Malcolm hadn’t killed Gwen. I only had Malcolm’s word for it, and the rest of my theory was based on a silly dream.

Michael sighed and seemed to take pity on me. “He probably wouldn’t have been arrested if you hadn’t told the police about the affair, but he should have been honest in the first place.”

I sat on the bed, took off my shoes and leaned back on the pillows. I felt the mattress dip as Michael sat beside me.