The Mill on the Shore (18 page)

‘But it’s so
uncertain,
’ he said. ‘There’s no evidence that the story Jimmy was working on originated from this area. He could have been based further north during that week before the accident. Even if he were driving back from Scotland it would have been convenient to pick up Hannah on the way.’

‘Then we’ll have to find out,’ Molly said. Her calm only provoked him more.

‘But how?’ he demanded. ‘Aidan Moore’s disappeared and all we know about this Nick is that he went to work in Malawi. We haven’t even got a second name for him.’

‘There can’t be that many British-sponsored aid projects in Malawi,’ Molly said. ‘Even fewer employing a marine biologist. Don’t you have any contacts in the Overseas Development Administration? One of your pals from the civil service? All those working lunches and endless seminars must have had some use …’

‘There was someone,’ George said. ‘He transferred from the Home Office not long before I retired …’ He lapsed into silence, already framing the questions in his head, planning an excuse for needing to know.

In the end it was easy. His chum remembered him immediately. George, he always felt, had been the one to really swing his promotion, and he owed him a few favours. He didn’t even ask why George needed the information and the prepared lie about wanting to trace a distant relative was never needed. The only problem was in getting the information quickly. Sandford wanted to chat, to discuss office politicking which George had long forgotten. As he tried to contain his impatience George thought that his final appraisal of the man had been over-generous.

‘We’re only sponsoring one research project in Malawi,’ Sandford said at last. ‘ It’s a study into the viability of commercial fishing on the lake. Based near Salima.’

‘Yes,’ George said gratefully. ‘That would be it. There’s no guarantee of course that the chap I’m looking for will still be there. Don’t you employ most of your scientists on short-term contracts?’

‘Yes,’ Sandford said slowly. ‘ But I’ve got a feeling that this scheme’s overrun and quite a few of the contracts have been renewed. It happens that way sometimes …’

There was a distant sound of computer beeps.

‘Here we are,’ Sandford said. ‘ The list of staff. The only one with the initial N is the freshwater biologist Lineham. Nicholas Lineham. Do you want a home address for him?’

‘Please,’ George said casually.

‘It’s a place in Mardon,’ Sandford said, unaware of the excitement he had caused. ‘If you’ve got a pen I’ll give it to you.’

‘I was hoping to get in touch with Nick,’ George said. ‘ Could I get a message to him through you?’

‘No need, old chap,’ Sandford said. ‘Why don’t you phone him direct? You can get straight through to the lab. We’ve got quite a sophisticated set-up out there, you know. It’s not all mud huts and bush telegraph. I’ll give you the number.’

But when George finally got his call to Salima connected he couldn’t speak to Nick Lineham. The project’s research manager was very helpful. Over a crackly line he said he would get Nick to contact George when he returned. But he had just started a routine three-week cruise up the length of Lake Malawi on the project boat, collecting samples, and there was no way of getting a message to him there.

The address Sandford had given for Nick Lineham turned out to be a sub post office and general store on the outskirts of Mardon. It was on the main road west out of the town and now, at five thirty, the traffic was heavy. As they sat in a queue of cars at traffic lights George’s impatience increased. He had convinced himself that this was a wild-goose chase. The suburb was unprepossessing. On one side of the road were a series of red-brick terraces, on the other a grey, 1950s council housing estate which sprawled up the hill. They came at last to a small row of shops, built into a terrace. Most were still open, hoping perhaps to attract commuters on their way home. George drove past them and parked, then walked back past the launderette, the newsagent’s and the Chinese takeaway to get into the Linehams’ shop by the front door.

There was a post office counter at one end but that had been closed and covered by heavy metal shutters. The rest of the cramped space was set out like a miniature supermarket with goods piled on shelves in the middle of the room and along the walls. Everything was faintly grubby. A young woman sat on a stool behind the till next to a rack of ageing vegetables. Molly and George stood just inside the door, taking their bearings.

‘It’s self service,’ the young woman said aggressively. ‘ You’ll have to help yourselves.’ She did not move from the stool but nodded towards a pile of wire baskets.

