Ramsay 06 - The Baby-Snatcher (22 page)

‘Brian!’ Emma had to interrupt him. ‘Listen. There’s something you should know about Mark.’

Brian had been soaping his back. He stopped. ‘No,’ he said.

She kneeled up. They stared at each other.

‘I don’t need to know anything about Mark. He’s my friend. He’s been through a rough time. I want him to be happy. In the same way I want you to be happy.’

He reached out and put an arm covered with bubbles around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. When he kissed her she smelled the baby shampoo he’d used on his hair.

‘I don’t care what Mark’s been up to. You have to understand that, I don’t mind. As long as he’s happy I don’t mind.’

It was as if he expected her, absolutely, to know what he meant.

Because Brian was home early they ate with the boys in the kitchen. Pepperoni pizza from the freezer and baked potatoes in the microwave. Emma prepared a salad, which Brian made into a joke. He put his hands by the side of his head to form ears, pulled his front teeth over his lower lip and said,

‘Lettuce. That’s rabbit food. Men don’t eat
that.
’

The boys made rabbit faces, too, then collapsed into fits of giggles. Even Emma joined in, despite her disapproval. He knew how difficult it was to get them to eat properly. The laughter made her realize how tense they had been in the previous months, and remember that once they had got on very well.

After supper Brian sat her in an armchair in front of the television with a large glass of wine and took the boys up to bed.

‘Don’t wind them up,’ she said. ‘Not before bedtime.’

‘Of course not.’ His voice was solemn but when she looked up he was making the rabbit face at the boys who were waiting in the doorway and as he chased them up the stairs they whooped and screamed with delight.

They’ll wake Helen, she thought, not really caring if they did.

She’d finished the wine when he came downstairs.

‘Two stories each,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘And they’re fast asleep.’ He fetched the bottle from the fridge and poured her another glass.

‘Don’t you want any?’

‘I thought I’d pop out to the club. Just for a quick half.’

A quick three pints, she thought, and why do I have the feeling that he’s running away? But she was so grateful for his kindness, so frightened of spoiling the evening, that she let him go without a fuss.

Inside the club it was as cold as always. Brian kept on his overcoat and put on the pair of gloves he found in his pocket, making a show of it, so the regulars all laughed.

He was halfway through his second pint when Kim Houghton turned up with a new man in tow. Brian watched her from his seat by the bar. He’d had his own fantasises about Kim Houghton in the past. He’d imagined what it would be like to knock at the door of the little house in Cotter’s Row, to be taken inside …

The man was a jerk in a sheepskin jacket and black patent shoes. When he wasn’t drooling over Kim he was trying to sell Les a second-hand Cavalier. She’d been in with car dealers before. Perhaps she was trying to work her way through the motor trade. Or perhaps she fancied a little motor herself. The bloke wouldn’t have much joy selling to Les, Brian thought with satisfaction. Les had lost his licence the month before through drink-driving. That had given them all a shock, made them watch their step.

Brian wondered what Kim had done with the little girl. Being a single mum didn’t seem to cramp her style. He’d seen them together occasionally, the child immaculately dressed, colour co-ordinated, a scaled-down version of her mother. Poor little bastard, he thought. It couldn’t be much fun. He’d have to get Em to invite her up to play. Perhaps she’d enjoy flying kites too.

He’d just rescued Les from Kim Houghton’s boyfriend by demanding another pint, when the door opened and two police officers came in. They were in plain clothes but everyone knew what they were. It was the flash young man and the bonny woman with red hair. They stood for a moment, looking around them. All the conversation in the place stopped.

Les rubbed his hands together. He always did that when he was nervous.

‘Yes, folks,’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’ Pretending he didn’t recognize them, that they were just ordinary punters, though the day they found the body they’d been practically camping out in the place.

Brian could tell that the man was tempted. He was gasping for a drink. But the woman said, ‘Nothing, thanks. We’d just like a quick word with Mrs Houghton.’

They took Kim to a table in the corner so that not even the boyfriend could hear what they were saying, then the three of them walked out. The car dealer looked foolishly after them, finished his drink and followed. There was the sound of a car engine. He must have started his company car and driven away.

‘What was all that about then?’ Brian said. ‘Do you think she’s been arrested?’

