Yeadings had taken Nan to see a play at the theatre in Aylesbury and, unlike one other in the audience, had turned off his mobile phone. So it was only on reaching home again that he learned of the body fallen from the college roof.
âIt's female,' Salmon said shortly. He was chilled to the bone, called out after already being two hours later back for supper than expected. He'd no sooner eased his boots off and thirstily sunk half his pint at the table than the summons had come.
âSome bloody student's topped herself,' he'd told his wife. âThere'll be all hell to pay, so there's no escaping. Stick some of that beef between two bits of bread and I'll eat it on the way in. Beaumont's coming to pick me up.'
Tight-lipped, his wife had done as instructed. Her moment for retaliation would come later. It hadn't pleased her one little bit moving to this part of the world, away from family and such friends as her complaining nature hadn't turned against her. She took some pleasure in plastering horseradish on so thick that he'd have no chance to notice the cold. A superb cook â her one virtue â she bridled at a hot meal wasted, and saw unpunctuality as a personal insult.
And now Salmon found himself obliged to stand inactive while the SOCO team moved about the restricted space of the portico roof like white-clad ghosts, until the arc lights and generator were in place and a plastic tent erected. Not that their work would be visible from the road, but higher floors of the hospital tower overlooked the site and already there were faces peering from lighted windows in the apartment block across the way.
His mouth still stung from the vicious relish in the sandwich and he could still have done with another layer of wool under his sheepskin car coat. But for the fact that accepting Beaumont's suggestion of a lift left him without individual wheels, he would have passed this scene over to the DS and returned home. He had a grim suspicion that that idea might have been behind the man's offer all along.
âQuite a drop,' he commented sourly. âSo, harder for identification.
Did that missing Judd woman have any connection with the college?'
âNot that we know of,' Beaumont told him. âBut a lot of people get in by invitation and for open lectures. Let's hope she wore something distinctive that someone'll recognize.'
âIf it is Sheena Judd, she could have been here since Sunday You'd better get hold of the porter and find out when he last took a look down here. Actually I'll come along too.' Indoors, it would be out of the wind. They'd keep it brief tonight; haul the man in early tomorrow to give a full statement.
Â
In next morning's bright sunlight Audrey Stanford lay tucked in a rug on a sofa by the window, quietly seething. Edna Evans, thorough enough but so noisy, had spent hours slamming around in the kitchen. It was useless to demand she should be quiet. That could slow her down and prolong the annoyance. Audrey wished she'd just shut up and go home.
Wishing, ever wishing. Wishing she had company around her, then longing for everyone to leave her in peace. Enduring the endless nights wishing for dawn to break, and then, exhausted by the tedium of day, yearning for dark and oblivion. Which was futile, with final oblivion so close.
It had taken her a long time to believe that, and now she did. The evidence was irrefutable. Believed, but could not accept. Death happened to others who were old and worn-out, or had lived wild lives and so brought it on themselves. But she wasn't like that. She'd never deserved this. Still young, there had been so much living left to do, places to go, people to meet, joys to experience. Not that she could be bothered any more to make the effort. Any move left to her now was towards becoming nothing. And the world would go on turning just the same, as though she had never been.
In the kitchen there was sudden silence. Audrey waited for the rumble of the roller towel as Edna finally dabbed soap suds off her fat arms. Then the fridge door opening and slamming as she checked the contents against a shopping list Keith had made out. âYou'll want more Marmite, love,' she shouted. âI'll add it on, shall I?'
Audrey pretended not to hear. The very mention of any food was nauseous now.
In the comparative quiet as Edna struggled into her outdoor clothes a fresh sound emerged. Steady and regular as waves breaking on the shore came a screech-scratch of Keith raking the drive's gravel.
You'd think it was deliberate, meant to irritate. He must know that any activity of his mocked her disability. All right, he had to be somewhere: it would be too callous if he didn't stay home. But did he have to keep reminding her of the great gulf between them; how he was fit, would continue
active
when she was no more? Whenever she saw him, every time he did something that she'd once done but was beyond her now, there was this rush of bile in her throat and a scalding hatred in her heart. She could only loathe him for it, wishing the same could happen to him and then he might understand.
If he had to face what threatened her, experience this gradual and inevitable falling apart, how would he feel?
There was a gentle tap at the window as he laid the handle of his rake against the glass. He leaned in towards her. âOK, love?'
She wasn't, and he knew it. She wasn't his âlove' either. That was a meaningless word that the cleaner used. Perhaps she'd never been his real love, and all that romancing in the past had been deception too, while he waited for the big thing to come along. It would be some young locum they'd take on in the practice. Or a woman doctor at the hospital, someone
suitable
. Because she hadn't been much use to him, couldn't face illness â her own or any other's â didn't share his wretched work, was a sickly letdown.
