Silent Voices (Vera Stanhope 4) (7 page)

‘Where’s that?’ Vera asked.

‘It’s the entrance to Greenhough, my grandfather’s house,’ the woman said.

‘Very grand.’

‘Not any more. There was a fire in the Thirties. The only thing left now is a boathouse. And those gates.’

Veronica deliberately turned her back on the painting. She led Vera down a cool corridor and into the kitchen.
Servants’ quarters
, Vera thought.
So that’s how she thinks of me.
Without being asked, the inspector took a seat at the head of the table. ‘Jenny Lister’s dead. Murdered. That’s why your lad’s run off: to take care of Hannah.’

The woman’s face gave nothing away. Another small frown that expressed distaste rather than shock. Slowly she sat down too. The chairs were pale wood to match the table, upholstered in grey. Expensive and classy enough, if you wanted a kitchen that looked like a businessman’s boardroom. The appliances were all at one end, half a mile away, and were stainless-steel and very big.

‘I see,’ Veronica said at last. ‘One of her clients, I suppose. I’ve really never understood why anyone would choose to become a social worker. Think of the people you have to deal with. Look at Connie Masters.’

That name again. Vera made a note to check it out when she finally got to the office. Social workers had never been her favourite people, but now, in the face of this woman’s attitude, she had an urge to defend Jenny Lister.

She was forming a comment when Veronica spoke again: ‘It’s sad of course, but at least now there’ll be an end to the ridiculous idea of a wedding!’

‘You don’t like Hannah Lister?’ Vera was surprised. She’d taken to the girl immediately, had thought:
If I had a son and he’d taken up with a lass like that, I’d be pleased as Punch.

‘Oh, she’s nice enough, but they’re both so young. And I always thought Simon could do better for himself. He’s at Durham. There are some lovely young women at his college.’ She looked wistful.

My God!
Vera thought.
Hannah’s right. She’s a real old-fashioned snob. I thought the species had died out years ago.

‘And Mrs Lister approved of the engagement, did she? That wasn’t the impression I had from Hannah.’

‘You could never tell with Jenny. Typical social worker. Sitting on the fence. She
said
she thought they were too young, but I don’t think she did enough to keep them apart. During the holidays Simon practically lives there. Hannah’s still a schoolgirl. Jenny seemed to realize how ridiculous the relationship was, but she still encouraged Simon into the house.’

‘What does your husband make of the relationship?’ Because there must be a husband, Vera thought. Someone to make the money, to keep Veronica in expensive cosmetics and smart new furniture.

‘Oh, Christopher works away a lot. He’s seldom here. He’s only met Hannah a couple of times.’

‘Did Hannah and Simon meet at school?’

‘No. Hannah was at the comprehensive in Hexham.’ Veronica almost sniffed. ‘We sent Simon to the Royal Grammar in town.’

‘That must have cost you a bit.’

Vera made the comment under her breath and Veronica pretended not to hear it. She continued: ‘They met through music. There’s a scheme for young musicians at the Sage. Simon started giving Hannah lifts home after rehearsals. Then there was a music tour of northern Italy and they came back besotted with each other. They’ve been living in each other’s pockets ever since.’

Vera thought of some of the youngsters she came into contact with at work: the druggies and boozers, the thieves and the fighters, the mothers on sink estates sick with worry. She thought Veronica Eliot had little to complain about. ‘Any idea why someone would want to kill Jenny Lister?’ she asked suddenly. Because so far she’d come across nothing near to a motive. Before Veronica could begin another rant about social-services clients, Vera added, ‘She worked with kids apparently, so at the moment we don’t think the murder is work-related. How did she get on with folk in the village? What did people make of her?’

Veronica appeared to consider. ‘We didn’t really mix in the same circles. She probably wasn’t around much. She was at work all day and she had a long commute. I think it’s important to contribute if you live in a small community. You know the sort of thing: parish council, playgroup committee, board of first school governors. I’m on them all.’