Les gave a gappy grin. ‘Na!’ he said. ‘No handcuffs.’ He gave a lecherous wink.

Brian felt himself becoming flushed, though handcuffs had never featured in his fantasies about Kim Houghton. He’d imagined a wardrobe full of dressing-up clothes. A school uniform. Black stockings. Tarty red underwear. But nothing really kinky.

He decided he’d go. Emma would appreciate it if he wasn’t too late back. Besides, Les wouldn’t want to risk a lock-in for after-hours drinking with the police on the Headland.

It was even colder outside than in the club and he walked quickly past the jetty and into Cotter’s Row. There were still lights on in Kim Houghton’s house but he was surprised to see that the car the detectives drove was not parked there. It was pulled up right against the pavement outside the Howes’ place. And from inside came the sound of raised voices.

‘How did you know?’ Sally had demanded. ‘How did you know that Bernard and Claire were having an affair?’

‘It was something Bernard’s mother said. I suppose we should have realized before. Considered it at least.’ He saw it as a failure of his, this refusal to consider the obvious. It was another sort of arrogance.

‘It really changes things, doesn’t it? I mean if they were working together we’ve got motive and opportunity.’

‘I suppose we have.’

Although this too was obvious he resisted the enthusiasm. He wasn’t ready yet to make an arrest. She was like a hypomanic kid on the eve of her own birthday party. She couldn’t keep still. She bounced around the office on the balls of her feet and came to rest at last with her bum on the window sill.

‘When you first suggested it I couldn’t believe it,’ she said. ‘ I mean he’s old enough to be her father. What a creep!’

I suppose he
is
old enough to be Claire’s father, Ramsay thought. Prue’s friends who were into self-enlightenment and therapy would make a lot of that. It was plausible enough. They’d say that Claire, who had recently lost her father, was looking for a substitute. If the couple ever came to trial there would be a probation officer’s report before sentence and he could predict almost word for word what would be said about Claire’s bereavement. But he thought something quite different was going on in the relationship. It wasn’t a father Claire was looking for but a child. Someone to take care of. And Bernard Howe had never grown up.

‘Surely we’ve got enough to bring them in for questioning,’ Sally said. She was as macho as Hunter when the mood took her.
She’d
persuaded the girl to talk. Now she wanted a bit of glory and a result.

‘Probably.’ Ramsay spoke calmly.

‘We’ll go for it, then, shall we?’

‘No,’ Ramsay replied. ‘Not yet. We’ll talk to them at home. Separately if we can. That shouldn’t be a problem. They’re not sophisticated enough to put up any resistance.’

‘But why not here? Formal questions. In the Interview Room with the tape running. They’ll be blaming each other within minutes.’

‘Because the press will get to know.’ He was annoyed by her callousness, disappointed in her. He’d supposed that because she was a woman she’d look at things differently. And didn’t that make him every bit as much of a bigot as Hunter? He tried to contain his irritation.

‘You know as well as I do that if we say a witness is helping the police with their inquiries the world assumes he’s guilty. There’s the girl to think of. And what if they’re innocent? It’s easy enough for us. We just move on to another case. But they’ll have to put together some sort of life and that’s not easy when the neighbours are whispering murder.’

Sally turned away without saying anything. Sometimes she thought Hunter was right. Despite his reputation Ramsay was getting old and soft. He was perceptive enough but he didn’t have the guts to see a thing through.

‘Where’s Gordon?’ Ramsay asked.

‘In the canteen.’ Sulking, she thought. Because I got the girl to tell me about Bernard and Claire.

‘I want him in on this too.’

She was going to ask why but managed to bite her tongue just in time.

When they got to Cotter’s Row only Marilyn was in. They heard her clatter down the stairs to come to the door. She’d changed from her uniform into washed-out jeans and a sweater. When she turned to let them in Ramsay saw the label on the jeans pocket. It wasn’t one that any of her friends would have recognized. Her mum had probably bought them for £5.99 from a stall on Blyth market. Prue’s daughter wouldn’t have been seen dead in them.

‘Claire’s baby-sitting for Kim Houghton,’ Marilyn said. ‘ Dad’s gone with her.’ Then, speaking directly to Sally, ‘I suppose they wanted a bit of privacy.’

