Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (10 page)

‘We’re
supposed to be rational,’ Liam said. ‘Scientists. Not people who panic at the first sign of superstitious nonsense.’

‘Like
the ghost, you mean?’ Elizabeth looked up at him.

He
smiled. ‘Like the ghost. One minute trying to pin down the fundamental laws of the universe, the next claiming that a wounded soldier is walking the corridors like something from Dickens…’

‘Neil
was convinced,’ Iain said.

‘Neil
swore blind he saw him,’ Elizabeth said.

Liam
shrugged.

‘It’s
not like Neil to be superstitious,’ Iain said.

‘I
think we have to tell the police.’ Elizabeth handed the letter to Liam. ‘Do you want to?’

‘OK.’
He put it in his pocket, headed for the door. ‘I’ll check with Moffatt first. I’ve got to sort out this Tobias situation with him as it is. It’s not fair on the lad, to keep him doing lab work. Particularly not now.’

Liam
closed the door behind him. As he left, Elizabeth gave a weary sigh and rested her head on Iain’s shoulder.

‘One down.’ Clem Voake gave a hoarse laugh.

‘He’s
really gone?’

‘You
heard. Pushed off Hank’s Tower.’

‘Not
the right one.’

‘Don’t
care. If it puts the wind up them, it’s good enough for me.’

Lisa
sat outside the caravan, her back pressed up against the damp wall. Next to her, Finn passed her a cigarette. Above them, the voices drifted out of the open window.

Finn
produced a lighter, and she leaned into him, drew on her cigarette.

‘You
get him up there first. Tell him you’ve got to have a little chat with him. Then, thwack, over the edge, death by drowning, all evidence gone.’

‘Seem
to know a lot about it.’ The other voice was male, older, with a Kentish burr like Clem’s.

‘Yeah,
well, I’ve thought about it, see.’

‘Only
thought about it?’

Clem
gave another harsh laugh. ‘Thinking. Doing. What’s the difference? Another of those?’

Outside
Finn whispered to Lisa. ‘You telling me you’re going to stay here?’

‘Only home I’ve got,’ she whispered back.

‘Come
with me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a place at the Archway. They’ll let you in.’

‘They’ll
send me back home. That’s even worse.’

‘It
can’t be worse than a freezing car and him going on about all his enemies.’

‘He’s
my dad.’

He
looked up at her tone. ‘So?’

She
pulled at a thread in her jeans.

‘You
really telling me he cares about you?’

She
met his eyes. ‘He says he does. And in any case, I ain’t going back to my Mum.’

The
laughter from the window was louder now. ‘That would be the prize, Clem, my friend. Wouldn’t it. Then you could stop skulking out here in this dump.’

‘Suits
me, this,’ Clem said. ‘People come, people go, no one to ask them where they’ve been, no one to ask them where they’re going.’

‘And
the kid?’

‘Lisa?
She’s OK. She’s a great kid. She’s come home to her Dad and she ain’t going nowhere else.’

‘Scared
of you, is she, like everyone else?’

Clem’s
voice was sharp. ‘Not her. I love that kid. You hear me? Wouldn’t hurt a hair of her fucking head.’

Under
the window, Lisa blew rings of cigarette smoke.

There
was a silence. Then Clem’s voice again. ‘It’ll all change now. I’ll give my little girl anything she wants. I’ll send her to that school on the other side of town, you know the one where they wear them hats with the orange…’

‘You
sound very sure.’

‘I
stood by that graveside yesterday, and I thought, we’re family we are.’

‘You
hardly knew him.’

‘He
was still family. A cousin. That’s family.’

‘I’d
heard there weren’t nothing left to leave.’

‘You
winding me up, Manny?’

‘Wish
I was, son. Wish I was.’

‘You’re
wrong, Manny boy, you’re wrong.’

The
voices were loud and slurred. There was the sound of more cans being opened.

‘Last
of that line. That’s what my Mum used to tell me, God rest her soul.’

There
was a laugh. ‘You and God? That’s a good one.’

‘Yesterday,
right, I stood by my cousin’s grave, and I looked up to Heaven, and I said to Mum, you kept your promise and now I’m going to keep mine.’

‘And
if I didn’t know you better, Clem Voake, I’d bet there were tears in your eyes…’

‘There
were, Manny, there were.’

‘I’m
amazed they didn’t lock you up.’

There
was laughter, then more words, louder, incoherent. Finn got to his feet, took Lisa by the arm. They moved away from the caravan into the trees, settled on a tree stump.

They
smoked in silence.

‘Tobias
was up Hank’s Tower again,’ Finn said.

Lisa
shrugged. ‘He loves it up there.’

‘Doing
his science, he calls it. He takes all those bottles of stuff up there, and he watches the tide, he says. Going in, going out.’ He turned to her. ‘He ain’t right, y’know.’

Lisa
met his eyes. ‘He’s OK.’

‘No,
I mean, he’s got things on his mind. Bad things.’

‘He
has?’

‘Talks
about death. Talks about how we’re all falling through space. Goes on about particles and colliding and gravity. And then he goes up Hank’s Tower with his little glass jars, and hangs them from their strings until the tide carries them away, and then he just stands there, staring.’

