Ann Cleeves - The Baby-Snatcher

The ground floor had been knocked through to make one room and Hunter thought that someone had made a good job of it. The kitchen units were oak and there was nothing cheap or tacky about the furniture. So she was probably married, he decided with only a little regret, to someone who brought in a decent wage. There’d be a steady boyfriend at least.

‘Do you live on your own?’ he asked, speaking loudly because she’d offered him coffee and she was in the kitchen at the other end of the long narrow room. The kettle was humming. ‘Or is your old man at work?’

‘Na!’ she cried. ‘I’m not married. Not any more.’

She walked back to him across the shag pile carpet, carefully carrying a mug in each hand, her bum swaying. She’d kicked off her shoes in the kitchen. She sat on a deep easy chair with her feet tucked under her. She hadn’t asked what he was doing there. He’d introduced himself and she’d invited him in. Sociable.

He looked pointedly around the room. His eyes took in the television and the videos, and lingered over the marble fire surround which he’d been pricing out himself at the Northern Gas showroom over the weekend.

‘You work, then,’ he said. You didn’t live in this sort of style on the Social.

She looked at him over her coffee mug, teasing, ‘Oh, you know. Bits and pieces where I can. Nothing regular. I can’t, can I? Not with a little girl to take care of.’

‘You’ve got a daughter?’ That surprised him. There was nothing to show there was a child in the house. No toys or picture books. No mess. Then he saw a silver-framed photo on the mantelshelf. A blond-haired little girl in a pink sweater, with silver rings in her ears and a silver chain round her neck.

‘Kirsty.’ Kim explained. ‘ She’s at playgroup.’

Hunter thought perhaps the child explained the way she lived. The Child Support Agency had got its claws into a wealthy father. He wondered briefly what bits and pieces of work Kim Houghton had had a go at, but decided it was probably best not to dwell on it. He needed to concentrate.

Kim set her coffee mug on the glass-topped table. ‘ I suppose you’re here about Kathleen. Mrs Howe.’

‘You knew her?’

She shrugged. ‘ Saw her about. We never spoke. She thought she was too good for me.’

‘What’s the story, then?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tell me about the Howes. What do people say about them?’

‘That they keep themselves to themselves. That’s what the charitable ones say.’

‘And the others?’

‘That they’re stuck-up gits.’

‘And you?’ He leant forward confidentially. ‘ What do you think?’

‘They’re not normal, are they?’ The answer was flip. She didn’t really care one way or the other. This was a bit of drama, a bit of fun. There’d been reporters knocking on the door and now this detective. Very tasty. She’d always kept her distance from the law but if anyone could make her change the practice of a lifetime…

‘In what way not normal?’ His tone was more serious and she struggled to explain.

‘They don’t drive, don’t drink, don’t have a telly. They never go out except to walk. That’s not normal, is it?’ For the first, time she was on the defensive.

‘Are they religious?’

She looked blank.

‘Do they belong to one of those sects? Jehovah’s Witness or something?’ It was the only explanation he could come up with for the aberrant lifestyle.

‘I don’t think so.’ She rushed a little giggle. ‘ They haven’t tried to convert me.’

‘How long have they lived on the Headland?’

‘Just over five years. They moved in about the same time as Ray and me.’

‘Any family connections on the Headland?’

She shook her head.

‘So why move here?’

‘Same reason as me and Ray I expect. Because the houses were dirt cheap. Ray’s a builder and he knew he could do the place up. The Howes speak posh but I don’t think there’s much money there. Bernard works on the computers at the Ministry but it’s all agency staff now and they pay peanuts.’

‘How do you know?’

She shrugged again. ‘People talk. You know how it is.’

‘I wonder what they say about you?’

She answered immediately, but without rancour. ‘They say I’m a dirty slut because I threw out Ray and I’m bringing up the bairn on my own. And because I like a night out with my friends once in a while. A few drinks and a laugh and a bit of a dance down Whitley on a Friday night.’

‘How do you manage that with a kid to look after? Does your mam live close by?’

‘Na, and she wouldn’t be keen if she did. She still likes a night out herself. She thinks she’s too young to be a gran.’

‘So who minds the bairn?’

‘Claire. She’ll always sit if she’s free. Glad to get out of that house, I expect.’

‘Claire?’

She looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Claire Irvine. Kath Howe’s sister. They took her in when her parents died. She works as a nanny up at the Coastguard House, but they don’t need her much in the evenings. Like I say, I think she’s glad to get out – can you imagine being shut up with those weirdos and no telly ? But she owes me a favour anyway. It was me that got her the job.’

‘How was that?’ Hunter thought this was probably irrelevant but the boss had ordered gossip and he was following instructions. Besides, it was more pleasant here than in some of the houses he’d visited, with their smells of old age, talcum powder and cat pee. He thought again he’d be happy to stay here all day.

‘I take Kirsty to the playgroup in. Heppleburn. There’s no nursery round here. Mrs Coulthard from the Coastguard House sends her oldest boy there too. Sometimes she gives me a lift home. She was talking about getting a nanny and I mentioned that Claire had done the course and was looking for a job.’

‘Very convenient.’

‘Yeah, though you wouldn’t think she’d need a nanny, would you? It’s not as if she works. Some people have got more money than sense.’ There was a silence. She twisted a bangle on her wrist. ‘Is it true what they’re saying?’

‘Depends what they’re saying.’

‘That Kath Howe was murdered. It wasn’t an accident.’

‘She was stabbed.’ Hunter said. He drained the last of his coffee noisily. He wouldn’t have minded another cup, wouldn’t have minded anyway another glimpse of her bum as she bent over the sink to fill the kettle.

‘Jesus!’ She seemed honestly shocked. ‘I thought it was just talk.’ There was a pause. ‘Was she mucked about first? You know what I mean.’

‘There was no indication of sexual assault.’

‘Oh.’

‘When did you last see her?’ Hunter asked. She was still so dazed that he had to repeat the question.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Did you see her on Saturday?’

‘Saturday? No, I don’t think so.’

‘Where were you that day?’

‘Here for most of the time.’

‘Didn’t you go out at all?’

‘Not in the morning. Unless you call standing on the doorstep going out. I’d been down Whitley on Friday night and a friend stayed over. I went out to wave him off. I didn’t see anyone then. Except the bitch across the road who had her nose pressed to the bedroom window.’

‘I’ll need the name and address of your friend.’

There was a moment of uncertainty then she said, with an attempt at the old flippancy, ‘You’ll be lucky.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean we weren’t on those sort of terms.’

‘You only met him that night?’

‘Na, I’d bumped into him a couple of times. He’d been back here once before.’

‘You must have a name for him then.’