‘When do you expect them back?’

She shrugged.

‘Not till late. They said not to wait up.’

‘Bring them back here now, Gordon.’ Ramsay spoke quietly but they could tell he wasn’t going to be pissed about. ‘Find out where Kim Houghton is and get her home. If necessary Sally can baby-sit until she gets back.’

As soon as he’d spoken he knew Sally wouldn’t like it. She hadn’t joined the force to be a childminder.

‘That
is
all right, Sally?’ With hardly a trace of sarcasm.

‘Of course,’ she said huffily. She started away from the door then turned back hopefully. ‘Unless Marilyn wants to do it. It might be less awkward for her to be out of the house.’

‘No.’ For some reason he couldn’t even quite explain to himself why he wanted Marilyn there. Perhaps to remind Bernard and Claire of their responsibility. Or to represent Kath Howe. Because no one else had liked her very much and that wasn’t a good enough reason to let a killer get away.

It took half an hour to fetch Kim Houghton from the club. Sally decided that as Kim was just down the road she wouldn’t be needed as sitter. Ramsay could wait that long. In number two Ramsay waited downstairs alone. Marilyn offered him tea. When he declined she went back upstairs to her room. To someone without experience of teenagers that might have seemed strange or rude, but Prue’s daughter ignored all adult visitors to the house as a matter of course. A matter even of honour.

He was glad of the silence and the opportunity for thought. He went into the living room intending to rearrange the furniture to his liking before the interview and he was struck by the change in the place. When he had looked in on his first visit to the house it had been cluttered, uninviting, dirty. It still looked as if it was never used, but much of the junk had been taken away and it was spotless. There was a smell of furniture polish. He thought the carpet had been cleaned. He supposed Claire had been spring cleaning. Her way of making a fresh start? Or something more sinister?

Hunter came in.

‘They’re on their way. Kim and her fancy man were just down at the club.’

‘This house was searched, wasn’t it?’ They had been looking for letters, an address book, some indication that Mrs Howe knew her murderer.

‘Yeah. The day after the body was found. You suggested it and Mr Howe gave his permission.’

‘But properly searched?’

‘Well, we didn’t pull up the floorboards. I mean the chap had just lost his wife. Be sensitive, you said.’

Because there had been no real suspicion then that Mrs Howe had been killed in the house. And if anything had been hidden after the murder it would be long gone now. Still, Ramsay thought, it wouldn’t hurt to get a team in.

He and Hunter interviewed Bernard first. They took him into the front room.

‘By man, it’s like an ice box in here.’ Hunter shivered to make his point. Bernard switched on an electric fire, but it seemed to have little effect on the temperature.

Ramsay, remembering what Marilyn had told Sally about thin walls, had suggested that the women might like to watch television while they waited. The noise from the back room was distracting but at least the interview would not be overheard.

Bernard was red faced, blustering, defensive. There were three easy chairs in the room, all covered with the nylon stretch covers which are advertised in mail-order catalogues. Ramsay motioned him to sit down.

‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ Bernard said. ‘Really, it’s not on.’

‘Come on, man.’ Hunter was chummy. He perched on the arm of Bernard’s chair. ‘You can’t expect to keep things quiet when you sneak off for a night together. What do you think Kim made of the two of you turning up on her doorstep? She’ll not have thought you were there to play Scrabble.’

Bernard blushed a deeper crimson, said nothing.

‘Or didn’t you turn up together? Is that how you worked it? Claire went first, then you trotted on down when the coast was clear?’

There was no answer. Hunter’s voice hardened.

‘Is that how you worked it?’

‘Yes.’ It was a scarcely audible mumble.

‘Well, all this secrecy has really landed you in the shit.’ Hunter was all smiles again. ‘You do see, Bernard, that the only way to get out of it is to answer all our questions? If you lie to us again we’ll think you’ve got something else to hide. Beside your little affair, I mean.’ He got up from the arm of the chair, looked down on his victim. ‘You do see that, Bernard, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Despite the cold he had begun to sweat. ‘But we didn’t really lie.’ He was panicking and the words came out as a babble. ‘Not about anything important. Not about Kath’s murder. If you’d asked us we’d have told you.’