‘Why would Morgan choose the Willows for his stage set in the first place? He must have realized we’d find out he worked there. And surely he’d be the last person to dump Jenny’s bag in Connie’s garden. He wouldn’t want us raking over the Elias Jones case again.’
Vera sat for a moment in silence. ‘Bugger,’ she said cheerfully. ‘You’re right of course. I can’t stand the bastard and I’d like to see him charged for something. Wipe the arrogance off his face. No way to run an investigation, that. You should never let it get personal.’ She grinned at him, aware that she let it get personal all the time. The flames caught one side of her face; the rest was in shadow and for a moment she looked very young, almost flirtatious. ‘What’s your theory then, Joe? Where am I going wrong?’
‘I think Jenny Lister was killed by someone close to home,’ Joe said. He’d only had one beer, but it had given him the confidence to throw out a theory without thinking it through. It had just come into his head as Vera was speaking. ‘The Willows was chosen to throw us off the scent. Unless it was an impulse killing, you wouldn’t choose the place where you worked to commit a murder. So I’m thinking one of Jenny Lister’s contacts from Barnard Bridge. That’s where her bag was found, after all.’
He’d expected her mockery, some comment about him reading too many old-fashioned detective stories, but she took the comment seriously. ‘Well, that limits the field. Are you including Hannah in your suspects?’
That threw him. ‘No! Well, maybe.’
‘We’ve only got her word that she didn’t go with her mam for a swim that morning,’ Vera said. ‘Nobody saw the girl in the health club, but that means nothing. Jenny could have used her card to swipe the girl through. I’ve seen it done.’
‘How would Hannah have got back to Barnard Bridge?’ Joe asked. ‘Lister’s car was still at the Willows, and with public transport it’d take you about a fortnight. It’d be quicker walking.’
‘Simon Eliot could have picked her up. They’d have worked it between them. She wouldn’t have done it without him, however it happened.’
‘Motive?’ Joe couldn’t believe they were considering this. He pictured Hannah Lister as Holly had described her, numb with grief and shock. But maybe killing your mother would do that to you.
‘We know Jenny wasn’t happy about the marriage and had asked them to wait. That relationship is so intense.’ Vera frowned. ‘You have a sense that both the kids are a bit crazy. If Jenny had something on Simon – some way of putting pressure on him to ditch the girl – Hannah would go mad. Literally.’ Vera narrowed her eyes and painted the picture so that Joe was there too. ‘They’re together in the steam room. Outside there’s the noise of the pool, but in there just the two of them, cut off from the world. Almost naked. It’s a place for confidences and serious conversation. Nowhere to hide. If Jenny told the girl there was no way the marriage could go ahead, I can see Hannah losing it and killing her mother. Then phoning Simon and getting him to bale her out.’
‘Danny Shaw?’
‘Same theory as with Morgan? He was there, saw what happened and tried to blackmail them.’ She looked up suddenly. ‘We still don’t know if he and Hannah knew each other at school. But I think he’d certainly recognize her. Not that many young folk living in the valley.’
‘Why would Hannah dump the bag next to Connie’s cottage?’
Vera gave a sudden loud laugh. ‘God knows. To throw us off the scent? I really don’t believe any of it. No way did Hannah kill her mother. You just have to be with her to see she’s grieving. We’re in Jackanory territory here, bonny lad. The land of make-believe.’
‘The rest of the Eliots then?’
Vera didn’t answer. She went to the window and looked down the valley, then walked unsteadily upstairs to the bathroom. Joe heard the toilet flush, the gurgle of water in old pipes. He stood up too. There was a half moon and a clear sky. A dizzying view of points of light in the village below. It was like looking out of a plane at night. He could feel the chill through the glass. Vera came back.
‘The Eliots,’ she said as if she hadn’t left the room. ‘Not lords of the manor. No real land and no old money. Not any more. Local, you can tell that by the name. One of the Border Reiver clans, the Eliots. But seems to me Christopher Eliot’s family would have been tradespeople or farmers, not aristocracy. Veronica’s a bit different, though. She likes to play the role of lady. Status is important to her. And once her granddad did have a grand house, servants and a big estate. It’s still rotting down by the river, and that’s odd too. Worth following up. Does she care enough about her good name to kill? I’m not sure, but people have committed murder for less.’
She returned to her seat by the fire and Ashworth followed.
‘Our Veronica’s hiding something,’ Vera said. ‘But that doesn’t make her a killer. She could have nicked a few quid from WI funds and be shitting herself that we’ll find out. I’d love to know why she’s become so pally with Connie Masters all of a sudden. I really don’t get what’s going on there. Can’t see that there’d be any connection with Danny Shaw, though, unless she’d chosen him for her toy boy.’
‘Shaw could have been the man who called at Connie’s cottage the afternoon of the murder.’
‘So he could.’ Mocking him gently, because of course she’d already thought of that.
‘Is that the plan for the morning? Head off for Barnard Bridge. Show Connie Danny Shaw’s photo, and chat to Veronica.’
‘Aye.’ Vera yawned. ‘That’ll do for a start. And if we can get a recent photo of Morgan with his hair shaved off, get Connie to look at that too.’ She looked over at him. ‘Are you planning on staying all night? I don’t know about you, but I need my beauty sleep. And your missus will have forgotten what you look like. Off you go.’
Joe was astonished. Usually Vera was desperate to keep him there until the early hours. Many times she’d offered him the bed in her spare room: Don’t be a spoilsport, Joey lad. Have a few drinks and keep an old lady company. ‘We haven’t talked about Elias Jones,’ he said.
‘Nor we haven’t.’ She grinned at him. ‘Now what’s that saying?’ She appeared to drag the phrase from her memory. ‘The elephant in the room. That’s what Elias Jones is in this case. We all know he’s there, but we’ve stopped talking about him.’
Joe suspected she was pretending to be drunker than she really was. She could drink most of the men he knew under the table. Anyway, he thought, best to go now before she changed her mind. He got to his feet and made his way to the door, half expecting her to call him back. But she stayed where she was, staring into the fire.
Outside it was so cold that for a moment it took his breath away. The metallic smell of ice in the air, maybe the last frost of the season. He stopped for a moment and looked back through the window at Vera, slumped in her chair, her eyes closed. Even from here and seeing her half asleep, he could feel the force of her personality.
If anyone’s the elephant in the room, he thought, it’s Vera Stanhope.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was still cold when they met at Barnard Bridge. Dew on the grass and a low mist over the river. In Mallow Cottage the curtains were drawn and there was no sign of life, so they went to the Eliots’ first. Vera didn’t mind disturbing Veronica, but Connie might have had a bad night with the bairn and Vera thought she could do with a lie-in.
When Vera arrived, Ashworth was already in the village. He was standing outside his car, wearing a duffel coat so that he looked like a student from the days when Vera had been a girl, and was looking down at the bank of the burn where Jenny Lister’s bag had been found. ‘You’d be able to throw it from here,’ he said. ‘No bother.’