James took a long time to answer. He turned away and his eyes filled with tears.
“She was at a weekend retreat at a place called Juniper Hall in Cumbria. It was organized by the people from the Old Chapel…” He paused and Ramsay thought he was going on to say more, but he fell silent, absorbed it seemed by memories of his own.
Just one last question,” Ramsay asked gently. “Do the names Lily Jackman and Sean Slater mean anything to you?”
James shook his head and Ramsay was not quite sure whether the gesture meant an answer ‘no’ or simply that he could not face any more questions.
On the way back to Mittingford Ramsay called in at Prue Bennett’s house. She lived in Otterbridge, not far from the McDougals. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d known Val. He thought that they would have got on. But when he pulled up outside there were no lights at the windows and though he rang the front doorbell over and over again there was no reply.
Chapter Twelve
Ramsay took Hunter with him to interview Daniel Abbot and wondered if he would regret the decision. Jokes about pins and needles he could do without. Access to the Alternative Therapy Centre was by some narrow stone stairs, which must once have led to the chapel’s gallery and then there was a large, pleasant space, very light, with a polished wooden floor and comfortable chairs. The practitioners’ treatment rooms led off. Behind a desk sat a young and pretty receptionist, barely, it seemed to Ramsay, out of school.
“We’d like to see Mr. Abbot,” he said.
“Have you got an appointment?” She seemed newly scrubbed, glowing with health and enthusiasm. She made Ramsay feel old.
“No,” he said. “We’re from Northumbria police. It’s rather important.”
“I’ll just see if he’s free.” She pressed a button on the telephone and spoke into the receiver. “If you’d like to take a seat, he’ll be out in a minute.”
They sat on the comfortable seats. There was a low coffee table scattered with magazines and leaflets extolling the virtues of aroma therapy and osteopathy. Ramsay picked up a magazine and began to read an article on “Healing the Inner
Child’. One of the doors opened and Abbot came out.
He was not what Hunter had been expecting. He was big for one thing, strong and fit. He looked as if he ran five miles before breakfast and lifted weights. Hunter admired physical strength. Sticking pins into people was a funny kind of job but having seen the man he wasn’t inclined to dismiss acupuncture out of hand.
“Inspector,” Abbot said, ‘how can I help you? I’ve already given a statement to your constable.”
“There’s been a development,” Ramsay said. “Perhaps we could talk in private?”
“Of course, come into my room. It’s a bit cramped but we won’t be overheard there. Rebecca, perhaps you could make us some tea. Rebecca’s just started with us. She’s already a great asset.”
The girl blushed, gave a nervous smile and disappeared.
“I’ll ask the questions,” Ramsay had said to Hunter as they’d climbed the stone stairs to the Centre.
“Afraid I’ll put my foot in it,” Hunter had muttered, and he almost did put his foot in it. The girl came in with a tray. There was a teapot and three wide cups. No milk, no sugar and when the tea was poured from the pot it was transparent, yellowish. The colour of a urine sample, Hunter thought. And smelling of flowers and tasting of shite.
“What the hell is this?” he almost exclaimed, but stopped himself in time.
“Thank you, Rebecca,” Abbot said. Smiling. She blushed again and left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. She had been well trained.
The room was square and functional. There was a high treatment table covered in a white sheet, a sink. Abbot sat behind his desk and Hunter and Ramsay took the moulded plastic seats which could have come from any hospital waiting room.
Ramsay drank the herb tea as if he was enjoying it, and apologized for causing any inconvenience.
“I’ve already told your constable,” Daniel said again with a trace of impatience, “Lily and Sean were definitely with us on Sunday.”
“Perhaps you could go over it again.”
“This is rather tiresome, Inspector.”
“And very important.”
“They came for lunch. They often come for lunch on Sunday. They arrived at about eleven, had a shower and a coffee. We ate at one o’clock and then they left.”
“Where did they go?”
“Lily came here, to the Old Chapel. I presume Sean went straight back to Laverock Farm. He seemed even more spaced out than usual and I didn’t ask. To be honest I thought I’d done my duty by feeding them and I was glad to be rid of him.”
“Why did Lily come to the Old Chapel? To work?”
“No. She’s a member of Magda’s Insight Group. They meet here once a month.”
That must have been the group which Val had attended, Ramsay thought. Another connection.
“Magda?” he asked.
“Magda Pocock, my mother-in-law. She’s a rebirther. Rather famous actually.”
“And is Mrs. Pocock here today?”
“No. She was speaking at a conference in Nottingham yesterday. She decided to stay overnight. We’re expecting her back at lunchtime.”
“Lily and Sean,” Ramsay said quietly, ‘how did they seem on Sunday?”
“What do you mean?”
“In your work you must be skilled at picking up emotional responses. The holistic approach. Isn’t that what it’s called? I wondered what emotional state Lily and Sean were in when you saw them on Sunday lunchtime.”
Abbot seemed taken aback. “Oh,” he said, “I see…” His professionalism reasserted itself. “They were a little tense but that’s quite normal I’m afraid. I don’t see that relationship as a permanent one. It’s become rather destructive, especially for Lily.”
“You think she’ll leave him?” Hunter asked.
“Eventually, yes,” Abbot said. “At the moment she feels sorry for him. She knows he’s dependent on her and she’s reluctant to break the tie.” Hunter felt suddenly and unaccountably more cheerful. All the same he wished Ramsay would move on. Why didn’t he ask about Val McDougal? Ramsay’s trouble was that he was afraid of confrontation. Hunter always favoured the direct approach.
“Where did you first meet Lily and Sean?” “My wife met them here, in the cafe, downstairs. She brought them home for a meal. She’s given to collecting strays.” He must have realized that the words sounded bitter because he added with a forced smile, “I’m always telling her she’s too soft-hearted.”
“And they’d just turned up in Mittingford?” “Yes, I suppose they must have done. Win would be able to tell you more about them. I think they were part of a convoy of travellers who’d pulled up on some common land on the edge of town. They came here to buy food, keep warm. Win took pity on them.” There was a critical edge to his voice. “When the rest of the convoy moved on they stayed. I could have done without it actually. Because Win had befriended them people thought they were something to do with us, that we’d encouraged them to stay. It caused a lot of bad feeling locally, just as we were establishing a good reputation here. The farmers in the area didn’t like having them camping and called the police. They were dos sing in a clapped out old van which wasn’t road worthy and didn’t have any tax so they couldn’t move on. Things were starting to get really ugly when Win thought of the caravan at Laverock Farm.”
“Mr. Bowles was a friend of yours?”
“Oh no, hardly.” He gave a brief smile at the suggestion. Snobby bastard, Hunter thought. “Cissie Bowles, his mother, was my patient. I was treating her for arthritis. She came here to the Centre first but by the end she was almost bedridden and I went to the farm. That was how we knew about the caravan.”