Ann Cleeves - Killjoy

She shook her head. ‘But I’d have no way of knowing,’ she said.

‘Amelia Wood had a bank statement which seems to show that any payment to the Grace Darling-grants from the local authority and money from sponsors-was put on deposit and transferred into the current account when it was needed.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right. I was joint signatory to both accounts.’

‘Presumably each year the trustees would appoint an auditor to go through the books and make sure that any cheque from either account had a legitimate purpose. You had to keep receipts?’

She nodded. ‘ Of course.’

‘I want to know if there was another account,’ he said quietly.

‘A secret account that the trustees didn’t know about and the auditors never got to see.’

She blushed. ‘There was nothing dishonest in that,’ she said defensively. ‘ Gus started it soon after I arrived. There’d been a fuss about the expenses he claimed after a Youth Theatre production which we took to the Berwick Festival. He’d hired a minibus. The trustees said he should have charged the parents for the transport cost and that in future he should consult them before making a similar gesture. He was furious and said he wasn’t going to them every time he needed five pounds from the petty cash. They should trust him. He’d given up enough to come and work for them.’

‘So he opened a new account in the Grace Darling’s name?’

She nodded. ‘ With the Wallsend and Hallowgate Building Society. We paid in money that didn’t go through the books-small cash donations given by the public, money raised by the kids in informal fund-raising events, that sort of thing. It was used on projects which the trustees might not have approved of. For instance last summer we hired a mime artist to run a workshop and paid him from the account. I suppose it wasn’t strictly honest but there was nothing illegal going on.’

‘You were joint signatory on that account too?’

‘Yes. The banks and building societies insist on two signatures for charitable accounts.’

‘Did you always watch Mr Lynch write the cheque before signing it?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course not. You know what it’s like. It’s always a mad house there, always busy. He rushes into my office waving the cheque book. “Sign a couple of cheques for me pet. I’m just on my way into town.” So I sign them.’

‘Without asking what they’re for?’

‘Sometimes,’ she admitted, ‘ if it’s really hectic. Usually he tells me what they’re for-costume hire or transport or to take some supporters for a meal.’

‘You never check?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course not.’

‘The building society must send you a statement every six months.’

She shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I’ve never seen it.’

‘Who opens your mail? A secretary?’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘the trustees don’t believe in paying proper secretaries. We’ve had a series of YTS trainees who leave us just as they’re getting competent.’ She paused. ‘You think Gus was making out the cheques I’d signed to himself?’

‘More probably for cash. That would be less easy to trace.’

‘How much did he get away with then?’ she asked cheerfully. ‘Fifty quid? A hundred? There could never have been much more than that in the account.’

‘Oh, considerably more than that,’ he said. ‘I believe that Mr Lynch paid some sponsorship money into the account. A firm called Northumbria Computing donated ten thousand pounds to the Grace Darling about three years ago.’

‘And you believe he took all that?’ She was astounded.

‘Not all at once,’ Ramsay said. ‘I think he withdrew it in cash. Over a period.’

‘And I signed the bloody cheques,’ she said. ‘What a bastard!’

There was a silence. In her room Anna was playing lyrical and sentimental music. Prue took a knife and a board from a drawer and began violently to chop an onion.

‘It isn’t the theft itself which is of most concern at the moment,’ Ramsay said. ‘It provides a motive, you see, for Mrs Wood’s murder.’

‘You think she found out about it?’ Prue stood, poised for a moment with the knife in her hand. ‘ Do you think that’s why he decided to look for another job?’

‘I think it’s almost certain that she suspected he’d been stealing,’ Ramsay said, almost to himself. ‘She’d have heard from her husband that he wanted to buy the flat in Chandler’s Court. She might even have been on the bench when Lynch was charged with non-payment of the community charge. So she went through the bank statement herself to check. But it all happened years ago. If she’d wanted to get rid of him she’d have done it before now.’

‘But she wouldn’t have wanted to get rid of him!’ Prue was suddenly excited, caught up in the investigation despite herself. ‘Don’t you see, he was the best thing that had ever happened to the Grace Darling. He was a famous actor. Even better, a local famous actor. It meant that we got all the publicity we could handle. It meant that the Grace Darling was successful when other similar projects were closing down. It would be worth ten grand to her to keep him.’

‘So you’re saying that she used the information that he’d been stealing to put pressure on him to stay? A sort of blackmail?’

She nodded.

‘It’s certainly very significant that he only decided to announce his resignation on the day after she died,’ Ramsay said.

‘Does that mean,’ Prue said incredulously, ‘ that you think he killed her?’

‘There’s no evidence,’ he said slowly. ‘ We need more than motive.’ He knew this was all a mistake. He had no right to discuss the case with Prue. He had never been so unprofessional, but he was certain he could trust her discretion. She had information he needed, and he continued: ‘Besides, there’s Gabriella Paston. Where could she fit into all this? Is there any way, do you think, that she could have discovered the fraud?’

‘I don’t know,’ Prue said. ‘I think Gus gave her a contribution towards her RADA audition expenses from the building society account but she’d surely have no way of knowing where it came from. Unless…’ she hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘Unless Ellen told her. Ellen Paston. She’s a dreadful snoop. I’ve even caught her going through the mail on my desk. It would be hard to keep anything in that place secret from her.’

‘And we know that Gabby met Ellen regularly. It’s marked in her diary.’ It’s all coming together, he thought. At last. Gabby and Ellen met for a gossip. Of course Ellen would pass on her suspicions. There was no more juicy gossip than dishonesty of a famous man. And then Gabby must have acted on it. Surely the contribution towards audition expenses wasn’t all she received from Lynch. There was the five hundred pounds which started her savings account. It couldn’t be coincidence that both murder victims had blackmailed the director.

‘All the same,’ Prue said. ‘I can’t believe it of Gus Lynch. He wouldn’t have the guts.’

She stood up and rinsed mushrooms under the tap, then returned to the board to slice them.

‘You do understand,’ he said awkwardly, ‘that this is all confidential. I’m sorry. I’ve put you in an unfair position. You have to work with the man. But I must ask you to keep it secret.’

‘Oh,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ve always been good at secrets. Are you going home? To your cottage in Heppleburn? I should like to see it some time.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Back to the police station. There’s still work to do. It won’t be long, I hope, now.’ He touched her shoulder clumsily, but there was no invitation to his cottage and she thought she had made a fool of herself. He was only interested in her as a means of clearing up his case.