Peter Robinson - When the Music's Over

Still she faltered, half unwilling to plunge herself into the darkness that surely awaited her inside the flimsy box she had constructed to hold her memories of those days, but she was already doing that, anyway, by talking to the police, wasn’t she? No doubt she would have to testify in court, too. When she thought of the burden of all that, of the jury’s eyes on her, the Sphinx-like judge with his hooded eyes — for it would surely be a man — the hawkish defence lawyer, cynical and aggressive in his attack, making it sound as if everything she said was a lie, like they were on television, she felt suffocated, and a sense of panic engulfed her. On the other hand, maybe all this was a way, not so much of exorcising the past, but of somehow domesticating it, transforming it, making it a part of herself rather than something separate, to be shut away in a box in the dark. She knew that despite all the analysis and self-probing she had subjected herself to over the years, she hadn’t succeeded in integrating herself with her experience. Whatever else a memoir might turn out to be, it would certainly be a leap into the unknown.

Persy rolled over and found the sun again. Linda picked up her notebook and pen and began to write. Let it be a steam train, then, she thought. The kingfisher sat on its branch across the river and continued searching for fish.

Annie experienced a sense of déjà vu as Gerry drove down the rough track to the farmhouse, though the weather was different from her last visit to a farm, when she was making inquiries about a stolen tractor. Back then, the freezing rain had lashed down on her, the ground had been a mass of churned-up mud and dung. Today the sky was blue, the sun beat down and a sleepy sort of torpor imbued the air. Even the farmyard smells were aromatic. Almost. From where she stood, Annie could see clearly the line of trees along the road from which she had just come.

It was a youngish man who opened the door. Early thirties, Annie guessed, his hairline already receding but otherwise trim and fit, with that weathered skin and healthy sort of glow that came from working outdoors.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

Annie and Gerry flashed their warrant cards, and a frown darkened his forehead. ‘But what could you possibly...?’

‘Mind if we come in for a minute, sir?’ Annie asked.

‘Oh, no, of course not. Sorry, I’m just... er... yes, please, come in.’

They followed him into a bright, airy living room. All the windows were open and a gentle cross-breeze helped cool the place. It also carried in the whiff of the farmyard smells. A woman sat on the sofa, and when she stood to greet them, Annie could see that she was very pregnant.

‘Sit down, please,’ Annie said. ‘Sorry to bother you. We won’t disturb you for long.’

‘But what is it?’ the woman asked, slowly subsiding back on to the sofa. ‘I’m Mandy, by the way. Mandy Ketteridge. My husband Toby. Please sit down.’

‘I’m DI Annie Cabbot, and this is my colleague DC Gerry Masterson. There’s nothing to worry about. Just a few routine questions.’ They sat in the flower-patterned armchairs opposite the matching sofa.

Toby sat beside his wife and took her hand in his. ‘Isn’t that what you always say when you mean business?’ he said. ‘That it’s just routine?’

‘You’ve been watching too much TV, sir.’

‘Probably.’ Toby looked lovingly at his wife. ‘As you can see, we don’t get out much these days.’

‘How long?’ Annie asked Mandy.

‘Eight and a half months.’

‘Is it your first?’

Mandy nodded. ‘Have you...?’

‘No,’ said Annie. ‘Never met the right fella.’

Toby squeezed his wife’s hand. ‘Mandy’s getting a little nervous, though the doctor assures her that everything is fine.’

I don’t bloody blame her, Annie thought. If it were me, I’d be scared stiff. ‘I’m sure it is,’ she said. She glanced at Gerry, who already had her notebook and pen out, and guessed that motherhood was probably the furthest thing from her mind at this stage of her career. Toby and Mandy were watching them both apprehensively.

‘It’s nothing to be worried about. Honestly,’ said Annie. ‘Our visit, I mean.’

‘Well, it’s not every day we have the police here,’ said Toby.

‘I should imagine not. You own the field that stretches up to Bradham Lane, don’t you?’

‘That’s right.’

‘There’s a section of the wall topped with barbed wire. How long has it been like that?’

‘About two years.’

‘Any reason?’

‘To stop people getting in.’

‘You were having problems?’

‘No,’ said Toby. ‘Not us, specifically. But Glen on the other side said he’d caught some lads trying to make off with several of his sheep one night. Passing them over the wall where they had a van waiting. We heard so much about rural crime and being vigilant and all, we thought that was the best solution. Why? Is it illegal?’

‘No. Nothing like that,’ said Annie. ‘There were a few strands of barbed wire in the ditch. Know anything about that?’

‘If someone got hurt,’ said Mandy, ‘we’re really sorry. The workmen who put the fence up must have left it there. To be honest, neither of us has been out there for ages. And who’d want to go in the ditch?’

Annie glanced at Gerry. ‘No one,’ she said. ‘Not willingly, at any rate.’

Mandy put her hand to her mouth. ‘Has something terrible happened? Has someone drowned or something?’

She certainly was jumpy, Annie thought, perhaps afraid she might have the baby right on the spot. Eight and a half months was a bit close for comfort, and she did look fit to burst. ‘It’s nothing like that,’ she said, thinking it was something far, far worse. And Mandy Ketteridge would hear about it soon enough. Perhaps better now she was primed rather than later. ‘Someone was found dead there. By the roadside. A girl. We think she was murdered.’

Toby squeezed his wife’s hand again. ‘Oh, my God,’ said Mandy, sounding oddly calmer now that it was out. ‘But... I mean... what has it to do with us?’

Annie gave her best smile. ‘Nothing, I hope.’

‘I’m afraid we can’t tell you anything,’ Toby said.

‘I’m not really suggesting you had anything to do with what happened,’ Annie explained. ‘It’s just that this is the nearest farmhouse to the scene and we wondered if either of you might have seen or heard anything.’

‘A murder? Near our house?’ Mandy sounded incredulous.

‘Yes. Is there anything you can tell us?’

‘When did it happen?’ Mandy asked.

‘We don’t know for certain, but we think during last night, or early morning. Say between one and three. Were you at home then?’

‘Yes,’ said Mandy. ‘Both of us. With me being so close to my time, Toby doesn’t like to leave me alone. Especially at night.’

‘We’re usually in bed before eleven,’ said Toby. ‘We watch the ten o’clock news then lock up and head for bed. Sometimes Mandy’s there already, this past while, reading. Or munching on a tuna and banana sandwich.’

‘Liar,’ said Mandy, nudging him gently. ‘I do not. Well, maybe just the once.’

‘And during the night?’ Annie went on.

A shadow crossed Mandy’s face, the flicker of a memory. ‘It was a warm night,’ she said. ‘Humid. Hardly a breath of air. We don’t have a fan, so we leave the bedroom windows open. It helps a bit. And I’ve not been sleeping very well.’ She gave a thin smile and patted her belly. ‘As you can imagine.’

‘Did you hear something last night?’

‘Mmm. It would have been about two o’clock, give or take a few minutes. I was lying awake. I wanted to go to the toilet, but I was so comfortable and... well... the baby was quiet. I wasn’t in the least bit sleepy, but I was trying to put off getting up, you know how you do.’