“Miss Raven?”
It was Hunter who approached her while Ramsay went to the counter to pay for tea.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m Mary Raven. Who are you?”
“My name’s Hunter,” he said. “ Gordon Hunter. I’m a policeman.”
“What do you want?” They stared at each other with evident hostility. Ramsay thought they might have been brother and sister: too alike, always fighting. They were both dark, aggressive, unruly. She was still holding the pen and seemed anxious to continue writing. As Ramsay approached with the tea she turned the notebook facedown so that they could not see what had been written.
“Just a few questions,” Hunter said, “about Mrs. Parry.”
“But I thought you were looking for someone in connection with that.”
“We are,” Hunter said angrily, “but there are always a few loose ends. You know how it is.”
“No,” she said, “ I’m not sure that I do. But if you’re going to disturb me anyway you can buy me another coffee.” She waited while Ramsay bought coffee from the counter. “ Who are you?” she asked. “ His sidekick?”
“Something like that,” Ramsay murmured. He sat back in his chair, out of her line of vision, and watched her, while Hunter asked his questions.
“You met Mrs. Parry on the afternoon of her death?”
“Yes,” she said. She lit a cigarette. Ramsay thought she looked very tense, very tired. His optimism increased.
“Why did you go to Brinkbonnie?”
“You must know that already,” she said. “ To cover the residents’ meeting about the proposed new development.”
“But Mr. Laidlaw had made it clear that he did not want to follow the story any further.”
“Yes,” she said. “Well. Perhaps James has too many scruples.” She spoke with a bitterness that surprised Ramsay. “Perhaps he could never had made it in Fleet Street, after all.”
“What do you mean?”
“He once had an offer of a job in London on a daily,” she said, “but he turned it down. He claimed it was because his wife wouldn’t want to move, but I’m not so sure. I don’t think he could have handled it. He’s been a big fish in a little pond for too long.” I must be tired, she thought, I’m just being bitchy.
“But you could handle it?” Hunter asked.
“Yes,” she said. “ Why not? I need a break. I don’t want to stay on the Otterbridge Express for the rest of my career.”
“And that’s why you went to Brinkbonnie?”
“Partly,” she said. “I do stuff sometimes for one of the Newcastle papers. Henshaw’s got planning applications outstanding all over the county. I thought it might make a feature. And no-one had done an interview with Mrs. Parry.”
“And she agreed to speak to you?”
“Yes. She was really nice.”
“What did you talk about?”
“The development at first. The meeting had upset her. She wasn’t the sort of rich outsider who moves into a village and takes no part in its affairs. She’d lived there for twenty years. Her husband died there. She thought they were all her friends, then they turned against her. That hurt her.”
“What else did she talk about?”
“All sorts of things. Her family. She showed me photographs of her great-niece and nephews. Then I talked to her about my problems. She was dead easy to talk to.”
“Oh.” Hunter was all charm and flattery. “What problems could you possibly have?”
“I don’t think,” she said, “ that’s anything to do with you.”
He shrugged and smiled. “She didn’t say anything that you feel might have a bearing on her murder?”
“No,” she said. “Nothing at all.”
She looked at her notebook and Ramsay thought she wanted to be at work again.
“Do you know Max Laidlaw?” Hunter asked.
“Yes,” she said. “He’s a doctor at the Health Centre. I know his wife. We’re both involved with the women writers workshop.”
“Did you talk to Mrs. Parry about Max or Judy Laidlaw?”
“Only indirectly,” she said. “ She thought her family should have given her more support over the development issue.”
“She wanted them behind the banners trying to stop the builder?” Hunter was sneering, trying to provoke a reaction.
“Something like that.”
“Not very likely, is it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Probably not. James wants to keep his objectivity. Max might be more sympathetic.”
“What time did you leave Mrs. Parry?”
“I don’t know. About half-past four. She was expecting her family.”
“Did anyone come to the house while you were there?”
“No,” she said. “But as I was on my way into the village someone was coming across the green towards the Tower. When he saw me, he waited until I came out before he went into the churchyard. I was a bit worried. I wondered if I should go back and check that Mrs. Parry was all right, but I thought she was probably able to look after herself.”
“Are you sure he went up to the house?”
“Yes,” she said. “I saw him walk through the churchyard to the little gate into the garden.”
“Who was it?”
“The fat man who was so rude to Mrs. Parry at the meeting.”
Charlie Elliot, Ramsay thought, delivering the letter.
“Did you see him come out again?” Hunter asked.
“Yes,” she said. “ Just as I was getting into my car.”
“Where had you parked your car?”
“By the green outside the church.”
Hunter paused, drank tea. “ Did you walk through the churchyard to get to your car?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t like to wander through Mrs. Parry’s garden. I went down the drive.”
“Did you go into the churchyard later that evening?”
“No,” she said. “ It looked very interesting, but I didn’t go in.”
You’re lying, Ramsay thought. But why? Hunter was continuing with his questions.
“When did you leave Brinkbonnie?”
“As soon as I got to my car,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated just for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “What reason could I have for staying?”
Ramsay’s head was full of questions, none of which was possible to ask her. If she was the woman in the churchyard, where had she left her car? No-one had seen any strange car on the green that night. And what on earth had she been doing there? Was there an angle on the planning story she was reluctant to talk about before her article was finished? Or was the reason more personal? He spoke for the first time since the interview had started and his soft voice surprised her.
“Tell me,” he said. “What relationship do you have with your employer?”
“What do you mean?” she demanded angrily. “Relationship? Do you want to know if he is screwing me?”
He smiled, as if amused by her childishness, her lack of taste and sophistication.
“Let me tell you,” she said. “James Laidlaw and I have no relationship at all outside the office. He’s besotted with his wife.”
“You don’t meet him at all socially.”
“Occasionally,” she said vaguely. “ We have some mutual friends.”
Ramsay nodded and indicated to Hunter that he should continue the questions.
“Where were you on Saturday evening?” Hunter asked.
“In Newcastle,” she said. “At a party.” She looked at him defiantly. “I can give you the address if you like. I got drunk and stayed the night. I slept on the floor. On my own.”
“That would be very helpful,” he said.
“What time did you arrive at the party?” Ramsay asked.
“I don’t know!” She was almost shouting. “How should I know? I went home to change first. I didn’t want to get there until it had warmed up. What are all these questions about?”