He drained the last Vaux Bitter from his glass. “Well?” he demanded. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s the best theory we’ve got so far,” Ramsay said.
Well, Hunter thought, talk about damning with faint praise.
“What do you think we should do next?” Ramsay asked.
“Pull in Daniel Abbot and see what he’s got to say for himself
“I’m not sure,” Ramsay said slowly, ‘that would be wise at this stage. It’s all speculation just now. We’ve no proof. We need something to fix Daniel at the murder scene. His car. A witness. He’s a clever bastard. Smooth. We’d never get him to confess. And even if we did, these days that wouldn’t be a lot of use in court without corroboration.”
“What then?”
“Mrs. Abbot has given him an alibi for the night of the attack on Val McDougal. They were supposed to be at a lecture together in Otterbridge College. If we could persuade her to admit that he slipped away for a while it would be a start
“Do you want me to see her?” Hunter was on his feet, ready to go.
Ramsay hesitated, tried to be tactful.
“Do you think we should leave it to Sal? She took the original statement and Mrs. Abbot’s nervy. We don’t want her hysterical.”
“Job for a woman then, you think?” He sank back into his chair.
Ramsay nodded. “I would like you to talk to Lily Jackman again. Though she obviously feels a certain loyalty to the Abbots. She’s kept quiet all this time, after all. But the fact that she sent you off to Rebecca Booth must mean that she’s not happy with Abbot’s behaviour. You might be able to persuade her to talk to you.”
Hunter never walked anywhere unless he could help it. Walking was for the wooden tops and he’d left that behind long ago. But now, when he came out of the pub, he decided to walk to the Old Chapel where he presumed Lily Jackman would be working.
He tried to drag all his prejudices to the top of his mind. He thought of the New Age travellers who’d stoned the police keeping them from Stonehenge. They were all the same, he thought. They smoked dope, lived like animals crapping where the fancy took them. Hunter, who had been known to drive forty miles out of his way to find a public convenience rather than piss behind a tree, shuddered at the thought.
He walked through the restaurant to the health food shop. The heavy smell of spices and yeast and garlic turned his stomach. He told himself he couldn’t live with that all day. The restaurant was empty. The staff recognized him and nodded, not in an unfriendly way, but ironically, as if they could never allow their relationships with the police to be straightforward. At the door he paused and looked for Lily. He felt suddenly nervous. He thought she must be some sort of witch. No one else had ever affected him like this. Still flustered, he went into the shop.
The anaemic boy with the shaved head was on duty. He too recognized Hunter, but he did not let on.
“Yes?” he said carelessly.
“I’m looking for Miss Jackman,” Hunter said.
“She’s not here,” the boy said. He had on a long bleached apron tied at the back and reminded Hunter of a mortuary assistant.
“Where is she?”
“How would I sodding know? It’s her day off.”
So Hunter walked back to the police station, picked up one of the pool cars and drove to Laverock Farm. He parked in the yard beside Ernie Bowles’s old Land-Rover. He opened the car door and swivelled in his seat to pull on the Wellingtons he’d had the sense to bring with him.
Lily was hanging washing on a line in the farmhouse back garden. He stood for a moment, looking at her, before she realized he was there.
“Making yourself at home,” he said sarcastically.
“We’ve had permission to stay in the house,” she said quickly.
“Where’s lover boy?”
“I thought they taught you manners these days,” she snapped.
“Sorry.” He walked towards her. “Sorry…”
“Sean’s gone up to Long Edge Farm to talk to Stan Richardson.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. Something to do with the farm, I suppose. He was talking about getting some hens again.”
She picked up the plastic laundry basket and walked into the house. He followed her. The kitchen was even more untidy than when Ernie Bowles had lived there. A mound of dirty plates was piled on the draining board and a box of washing powder stood on the windowsill. There was a smell of stale joss sticks. A candle stood in a bottle in the middle of the table and wax had dripped on to the surface.
“Why do you live like this?” he demanded before he could help himself.
“And how do you live?” she spat back. “In a nice tidy semi, on a nice tidy estate, with a nice tidy wifey to cook your meals?”
He grinned. “With my mam in a council house.”
“So you’re a mummy’s boy,” she said. But her anger had dispersed. He felt she was teasing him.
“No,” he said. “It’s just convenient.”
She made instant coffee in grubby mugs. There was no milk or sugar.
“I did as you suggested,” he said. “I went to see Rebecca Booth.”
“Did you?” She seemed awkward. “A nice kid, isn’t she?”
“Too nice to be messed around by Daniel Abbot.”
“She told you then? I wasn’t sure she would.” She stood up, rinsed her mug under the tap.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him and Faye Cooper before?” Hunter demanded.
“I didn’t think it was relevant,” she said. “I still don’t. Not to the murders. But Rebecca shouldn’t have to put up with that every day. No one should.”
“Has Daniel tried it on with you?” he asked suddenly.
She gave a laugh. “Of course not. I’m too old. And I’ve got a boyfriend. Daniel always makes sure his victims are unattached. He might look tough but he’s a coward.”
“What happened that weekend at Juniper Hall?” Hunter asked.
“I’m not sure. He was pretty discreet. But on the Saturday evening I found Faye in tears in the ladies. She blamed herself. She was scared Win would find out.”
“What did you say?”
“That he was just a dirty middle-aged man and she should stand up to him. She wouldn’t have done, though. She’d just been dumped by Peter Richardson and she’d lost all her confidence. She was in no state to stand up to anybody.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you sure she didn’t threaten to tell his wife, or Mrs. Pocock, or the press? Are you sure he didn’t drown her to keep her quiet?”
“Of course he didn’t drown her!” Lily’s voice was emphatic. “I don’t like him any more than you do but he wouldn’t have done that. He’s a healer.”
There was a moment of silence. In the hall Cissie Bowles’s clock began to chime.
“Did Ernie Bowles know about Mr. Abbot’s habit of harassing young girls?” Hunter asked.
“I shouldn’t think so. How could he?”
“You said he was a snoop.”
“He was that all right. Made it his business to know everyone’s business. But I can’t see how he could have found out about that.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“Of course not.”
“Did he have any reason to go to the Alternative Therapy Centre?”
“When Cissie could still get about he used to take her in the Land-Rover for her acupuncture treatment. He used to sit in the waiting room while she saw Mr. Abbot. I suppose he could have overheard something but Faye wouldn’t have been around then.”
“And when Cissie was bedridden?”
“She was taking some homoeopathic remedies prescribed by Win. Ernie collected the tablets from the Centre. I offered to get them for him but he seemed to like going himself.”
She returned to the table and sat down again, opposite to him. He thought she seemed unusually restless. He could tell that her concentration was wandering.