The boy stood, still with his back to the wall, staring through the crack in the door towards them.
‘Come in, Clive,’ Hilary Masters said. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
The boy sidled into the room and looked at them with frightened, unfocused eyes.
‘Sit down. The police inspector wants to ask you some questions.’ He sat on the edge of the settee. He was shaking. ‘You musn’t be frightened,’ Hilary said. ‘ The police don’t think you’ve done anything wrong. They just want your help.’
Clive heard the words as if they came from a great distance away, but knew that it was all a trick. He would have to be clever or they would catch him out.
‘I haven’t done anything,’ he said.
‘Of course not, Clive,’ Hilary said reassuringly. ‘Just listen to the inspector and answer his questions.’
‘Clive,’ Ramsay said. ‘I understand that Mrs Cassidy was a friend of yours.’
The boy nodded cautiously. ‘She took me to the youth club. And then I went to church with her.’
‘When did you last see her?’ Ramsay asked.
Clive thought carefully. He had to be dead clever.
‘Yesterday afternoon,’ he said. ‘At Armstrong House.’
‘You were working at Armstrong House yesterday afternoon?’
‘Yes.’ He sat, his mouth open, staring.
‘What were you doing?’ Ramsay asked, trying to control his impatience.
‘Cleaning the corridors and the stairs.’
‘So you would have seen anyone coming and going?’
He nodded.
‘What was Mrs Cassidy doing at Armstrong House?’
Clive thought carefully again, weighing up the answer before he decided there was no harm in the truth.
‘She’d come to visit Mrs Bowman,’ he said. ‘ She came to visit her a lot. Sometimes once, twice a week.’
‘Can you tell the time?’ Ramsay asked.
‘Of course!’ Clive was indignant. ‘And I’ve got a watch. Mrs Cassidy gave it me last birthday.’
‘Were you wearing your watch yesterday?’
‘I always wear it,’ he said simply.
‘So you’ll be able to tell me what time Mrs Cassidy arrived at Armstrong House yesterday afternoon and what time she left,’ Ramsay said.
‘She came at half past one,’ Clive said proudly, his guard dropping more with each question. ‘I’d finished my dinner. If I’m there all day the warden gives me dinner. It was shepherd’s pie.’
‘And when did she go?’ Ramsay asked.
‘Straight away,’ Clive said. ‘The ambulance hadn’t come to take Mrs Bowman to the hospital, so Mrs Cassidy said she’d give her a lift.’
‘Did Mrs Cassidy bring Mrs Bowman back to Armstrong House?’
The boy nodded.
‘I don’t suppose you have any idea what time that was.’
‘Half past three!’ Clive said, triumphant. ‘It was half past three.’
‘How are you so certain?’ Ramsay asked.
‘I’d been waiting for her. I liked to see her. She always cheered me up like when I saw her.’
‘What did you do then? Did she take Mrs Bowman to her room?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘ I helped her.’
‘And then,’ Ramsay said, ‘I suppose Mrs Cassidy left Armstrong House.’
‘No,’ Clive said. ‘I saw her go into Mrs Bowman’s room but I never saw her leave. I waited for Mrs Cassidy. Sometimes she gave me a lift home – the warden doesn’t mind me going early if all the work’s done. I waited until gone four o’clock and then I walked into town and got the bus.’
‘Perhaps you missed her,’ Ramsay suggested. ‘Perhaps you were working and didn’t see her go.’
But Clive was quite positive.
‘No!’ he said. ‘I’d finished my work by then and I was waiting for her, sitting on the bottom of the stairs. I was bound to have seen her even if she’d come in the lift. Bound to.’
Theresa Stringer had been following the conversation. ‘He’s telling the truth,’ she said. ‘I told you Dorothea didn’t get here until half past four. She left just before Clive came home.’
‘Could she have met Mr Corkhill in the street?’
‘No,’ she cried. ‘I’ve told you Joss wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her.’
Ramsay ignored the outburst and turned back to Clive.
‘Did you see Mrs Cassidy again yesterday?’ Ramsay asked.
‘No,’ Clive said, thinking how clever he was, cleverer than any old policeman.
‘What time did you get home?’
‘About quarter past five.’
‘Did it take you a whole hour to walk from Armstrong House?’
Clive was beginning to enjoy himself. He looked at the inspector as if shocked by the man’s lack of faith in him.
‘I’ve told you,’ he said. ‘I walked into town. I hung around the shops there for a bit then I got the bus home.’
‘Who was in the house when you got here?’
‘No one,’ he said. ‘Only my mam.’
‘Did you go out again yesterday evening?’
There was a pause and for a moment Clive was struck by a terrible panic.
‘Well?’ Ramsay said. ‘Did you go out again yesterday evening?’
‘Yes,’ Clive said at last. ‘I went to the fair.’
‘Did you see anyone you knew?’
Again there was a moment’s hesitation. Then Clive answered. ‘Only Joss,’ he said. ‘He was in a good mood. He gave me some money.’
‘What time did you see Joss?’ Ramsay asked.
‘When I first got there. At about eight.’
‘What time did you get home?’
‘Late,’ Clive said. ‘ Really late.’ And despite the watch which Dorothea had given him it seemed that he could not be more specific than that.
They lapsed again into silence. Ramsay felt a mounting impatience. Where was Corkhill? Despite Theresa’s insistence that Joss had not met Dorothea the afternoon before, he was still the most obvious suspect.
Clive stood up suddenly.
‘I’m going back to work,’ he said. ‘To Armstrong House.’
They heard the front door bang and saw him lope past the window on the way to town.
‘I should go too,’ Hilary Masters said. That decided Ramsay. He could not sit there, waiting, all afternoon. He put out a general alert for Corkhill on his personal radio and asked her to give him a lift back to the police station.
That afternoon Northumberland bus drivers went on strike after a dispute about overtime. Walter Tanner waited at the bus stop at the entrance of the Ridgeway for an hour before he realised that no bus was going to come. He was unused to vigorous exercise and the prospect of walking home dismayed him. The elation of his time at the bookmaker’s had long since left him. It was three o’clock. The boys from the High School, let out early because it was carnival Friday, were wandering back to the estate in an aimless, can-kicking, gum-chewing group. Tanner waited until they passed before starting off down the hill to the town. Their undirected aggression frightened him.
It was very hot still and he felt his face burn with the exertion of walking. The road into town was busy with traffic but there were no pedestrians and he was grateful at least for that. At last he came to the streets which were more familiar to him. Close to home, on a corner, a large public house was open. People holding long glasses were sitting in the garden under striped umbrellas. Tanner was tempted for a moment to go inside, to find a dark corner, to sit and recover his composure with a pint of beer, but he knew he was in no state to meet anyone. It would be better, after all, to go straight home.
At the door he stood for a moment, his muscles trembling, almost faint. He felt in his trouser pocket for his keys and pushed one into the keyhole. He tried to turn it with shaking fingers before realising that the door was already unlocked. In the shock of finding Dorothea’s car he must have gone out with the door still open. It hardly mattered. There was nothing inside worth stealing. He shut the door behind him and stood, breathing deeply, enjoying the cool of the house and the relief of being home.
Never again, he thought automatically. No more gambling. That must be the last time.