Embroidering Shrouds (20 page)

Mike shrugged. ‘Only one way to find out.'

‘Why not,' she said into the receiver. ‘Send him in.'

She put the phone down thoughtfully. ‘I don't expect interviewing Tylman will advance the case one jot but at least it'll delay the evil moment when we have to face our unwelcome guests.' Mike grinned back at her and the comradeship between them warmed a few more degrees.

Bill Tylman was much as they'd remembered him, ruddy-faced, honest-eyed, filled with a sort of prurient excitement that Joanna found vaguely distasteful.

He began with explaining away his presence. ‘I just wondered how you were getting on. I was just passing, thought I'd pop in.' He glanced anxiously from one to the other.

Jo indicated that night's evening paper. Tylman interviewed by one of their main reporters, the headline, The Trauma of Discovering a Body'.

‘Still grabbing the headlines, Mr Tylman?'

He had the grace to blush clumsily. ‘Funny, ain't it? Local papers call you a hero for anything.'

‘Well, in the case of Cecily Marlowe you were a hero. If you hadn't found her...' Joanna let the sentence hang in the air.

‘I know. Don't bear thinking about.' Tylman began to relax.

Always a better situation for worming out the truth. When they were off guard.

‘She was in a bad way, poor old duck, frightened out of her wits. But once the papers got a sniff of it, wouldn't leave me alone.' There was a puff of pride clinging to him.

‘And now, Mr Tylman?'

‘Leave me alone? Well–' His attempt at modesty was going to fail. They both knew that.

‘I just chat to them, almost forget I'm talking to a paper. Get a shock myself, reading my name in so much. Of course, it ain't the same – finding a body.'

‘Not so much of a tale to tell?'

He simply wasn't wise enough to know the pair of them were setting him up.

‘It's just a different story when someone's dead.'

‘And you still made the front page locally.'

‘And all of a sudden Tylman saw where they were coming from.' His honest eyes clouded.

‘Now look here. I didn't ask for them to make a story out of it –'

‘How did they know?'

‘I don't know how they ...' His eyes seemed to shrink. ‘Someone must have told them.'

Mike took a couple of steps towards the milkman. ‘I don't suppose you've remembered anything that might help us? Something you
forgot
before.'

Tylman licked dry lips. ‘Not a thing, Sergeant. Absolutely nothing, I promise you. I've told you the lot.'

‘And we', Joanna put in sweetly, ‘can't really discuss the case with you.'

‘Fine.' Tylman's eyes darted towards them. He wanted out. ‘Well, if I do think of something –'

‘Just one more thing.'

Tylman had his hand on the door handle, his back towards them, even so they could read tension in the set of his shoulders.

‘Cecily Marlowe. Did she have her milk left at the back door or on the front doorstep?'

‘The front.' Tylman was definitely wary now.

‘You heard her call that day?'

‘Yeah, that's how I knew she was in distress.'

‘From the kitchen, Mr Tylman?'

He half nodded.

‘But the kitchen door was shut.'

They had gained few real facts from Cecily Marlowe but in this she had been certain because it was
she
who had pulled the door closed behind her. She had heard the front door slam and pulled the kitchen door closed before returning to her frightened hiding place, under the kitchen table.

Tylman seemed to wither. ‘Was it?'

Joanna nodded, deliberately holding his gaze with her own until he was quite out of the door.

They laughed as soon as the milkman had left the room. ‘That rattled him,' Joanna said. ‘Little ... He was obviously just nosing around to gather more details to feed to the papers.'

‘Now, now.' Korpanski held his hand up. ‘No bad language, please, not ladylike.'

She scowled at him. ‘Your mother-in-law', she said, ‘is beginning to have an effect on you, Korpanski. And I'm not sure –'

‘Yeah, well.' Mike gave her a quick grin. ‘How about I buy you a quick drink at the Quiet Woman on your way home.'

‘It isn't on my way home, in fact it's in the opposite direction.' She narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you up to?'

He glanced at his watch. ‘It's six o'clock, Jo. Opening time.'

Then she clicked. ‘And Grinstead will already be propping up the bar, having queued outside for the last half hour. Well, Mike, whatever you think, I certainly need a drink before facing Miss Eloise.'

