Apportionment of Blame (25 page)

Then I took him into Kilmarnock and dropped him off. As he was crossing a road, he turned to wave and a lorry hit him.

I ran and ran, but they told me he was dead. Someone asked me if I knew him, and I said ‘No' and went back to the car and drove home.

I can't believe what has happened. Hans came, but now he is dead.

“That's an awful thing to happen,” I said and Ilse just nodded.

“It was so sad.”

At that moment the waitress arrived with our food, so I closed the book and put it on the edge of the table.

“This looks good,” Ilse said, but I knew her thoughts were really elsewhere.

We ate together in silence for a while.

“Tell me about your childhood,” I said eventually. “It sounded hard.”

“It was not happy,” she said after another pause. “Dad was always angry, and my brothers were always getting into trouble.”

“I imagine it was difficult for your dad, having three children and having to work as well.”

“It wasn't so bad when my aunt came to stay. She was nice, I remember. Kind, and...” her voice tailed off and a glazed look came into her eyes. “I suppose she was like another mother, when she was there. When she wasn't, there were friends in the area. Some we liked and some we didn't.”

“And they helped look after you?”

“We went there in the morning, and I stayed while my brothers went to school. Then, afterwards, we stayed till Dad came home from work. They used to give us supper sometimes. I was very small, of course.”

As she described the situation during her childhood, I began to realise what a different world it was then. She spoke in short sentences and I often had to prompt her with questions before she would continue.

I began to see reasons for the harrassed looking person I had seen on my first visit. An unhappy childhood followed by teenage years that were not much better. The move to Montrose when they were older, that allowed her father to go back to fishing. She described her brothers as tearaways, and having met one of them, that sounded about right.

It seemed the only good things that had happened in her life were meeting her real mother and the inheritance, and she said over and over again that she didn't want the inheritance; that she had never wanted it.

The plates were cleared away and we turned our attention to the list of desserts on another blackboard which stood on a low easel to the side of us.

“What would you like?” I asked her. “As far as I'm concerned, on a day like this Sticky Toffee Pudding and Custard sounds ideal.”

“It does sound good.”

“I'll order two then,” and I went to the bar before she could change her mind.

The meal and the glow from the wood fire had brought colour to her cheeks. She was beginning to look almost comfortable, but there was always something there in the background, I thought. A sense of worry about something.

“You said your dad was always angry. I suppose the situation he found himself in, with three small children, would be enough to make any man angry.”

“It wasn't that.”

“Oh?”

“He never forgave the Germans for killing my mum. He used to swear about them all the time. Blamed them for taking his wife away and for making our lives so hard.”

I didn't know what to say.

“My brothers were the same. Even when they were older they would pull a coin along the side of any German car they saw. They said it served them right for buying a car from Mum's murderers.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“I suppose I didn't know any different when I was small. It was the way we were. And as I got older, I suppose the thoughts stuck in the back of my mind. I don't know.”

“So when you discovered your father was German...?”

“I didn't want to believe it at first. It was like the worst thing possible. There was no way I could tell my brothers, I thought. I had found my mother, only to find out that my father was a German. How do you think I felt?”

“I'm sure you were shocked.”

“But when my mother took me to the cemetery and talked to me about how they were only young men who were buried there - that they were just like the British soldiers in the cemetery down the road - that they were only doing what they were told, and that they had mothers and fathers just like everybody else.”

It was the most I had ever heard her say at once. This was something which affected her deeply. I felt even more sorry for her, but wondered if it all meant anything so far as Joyce and her family were concerned.

“So she managed to put your mind at rest, did she?”

“Yes, she did about that, but it was hard. To know I had lost my mum because of my real father's country.”

I hadn't thought of it like that, but I could see what she meant.

Our puddings arrived and we didn't say much for a while. Sticky toffee does not make conversation any easier.

“So you told your brothers about your real father eventually?”

“Yes. I wish I hadn't.”

“Were they angry.”

“My brother in Scotland won't speak to me now. Doug, that's the one in London, was furious. He said it was a disgrace, to discover I was fathered by one of them bastards. I told him it wasn't my fault.”

“That's true enough,” I said unnecessarily.

“He said he was ashamed. Told me no one must know. I said it made no difference now. The war was a long time ago. I try to tell him what my mother had said, but he won't listen.”

“Doug said he feels ashamed, but it's me who's ashamed of him, for feeling like that. How can I be ashamed of my own father? My mother said she loved him very much. Said he was the love of her life.”

She had used that phrase before. It obviously meant a lot to her.

“So that was why...” I stopped myself just in time. I was about to mention what happened to Joyce in London, but there was no reason for Ilse to know about that. She already found her brother difficult to deal with. There was no point in causing her extra worry.

“Why your brother was upset at me coming to see you?” I continued.

“Yes. He said no one must know. Told me not to tell anyone. You can't imagine what he gets like when the subject of Germany comes up.”

“But your brothers can't have been very old when their mother was killed.”

