Ramsay smiled. “Perhaps. But I’ve checked with the doctor who signed the death certificate. Pneumonia killed her in the end. Nothing more exciting than that.”
“What about Richardson?” Hunter asked. “He’s a sort of connection. If his dad buys the Laverock land and he was going out with Faye.”
“Yes,” Ramsay said. “I thought I’d go to see young Richardson this evening.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“No. I don’t think so. I thought an informal approach.”
“Suit yourself,” Hunter said. He stood up in a huff to fetch another round of drinks.
“What’s the matter with him?”
“He had his nose put out of joint,” Sally said, ‘because Faye Cooper’s mother would only talk to me.”
“We knew that was likely,” Ramsay said. “We knew she’d probably be more comfortable with a woman.”
He looked across at the group of officers at the other table and frowned. They were becoming rowdy. They’d already had too much to drink. He knew they were frustrated. They thought the case was going nowhere. He did not really want the drink Hunter had bought for him, but he took it anyway, finished it off quickly. Hunter was in a mood to take offence.
“I’ll go then,” he said. “See what Peter Richardson has got to say for himself.”
Outside, a group of teenagers stood, looking bored, at the bus shelter. They stared as he walked past and he thought that everyone in Mittingford knew who he was. It was inconceivable in a place like this that someone did not know who had strangled Ernie Bowles. The town was already in shadow, and the air was suddenly cold. He walked quickly past the Old Chapel towards the police station.
In the incident room staff were still on duty, manning the phone, being available to talk to members of the public who came in off the street with scraps of information, most of it irrelevant. “I remember the last time I saw Ernie Bowles at market he seemed very peculiar. Odd, you know. I thought you’d be interested. He bought me a pint and he’s never done that before in his life. He wanted to talk about his mother
…”
It was all written down and processed. Anything of interest was copied and left on Ramsay’s desk. When he saw the paper that had accumulated there in his absence he felt overwhelmed by it. He left a message saying where he was going and drove into the hills.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Ramsay arrived at Long Edge Farm the lights were on but none of the curtains had been drawn. There was enough light from a thin moon to see the family cars pulled up in front of the house: Sue Richardson’s red Fiesta, a Land-Rover and a big Volvo Estate. Either local hill farmers were crying wolf about the Common Market sheep subsidies or the holiday cottage business was booming. Ramsay walked round to the kitchen door and knocked there.
The Richardsons had obviously just finished a meal. Sue was piling plates into a dishwasher, with astonishing deftness and speed. Stan was slumped in his wicker chair watching a small television which stood on the breakfast bar. The smell of the meal something spicy and oriental which Ramsay guessed Stan would have turned his nose up at lingered in the room and made Ramsay realize that he had not eaten.
“Oh, it’s you.” Stan said. “What are you after now?”
“A few questions,” Ramsay said, easily. “Is Peter in?”
Sue turned from rinsing pots in the sink. “He’s in the bath. Just getting ready to go out.”
“You won’t mind if I wait then?”
Stan gave a bad-tempered scowl but Sue jumped in before he could speak: “Of course not. Sit down. Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” It had been a long day. He could do with a shot of caffeine to keep him going.
“Turn off the television, Stan,” she said chidingly as if he were a child. He grumbled under his breath but did as he was told. Ramsay thought that despite his rudeness he always did. He was probably instructed to keep away from the paying guests. Unless he could be polite.
“I understand that you’re interested in the Laverock Farm land,” Ramsay said.
“Oh aye. Who told you that?”
“It seems to be general gossip in the town,”
“Well, you’re best not believing anything you hear.”
“It’s not true then?”
“Depends on the price,” he admitted reluctantly. “And what sort of deal I can get.”
“Even with a load of “hippies” living in the house?”
He snorted.
“I’ve told Stan I don’t think that will be a problem,” Sue interrupted again. “I’ve seen the sort of operation they run at the Old Chapel. I like to shop there, actually. Some of my guests prefer organic produce. It’s very professional. I don’t think we’d have anything to worry about if the Abbots took over. It might even work to our advantage. Some of our visitors might be attracted by the facilities they’d provide. Anything would be better than Ernie Bowles, with his smelly old dog, swearing at anyone who went near him.”
So Cissie’s plan had backfired, Ramsay thought. She had hoped to upset the neighbours. Instead they saw the Alternative Therapy Centre as a tourist attraction.
“What do you want with the lad then?” Stan demanded.
“Some information,” Ramsay said. “It’ll not take long.”
“I’d best go and fetch him for you. He’d spend all night in the bloody bathroom given the chance. Then I’ll be in the other room watching the television if you want me.”
He stomped out of the kitchen. Sue watched him go with an indulgent smile. Through the open door they heard him yell up the stairs to Peter: “That police inspector wants to see you. Get your arse down here!”
Sue slammed shut the dishwasher door and pretended not to hear. She poured coffee for Ramsay and set it before him with a slice of fruit cake.
Peter swaggered in ten minutes later. He was wearing the trendy Geordie’s uniform for a night on the town: expensive and immaculately fitting jeans, a short-sleeved open-necked shirt and a lot of gold. This was standard dress in Newcastle even when there was snow on the ground and ten degrees of frost.
Sue Richardson looked at her watch. “If you don’t mind, Inspector, I’ll leave you to it. Another family is moving in to one of our cottages tomorrow. There’s a cot to put up and I want to check that everything’s ready for them.”
She flashed him a professional smile and disappeared.
Peter stood with his back to the Aga. “Inspector,” he said sneering. “What a surprise! How can I help you?”
“I want to ask about Faye Cooper,” Ramsay said. “She was a friend of yours?”
It wasn’t what he had been expecting and the mask of arrogance slipped. He played with the gold chain on his wrist.
“Yes,” he said uncertainly. “I knew her for a while.”
“I wouldn’t have thought she was your sort,” Ramsay said.
Peter did not answer.
“But she was your girlfriend?”
“I suppose so.”
“Where did you meet her?” He had been anxious about that from the start. They would hardly have had many friends in common.
“In the Old Chapel.” He seemed almost ashamed of admitting that he had ever been there. It didn’t fit in with his image. “In the coffee place. Mum asked me to get some stuff from the health food shop and I stopped for a drink. She’d been visiting the Abbots. We got talking. She said she was a student in Otterbridge. I’d just finished at the agricultural college. There was something about her… I asked her out. On the spur of the moment, you know.”
“And she agreed?”
“Yes, she agreed. I was surprised. I suppose I was just trying it on.” He paused. “We arranged to meet in a pub in Otterbridge because she didn’t have any transport. I almost didn’t go. She wasn’t my type really. Too serious. Too intense. But, like I said, there was something about her.”
“Did she tell you she already had a boyfriend?”