The Coniston Case (16 page)

‘Oh, yes. That seems ages ago. How do you spell the name?’

‘D-R-U-R-Y. The house is called Primrose Paddock in Newby Bridge. A dozen red roses, to be delivered during the 14th February. Paid in cash.’

Melanie closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead with a thumb. ‘Primrose Paddock? It was ages ago. What does Moxon want to know about it?’

‘Anything you can tell him, I guess. For a start, it would help to be sure what day that was.’ Simmy riffled through a stack of paper. ‘I should have looked for it yesterday. I suppose it must have been Monday afternoon. Or possibly last Saturday. Ah – here it is. February 8th. Saturday.’

‘We were busy. I was juggling all those online orders and we caught that kid trying to nick a card. Wasn’t that Saturday?’

It was disconcertingly difficult to cast her mind back a week. A boy of about nine had made a pathetically poor job of stealing a greetings card from a stand, and had wept when apprehended. It was his mother’s birthday and he couldn’t afford the hefty £2.50 that a card would cost. Simmy had made him put it back, but taken the matter no further. ‘Draw her one yourself,’ she advised him. ‘That’ll mean just as much.’

Unconvinced, he had trailed out of the shop, leaving Melanie and Simmy to comment on how unusual it was to see a child that age out on his own these days.

‘Must have been,’ she agreed. ‘But that’s not very helpful, is it?’

Melanie closed her eyes in painful thought. ‘A long coat, did you say? Did he have a hat as well?’

‘I barely even glimpsed him, but I’m fairly sure there was no hat. The coat was brown, I think. Might have been a mac. Not terribly long, really, but he was tall, so it made a solid patch of colour. I can visualise him standing right here, bending down to give you the details. I didn’t see his face.’

‘Just about everything has gone out of my head,’ said Melanie worriedly. ‘I must be getting old.’

Simmy laughed. ‘It comes to us all,’ she said.

‘Oh, well,’ Melanie shrugged. ‘I don’t expect it matters.’

‘Ben thinks there’s some sort of group with a big secret. According to his theory, Mr Braithwaite must have been in it and did something to annoy them, so one of them killed him. Then these people getting flowers were either being warned off, or somehow informed of what was happening, through the messages attached to them. Something like that, anyway,’ she finished weakly. ‘Doesn’t make a lot of sense. Just another of his elaborate theories.’

‘Mrs Crabtree, Maggie Aston and Whatshername Drury are all in some mysterious group? Like what?’ Melanie’s scepticism was palpable. ‘And what kind of back-to-front way would it be to contact them – sending flowers?’

‘He thinks it would escape notice from any surveillance system, I suppose. Emails, phone calls, texts and all that are monitored, aren’t they?’

Melanie gave a scornful laugh. ‘Only if they’re members of some suspicious mosque or neo-fascist political party. Nobody reads every email that’s sent, do they?’

‘I doubt it.’ It was a familiar subject, often sparked by Simmy’s mother’s attitude towards state intervention in ordinary lives. She would very likely approve of any message-sending method that slipped under the radar. ‘But maybe this group, if it exists, is already known to the authorities, so they have to be extra careful.’

‘There’s no such group,’ said Melanie with utter certainty. ‘The idea’s insane.’

‘Oh, well. We’ll just leave it all to the police, then. That suits me very nicely. And it’s a relief that nobody needs to
check out Cockermouth pubs in search of Kathy, either. Normal life can resume, with any luck.’

‘That’s pretty weird about Kathy, though. Driving all over the county in a car that might conk out at any moment, for no good reason – what’s that all about?’

‘She can tell us when she shows up.
If
she shows up. She’s probably feeling pretty silly.’

‘Worse than silly, the way she’s messed you about.’

‘I’m hoping she’ll spend this afternoon with me and we can have a good old natter. She’ll be going home again tomorrow, presumably, so she can get back to work on Monday.’

It was still only half past nine, with three hours more to get through before the shop could be closed for the remainder of the weekend. Simmy felt unusually vulnerable, there in the main street of Windermere where anybody could find her. Solomon Samalar had turned out to be readily mollified, but there was a real possibility that the person who killed Mr Braithwaite might get the idea that Simmy presented a threat to his safety and decide to silence her. It had, after all, happened before – or something like it. Melanie too had been accosted by a violently angry man at the centre of a murder. Nothing was really safe, when it came right down to it. After all, she admitted to herself for the five thousandth time, if her perfect baby girl could die for want of a properly functioning placenta, then anything could happen.

