Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (4 page)

‘Lisa?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t know you’d seen her.’

‘And
she had no ketchup,’ he went on. ‘Nothing. Nothing in that caravan fridge. That’s why she’s thin, I think.’ He stood next to Virginia, his arm held out, palm upwards. She bent to her handbag, fished out some coins, placed them in his hand. ‘Not too much, now, Tom, remember?’

‘I
know,’ he said. ‘But ketchup too. I’m allowed ketchup.’ He was gone, lurching out of the door, striding down the path.

The
room seemed smaller without him.

‘He’s
not quite…’ she began. ‘Twenty-four, he is. He came to live with us when…’ She bent to plump the cushions on the sofa. ‘I say he’s my nephew, actually he’s my cousin’s son, but it’s easier. She died, poor Jenny, breast cancer. There was no one else to look after him.’ She glanced up. ‘Best thing that ever happened to us, it turned out. We all adored him. And it was company for me, for us, after…’ She lowered herself onto the sofa, as if suddenly exhausted. ‘He works at the lab, where my husband worked. Just a jobbing assistant sort of thing, nothing technical. They found it for him at the Job Centre, but it’s wrong for him, he’s usually such a calm boy, but these days he comes back full of worries, you saw him just then. Odd friends too, eating chips with the Voake girl, probably the only meal she ever gets…’ She stopped, breathed, continued. ‘Of course, this news makes it harder, not related to my husband at all, but close, they were, close, on top of all his other losses. He’s taken to…’ She paused, breathed, continued, ‘…things about the work there, they worry him, atoms and things, the idea of smashing them. And the machines are huge, they frighten him. He’s always asking questions, and of course, I can’t answer him.’ She reached absently for the diary, put it back down. ‘I’m trying to get him something else. He had some work experience at the DIY shop in town for a few weeks, he loved it there, but they couldn’t afford to keep him. Something like that, though, he’s happier with simple things.’

She
glanced across at him. He met her gaze, then looked away. His eye fell on the book on the table, and he repressed the urge to pick it up again. Instead, he reached for his coat which was draped over the sofa behind him. ‘Well, Mrs. Maguire,’ he began.

‘Virginia,’
she said.

He
felt that a concession had been made. ‘Virginia,’ he repeated, getting to his feet. Again their eyes met. He struggled into his coat, tied his scarf around his neck. He hesitated, trying to find the right words. ‘I won’t pretend I can offer you any help at all,’ he said. ‘But please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m in the office in the church, or at the vicarage, you can always find me there…’ He stopped, disconcerted by her unflinching gaze.

She
nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

They
heard the scrunch of heavy footsteps, and the door swung open.

‘Mayonnaise
too, is that all right Auntie?’ Tobias was smiling at them from the doorway.

She
smiled back at him. ‘Yes, love. That’s all right.’

‘You’re
wearing your coat.’ Tobias spoke through a mouthful, waving a chip at him. His fingers were smeared with ketchup.

‘Reverend
Meyrick is just going,’ she said.

‘Do
call me Chad,’ he said.

‘Chad,’
Tobias repeated. ‘Charlie Chad.’ He waved another chip in his direction. ‘Do you speak to God, then?’ His tone was conversational.

‘Well,’
Chad began. ‘Yes. I suppose I do.’

‘And
does he say anything back?’ Tobias placed his paper bundle of chips on the table. ‘When I’ve tried, I’ve listened and listened but I’ve never heard anything at all.’

Chad
smiled at him. ‘It is a bit like that, talking to God.’

‘Mostly
I give up.’ Tobias sat down and took another chip. His gaze fell on the diary. ‘What’s this doing here?’ His hand went towards it. Chad saw the sticky, greasy fingers and dived for the book. He straightened up, holding it, embarrassed.

‘I’m
sorry,’ he began, looking at Virginia. ‘It’s just – ’ he gestured towards Tobias, who now had a chip in each hand. ‘It’s such a beautiful thing. The idea that it might – ’

‘The
World can’t arise out of Chaos by the
Laws of Nature,’ Tobias intoned. ‘That’s what he says in there. He says that blind Fate could never make all the Planets move in the same way. He calls it “Orbs concentrick”, with a “k”. That’s because it’s old.’ He dipped a chip in a puddle of ketchup. ‘And then he goes on about God. And then the other writing at the end says that she’s very unhappy and she wants to die, but that’s not about the atoms and the orbs and the planets, that’s about her husband who’s not nice to her. Amelia, she’s called. It’s difficult to read because of how they wrote in those days.’ He stopped, breathing. He smiled at Virginia. ‘We think he’s right, don’t we, Auntie? There can’t be nothing, can there? Everything is stuff. Even what they call a vacuum, it’s just a different kind of stuff. That’s what I tell the people at work, and they argue with me and then I get upset and I have to sit in the fridge thing until I feel calm again.’

‘The
fridge thing?’ Her voice was tight.

‘It
has a nice hum,’ he said.

She
glanced at Chad. The only sound was Tobias finishing his chips.

Chad
held out the book to Virginia. ‘I’d better be getting back,’ he said.

She
looked down at the book in his hand, then looked up at him. ‘Keep it,’ she said.

‘Keep
it?’ He stared at her.

‘It’s
trouble, that book. We don’t want it, do we Tom?’

Tobias
looked across at the book. ‘Doesn’t matter to me,’ he said. ‘I know it all in my head. I use it for my mixtures.’

‘It
belongs to my husband,’ she said. ‘Belonged,’ she corrected herself.

‘So
– ’ Chad looked at her. ‘Don’t you want to… I mean, surely…’

‘No.’
Her lips were set in a thin line. ‘Nothing but trouble, that book.’

