Carole assumed this was another of the ghastly Locke nicknames, probably for Nathan’s older brother, but she didn’t ask for an explanation. Instead she went on, “I haven’t heard it as a fact from the police, but I had assumed that the vodka bottle and beer cans might have given them a direct link to Nathan. You know, through his DNA or fingerprints.”
“Yes, except that they don’t have his DNA or fingerprints on file – and we refused to let them take any samples from the house. We know our rights.” Rowley Locke was mounting another of his human rights hobby horses. “I am aware that this government would like to have everyone’s details on file from birth, but at the moment they can only keep such records for people who have actually been found guilty of a crime. And I am glad to say that my nephew has never fitted into that category.”
“But you’re not denying,” asked Carole, “that it does look likely that Nathan spent some time with Kyra in the salon the evening before she was found dead?”
“No, none of us is denying that. We think it very likely that he did spend time with her. What happened while they were together…” For the first time he looked embarrassed. “Carole, you didn’t gather from the police whether there had been any sign of…sexual activity…on the girl’s body?”
“They’re no more likely to have told me that than they are you.”
“No, I suppose not. I wasn’t suggesting rape or…I was thinking of consensual sex.”
“Do you know whether Nathan and Kyra were sleeping together?”
Instinctively Rowley looked to the boy’s mother to answer this question. “I can’t actually be sure,” said Eithne Locke, “but I would have thought it likely. According to everything one reads in the newspapers, young people seem to be sexually active from about the age of fourteen these days. And certainly Nathan would have encountered no disapproval of such behaviour in this house, would he Arnold?”
Her husband concurred. “No, we’re not prudish at all.” But he contrived to sound prudish as he said it.
“Had you actually met Kyra?”
Arnold looked to his wife for consent before saying, “Not really. Well, that is to say, Nathan never brought her back here to introduce us, did he, Eithne?”
“No. Which one might have thought was rather odd.”
Carole didn’t find it at all odd. “You said ‘Not really’, Arnold…”
“Yes. Well, Eithne did once meet them together in Fethering High Street, didn’t you?”
“Yes. And it was a situation where Nathan couldn’t avoid introducing the girl to me. Though he didn’t do it with very good grace…almost as though he were ashamed of her.”
Much more likely that he was ashamed of you, Carole thought. “And neither of you ever met Kyra’s father?”
“Oh no,” said Arnold.
“Right.” Carole turned back to the dominant – not to say controlling – brother. “So, Rowley, your view would be that Nathan did spend some time with Kyra in the salon that evening, then, after he’d left, someone else came along and murdered her?”
“That seems to me to be the most likely scenario, yes.”
“Well, it looks as though all such speculations are going to be no more than speculations until the boy reappears and gives an account of himself.”
Rowley Locke agreed.
“And presumably…I’m sorry to ask you this, but I feel I have to…none of you have any idea where Nathan might have gone?”
They all confirmed that they hadn’t. So, with assurances on both sides that they’d get in touch to share any further information that might come up, Carole left the house in Marine Villas and walked back the short way to High Tor – with an uncomfortable feeling that she had just been interrogated.
Seven
Jude had borne Connie Rutherford’s advice in mind, and waited till the Thursday morning to contact Wally Grenston. She had been through various possible excuses for her call, but, not being by nature a devious person, had opted finally for the truth. “I was in Connie’s Clip Joint on Tuesday morning when you and your wife were having your hair done…”
“Oh yes. You were waiting. Blonde lady, am I right?”
“You are. Plumpish.”
“Well covered, I would have said.”
“You’re a gentleman, Wally.”
“So I like to think.”
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. I’ve got rather interested in what happened to Kyra Bartos…how she came to be killed…”
“You and the rest of Fethering.”
“Yes, and you said something about the girl’s father…you know, as if you knew him…”
“Right.” For the first time there was a note of caution in Wally Grenston’s voice.
“I just wanted to follow up on that…find out more…ask a few questions…”
“Are you some kind of journalist, Jude?”
“No, I’m just…as I said…interested,” she finished lamely.
“Interested in protecting the boy who’s supposed to have murdered her…or interested in finding out who really did it?”
“Both. But why did you ask that question?”
“I have my reasons. Tell you what – you want to talk, you can come round here. Straight away, though. And you have to be gone by quarter to twelve.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Jude.
“Hello?”
Carole was taken aback. “Oh, sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be there. I was just going to leave a message.” Then, aware of her daughter-in-law’s condition, she asked anxiously, “Are you all right, Gaby?”
“Yes, of course. I’m not ill, I’m just pregnant.”
“I know. But you being home in the middle of the day…”
“Just taking a couple of days off to try and get the baby’s room sorted. Steve keeps saying he’s ‘going to do it at the weekend’, but his weekends seem to be as busy as his weeks at the moment.”
“Yes.” Not for the first time, Carole wished she understood more about her son’s high-powered and extremely lucrative job. It was to do with money, and computers came into it too, but whenever Stephen tried to provide more detail on the subject, she found her mind glazing over. “And how long are you going to keep on working?”
“Plan is to go till the end of the month. That’ll give me four weeks till the ETA.”
“Sorry?”
“Estimated Time of Arrival.”
“Oh yes, of course. Twenty-eighth of October.” The date was engraved on Carole’s memory.
“That’s assuming I can still reach across the desk to pick up my phone, and deal with all those penny-pinching producers.” Gaby worked as a theatrical agent. “I’m getting absolutely massive. Well, I was no sylph to start with.”
The image of Gaby’s chubby body came into her mother-in-law’s mind. She hadn’t been showing much when they last met. Carole realized that that had been more than two months before. “It’d be lovely to meet up,” she said, rather guiltily.
“Yes. We were saying that only last night.”
“You and Stephen?”
“Well, and David. He’d come round for supper.”
“Ah.” Carole felt a pang of something that included jealousy. She had always worried about the post-divorce David being closer to Stephen than she was…or now being closer to Stephen and Gaby…soon perhaps to be the favoured grandparent to the forthcoming baby.
“He was actually saying it was daft we hadn’t invited you last night as well. Sorry, we didn’t think, but it would have been a great idea.”
No, it wouldn’t, was Carole’s immediate, but unspoken, reaction.
“I mean, you both managed so well at the wedding. David was saying how great it was that the two of you could at last be together again without any strain.”