Ann Cleeves - The Crow Trap

He stared at her in horror.

“I thought so at the time, though I was only a plod and a girl at that so who would listen to me? When I came to the slaughterhouse to tell you your dad was dead you were expecting it. But you were very good.

Have you ever thought of joining the Kimmerston Amateur Dramatic Society? They’re always short of a strong male lead. But you weren’t really surprised.”

He started to splutter a response but she wouldn’t allow him to speak.

“Did he beat you up when you were a kid?”

There was a silence. A nerve in his cheek twitched angrily.

“Not just when I was a kid. Until he got ill.”

“So she felt guilty for leaving you there, going away to college, being a teacher, enjoying every minute of it. And I bet you made her feel guilty. Why didn’t you leave yourself?”

“I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. And I didn’t have any qualifications. What could I have done?” “Didn’t have the guts,” Vera said dismissively. “It wasn’t only the old man who wanted her back, was it? It was you as well.”

“You don’t know what it was like.”

“No?” She spoke softly, deliberately. “Listen, Charlie, you understand nothing about me or what I know.”

“It was just talk, wishful thinking. I didn’t really mean her to kill him.”

“Didn’t you? But you planned it. And every day you put pressure on her. So she had the old man on her back all day and you all night. No wonder she cracked.” She poured herself more coffee. “How did you know it was going to be that day?”

He stood up and stared out of the window so he had his back to her.

Pretending that she wasn’t there, that he couldn’t hear her.

“You had such a lot to gain,” Vera went on. “We would have thought it was you, if you’d had the opportunity. That’s why it was such a good day for it to happen. You were at work with all those witnesses. Not just your colleagues, but the Ministry of Agriculture inspector. And you didn’t leave your office, did you? Except for five minutes to go to the lav. Did you phone her then? Tell her that you couldn’t stand any more of the old man’s bullying? If something didn’t happen soon you’d top yourself? And God knows why but she cared about you. Like I said, she cracked.” He continued to look into the distance, gave no indication that he’d heard her.

“But I’m not here to discuss that now,” Vera said conversationally.

“That’s all water under the bridge. No one took any notice of me then.

They might now, but what point would there be in mentioning it? It’s not a crime to make a phone call.”

Charles turned back to face her. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

“So why don’t you get your lovely wife in for a chat and we’ll say no more about it.”

She watched him carefully as he left the room, making sure he understood the threat implied in the last remark.

When Louise came into the room Vera stood up as if they’d never met before, as if it was someone else entirely who’d brought in the coffee earlier.

“Come on, Charlie,” she said jovially. “You make the introductions.”

When he didn’t speak immediately she went on, “My name’s Stanhope.

Inspector Vera Stanhope. I want a few words about Bella Furness.”

“I’ve never met her.”

“You’ve spoken to her though, on the phone. Edie Lambert told me.” Vera thought the Nobles were two of a kind. Neither seemed able to face the real world.

“Only once.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“It was a week before she died. It can’t have had anything to do with her suicide.”

Vera watched Louise calmly. Again she was reminded of a girl. A child who, accused of being naughty, covers up too eagerly, too elaborately with lies. And yet, so far, she had been accused of nothing. An idea formed.

“I’m surprised that she only phoned once. She said she would call back. You’d think she’d want to speak to her brother, her only relative before she died.” She turned to Charles. “Are you certain she didn’t speak to you?”

“Of course.” And you wouldn’t dare lie, Vera thought. Not with what I’ve got on you.

“Mrs. Noble?”

The woman twisted her coffee cup in its saucer.

“I can understand why you wouldn’t want to talk to the Lamberts,” Vera continued. “Why should you? Two nosey women turning up late at night, wanting to know your business. But this is different. This is a police matter. Besides, we could always check the telephone records for the relevant dates.”

Louise looked up. “She did phone. Later that week.”

“You didn’t say.” Charles was stunned, hurt. Poor dear, Vera thought maliciously. This has all been too much for him.

“What did she want?” she asked.

“To speak to Charles. But he was away for the weekend. Some of our young riders were at a show in Richmond and he’d gone with them. I told her that. She said I’d have to do. She couldn’t wait.” Louise hesitated. “She said she needed her money.”

“What money would that be?” Vera’s voice was bland.

“When he sold their father’s house he put the money into an account for her.”

“In her name,” Vera said. “Of course. Edie Lambert told me.”

“No,” Charles said. “Not in her name. It was a separate account, but I signed for it. Of course it was meant for her.”

“Ah.”

“We hadn’t heard anything from her. She’d been out of prison for years, but not bothered to get in touch. We didn’t know where she was.

The money was just lying there.”

“So you spent it?”

“We invested it in the business. We need to expand. Holiday cottages.

A leisure complex. We’ve our daughter to think of. I saw it as an investment for Bella.”

It was hard to see the Nobles as ruthless business tycoons. They were too pathetic. So what had driven them? Vera thought they were like spoilt children with a bag of sweeties. They’d wanted the cash. They didn’t want to share it. So they’d taken it. There was no more to it than that.

“What did you tell Bella?” she asked Louise “That there was no money. What else could I say? I couldn’t magic it for her out of thin air.” Louise was defensive again, sulky. “She couldn’t really have needed it. I mean, whoever’s heard of a poor farmer?” Bella was poor, Vera thought. So poor that she was desperate. She couldn’t face telling Dougie that they’d have to leave the farm. And the next day she killed herself.

She kept the smile fixed on her face. “Quite,” she said. “We’ve all heard the stories about farmers. They moan about EC subsidies but they all drive new cars. Did you ever meet Bella?”

“No!” Louise was horrified by the suggestion.

“Weren’t you curious? I thought you might have suggested meeting her.

Not here or at the farm. Somewhere neutral. For coffee perhaps in Kimmerston.”

“Heavens, no.” Louise pulled a face. “I found the whole thing horrid.

I never wanted to hear from her again.”

“No danger of that now,” Vera said.

Outside the police station a small group of reporters had gathered on the pavement. Vera saw them before they saw her, debated whether they could be of any use to her and decided against it. She strode through them, ignoring their calls for comments or a photograph. The momentum carried her on up the stairs, gathered Joe Ashworth from his room in her wake and landed her at last in her office. There she set her bag heavily on the desk. The flap was unfastened and the contents spilled out, papers, keys, photos, five biros and a half-eaten doughnut wrapped in cling film slid onto the floor. She threw the doughnut into the bin.