‘Yes,’ Hunter said. ‘He was definitely there. But the barmaid thought it was early, about twelve, and we know from Ellen Paston that Gabby was still in Hallowgate then. She was seen running through the market.’
‘She might have been killed somewhere in Hallowgate, of course,’ Ramsay said almost to himself. ‘We know she never reached the Holly Tree. It’s only supposition that she got to Martin’s Dene. We’ve had no response from the press campaign asking for witnesses and you’d think someone would have noticed her if she were waiting outside the restaurant. It’s a busy road…’
‘So we’re agreed then,’ the superintendent said, ‘that we make no move to question Lynch, at least over the weekend. We can re-assess the situation on Monday. We should have something back from forensic by then.’ He looked up at them. ‘What about this other business on the Starling Farm?’ he asked. ‘Is that relevant to the murder enquiry or is it just something you’ve turned up in the course of the investigation?’
‘It’s hard to say at this stage, sir,’ Hunter said. ‘But I’d like to get a search warrant to find out what is happening in the Pastons’ bungalow. There’s something going on in that place. There were kids running in and out all day. If you ask me it’s a right Fagin’s den.’
The superintendent raised his eyebrows.
‘You have evidence for that?’
‘Look,’ Hunter leaned forward earnestly. ‘I’ve been asking around the station, talking to officers who know the patch. They’ve suspected for ages that someone was organizing these car thefts, getting rid of the stuff stolen for them from the kids who nick it. Twelve lads went to that house during the course of our surveillance yesterday. Some were carrying boxes and bags. And they weren’t all collecting for bob a job.’
‘But two single ladies. They wouldn’t know how to go about it.’ Ramsay was sceptical.
‘Why not?’ Hunter demanded. ‘ Robbie must have carried out a similar business from the same premises.’
Ramsay was silent. He thought Hunter’s Fagin analogy was a good one. There was something Dickensian and grotesque about Alma Paston. ‘ I suppose it would be an excellent cover,’ he said. ‘Who would suspect them?’
‘You do realize how sensitive this could be?’ the superintendent said. ‘It’s not only that the estate’s so tense at the moment, and any heavy-handed police operation could provoke worse violence. It’s the Pastons. Memories on the Starling Farm go back a long way. They all remember Robbie Paston. They thought he was a bastard when he was alive but his death turned him into a folk hero. If news gets out that we’ve been harassing Robbie Paston’s defenceless mother and sister the whole place’ll go up. We’ll have to tolerate a bit of unlawful receiving until the mood there improves. There’s no way I can authorize a search.’
‘But there could be more to it than unlawful receiving!’ Hunter said. ‘We’ve been looking all along for a link between Gabriella Paston and Amelia Wood, something more than their involvement with the Grace Darling. Perhaps this is it. If the Pastons were dealing in stolen goods Gabby must have known. Perhaps that’s why she left home. She didn’t want to be involved any more. She knew she had too much to lose. And on the day of her death Amelia Wood convicted Tommy Shiels, a bloke from the estate who was selling nicked car radios. He wouldn’t tell Evan Powell who was organizing the racket but perhaps he said something in court which gave Mrs Wood an idea what was going on.’
‘I don’t know,’ Ramsay said. ‘That’s not very likely. What would Amelia Wood know about it?’
‘All right,’ Hunter said, unabashed. ‘Perhaps not. But there’s the John Powell connection. That must be significant.’
‘Powell?’ The superintendent looked up sharply. ‘ Evan’s boy?’
Ramsay nodded. ‘He was one of the teenagers who visited the place yesterday.’
‘This would explain why John Powell kept Gabby Paston at arm’s length,’ Hunter said. ‘Everyone said she fancied him but he pretended not to be interested. He wouldn’t want her tagging along, talking to his mates. If she knew what was going on at the bungalow she could soon put two and two together.’
‘And if she did,’ Ramsay said slowly, ‘we’ve got another motive for murder.’
‘We have to get into that bungalow,’ Hunter said excitedly. ‘See what’s going on there.’
‘No,’ the superintendent said sharply. ‘And certainly not today at the start of the weekend when all the wild boys on the Starling Farm will be tanked up and ready for trouble. I’ll not take the risk. You can continue making discreet enquiries. We’ll see how the mood is on the estate at the beginning of next week. I’ll reconsider my decision then.’
Hunter opened his mouth to argue but the superintendent interrupted him. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t up for discussion. Besides anything else there’s the weekend overtime to consider. We’re already over budget!’ He smiled but it was only half a joke. ‘Have a break,’ he said. ‘You could both do with a rest. You’ll come back to it fresh on Monday.’
They stood to leave and Hunter was already out of the room when he called Ramsay back. ‘Stephen,’ he said. ‘I’d like a few words. On our own.’
Ramsay shut the door and returned to his seat.
‘I’m worried about young Powell’s part in all this,’ the superintendent said. ‘You must see that it has wider implications. If he’s on the fringe of some teenage gang stealing cars that’s one thing. Of course we prosecute. Charge him with all the others. It’ll be embarrassing for Evan but there’s no alternative. It’s happened before…’
He paused.
‘What are the wider implications?’ Ramsay asked, to help him out.
‘The possibility that Evan Powell is in some way involved. That’s the nightmare. Either personally or by covering up for the lad.’
‘Why should he be involved personally?’
‘I don’t know. He took a lot of stick from the Paston family and the community after Robbie’s death. At the time I thought he handled it well but perhaps it affected him more than we realized. Then there’s the possibility that all the facts of Robbie Paston’s accident didn’t come out at the enquiry. If he’s been hiding something for all this time he could be dangerous.’
‘Yes,’ Ramsay said. ‘ I see. What do you want me to do about it?’
‘Talk to him. Talk to the boy. Try to get a picture of what’s going on there.’
‘And if I find out that Evan or his son is involved?’
‘We deal with it. Out in the open. There’s no other course to take.’
It was still raining when Ramsay went to the Powells’ house at six o’clock. He had found out that Evan had finished work at five. He hoped to catch the whole family in, to get at least an impression of the relationships between them. He thought that the superintendent was expecting too much of him and there would be little else he could achieve. Evan opened the door to him.
‘Come in, man,’ Evan said. ‘ Have some tea. You’ll drown out there.’
‘I was hoping to speak to John,’ Ramsay said. It was almost true.
‘He’s not here yet. He’ll be in the library revising. He’s got ‘A’ levels this year and he’s dead keen. But now you’re here you’ll come in all the same.’
‘Well,’ Ramsay said, ‘if Mrs Powell won’t mind.’
Inside the house he stopped, awkwardly, hesitating at the expanse of grey carpet in the living room. He wondered if he should take off his shoes but in the end dried them carefully on the door mat and followed Evan through to the kitchen.
‘We’ve got a visitor,’ Evan said cheerfully. ‘ I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Stephen. Jackie, this is Stephen Ramsay, a colleague. Put the kettle on, love, and make some tea.’