Witchmoor Edge (19 page)

"We were trying to establish a timetable of
events for last Saturday. Find out what time Mr. Hunter was last
seen alive and so on. Mrs. Hutchins said she saw him drive out of
his drive while you were washing your car, but she wasn't sure of
the time." Millicent smiled her most friendly smile. "We were
hoping you might be able to remember the time."

"You'd better come in a moment while I think
about it properly," Mr. Hutchins said, holding the door open. He
led them into the front room, overlooking the front garden."

"Let's see," he ruminated as they sat down.
"I generally come in and listen to the repeat of the News Quiz on
BBC Radio Four at 12.30, so I try to finish whatever I'm doing by
then. Mrs. Hutchings usually gets a snack ready at that time and we
have it listening to the one o’clock news. I'm such a creature of
habit that I can say with reasonable confidence that I was washing
the car between twelve and twelve thirty, because I put the bucket
and sponge away and came in just in time for the programme."

"Did you see Mr. Hunter leave?" Millicent
asked

"My wife commented on his shooting out onto
the Crescent. I looked up just in time to see his car pass at very
high speed."

"Was he always a fast driver?"

"It was a fast car and he often drove it fast
and carelessly, I thought," Hutchins replied carefully. "On this
occasion. My wife thought he was chasing Mrs. Hunter. She left
about five minutes before, maybe less. Now, I did see her. I was
washing the rear end of the car. I could just see their drive as
she pulled out in her little red car and drove past our
driveway."

"What was Mrs. Hutchins doing while you were
washing the car?" Millicent asked, though she knew the answer from
DC Bright's notes.

"My wife is a gardening fanatic. From about
half past eleven on she had been mowing the lawn with our motor
mower. By the time I was half way through washing the car she was
finished mowing and just stood watching me."

"What made her think Mr. Hunter might be
chasing his wife? Did they quarrel a lot?"

"I think she was just joking on this occasion
but, yes, the Hunters were always arguing noisily and he could be
violent as well. I've seen him hit her."

"Well, thank you Mr. Hutchings," Millicent
said. "You've been very helpful. I'll get these notes typed up into
a statement and someone will arrange to call and get it
signed."

To DC Bright she said, "I think we'd better
have another talk to Mrs. Hunter before we go back to the station,
so we'd better get a move on."

* * *

Lucy Turner took the lead in questioning
Rosie O'Connor, mostly because she had been present when Millicent
had taken her first statement. DS Gibbs simply watched and listened
with a steady attention to detail.

"You never told us you were still in touch
with Hunter right up to the time of his murder," Lucy observed.

"We didn't really discuss it," Rosie said.
She showed a little more animation than before, but not a lot. "I
didn't make a secret of it. At least, I didn't mean to."

"What was the stuff you had for him?"

"A couple of books he wanted back and some
Cannabis he left with me."

"You got drugs for him?" Lucy asked. "I
thought it was him that supplied you?"

"It was, mostly. I did get Cannabis
sometimes, because I knew a bloke who sold it. This wasn't mine,
though and I didn't buy it. Simon left it in my flat."

"Why did you say managed to get the stuff
then," Lucy asked. "It sounds as if this was a special effort."

"Did I say that?" said Rosie, rather
disinterestedly. "I meant managed to find the stuff. Anyway, It was
what he asked me to get."

"How did he ask you?"

"He wrote."

"Have you still got the letter?" Lucy
asked.

"I've probably got it somewhere," Rosie said.
"I haven't cleared up much in the last couple of weeks."

"When was this?"

"I guess it was just after the row," Rosie
said. "A couple of weeks ago. I didn't do anything about it so he
rang me up."

"And you hunted these things out for him,
even after what he’d done to you?"

"I had nothing else to do and anyway I didn't
rush to do it."

Lucy was sceptical. She caught Gibbs's eye
and thought that he was sceptical as well, but wasn't sure whether
he was doubting it was cannabis or doubting it was Hunter's.
Doubting both probably.

"And where was the usual place?" she
asked.

