Ann Cleeves - Telling Tales
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- Название:Telling Tales
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“Of course not!” Mary spoke as if he’d suggested something unthinkable. “Where would we go?”
“I’m not sure. You could get somewhere smaller. In the village perhaps. Close to the shops and to Emma…” He tailed off as he saw her reaction.
“Impossible,” she said.
“It’s just that earlier you seemed reluctant to come back…”
“It’s painful. But this place is all we have of Christopher now.”
She didn’t speak to him again and he thought he’d offended her. Then, as he was getting into his car in the yard, she came running out to him, still in her slippers, a coat thrown over her shoulders.
“Thank you for this afternoon. For lunch. For looking after us so well.”
He wondered if the medication had worn off because she seemed desperate, rather manic.
“No problem. You know you’re always welcome.”
“I’d like to do something for you. For you and Emma. She was looking so pale today, didn’t you think?”
“It’s been a dreadful time for you all.”
“Let me have Matthew for an evening. So you can spend some time on your own together. Go out for a drink perhaps. I’d like to. If you’d trust me.”
“Of course we trust you. Have him whenever you like.”
“Tomorrow then. Bring him here.”
She rushed back to the house and James wondered if Robert had even realized she’d gone.
When James drew up outside the Captain’s House, Michael Long was still standing at the bus stop, his hands in his pockets, muffled in his coat. He watched James climb out of the car, held his glance, a sort of challenge. It was too far for James to shout and he started to walk over the road towards him. The church clock began to strike the hour. Michael stood his ground for a moment, then he turned and hurried away towards his bungalow.
Inside Matthew was in bed and Emma was loading the dishwasher.
“Were they all right?” she asked.
“I think so. They’re so self-contained, aren’t they? It’s hard to tell.”
“I thought that’s what you admired in them.”
“Perhaps it’s not always a good thing.”
“Can we go to bed?” she said.
He felt nervous as if it was the first time. Afraid of doing something wrong, something which would upset her, spoil the mood. “Of course.”
He was in the bedroom before her, went to close the curtains. Michael Long was back at his post under the bus shelter. He was looking up at the window.
Chapter Forty
Vera Stanhope liked Dan Greenwood, had done since the first time she’d met him at one of those dreadful training days her boss had forced her to attend. All keen young officers behaving like corporate managers, fighting amongst themselves to be most enthusiastic, most positive. No negative talk allowed there. Dan Greenwood had looked at her helplessly across the conference room, with its beech-effect tables and chairs, as if he’d been thrown into the middle of a game and he didn’t understand the rules. As if she was the only one there on his side. She’d thought, looking at him, that he shouldn’t be caged inside a building at all. Looking at him, scruffy and feral, you’d have thought he should be a gamekeeper, someone used to being outdoors. Perhaps he’d thought that was what the police would be like, keeping things ordered, tidying up vermin.
“Don’t worry, pet,” she’d said to him over coffee. “They don’t mean any of it. All that positive talk. Back at the station they’ll be griping the same as you and me, sloping home early and coming in late.”
“What’s the point, then?” he’d said, and she’d thought that he really didn’t understand. He had no ambition and no desire to impress. She’d thought then that he was incapable of deception.
That was before she’d seen the file on Abigail Mantel, which he kept in his desk and pored over, like some pervert slobbering over downloaded porn.
Pride had stopped her acting immediately. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that she could be that wrong about anyone. Then she’d stood in the village and watched him walking with Emma Bennett up the lane from the river, attentive and careful, and she’d seen the way Emma had looked at him. This was another bonny young lass. Not as young as Abigail had been when she’d died, but there were some days when Emma still looked like a teenager. And she’d known Abigail, found the body. Perhaps there was a thrill in that for Dan. You could never tell how some people’s minds worked. Not even the psychiatrist could manage that. Or perhaps he wanted to get close to Emma to find out how much she remembered. If he’d had any sort of relationship with the dead girl, he’d want to know if she talked about it before she was killed.
Pride was a terrible thing, Vera thought. It had always let her down.
So she swallowed her pride and went to see Caroline Fletcher. She did it properly too, calling in advance to check if it was convenient. There was no fuss this time when she stood on the doorstep of the desirable executive home, no show.
Caroline had changed from her business suit into jeans and a baggy jumper which reached almost to her knees. The boyfriend was nowhere to be seen and Vera didn’t ask after him. He’d be playing squash, she thought. Or staying late at the office. Something normal In the living room there was a bottle of white wine standing in a cooler on the floor by the armchair, one glass taken out of it. Caroline had been holding the glass when she opened the door.
“Would you like some?” she said, seeming ready to build bridges herself.
Vera preferred red, but it would have been churlish to refuse.
“What’s this about?” The woman’s voice was cautious but not unfriendly.
“Dan Greenwood,” Vera said.
“What about him?”
“What did you make of him?” Caroline looked at her without answering and Vera was forced to elaborate. “You worked closely with him. Did you ever have any concerns? I mean, did the breakdown come out of the blue?”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“As a colleague. A friend.”
“I wasn’t expecting it,” Caroline said. “He seemed to be holding it together. Perhaps, though, it was inevitable. He let things get to him, took them to heart.” She paused. “I don’t think he’s stupid, but he wasn’t really up to the job. The politics, the games you have to play. The rules you have to keep to or bend. He says what he means and he can’t understand when other people don’t do the same. He talked about resigning at the same time as me. I shouldn’t have discouraged it.”
“You’d resigned before he went on sick leave?”
“Yes. Getting Jeanie Long to court was the last thing I did.” She paused. “Everyone said I was going out on a high.”
“How soon after the court case was Dan’s illness?”
“I’m not sure. It’s hard to judge time when you look back from this distance. It all becomes a bit of a blur. Not long though. A couple of months. Six at the most. You could check. Personnel might still have it on file. Someone there would probably remember better than me.”
“I don’t really want to make it official. Not yet.”
Vera sipped the wine which was still cold and very dry. Caroline looked at her over her glass. “What’s all this about?” she said again, more forcefully, meaning, Cut the crap, lady. I’ve played these games too in my time.
“Are you sleeping with him?” Vera asked, matter of fact.
“No!” Caroline gave a hoot of laughter, so spontaneous and joyful Vera knew it was genuine. “Where did you get that idea?”
“We all get daft notions in our heads from time to time.”
“You didn’t come out here just to ask me that.”
For a moment Vera didn’t respond. In this investigation, she’d started off thinking she couldn’t trust this woman as far as she could throw her. It came hard now to pass on information she hadn’t even shared with Joe Ashworth.
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