Val McDermid - Common Murder

Cordelia scowled. “You can do all the explaining you want, but you can leave me out of the negotiations. I’ve had it. I’m going back to London,” she said, and stalked off towards her car.

“How childish can you get?” Nicky asked airily of no one in particular.

“Shut it,” Lindsay snarled. “Why the hell did nobody help her? Debs, could you and Jane please go and talk them down in there? I want a word with Cordelia before she goes. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She ran off in Cordelia’s wake and caught up with her before she could reach the car.

Lindsay grabbed her arm, but Cordelia wriggled free. Lindsay caught up again and shouted desperately, “Wait a minute, will you?”

Cordelia stopped, head held high. “What for?”

“Don’t take off like this,” Lindsay pleaded. “I don’t want you to go. I need you here. I need your help. It’s perfectly bloody trying to deal with this situation alone. I’ve got to have a foot in both camps. Nobody really trusts me either; you know I’m just the lesser of two evils, both for the women and for the police. Don’t leave me isolated like this.”

Cordelia continued to stare at the ground. “You’re not isolated, Lindsay. If you go into that meeting, you won’t be humiliated like I was. It’s not enough with these women to have your heart in the right place. You’ve got to have the right credentials too. And my face just doesn’t fit.”

“It’s not like that, Cordelia. Don’t leave because there was one hassle between you.” Lindsay reached out impulsively and pulled Cordelia close. “Don’t leave me. Not now. I feel… I don’t know, I feel I’m not safe without you here.”

“That’s absurd,” Cordelia replied, her voice muffled by Lindsay’s jacket. “Look, I’m going back to London to get stuck into some work. I’m not mad at you at all. I simply choose not to have to deal with these women solely on their terms. All right? Now don’t forget, I want to know where you are and what you’re doing, okay? I’m worried about you. This deal you’ve done with Rigano could get really dangerous. There are so many potential conflicts of interest-the women, the police, your paper. And you should know from experience that digging the dirt on murderers can be dangerous. Don’t take any chances. Look, I think it will be easier for you to deal with the peace women if I’m not around. But if you really need me, give me a call and I’ll come down and book myself into a hotel or something.”

Lindsay nodded, and they hugged each other. Then Cordelia disengaged herself and climbed into the car. She revved the engine a couple of times and glided off down the road, leaving a spray of mud and a puff of white exhaust behind her. Lindsay watched till she was long gone, then turned to walk slowly back to the meeting tent.

She pushed aside the flap of polythene that served as a door and stood listening to Deborah doing for her what someone with a bit of sense and sensitivity should have done for Cordelia. Deborah finally wound up, saying, “We’ve got nothing to hide here. We asked Lindsay to help us prove that. Well, she can’t do it all by herself. When she asks us for help, or sends someone else for that help, we should forget maybe that we have some principles that can’t be broken or suspicions we won’t let go, or else we’re as bad as the ones on the other side of that wire.”

Lindsay looked round. The area was crowded with women and several small children. The assortment of clothes and hairstyles was a bewildering assault on the senses. The warm, steamy air smelled of bodies and tobacco smoke. The first woman to speak this time was an Irish woman; Lindsay thought her name was Nuala.

“I think Deborah’s right,” she said in her soft voice. “I think we were unfair the way we spoke before. Just because someone broke the conventions of the camp was no reason for us to be hostile, and if we can’t be flexible enough to let an outsider come in and work with us, then heaven help us when we get to the real fight about the missiles. Let’s not forget why we’re really here. I don’t mind telling Lindsay everything I know about this murder. I was in my bender with Siobhan and Marieke from about ten o’clock onwards. We were all writing letters till about twelve, then we went to sleep.”

That opened the floodgates. Most of the women accepted the logic of Nuala’s words, and those who didn’t were shamed into a reluctant co-operation. For the next couple of hours, Lindsay was engaged in scribbling down the movements of the forty-seven women who had stayed at the camp the night before. Glancing through it superficially, it seemed that all but a handful were accounted for at the crucial time. One of that handful was Deborah, who had gone on alone to the van while Lindsay talked to Jane. No-one had seen her after she left the sing-song in Willow ’s bender.

Trying not to think too much about the implications of that, Lindsay made her way back to the van. She looked at her watch for the first time in hours and was shocked to see it was almost eight o’clock. She dumped the alibi information, then went down to the phone box yet again. She checked in with the office only to find there were no problems. She phoned Cordelia to find she had gone out for dinner leaving only the answering machine to talk to Lindsay. She left a message, then she checked in with Rigano.

“How is our deal progressing?” he asked at once.

“Very well. I’ll have the alibi information collated by morning, and I should have a fairly interesting tape transcribed for you by then. Tomorrow, I’m going to see William Mallard. Do I need your help to get in there?”

“I shouldn’t think so. He’s been giving interviews all day. The standard hypocrisy-greatly admired, much missed, stalwart of the association.” She could picture the expression of distaste on his mouth and thought a small risk might be worth the taking.

“Any mention of the financial shenanigans?” she enquired.

“What financial shenanigans would they be, Miss Gordon?”

“Come, come, Superintendent. You live here, I’m just a visitor, after all. There must have been talk, surely.”

“I heard they had a disagreement, but that it had all been cleared up. The person you want to talk to in the first instance is not Mallard but a local farmer called Carlton Stanhope. He was thoroughly disenchanted with the pair of them.”

“Do you think he’ll play for an interview? That’s just the sort of person I need to crack this,” Lindsay said.

“I don’t know. He’s not as much of a stick-in-the-mud as a lot of them around here. He’s been helpful to me already. He might be persuaded to talk to you off the record. Being outside his circle, he might tell you a bit more than he was prepared to tell a policeman. And, of course, you could pass that on to me, unofficially, couldn’t you?”

“Any chance of you helping me persuade him?” In for a penny, thought Lindsay.

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Lindsay crossed her fingers and prayed. Finally, Rigano spoke. “I’ll ring him tonight and fix something up. I’m sure if I ask him, he’ll give you all the help he can. Besides, he might even enjoy meeting a real journalist. How about half past ten tomorrow morning in the residents’ lounge of the George Hotel in Fordham?”

“Superintendent Rigano, you could easily become a friend for life. That will do splendidly. I’ll see you then.”

“Oh, there won’t be any need for me to be there. But I’ll see you at ten o’clock in my office with the information you’ve gathered for me so far. Goodnight, Miss Gordon.”

By the time she got back to the camp, Lindsay was exhausted and starving. She made her way to Jane’s bender, where she found her deep in conversation with Nuala. Jane looked up, grinned at her and said, “Cara’s with Josy’s kids. Deborah’s in the van cooking you some food. You look as if you could do with it, too. Go on, go and eat. And get a good night’s sleep, for God’s sake. Doctor’s orders!”