Peter Robinson: Cold Is The Grave

“But Ruth?”

“She certainly had the opportunity, for a start. She was off work, poorly, at the time Emily was killed, or so she says. She could have driven up and back easily.”

“And the means?”

“She said she had a cold, but I think her sniffle might have been caused by something else.”

“Coke?”

“At a guess.”

“What about the strychnine, though?”

“One of the leads I’m following up. As far as I can piece it together, her degree’s in computers and information technology. She’s very bright, got first-class honors and walked straight from university into a good job. She works for a computer software company. One of the employees told me that they custom-design specific software systems for specific business applications.”

“You think she could be connected with Clough’s pirating racket?”

“It is a connection that springs immediately to mind, I’ll admit, but no. That’s not it. This isn’t the sort of thing you could profitably pirate. It’s tailor-made for very specific business functions.”

“So where does it lead us?”

“This employee I talked to, she thinks that Ruth’s working on an inventory-control system for a large pharmaceutical company.”

Annie whistled. “I see.”

“What I’m trying to find out, if I can get hold of the boss there, is whether the job could possibly have given her access to controlled drugs such as strychnine.”

“And if there’s any missing?”

“Yes. But it could have been such a small quantity it wouldn’t be missed. I don’t know how tightly they control these things.”

“Pretty tightly, I’d say. But if Ruth really was working on inventory control…”

“She might have access to the inventory. Yes. And she might also have been in a position to falsify data about quantities. We’ll just have to wait and see. In the meantime there’s another couple of things we need to follow up on.” Banks lit a cigarette. “Want something to eat?”

Annie shook her head. “I’ve got some leftover pasta at home. Pub food’s not very appetizing to a vegetarian.”

“They do a nice salad sandwich, I’m told.”

“I know. I’ve had one. A strip of wilted lettuce and a couple of slices of green tomato. What next?”

“First off, I want you to ask Darren Hirst, the boy who was with Emily the night she died, for access to his cellphone records. I just realized last night what was bothering me about the Riddles’s phone records.”

“What?”

“Emily’s call to me the day before she died. It wasn’t listed.”

“She could have used a public box.”

“That’s what I thought at first, with the background noise and all. But Darren has a cell phone and she was out with him and the gang that night. It’s my bet she used his phone, and that she also used it to talk to whoever she set up the drug buy with. It’s hardly likely she’d risk using her home phone for something like that. What I’d like to know is whether she used Darren’s phone to call Ruth close to the time of her murder.”

“That should be easy enough to find out.”

“There’s another thing. I also phoned Craig Newton, Emily’s ex-boyfriend down in Stony Stratford.”

“And?”

“When I went to talk to him, I remember noticing some photographs of Emily that bore a strong resemblance to the one that appeared in the newspaper yesterday.”

“You think he was behind the story?”

“Craig? No. But he confirmed that Ruth also had prints of the photos because they’d been taken at a party they’d all attended.”

“One of Clough’s parties?”

“Not this time, no. Before Clough. The point is, though, that Ruth could have supplied the newspaper with the photograph and the hints about Clough and Jimmy Riddle.”

“But how could she know?”

“I’ve no idea. It’s all speculation so far. She obviously knew about Emily and Clough, probably knew Clough was a bit of a gangster. If she had discovered that Rosalind Riddle was her birth mother and was blackmailing her over it, it’s no great leap of imagination to assume that she knew Jimmy Riddle was chief constable.”

“I suppose not. But why ?”

“To cause trouble for the Riddles. She was already black-mailing Rosalind, remember. Perhaps after Emily’s murder Rosalind refused to pay up any more.”

“Are we going to talk to Ruth again soon?”

“Definitely. Up here this time. I’ll have her brought up tomorrow. I hope we’ll have answers to some of our questions before she arrives. There’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We need to talk to the person who saw Emily get into the car at the Red Lion. So far I’ve been thinking that a light-colored car driven by someone with short blond hair probably meant Jamie Gilbert.”

“And now?”

“Ruth Walker. She drives a cream car – I’ve seen it – and she’d bleached her hair blond the second time I saw her. Another drink?”

“Better not,” Annie said. “I’ve got a long drive home. You should be careful, too.”

“You’re going home?”

“Don’t look so disappointed. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“You’re right. But you can’t blame me for showing a little disappointment.”

Annie smiled. “I’d be pissed off if you hadn’t. Anyway, after last night I’m worn out. I’m surprised you’re not tired, too.”

“It’s been a long day. That’s true.” Banks swirled the last quarter of his pint around the bottom of his glass. “Do you think Ruth killed her adoptive parents?”

“Very unlikely. Mind you, I think she was definitely responsible for the cigarette end that started the fire. Her parents didn’t smoke or drink. They were good Methodists. Ruth went a bit wild when she got to university. Maybe she’d had a few drinks and didn’t put it out properly.”

“It doesn’t sound as if she made any attempt to save them.”

“Who knows what happened in there, what she could or couldn’t have done? She hurt herself badly getting out.”

“Yes, but she lived. Were postmortems performed on the parents?”

Annie nodded. “I checked. No cause for suspicion. In both cases death was due to smoke inhalation. Just as with Chief Constable Riddle, there were no signs that they were restrained in any way, or drugged, and no indication that any obstacles had been placed in the way of their getting out. They were old and slow. That’s all there is to it.”

“Makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it?”

“About what?”

“Oh, life, the universe, everything.”

Annie slapped his arm, laughed and stood up. “I’m off before you start getting really philosophical. What about you?”

“One more cigarette, then I’ve got a couple more things to do back at the office.”

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you.”

Annie walked out into the cold night air and paused for a while, listening to the choir singing “Silent Night” through chattering teeth. Then she dropped a few coins in the collection box and hurried off to her car before she changed her mind about Bank’s offer.

Ruth Walker arrived with her police escort shortly after lunch the following day. Wearing baggy jeans and a shapeless mauve sweatshirt with sleeves that fell long past her hands, she looked both nervous and defiant as she took her seat in the gloomy interview room. She held her head high, but her eyes were all over the place, everywhere but on the person speaking to her. A sprinkling of acne lay over her pale cheeks, and her skin looked pasty and dry.

Unlike Barry Clough, who was now back at his Little Venice villa, Ruth didn’t have an expensive lawyer in tow. They had offered to bring in a duty solicitor for her, but she said she didn’t need anyone. Banks set the tape recorders going, gave details of the session and began. Annie sat beside him. He had the answers to most of his previous day’s questions – including two calls from Darren’s mobile, only one of which had been to Banks – in a buff folder on the desk in front of him, and he didn’t like the story they told one bit.