‘They’ve all accosted me, one way or another,’ she realised suddenly.

‘Pardon?’ Melanie blinked her perplexity. ‘All who?’

‘Well, all except Mr Hayter and Mr Braithwaite,’ she
amended. ‘But the others have. Mrs Crabtree came in person to tell me off for giving her name to the police. The woman who sent the flowers to Mrs Aston flagged me down in the middle of Coniston. And Selena Drury’s boyfriend tracked me down yesterday. They all seem determined to demonstrate that I’m in the middle of the whole stupid business. I know now how the maypole must feel when all those children are dancing in a circle, wrapping streamers tightly round it. They’re weaving a pattern I can’t see, using me as the central post somehow.’

‘Fanciful,’ Melanie judged. ‘Very fanciful. Do you think one of those three might be the murderer, then?’

‘Not Mrs Crabtree, surely. Although – she did seem to have a steely sort of character, under the old-lady image. And the cleaning person seemed much too ditzy to kill anybody. Don’t you have to be strong to shove a knife into a grown man’s heart?’

‘Depends on whether you know what you’re doing, I imagine.’

‘And Mr Samalar is too … dignified. I can’t see him killing anybody, either.’

‘Dignified!’ Melanie hooted scornfully. ‘What difference would that make?’

‘I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I just didn’t think …’

‘Anybody can commit murder, Sim. You of all people ought to know that by now.’

‘Don’t say that,’ she begged, seeing again the cold waxen features of the dead Mr Braithwaite. ‘I don’t think it’s true, anyway. At least, not with a knife. You’d have to be completely desperate or crazy to do something like that.’

‘It’s the eternal question, isn’t it?’ said Melanie with a
heavy emphasis. ‘Joe talks about it sometimes, when he’s managing to be interesting for a change.’

Simmy shook herself. ‘We’re meant to be working,’ she said. ‘I haven’t even checked for new orders yet.’

‘There won’t be anything. It’s going to be dead all next week, just you see.’

‘People still have birthdays and anniversaries.’ She went to the computer and switched it on. ‘Can you make us some coffee?’ she asked the girl, as she got comfortable on the small chair. There were times when standing for long still brought about a deep ache in bones that were not yet fully healed. She still regarded herself as slightly fragile, moving more slowly and carefully than before the injury.

Melanie was in the back room when the screen presented a list of emails. ‘Oh!’

Simmy’s squeal was loud enough to bring her assistant to her side. ‘What?’

‘Look! It’s from Kathy.’ Simmy clicked to read the message. ‘Listen to this. “Ignore all previous phone calls, etc. I was under duress. Hope I’ve got your email right. Can you come and meet me at the Yewdale Hotel today 12.30pm? If I’m not there, wait for me. Wear walking boots.” For heaven’s sake!’ Simmy smacked a fist on the table in frustration. ‘What the
hell
is this all about? She wants to take me fell walking in February! It’s freezing out there. She must have gone completely mad.’

‘You’re right about the cold, anyway,’ Melanie confirmed. ‘And getting colder, they say. The Yewdale Hotel in Coniston, is it? I went there not long ago, for an assignment. They’re good.’

‘Right. It’s where Moxon made us go on Thursday, when I had to look at the dead body. I suppose Kathy’s trying to tell me that this has something to do with the murder. “Under duress” she says. So how come she can send an email?’

‘You can’t be sure it’s from her, of course. Anybody can
pretend
to be her.’

‘It’s her address, look. That’s the one she always uses. And mine’s easy to remember, after all. If it’s not her, it’s somebody who has access to her account and knows her password. It’s a game, Mel. She’s playing some stupid game.’

‘Has she done anything like this before?’

Simmy slumped. ‘No, of course not. She’s a civil servant. She’s very sensible as a rule. But the bossy tone is her all right. She’s in no doubt that I’ll do as she says. She’s always been like that. But this time I’m not going to cooperate. If she can get to the Yewdale, she can jolly well get here, and explain herself to me in a civilised fashion.’

Melanie looked unconvinced. ‘Mr Hayter killed himself somewhere on the side of the Old Man, didn’t he? So maybe there is something going on out there that she wants to show you.’

‘And it’s where her daughter and that dozy Baz have been working.’

‘But it doesn’t connect to the Jury –
Drury
– person, or the farm woman or Mrs Crabtree, does it?’