True enough, Grinstead
was
propping up the bar, halfway down, at the very least, his first evening beer. Opening time meant non-stop drinking time to him. An unsavoury character, he didn't know whether to hail Korpanski as an old friend or a threat, the sergeant could be both. Grinstead never had trusted Joanna. He watched the two of them thread their way through the early evening drinkers.

‘Hello, sir.' Grinstead had learned it was better to call Korpanski sir until you were sure which hat he was wearing, friend or policeman.

‘Buy you a drink, Melvin?'

Grinstead relaxed whilst still eyeing Joanna warily. ‘Thanks, guv. Don't mind if I do.'

It was hard to decide how old Grinstead was. He could have still been in his thirties. He looked about fifty but Joanna knew these old lags aged quickly. It was, in a way, a hard life. Not without its stresses.

‘Melvin.' Watery grey eyes turned on her. ‘We're interested in anything you can tell us about the recent burglaries committed against old ladies.'

He took the pint from Korpanski and drank deeply, his eyes never moving from Joanna's face. He didn't speak until his glass was half-empty and his mouth was free. ‘It's Inspector Piercy, isn't it?'

‘That's right, Melvin,' she said. And waited while he put the glass to his mouth again.

‘I only know somethin' about the early ones,' he said, in a rush, when he had all but drained his glass, leaving nothing but dregs and froth which he gazed at with maudlin sadness.

Joanna lifted her eyebrows towards Mike. He took the glass from Grinstead and had it filled. ‘Go on,' she said.

‘The ones in the spring,' he said, ‘they was youngsters. No harm in them. Very young, know what I mean?'

‘Habitual offenders?'

‘Not for that,' he said.

‘Then what?'

Grinstead licked his lips. ‘Cars.'

‘Locals?'

‘They was in an accident early July.'

‘Fourteen-year-olds?'

Grinstead nodded. It was enough. It told her everything. Gave them names, addresses, everything.

‘What about the other lady? The one that had a broken hip?'

Real fear flickered through Grinstead's eyes. ‘Put it like this,' he said, ‘word is he wasn't long out of one of your special invitations.'

Joanna and Mike exchanged glances. Elland.

‘And the one in August? The one that had three hundred quid nicked?'

Grinstead's eyes blanked out. ‘Don't know nothin' about that. Press bits about the other job put the youngsters off, that and the crash. Two of the lads was hurt, legs broke, frightened them so they stopped.'

Joanna was tempted to smile. So nature and the results of their crimes had punished them and taught them a lesson far more severe, more lasting and more effective than any the courts would have meted out.

Providence one could call it, certainly justice had been done. She moved closer to Grinstead. ‘What about the old lady who had her face cut, Melvin?'

He was paralysed. ‘I don't know nothing about that, Inspector. Honest.'

She fixed her eyes on him. ‘Sure?'

‘I swear ...'

‘Don't use your mother's life, Melvin,' she said softly. ‘I have the feeling she might not like it.'

Grinstead put his glass down on the counter and walked out of the pub as straight and as dignified as he could manage.

‘So he was worth a little,' Joanna conceded the point to Korpanski. ‘You were right. Again.'

‘He's a harmless enough old devil.'

‘Who'll wander under a bus one of these days, drunk.'

Korpanski gave an uneasy grimace. ‘Got second sight, have you?'

‘It'll happen,' she said, looking back at the frosted door still swinging. ‘It's the way with these old geezers. They drink. They gabble. They stumble on crimes that are far too big for their tiny brains, and they're so easy to dispose of.'

‘It's time you went home to your poisonous little step-daughter.'

‘And time you went home to your pet dragon.'

Mike made a face. ‘And tomorrow?'

‘The usual. Briefings, checking statements, reading reports and other such vital work.'

‘Sunday the same?'

‘No. Sunday I think I shall go to church.'

‘Didn't know you were the religious type.'

