‘You were very close to Danny.’ Vera fired the words back at him. ‘Or so his mother says.’
‘That’s somewhat of an exaggeration.’
‘He admired you,’ Vera went on as if there’d been no interruption. ‘Admired your drive and the way you went for what you wanted. It must have been flattering to have a bright lad like that hanging off your every word.’
And Morgan couldn’t help giving a little smile. Even here, with the two cops watching on, he couldn’t help being pleased with himself. ‘We had a couple of interesting discussions. As you say, he was a bright lad. Working in a place like this, you can miss intelligent conversation.’
‘Of course,’ Vera said. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking if that was why he’d taken up with Mattie and Freya. For the quality of the conversation. ‘When did you last see him?’
‘The afternoon before he died,’ Morgan said. ‘It must have been then.’
‘Tell me about it.’ This chair was comfortable, more comfortable than any of the furniture in Morgan’s flat. Vera had to force herself to concentrate. Suddenly she thought it would have been very easy to drift off to sleep.
‘We met for a coffee in the lounge. Something we did most of the days when our shifts coincided.’
‘How did Danny seem?’ She shuffled her bum forward so that she was in a more upright position.
Morgan took time to answer and that made Vera suddenly feel wide awake. Was he putting together a story in his head? That would mean he had something to hide.
‘I thought he was a bit jumpy,’ Morgan said at last.
‘In what way, jumpy?’ She leaned forwards, elbows on her knees, right in his face.
‘You know, tense, wired up. Perhaps he’d just had too much coffee. There could have been no more to it than that.’
‘Mr Morgan, you’re used to interpreting people’s physical responses. It’s how you make a living, how you persuade unhappy people to trust you. People like Lisa, who works here. People who can’t really afford your charges. And then you get your patients to confide in you. I want to know exactly what you made of Danny’s state that afternoon. And exactly what he said.’
The room was very small and there was no natural light. It had a background smell that was faintly aromatic, a result of incense perhaps or scented candles. But now Vera could smell fear on the man who sat so close to her.
‘Like I said, he was wired up,’ Morgan said. He wouldn’t meet her eyes. ‘Hyper. At first I thought it might be drugs, but I think it was just adrenalin.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Nothing specific. Really. Nothing that would help you find his killer.’
‘I really don’t think you’re qualified to make a decision about that.’ Vera’s voice rose in volume so that it filled the room.
‘He was asking questions,’ Morgan said. ‘About Jenny Lister and her part in the Elias Jones case. “You knew her, man. What was she like? Was she as prim and self-righteous as the papers made out?” It was rather distasteful actually. I’d have thought Danny would be above that sort of gossip.’
‘Did Danny tell you that he’d met Jenny? That Jenny’s daughter had once been the love of his life. That he blamed Jenny for splitting them up?’ Vera hadn’t put this thought into words before, but she was sure it was true. And it gave Danny a motive for murder.
‘No,’ Morgan said. ‘He didn’t tell me any of that.’ His voice was quiet and measured.
‘It doesn’t surprise you, though!’
‘No, it doesn’t surprise me. The interest he was taking in the Jenny Lister murder sounded like more than voyeuristic prurience. It seemed to me that it was personal.’
‘Do you think he killed her?’
There was a pause. Morgan looked at her, said nothing.
‘It must have crossed your mind. All those questions.’ Vera waited again for an answer. At last it came.
‘He could have done,’ Morgan said. ‘Yeah, he was so wound up that he could have done.’
But you would say that, Vera thought. If you were the murderer, what else would you say?
Morgan looked around the room, like some performer, Vera thought, waiting for applause after a particularly dramatic moment. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She continued the interview in the same tone as before. ‘Do you remember anything else about your conversation with Danny the day before he died?’
Morgan frowned. ‘He went on about friendship. About how important our friendship was to him. He’d met lots of people in Bristol, but no one he could really be himself with. There was so much posing at university. I suppose I should have felt flattered, but by then I was just keen to get home and didn’t even take in everything he said. I’m afraid I cut him off and told him I had to rush. I feel very bad about that now. If I’d listened more carefully, been a true friend, perhaps his death could have been avoided.’
Vera allowed him a moment of self-satisfied and mournful reflection before continuing. ‘You didn’t tell us you and Freya were in the hotel the morning Jenny Lister was strangled.’
It was the last thing he was expecting and the look on his face made her feel like singing.
She went on, ‘I know you have a very low opinion of the police, Mr Morgan, but you must have realized that we’d find out.’
‘Freya attended one of the exercise classes for pregnant women.’
‘Very nice.’ She looked at him, waiting for him to continue, eventually running out of patience. ‘And you, Mr Morgan? What were you up to?’
‘I was here,’ he said. ‘In this room. Catching up on some paperwork.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us that before?’
‘Because, Inspector, you didn’t ask me.’
Walking back to the car, Vera wanted to talk to Joe about the interview. She felt she’d handled it almost perfectly and with remarkable restraint, would have liked that recognized. But he’d switched his mobile back on and had it stuck to his ear, listening to the missed calls.
‘Well?’ When at last he put the phone back in his pocket.
‘One from forensics. They found some scraps of paper unburned on the bonfire in the Shaws’ garden. Thought we might be interested. They reckon it’s Jenny Lister’s writing.’
‘Her notebook,’ Vera said, her thoughts firing away in all directions. ‘Maybe the outline of the stuff she was writing about Mattie.’
‘They’ve transcribed it and sent it as an email.’
‘And the other?’ Because Ashworth was tense and troubled, not as excited as he should have been by the forensic news.
‘From Connie Masters. Saying she’s OK, just taking a couple of days away.’
‘Well,’ Vera said. ‘That’s good, isn’t it? A bummer because we can’t show her the photos, but at least we know she’s safe.’
‘I’m not sure.’ He’d reached the car and stopped, looking back to the hotel. It was dusk and all the lights were on. ‘She sounded odd. I’d like you to listen to it.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
That night it rained, a sudden torrential downpour like a tropical storm. It began as Vera was running towards her house from the car and she was drenched by the time she’d got the door open. She stood just inside and shook herself like a dog, in her head blaming Ashworth, who’d kept her standing in the Willows car park, listening over and over again to the voicemail left by Connie. Maybe the woman did sound a bit strained, but Vera always felt flustered when she found herself talking to an automated voice too. She thought her sergeant was over-reacting, making a fuss about nothing. He’d insisted they go to the cottage in Barnard Bridge and they’d even looked inside again, but of course there was nobody there. Connie had explained in her message that she’d be staying away for a while. Without all that fannying about, Vera would have been home in the dry.