Ann Cleeves - Murder in My Backyard

“Come on,” he said. “ I’ll walk you home.”

“I can’t believe it,” she cried. “I was here yesterday afternoon helping her get ready for the family. Now I’ll never see her again.”

Gently he helped her off with her apron and on with her coat. They went out through the front door and onto the drive. It was so cold that the bitter wind took his breath away, but Olive hardly seemed to notice it. There were more policemen in the garden now, searching along the line of the wall.

“What are they doing?” she asked.

“Searching for the murder weapon,” he said. “Later I’ll have to ask you to look in the kitchen and see if anything’s missing. We’re looking for a meat knife.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said. “ Mrs. Parry was careless with her things. There’s a pile of cutlery in the kitchen and more in the scullery.”

They came to the wrought-iron gate to the churchyard. “Do you always come to work this way?” he asked, having to shout against the wind.

“Usually,” she said. “It’s quicker than going all the way up the Otterbridge Road and down the drive.”

“Did you come this way today?”

“No,” she said. “It was so wild Tom gave me a lift to the end of the drive.”

So, Ramsay thought, you didn’t shut the gate behind you this morning. Either the murderer was very careful or he left by the drive. Or, he thought, it was one of the family.

When they got to the green, they turned to face the weather. She walked very quickly, stiff, upright, and proud. The waves beyond the cottages were huge and relentless, and Ramsay could taste the spray where he stood.

“I’ll be all right now,” she said. “ You can leave me here.”

“I’ve some questions to ask,” he said. “ I’ll have to come with you.”

She nodded briefly and walked on.

In the house behind the garage there was the smell of meat cooking. Tom Kerr must have been looking out for her because he had the door open before they reached it. He was a tall man, bearded, rather serious. His hair was balding and he made Ramsay think of a monk.

“I heard in church,” he said. “I was just thinking I should come and fetch you.”

He put his arm around her and Ramsay felt excluded, a little jealous. They were obviously very close.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “ I’ll have to come in. There are questions to ask. But I thought you’d be more comfortable here than in the Tower.”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course. Tom, this is Inspector Ramsay. He’s in charge of the investigation.”

Tom Kerr nodded and stood aside. “Maggie’s at work,” he said. “I told her she should stay here today, that you’d need us all around you, but you know what she’s like at the minute. There’s no talking to her.”

“For goodness’ sake, man, she’s better at work. What good would she do here? Leave her alone. None of this is her fault.”

The sharpness of her words shocked Ramsay and it occurred to him that there was a tension between them that had nothing to do with Alice Parry. He supposed that it was none of his business. Unless it had a bearing on the investigation.

Tom Kerr accepted the rebuke apologetically. “There’s a fire in the lounge,” he said. “Why don’t you go in there? The boys have been playing upstairs since they came back from Sunday school. They’ll not disturb you. I’ll make you some coffee and bring it in.”

Olive nodded and led Ramsay into a small room with large, heavy furniture. She picked up a coal scuttle and rattled the fuel loose and thrust it onto the fire. The flames were damped briefly by the coal dust then burned again.

“Tell me about Mrs. Parry,” Ramsay said. He settled comfortably into one of the armchairs. He wanted to show her that he was in no hurry, that he could listen to her all morning if she would talk to him. “How did she seem yesterday? You probably knew her as well as anyone.”

She nodded, acknowledging the statement as a compliment before replying. “ She was canny,” Olive said. “ Just like she always was. I never knew Alice Parry anything but thoughtful and kind. The meeting had upset her and she was angry about Henshaw and his houses, of course, but she was always in a state about something, and that had been rumbling on for days.”

She paused. “I blame myself for that,” she said. “ I started it all off. My daughter’s divorced and she and the bairns live with us. I was always complaining that there was nowhere in Brinkbonnie she could afford to buy and the council houses all sold off. I didn’t know it then, but Mrs. Parry went off to talk to Henshaw about that land. I told them in the village she was only acting for the best, but they didn’t belive me.”

“Who didn’t believe you?” Ramsay asked.

She looked at him stubbornly and shook her head. “I don’t tell tales,” she said.

“Alice Parry was murdered,” Ramsay said. “Whoever killed her is dangerous and must be found before it happens again. Last night she had an anonymous letter from someone in the village threatening her because of her part in the new development. I have to know who felt strongly enough to send her that letter, even if it’s only to eliminate them from our enquiries.”

Olive Kerr sat up in her chair.

“You should talk to Fred Elliot,” she said. “He’s the postmaster and he’s leading the campaign against Henshaw. He’s a parish councillor. He’d not have sent any letter to Mrs. Parry. But his son, Charlie, is a difficult man. Likes an argument. You know the type. My man took him on as a mechanic when he came back from the army. I wasn’t happy about it. I thought there’d be trouble. But Tom is a good man. He though it was his duty…” Ramsay thought she was going to tell him something else, something personal, but she straightened her back and continued: “Charlie might have sent the letter just to stir up trouble.”

“Does he live with his father?”

Olive laughed, a sharp, bitter laugh. “Charlie can’t afford a house of his own either. Mrs. Parry’s scheme would have helped him, too.”

There was a knock on the door and Tom Kerr came in, carrying a tray with cups of coffee that rattled on their saucers as he set it on the table.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said, and then directly to Olive: “ I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

Ramsay stood up and handed one of the cups to Olive.

“Tell me about the family,” he said. “ How did Mrs. Parry get on with them?”

Olive sniffed and spooned sugar into the thick brown liquid.

“Well enough,” she said. “ I suppose. She loved the bairns. Spoiled them silly. Not my way of bringing up children, but you couldn’t blame her. She never had any of her own, though she practically looked after Carolyn singlehanded until she was one. Stella was poorly-postnatal depression, they said, though she’s always had trouble with her nerves. She was in hospital a lot and her family weren’t much use. So James used to bring the baby there before he went to work and pick her up in the evening.”

“What about the adults?” Ramsay asked. “ Were they close to her?”

“Close enough when they wanted something,” she said. “A nice weekend in the country, someone to mind the bairns when they wanted to be out. They never bothered to see if Mrs. Parry needed them. She liked their company and she wasn’t getting any younger. It wouldn’t have hurt them to call in and spend more time with her. They say they’re busy. We’re all busy. She never complained. Said she had her own life to live, and that was true enough. But she would have liked to see more of them, all the same…”

She paused, but Ramsay said nothing. He was thinking it would be dangerous to take what Mrs. Kerr was saying too seriously. She was reinforcing his own prejudices about the Laidlaws and he needed to keep an open mind. Still, he hoped she would continue. At the beginning of an investigation he had endless patience.