In a Dry Season (47 page)

“Please, sit down.” She gestured Banks and Annie towards two matching chrome and black leather chairs, then sat down herself, clasping her hands on her lap. They looked older than her face, skeletal and liver-spotted. They were also unusually large for a woman's hands.

“I must admit, I'm quite used to talking to the police,” she said, “but usually I'm the one questioning them. How can I help you?”

Banks remembered the police procedure in
The Shadow of Death
and bit his tongue. Maybe she hadn't known any police officers when she wrote that book. “First of all,” he asked, “are you Gwynneth Shackleton?”

“I was, though most people called me Gwen. Vivian is my middle name. Elmsley is a pseudonym. Actually, it's my mother's maiden name. It's all perfectly legal.”

“I'm sure it is. You grew up in Hobb's End?”

“Yes.”

“Did you kill Gloria Shackleton?”

Her hand went to her chest. “Kill Gloria? Me? What a suggestion. I most certainly did not.”

“Could Matthew, your brother, have killed her?”

“No. Matthew loved her. She looked after him. He
needed
her. I'm afraid this is all rather overwhelming, Chief Inspector.”

“No doubt.” Banks glanced at Annie, who remained expressionless, notebook on her lap. “May I ask why you haven't come forward in response to our requests for information?” he asked.

Vivian Elmsley paused before answering, as if composing
her thoughts carefully, the way she might revise a page of manuscript. “Chief Inspector,” she said, “I admit that I have been following developments both in the newspapers and on television, but I honestly don't believe I can tell you anything of any value. I have also found it all very distressing. That's why I haven't come forward.”

“Oh, come off it,” said Banks. “Not only did you live in Hobb's End throughout the war, and not only did you know the victim well, you were also her sister-in-law. You can't expect me to believe that you know nothing at all about what happened to her.”

“Believe what you will.”

“Were the two of you close?”

“I wouldn't say we were close, no.”

“Did you like her?”

“I can't honestly say I knew her very well.”

“You were about the same age. You must have had things in common as well as your brother.”

“She was older than I. It does make a difference when you're young. I wouldn't say we had much in common. I was always a bookish sort of girl, whereas Gloria was the more flamboyant type. As with many extroverts, she was also a secretive person, very difficult to get to know.”

“Did you see a lot of her?”

“Quite a bit. We were in and out of one another's houses. Bridge Cottage wasn't far from the shop.”

“Yet you claim you didn't know her well?”

“I didn't. You probably have cousins or in-laws you hardly know at all, Chief Inspector.”

“Didn't you ever do things together?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Girl things.”
Annie shot him a glance that he felt even before he noticed it out of the corner of his eye. The hell with it, he thought, they
were
girls back then. He had been a boy once, too; he did boy things, and he didn't object to anyone saying so.

Vivian pursed her lips. “Girl things? I suppose we did. The same sorts of things other people did during the war. We went to the pictures, to dances.”

“Dances with American airmen?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Was there anyone in particular?”

“I suppose we were quite friendly with several of them over the last year of the war.”

“Do you remember their names?”

“I think so. Why?”

“What about Brad? Ring a bell?

“Brad? Yes, I think he was one of them.”

“What was his second name?”

“Sikorski. Brad Sikorski.”

Banks checked the list of Rowan Woods he had brought with him.
Bradford J. Sikorski, Jr.
That had to be the one.

“And
PX
? Billy Joe?”

“Edgar Konig and Billy Joe Farrell.”

They were on the list, too.

“What about Charlie.”

Vivian Elmsley turned pale; a muscle by the side of her jaw began to twitch. “Markleson,” she whispered. “Charlie Markleson.”

Banks checked the sheet. “Charles Christopher Markelson? That the one?”

“
Charlie
, he was always called
Charlie
.”

“Whatever.”

“How did you find out their names? I haven't heard them in so long.”

“It doesn't matter how we found out. We also discovered that Gloria was having an affair with Brad Sikorski. Was she still seeing him when Matthew came back? Is that what happened?”

“Not that I knew of. I don't know what you're getting at. You've been misinformed, Chief Inspector. Gloria was married to Matthew, whether he was there or not. Yes, we went to the pictures with those boys on occasion, perhaps to dances, but that's all there was to it. There was no question of romantic involvement.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

“How did Gloria behave during her husband's absence?”

“What do you mean?”

“When she thought he was dead. Obviously things would be different then, wouldn't they? It wasn't as if she were waiting for him any more. As far as she was concerned, she would never see him again. After a reasonable period of mourning, she could enter back into the spirit of the times, couldn't she? Surely an attractive woman like her must have had boyfriends?”

Vivian paused again. “Gloria had a very gregarious side to her nature. She liked parties, group excursions, that sort of thing. She liked to keep things superficial. At a distance. Besides, we never gave Matthew up for dead completely. You must understand that, Chief Inspector; we never gave up hope. There was always
hope
, hope that he would return. And it proved well-founded.”

“You haven't answered my question. Did Gloria have a romantic affair with Brad Sikorski, or with anyone else?”

She looked away. “Not that I knew about.”

“So she lived like a nun, even though she believed her husband was dead?”

“I didn't say that. I didn't spy on her. Whatever she got up to behind locked doors was none of my business.”

“So she
did
get up to something?”

“I told you: I didn't spy on her. You're twisting my words.”

“How did Brad take it when Matthew came back alive?”

“How should I know? Why would it matter to him?”

“It might have. If he fell in love with Gloria, and if she rejected him in favour of her husband. He might have been angry.”

“Are you suggesting that
Brad
killed Gloria?” Vivian sniffed. “You're really clutching at straws now.”

