Death on Lindisfarne (20 page)

O
UTSIDE, THE STREET HAD BEEN TRANSFORMED
. In contrast to the leisurely passage of holidaymakers in colourful clothing, black-clad figures in police uniforms were working their way from house to house. Lucy checked, a constriction in her throat suddenly making it hard to breathe. It had happened. The sad, but low-key, enquiry into Rachel's suicide had become a murder investigation. It was what she had wanted, wasn't it?

The tourists scarcely gave them a glance, but Lucy was conscious of the locals looking at them long and inquisitively. In such a small community everybody would know, of course. That girl at St Colman's. Murdered. Must have been one of them. Which one?

But was that true? Who else? It was almost impossible to think that one of the small island community might have done it. But what about the hundreds of visitors who crossed to the island daily? Might one of them, perhaps with psychopathic tendencies, have found Rachel alone and vulnerable? Lucy's brief years in the police force told her this was not typical, but it could happen.

She led the way towards the small village school. She was aware of her group following her. Her thoughts kept turning back to that more disturbing possibility. Somewhere among them might be one who knew more than he or she should. Could it really be Valerie, grimly determined to protect Elspeth's reputation at all costs? Or Elspeth herself, for whom Valerie would undoubtedly cover up?

She glanced round at Peter, walking almost level with her. His head was down, staring at the pavement. The downward lines of his face were heavy with grief. She tried a quick, if forced, smile.

“At least we know how it happened now.”

“Does that make it any better?” he muttered.

They had walked about a hundred yards before Lucy remembered that she had been interrupted in the middle of an embarrassing encounter with Aidan Davison. Why on earth had it not occurred to her that a breakdown of his marriage was not the only possible reason for him to be here alone with Melangell? She felt her cheeks hot with shame. She was an ordained minister, with two years' training in pastoral care. Surely she should be able to offer words of comfort? But she had fouled it up. She sent up a quick prayer for the wisdom to put it right. For the gift of peace she had failed to offer him.

Aidan's pain was raw. Melangell seemed to have survived the loss astonishingly well.

She turned to see the child's sombre face following her. What was Melangell making of all this? Lucy threw a reassuring smile at her. The grey-blue eyes met hers with a disconcertingly level stare.

The low school building came in sight. It must still be the school holidays for it to be available for a temporary incident room.

The group were stopped by a policewoman at the door. She checked their names.

“Reverend Pargeter? He'll see you first.”

Lucy stepped forward into the glazed reception area. She was led inside, into the schoolroom. Suddenly she was on her own, separated from the rest of her group. She felt their eyes follow her.

Screens had been arranged to divide the schoolroom into smaller units. Officers were at work on computers. A shudder of fear ran through her. Could Bill be here, in this very room? Would anyone else recognize her? It had only been four years. She thought the backs of two of those heads looked familiar. But they had their eyes on their screens. She walked quickly past.

She was led round a screen to find two men seated behind a table. Another chair was set in front of it. She had expected to find Detective Inspector Harland and his sergeant Anne Malham. But she did not recognize the tall man beside Harland.

He spoke for the tape recorder on the table. “This is Detective
Superintendent Maurice Barry. The Reverend Lucy Pargeter has just entered the room.”

“Am I under caution?” she said, a little too sharply.

“Not at all, Miss Pargeter. Sorry,
Reverend
. Please have a seat.”

She was angrily aware how young she must look, even though she was wearing a dog collar. People still had difficulty taking her seriously as a minister of religion.

“Now, Reverend Pargeter, if you would just take us through your movements on Sunday the fourth of April.”

She looked indignantly at DI Harland. “I've already been through that. First with DC Chappell, then with DI Harland and Sergeant Malham. I signed a statement.”

Barry steepled his fingers and looked at her steadily over them. He had a clean-cut face with a prominent jawbone. Younger than DI Harland. Keener. His voice was surprisingly gentle.

“Forgive me, Reverend. As I understand it, the preliminary investigation was into the movements of the deceased. You told us,” he glanced down at his notes, though she had a feeling he did not need to, “that you last saw her alive a little after ten, while you were talking to your group in the priory ruins. You then became concerned about her absence and spent the afternoon looking for her around the coves in the Emmanuel Head area. With Mr Fathers.”

“Peter. That's right.”

“So, let's go back, shall we, to the time when you finished your talk to your group. That would be…?”

“By the time they'd finished asking questions, about ten-thirty. I left them free to explore the priory and the museum, and meet up again back at the house for Sunday lunch at one.”

“And meanwhile you were where?”

The reality was sinking in. This was no longer just about Rachel. She must account for every minute of her own time until the finding of Rachel's body, late that afternoon. She was a suspect. In the eyes of the two men across the table, she could have murdered Rachel.

