Chapter Twenty
Ashworth thought Vera had seriously messed up the interview with Morgan. Sometimes that happened to her: she let a witness get under her skin, play with her head. Then she completely lost focus. They should have taken time to prepare for this meeting, and now they were leaving with important questions left unanswered. After Vera had clattered down the wooden stairs to the street, Ashworth spent a few moments talking to Morgan, thanking him for his time. On the next occasion he’d come back here on his own. He thought the man still had information to give. Morgan was clearly a pervy bastard, but unlike Vera, Ashworth thought he was sufficiently professional not to let his personal opinion get in the way.
By the time he reached the pavement the two women were walking away from him towards the main street. The spring sun was very low now and he saw them as silhouettes, Vera’s bulk and the girl’s figure slender, willowy, reminding him suddenly of the iconic outlines of Laurel and Hardy at the end of their movies. Turning back towards the sea, he saw a dense, grey bank of fog on the horizon, and a huge tanker emerging from the mouth of the Tyne.
In the street, he kept his distance. The women were already in conversation and he didn’t want to interrupt. They turned into a new cafe bar, and there Ashworth joined them. It was the sort of place his wife might have enjoyed. Unpretentious, solid furniture: scrubbed kitchen tables and wooden chairs, on the wall blackboards showing the menus, mostly local food, fish and lamb. Maybe he’d bring Sarah here next time they were down the coast. There were a couple of highchairs in the corner so they obviously welcomed bairns.
‘This is Joe,’ Vera said. ‘My right-hand man.’
‘I should go back.’ The girl still seemed unsure, ill at ease. She hadn’t yet fallen under Vera’s spell. ‘Michael will be wondering where I am.’
‘No rush.’ Vera took a seat, set her enormous hands flat on the table. ‘He’ll be meditating. You said he wouldn’t want to be interrupted while he was in the middle of meditation.’ And of course Freya had no answer to that. ‘I’ll have a pint, Joe. They stock that ale they make in Allendale. And something to nibble on, because I’m feeling a bit peckish. What about you, love? I suppose you’re off the alcohol, with the baby on the way.’
‘Michael and I don’t drink anyway.’ Freya sat primly, her hands in her lap.
‘Good for you. Orange juice then. Or would you rather have an ice cream?’
The girl regarded Vera suspiciously. Joe thought his boss should cut out the flip remarks, but Freya answered anyway. ‘Orange juice would be fine.’
When Joe returned from the bar, they were still sitting in an uncomfortable silence.
‘Did you know that Mrs Lister had been murdered?’ Vera asked. She’d stopped being playful and her voice was serious and low.
‘Mrs Lister?’ Freya seemed genuinely confused.
‘The social worker that came to talk to you about your relationship with Michael.’
‘Oh her! I think I only knew her first name.’
‘Michael was on first-name terms with her, was he?’
Ashworth thought this was Vera back to her surefooted best, but the girl didn’t answer. The waiter brought their drinks, a basket of bread, a bowl of olives.
‘Had you heard that Jenny Lister was dead?’ Vera asked again.
‘No.’ It was impossible to tell from the flat response whether or not Freya was telling the truth. She reached out, took a piece of bread and spread it with butter, but left it uneaten on her plate.
‘That’s why we’re here, talking to you and Michael.’ It seemed now that Vera was the most patient woman in the world. ‘You both saw her soon before she died.’
‘So, we’re like witnesses.’ Freya’s face lit up, the last reaction Ashworth would have expected. But people often had a voyeur’s excitement when they were close to a violent death, as if it conferred a degree of celebrity on them. He hoped she had friends she could phone or text about her part in this drama. A mam she could call on when she went into labour. He hated to think of her alone in the flat with that man.
‘Exactly,’ Vera said. ‘You’re witnesses. So you don’t mind answering a few questions?’
‘Of course not. I thought you were just here to have a go at me about Michael. Because he’s a bit older than I am.’
Vera shot a look at Ashworth, but let that go. ‘How often did you meet Jenny Lister?’
‘Only once,’ the girl said. ‘Though Michael had seen her before. He’d gone out with that terrible woman who killed her son, and social services had been involved then.’
‘He told you about that?’
‘Of course he did,’ Freya said. ‘Michael and I don’t have any secrets. It sounded dreadful. Michael really loved the kid. He was devastated about what had happened. Then there were all the rumours, people thinking he was involved in some way.’
‘Bad for business.’
Ashworth thought Vera had gone too far, but Freya took the comment at face value. ‘Yeah, really bad! His regulars stuck by him of course, but he’s only just starting to pick up new clients.’
‘It didn’t put you off? The fact that he was linked to the Elias Jones case.’
‘No! If you really love someone, you stand by them, don’t you?’ She looked at them, demanding their agreement, but neither could quite meet her eye.
‘If we could go back to Jenny Lister,’ Vera said gently. ‘You met her about a week ago?’
‘Yes, something like that.’
‘Where did you talk to her?’
‘She came to the flat,’ Freya said. ‘I think she must have phoned to make an appointment because Michael knew she was coming. He asked me to get back from college early so I’d be in.’
‘Where are you studying?’ Ashworth couldn’t help interrupting. He was glad Freya still had a life of her own. Lectures and gossip. He wanted to pack her up into his car and take her home to her parents.
‘Newcastle College. I’m doing drama and English A levels. Acting’s my thing.’ She smiled self-consciously. ‘I’ve already got an agent, actually.’
‘Won’t the baby get in the way of all that?’ Vera was glaring at Ashworth, cross that he’d disrupted the flow of the conversation. He gave a little shrug of apology. ‘I assume it is Michael’s baby?’
‘Of course! What do you think I’m like?’
‘Didn’t you consider a termination?’
Great, Vera, Ashworth thought. Dead tactful. Let’s talk about her getting rid of her baby in a public place, where anyone could walk past and listen in.
But the girl seemed unfazed. ‘Michael doesn’t believe in abortion. And he said that we’d look after the baby together. He believes I’ll be a great actress. He wants me to fulfil my potential, live out my dreams.’
There was a moment of stunned silence. ‘Well, we all want that, don’t we, pet? I want to become Chief Constable and win Miss World.’ Vera drank from her beer, gave a little sigh of distracted contentment. Ashworth, thinking of the chaos in his home, the pressure of home and work, wanted to weep for the girl. ‘How did the interview with Jenny Lister go?’
‘Fine.’
‘A few details would be good.’
‘First she talked to Michael and me together.’ Freya sat back in her chair, and for the first time Ashworth could see the small, rounded belly. ‘About our attitudes to a baby, how it would disrupt our lives. Michael would have to accept that things would change, that there’d be clutter, mess, noise. How would he cope with that? Practical stuff, like had I registered with the doctor and antenatal classes. Then she asked Michael to leave us alone and she talked to me.’
‘Michael didn’t mind that?’ Vera asked.
‘He’s very protective,’ Freya said. ‘But I told him it was OK. That was when the social worker asked more personal things, prying actually. About our relationship, my background, all that.’