‘Listen,
bruv…’ Lisa took a last drag from her cigarette. ‘You should start worrying more about your own life and less about everyone else’s. Like, you’ve got to stop trashing any chance that’s come your way.’

‘Yeah?’
He faced her.

‘Yeah.
Like at ballet, sitting in the corner. That’s what you do, sitting in the corner of your life.’

He
watched her as she ground her cigarette stub into the earth. ‘I just don’t think you should go back there,’ he said.

She
got to her feet. ‘You tell me where else I can go, I mean like in real life, not in your head.’

He
stood up, rubbing his legs. He could see the lights of the caravan through the trees.

‘See?’
she said. ‘There’s no way out.’

He
followed her back to the caravan. At the steps she leaned towards him. ‘Give us another fag.’

He
passed her his last cigarette. She patted his arm. ‘Laters, yeah?’

The
stairs wobbled as she walked up them.

It
was the end of the day. Finn’s feet were silent on the damp grass. The sky was dark blue, through the silhouetted trees.

Chapter Seven

Helen
could hear her husband outside as he said goodbye to the departing guests, their murmured thanks and fading footsteps on the drive. Now he reappeared in the kitchen, switched on the lights.

She
was standing by the fridge.

‘A
whole Sunday lunch with only water to drink,’ she said. ‘There’s a half bottle of that rosé in here somewhere.’

‘That
would be nice,’ he said.

There
was the clink of the glasses as she placed them on the table, the gurgle of the wine as she poured. She handed him a glass. He watched the condensation, a mist against the pink.

She
appeared to be waiting for him to speak.

‘I
suppose…’ he began, but she was already speaking.

‘An
explanation,’ she said. ‘That would be nice. How do you know her so well? How long have you known this whole story about the dead husband?’

‘Hardly
any time at all,’ he said.

She
didn’t reply.

‘You
managed very well,’ he said.

‘I
had no choice.’ She circled her glass on the kitchen table, along the floral swirls of the PVC tablecloth.

‘What
are you thinking?’ she said, and he didn’t dare say that he was thinking that the table would look better without those abstract pink flowers, the plain wood underneath would be so much better, oak, he seemed to remember it was, unvarnished…

She
was waiting, again.

He
met her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to say. If you want apologies, I can apologise. They’re just parishioners, you heard about it on the news, her husband, and now they’re saying he was killed – ’

‘Yes,’
she said. ‘That’s all she talked about. What I don’t get…’ she leaned back in her chair, her glass in her hand… ‘What I don’t understand is, why she cares. It’s quite clear from what she was saying at lunch that she never liked him, that they were living separate lives– ’

‘That’s
not true.’ His voice sounded loud.

‘It
isn’t?’ She took a sip of wine, watching him.

‘She
told me she loved him very much. Until – ’

‘Until
what?’

‘Something
changed, she said. Six years ago.’

‘They
had a son.’ Helen’s eyes were fixed on him. ‘She said at lunch. She mentioned him.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well?’ Helen’s voice was sharp.

He
looked up at her. ‘Their son died. Drowned. Six years ago. He was eight.’

She
was sitting straight-backed, waiting. Chad said nothing more. ‘Are you going to tell me the rest?’ she said. ‘Drowned sons, drowned husbands, some kind of foul play, this weird connection with the research lab…’

‘There’s
really very little…’ he began.

‘
– or do you want me not to know? Do I just serve out lunch, the proper vicar’s wife, and sit quietly, and smile when appropriate, and look sympathetic and not ask any questions, even when it’s quite clear from the way she looks at you…’

Now
it was his turn to sit upright, his gaze fierce. ‘What?’ he said. ‘What’s quite clear?’

Helen
stood up. She went over to the sink, found a tea-towel, began to dry the glasses.

‘I
don’t know how you can even begin to think that,’ he said.

‘I’m
not thinking anything,’ she said.

‘She’s
a very unfortunate woman.’ He picked up his empty glass, turned it in his hand.

‘Clearly.’
Helen reached over and took the glass from him, and immersed it in the soapy water in the sink. ‘And why did she give you that book?’

‘Book?’

‘That old book there, the one about atoms. Why you?’

He
glanced towards the book where it sat on the edge of the table. ‘I’m not sure. I expressed interest and then she said I could have it.’

‘Your
kind of thing, I suppose.’

‘Yes,’
he agreed. He raised his eyes towards her, but she was washing up, taut and silent, her back to him. ‘It is my job,’ he said. ‘I’m their priest. Her husband’s been killed, thrown off a tower, after all their other troubles, she has to care for Tom as well…’

He
waited for a response, but there was only the splash of her hands in the soapy water. ‘How was your work?’ he said.

‘Fine,’
she said.

‘Did
Finn behave?’

Her
hands ceased their movement. ‘Do you care?’ she said.

‘Yes,’
he said. ‘Of course I care.’

‘Well…’
She turned, dried her hands. ‘Finn didn’t behave, no. Which is a shame, as he and Lisa are the two most talented dancers in the group. It’s all very well Anton saying I should tell him I don’t need him, but the problem is, I do.’ She perched on the edge of a chair.