‘I am and I'm not,' Joanna said enigmatically. ‘But it was a week ago Sunday that Nan was last seen walking the bare half-mile from the church to her home. I shall retrace her footsteps and see if I can jog anyone's memory. Besides, the Reverend wanted to talk to me and it'll get me out of the house. I don't think I can face meeting Eloise's face every time I look up from the
Sunday Times.
We're meeting Caro and Tom for lunch so the rest of the day shouldn't be
too
bad and half-term's only a week long, surely the little blighter has to go back to whatever institution is making an effort to educate her. What about you?'

‘I thought I'd hang around Brushton Grange for a couple of hours, see what sort of company Christian Patterson's keeping these days, never know what might turn up.'

‘Fine. Ring if anything crops up.'

They parted company.

The journey home seemed too short, Waterfall Village a mere couple of minutes away when usually she was impatient to get home and it seemed to take too long. But today Joanna was not anxious to arrive home at all.

She let herself in and stood in the hall for a second – no longer. The first thing she heard was Eloise laughing. ‘Oh, Daddy.'

It set Joanna's teeth on edge. For a couple of pins she would not have entered the sitting room but sneaked straight upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. But that would be silly, antisocial and admitting defeat. Instead she walked in and greeted Matthew's daughter casually. ‘Hello, Eloise.'

The girl was thirteen years old, a clone of her mother. Slim, with sleek blonde hair a few shades lighter than her father's but the exact same colour as her mother's, and sharp, angular features. In the uniform of the teenager, orange crop-top sweater, bootleg trousers, black clompy boots, she was draped across the sofa, opposite Matthew, laughing. So was he. Both stopped when she walked in.

Eloise didn't even try to smile and her greeting was a sulky, ‘Hello, Joanna.'

Matthew made an effort. He stood up and planted a clumsy kiss on her cheek. ‘Hi, darling. Busy day?' And not for the first time Joanna realized with an ache how difficult it all was for him. So she smiled back, returned his kiss and flopped into the spare armchair.

‘Any chance of a coffee?'

‘I thought we were going out.'

Matthew's eyes flicked anxiously from one to the other. ‘Hang on a minute, darling. Joanna's just got in.'

‘But I'm starving.'

‘We could order a takeaway from the Indian, Matt.'

‘A curry?' Eloise said, as though she'd suggested they eat rhinoceros droppings.

Of course, Miss Eloise would not like a curry, not if Joanna had suggested it.

She tried again. ‘Then what about a Chinese? There's a good one in Leek and they deliver.'

‘OK, then.'

Joanna fished a couple of menus from the drawer and they all made a great show of studying the menu with absorbed concentration. Joanna drank her coffee and escaped to the bathroom. At least in there she would not be disturbed.

By the time the food arrived she too was hungry, then there was a good film to watch. She made the excuse of tiredness and escaped to bed. Six more nights.

8.15 a.m. Saturday, October 31st

Eloise was a child who slept late. Joanna was up, breakfasted and away without hearing a stir from the bedroom. She had taken a coffee up to Matthew just before she left, brushed the hair out of his eyes and read all the guilt, pain and depression at the clash between his daughter and his mistress. She kissed him with pity and he pulled her towards him. ‘I believe you do try,' he said, ‘but you just don't like her, do you?'

‘She doesn't like me, Matthew.'

He stroked her hair and closed his eyes. ‘I suppose I'll just have to get used to it. The fact that the two people I love most in life can hardly bear to be in the same room as each other.'

She lay with her cheek pressed against his chest. ‘You might try to point out that however nasty, rude or offhand she is to me it won't make any difference. She won't part us, Matthew, you won't go back to Jane, we'll still be together. That's why she does it, Matt. She thinks if we fall out you'll go back to her mother.'

He kissed her hair. ‘My little psychologist.'

‘I think ...' she began. ‘I think that if you tried to persuade her just to be civil, it might help. Like and certainly love is asking too much. Here,' she fished Lydia Patterson's book out from under the bed, ‘give her this. Nan Lawrence's sister writes kids' books, she gave me one. Oh, it's all right.' Matthew's sharp eyes had picked up the cartoon hen on the cover. ‘I know it's far too young for her.' Joanna flicked through the pages as she had done last night until she had dropped asleep and again she was struck by how unlike a children's story it really was. More an adult tale using animals as characters. Like some of the great children's classics,
Watership Down
or
Animal Farm,
it had a message and a moral.