She felt the prickling of her skin that told her the blood was leaving her face. She was all too conscious of the fact that the two detectives
would be noticing this, even if DSI Barry did not say it aloud for the tape recording.

“I walked along the beach, and around noon, when the water was low enough, I crossed over to Hobthrush Island. That's the little bit that sticks out into the channel west of the priory.”

DI Harland consulted the map spread out before him. “It says St Cuthbert's Island here.”

“That's the same.”

“Were you alone?”

“Yes. I'd told the others about it. I thought some of them might have walked across to explore while the tide was down. But no one did.”

DSI Barry leaned across to look at the map. “It's a very small island. How long did you stay there?”

“An hour.” She wrestled with a reluctance to tell them. “I was praying.”

Barry raised his eyebrows briefly. “I suppose it goes with the territory. And you didn't see Rachel then?”

“No.”

She was aware that, from their point of view, she was entering more dangerous ground when she began to describe how she and Peter had headed for the rocky north-east coast in the afternoon.

“There are coves there. And little caves tucked away among the rocks. I thought she might be sheltering in one of them.”

“And was she?”

“I didn't see her. And nor did Peter. We'd split up. He went out towards Snipe Point and was going to work along from there. I took a stretch further east. We arranged to meet up at quarter to four. I needed to get back to the group.”

“Did you see anyone else on your travels?”

Just as importantly,
she thought,
did anyone else see me?

“No. Aidan said he saw Sue setting off in that direction from the castle. But it's quite a walk. And she doesn't look very athletic. If she ever reached the rocks, I didn't see her.”

“So. Just you. Until you met up with Mr Fathers again.”

“Yes.”

Barry leaned forward. “You were a friend of the deceased. You lived in the same small town. You'd been trying to help her out of drug addiction and petty crime. You offered to pay for her to join you on this holiday and brought her here in your car. You shared a room with her.”

“Yes.” Why should such acts of kindness sound like an accusation?

“Had there been any quarrel between you since you arrived?”

“No… At least…” She was angry with herself that the question made her feel guilty. “On Sunday night, Rachel missed supper. When I took some food back for her, she wasn't in our room. When she did get back, I asked her where she'd been. She shouted back at me that I wasn't her mother.”

There was waiting silence. Then DSI Barry asked, “And where
had
she been?”

“I don't know.” Lucy hesitated. Then she knew that only honesty would do. “You should ask Elspeth Haccombe. It was she who told me that Rachel was back. And…” she took a deep breath, “Elspeth admitted to me that she'd given Rachel cocaine. Valerie Grayson, her room-mate, came to me yesterday and threatened me not to tell anyone. It might ruin Elspeth's career.”

She watched the detective's eyes widen. Had DI Harland not told him? She had their full attention now.

“Thank you, Miss… Reverend,” said DSI Barry with heavy emphasis. “That's most interesting. We'll have your statement typed up for you to sign later.”

She rose to leave.

“Oh, just one thing. What were you wearing?”

Lucy thought hard. “It wasn't a great day for weather. There were some squally showers. I think I had on some dark blue trousers, a navy sweatshirt and an anorak the same colour. Oh, and a white shirt underneath.”

“Nothing in white wool?”

“No.” She looked at the detective superintendent questioningly. Why did it matter? Had someone seen a figure in white in that area? Was that where they thought Rachel had been killed?

But DI Harland had talked to the coastguards. He must know that the body couldn't have got from those rocks to the beach where Peter found it.

“Thank you.” His lean face rearranged itself in a half-smile. “That's all, Reverend. You can go.”

She walked out, aware of feeling like a different person. No longer the Reverend Lucy Pargeter, ordained minister of the Methodist Church, leader of this group, but a possible murder suspect.

The rest of the group sat waiting on chairs, crammed into the small reception area. Lucy met Valerie's eyes and felt her cheeks burn. Was she safer or in greater danger, now that she had told the police about that threat?

A
IDAN CAME OUT OF THE INTERVIEW ROOM
and was met by a look of glad relief in Melangell's freckled face.

“Your turn next, poppet.”

He had not expected them to interview Melangell. Neither Chappell nor Harland had questioned her earlier about Rachel's movements.
Perhaps,
he thought, swallowing suddenly,
Detective Superintendent Barry needs her to corroborate what I've just told him.

It was odd how the presence of the police could make you feel guilty, even when you had nothing to hide.

At least he was allowed to sit in on the interview.

In front of the two detectives, Melangell was composed. She had even, Aidan noted with a wry smile, a touch of self-importance in the tilt of her chin. She took them clearly through the details of how she and Aidan had spent Sunday after they left the priory. He was relieved to find that her memory matched his. The walk to the castle. Running to escape the rain. The tour of the rooms that ended on the battlements.