“It wasn't so much that. It was Dad poisoning their minds like he did.”

“I'm really sorry you've had such a rough time. I suppose in one sense it could hardly have been worse. For your mother to have you adopted, and then to lose your new mother and have to live in an atmosphere of hatred and bitterness. And how sad for your birth mother, Annie. All that time with her husband, two sons to bring up, all the sadness she had, and at the same time harbouring memories of the man she loved the most. I'm glad you found her. I'm sure you did the right thing in trying to find her. You obviously got on very well. She must have been very glad you managed to discover where she was.”

“Yes. She said she was. She said it made everything worthwhile. All that time, not being able to say anything about having a daughter and about, well, you know, my father.”

Our coffee arrived and we sat silently looking at our cups for a while.

Then I asked her, “What will you do when you go back to London?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you have somewhere to live?”

“Yes. I still have my flat.”

“You could buy somewhere new now. Live wherever you like.”

“I don't know. It doesn't seem right to have all that money.”

“Your mother obviously wanted you to have it. She would want it to make you comfortable, I'm sure.”

“I've got to think about it.”

“When will you leave Monks Colne?”

“Soon, I think. There's no reason to stay now. Just more bad memories. That poor girl.”

“But good memories too, surely, of spending time with your mother in the time she had left.”

She didn't answer that, and I went up to the bar to pay the bill. When I returned to the table she was still staring at her empty cup.

“Are you OK?”

She looked up and tried to smile.

“Yes.”

I knew there was one more question to ask, and I hesitated as I didn't want to hear her refuse.

“Ilse. I need to ask you again if you would mind if I tell the Hetheringtons your relationship with the family. It will set the record straight for them and they will understand why your mother did what she did.”

“I suppose it's all right. I told the young lady, after all. There's no reason to keep it secret, is there?”

I assumed the question was rhetorical and didn't comment. It was her decision to make.

There seemed no point in prolonging the conversation and her discomfort.

“Are you ready to go?”

She pushed back her chair and stood straightening her clothes. I went to retrieve our coats and scarves.

When we were sitting in the car again she said, “Thank you for bringing me here. It was a lovely meal.”

“You're very welcome.”

“Would you like to read more of my mother's journal,” Ilse asked.

“Yes I would, if you trust me to look after it. “I smiled across at her. “I suspect Helen's mother might like to see it later on as well.”

We drove on in silence through the lanes. I couldn't call it companionable silence, but I felt more comfortable with Ilse than I had before and I was glad to have been able to thank her for her help.

As I pulled up outside Ilse's cottage another car went by, and I glanced at it and did a double take, but the car was gone. Was I seeing things, or was that Gemma at the wheel?

No, it can't be, I told myself. Don't be ridiculous. You're imagining things.

Chapter 14

B
ack
home I went through my notes, crossing out what was no longer applicable to Helen's death.
    Stuart was in the clear and so was Ilse. Doug and Gemma were still possibilities, in fact they were the only people I knew of who may have had a motive.

Gemma had been stalking Helen and I had heard of cases where this led to murder. Doug carried with him an abhorrence of anyone discovering his sister had a German father. This may be considered a bizarre motive for murder, but if he had discovered, somehow or other, that Helen had met and talked to Ilse, who knows what a person like that might do. I knew him to be violent, and Ilse had confirmed this.

Annie's journal lay alongside me, and I wondered what information it might contain that could help. But all I could find were personal details of discovering she was pregnant, going to Aberdeen to have her baby and then, later on, her marriage and family life. This would be interesting for Joyce's mother, no doubt, but it couldn't help explain why Helen died.

I'd convinced myself that the inheritance issue would solve all aspects of the case. Perhaps it was such an intriguing and unusual story that it begged to be investigated and drew me in, distracting me from the main mystery related to Helen. This was something else I would have to watch out for if I was to make a successful investigator, distractions, red herrings and anything which took my eye off the ball, so to speak.

But even so, I thought it was most likely that Doug had caused Helen's death. He may not have actually killed her on purpose, but by an exposed railway line in the dark, all sorts of things are possible. She might have tripped during a struggle. He might have threatened her and things got out of hand.

There didn't seem to be any other possibility, other than, but no, I was not going back to accident and suicide again. I didn't really believe it was either of those.

A couple of hours later the phone rang. It was Joyce's mother.

“Greg?”

“Hello. How can I help?”

“Would you like to come over for dinner this evening?”

Ah, I thought. She wants to find out what's going on, probably in more ways than one. Fair enough.

“Thank you. Any excuse not to have to cook.”

“Good. Shall we expect you at about seven?”

I wondered if she'd already spoken to Joyce. One way to find out.

Joyce answered after one ring.

“Hi. I've been invited to eat at yours tonight.”

“So I've heard.”

“What's been said then? Are we expected to make an official announcement about how we feel about each other?”

“Very possibly.”

“Ah. Just as long as I know. Are you OK about this? Has your mother been hassling you with questions?”

“No questions, just meaningful looks. She knows me very well.”