‘Hello, pet.’
They swept her with them into a coffee shop, a greasy spoon with pretensions. Now the smell was of frying and of coffee from the big silver espresso machine.
‘You’ll be peckish,’ Vera said. ‘Now you’re eating for two.’
And it seemed that Freya was hungry. Morgan might be vegetarian, but the girl managed a full English breakfast and a mug of tea. The sausage and bacon disappeared in seconds.
‘You never told us you were in the Willows the morning the social worker died.’ Vera struggled to get the words out. She’d gone for a piece of flapjack, so sticky that it worked like superglue around her teeth.
Freya looked up. Big eyes, suddenly scared, over the mug. ‘You didn’t ask.’
‘Howay, we shouldn’t have needed to ask now, should we? A clever girl like you, you’d have guessed we’d be interested.’
‘Michael said you might draw the wrong conclusion.’
‘He was there that morning too, was he?’ Holly chipped in, out to prove she wasn’t just here for the ride. Vera couldn’t blame her for that. Nothing wrong with a bit of ambition in a woman. ‘Was the session for partners too? Great that he wants to be so involved with the baby.’
‘It was an exercise class.’ Freya seemed to have relaxed. Perhaps after all she was just as stupid as Mattie Jones had been, but she hid it better. ‘Not for the fathers. Michael will come along to the antenatal group, of course. We’ve planned a completely natural childbirth. One of his friends is an independent midwife and we’re having the baby at home. Hiring a birthing pool and everything. But he just gave me a lift that day.’
‘I suppose he used the time to catch up on some work.’ Holly gave an encouraging little smile. Vera thought she was as bored by the details of motherhood as Vera herself and was glad to move the conversation on.
‘I guess so.’ But Freya was suspicious again. Had Morgan warned her on the subjects to avoid, if she were questioned alone?
‘Where did you meet up?’ Vera asked. ‘After the class, I mean.’
Silence. It seemed Morgan hadn’t given her the answer to that one.
‘Was he waiting in the car for you?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Vera paused until a waitress in torn jeans had swung past carrying a plate of bacon and eggs for a couple of labourers at the next table.
‘Of course you can, hinny. And we’ll find out anyway. A place like that, there’ll be CCTV in the car park and a load of witnesses.’ Although the CCTV tape had run out the night before the murder and nobody had bothered to replace it. ‘Much better if you give us the information yourself.’
Freya looked cornered. She made Vera think of the traps gamekeepers used in the hills. A wire mesh cage with a crow inside to lure in other raptors. Was it right to be using Freya as their decoy?
‘We’d arranged to meet in the car,’ Freya said. ‘But when I got out of the class he wasn’t there.’
‘What time was that?’
‘The class finished at ten.’
‘So what did you do?’ Holly asked. ‘Did you go to look for him? It’d be a good chance to bump into your old friends from work. Maybe grab a coffee, catch up on some gossip?’
‘I don’t have much in common with those people any more.’ That was Morgan, Vera thought, speaking through Freya’s lips.
‘So where did you go? To Michael’s office? Perhaps he’d got caught up in his paperwork and lost track of the time?’ This time it was Holly who was putting words into the girl’s mouth.
Poor child, Vera thought. She’s nothing but a ventriloquist’s dummy.
‘I phoned his mobile,’ Freya said. ‘I knew he wouldn’t want me wandering round the hotel. He says some of the girls there are a bad influence. So I phoned him.’
‘And?’ Holly was close to shaking the girl now. Vera thought she’d have to learn some patience. Vera was more concerned by the substance of Freya’s answer. What right did this man have to choose her friends?
‘And nothing. He didn’t reply. I waited. He turned up not long after and drove me home. I didn’t have college that day. It was still the Easter break.’ She sounded sulky, like a spoilt child. Vera thought there’d probably been a row in the car on their way back to the coast.
‘Did he explain why he was so late?’ Holly asked.
‘He said it was none of my business. Something to do with work. I thought perhaps Mattie Jones was hassling him again. She’d started phoning from the prison and it drove him crazy.’
No, Vera thought. Not Mattie. She was in hospital having her appendicitis pulled out. Jenny perhaps? Had she seen him, maybe while he was drinking posh coffee in the lounge, waiting for Freya’s class to finish? Had she asked for an interview for her book about the Elias Jones case, told Morgan she would write it anyway? Did he watch her go into the steam room from the viewing gallery, quickly change into his swimming trunks and kill her?
She was so caught up in speculation that she didn’t realize the others were staring at her. She saw herself through their eyes: ageing, ugly, slow. Felt their pity. And then experienced an energizing surge of confidence. I might not be young and bonny, but I’ve got brains, she thought. More brains than the pair of you put together. Another couple of days and we’ll have this sorted.
Early afternoon she was back at the Willows, powered by pride and caffeine and sugar. First she sat in the lounge, drinking more coffee, watching the punters. There were deep armchairs of leather and chintz. Easy to hide away from fellow guests, to carry on a conversation that wouldn’t be overheard. The waiters came to take the orders. No need to stand up or to queue at the bar. This was as anonymous a place as it was possible to imagine.
Her waitress was elderly, a caricature from a bygone age, stooped and almost deaf. Vera bellowed at her.
‘You’ll have seen photos of Jenny Lister, the woman killed here last week. Did she ever come into the lounge to have coffee?’
The waitress shook her head and walked off, but Vera wasn’t even sure she’d heard. Later, though, a lad turned up. Black trousers, white shirt, black waistcoat. An explosion of acne, made worse because he was blushing and nervous.
‘Doreen said you were asking about the woman that died.’
Vera nodded. She couldn’t trust herself to speak because she might cheer.
‘I think she was here that morning. I didn’t tell the police because I wasn’t sure. You know, I couldn’t swear an oath that it was that particular day.’
Vera nodded again. ‘But you think it was.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah. She came in quite often and always drank the same thing. Small, black decaff americano. I got it ready whenever I saw her coming.’ The blush deepened and Vera thought he’d fancied Jenny Lister, that he’d had adolescent fantasies about the older woman.
‘Did she meet anyone that day?’ Vera asked. ‘You’d remember that, wouldn’t you? Because there’d be another order too, besides the decaff, and that would be unusual.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’d remember that. But she didn’t meet anyone.’ He paused. He didn’t want to stick his neck out, hated the idea of being wrong.
‘Anything you can tell me would be useful. An impression even.’
‘I thought she was waiting for someone.’ The words came out in a rush. He needed to speak before he lost his nerve.
‘Did she tell you she expected a friend to join her?’
‘No. But she looked up whenever anyone came into the room, kept looking at her watch.’
‘What time was this?’ Vera asked.
‘Early. Before nine o’clock. That was unusual too. Usually she came in after she’d been for a swim.’