‘We were hoping to talk to Mr and Mrs Lineham,’ George said. He had assumed from the beginning that Nick had given his parents’ address to the Overseas Development Administration. ‘ They do live here?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Perhaps I could explain that to Mr and Mrs Lineham,’ he said firmly.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. There was something protective in her attitude and he thought she must be Nick’s sister. ‘They’ve just gone into the back to have their tea. It’s the only break they get.’ She paused but could not control her resentment. ‘They used to close at six but they have to stay open till ten now to make any sort of living. I’ve got better things to do than mind this bloody place after a full day’s work but what can you do? They should have sold it when the market was better. You couldn’t give it away now.’ She regarded them with hostility as if they were to blame for the recession.

‘We’d like to talk to them about Nick,’ George said carefully. He did not want to provoke another outburst of anger.

‘Oh well, if it’s about their precious Nick I’m sure they’ll want to see you.’

Still she did not move from her stool but she shouted towards an open back door: ‘Mum! There’s someone here to talk to you.’ She turned back to Molly and George. ‘You’d better go through.’

The Linehams were in a small scruffy living room at the end of a short passage. The passage and much of the room had been used as storage space and they sat surrounded by cartons of washing-up liquid and baked beans. The place had all the comfort of a warehouse. There were two upright armchairs and a large television set, which dominated their attention. They had trays on their knees and were forking food into their mouths while they watched an American soap.

George hesitated in the doorway and coughed but the television was too loud for them to hear.

‘Mr and Mrs Lineham?’ he said and they turned in unison, surprised and frightened. They were small, slight, grey, so alike that they could have been brother and sister.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ George said. ‘Your daughter said it would be all right.’

Mrs Lineham jumped to her feet, gathered the half-full plates together and scuttled into the kitchen. Her husband stood too, but his mouth was still full and he could not speak. The woman returned empty-handed and muttered a shamed apology about the mess. It was as if she, not they, were intruding.

‘We’re really very sorry to disturb you,’ George said again. He wanted to put them at their ease. How could they confide in him when they felt so obviously threatened? ‘ It’s about Nick. I’m interested in some work he was doing before he went to Africa. He’s out on the boat now and I can’t get in touch with him. I thought you might be able to help.’

‘Oh!’ she said, relieved, relaxing into a smile. ‘You’ll be from the university.’ She spoke in a hushed tone as if the place had some sort of religious significance and he was a high priest. ‘They were still interested in his work even after he finished his Ph. D.’ She turned towards the mantelpiece where a framed photograph of the boy in cap and gown flanked by his parents had pride of place. It was hard to tell from the photo what Grace had seen in him. To George he just looked very young.

‘So you’re from the university,’ she said again, enjoying saying the word.

George did not contradict her. If she thought he was a professor following up her son’s research she was more likely, surely, to help him.

‘Sit down,’ she said moving boxes to reveal two more chairs. ‘What must you think of us living like this. Do sit down. Ernie, this gentleman’s from the university. Switch that rubbish off at once.’

Ernie leaned forward and reluctantly switched off the television.

‘Now,’ she said. ‘How can we help you?’

‘Was Nick living here when he was working for the NRA?’ George said in a chatty tone, hoping that was where he
had
been working. He wanted to start with simple, unthreatening questions.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not really. Not then. He was living at home when he first started with the Mardon and District Water Company but when the National Rivers Authority was formed after privatization he’d already moved out.’

‘So he started with the NRA right from the beginning?’ George said.

‘Oh yes. It was what interested him most you see, the conservation side.’

‘And where was he living then?’

She blushed and lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘With his girlfriend,’ she said. ‘ She’s moved since but she had a flat then in one of those big houses just off the High Street. I can’t say I was happy about the situation. You had to wait in my day. But they were engaged so that was something. And he kept in touch with Ernie and me. He always came for his Sunday dinner.’ She lowered her voice even further. ‘I don’t think
she
was much of a cook. I don’t suppose she had to learn where she came from.’

‘Oh?’ George said. It was all the encouragement she needed. As her daughter had said, she was glad of any excuse to talk about her precious Nick.

