‘No. Thank God. We seemed to spend every waking hour there.’
‘Did Harry ever stay there overnight?’
‘Very occasionally. If there was a major crisis, one or other of us might stay there.’
‘Did Harry stay there that Tuesday?’
‘I told you. He was round the house. At home.’
As with her previous answer about what had happened to Anita Garner, Veronica Lasalle wasn’t going to shift an inch from that position.
‘All right,’ said Carole. ‘Coming up to date, how did you kill your husband?’
‘It wasn’t too difficult. I’d followed through every stage of the building – or rebuilding – of Harry’s Dream. I knew as much about that boat as he did. And on a couple of previous occasions, we’d had problems with the heater, carbon monoxide leaking. So, sabotaging it wasn’t that difficult.’
‘Presumably, you did that while it was on the hardstanding at Fethering Yacht Club?’
‘Yes. I was still a member there, so I had my own key-card. The Saturday evening, I waited until the barman had locked up and gone home. Then I let myself in, sabotaged the heater and left another bottle of whisky there, to be sure. Harry had told me he was going out fishing early on the Sunday morning, but I knew he would do more drinking than fishing. He had another bottle with him. I knew what I’d done wouldn’t be guaranteed to kill him. If it hadn’t, I’d have had to try something else.
‘As it turned out, though,’ she concluded with a smile of satisfaction, ‘my first attempt did the business.’
There was a long silence. Then Carole asked, ‘So, what are you going to do now?’
‘I’ll hand myself in to the police.’
‘Oh?’
‘I thought I could get away with everyone believing that Harry had topped himself. But clearly I can’t. You aren’t the only person round Fethering who’s convinced it was murder. It’s only a matter of time before the police come to question me. So, I thought I might save them a bit of trouble by confessing. That means they won’t have to go through all kinds of elaborate investigations.’ A wry, defeated smile. ‘Very public-spirited of me, isn’t it?’
‘You have thought through the consequences of confessing, haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes. And I don’t reckon they’re too bad. I haven’t got many years left. The idea of spending them in prison won’t really make a lot of difference. Not having to think about cooking for myself, that’ll be a bonus. And, really, there’s nothing left in my life. No Harry now, and Roly’s very rarely in Fethering these days.
‘It means Harry’s reputation won’t be ruined. I will have saved him from having to go through all the police investigations and the trial and what-have-you.’
Veronica hadn’t noticed the slip she had made, but Carole picked up on it. The widow had virtually admitted that she thought her husband had killed Anita Garner.
‘Really,’ said Veronica Lasalle serenely, ‘it was a mercy killing.’
SEVENTEEN
Carole Seddon felt quite smug. She had completed the investigation on her own. She knew who had killed Harry Lasalle and, very satisfactorily, the perpetrator was going to confess to the police.
Carole felt pretty sure that she now knew what had happened to Anita Garner. Veronica Lasalle had effectively admitted that her husband had killed the girl. Whether she knew what he had done with the body was a question that no doubt the police would be raising with her during intensive grilling.
Part of Carole wanted to ring Jude on her mobile, just to crow about what she’d achieved. But she curbed the instinct. If Jude was going to swan off without telling her friend where she was going, then she would have to wait for news of Carole’s triumph.
It was a good feeling to have such an explosive secret to impart, thought Carole. And impart it she would. In her own good time.
Meanwhile, in a drab front room in Liverpool, the very-much-alive Anita Garner – or Mary White – was still talking to Jude, who had just explained how she had heard the name Pablo from Shona Nuttall.
‘Shona. She was a nosy cow. Always snooping on me and Pablo.’
‘But were the two of you having affair?’
‘Certainly not.’ She was shocked by the idea. ‘We may have been falling in love, but we weren’t having an affair. We were both good Catholics.’
‘But did you get the passport because you were going to visit him in Spain?’
‘Yes. That was the idea. I don’t know whether it would ever have happened. Pablo’s mother was ill. The plan was that I would go out to Cádiz to meet his family and then, if they approved of me … I don’t know. That was the plan. It didn’t happen.’
‘So, did you ever meet Pablo again?’ A small shake of the head. ‘Or were you in touch with him again?’ The same reaction. ‘But did you tell your parents about your plans?’
‘No.’
‘Did they know you had applied for a passport?’
‘My mother knew I had applied for it, but she didn’t know why. I never told her. My father didn’t even know I’d made the application. My father was … I had to find the right moment to tell him and it never came. He would have been appalled by the idea of my following a boy out to Spain. He had strict rules about relationships.’
‘But you say yours with Pablo was perfectly innocent.’
‘My father would never have believed that.’
‘Hm.’ Ideas were beginning to take shape in Jude’s mind, explanations for the events of thirty years before. But she didn’t yet have enough data to firm them up. ‘Your Catholicism is very important to you?’
‘It is the most important thing in my life. I draw great comfort from the Catholic Church. It dictates everything I do, every decision I have ever made.’
‘And you’re attached to a church up here?’
‘Of course. The Metropolitan Cathedral. People still call it “the modern one”, though it’s been around since the Sixties. Known locally as “Paddy’s Wigwam”. I’m very involved with the community there. Do a lot of voluntary stuff.’ A pale grin. ‘Though, of course, ironically, I live this side of town in the shadows of the Anglican Cathedral.’
Jude got a feeling that the fullness of this answer was a stalling tactic, a way of postponing the more personal questions that must inevitably follow.
‘You know, Mary, that I’m here because of Glen Porter.’
‘Yes.’
‘Where does he fit into your story?’
‘Well … We were at school together.’
‘I heard that.’
‘But we didn’t know each other very well.’
‘He said he took you out a couple of times.’
‘Yes, but he only wanted sex and he wasn’t going to get any of that, so it didn’t last.’
‘Then why is he apparently the only person in Fethering – possibly the only person in the world – who knows what happened to you?’
‘Ah. We met again later.’
‘When he was at university up here?’
‘Yes. We just met on the street one day. I was in a bad way.’ She coloured at the recollection. ‘A very bad way. I was actually begging. Glen saw me and recognized me. He took me for a hot meal and he … transformed my life.’
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t know if you’ve heard but Glen unexpectedly came into a lot of money?’ Jude nodded. ‘And he had plans to set up various charities abroad, but he said to me … that charity begins at home.’
‘So, he helped you?’
‘Yes. More than just helped. As I say, he transformed my life.’
‘How?’
‘He bought me this flat, for a start.’
‘Very generous.’
‘Yes. And he made me an allowance, to see me through, until I could get back into full-time working. And he rings to check that I’m OK, every month or so. If I’ve got a financial problem … you know, like I need a new freezer or something … Glen pays for it.’