Banks leaned forward. “Somebody did, Ms Elmsley, and the most immediate suspects that come to mind are Matthew, one of the Americans, Michael Stanhope or you.”

“Ridiculous. It must have been a stranger. We got plenty of them in the village, you know.”

“What about Michael Stanhope?”

“It's been years since I've heard
his
name. They were friends. That's all.”

“Would it surprise you to hear that Gloria posed nude for a painting by Stanhope in
1944
?”

“Yes, it would. Very much. I know that Gloria wasn't as fastidious about her body as some would have wished her to be, but I never saw any evidence of anything like that.”

“Next time you're in Leeds,” Banks said, “drop by the art gallery and have a look. You're sure she never told you?”

“I would have remembered.”

“Was Gloria having an affair with Michael Stanhope?”

“I shouldn't think so. He was too old for her.”

“And homosexual?”

“I wouldn't know about that. As I said, I was very young. It certainly wasn't something people went around boasting about back then.”

“Did she ever tell you about her family in London? About her son, Francis?”

“She did mention him to me once, yes. But she said she'd cut off all relations with him and his father.”

“Even so, they could have come to drag her back. Maybe they fought and he killed her?”

Vivian shook her head. “I'm sure I would have known.”

“Was Matthew ever violent towards her?”

“Never. Matthew had always been a gentle person, and even his war experiences didn't change that.” Her voice had taken on a strained, wavering quality.

Banks paused and softened his tone. “There is one thing that really puzzles me,” he said, “and that's what
did
you think had happened to Gloria? Surely you can't have thought she had simply disappeared from the face of the earth?”

“It wasn't a mystery at the time. Not really. She left. That's what I had always thought until you found the remains. You
are
certain it's Gloria, aren't you?”

Banks felt a twinge of doubt, but he tried not to let it show. They still had no definite proof of the skeleton's identity. For that, they would need Francis Henderson so
they could run
DNA
checks. “We're sure,” he said. “Why would she leave?”

“Because she couldn't stand it any more, taking care of Matthew, the way he was. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time she'd done that. She had clearly broken off all contact with whatever life she had had in London before coming to Hobb's End. I don't think Gloria was particularly strong when it came to emotional fortitude.”

True enough, Banks thought. If a person has bid one life goodbye, then it probably wouldn't be too difficult to do it again. But Gloria Shackleton hadn't bid Hobb's End goodbye, he reminded himself; she had been killed and buried there.

“When did she disappear?” he asked.

“Shortly after
VE
day. A week or so.”

“You must see how the discovery casts suspicion on your brother, most of all. Gloria was buried in an outbuilding adjoining Bridge Cottage. Matthew was living with her there at the time.”

“But he was never violent. I had never known him be violent. Never.”

“War can change a man.”

“Even so.”

“Did he go out much?”

“What do you mean?”

“After his return. Did he go out much? Was Gloria often alone in the house?”

“He went to the pub of an evening. The Shoulder of Mutton. Yes, she was alone there sometimes.”

“Did Gloria ever say anything to you about leaving?”

“She hinted at it once or twice, but I didn't take her
seriously.”

“Why not?”

“Her manner. It was as if she was joking. You know, ‘Some day my prince will come. I'm going to leave all this behind and run off to untold wealth and riches.' Gloria was a dreamer, Chief Inspector. I, on the other hand, have always been a realist.”

“I suppose that's debatable,” Banks said. “Given what you do for a living.”

“Perhaps my dreams are very realistic.”

“Perhaps. Even though she hinted, you didn't believe Gloria would actually go?”

“No.”

“What were the circumstances surrounding her departure?” Banks asked. “Did you see her go?”

“No. It happened on one of the days when I accompanied Matthew to his doctor in Leeds. When we got back that evening, she was gone.”

“
You
accompanied him? Why not Gloria? She was still his wife.”

“And he was still
my
brother. Anyway, she asked me to, on occasion. It was the only respite she got. She looked after him the rest of the time. I thought it only fair she get some time to herself once in a while.”

“Did she take anything with her when she left?”

“A few clothes, personal items. She didn't have much.”

“But she took her clothes?”

“Yes. A few.”

“That's interesting. What did she carry them in?”

“An old cardboard suitcase. The same one she arrived with.”

“Did she leave a note?”

“Not that I saw. If Matthew found one, he never indicated it to me.”

“Would he have?”

“Possibly not. He wasn't very communicative. In his condition, it's impossible to predict what he would have done.”

“Murder?”

“
No
. Not Matthew. I've already told you, he had a gentle nature. Even his dreadful war experiences and his illness didn't change that about him, though they changed everything else.”

“But Gloria's belongings were definitely missing?”

“Yes.”

“And you and Matthew were in Leeds during the time she made her exit?”

“Yes.”

“So she never even said goodbye?”

“Sometimes it's easier that way.”

“So it is.” Banks remembered that Sandra, once she had made her mind up, had given him little time for protracted goodbyes. He paused for a moment. “Ms Elmsley,” he asked, “knowing what you know now, why do you think her clothes and suitcase were missing? Where do you think they got to?”

“I have no idea. I'm only telling you what I witnessed at the time, what I thought must have happened. Perhaps someone stole them? Perhaps she interrupted a burglar and he killed her?”

“Were they particularly fine clothes? Minks, a few diamond necklaces perhaps? A tiara or two?”

“Don't be absurd.”

“It's not me who's being absurd. You see, it's not often
people get murdered for their clothes, especially if they're ordinary clothes.”

“Perhaps they were taken for some other reason.”

“Like what?”

“To make it
look
as if she had gone away.”

“Ah. Now
that
would be clever, wouldn't it? Who do you think would feel the need to risk taking time to bury her body under the outbuilding floor?”