Ann Cleeves - The Baby-Snatcher

‘Brian – my husband – goes to the club.’

‘Ah.’ They’d used the club as a base the day before. It was somewhere the pathologist could get out of the rain. Of course there’d be talk.

‘We believe Mrs Howe was killed on Saturday,’ Ramsay said. ‘We need to eliminate anyone who was on the Headland then. I understand you held a party. We’ll need a list of all the guests and an address or a phone number for each one.’

‘Of course.’ She looked up from her coffee. ‘But no one who came here knew Mrs Howe. What reason would they have to kill her?’

‘As I said, it’s a question of elimination. And of finding witnesses.’

‘Yes.’ She seemed reassured. ‘I see.’

‘Besides,’ he went on gently, ‘it’s not exactly true, is it, that none of the visitors to the Coastguard House knew Mrs Howe? Both her daughter and her husband were here on Saturday afternoon. And her sister is your nanny.’

‘I didn’t mean…’ She blushed. ‘I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I meant the guests. They wouldn’t have known the Howes.’

‘They didn’t mix in the same social circles?’

‘No, well, I suppose not.’

‘But you will be able to give me a guest list?’

‘Of course. I put a list of names and addresses on the computer before I sent out the invitations. I’ll print you a copy.’

She returned with a sheet of paper and a baby. The baby was round faced with downy hair and curls damp and flattened where she’d been lying in the cot. She was still sleepy. It was the closest Ramsay had ever been to a child so young. He wondered if some comment was expected about her prettiness, a question about her age, but he just took the list of names and scanned it quickly. There was no one he recognized.

‘And this is it?’ he asked. ‘There was no one else?’

She paused for a moment and shifted the baby into a more comfortable position against her shoulder. ‘ There was one extra. Mark Taverner. He’s a friend of my husband.’

‘Taverner?’ The name was familiar then he remembered where he had heard it in connection with the case. ‘ Is he a teacher at Otterbridge High School?’

‘That’s right. RE and music. Why?’

Ramsay shook his head, smiled. ‘Nothing sinister. It ties in with information from another witness.’

Marilyn Howe had said she’d been given a lift back from the choir rehearsal by Mr Taverner. He’d told her he was coming to the Headland anyway.

‘I’ll give you his address,’ Emma said. ‘I don’t know why Brian invited him. It wasn’t really his thing. We try to include him in family events because he lost his wife recently. He must get lonely.’

I lost my wife, Ramsay thought, but to a BBC news reporter with a blond moustache and a red sports car. And no doubt he’s lost her now, too.

‘Tell me about Mrs Howe,’ he said. ‘Did you have any dealings with her?’

‘What do you mean, dealings?’ The reply was sharp. It was as if he had suggested something improper. And he thought, for the first time, that he heard anxiety in her tone, perhaps panic.

‘I employed her once ,’ Emma said reluctantly. He had the very strong impression that she would have preferred to keep this to herself but realized it was impossible. ‘It was just after Christmas. The house was a tip and I was expecting Brian’s family to stay for New Year. He was rushed off his feet at work. Never here.’ She smiled. ‘Not that he’d do much if he was. Claire has her hands full with the kids. I can’t expect her to do much cleaning.’

‘So you employed Kath Howe as a cleaner?’

She nodded. ‘For a two-day blitz. To do the house from top to bottom. I asked Claire if she knew anyone who’d want the work and she suggested Kath.’

‘Was she satisfactory?’

‘Not really.’

‘What was the problem?’

Emma gave a brief smile. ‘I don’t think her heart was in the job.’

He waited.

‘She considered cleaning was beneath her. And she definitely didn’t like being told what to do.’

‘Why did she take the job then?’

‘I suppose she needed the money. Teenagers don’t come cheap, do they?’

‘Probably not.’ But he didn’t see Marilyn as the demanding sort. He couldn’t imagine her wheedling for smart clothes or nights out with her friends. There were violin lessons, though. They didn’t come free these days even if they were arranged through school. Exam fees. The instrument itself.

‘You weren’t tempted to employ her again then? Not even before this recent party?’

‘No, even if she’d been any good. Brian wouldn’t have approved. He thinks I sit around all day drinking coffee.’ She paused. ‘He never knew I took her on that first time.’

‘What was she like ?’ he asked. ‘As a woman, I mean, not just as a worker.’

The question surprised her, but he could tell she was interested by it.

‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘She wasn’t very chatty. That’s one thing at least she and Claire have in common. I mean, even then I thought she was Claire’s mother. I didn’t realize they were sisters.’

‘But you must have formed some impression?’ It seemed she was just giving herself time to collect her thoughts. She would reply in the end.

‘I used to work as a personnel officer,’ she said. ‘ I’d assess candidates’ suitability for employment every day.’

‘So, what did you make of Kath Howe?’

‘Let’s say I wouldn’t have given her a permanent job.’

‘Why?’

‘She’d never have made a team player. Too sure of herself. Arrogant almost. She was bright enough and in areas of dispute she’d probably be right but she’d offend all her colleagues by telling them so. A loner.’ She looked up at him. ‘Look, this probably isn’t fair. A first impression. I hardly knew the woman…’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘But it’s useful all the same. You say she was bright. Wasn’t she frustrated staying at home, not working?’

‘I can hardly comment on that, can I? It’s what I’ve chosen to do.’ Her words were reassured, calm. ‘ I don’t regret it.’

‘Your situation isn’t quite the same. Your children are younger.’

She chose her words carefully. ‘I think Mrs Howe would have found it difficult to adjust to employment, for all the reasons I’ve explained. Perhaps she was glad of an excuse to stay at home. She could potter round the house. She had interests. And she could tell herself she was making a sacrifice for her daughter’s sake. I had the impression she was an ambitious woman, but for her daughter, not herself.’

It was probably an accurate impression, but Ramsay thought it of some significance that despite her previous career Emma Coulthard could come up with such a considered judgement of a woman she hardly knew.

He set down his coffee mug, stood up.

‘Was Claire happy living with Mr and Mrs Howe?’

‘I suppose so, I don’t expect she’d have told me if she were miserable. Claire’s a very private person.’

‘You never suggested that she live here?’

‘No. That never arose. We chose Claire as nanny because she lived locally.’

‘When did you last see Mrs Howe?’

‘I don’t know. Weeks ago probably. And then not to speak to. She was with Marilyn on the Heppleburn Road. Walking.’

Hunter, would have been happy to stay at number six Cotter’s Row all day. All night if it came to that. And he didn’t think Kim Houghton would object. She seemed a sociable sort of girl.

He’d knocked on the door of number six expecting another old granny with time on her hands but nothing useful to say. Instead there was Kim, wearing a little lacy top stretched to ripping point by a Wonderbra and jeans so tight it would take an hour to pull them off. If the situation ever arose, which it already had in Hunter’s imagination. She turned to let him in and he saw she was wearing a silver chain round her ankle. He’d tried to persuade successive girlfriends to wear an anklet but they’d all refused. They’d said it would make them feel dirty.