‘Right,’ Claire said. ‘ Thank you.’ Inside she was fuming but it was all she could think of to say on the spur of the moment.
Out of the house her resentment grew. She let it simmer. It was just what she needed.
The cow, she thought. What right did Emma Coulthard have to speak to her like that? Any decent employer would have made sure she got home safely. It was dark, wasn’t it? Nearly dark, anyway. And as far as Emma bloody Coulthard knew there was a murderer on the Headland waiting to strike again. She spoke out loud to herself. ‘It’s about time you told someone.’ She’d only kept quiet out of loyalty and loyalty should work both ways, shouldn’t it?
At Cotter’s Row she paused for a moment outside number two. The house was dark, the curtains undrawn. Marilyn must be home from school by now but she’d be in the back bedroom doing her homework. Bernie would still be on his way from work. Kath had always fretted about Bernie on his bike when it was windy, and she felt a moment of sympathetic concern. Then she walked on down the street and knocked on the door of number six.
She knew that Kim was in because she could hear the television. When Kim opened the door she kept her eyes on the screen. Neighbours. Kim knew it was for kids really but she’d become addicted. She couldn’t bear to miss an episode. She always arranged to give Kirsty her tea when Neighbours was on. She loved her food and it was the only time you could be sure she wouldn’t make a noise. Through the half-open door Claire could see the little girl sitting on a stool up to the breakfast bar, eating fish fingers and chips.
‘Claire!’ Kim sounded very friendly. ‘How are you? Hey, I’ve missed having you around.’
What she meant, Claire thought, was that she missed having a regular babysitter. It was hard to ask favours of someone who’d just lost her sister.
‘I’m all right,’ Claire said in a wan, little girl’s voice. Grief-stricken but trying to be brave.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ From the corner of her eye Kim watched a handsome Australian hunk take a bronzed teenage girl into his arms.
‘Well, I wondered if you fancied going out tonight. If you’d like me to sit. I haven’t wanted to leave Bernie and Marilyn before but I could really do with a change of scene. It’s not much fun in that house. Well, you’ll understand.’
‘Of course.’ Kim was all sympathy but she could hardly contain a smile. For the first time Claire had her full attention. ‘What time?’
‘Give me an hour to give Bernie and Marilyn their tea and clear up. Say seven. That all right?’
‘Sure,’ Kim said. ‘That would be fine.’ She was already planning what she would wear.
‘Look, would you mind if I used your phone? Only a local call. I don’t like to ask but I don’t fancy walking down to the phone box with this maniac about.’
Kim could hardly refuse after that.
‘I’ll do it upstairs then, shall I? So So I’ll not disturb your programme.’
Before Kim could answer she was in the house and up the stairs. She knew where to find Kim’s bedroom, had heard the Cotter’s Row gossip about what went on there. And they didn’t know the half of it! It had flouncy curtains and a frilly valance, much more to Claire’s taste than the stuff in the Coastguard House. The carpet was deep pink. The phone was by the bed and she sat there, leaning back against the pillows and the padded head-board, sticking her feet out to the side so the mud on her shoes wouldn’t stain the quilt.
First she dialled directory enquiries to get the number of Otterbridge Police Station: 999 seemed a bit over the top. When she was connected she asked for the murder incident room. Ramsay wasn’t there so she spoke to DS Hunter. She knew who he was. He’d been asking all the questions in Cotter’s Row. He was the good-looking one with the dark hair and the tan.
‘This is Claire Irvine,’ she said. ‘ Kath Howe’s sister. I need to talk to you. I’ll be at six Cotter’s Row tonight at eight o’clock. You’ve got that, have you? Number six not number two. I don’t want Bernie or Marilyn bothered.’
Hunter tried to get her to tell him what it was all about. She could tell he was excited. But she wouldn’t. Let him wait.
Downstairs she heard the Neighbours theme so she slid off the bed.
‘Got a boyfriend at last, have you?’ Kim Houghton asked kindly. ‘Lovey-dovey phone calls now, is it?’
Claire smiled politely but she did not answer.
Chapter Seventeen
The phone call from Claire Irvine brought the team to life. When Ramsay returned from the Headland he was already fired up. He’d called in at the Coastguard Headquarters in Tynemouth and talked to the man in charge, a confident West Countryman called Morton who seemed glad of the distraction from routine. In the control room the telephone rang continually. Ramsay gathered that members of the public were asking for high-water times to check a safe crossing to Holy Island or to plan a fishing trip to the Farnes. He wished he’d had as much sense when Kath Howe’s body was first found.
‘I read about the murder,’ Morton said. ‘Thought you’d have been in touch before.’ Rubbing salt into the wound.
‘We weren’t sure where she was dumped.’ Ramsay knew he sounded defensive. ‘ But the day of the incident, what time was high water?’
‘At the Headland?’
Ramsay nodded. Morton consulted a chart.
‘Seven twenty-nine in the morning. Just after eight in the evening. Twenty eleven to be precise.’
‘Would the cut be full much before that?’
‘No. It wasn’t a particularly high tide. Say an hour either side.’
Kath Howe had still been alive at eight thirty in the morning. If she’d been tipped into the cut during the day the sea would have been out and she’d have lain there, visible, on the rocks. There had been men drinking in the club all afternoon, kids playing, dog walkers. Even in the rain someone would have seen her. And just before dark Marilyn and her father had been searching. They’d have looked in the cut, worried that she might have fallen. So if she’d been thrown off the jetty it would have been after dark. The eight eleven high tide would have taken her out to sea.
‘What about the currents round there? Would she have been washed back to where she went in?’
About that Morton wasn’t prepared to commit himself. All the same Ramsay walked back to his car past Tynemouth Priory feeling more elated. At least the case was moving. They’d been asking questions about the wrong time. They’d need fresh statements from all the witnesses, concentrating on their movements during the evening. And more publicity in an attempt to find someone who had seen Kathleen Howe during the afternoon.
Then, when he returned to the station, the team were full of the call from Claire Irvine.
‘How did she sound?’ Ramsay asked.
Hunter had left the Incident Room as soon as he learned that Ramsay was back in his office. He was hoping to get a bit of credit by being the bearer of good news. Hoping to be in on the action at last.
‘Very matter of fact, really. Stubborn. She wasn’t willing to give anything away on the phone. You can hear the tape. She’d make a canny witness.’
‘If it comes to that.’
‘Aye well.’ Hunter always tended to optimism. He thought much of his boss’s problem was that he was overcautious. Not that Ramsay hadn’t had one or two successes lately. Secretly Hunter thought he was a clever bastard. He wouldn’t admit as much to the lads, though. He told them he was still waiting for a transfer to the city.
Even Hunter’s optimism had begun to strain before the phone call. It was all taking much longer than they’d expected. He’d chased around with the rest of them at first, dragging in the local lunatics and losers for interview. He was still taking responsibility for tracing Kim Houghton’s boyfriend, the driver of the red Mazda. He’d even appeared on the television appealing for the man to come forward. He’d been interviewed by the pretty blonde lass who did the local news. He’d always fancied her.