Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

‘We understand. Really.’

Mrs Weston had set out teacups on a glass-topped table. She served the tea as a well-rehearsed routine, performed without any hint of welcome. In the same way, she had apologized for the condition of the lounge, explaining that they weren’t bothering to decorate in view of their move, before long, to the retirement cottage at Ashford. New people always redecorated when they bought a house, she said. So why bother? It would only be wasted expense.

The log basket on the hearth was filled with paper and small sticks, ready to light a fire. A storage heater under the bay window was enough to take the chill off the room. But the decor looked perfectly presentable to Fry. Anything that wasn’t stained by mould or hung with cobwebs looked fine to her. Back at the flat, anything that didn’t have a layer of dust was meant for sitting on.

‘I believe you’ve already been asked about a young woman called Ros Daniels.’

‘We have,’ said Mr Weston. ‘We’ve never heard of her. When they told us she’d been staying with Jenny, we thought she was probably one of the girls she worked with, who had nowhere to stay. Jenny would have put her up for a while. She was like that.’

‘But Ros Daniels never worked at Global Assurance, as far as we can tell.’

‘So we’re told. Jenny must have met her somewhere else.’

‘Any idea where that might have been?’

‘Sorry, no.’

‘The only other people she ever talked about were the ones in the animal welfare groups,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘You could try them.’

‘We will.’ Fry stared at her cooling tea. ‘I also want to ask you whether your daughter had mentioned being bothered by anybody. Did she complain about anyone hanging round outside her house or following her? Did she refer to any unwanted or nuisance phone calls?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Like a stalker?’ said Mrs Weston. ‘You mean like a stalker?’

‘That sort of thing.’

‘She never said anything,’ said Mr Weston.

‘There was the phone call,’ said his wife.

‘Oh?’

Mr Weston had retreated further into his armchair and was watching the two women helplessly, as if he was no part of what was going on.

‘Jenny mentioned she had been phoned up,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘She didn’t say it was a nuisance call, exactly. She just thought there was something strange about it. But she never took it any further, as far as I know. It just happened to be on her mind when I was speaking to her.’

‘Who made this phone call?’

Mrs Weston stared at her. ‘The police, of course. They said it was to check up on home security. But they asked some funny questions, and she didn’t think it was quite right.’

‘Did Jenny give you the name of the officer who phoned?’

‘No.’

‘A man or a woman?’

‘A man, I think. Yes, definitely.’

‘He didn’t give any identification?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Mrs Weston irritably. She looked at her husband again, and back at Fry. ‘You mean he might not have been from the police at all?’ she said.

‘I’m afraid that’s possible.’

The couple shook their heads in unison. ‘Jenny was always too trusting,’ said Mrs Weston. ‘It took her a long time to learn the truth about people. All those terrible men. She was better off with just herself and the cat, if truth be told.’

‘Could this phone call have been in connection with the burglary at your cottage in Ashford?’ asked Fry.

‘Oh, the burglary,’ said Eric Weston. ‘Why do you want to talk about that?’

‘We’re following up everything we can, sir.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘You’ve not seen any sign of Wayne Sugden since then? Your daughter didn’t mention him getting in contact?’

‘But that man is in prison, isn’t he?’

‘Not any more, sir.’

‘What?’ Weston seemed roused to emotion at last.

‘Do we take it you didn’t know that?’ asked Fry.

‘Nobody told us that. Shouldn’t somebody have told us?’

‘It isn’t usual,’ she said. ‘Unless there is a particular risk to the victims. In a rape case, for example, or an offence against a child. It can be quite a trauma running into a perpetrator unexpectedly in the street when you thought he was behind bars.’

‘But not in this case.’

‘It would have been thought unlikely that Sugden would return to burgle the same house.’

‘But not impossible that he might return and track down our daughter to take his revenge, presumably.’

‘Well. .’

‘Because that’s why you’re asking, isn’t it? You must be thinking that it could have been him that killed Jenny.’

‘It isn’t as simple as that, sir,’ said Fry.

‘No?’

‘There are certain aspects to the burglary which interest us, that’s all. Am I right in thinking you were away at the time?’

‘Yes, in Cyprus,’ said Weston. ‘We go there when we can during the school holidays.’

‘And how long were you away on this occasion?’

‘A month. I had to be back to prepare for the new term then. There’s a lot of work to do before we start, you know. People don’t realize that.’

‘So you weren’t using the cottage in Ashford at the time of the burglary.’

‘No. We’d asked one of the neighbours to call in occasionally to check on things: water the plants, that sort of thing. They deliver free papers and all sorts of junk mail and just leave it sticking out of the letter box, you know. It’s a complete giveaway that the place is unoccupied.’

Fry studied the log basket in the hearth. She felt the Westons staring at her, trying to divine the direction of her questions.

‘And who reported the burglary?’

‘The people next door. They heard glass breaking. Later, they noticed the window was broken. That’s how he got in.’

‘Yes, I see.’

‘He made a terrible mess of the cottage, you know. He took a video recorder, a bit of cash and some jewellery, that’s all. But it was the damage that was the worst thing. He broke chairs, he smashed pictures, threw Tabasco sauce on the walls and the carpet. Susan wouldn’t use the cottage again until we had it redecorated and changed all the locks.’

‘There were no fingerprints,’ said Fry.

‘He must have worn gloves. Even young children know to do that these days, don’t they? But he was identified by someone who saw him near the cottage. And they said there were some fibres on his jacket from one of our armchairs. The evidence seemed conclusive.’

‘I’m afraid we have to take another look at the question of motive. The Sugden family has reason to feel very bitter towards you.’

‘Ah,’ said Weston. ‘You know about my bit of trouble. But it’s not as if it will be in the police records, is it? My name was cleared completely. Still, some people find it difficult to forget.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

Mr Weston shrugged apologetically. ‘There was an accident, that’s all. A boy was badly injured.’

‘This was on a field trip?’

‘Yes. We had taken a party to Losehill Hall. You know the National Park study centre near Castleton?’

Fry didn’t know it, but she nodded, unwilling to admit the gaps in her local knowledge.

‘There was a bit of a fuss about it at the time. Some hysterical reactions. There was a full enquiry by the education department. The police were involved for a while, but of course there were never any charges.’

‘I see. You were in charge of the party?’

‘Yes, indeed. But there was found to be no negligence on my part. It was an accident, pure and simple. Nobody could have predicted it. The boy slipped away from the party. I had warned them all personally about the danger, and we had the right number of adults supervising the group. All the children had been told to stay on the path. But some of them don’t listen to what you tell them. Some of them have never been taught proper discipline.’