“And the wind was so strong it nearly blew me backwards.”

She told of their looking over the wall and hearing the quarrel between Sue and James below. Then hurrying back to St Colman's ahead of the rainstorm. James arriving with a head wound.

“And there was lots and
lots
of blood. And then Daddy left me with Mrs Cavendish, when he went to look for Rachel.”

The pout was back. She wriggled uncomfortably in her chair. She had clearly not forgiven him for that.

“Thank you, Melangell. That's all very clear. You're an observant girl.” DSI Barry checked his notes. “That's it, I think.” He raised his
eyes to her, still smiling his thanks, a shade patronizingly. “One more thing. Do you have a white wool jumper? Or a scarf?”

“No,” she answered, surprised.

“Do you know anyone here who has?”

She thought, then shook her head. “No.”

They had asked the same question of Aidan. The forensic examination of Rachel's body must have turned up some trace of white wool. But nothing in Aidan's memory matched it.

“Thank you both. We won't keep you from your lunch any longer.”

With a start, Aidan realized that the morning had gone. No time now to take Melangell through the displays of the Lindisfarne Centre.

Outside, in the glazed entrance area, the Cavendishes were still waiting their turn. David pointed to his watch. “It's a disgrace! We're supposed to be here on holiday, and they don't even let us get our lunch. I've had enough.” He got up and headed for the door. “I'm going. It's a free country. They can't keep us here against our will. It's what we should have done the moment this unpleasantness came up. I'm heading back over that causeway. We'll find ourselves a B and B somewhere else.”

Frances tugged at his sleeve. “Sit down, David. You're making a spectacle of yourself. You can't leave now. They'll think we had something to do with it if you run away.”

She took out the inevitable knitting. The little blue jacket. David glowered at her and sat down.

Being the last in the queue was, Aidan supposed with a flash of sympathy, the penalty of being the most innocuous of Lucy's group. It was hard to imagine this unimaginative couple having anything remotely to do with a drug-taking, petty criminal teenager like Rachel.

Hang on,
an inner voice told him.
Don't underestimate them. They used to run a children's home. They will have seen their share of troubled teenagers.
He looked at them with a new respect.

In the fresh air outside the school, a breeze was chasing the clouds away. Aidan caught sight of Lucy ahead, on her way back to
St Colman's for lunch. She rounded the corner by a hotel.

As Aidan and Melangell came in sight of her again, a woman stumbled from the hotel garden across Lucy's path.

“Sorry!” She lifted an almost empty beer glass and waved it in front of Lucy's face. “Don't I know you? Well, I'll be jiggered! It's Lucy Pargeter.” The voice came high, the words slurred.

Lucy halted, her body suddenly rigid. “Karen!”

The woman was blonde, hair permed but now dishevelled. She wore tight-fitting white jeans and a striped blue-and-white jersey. Make-up, more vivid than most younger women wore nowadays, slashed her face. She must be middle-aged, but she was trying to defy the years.

Lucy glanced round to see Aidan and Melangell approaching. She turned to them. Her face behind the smile seemed wary.

“This is Karen Ince. Rachel's mother.”

Aidan registered shock. Lucy had told him about Rachel's inadequate parenting, but it was hard to associate that dark, brooding girl with the inebriated blonde in front of him.

Lucy struggled with the everyday formalities for Karen. “Aidan and Melangell. They're part of my group. When did you get here? Why didn't you tell me you were coming? … Oh, I'm sorry, Karen. I shouldn't be talking like this. I'm so terribly sorry about Rachel. I feel responsible. I brought her here… Do the police know you've come?”

“Not bleeding likely. Some horse-faced WPC came round to the house to tell me. Bleeding shame. Poor little kid.” Tears welled in the woman's mascara-smeared eyes. She staggered. Lucy caught her and helped her to a wooden bench beside a picnic table in the garden.

“I think,” she said quietly, nodding to Aidan, “someone ought to tell CID she's here.”

“Will do.” He set off back towards the school.

Behind him, he heard a man's voice. “Making a spectacle of herself again, is she?”

Aidan turned his head to see a man come out of the hotel to join Karen and Lucy. Smartly dressed in blazer and pale trousers, with a cricket sweater. His fairish hair was carefully arranged, as Karen's too must have been when she started the morning. A yellow cravat at his throat.

Rachel's mother's latest boyfriend?

Aidan was rounding the corner to deliver his message to DSI Barry and DI Harland when a loud shout arrested him.

“Where the hell do you think you're going?”

He turned sharply. The man in the blazer was stalking towards him.

“Lucy thought I ought to let the police team know Rachel's mother is here.”

