Ann Cleeves - Murder in My Backyard

“Come on, Frank,” one of the dart players said. “What about lighting a fire? It’s bloody freezing in here.”

The fat man stirred and stared at the boy with a cold, reptilian eye.

“The central heating’s on,” he said, speaking slowly, as if he needed to conserve all his energy. “It’ll warm through soon.”

“Mean bastard,” one of the old men said, quite audibly. Frank took no notice and settled back on his stool, the hooded lids covering his eyes once again.

The woman behind the bar looked expectantly at Ramsay, waiting for him to order.

“Whisky,” he said. Then, recognising a similarity of the features, “Aren’t you Olive Kerr’s daughter?”

She nodded, surprised, and he added, “My name’s Ramsay. I’m a detective investigating Mrs. Parry’s murder. I spoke to your mother this morning.”

The darts game continued, the men muffled in scarves and coats still stared miserably at their hands of dominoes, and Frank sat in his stupor, but Ramsay was aware that the whole room was listening.

“Poor old Mrs. Parry,” the barmaid was saying. “You’d never expect a thing like that to happen in Brinkbonnie. Mam loved going up to the Tower to work.” She paused as she took the money he offered. “You know,” she said. “ I could tell something was wrong when she was in last night.”

“Alice Parry was in here last night?” Ramsay was surprised, but his voice was smooth and unemotional. “ What time would that have been, then?”

She was about to answer when Frank’s left eyelid gave an almost imperceptible flicker of warning. She paused awkwardly.

“If you’re worried about closing time,” Ramsay said, “ there won’t be any trouble. I can promise that.”

She continued, relieved. “ She came in at about eleven. We always draw the curtains at eleven so you can’t see the lights from the road.” She blushed and went on. “ Then the people inside can finish their drinks. Without having to hurry.”

“I see.” He smiled to reassure her. “Was it usual for Mrs. Parry to come in that late at night?”

“No,” she said. “ Not that late. She was quite a regular customer. I think she got lonely on her own in the Tower and she came in here for the company. She didn’t drink much.”

“But last night she had a drink?”

“Yes,” Maggie Kerr said. “She had two. She said she needed them. She seemed upset.”

“Upset?” he asked. “ Or angry?”

“Upset,” she said. “She looked as if she’d been crying.”

So, Ramsay thought, Henshaw hadn’t been telling the truth. There hadn’t been a reasonable exchange of views during Alice’s visit. Something had happened to disturb her.

“Did she tell you what it was all about?” he asked.

Maggie shook her head. “ There was a darts match in here last night. It was very busy. There wasn’t time to talk.”

One of the old men looked up from his dominoes and glared at the landlord. “ If someone got up off his backside,” he said, “ and stood behind that bar occasionally, we wouldn’t have to wait so long for our drinks when it’s crowded in here.”

Again Frank gave no acknowledgement that he had heard the comment. The red-faced man by the window stood up suddenly and brought his glass to the bar to be filled. While Maggie was pouring the beer, Ramsay turned round and addressed his next questions to the customers.

“Did she talk to anyone else last night?” he asked.

“No!” the old man said. “And that wasn’t like her. She might live in that big house, but she’s not one for sticking her nose in the air.” He turned towards the red-faced man, who had returned to his seat and his magazine. “ Not like some of the women in this village. Mrs. Parry usually brings her Guinness down here and has a chat with us. Last night she sat up at the bar and didn’t say a word to anyone. She was white as a ghost.”

“Which locals were in?” Ramsay asked. “ Colin Henshaw? Charlie Elliot?”

“Colin Henshaw doesn’t come in here often,” the barmaid said. “Charlie Elliot’s on the darts team, but he went just before Mrs. Parry arrived.”

“And that doesn’t happen very often, does it?” one of the darts players shouted. “ It’s not often that Charlie leaves before you do, is it, Maggie? Doesn’t he usually wait to walk you home?”

She looked suddenly angry and embarrassed, and Ramsay thought how difficult it was for an outsider to settle into a village like Brinkbonnie or Heppleburn. There was obviously some attachment or tension between Maggie and Charlie Elliot, and if he reacted wrongly, he would break the mood of the whole conversation. He decided to ignore the comment and continue with his questions. If the relationship between Charlie Elliot and Maggie was relevant to his investigation, it could be explored later.

“I was relieved Charlie went early,” Maggie said.

“I bet you were,” the darts player shouted again. “Been making a bit of a nuisance of himself lately, hasn’t he? You should tell the inspector about it. Perhaps he’d be able to arrange police protection, or perhaps you enjoy it, really.”

Again she ignored him. “I was relieved Charlie went early,” Maggie said, “because I was afraid he might make a scene. After the way he treated Mrs. Parry at the meeting.”

“Were you at the meeting in the hall yesterday afternoon?”

“No,” she said. “I couldn’t get there. But I heard what happened.”

Of course, Ramsay thought, the whole of Brinkbonnie would have heard about Charlie Elliot’s rudeness to Alice Parry.

“Did Mrs. Parry walk back to the Tower on her own?”

She looked at the old men. “Did anyone go up the hill with Alice?”

“Aye.” It was the old man with the almost unintelligible accent who regarded the landlord with such venom. “I took her home.”

“But that’s out of your way, Joe,” the barmaid said.

“All the same,” he said. “I think I’m enough of a gentleman to know what’s right. I took her home.”

“All the way?” Ramsay asked.

“To her drive.”

“Did you see anyone else on the way?”

“No.”

“You didn’t see Charlie Elliot?”

“I’ve told you. We didn’t see a soul. Besides, Charlie would have been long home by then.”

“Was there anyone in the churchyard?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the old man said. “I didn’t look.”

“Did you see Mrs. Parry into the house?” Ramsay asked.

“Nah! You can’t see the house for the trees. I’d seen her to her gate. I thought I’d done my duty.” He glared at the landlord. “ I’d spent an evening in here,” he said. “I was perishing cold.”

“Yes,” Ramsay said. “I see.”

He finished his drink, then went out into the street. He was almost at the church when he heard the sound of footsteps rattling on the frosty pavement. When he turned round, he saw Maggie running towards him, the tails of her scarf flying out behind her. When she reached him, she was breathless and her eyes were streaming with the cold.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said, “ about Charlie Elliot.”

He felt a moment of satisfaction when he realised that his approach in the pub had been the right one. If he had started asking questions in front of the customers, she would have said nothing.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ll walk back to my car. It’ll be a bit warmer in there. Then I can drive you home.”

“You’ll be asking questions in the village,” she said. “I know you have to do that. You’ll hear about it anyway. You might as well have the truth. It’s nothing to do with Alice Parry’s death.”

He said nothing. It was impossible to know what was relevant to the investigation at this stage.