‘Well,
as a loan,’ Chad began. He felt the smooth leather between his fingers.

‘If
you want to see it that way…’ She took a step towards the door. He placed the book in his coat pocket, turned to Tobias. ‘It’s nice to meet you,’ he said.

Tobias
gazed up at him. ‘Why?’

‘It
just is,’ Charles said.

Tobias
nodded. He dabbed at some salt, then licked his finger.

The
sun was low in the sky, and the clouds were gathering. In the doorway he held out his hand to her. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ he said.

She
heard the warmth in his voice. ‘Thank you for coming to see me,’ she said.

He
took a step on to the path. She was standing behind him.

‘What
you said,’ she said. ‘About blame. Always blaming yourself. Do you think it will be over now he’s dead?’ And as he turned back to her the tears fell. ‘Or will it be worse,’ she was saying, ‘knowing that they’re both gone, knowing that wherever our boy is, Murdo is there with him, if there is such a place?’ She dashed her hand against her eyes. ‘And I’m left here.’ She felt in her pocket for a tissue. ‘For a long time I thought I simply couldn’t live without him, without my son. And then I realized that that was how it was going to be. You can’t will your own death. Unless you do it yourself. And I was a coward about all that.’ She dabbed at her eyes, then looked at him. ‘Does that make Murdo a coward? Or does that make him brave, to fling himself off that tower at high tide and wait for death?’

Her
face was luminous, her eyes dark with feeling. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to give her hope, but he knew he had none to give. He shook his head. ‘Virginia – I don’t know.’

‘No,’
she said. ‘I don’t know either.’ She was staring at the floor.

‘What
was his name?’ he said. ‘Your boy.’

She
looked up at him. ‘Jacob,’ she said. ‘I don’t say it very often. Not out loud, anyway.’ She gave a sob, turned away. ‘I must go in,’ she said.

He
touched her arm. ‘I’ll see you again,’ he said. She said something in reply, but her hand was across her face and he couldn’t catch the words. He watched the door close behind her.

‘I feel sick.’ Mary dabbed at her nose with a paper handkerchief. ‘That smell… My sixth one, and they get me every time.’

The
mortuary coffee bar was warm and noisy. They sat by the wide, sunlit window.

Berenice
stared out at the car park. ‘I still don’t get why he drove there. Did he know someone was waiting for him? And the records show there were threats to the lab too, hate mail kind of things… but then why that lighthouse, what’s it called…’

‘Hank’s
Tower,’ Mary said. ‘It was never used as a lighthouse, they say. Out on the flats there. No one knows what it was for.’

Berenice
sipped her coffee. ‘Someone’s going to have to talk to the wife again. Don’t you think?’

DS
Mary Ashcroft shrugged. ‘All I’m thinking is, I wish I hadn’t splashed my best perfume all over this handkerchief. Now I’ll always associate Stella McCartney with the smell of that poor bastard half eaten by fish.’

Berenice
smiled.

‘And
you’ve got your work cut out,’ Mary went on. ‘Unlawful killing now. And there’s the Chief going on about how he’s relying on you to head up the team.’

‘Yeah.
In spite of my “lack of local knowledge”… Perhaps he’s waiting for me to fail.’

‘You’ll
just have to prove him wrong, then, won’t you?’

Berenice
drained her mug. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s what I usually do.’

Clem Voake walked unsteadily up the steps of his caravan, leaning heavily on the flimsy rail. He spent some minutes fiddling with the door handle, until the door opened in front of him.

‘Oh,’
he said.

‘Dad.
Where were you?’

‘I’m
OK, girl. I’m OK.’

‘Drinking
again.’ She turned and went inside.

‘Only
a bit. Got to give the dead a good send-off, eh?’

She
curled up on the seats, gathering a thick blanket around her. ‘No gas either,’ she said.

He
seemed not to hear. He sat down heavily at the small table.

‘Where
were you last night, then?’ she said.

He
shook his head.

She
looked at him. He was tanned and muscular, with a shock of black hair, a growth of black stubble, a shabby checked shirt. His bright eyes settled on her. ‘What you staring at, girl?’ He smiled.

‘You.’
Her face softened.

‘Peas
in a pod, you and me. They might say you’re just like your mother, but you and me… peas in a pod.’ He yawned. ‘Anything to eat?’

‘Nothing.’

‘It’s freezing in here.’

‘Like
I said. No gas.’

‘Enough
for a cup of tea?’

She
shrugged. ‘Maybe. Then that’s it. We’ll have to drive to the retail park.’ She got to her feet, lit the small hob.

‘You’re
a good girl, Lisa,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t come to any harm.’

‘Gavvers
were here,’ she said.

‘Hmm?’

‘Feds. Cops. You know.’

He
blinked. ‘Feds? Here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What did you tell them?’ There was an edge to his voice.

‘I
told them you weren’t here. Cos you weren’t.’

He
was punching his fists together. ‘Bastard cops. How did they know… Did they say what they wanted?’

‘Oh,
yeah, like to invite us to tea? Course they didn’t.’

He
stared at her, blank-eyed. Then he stumbled to the tiny fridge. ‘Nothing to drink,’ he said.

‘Told
you. No money, innit.’ She smoothed down her jumper. ‘Just tea.’

‘Tea,’
he said. He flung himself back down on the seat. ‘Tea. That’s all they bleeding gave us.’

‘At
the church?’

‘Weren’t
a church. Crema – Crema thing. You know.’ He fished in his pockets. ‘No fucking fags neither.’ He looked at her. ‘Who else was here?’

‘No
one.’

His
eyes narrowed in his thin, leathery face. He surveyed her.

She
looked at him, thought how it was just like him to wear a red checked shirt to his cousin’s funeral.