Apportionment of Blame (28 page)

“Is there anything more you want before I send for Gemma?”

“No thanks. Let's see what she has to say for herself.”

Frank sent for Gemma and there was soon another tap on the door.

“Come,” Frank called.

The door opened and Gemma began to come in, then stopped.

“What's going on?” she said, looking at me.

“I don't know,” Frank replied. “Come in and tell us.”

She was clearly not sure what to do and I could see her thinking. This, in itself, made me suspicious of what was going through her mind, about what she had done and what we might already know.

“Come in and sit down, Gemma,” Frank repeated. “Greg here has some more questions for you.”

“Do I have to answer them in front of you and Sarah?”

“Yes, if you would,” he said. “If you have nothing to hide, that should not present a problem for you.”

Gemma was clearly undecided what to do, but in the end she closed the door and came and sat between Sarah and I.

Never had I been more aware of the need to get the next few minutes right. To ask the right questions in the right order and not cause Gemma to panic.

“Gemma. You told me when we last spoke, that you didn't know Helen Hetherington very well.”

“I didn't.”

“How many were working in your department when Helen was there with you?”

“Three, I suppose.”

“You suppose. Three is not very many. Did the three of you always work separately?”

“Not always.”

“Were there times when you and Helen were working on the same thing at the same time?”

“I suppose.”

“And when you were working with her, you never chatted with her, or got to know her at all?”

“No. She wasn't interested in chatting. She just wanted to get on with her work.”

“Yes you told me before, she was rather quiet, and you were more, what was it you said? Chatty?”

“Yes.”

“What was she like?”

“How do you mean?”

“How do you think she looked? Was she attractive? Did she dress well? What did you think of her?”

Gemma turned to Frank.

“What is this?”

“Would you mind answering Greg's questions, Gemma?

They seem quite straight forward to me.”

She turned back to me, rather at a loss for words.

“I suppose she was all right.”

“She was all right?”

“Yes.”

“Was she the sort of girl you felt you wanted to get to know better?”

“I told you. She wasn't interested.”

“Wasn't interested in what?”

“In me.”

“And did that make you disappointed?”

“How do you mean?”

“Did you feel let down, or upset, or did it not bother you at all?”

Her face began to colour and I noticed that she didn't answer immediately. That must mean something, I thought.

“OK. Let's move on,” I said. “You told me before that you couldn't remember the exact day Helen died, and that you couldn't therefore tell me whether or not you were at work that day.”

“That's right.”

“And you still can't recall the exact day Helen died?”

“No.”

“Gemma, where do you live?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“What's your address?”

“I live in Monks Colne.”

“Where in Monks Colne?”

“Barn Lane.”

“Interesting. The place where Helen died was very near Barn Lane. The police would have made enquiries at all the houses in the area. Yet you don't know when it happened. You must have been out.”

“I don't remember.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No, with my parents.”

“Didn't they mention that the police had been?”

“Not that I remember.”

“And I came along your road a week or two ago. Perhaps I spoke to someone where you live. Your parents perhaps. But they didn't mention anything to you?”

“No. I don't actually live with them. I have a flat over the garage.”

“So no one came to your flat, and you don't recall any mention of people coming to the house asking for information about Helen's death.”

Silence.

“So when did you learn what had happened to Helen?”

“The following day, at work. Everyone was talking about it.”

Gemma looked across at Frank, then back at me.

“Why are you asking these questions?”

“Because no one knows what happened to Helen, or why. And no one seems prepared to say anything.”

“But why are you asking me?”

“Because you worked closely with Helen for a time. And now we also know that you live not far from where she died.”

She looked away from me, but clearly didn't know where else to look, and her eyes slowly returned to mine.

“You say you worked with Helen for several months, yet you didn't get to know her. You live near to where she died, yet you claim to be unaware of the considerable number of enquiries made in the area. What are you not telling us?”

“I can't tell you what I don't know.”

“But what is it you do know, but are not prepared to tell us?”

More silence.

“Gemma?” Frank joined in.

“I don't know anything.”

Frank looked across at me and I shrugged my shoulders.

“All right, Gemma,” he said. “You can go.”

Sarah looked embarrassed. I was staring at my notebook. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Frank look at his watch.

“Do you think that achieved anything?” he said with an edge to his voice.

“I think she knows something, but isn't prepared to tell us what it is. The fact that she was so evasive is suspicious in itself as far as I'm concerned.”

“Well,” he said. “I have business to attend to. Sarah you had better get back to work. Greg, is there anything else you want?”

“I don't think so. I'm grateful for your help.”

“In that case, if you'll excuse us all.”

His attitude had changed distinctly and I wasn't prepared to push and risk causing annoyance.

“Of course,” I said.

I collected my things together and left.

