‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘I see.’ She stood up. She was wearing stretch jeans and a long loose pullover. There was no trace of the smart controlled businesswoman. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Did your father send you?’
‘No,’ Patty said. ‘The policeman, Ramsay, thought you might need a friend.’
‘Did he tell you what questions to ask?’
‘Not exactly.’ Patty was impressed by Hannah’s intelligence and thought she deserved honesty. ‘He thought you might find it easier to talk to me. He’s determined to find out who killed your husband. He’s prepared to use unorthodox means.’
‘Good!’ For the first time in the conversation Hannah seemed to find a sort of peace. ‘Well, perhaps he was right. I do find it easier to talk to you. Do you need to ask me any more questions?’
‘What happened on Sunday morning?’
‘We all had a long, late breakfast together,’ Hannah said. ‘It was lovely. Like a new beginning. All the pretence was gone. We were talking about the future. Paul said he was longing to go back to work. We decided to go into the possibility of employing a nanny. Then I went to the paper shop to see if there was any news of Mr Robson. That’s when I heard he was okay and staying with you.’
‘Did you notice anything unusual on the way out?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The police asked me that, I think there may have been a car parked in the lane, but I can’t remember anything about it, not even the colour. I hadn’t put in my contact lenses and I wasn’t wearing specs, so I was nearly blind.’
‘When did Paul go out?’
‘At about mid-day. We’d decided to eat in the evening. He said he wanted some exercise. I could understand that. It had been a traumatic evening.’
‘You don’t think he had arranged to meet someone?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sure not.’ She drew on the cigarette. ‘He could have made a telephone call while I was at the paper shop, but he would have told me. I explained. We had decided there would be no more pretence. Besides, he was a hopeless liar. I would have known; I’m sure it was a spur of the moment decision.’
‘I see.’ Patty hesitated. She felt awkward. ‘Paul was a nurse, wasn’t he, before he stopped working?’
‘Yes,’ Hannah said. ‘ He was a psychiatric nurse. He worked in a special unit for alcoholics.’
‘Does he still have friends there?’
‘A few. Why? Is it important?’
‘Harold Medburn was doped with a drug called Heminevrin before he was murdered. I’m trying to find out who would have had access to it.’
‘But Paul couldn’t have murdered Harold Medburn!’
‘I have to ask,’ Patty said, ‘if you want to find out the truth. Are you sure you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’ Hannah looked at her intensely, her dark eyes magnified by the strong glasses. ‘You will do your best, won’t you? Whatever you find out.’
‘Of course,’ Patty said. It was a similar responsibility to her commitment to Ramsay.
She looked at her watch. It was time to fetch the children. As she left the old mill she walked past the window. Hannah was back in the rocking chair, her arms around her knees, staring out towards the road.
It seemed to Patty that Ramsay spent all his time that week in the village. Wherever she went in Heppleburn she saw his car, his distinctive back at doorsteps or disappearing round corners. Everyone was talking about him. In the playground she stood apart and listened to the mothers talking, because Ramsay had said she was good at listening. He’s bewitched me, she thought, in the same way as Kitty Medburn bewitched my father. They speculated about Ramsay’s background and marital status and through listening to them she gathered that he was trying to find out who had taken the witch’s costume from the pram on the night of the bonfire. He or his men must have spoken to everyone who was on the recreation ground that night. Rumour had it that these investigations had so far proved unsuccessful. Many people admitted to having seen the confrontation between Matthew Carpenter and the boys, but then there had been so many distractions – the excitement of the fire and the noise and colour of the fireworks – that the costume was forgotten. The pram had been pushed into the shadow and no one saw it again until the boys fetched it to take it home. They realized that the costume was missing, but thought it had been confiscated by Matthew Carpenter. Despite his persistence Ramsay seemed to have got no further.
That Tuesday afternoon the policeman was back at the school. His car was parked in the playground and Patty could see his dark head through the staff room window. She waited a long time for him to emerge. She wanted to share the information given to her by Hannah. She thought he would be pleased. But there was no sign of the inspector leaving the school. All the other parents and children disappeared, but Matthew Carpenter, Irene Hunt and Stephen Ramsay remained inside. Eventually Andrew and Jennifer became so cold and fractious that she left without talking to him. It would be impossible to have a serious discussion with the children in that mood.
On the way home she called at her father’s house. She was worried about his continued depression, but she felt too that she needed his support. She had some vague hope that he would have come to terms with Kitty’s death and she would be able to share with him Hannah’s information. The hope was not realized. When Jack Robson came to the door he was clean and tidily dressed. He was polite, thanked her for calling and said he was fine, but he did not invite them in and made it clear that he wanted them to go. Nothing she could say would console him.
Jack stood at his window and watched them go with relief. He could not bear his daughter’s pity. He walked back to the mantelshelf and took down the note which Kitty Medburn had written before hanging herself from a curtain rail in the shower room at the remand centre.
He knew the words by heart but read them again.
‘I’m sorry, Jack,’ it said. ‘I could never live up to your dreams.’
Chapter Ten
Ramsay was haunted by a growing desperation and isolation. His colleagues seemed to have distanced themselves from him. He, after all, had taken the decision to arrest Kitty Medburn and there would be an inquiry into her suicide. And now, instead of covering his back, of following police procedure to the letter, he had begun to work in a way that was even more idiosyncratic and unorthodox. Those who were concerned about their own careers made their disapproval of his methods clear. It was a bad thing to be associated with failure.
In the police station at Otterbridge, in the canteen and corridors people whispered and waited for his downfall. Hunter seemed to grow in influence and stature.
Ramsay knew that others considered him a failure but was too proud, too clear-sighted about past achievements to accept their judgement. It was all added pressure though at a time in an inquiry which was always most difficult. He knew that a positive result was possible, but could not even guess who the murderer was. More than usual he felt that this case was a battle for survival. He was convinced that the answer lay in Heppleburn and was always drawn back to the school. He had become fascinated, almost obsessed, with the personality of the headmaster. There, with wilful and inconsistent autocracy, Harold Medburn had ruled. There he had been murdered. Although he had no evidence Ramsay felt that the death of Paul Wilcox was almost an irrelevance. Wilcox was a weak and ineffective man who would have no natural enemies. Unless it was the work of a lunatic, his death was an attempt by the murderer to cover his tracks. Ramsay thought that the murderer too was becoming desperate.