Grace might even have written from here. Did she ever write letters?”
“I never saw her but how would we know?”
“Not much of a letter, is it?” Vera held up the single sheet between her thumb and finger. “Why do you think she bothered?”
“She probably thought of Nancy almost as family,” Edie said. “Perhaps she saw it as a duty, like writing thank-you letters to grandparents.”
“Go on then.” Vera dropped the letter on the table in front of Anne.
“Read it out.”
Anne looked round to make sure she had their attention and began to read, like a mother telling a bedtime story.
“Dear Nan, I went for a walk today to look for signs of otter and it reminded me of the walks you used to take me on when I was a little girl. I’m employed on contract here by the Wildlife Trust. They offered to find me somewhere to stay but I prefer to be on my own so I brought a tent and I’m camping in the field marked on the card. It’s a lovely spot. The Trust had a student doing the same work before me but he left suddenly and I haven’t been at all impressed by his results.
There was too much guessing and not enough counting so far as I was concerned. So that means I have to walk the parts of river he’s supposed to have surveyed to check his results. It would he a lot easier if everyone followed the rules. If you’ve been properly trained it’s not difficult. I hope you’re continuing to be well and you’re still enjoying living in Kimmerston. Perhaps when I’m next in the area I’ll come with Dad to visit.” Anne looked up. “It’s just signed Grace. Not love, or best wishes, or anything.” “Hardly riveting stuff,” Vera said. “And what’s the point of her writing if the old woman can’t read?”
“Edmund read it to her.”
“When did she last see him?”
“He went to tell her Grace was dead. He didn’t want her to hear from anyone else.”
“It sounds as if he was pretty rational then, at least.” Vera looked up at Anne. “Did you ask her where he was?”
“Of course. She claimed not to know.”
“Did you believe her?”
Anne shrugged. “She enjoys making mischief. I wouldn’t put it past her to lie.”
Vera pushed the letter away from her in disgust. “Well, that doesn’t tell us much, does it?”
“I’m not sure,” Rachael said reluctantly.
“What?” Vera growled. “Spit it out.”
“Anne and I have always been surprised by the results of the otter counts Grace took on the rivers in the survey area. It’s never been systematically studied before but counts in similar bits of the county have never come up with anything like her figures. Since she died we’ve retraced some of her walks. It looks as if the counts are wildly exaggerated. There was a possibility she’d made a mistake, but this letter suggests that she was aware of the danger of over-estimation so that doesn’t seem very likely.”
“Exactly what are you getting at?”
Anne Preece replied, “Either she was madder than we thought and hallucinated legions of otters marching over the Langholme Valley or she was telling porky-pies.”
“Why would she do that? She’s a scientist.”
“Scientists have been known to falsify records for their own reasons.”
“What sort of reasons?”
“Personal glory. Because they’ve been nobbled “Are you saying she’d been bribed by the quarry company to exaggerate her records?” “No,” Anne said. “Of course not. From the quarry’s point of view that would be completely counterproductive. Just the opposite to what they’d want. The purpose of the Environmental Impact Assessment is to see what effect the proposed development would have on this landscape.
It’s in the company’s interest that we find nothing of conservation value on the site. Then they can claim at the public inquiry that the quarry wouldn’t cause significant environmental damage. If the report claimed the biggest concentration of otters in the county they’d find it hard to make any sort of case for the quarry to go ahead. Otters are furry and cute. Every protest group in the country would be here waving banners.”
“So you’re saying she was nobbled by the opposition?”
“I’m not saying anything.” Anne was clearly starting to get exasperated. “I don’t know what was going through her head. But from the letter it doesn’t seem likely she was just mistaken.”
Edie had been listening to the exchange and asked, “Who is the opposition?”
Usually Vera seemed to welcome Edie’s contributions to these discussions, but now, still angry and frustrated, she turned on her.
“What the hell do you mean?”
Edie raised her eyebrows as if commenting on the behaviour of a spoilt child and answered calmly, “I mean, is there an organized opposition group? A campaign HQ? People in charge? And is there any evidence that Grace knew anyone involved in it? Or any of the other conservation pressure groups? Perhaps she falsified her records out of the mistaken belief that she was serving a cause she believed in.”
Vera was chastened. “I don’t know. We can check.”
“There’s a group of people in Langholme who’ve been fighting the development,” Anne said, ‘ I don’t think they’ve been particularly effective. And so far as I know they haven’t got any of the big pressure groups on their side yet. It’s more a matter of the locals worrying about a decline in house prices if there’s a massive quarry on the doorstep and lorries rumbling through the village night and day.
Typical nimby stuff.” “Besides,” Rachael, “Grace wasn’t stupid. I mean, I know you think she was a bit loopy when she was here, but she must have known that in the long term that sort of fraud wouldn’t work. The only reason EIAs are accepted in public inquiries is because they’re considered unbiased. If inspectors were to lose faith in them conservationists would give up any voice they’ve got in the planning process. Grace must have realized that.” “I think she hated doing it,” Rachael said. “Someone must have been forcing her to lie. You’ve read that letter. She was obsessed about getting things right. Perhaps that’s why she seemed so stressed out while she was here. She couldn’t bear the pretence. I can understand.
It would have driven me crazy too. I should have seen what was happening. She certainly needed to talk to someone.” “Aye,” Vera said. “Well, it seems she realized that.”
“How do you know?”
“I had a meeting with her social worker today. Ms. Antonia Thorne.
Funny sort of business that welfare work. Couldn’t do it myself. I always thought you had to be a heartless sod to be a cop, but it must be worse in that line. This woman had known Grace Fulwell since she was a baby, placed her with one set of foster carers after another until she found ones that would suit. You’d have thought she’d have some sort of feeling for the girl, affection even, but once Grace went off to university she washed her hands of her. Didn’t even send her a card at Christmas. You’d have thought she’d be curious at least, but apparently not. She said she’d forgotten all about her until she’d heard she was dead.” “I think,” Edie said, ”re trained not to get involved.”
“With a kid?” Vera shook her head. “It seems all wrong.”
“Anyway… ” Edie prompted.
“Anyway, when Ms. Thorne got back from her holidays in the sun there was a pile of mail waiting for her. She hadn’t looked at it when I spoke to her earlier in the week. One of the letters was from Grace. I suppose she had no one else to turn to. Sad, that.” She paused, lost in thought, and this time Rachael didn’t think it was for dramatic effect. “Grace said that something was bothering her. There was something she needed to discuss. Although she wasn’t still officially On the social services caseload would Ms. Thorne see her?”