‘Grace Sharland she was called,’ Mrs Lineham said. ‘The Sharlands were a big family in Mardon. No shortage of money there. Her dad was something high up in Mardon Wools. Nothing came of it in the end and I can’t say that I’m sorry. Despite all her money our Nick could have done better for himself than her.’

There was a pause and Ernie Lineham stood up. Perhaps he had heard it all before and was embarrassed by his wife’s boasting. ‘Look,’ he said awkwardly, ‘I’d best go and relieve our Linda in the shop. She works the early shift in the tannery and she only comes here to oblige. She’s got her own husband’s tea to see to. May’ll be able to help you better than me, any road.’ He nodded and disappeared. Mrs Lineham turned to them expectantly.

‘It must have been a shock when Nick took off for Africa,’ Molly said gently.

‘Not really,’ Mrs Lineham said stoutly. Her devotion obviously included the self-sacrifice of giving up his company without complaint. ‘You see he’d wanted to go to Africa ever since he was a lad. The wildlife programmes on the telly were always his favourites. You know,
Zoo Watch
and Johnny Morris, all the elephants and lions.

‘I could tell he was bright right from the start,’ Mrs Lineham went on. ‘I said to him, “You work hard, son, and you’ll be out there some day working with animals too.”’ She paused reflectively. ‘It doesn’t seem the same, does it, fish? Not so glamorous somehow. But Nick explained it all to me. Fish are just as important in the scheme of things. It’s all to do with …’ She paused again groping for the word. ‘ … the ecology.’

‘And he was working on fish here in Mardon too?’ George was finding it hard to contain his impatience. Molly would be prepared to sit here all night, listening to the woman’s reminiscences. She had no sense of urgency. But he needed some sign that the investigation was moving forward.

‘Not just fish!’ the woman said, as if George should have known. ‘He was the regional conservation officer for the National Rivers Authority. It was his job to stop the rivers getting polluted.’

‘Of course,’ George said. He leaned forward. ‘Did Nick leave any notes from work with you before he went to Africa?’ he said. ‘That would really be most useful to our research.’

‘He did,’ she said. ‘A great pile of files and paper. He made a joke about it. Half a rain forest, he said. I put everything in his old room for him. “ It’ll all be here for you when you get back, son,” I said.’

‘Would you have any objection if we looked through his notes?’ George said. He was allowing himself to become excited. For the first time he started to believe that this might lead somewhere. He tried to sound professional. ‘We would acknowledge his contribution of course if anything was published.’

‘What a shame!’ she said. ‘I’d let you have them if I could but they’re not here any more. Grace Sharland, the one I was telling you about, came here a couple of months ago.’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘With James Morrissey, the chap who was always on the television. He asked if he could see Nick’s work. Grace had been talking about it and he thought it would help with a programme he was planning. Of course I gave him everything. He said he’d bring it back when he’d finished. He was such a nice man, older than he looks on the telly, but lovely, interested in what Nick was up to. I knew Nick would be thrilled to help. It was James Morrissey that made some of the wildlife programmes which got him started as a kid.’

‘And was he thrilled when you told him what you’d done?’ George asked.

‘No,’ she said, still surprised and disappointed. ‘ Not really. He just said: “Well I suppose it won’t do any harm after all this time. It’s got nothing to do with me any more.”’

George wanted to go then. He thought they had got what they had come for but the woman was obviously keen to chat and Molly only encouraged her.

‘Why did he go to Africa so suddenly?’ Molly said. ‘ Was it because Grace broke off the engagement and he felt he needed to get away?’

‘Grace didn’t break off the engagement,’ Mrs Lineham said. ‘She was broken-hearted about it.’ She hesitated then ventured a mild criticism of her son. ‘I think he could have handled it better. It wasn’t kind to run away like that without a word. She deserved some sort of explanation. More than the note he left her.’

Molly nodded sympathetically but said nothing. There was more to be told. Who else did the woman have to talk to? Her family and friends would be bored crazy with the stories of her son.

‘He was offered the job in Malawi before,’ Mrs Lineham said at last, ‘when the project was first thought up. They knew he’d be the best man for the job. But he’d just got the post with the National Rivers Authority then and he didn’t think he should risk leaving. There was no guarantee, you see, that he’d get it back again.’