"We used to meet quite often in the the ‘Bulldog’ at
Burley Woodhead," Rosie said.

"And that's where you meant?"

"It's where I meant and where Simon would
have understood."

"And did you meet there?"

"I went there as arranged. That was why I
left the cycle race early. I waited for more than hour, but Simon
didn't come."

"I thought you dropped out because you
weren't fit enough for a road race," Lucy reminded her. "That's
what you told DI Hampshire."

Rosie smiled wanly and a little ruefully.

"Gloria talked me into joining the road race.
I couldn't keep up I'd been so long out of it. I had lunch with her
in Ilkley and had nice time to ride to Burley Woodhead. When Simon
didn't come I rode down to Menston and caught the train home, like
I told her in the first place."

"Why didn't you say that the first time we
talked to you,"

Rosie just shrugged. "Nothing happened.
Nobody came. There was no point in drawing attention to myself when
there was no need."

"Why did you write to Hunter after what he'd
done to you?"

Rosie shrugged again. "Some people, mostly
women I guess, though not exclusively, seem to slip into the role
of victim," she said. "I don't know why I let him humiliate me then
come back for more. I'm not proud of it, you know. That's another
reason I didn't say anything to your inspector."

"You say you were regulars at the
Bulldog?"

"Yes."

"So, if we show your picture to the bar
staff, they'll know you?"

"Yes."

Lucy weighed her up. She seemed to have no
hesitation about what was, in effect, an alibi. Perhaps Rosie was
bluffing.

Lucy paused the tape and got to her feet,
signalling Tony Gibbs to follower her into the corridor. "D'you
think she's bluffing?" Lucy asked him.

"She tells it like she's telling the truth,"
Gibbs admitted. "Still, we'll have to check out the story. It
should be easy enough. Just call in the pub with a photo and see if
they know her and whether she was there last Saturday."

"And if so, what time," added Lucy. "Okay, do
you want to have a go at her while I drive to Burley Woodhead, or
would you like to have the drive out?"

"I think it might be better if you were to
keep on at her," Gibbs said, a little doubtfully. "I don't actually
think there's much to be gained until we check out the story
anyway."

"Let's see if she has a photo handy," said
Lucy, and they went back into the interview room.

* * *

Shirley Hunter was in, which was a little
surprising to Millicent. Quite apart from the question of shift
patterns, Shirley had been about to move into the nurses' hostel.
Obviously the murder of Simon had made the move conveniently
unnecessary.

"This is Detective Constable Bright,"
Millicent began by way of small talk as Shirley showed them into
the living room. "We wanted to check with you something that one of
your neighbours said."

"Which one?" Shirley asked.

"It wouldn't be proper for me to disclose
that at this stage," Millicent said, "But we have information that
you went out in your own car just after twelve last Saturday."

"It was much earlier than that," Shirley
said. "I did go out to the shops for about half an hour, to get
things for the picnic. I was back about Elevenish. Eleven fifteen
maybe. I wasn't taking any notice of the time, but it must have
been about that, because it wasnt much after eleven thirty when
Simon and I set off for the picnic."

"Our information is that you left about ten
past or quarter past twelve and Simon followed five minutes later
in the Porsche."

"By that time, my car was in the garage
here." She pointed. "And we were well on our way to the picnic
site."

Shirley was sounding irritated rather than
worried or strident and was giving no ground to Millicent, who
changed tack.

"The forensic department checked the items we
found at the picnic site," Millicent said. "They said that Simon's
prints were unnaturally clear for those things to have been
thrown."

Shirley shrugged. "Well, they were thrown,"
she said

"And several of the items were also on the
till slip for the shopping you and Ellen Barnes did that
afternoon."

"I needed more yoghurts and more jam,"
Shirley said. "Simon had been throwing them around."

"Why was it diabetic jam? Are you or Simon
diabetic?"

"My brother is. Simon had the jam at
Bernard's and liked it, so I bought more. If Simon liked something,
that was reason enough to buy it."

