‘No!’ he said, looking about him wildly. ‘They wouldn’t talk to me.’ He was like a backward child facing accusations he did not quite understand. He began desperately to bite the fingernails of his left hand.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Ramsay said. He had allowed his impatience to turn to anger, thinking that it might be a reaction the boy would understand. ‘I’m not playing games. We’re talking about murder.’ Then, when Gary continued to stare dumbly into the street he added sharply: ‘Let’s get your mam in here. Perhaps she’ll help you see sense.’ He raised his voice still further. ‘Mrs Barrass. Could you come here, please? We need your help.’
She had changed into a pink track suit which was a size too small and stretched across her stomach and breast. Her hands were soapy with washing-up liquid. She stood just inside the door, eager, optimistic, hoping this time it was true Gary had done nothing wrong. She had tried to keep her son out of trouble, always tried to think the best of him, but the pressures of the estate had been too much for her.
‘I’m trying to explain to Gary that he should tell me all he knows,’ Ramsay said.
She wanted to help him, he was sure of that. He thought she was a good woman, law abiding, honest.
‘H’ way man Gary, tell the man what he wants to know,’ she said. ‘Those friends of yours’d do nothing to save you.’
‘I’m interested in the Paston household,’ Ramsay said. ‘Do you know what Gary was doing there?’
Her reaction changed abruptly and he saw a panic which mirrored the expression he had seen on the face of her son.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t know anything about what goes on in that place.’
‘You’re not friendly with the Pastons, then?’
She turned away as if the question were not worth answering. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep him in. Make sure he stays away from them.’
‘Why?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said firmly. ‘ I keep myself to myself.’ She was jolly, good natured. He did not believe her. She’d look forward to a night out with the girls, a few drinks, a bit of a chat.
‘Look,’ he said, more persuasively. ‘I don’t need evidence, facts. Not now. There must be talk on the estate about Gabby Paston, about why she left, about her murder. You must have heard rumours about Alma and Ellen Paston.’
‘No,’ she said, as stubborn as her son. ‘I know nothing.’
‘But you do know them.’ But she would tell him nothing more. She stood her ground with a nervous dignity that he could only admire. It was her house, she said, and if he didn’t mind they had things to do, her and Gary. She would like him to go.
‘I want to help,’ he said, as he stood at the door, preparing to leave. ‘I’m not here to cause trouble.’
‘Maybe not,’ she said more sadly. ‘ But there’s no bugger can help us.’
Then she smiled at him hoping there were no hard feelings between them.
In Hallowgate police station Ramsay sought out Evan Powell.
‘You know the Starling Farm,’ he said. ‘What’s your opinion of the Paston women?’
‘They’re mad as hatters,’ Powell said. ‘The pair of them.’
‘In what way?’
‘When Robbie Paston died they took it personally. Thought it was my fault. Thought for some reason that I’d meant to do it. Ellen threw a fit at the inquest and accused me of murder. They started sending hate mail. It came here first. Then they must have found out where I lived because it arrived at my home. Nothing subtle, mind. Always the same writing on the same sort of envelopes and in the end I threw the letters away without opening them.’
‘You were sure the letters came from them?’
‘Of course. Who else would it be?’
‘You didn’t prosecute?’
‘What would have been the point? It would only have made things worse. Feeling was running pretty high on the estate as it was. Imagine how it would have been if we’d took the bereaved relatives to court. If you remember it was the time of the Toxteth riots. We had instructions from above to treat with kid gloves. Much like now. I didn’t mind. The Pastons didn’t bother me. I thought they’d get used to the idea of Robbie’s death, that they’d learn to forgive and forget.’
‘Did they?’
‘I’m not sure about that but they stopped sending malicious mail. I had a bit of a shock when I joined the choral society. I walked into the Grace Darling cafeteria and saw Ellen behind the bar. She seemed to haunt me for a while after that. Wherever I’d go I’d see her. She never approached me, just stood and watched as if she wanted me to know she was there. But even that stopped when we moved to Barton Hill. Perhaps she’s mellowing with age, got better things to do with her time.’
‘Yes,’ Ramsay said. ‘Perhaps.’ He paused. ‘ Do they have a big following on the estate?’
Powell shrugged. ‘ There was sympathy of course when Robbie died, but that was a long time ago. I wouldn’t have thought they’d have much influence now.’
‘You don’t think they could be stirring up the disturbances on the Starling Farm? As a way of getting back at the authorities?’
Powell laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past them,’ he said. ‘But it’s a bit far fetched, isn’t it, after all this time? Why would anyone take any notice of them? What power could they have?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Ramsay said. He stood up and seemed about to leave Powell to his work, then returned to the desk.
‘Did John know that you were involved in the death of Gabby’s father?’ he asked. ‘Had you warned him to keep his distance?’
Powell shook his head. ‘I never talked about it at all,’ he said. ‘I thought if the Pastons wanted to spread the dirt that was up to them and I’d explain if it arose. And I’ve never interfered in any of his friendships. I’d have welcomed it if he’d started going out with Gabby. She seemed a pleasant girl and I’d have been glad of a better relationship with the family.’
‘He never brought her home?’
‘Once,’ Powell said. ‘We threw a sort of party after the first night of one of the Youth Theatre productions and all the cast came along. Otherwise I’ve only seen her at the Grace Darling.’ He stood up to face Ramsay. ‘John isn’t involved in all this,’ he said. ‘ He has too much to lose.’
‘Yes,’ Ramsay said. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ But he did not meet Powell’s eyes and his attention seemed to be elsewhere.
Chapter Fourteen
In the Incident Room at Hallowgate police station Hunter was bored and frustrated. Any junior officer could have undertaken the routine chore of checking Gus Lynch’s finances and it was turning out to be more time consuming than he had expected. He wanted to be out on the street, feeling he was getting somewhere. Besides, he was convinced it was all a waste of time. Gus Lynch was a television star. If anyone could afford a spanking new flat down on the Fish Quay it would be him.
When Ramsay came into the Incident Room Hunter was defensive. He wished he had more information to pass on.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘I’ve nothing for you yet. I’m waiting for some people to call me back.’
‘That’s all right.’ Ramsay was surprisingly calm. All around him was the noise and bustle of people who wanted to prove to a superior that they were busy but he took no notice. ‘I’ll find someone else to do that. I want you to organize a surveillance team. On the Pastons. I want to know who comes to the house. That’s all.’
‘Why?’ Hunter demanded. ‘ What have they been up to?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Ramsay said. ‘But people on the estate are frightened of them. I want to know why.’
‘Is that all?’ What have you got? Hunter thought. You lucky bastard. You’re on to something. I can tell.