Ann Cleeves - Harbour Street

Ashworth thought back to his meeting with the women in the Haven and with the warden. Jane wouldn’t have mentioned Dee Robson at all, if one of the others hadn’t suggested that she should be informed of the murder. He wondered if the smiling and competent Scotswoman had something to hide. Perhaps she’d simply been embarrassed to have fallen out with one of her volunteers, just before she was murdered. He stood up. ‘Thanks.’

The priest walked with him to the door. ‘I hope this matter is cleared up quickly,’ he said. It was the middle of the day, but outside it was so gloomy that already the street lights had come on. ‘It’s unsettling for us all.’ Then he disappeared quickly back into the church.

Joe Ashworth stood for a minute. The light was on in the basement kitchen of the guest house. Kate Dewar sat on a stool holding an acoustic guitar. Her head was turned away from the window, so she didn’t see him. He wished that he could hear what she was singing. He would have loved his own personal performance of ‘White Moon Summer’.

Ashworth arrived in the high school during the lunch break. Kids were screaming around the playground and through the corridors, excited because it was the end of term, and everywhere there was the smell of fried food and cheese sauce. The receptionist was fierce. ‘The head doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.’

Joe was tempted to bark back, Vera-style, but kept his temper. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to work in a place where there was no escape from children. He would never have admitted it, especially to Sal, but by the end of their two-week summer holiday in Cornwall he’d been longing to get back to work. They’d rented a small cottage that looked idyllic in the brochure, but it had rained for four days on the run and there’d been sod all for the kids to do. Now, after explaining that he was investigating the murder of Margaret Krukowski, he smiled apologetically. ‘It is rather urgent.’ The woman scurried away without a word.

The head teacher was small and bald and had a face that gave away nothing of what he was thinking. ‘I’m not sure how I can help you, Sergeant, but of course I’ll do anything I can.’

‘You’ll have heard of the murder.’ The office was on the third floor and looked down over the playground. The dark clouds gave a strange sense of dusk.

‘Of course. Two of our students lived in the same house as the victim. She was almost part of their family. I’ve asked their class teachers to keep an eye on them. They’ll obviously be upset.’ The teacher looked up at Ashworth. ‘I assume there’s no question that they’re involved in the crime.’

‘Would you be surprised if they were?’

There was a moment’s hesitation, but when he spoke his voice was unequivocal. ‘Astonished. Chloe is an outstanding pupil. She has ambitions for Oxbridge and has every chance of getting there.’ He paused. ‘We all feel that she puts too much pressure on herself. Sometimes I wish she were a little less driven. Adolescent girls can make themselves ill…’ His voice tailed away. ‘Ryan’s less academic, and I know that his mother has concerns about his progress. Comparisons are always being made with his sister. There have been a couple of unexplained absences, but I don’t think he has plans to go into the sixth form, so we’re reluctant to make a big issue of it. It’s tough for boys growing up without a man in the house.’

An electronic bell rang and children skittered across the playground and into the building.

‘But there is a man in the house now. At least, there soon will be.’

‘Ah, you’re here about Stuart.’ The man frowned. ‘Of course there’s been talk in the staffroom about that relationship.’ He paused. ‘We didn’t make the connection about Mrs Dewar’s musical past until she performed in the Whitley Bay Playhouse recently. Stuart persuaded some of us to go along to support her and it was a great evening. The students have never heard of Katie Guthrie of course, but for people of our age she’s rather a celebrity. We’re glad that she chose Mardle High for her children.’ Joe thought that the head had been a bit star-struck too.

‘So there was a lot of gossip about the relationship?’

The head gave a little smile. ‘Well, this is the first sign Stuart’s ever shown that he might tie the knot. Some of the female teachers have tried to persuade him over the years, but he’s always been wary of settling with anyone. The idea that he’s taking on a wife and stepchildren has fascinated us all, because it’s so out of character. The romance has become Mardle High’s very own soap.’

‘We’re asking about anyone who knew Mrs Krukowski,’ Joe said. ‘Routine. You’ll understand. Has Mr Booth been at Mardle long?’

‘As long as the school. It was built in the Eighties and he was one of the first intake of staff. He’s been head of music for the past fifteen years. He’s talking about retiring to support Kate in her career, and we’ll miss him. He’s given himself heart and soul to the kids. Not just the timetabled lessons, but all the extracurricular stuff. Music, of course – the choir and the wind band – but he’s keen on the great outdoors too. He leads our Duke of Edinburgh Award scheme. It’s rare these days to find a teacher with such passion for his work.’

‘He’s passionate about Kate Dewar too?’

The head smiled. ‘Apparently so.’

‘Was he in school the afternoon of the murder?’

The man raised an eyebrow. ‘Checking alibis, Sergeant?’ He was suddenly more alert. Tense.

‘As I said, sir. Routine.’

The teacher turned to the computer on his desk to check the electronic diary. ‘That was the evening of our Christmas concert. Stuart didn’t leave the building all day. He taught in the afternoon and then took the kids for a final rehearsal before the performance. I remember it because of the snow. We wondered if we should cancel, but most of our students live within walking distance, so we went ahead anyway.’

He looked up from the computer and Ashworth sensed that he was disproportionately relieved that his colleague was in the clear. Perhaps that was the natural response of a head teacher who was anxious about his school’s reputation. Or perhaps he had a suspicion that Stuart Booth might be capable of murder.

Malcolm Kerr’s yard was shut up, the big wooden doors padlocked. Vera was about to wander back to his house when she saw him walking past the fisheries towards the harbour, a dark figure dressed in oilskins and boots, recognizable by his stooped back. She hurried to catch him up.

‘I wanted a word.’

He stopped. It seemed he’d been engrossed in his thoughts, because he hadn’t heard her footsteps behind him and she’d startled him. ‘Well, you can’t. I’ve got work to do.’

She looked at his eyes and thought he hadn’t drunk so much the night before and had managed some sleep. He was truculent, but more human. ‘Where are you off to?’

‘Prof. Craggs left some of his equipment in the water off the island. He didn’t want to pick it up the last time we were out because of the weather. I said I’d come and get it the first chance that I had.’ He carried on walking.

The boat was already tied up at the harbour wall and ready to go. Not the Lucy-May that carried the trippers around Coquet Island in the summer, but a small open boat with an outboard at the back. A newer version of the vessel that had carried her and Hector out to the island years before.

Vera looked down at it. It seemed sturdy enough. ‘Room for a small one?’

He stared at her as if she were mad. ‘You want to come out with me?’

‘Why not? You’ll not be long, will you? And like I said, I need a word.’