Millicent was thinking that she was getting
nowhere with the interview and that perhaps it would be better to
have Shirley in and confront her with the evidence. She wondered
whether either Shields or Leverett would be able identify the
woman. Perhaps it would be worth having a go at Knowles again, see
if he could be persuaded to change his story.

"Thank you Mrs. Hunter," Millicent said,
getting up. "I think that's all for the moment."

Outside in the crescent DS Gibbs observed as
they go into the car. "She's lying."

"What makes you say that? Millicent
wondered.

"What Mrs. Hunter said and what Mr. and Mrs.
Hutchins said can't both be true, and the time difference is too
great for it to be a simple error. The Hutchins have no reason to
lie, ergo it must be a deliberate lie on the part of Mrs.
Hunter."

"I agree with you," Millicent, "but we have
to prove it and I'm curious to know why she's lying. What really
happened? Let's get back to headquarters and have some lunch."

Chapter 13: Friday 17th August (pm)

Burley Woodhead is a wide spot in a very
narrow back lane. Along the valley bottom run the river Wharfe and
the Ilkey to Leeds main road, the A65 - fast, wide and busy.
Running roughly parallel to it, winding along the edge of the
moors, often with heather sweeping right down to the road on one
side, and farm fields on the other, is a country lane. Along that
country lane is a short string of stone built farms and houses and
a pub that together make up Burley Woodhead. The old school house
has become a middle class conversion, as have the old village shop
and a couple of barns.

The ‘Bulldog’ is a small pub, not quite
turned into a tourist attraction, though doubtless it would see
plenty of tourists on summer weekends. Still, DS Gibbs thought it
still looked more like a village local.

Gibbs left his car in a small car park and
looked around. The moors swept down to wall at the back of a small
beer garden, comprised of a couple of picnic tables, a children's
slide and swing and a set of goalposts with a sagging net. On the
other side of the car park a stream came down from the moors and
passed underneath the lane in a small culvert. At least the bed of
the stream did: the water itself had disappeared in what was fast
becoming a drought. The day was hot and sunny and the sky
cloudless.

The detective turned and went inside the low
stone building. Inside was rather gloomy but much cooler, with a
low ceiling, dark stained oak beams and dark panelling. The bar was
highly polished dark oak with towels over one set of pumps and the
walls of the saloon were decorated with aged and fading photographs
of men with sheep dogs and stern expressions.

Behind the bar the landlord sat reading the
Daily Star. The sleeves of his red pinstriped shirt were rolled
halfway up hairy arms and his beer belly oozed over the edge of the
bar.

"Good Morning," DS Gibbs said, and the man
looked up.

"What can I get you?" the landlord asked. He
didn't do more than look, but his tone was friendly.

"Just an orange juice, please. I'm working."
He flashed his warrant card at the man, put it away and took out
his wallet to pay for the drink.

"I was wondering if you could help," Gibbs
said as the fat man shook the bottle of juice, levered the cap off
and poured. "Do you recognise either of these two," he added,
putting down photographs of Rosie O'Conner and the late, unlamented
Simon Hunter, on the bar top.

The landlord took Gibbs's note, rang in the
price of the drink and counted out the change, before he picked up
the photographs to study them.

"Yes," he said. "Quite regular they were one
while. They've been in less often recently."

"Was the girl here Saturday?"

"About two or just before, she came in.
Looked like she was waiting for someone. Probably him. She stayed
on her own, though. She'd be here for an hour, give or take."

"She definitely arrived by two oclock?"

"Just before. Say ten to, but I'm not
sure."

"And she was here an hour?"

"Until just after three oclock, I think.
Again I'm not certain."

"And she was alone the whole time, you
say?"

"I couldn't swear she didn't speak to
anybody, because I was coming and going. I wasn't watching her the
whole time. But she didn't sit with anyone nor nothing like
that."

"If I get that typed up as statement will you
sign it?"

"I suppose so, if it's important. Why d'you
want to know?"

"If she was here," said Gibbs, "She wasn't
murdering the bloke."

"Oh," said the landlord, not seeming all that
interested. "Well she was here all right."