‘Na! He’d had enough nagging from Kath.’ She must have thought that sounded callous because she added limply, ‘You know what I mean.’
‘But when I came to talk to you a couple of nights ago his bike was in the hall then too.’
‘So? It’s going to take him a while to get used to it.’
‘There’s a stain on the shed floor,’ Ramsay said. She didn’t answer. ‘At first I thought it was oil from Bernie’s bike, but now it seems Bernie doesn’t keep his bike there very often. For some reason he seems to have taken a real dislike to the shed.’ He paused, but still she didn’t speak. ‘So I took a closer look at the stain and it looks much more to me like blood. We think it might be Kath’s blood. We’ll be able to tell. There are tests now. You know what that means, don’t you, Claire?’
‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’ But despite the flip response she watched him anxiously, frowning so the thick eyebrows met.
‘We think that’s where Kath was killed. Or if she wasn’t killed there she was put there soon after she died. Are you surprised about that?’
‘Of course I’m surprised. If it’s true.’
‘Then later, when the tide was high, she was moved to the jetty and thrown into the water. That’s what we think must have happened. I’d say it would take more than one person to do that. Or someone who had a car. Have you any idea who that might have been, Claire? How do you think the body was moved to the jetty?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ She glared at him.
‘But you must have noticed the stain in the shed?’
‘Of course not. It’s got a mucky floor. What’s one more stain? Anyway, I don’t go in there very often.’
‘But you must go in every day. To fetch coal.’
‘Na!’ she said. ‘That’s one of Bernie’s jobs. When he remembers.’
She gave a little cry and put her hand to her mouth in a gesture of dismay.
‘You’ve been trying to make a nice home for Bernie and Marilyn, haven’t you? Since you took over the running of it. You want everywhere to look nice. Is that why you planted the tub of flowers in the yard? That was you, Claire, wasn’t it? Kath would never have thought of it.’
But before she could answer there was a knock on the door and Hunter came in.
‘Could I have a word, sir?’
He kept his voice even but Ramsay could tell he was excited.
‘Why don’t we take a break now, Claire?’ Ramsay said. ‘I’m sure you could do with a break. Sal, you make certain that Claire gets a cup of tea.’
In the corridor Hunter couldn’t keep still. He paced backwards and forwards, talking all the time.
‘I’ve been taking the statement from Hooper,’ he said. ‘The child abductor. I know we’ve cleared him of the Coulthard abduction but I started the interview…’
And you wanted to be sure the arrest was down to you, Ramsay thought.
‘… so I decided I’d take him over that Saturday when Kath Howe was murdered. All along we thought he might be a possible witness.’
‘Did he see anything on the Headland?’
‘Not exactly. When he left Kim Houghton’s house he went to the phone box by the club to call his wife. To check she was all right, he said, but it was to establish his story about him working away for the weekend, to say he was on his way home. He chatted for a few minutes then he left the Headland. Guess what he did next?’
Ramsay had begun to guess what Paul Hooper had done next but he was a kind man and he didn’t want to spoil Hunter’s story. At the end he even pretended to be surprised.
‘Has anyone tried to contact Mark Taverner this afternoon?’ he asked.
‘Aye. Like you said. But all we get is the answering machine.’
‘He’ll be at home. Fetch him in. I want to talk to him before I go.’
‘And where will you be off to then, sir?’
Ramsay smiled, pretending again. Letting Hunter believe he was relishing the job. ‘Where do you think?’
Chapter Thirty-Six
He took Sally Wedderburn with him to Newcastle. In the car he explained to her what it was all about, but since Claire’s dig about her own childhood she seemed to have lost interest in the case. She wasn’t even shocked.
Ferndale Avenue was full of parked cars and they had to stop in the next street and pull up on to the pavement. As they walked to the house they had glimpses through an occasional uncurtained window of family groups gathered round Saturday evening television. At Mrs Howe’s the curtains were drawn. There was a curtain at the front door too and they waited for Bernard’s mother to draw it back before she let them in. She seemed too excited to be surprised to see them.
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, sounding almost jolly. She was wearing a maroon velveteen dress – a best frock put on for the occasion – and held the cat to her shoulder so it looked like a fur stole. It stared at them with watery eyes. Its fishy breath wafted to them across the doorstep.
‘Come in,’ Mrs Howe said again with a touch of impatience. ‘We’re having a little recital. Bernard has often told me how musical Marilyn is but I hadn’t realized until now the extent of her talents.’ They stepped into the hall and they did hear rather plodding piano music coming from the living room. ‘If we’re lucky we might persuade Bernard to do some magic for us later.’
She released the cat, leaving it stranded on her shoulder, and clapped her hands in appreciation and as a childish gesture of delight at the piano piece which had just stopped. Ramsay realized she had achieved just what she had always wanted. Her son was back home with her. For a while at least. Through an open door Ramsay saw a Victorian dining table laden with the remnants of a high tea.
The living room was as hot as it had been on his previous visit, but Bernard was sitting with his chair pulled up close to the fire. He was wearing carpet slippers. When he had returned to Cotter’s Row after performing his magic tricks to the children of Gosforth Ramsay had explained that he and Marilyn might be more comfortable if they moved elsewhere for a while. It seemed odd that he had chosen to bring carpet slippers with him, then Ramsay realized that these slippers had been bought by Mrs Howe and kept at the house in Ferndale Avenue for Thursday evenings. And in readiness for the time when Bernard, as he surely would, recognized his mistake and returned home.
As they entered the room Marilyn turned on the piano stool to face them. Bernard looked up from the fire but he did not stand up to greet them. Ramsay thought he was full of food, as lazy as the cat now settled on Mrs Howe’s knee.
Sally sat on an upright chair in a corner. Her face was lit from below by an ugly table lamp with a porcelain base. It made the skin under her eyes look dark, like bruises.
‘I wonder if I might have a few words,’ Ramsay said.
‘Where’s Claire?’ Bernard asked. ‘Is she all right?’ But really he seemed not too bothered. He was asking because it was expected of him.
‘Oh yes. She’s been very helpful.’ For the moment Ramsay had forgotten about Claire. What would happen to her now? ‘I expect you’re wondering what’s going on at Cotter’s Row. You’d like me to explain what all our people are doing there.’
‘Routine, you said.’ Bernard shifted. On the arm of his chair there was a glass bowl containing chocolates in brightly coloured cellophane wrappers. He reached out and took one, unwrapped it carefully and dropped it into his mouth. ‘Because that child was found in our shed.’
‘There’s a bit more to it than that.’
‘Oh.’ He shook his hands out in front of him and began to stretch and flex his fingers. Ramsay supposed it was an exercise to keep his hands supple for the tricks of illusion. He found the movement and Bernard’s contemplation of the dancing fingers so irritating that he wanted to scream at the man to sit still. Instead he continued calmly.
‘We found blood on the floor of your shed.’