Ann Cleeves - Harbour Street

‘George, please.’ A wide, easy smile. ‘Work, I’m afraid. I keep promising myself time in the county to explore properly, but my wife thinks anywhere north of the Wash is wild and uncharted territory, and I spend so much time away from home that I wouldn’t want to come up on holiday without her.’

‘And what is your work?’

‘I’m a rep for a publishing company. Almost an endangered species, but I’m one of the few survivors and I hope I can hang on until I retire. And I do love it.’ He stared wistfully into the fire. ‘I read, you see. It’s an addiction. Not a requirement for the job, though. In fact, almost a hindrance in some ways. Hard to press a title onto a reluctant bookseller when you think it’s crap yourself. But I’ve built my contacts now. Sympathetic buyers. Managers in some of the big retail chains, owners of a smattering of lovely indies. I understand what will work best for them.’

‘An odd time of year to be selling books, I’d have thought.’ Vera spoke with that same light, almost flirtatious tone. ‘The stores will have their Christmas stock by now, surely. This time of year wouldn’t you all want to be back in London? Office parties. Sloping home early to fill the kiddies’ stockings.’

Enderby leaned forward, his voice earnest. ‘Actually, Inspector, I don’t really do Christmas. It sends me into a panic. I was glad to escape. And of course I have the new season’s titles to present.’

‘Of course.’ A silence.

‘Why do you stay in Harbour Street when you come north?’ She set down her cup on the low table beside her. A sign that she was taking the conversation more seriously now. ‘It’s hardly convenient for the motorway.’

‘But it is very restful, and I like it here. I found it through the Northumberland Tourism website five years ago and have been using it ever since. I have an aversion to bland and anonymous hotels, and Kate is an efficient and welcoming landlady. She looks after me very well.’

Joe thought that he was talking too much. Any one of those reasons would have been sufficient.

‘You knew Margaret Krukowski?’

‘Of course,’ Enderby said. ‘She was a lovely woman.’ He paused. ‘They made a great team, she and Kate. I do hope Kate has the strength to carry on alone. But perhaps she will have other plans now.’

‘Did you ever chat to Margaret?’ Vera looked directly at the man. ‘It seems to me that you’re someone who takes an interest in people, that you might have engaged her in conversation over the breakfast table.’

‘Oh, you know, the usual pleasantries.’ Enderby reached out for the teapot.

‘And what did you find out about her?’

‘Surprisingly little! She was always friendly, but somehow guarded. As if it had become a habit to keep her life secret.’ He gave a sudden charming smile. ‘I make up stories about people. Fantasies. Perhaps because I read so much. Sometimes I think I might write a novel of my own.’

Joe felt as though he had lost the thread of the conversation now, with no real idea what Enderby was on about, or how it could be relevant to the investigation, but Vera seemed to be keeping up. ‘And what was your story for Margaret Krukowski?’

‘That she’d been a spy left behind when the Cold War ended. Given a new identity.’ He smiled again and his face lit up. ‘Quite ridiculous, of course, just because she had a Polish name! I’ve always allowed my imagination to run away from me.’

Vera smiled too, but it was the tight, rather disapproving smile of a teacher who is starting to lose patience with a favourite pupil.

‘We’ll stick to reality then, shall we? After five years you must know something about the woman.’

‘I fear the reality was rather more mundane. Margaret Krukowski was articulate, intelligent and well read. Attractive still, for her age. Mardle seemed an odd place for her to have landed up. I could have imagined her in a rather nice flat in Tynemouth or Jesmond. But I assume she had no money. She was a good cook – these biscuits will have been hers, and she baked rolls and pastries for breakfast. She was a regular church-goer. Given to good causes. She cost me a fortune in raffle tickets for every charity from the lifeboat association to the Red Cross.’ He paused. ‘I did wonder if she’d once been a victim of domestic abuse. One of her charities was a women’s refuge, and she seemed more devoted to that than to any of the others. I came up specially a couple of weeks ago to act as Father Christmas for its winter fair. She was a very persuasive woman and very committed to that particular cause.’ He stopped short. ‘Sorry, Inspector, take no notice – I’m telling myself stories again. Rambling.’

Joe thought that was the way Vera Stanhope worked too. She was always making up stories throughout an investigation. Only she called them theories.

‘Did she ever mention her family?’ Vera was back to specifics.

Enderby paused for a moment and stared into the fire. Joe couldn’t tell whether he was trying to remember or playing for time.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think the subject of family ever came up. Women of that age usually have somebody, don’t they? Grandchildren or great-nephews or -nieces. They bring out the photos at the least excuse. But not Margaret. She mentioned her ex-husband from time to time. Rather a rogue, by the sound of it. A rogue and a chancer.’

Joe was wondering what Vera had made of the comments about lonely old women, but if she was hurt by them she gave no sign.

‘Had she seen him at all since they separated all those years ago?’

Enderby laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. Much easier to convince oneself of a passion for a memory than for the reality. Really I think the man disappeared from her life entirely. According to Margaret, it was as if he vanished from the face of the Earth.’

‘When did you last see her?’ Vera was facing the man again.

‘At the beginning of the month. The last time I was staying here. I can check the date in my diary, if you need to know exactly.’ He sat back in his chair and everything about him seemed relaxed and helpful.

‘You didn’t see her today at all?’

‘I’m sorry, Inspector. I can’t help at all about today. I only arrived just as it was getting dark. Kate will tell you. She let me in.’ He stretched and yawned.

Vera seemed almost to be asleep. The room was very warm now. Joe looked discreetly at his watch. At home the youngest children would be in bed. He wished Vera would move things on. It was obvious this man had nothing else useful to tell them. Even though the snow had stopped, it would be a nightmare getting back. And it seemed that even Enderby was losing patience, because he coughed gently.

‘If there’s nothing else I can help with, Inspector…’

‘Of course.’ She smiled at him. ‘I was just weaving stories of my own.’

Enderby stood up. ‘I’m starving, actually. Rather tasteless to be thinking of one’s own creature comforts at a time like this, but I had an early start and I didn’t stop for lunch because I was hoping to get here before the weather set in. I was going to pop out to the Coble for a bite.’ He looked at them. Vera too was struggling to her feet. ‘Will news of the murder have got out, do you think?’

‘Oh, I expect so.’ She straightened her skirt, which was tweed and frayed slightly at the hem. ‘Nothing the local media like better than a good murder.’

Enderby bent to turn off the gas fire. He switched on the light and blew out the candles. ‘I’ll be here for another night, and then again on my way south from Scotland.’ He took a wallet from his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. ‘Here’s my mobile number. Do get in touch if you think I can help at all.’ He picked up the tea tray, hesitated and then set it down again. ‘Perhaps I’ll leave it here. I expect Kate wants to be on her own with the children. If Stuart hasn’t come along to look after her.’