Ann Cleeves - A Lesson in Dying

‘You want me to make her confess,’ Jack said, fierce and uncompromising, for an instant the gallant knight again protecting his lady. ‘I’ll not do it.’

‘No!’ Ramsay was almost shouting in his attempt to make the man understand. ‘Talk to her. That’s all. If you tell me then that she’s innocent I’ll take more notice. I trust you, you see, to be honest with me. You’ve a reputation to maintain.’

‘I’m not sure she’ll see me,’ Jack muttered again, but he was thinking that he was not sure that he could face seeing her in that place. He thought she might blame him for the fact that she was there. He felt unreasonably that his show of affection on the night of the murder had in some way triggered the whole chain of events.

‘But you will try?’

‘Yes,’ Jack said. ‘ I will try.’ Not to help the policeman, but because he wanted to see her and be in the same room as her. He wanted to tell her how much he cared about her. He felt then that the interview was over, and prepared to lift himself to his feet.

‘I’ll have to go,’ he said. ‘Patty will be wondering where I am.’

‘Just a few more minutes,’ Ramsay said. ‘I’ve already asked someone to tell your daughter’ you’re safe. There’s something else. I need to ask some more questions.’

‘I’m tired, man,’ Jack said. His head was thumping. He wanted to sleep. ‘Can’t you tell I’m tired?’

‘It’s important. There’s something I’ve not told you.’

‘Away then.’ He was too tired to argue. And it was restful there in the big chair. It seemed a terrible effort to move.

‘When you first came into the house,’ Ramsay asked, ‘did you look downstairs?’

Jack nodded.

‘In all the rooms?’

Jack nodded again. He seemed too exhausted to speak.

‘Did you notice anything unusual?’

Jack shook his head. ‘ No,’ he said. ‘This room seems different but I can’t think why.’

‘I want to show you something,’ Ramsay said. ‘ Can you walk with me into the kitchen?’

‘I’m not an invalid, man,’ Jack said with a flicker of the old spirit. ‘I’ve a few years left yet.’

But as he stood up his head began to swim and he thought he might faint. He followed the policeman through the damp and gloomy back room to the kitchen. There, hanging by a noose made of washing line, attached to the wooden strut of the airer and swinging gently, was a figure in a black cloak and black painted hat. The figure turned towards them and Jack could see the smooth face and blank eyes. He began to shake.

‘It’s the dummy,’ he said, desperately trying to keep control for it seemed to him that the policeman had intended to shock him into some indiscretion. ‘It’s the dressmaker’s dummy. When I came into the house it was in the front room.’

Jack felt only relief. In his dazed state, when he had first come into the kitchen he had thought the figure was Kitty, that she had hung herself because he had let her down.

‘There’s a message for you,’ Ramsay said, nodding in the direction of the window. There, on the glass, scrawled in lipstick in uneven capitals was written: ‘Mind your own business.’

‘The lipstick was Mrs Medburn’s,’ Ramsay said. ‘It had been taken from the dressing table upstairs. Perhaps you had better do as you’re told.’

He helped Jack to his car and as they drove away the picture of the figure remained with them. Neither could forget the smooth-skinned dummy dressed in the hat and cloak which had been removed from the bonfire guy earlier in the evening.

The remand centre car park was full. Sunday afternoon must have been a busy time for visiting. There was even a bus. In the queue at the gate into the prison there were babies clutching bottles and young women with picnic baskets. There was the feeling of a family day out. Inside the remand centre Jack Robson was separated from the other visitors. They were taken into a large noisy room, filled with smoke, where bored children roamed in packs. There was a tea bar at one end and the prison officers looked on with benign indifference.

‘That won’t do for you,’ Ramsay said with a wink. ‘You’ll want a bit of privacy.’

Jack was whisked away. He followed a pretty young woman in a blue uniform down a series of identical corridors. Ramsay suddenly disappeared.

Kitty Medburn was wearing her own clothes – a thin wool jersey and a green plaid skirt. She was in a drab tiny interview room with her hands clasped on the table. Jack was not sure what he had expected. He had seen films where prisoners and visitors were separated by glass screens but there was none of that here. With sufficient courage he could have reached across the table immediately and taken her hands.

‘Here you are, Mrs Medburn,’ the officer said brightly as she opened the door. She might have been a nurse. ‘I told you there was a visitor for you. I’ll see if I can find you some tea.’

Then they were left alone.

Kitty had not moved as they came into the room. ‘ Jack,’ she said, looking at her hands. ‘It was good of you to come to see me but there was no need.’

He felt that after all there was a glass screen between them. Her politeness and formality were a barrier which he was unable to break through.

‘I had to come,’ he said. ‘ I wanted to see you.’

‘There was no need,’ she said again, ‘everyone here has been very thoughtful.’

‘I didn’t bring anything,’ he said, wondering if he should have brought a present as if he were visiting someone sick in hospital. ‘I didn’t know what was allowed.’

She did not answer and there was an awkward, impenetrable silence.

‘Kitty!’ His voice was loud and cracked, and shattered the impression that there was nothing wrong. It was impossible to believe that she was an invalid in some exclusive clinic. ‘Kitty, did you kill Harold?’

She looked at him directly for the first time with a peculiar cool disapproval.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I didn’t kill him.’

He was so relieved that he did not notice that she disapproved of his lack of control. ‘I knew it,’ he said, words bubbling from him like laughter. ‘I told Ramsay that you’d never do anything like that.’ He leaned forward over the table towards her. ‘I’ve been carrying out my own investigation,’ he said, ‘talking to people. I’m already starting to get results. Patty’s helping me.’

He saw suddenly that she was crying. There was no sound, no movement, but tears were rolling down her cheeks. They seemed to Jack as smooth and as pale as the face of the dressmaker’s dummy.

‘Dear Jack,’ she said. ‘You haven’t changed at all.’

‘Haven’t I?’ he said. He thought it was a compliment. ‘I still care about you, Kitty. When you get out of here you’ll see…’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. There was panic in her voice but he was so desperate to make her realize that he was on her side that he did not recognize it.

‘I’ll have to ask you some questions,’ Jack said. ‘You won’t mind, will you? It’ll get you out of here more quickly. Ramsay’s already started to reconsider the case, you know.’ He sat back with pride. ‘I’ve found new evidence, just by talking to people.’

She seemed confused. ‘I didn’t realize you were taking such an interest,’ she said.

‘You didn’t think I’d do nothing!’

‘I didn’t realize,’ she repeated.

‘Did you know that Harold was a blackmailer?’ He wished he had a notebook. She might take him more seriously if he had a notebook.

‘No,’ she said.

‘You must have known that he was making money.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He always refused to discuss money with me. It was an obsession with him. He had several different bank accounts and he was always transferring money from one to another. He was secretive about it, but he always had been. We lived mostly on my wages.’