‘You don’t think…’ she said, then thought better of it and stopped.
‘Yes?’
‘Look, this is probably really dumb but it’s just occurred to me. The letter doesn’t actually say that the person Mark Taverner was having a relationship with was a woman, does it?’
They looked at her.
‘Brian Coulthard?’ Hunter asked. ‘Na! He’s not the type.’ But she heard, with satisfaction, some uncertainty in his voice.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘ It was just an idea.’
‘Yes.’ Ramsay seemed lost in thought. ‘It certainly is an idea.’
‘What now, then?’ Hunter demanded. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘I could have a word with Emma if you like,’ Sally offered eagerly, as if she were doing them a favour but kidding neither of them for a minute. Hunter glowered at her.
‘I mean she might confide in a woman. If she’s been having an affair with Taverner and suspects him of murder she’d be under a terrible strain.’
‘And you think she’d talk to you?’ Hunter said scathingly. ‘She doesn’t even know you.’
‘Why not? She’s hardly going to talk to her husband.’
‘It would be a tricky interview,’ Ramsay said. ‘ I don’t want either of them to know about the letter. Not at this stage.’
‘I don’t mind having a go.’
‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘All right.’
‘What about me?’ Hunter’s voice was so loud that the old men looked up from their dominoes.
‘Could you talk to Kim Houghton? See if she knows Taverner.’
‘I’ll speak to her tomorrow.’
‘I’m still very keen to trace the driver of the Mazda.’
‘I’ve spoken to every Mazda dealer in the country.’
‘We’d best try another tack, then. Weren’t we talking about doing a check on the pubs and clubs in Whitley? Do you think you can handle that?’
‘Oh aye.’ Hunter studied his beer. ‘I think I can handle that.’
Sally got to the Coastguard House early. There’d been a heavy frost but now the Headland was in bright sunshine. She parked on the track and pushed open the heavy wooden gates into the garden. It was the first time she’d been inside the walls. She hadn’t realized the house was quite so smart. There was new growth on the spindly trees along the border wall, snowdrops and aconites bloomed in the sheltered borders.
Very nice, she thought. Like something out of the home and garden magazine her mother read. She looked forward to see inside the house.
But when she knocked at the door Claire answered.
‘Oh,’ Claire said. ‘It’s you.’
‘I was hoping to speak to Mrs Coulthard.’
‘She’s not here. She’s gone for a walk, said she needed some fresh air.’ Claire sniffed. In the background Sally heard a child’s voice. ‘She doesn’t seem to be able to settle to anything these days.’
‘Where did she go?’
‘Just out on the Headland. She’ll not have gone far. Owen goes to playgroup this morning.’
Sally saw Emma silhouetted against the sun almost at the edge of the cliff. She was carrying the baby in a sling against her stomach and had buttoned her long black coat around the child, so Sally thought for a moment that she was pregnant again, and felt a stab of disgust. Three kids were enough for anyone. She realized almost immediately that, it was impossible for Emma to be so pregnant so soon and when she got closer she saw the baby, its head lolling uncomfortably to one side, fast asleep.
‘Mrs Coulthard. Could I have a word?’ She didn’t introduce herself. Everyone on the Headland knew the team of detectives working on the Kath Howe murder.
‘I suppose so. I was just going to walk down to the jetty and back.’
She was still looking out to sea and Sally could study her face without appearing to be staring. She looked grey and tired. There were fine lines around her eyes and her hair could have done with a tint and a perm. Perhaps you’re letting yourself go, Sally thought, now your fancy man doesn’t visit any more.
‘I’ll come along with you, then,’ she said. ‘ We can talk as we go.’
They set off over the grass.
‘Well?’ Emma asked. ‘ What do you want?’ The ferocity of the question surprised Sally. She had planned the interview in advance. It had not been supposed to start like this.
‘Actually, I wanted a word about Mr Taverner.’
Emma stopped in her tracks. ‘Mark? Why?’
Sally hesitated. She could hardly say, ‘Well, I just wondered if you were having an affair with your husband’s best friend. Your nanny says you’re very chummy. You’ll feel a lot better if you tell me all about it.’ She saw now that wouldn’t work. The problem was that she had expected Emma Coulthard to be quite a different sort of woman. A housewife. Dull and downtrodden. Not sharp and assertive. She tried a different tack.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘In a murder investigation all sorts of details come out. Things which have no possible relevance to the case. Things which people would much rather we didn’t know about. In that situation we’re always very discreet.’
As Emma looked at her, Sally remembered Ramsay saying that she once held a very high-powered job in industry.
‘What exactly are you asking?’ Emma demanded.
‘If there’s anything you’d like to tell me about your relationship with Mr Taverner? Any information which you think you should pass on?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Emma said. ‘I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Of course I’d help if I could. It’s in our interest to have the murderer caught. We live here, after all.’ She made a show of looking at her watch. ‘ I’m afraid I won ‘t have time to finish that walk. I’ll have to go straight back. My son starts playgroup at ten and I’ve promised to give someone a lift. Don’t hesitate to get in touch if there’s anything I can do to help.’
She swept away down the hill.
Sally Wedderburn was left standing on the cliff. She thought she must look like bloody Meryl Streep in The French Lieutenant’s Woman, then wondered how she was going to admit to Stephen Ramsay – and to Gordon Hunter – that she’d cocked up.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was Kim Houghton’s turn to help at playgroup. There was a rota and once a term you had to do your bit. Some of the mothers moaned about it but Kim didn’t mind. The woman who ran the group wasn’t much older than her and they always had a laugh.
Besides, she liked kids. In their place. She couldn’t have Kirsty messing about with sand and paint at home – there was the carpet to consider – but in the old church hall with its smell of mildew and decay that seemed to cling to the children even after they came home, she could be as mucky as she liked. Kim always made sure Kirsty was dressed in her oldest clothes on playgroup day.
At nine o’clock the phone rang. It was Emma Coulthard playing lady of the manor. She said she was just going for a walk but she’d be back for playgroup if Kim wanted a lift.
‘Great,’ Kim said. ‘But you don’t mind going a bit early, do you? I’m on duty.’
She could tell that Emma wasn’t too pleased about that, but she thought, sod it.
If Emma hadn’t phoned she’d have got a taxi. She couldn’t be faffing about on the bus and she was flush at the minute. She was even thinking of putting aside some money towards a holiday with the girls. They were talking about Corfu. She’d always fancied going there. She’d have to sort out something for Kirsty though. She loved Kirsty to bits, wouldn’t be without her, but she couldn’t have her in Corfu with the girls. It had crossed her mind that Claire might take her for a week. It wasn ‘t as if she was any trouble, and you could tell that Claire would want a child of her own one day the way she fussed over that baby at the Coastguard House. It would be good practice. Being a nanny was one thing. Looking after a bairn for twenty-four hours a day was quite another.