‘How would we know? Maybe they all belong to a walking club and saw something suspicious going on. That’s what Ben would say, anyhow.’

‘And the flowers you delivered were a way of warning them to keep quiet?’

‘Something like that – although it doesn’t seem to have worked. None of them showed any sign of knowing what it meant.’

‘Can I come with you?’ Melanie burst out. ‘And can we tell Ben? We can
all
go.’

‘You’re joking. No way am I going out there at all, on the strength of some childish email message. If she wants to tell me something, she can come here and do it face to face.’

‘You said that already.’

‘Well, I mean it.’

Melanie pulled a face. ‘It’s not the same as the phone messages, though, is it? This says to ignore all previous messages. And from what Joanna said, she hasn’t actually spoken to her mother directly since yesterday. It sounded as if it had all come through her father via that Baz. A whole chain of Chinese whispers. What if somebody’s deliberately pretending to be Kathy, just to stop us all from searching for her. What is he like, anyway, the Baz chap? Seducing students is a complete no-no. He’s living dangerously, if you ask me.’

Simmy said nothing, feeling painfully torn and resentful. She frowned over Melanie’s words. ‘I probably should have said something about that.’

‘Not your problem, Sim. Let her parents sort it out.’

‘That would be the easy option,’ Simmy agreed.

‘Yeah. So first find her mother, right? And for that, you’ll have to go to the hotel in Coniston.’

‘I might have to, because I still can’t quite believe that Kathy’s okay. This email is so weird.’

‘You’ve got to go to the Yewdale. You know you have.’

Simmy felt deeply inadequate. ‘Let’s just see, shall we?
We’ve got all morning to get through first.’ Then her main preoccupation reasserted herself. ‘What was she like? Selena Drury, I mean.’

‘What? Oh! Very classy. Expensive clothes, posh accent. Made poor old Ninian look quite scruffy, I must say. Why are you worrying about
her
?’ Then she realised. ‘Oh, my God – you’re
jealous
. Oh, Simmy, how sweet! Listen – you don’t have to worry. You can have Ninian any time you like. He’s just waiting for you to click your fingers and he’ll be right there. Honestly. He’s not interested in anybody else, believe me.’

‘Shut up.’ Simmy blushed infuriatingly. ‘It’s not that at all. I just—’

She was saved by the shop doorbell. A middle-aged woman came in hesitantly. ‘Are you open for sending flowers?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course,’ said Simmy. ‘What did you have in mind?’

‘Something for a friend who’s just come out of hospital. Did you know you can’t send flowers to patients any more? Not while they’re in hospital. Isn’t that a scandal!’

‘It’s ridiculous,’ said Simmy with feeling.

‘And bad for business,’ muttered Melanie.

‘Anyway, she’s home now, so I can send what I like. Could you do something cheerful for her?’

Simmy immersed herself in the selection of colourful spring blooms for the next five minutes. When the woman proffered three ten-pound notes, having recited the recipient’s address, something rang an alarm in her head. ‘Can I take your name and address as well?’ she asked. ‘Just for our records?’

‘Oh – that seems a bit unnecessary. You’ll be sending me advertisements and badgering me on the phone, I shouldn’t wonder. I’d much rather not give them. I don’t think you can insist, you know.’

For a fleeting second, Simmy wished she had a CCTV camera in the shop, to capture the woman on film. Then she felt the force of her own misguided thinking, and smiled an apology. ‘You’re quite right – I shouldn’t have asked. Of course you don’t have to tell me anything.’

‘It’s a sign of the times,’ nodded the woman. ‘I used to just go along with it, but just lately I’ve got a bit more assertive. Now I don’t even give my phone number when I order things online.’ She leant forward to whisper, ‘I just make up a string of numbers. The computer doesn’t know any different, you see.’ She chuckled. ‘We really can’t let them rule our lives, now can we?’ She shook the cash in her hand. ‘And I’ve been paying for as much as I can with cash. It’s ever so much easier, when you think about it.’

Here was a woman after Simmy’s mother’s own heart, and she wished Angie could hear her. ‘And good luck to you,’ she said warmly. ‘I’ll take the flowers to your friend later this morning, if that’s all right?’

‘Thank you, dear. I would go myself, but it’s more of a surprise if you do it. And I have to be somewhere else today, anyway. Now you’ve got the card safe, haven’t you – with my message on it?’