It must be nice to have the time.
But Vera knew she’d rather stick pins in her eyes than become one of those professional rural committee members.

‘Are you a member of the Willows Health Club?’

If Veronica was surprised by the question she didn’t show it. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not my sort of place, actually. It was a lovely hotel once, but it’s definitely gone downmarket since the chain took over. I was taken there as a guest when the club first opened, but I found it rather tacky.’ She pursed her lips with distaste. ‘They actually expect members to take their own towels.’

Despite her immediate dislike of the woman, Vera supposed it was over-optimistic to consider that Veronica could be a suspect. The inspector would be delighted to take her to the police station, make her wait with the regulars at the desk and question her in a stinking interview room, but of course Veronica would never strangle anybody. She’d bring them down with her superior looks and supercilious words.

‘Can you point me in the direction of someone who knew her well?’ Vera hoped there was someone outside her immediate family who was sorry Jenny was dead, someone who would drink to her memory and tell stories of the good times they’d shared together.

‘Really, Inspector, I don’t think I can help you. Jenny and I knew each other because our children are friends. We had nothing else in common.’ She stood up and walked out of the kitchen and down the corridor. Vera followed. ‘Of course you could try Connie Masters. I suppose they met through Jenny’s work.’ She gave a little triumphant smile, hesitated at the door in the hope of some response and, when none was forthcoming, she closed it and locked it carefully.

Vera was so intrigued that she was tempted to bang on the door to demand information about Connie Masters. But that was clearly what Veronica had been hoping for, and Vera refused to give her the satisfaction. Instead she got into her car and drove away slowly, hoping the scatter of gravel wasn’t chipping the paintwork on her flash new car.

At the crossroads at the edge of the village, she paused to take her bearings. In the cottage squatting in the low ground next to the river on the other side of the road an upstairs light was switched on. It made her realize that it was later than she’d thought. Looking at the clock on the dashboard, she supposed that Ashworth would have finished at the Willows and would already be on his way home to his neat little box on a neat little housing estate just outside Kimmerston. She’d catch up with him in the morning. In the cottage, silhouetted against the light behind, she saw a woman and a child, and was overwhelmed by a sudden sense of loss for a childhood she’d never experienced. The woman in the cottage stood with her arms wrapped around the girl as if protecting her from the world outside the window. Hector hadn’t meant to be cruel, but he’d been careless and Vera had been left to fend for herself.

Ashworth wasn’t on his way home, as Vera had supposed. He was in the steam room, still looking down at Jenny Lister’s body, standing next to Keating the pathologist. The doctor was a rugby-playing Ulsterman usually given to plain speaking. Today, though, his tone was rather whimsical. It seemed he’d been in the hotel before. ‘We looked at the Willows as a possible venue for my daughter’s wedding. The grounds would have been glorious, but inside . . .’ He paused, distracted by his first view of the victim. ‘. . . rather sad, don’t you think? Impossible to keep up a place this size these days.’

‘The boss thought she’d been strangled,’ Ashworth said. Danny Shaw was waiting in the manager’s office, and he didn’t want the lad giving up and going away. He didn’t have time for small talk.

‘I’d say the boss is quite right. Not manually, though. Look at that mark. Fine rope or wire. Rope more likely, because the skin’s not been cut.’

‘Was she killed here or moved after death?’ Ashworth knew the questions Vera would want answered.

‘Here, I’d say, though you’ll have to wait for the post-mortem before I can be certain.’

‘Thanks. Can I leave you to it? I’m still trying to interview the possible witnesses.’

Keating must have picked up the trace of complaint in Ashworth’s voice. ‘Where’s the sweet and beautiful Vera?’

‘Gone to inform the next of kin.’

‘Bear with her, Joe. She’s the best detective I’ve ever worked with.’

Ashworth was embarrassed. He wouldn’t have wanted Keating to think he was disloyal. ‘I know.’