On my way across the entrance lobby I exchanged glances with Sarah, but she turned away quickly. It appeared I'd lost what support I needed there.

Damn, I thought. What a waste of time. And I'd been so sure. Perhaps the dream meant nothing.

I retraced my steps to the car, started the engine and turned on the fan to generate some heat. Then I phoned Joyce.

“Hi. Where are you?...Can I come round? I need to bounce some ideas off you...Thanks...Ten minutes.”

She answered the door when I arrived and greeted me with a kiss. Even that didn't make me feel any better.

“Let's go up to my room,” she offered.

“OK,” and I followed her up the stairs and into the room immediately behind Helen's.

She closed the door behind me and pulled me into a passionate embrace. I succumbed, but only so far, and when I was once again able to take breath, I attempted to clarify the real reason for my visit.

“Just a minute.”

“What?”

“I need to share some thoughts with you before I forget all the salient points.”

She gave me a look.

“Oh, all right,” she said and steered me across to sit next to her on the bed. “But don't expect always to get away as easily as that.”

“Put that smile away and let me concentrate.”

She did so, to a certain extent.

“This is all between you and me. Right?”

“Right. If you say so.”

She looked at me as I tried to work out where to start and what I dared say.

“I'm stuck,” I told her. “There are two possibilities and I can't work out how to proceed with either of them.

“When I left here this morning I thought I knew what had happened, but now I'm not so sure again and I'm back where I started.”

“OK.”

“One. Ilse's brother may have caused Helen's death somehow. As I said last night I suspect Ilse might think that is a possibility. He has this bizarre motive to do with not wanting anyone to discover that Ilse's father was German. He certainly has a temper and we both know he is capable of doing really stupid things. It would explain why he was so keen to put me off with all those notes. But I have no actual evidence at all. So how do I prove it?”

Joyce put her head down in thought.

“So, what's number two?”

“Two. Gemma caused Helen's death, somehow or other. It seems she had become infatuated with Helen, but Helen wasn't interested.

“I've just been up to Colbox to ask her some more questions, and I did it in front of her boss and the girl from reception. But she said nothing. And now I fear I may have lost the level of co-operation I thought I had up there.”

There were so many thoughts rushing through my mind. Should I tell Joyce how close to the death scene Gemma lives? Was I sure it was Gemma? It could still be Doug. Is there still an outside chance it could be Ilse herself. But surely not. If I was that bad a judge of character I might as well go back to work at the bank.

I had hoped to introduce Ilse to the Hetheringtons, perhaps idealistically thinking she and Joyce's mother might become friends, making up for losing Annie somehow. But I'd have to be absolutely sure of Ilse's innocence before introducing her to them. I realised that meant there were still three possibilities, but deep down I still wanted to give Ilse the benefit of the doubt.

I might like to think the case whittled down to Gemma or Doug, but there was still the possibility that Ilse knew more than she was saying. That would account for her reticence when she first met me.

Joyce tucked her arm into mine and gave it a little squeeze.

“Do you think we should go to the police?”

“I don't see what they can do. We're no nearer to solving the mystery than when we started, except that we've whittled it down to fewer possibilities. I can't give them any proof of anything. There's no hard evidence. It could still be an accident or suicide as far as they are concerned.

“There is still the outside chance that it was an accident, although I don't think it was. And neither of us thinks it was suicide. But in order to persuade the police it was murder, or at least that someone caused her death in one way or another, they would expect some evidence on which to proceed. I can't give them any.”

“Perhaps there is something we are missing.”

“I keep thinking that, but I don't know what it could be.”

“Is there anything you haven't told me that might give me the germ of an idea?”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“Apparently Gemma lives down Barn Lane in Monks Colne.”

“So she lives as close as Ilse to where it happened?”

“Yes. I must have gone to her house asking questions, but Gemma says she can't remember anyone coming at all.”

“It sounds as if she was hiding something from you this morning.”

“Oh, I'm sure she knows more than she's saying. But how to get to that knowledge, that's the problem.”

“Do you trust that Ilse is telling you the truth?”

“I believe all she has told me about her background, and the fact she gave me the journal to show your mother means that she trusts me. In terms of the inheritance, I think she has been honest and straight with me. She has admitted that Helen did come to see her on the evening she died, but claims that the last she saw of her was from her front door as she left.”

“So it sounds as if you don't think she had anything to do with it.”

“No, I don't. The trouble is, if she's lying, after your parents have come to feel a little sympathy for her and her difficult life, the disclosure that she had something to do with Helen's death would be shattering.”

“Yes, I see that. But aren't there times when you have to follow your instinct, and your instinct seems to be telling you that Ilse has nothing more to hide.”

“It took her a long time and a lot of persuasion to be able to tell me about her life and her connection to Annie. It does seem likely that she is now being open and we can trust her.”