“So she's told me. And what police team would that be?” He was standing close over Aidan now, breathing heavily. “The girl's dead, isn't she? Probably suicide, that WPC told Karen. What the blazes are they doing still asking questions?”

The enormity of today's developments sank home to Aidan. “Didn't Lucy explain? I'm truly sorry, but it's become a murder investigation now. There are police all over the place, questioning those of us who knew her… slightly… and possible witnesses from the village.” A move of his hand indicated the street ahead. Uniformed officers were still visible making their house-to-house enquiries.

He glanced back at the man in time to see what he sensed was not just shock but fear in his eyes.

“Murder! I hope you're not bleeding well suggesting Karen and I had anything to do with that! They asked us to arrange about the body, and she just wanted to come and see where it happened. Ghoulish, I told her. You can leave us out of this. We only arrived last night.”

“I'm sorry. I really think I should do what Lucy asked me.” Aidan started to move on.

“And I say you bleeding well won't!”

A fist shot out and caught Aidan on the side of the chin. He staggered, off balance, and crashed down beside the garden wall. As he fell, his head caught a projecting stone.

He lay on his side, stunned by pain. His eyes found two crisp packets and a ground-out cigarette butt on a level with his face. They seemed to assume an inexplicable importance as he stared at them.

The wider world swung back into focus. Above his head, he was aware of Melangell flying at his attacker. Her small fists were pummelling him.

“Don't you dare do that to my dad! I hate you!”

Aidan tried to lever himself up from the pavement, but sank back with a groan. Then Lucy was there before him, in three quick strides. She caught hold of Melangell and put restraining arms around her. He heard the authority in her voice. This was PC Pargeter, not the Reverend Lucy.

“Easy now. Stop right there!”

A small crowd was gathering. The man's eyes flickered round at them. Karen was hobbling towards them at an unsteady run. Her feet were falling sideways on inappropriately high heels.

“Gerald! Are you OK?”

With difficulty, Aidan hauled himself to his feet. “I'm the one you should be asking.”

Lucy's voice dropped lower, but still held a steely edge. “Just what do you think you're doing? Who are you?”

“What's that to you? I don't have to give an account of myself to some do-gooding lady parson.”

“You've just knocked down a man who did nothing to you… Aidan! You're bleeding.”

Aidan lowered himself again to rest on the wall. He put up a hand to the side of his head and found it sticky with blood. He felt more sick than he wanted to admit.

“It's all right,” he managed. “I'm not going to pass out on you like James.”

He hoped it was true.

As Lucy's arms relaxed their hold, Melangell ran to him and hugged him tightly. “He's not allowed to do that. He shouldn't have, should he?”

“No, love. Definitely not.”

Karen's hand was gripping Gerald's arm. She was looking up at him, her lipsticked face distraught.

“It's all right, Gerry. They can't say this has anything to do with you. You weren't here when it happened.”

Lucy's level voice cut through hers. “You still haven't told me who you are, or why you found it necessary to attack Aidan just because he was going to tell the police that Rachel's mother is here.”

“He's Gerald Morrison, if you must know.” Karen was still clutching his arm possessively. “We go back a long way, him and me. He's Rachel's father.”

She gave her partner an uncertain smile.

The world was spinning slowly around Aidan. He grabbed the edge of the wall for support.

Gerald Morrison spoke over Karen's dishevelled hair-do. “Let's just say I didn't come here to be questioned by the police. Nobody warned me this was a murder enquiry. I'm getting out.”

Karen's eyes grew round. “Rachel? Murder? You never said! The police didn't tell us.”

“I'm really sorry, Karen. I didn't have time. It's a new development. I was trying to break it to you gently, but Gerald jumped the gun.”

“Oh, yes! So it's my fault now, is it? I'll have you know I'm a bereaved father.”

Lucy threw him an unsympathetic glance. “I don't recall that you showed any concern for Rachel all the time I knew her. I'd be surprised if your behaviour just now was caused by grief.”

“That's a lie!” Gerald was coming towards her now belligerently. Aidan wondered if he would have the strength to fight him off. “She was my kid. You're to blame for her death. You brought her up here. If you hadn't done that, she'd be alive today. She was my kid, and somebody's going to pay me for her death. I want compensation.”

“Compensation! Rachel's dead, and all you can think about is money?” Lucy retorted. Yet at the same time she took a step back from the angry man. She was standing close to Aidan now. He heard her breath come fast. This wasn't like her.

Nevertheless, her voice steadied. “If anyone's talking about compensation, it should be Aidan. Look at him. He certainly didn't cut himself shaving.”

He thought he saw the ghost of a smile in her blue eyes as she looked into his bloodied, bearded face.

Gerald Morrison glared at them both. “I'll get someone for this!”