Kate stared at the inspector. These were just words. Sounds like humming in the middle of a song. She couldn’t understand what they meant.
There was the sound of a key in the lock. They both looked round and, through the open door, they saw Stuart standing in the hall.
‘I’ve just heard the local news on the radio,’ he said. ‘They’ve made an arrest. A juvenile.’ He walked towards Kate and held her in his arms. She thought he’d guessed about Ryan already. Nobody was surprised, yet nobody had done anything.
Vera Stanhope stood up and walked towards the door. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ she said. ‘You didn’t kill those women.’
But Kate knew that in some way she was responsible. And she thought the inspector knew that too.
Chapter Forty-Four
They waited until later in the day to interview Ryan Dewar. ‘Let the boy have his beauty sleep,’ Vera said. ‘He’s still a juvenile. Just. We don’t want some flash lawyer saying we haven’t followed procedures.’ Joe hadn’t offered to go with her to talk to Kate Dewar and she hadn’t asked him.
Vera took the time for a half-hour power nap and a shower when she got back from Harbour Street. There was a change of clothes in her office, kept in case she was called suddenly to court, and she looked unusually smart when she joined Joe in the interview room. She could tell that he was impressed by the transformation. It was another cold, sunny day, hoar frost on the roofs outside the station window.
She hardly recognized Kate at first, she looked so lined and withered. The woman had aged overnight. Ryan was super-cool, lounging across the table, loving the attention. The court case would be a dream for him. All those years of being in his sister’s shadow, and now he’d be centre-stage. What made you different? Losing your dad when you were young? Watching him batter your mother? Or were you just born evil? The shrinks will have a field day.
Vera didn’t talk directly to the boy, but to his lawyer. Her way of showing Ryan that he wasn’t as important as he believed himself to be. ‘I hope your client is ready to cooperate, Mr Watson.’
The man nodded. She knew that he had teenage lads of his own. Was he wondering what his sons got up to when they weren’t at home?
Now she did turn to Ryan. ‘Let me tell you about that day in the Metro, the day you killed Margaret Krukowski. You’d bunked off school at lunchtime again, and gone into town to hook up with a mate and a couple of lasses from the posh school. I bet they thought they were so grown-up, going out with a dangerous moron like you. Thief, petty drug dealer and full-time scrote. I spoke to Emily Robertson, who was at St Anne’s too, and she knew all about you. You were one of the reasons she ended up in a place like the Haven. She saw you at the winter fair there and she freaked out big-style, asked to go back to the hospital rather than having to face you and your taunts.’
Vera paused before returning to the thread of the story. ‘So there you were, playing the lad about town, and who should catch on but Margaret Krukowski.’ Vera took another breath, watched the sun edge over the roof of the building opposite, and found that her mind was wandering. She’d be glad to get home. She’d ask her neighbours in for a drink. A big drink. They’d stay up and see Christmas Day in together. She didn’t fancy being alone tonight, dreaming of vulnerable women and violent men. Or perhaps Joe Ashworth would be let off the leash for an hour to come back with her.
She turned her attention back to the boy whom she thought of as Ricky Butt reincarnated. ‘And she saw you, missing lessons, having lied to your mother again. Maybe that was when she decided she couldn’t let it go any longer, that she couldn’t save you. You weren’t to be her route to salvation after all.’
Vera saw that they were looking at her strangely and, when she continued, her voice was crisp and matter-of-fact. ‘Margaret had seen you in town before, of course. There was the day she took Dee Robson into Newcastle to buy her a winter coat. She’d told Dee that the Haven charity would pay for it, but of course that wasn’t true. She’d paid for it herself. Margaret was a kind woman. A good woman. She saw you swaggering through town, playing truant, playing whatever game made you money. She knew your mam was worried about you and she chased after you, hoping to make you see sense. And what did you do? You ran away.’
For the first time since she’d started talking Vera looked at Kate Dewar. She was a good woman too. A woman who had wanted to think well of her son. A woman who had hoped for some joy and excitement as she reached middle age.
‘Dee Robson saw you,’ Vera continued. ‘She saw you run off into the crowd. And she was on the Metro the day you killed Margaret. Pissed and hardly aware of anything, but you knew her, didn’t you? Everyone in Harbour Street knew the fat slag Dee Robson.’
The boy looked up, almost provoked to speak. There was a moment of silence. Vera changed the subject abruptly.
‘Tell me about the photograph, Ryan. The photograph that you stole from Mr Booth’s wallet.’ Vera knew this would be upsetting to Kate, but at this point her lover’s past was less important than getting the boy to talk.
‘It was gross.’ Ryan’s face was red, the picture of righteous indignation. ‘Margaret dressed in hardly anything. Stockings. Posing. Like those cards that Dee Robson stuck up all over the Metro station.’
Vera shot a glance at Kate, but her face was blank. Vera thought she couldn’t take in this extra information.
‘You’d looked in Mr Booth’s wallet for money?’
‘He had plenty.’ Ryan looked up and gave that slow, sly smile. ‘He’d have given it to me, if I’d asked. I just couldn’t stand the lecture that would’ve come with it.’
‘And you thought the photo would be much more valuable?’
‘I was shocked,’ Ryan said. ‘I wasn’t thinking like that. I just took it.’
And brooded about it. And wondered how you could best make use of it.
‘You showed it to Margaret.’ Not a question. Vera still wasn’t sure how this had worked, but she wasn’t going to let the boy see that.
‘I gave her the chance to explain,’ he said. ‘That only seemed right.’
‘And when was that, Ryan?’ As if she just needed her memory jogging.
‘A couple of nights before…’ he said.
‘… before you killed her?’
‘I went up to her room,’ he said. ‘Knocked at her door.’
Vera pictured him slouched against the door frame. Made cocky by the photo. Information is power. But still nervous inside. Still the little boy who’d had nightmares, who’d run away from Margaret in town.
‘She let you in?’ Vera allowed a little surprise into her voice. ‘She liked her privacy.’
‘She said that she wanted to talk.’ He was less certain now. ‘She made me tea.’
‘And you showed her the photograph.’
‘I put it on the table.’ He paused and looked away.
‘And she was angry,’ Vera said. ‘I’d guess she was very angry.’
‘She had no right.’ His face turned red again. ‘She was the one dressed up like a slut. She was the one whose photo was in Stuart’s wallet.’
‘What did she say exactly, Ryan? This is very important. We need it word-for-word if you can.’
‘She said that if I expected her to pay for the return of the picture, I was very much mistaken.’ He was a natural mimic and for the first time Vera thought she could hear Margaret’s voice. Clear, decisive. ‘She said that she’d made allowances for my behaviour. I’d had a tough time. She’d asked Malcolm to give me work and she’d been pleased with my progress there. But this was my last chance. If she caught me thieving or skipping school again, she’d go to the police. She’d tell them that I’d stolen from Stuart and from the Haven, and that I’d attempted to blackmail her.’ He broke off and his natural voice returned. ‘As if I was bothered. She was a snooty cow. And a tart.’