Danny Shaw sat in the manager’s office. Ashworth saw him through a window in the door, leaning back in his chair, nodding his head to the rhythm of music coming through his iPod. But something about the way the boy moved made Ashworth think this was a pose. The boy was too self-conscious, and not as cool and relaxed as he was trying to make out. He was wearing black combats and a loose black T-shirt, and looked to Ashworth a classic student. As soon as the door opened he took out the earplugs and straightened, half rose from his chair in a gesture of respect. Polite enough, Ashworth had to concede. He didn’t much like students on the whole. Envy, maybe; he wouldn’t have minded three years of sitting on his backside reading books. Then he remembered what Lisa had said about Danny:
He tells you what you want to hear.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ Ashworth said. ‘But your mam will have let you know I was on my way.’

The boy looked bewildered. So perhaps it hadn’t been Danny that Karen had been speaking to so earnestly on her mobile in the hotel car park after the interview in the bar.

‘Did you know Jenny Lister, the woman who died?’ Best get to the point, Ashworth thought. His Sarah would kill him if he turned up really late. She couldn’t sleep until he got in, and the baby always woke in the night. One o’clock, regular as clockwork, and again at five unless they were lucky.

‘They don’t let me loose on the members.’ Danny laughed. ‘I’m just the cleaner.’

Ashworth put a blown-up photo of the victim on the table. ‘But you might have seen her around.’

There was a moment’s hesitation as Danny glanced down. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t help.’

‘Tell me how your job works,’ Ashworth said. ‘Talk me through a regular shift.’

‘I’m on lates. Start at four. First off, based in the men’s changing rooms. It’s a busy time, people coming in straight from work, so it’s about keeping the place clean and tidy, mopping the floors where people come in from the pool, checking the toilets and showers. Then, when the health club closes at ten, I clean the pool area and gym.’ He managed to imply that the job was beneath him.

‘And that’s what you did last night?’

‘Yes, just the same as usual.’

‘And you checked the steam room and sauna?’ Ashworth had to ask, though Vera had phoned him after speaking to Jenny’s daughter. They knew now that Jenny had still been alive for breakfast that morning; there was no possibility that her body had been in the steam room all night.

‘Of course.’ He smiled, challenging Ashworth to question his commitment to his work. Ashworth decided not to play.

‘See anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know.’ Ashworth tried to keep his voice patient. ‘Like signs of a break-in, or that there was still someone in the place.’

‘You think the murderer might have got in the night before?’

‘We don’t have a specific theory at this point. We have to explore all the possibilities.’

There was another moment of silence. Danny seemed at least now to be taking the question seriously. ‘I certainly didn’t see anybody. I mean, I’d have called security. The hotel does lots of weddings at weekends, some conferences. Late at night you get pissed people thinking it’d be fun to go skinny-dipping when nobody else is around; once I caught a couple of lads hiding away in the showers before we locked up, but we do a thorough check that the place is empty. There was nothing like that last night.’

‘Can you walk me through the changing rooms?’ Ashworth found it almost impossible to visualize the changing rooms and the business side of the health club. He knew Vera had been in to find the victim’s identity card, but it wouldn’t hurt for him to have a quick look.

‘Sure.’ The boy got to his feet – glad, it seemed, to be on the move. Because he’d been slouched in the chair, Ashworth hadn’t realized how tall he was. Standing, he became a gangly, loose-limbed giant.

Ashworth followed him into the ladies’ changing rooms. There was a smell of chlorine from the pool and something else faintly cosmetic. There were bays of lockers all along one wall, with wooden benches underneath them and again between the bays. The tiled floor was clean and dry. For a moment he longed to be out of this antiseptic, artificial atmosphere. He hadn’t had a breath of fresh air since Vera had summoned him at lunchtime.

‘Is this where the thieving was happening?’

‘What thieving?’

‘Are you pissing me about, lad?’ Usually he minded his language when he was working – and when he wasn’t – but something about this boy got under his skin. ‘I’d heard stuff had been stolen from the changing rooms.’