Holly got up to take centre stage at the whiteboard, and Vera thought that the young woman was loving this – it was what she was made for, to stand in front of a team and spread wisdom and light. If I had any sense I’d be grooming her for stardom, getting her ready for promotion. Then they might leave Joe here.
Vera thought that she could never be that cunning, when Holly’s words suddenly caught her attention. ‘Repeat that, would you, Hol?’
Holly looked up, startled. ‘Prof. Craggs said that the only time he had a real conversation with Margaret was one evening in the lounge at the guest house. He’d bought her a drink. They were on their own and Craggs asked her about her husband. She said he was long gone and told him that all she had left were secrets.’
‘Margaret Krukowski and her bloody secrets.’ Vera wondered if there were any secrets. Perhaps Margaret spoke about the past like that just to make herself interesting. Perhaps they were the fantasies of a lonely, elderly woman. She looked up. ‘Sorry, Hol. Carry on.’
Holly seemed taken aback. Vera thought it was good to surprise the team with a change of tone occasionally. ‘After the press conference was shown on television yesterday evening, we had more calls from people who were on the Metro. A few could remember being in the front carriage. There was one guy who was in the group of businessmen Joe remembered. They’d all been to a Christmas lunch. The witness didn’t see anything, but he’s given us some more names to check. And the lasses, who Joe saw with their boyfriends, got in touch through their parents. They’re from St Anne’s, that posh school in Jesmond. They got out at Gosforth and they didn’t notice Margaret Krukowski.’
‘Thanks, Holly. Good work. Get someone round to take a statement from both.’
Holly beamed.
Good God, Vera thought. Is this all it takes to keep the team happy? A bit of praise? She thought Holly was like the scruffy collie that belonged to her neighbours. All it needed was a bowl of food at the end of the day and a pat on the head from its owners. She nodded for Joe Ashworth to get to his feet, to talk about the Haven and Margaret’s relationship with the women there. And all the time Vera was trying to get inside the head of the victim. Elegant, from a smart family, yet content to live alone in a tiny flat in the roof of a guest house in a rundown coastal town. Hadn’t Margaret wanted more than that? If not a family of her own, then work to satisfy her. Vera couldn’t imagine life without her work. It was what defined her.
She realized that Joe had finished speaking and that the team was staring at her. She stood up, still feeling somehow that she was standing in Margaret’s narrow shoes, balancing on the small heels. She shook her head to clear the image.
‘Anyone heard of Dee Robson? Probable alcoholic and sex worker?’ Charlie raised a hand and nodded wearily. Vera continued. ‘She lives in the flats on Percy Street. Margaret met Dee when she had a short stay at the Haven and had been keeping an eye on her ever since. Dee was in the Metro when Margaret was killed. I don’t see her as a murderer, and she looks so distinctive that someone would have mentioned her by now, if she was in the same carriage. But it’s another link and we need to check. Dee claims to have been with a bloke in his flat that afternoon. Charlie, put the word out and see if we can trace him.’
Charlie nodded, even more wearily.
‘Holly, I want you in Mardle again. Have a chat to Kate Dewar. She spent all those years living with Margaret and I can’t believe she knows as little as she says. Maybe she thinks she’s protecting the woman’s memory in some way. Joe, you do the priest. Same thing. Charlie, I know the CCTV on the platform at Gosforth Metro station was covered by snow, but see if we can find a trace of Malcolm Kerr’s Golf anywhere en route from Mardle to Gosforth that afternoon. Craggs said that they got in from Coquet Island at three-ish, so Kerr would have had plenty of time to drive there, to get on the train after Margaret. And he’d have needed to go back later to pick up his car. No Metros were running, so check local taxi firms.’ She paused for breath. ‘And while you’re at it, let’s see if we can find out where Dee got onto the train. Either her knowledge of geography away from Mardle is non-existent or she’s playing games with us. If you can look at CCTV for earlier in the afternoon you might also find the man she was with.’
They got up and started to wander out. Vera called Holly back. They stood alone in the big briefing room. ‘Before you head out to Mardle, Hol, do me a favour. Give social services a ring and ask them to check on Dee Robson. I can never talk to them for more than a minute before I lose my temper.’ Which was something to do with the way they’d trusted Hector to look after her when her mam died. ‘Margaret used to keep an eye on Dee, and I don’t think the poor lass will manage in that flat on her own. She’s a danger to herself and her neighbours.’
Holly looked as if she thought the inspector was a little bit mad, but Vera was used to that. ‘A favour, Hol,’ she repeated, losing patience. ‘Is that okay?’
Holly nodded and left the room without speaking.
Chapter Sixteen
It was the last day of the school term. Non-uniform day. Chloe left home first in a long black sweater and jeans. Ryan looked super-cool in the jacket he’d bought with his last wage packet from Kerr. Kate thought the boatman must be paying him too much, but liked her son’s style. She saw him as he was on his way out and asked quietly if it was a good idea to wear it to school. ‘You might lose it, or it could get damaged.’
He responded with one of his volcanic outbursts. ‘For fuck’s sake, Mam, get off my case. I’m not a kid. I can decide for myself what I’m going to wear.’ The sudden temper reminded her of Rob and for a moment she shrank from him. Then he saw that he’d scared her and was smiling and apologetic. ‘Look, nobody at school would steal anything from me, and I’ll look after it.’ He kissed her before he went through the door. Teenagers, she thought. They’re like toddlers with hormones.
The house was quiet. The only visitor booked in before Christmas was George Enderby for one night on his way south from Scotland. Kate Dewar felt lighter, somehow frivolous, as if she’d shed a burden of responsibility. And she had to admit that Margaret’s death had something to do with that. She’d loved Margaret to bits of course, and had depended on her, but after the first shock of knowing that she was dead, she realized how much she’d cared what Margaret thought. She’d always felt that Margaret was judging her. About the way she ran the guest house, the way she was bringing up the kids, even the way she dressed. Her relationship with Stu. Nothing was ever said, but she’d wanted Margaret to approve. If Ryan slipped out of the house without saying where he was going, if there was a complaint from a visitor about something to do with their stay at the guest house, or if Chloe had one of her strops, Kate’s first thought was for Margaret’s reaction. What would she make of it?
Now Kate felt wild and silly. She wondered if she could phone up a couple of friends and suggest they go out for lunch. A trip to Newcastle, an Italian meal, too much wine. She imagined herself staggering back on the Metro, too tipsy to care if Chloe was working herself to death. Stuart would be out at an end-of-term dinner with his colleagues tonight and she wouldn’t see him until the morning. But the first friend she tried had sounded as if Kate was quite mad. ‘Newcastle? The week before Christmas? It’ll be a total nightmare. Besides, I’m rushed off my feet.’ So Kate felt deflated again. Perhaps, after all, she should be sensible. She should do the Christmas preparation. Bake mince pies for the freezer. Ice the cake. Wrap some of the kids’ presents while they were out of the way.