All the same she didn't deserve to be left alone to die like this. Dying would be less awful if they could have ended together, in each other's arms. But he was to go on. She resented every breath left to him and the future she was deprived of. And, with someone ready to replace her, in a matter of weeks, even days, all memory of her would be lost. He'd had erotic moments enough with all those absences, ostensibly for his work. All those late nights recently when he'd come home late not wanting a meal. How
often had he deceived her? Meant to go on deceiving? She turned away from the window as tears squeezed out between tight eyelids.
The house phone cut through her miseries. He'd heard it from the garden, mouthed at her through the window, âI'll go,' and waved her to stay put. Not that she'd any intention of moving. The calls were always for him. That's all his replica woman could use to reach him now, since he must stay on guard-dog duty at home.
She turned on her side, straining to catch any part of his conversation in the hall. He seemed tense, listening, now and again grunting agreement or demanding clarification. There was little there for her to construct what was under discussion, or to guess who was on the other end. Just a few isolated words and one more urgent enquiry.
âWho was it?' she demanded when he'd rung off and came in to ask if there was anything she wanted.
âJust Dougie, about some patients. The locum who's supposed to come fell off her horse and can't come for a couple of weeks. So he's badly pushed.'
âYou want to rush back and fill the gap?' Her voice was acid.
âNo. My place is here with you, love. They'll simply have to manage. Still, I can't help wondering just how.'
âWho's Emily?' She had picked up the name from his conversation. The question was abrupt. She heard the suspicion in her own voice but couldn't contain it.
âOne of my special patients.'
âWhat's special about her?'
âShe's very frail. I like to keep in touch.'
âNormally you see her every day?'
âAs often as I can.'
âIs she beautiful?'
He smiled. âYes, I suppose she is.'
Watchful, she didn't miss the brief wistfulness of his eyes. I hate her, she decided. Beautiful, frail, loathsome Emily, if I had a rag doll I'd make a pin cushion of you. But he can't see you now. I am the one he sees every day. And I won't relinquish him.
âShe's nearly ninety-four,' he said, turning away, so he never saw the bitter scorn on her face at his words.
As if she'd believe anything he said! His face had given him away. Such treachery, pretending he'd never looked at any woman but herself. That last thing he'd said was a lame attempt to put her off the scent. But at least she was named now, the woman he visited every day, cared for, made love to, deceived her with. A strangled sound escaped her.
He turned, ready to give comfort, but met fury in her eyes and was rebuffed. He couldn't take her in his arms when she was like this. He knew there had to be these moments of fierce rebellion. He'd seen it in other patients faced with finality, but here it was too close to him. He was involved and could not cope.
âI'll see what Edna's left out for our lunch, shall I?'
She said nothing, screwing her fists into the cushions, and he went away.
He was clever. That was generally accepted. And this clever man had kept his affair from her until now. Surely somewhere hidden among his things there must be more evidence of his deceit? Letters, love tokens which this Emily had given him. If she mattered so much that he had to insist Dougie look in on her, surely they'd have exchanged gifts or sent notes.
Later, if she wasn't feeling too awful, she would look through his desk and the cupboards in his dressing-room. Only she'd have to make sure he wasn't around. She'd send him out shopping and make it sound urgent. For something special she couldn't trust Edna to choose for her.
Oh yes, two could play at being clever.
Â
Thirty-six hours of searching the stationery warehouse had produced no traces of Micky Kane having been there, and permission was given for normal business to resume. The computers were still with Thames Valley's own technical experts who were trying to access connections between the boy and Allbright. Their time had been eaten into by the necessity to find two replacement computers and download current stock lists from hard disk for transfer to them.
Chief Superintendent Perry was almost apoplectic over fears of
a lawsuit for malicious harassment, demanding compensation for loss of income. The public were so litigious these days. It was bound to ensue if no valid case was ever made against any employee of the company.
As a result, relations between him and Yeadings' team were in a delicate state of balance, which Salmon's bullish style was in hourly danger of upsetting. Nothing would persuade him that Allbright, once in his sights, should be allowed any benefit of doubt, although they'd had to release him after questioning. The investigation appeared to have stalled for lack of evidence.
It was at this point that a late sighting of Micky Kane was claimed by an anxious woman just freed from the bedside of a heavily pregnant daughter with pre-eclampsia. With the baby now successfully delivered, the relieved grandmother had been able to catch up with back issues of the local newspaper.
âIt was him all right,' she told the duty officer. âAnd I didn't like the look of it. If the lad hadn't got away by scrambling over a fence I'd have felt compelled to protest.'
âSo you're sure this boy was the one found floating in the river next morning?'
âOh, without any doubt. It was his clothes, see? Just like it said in the paper. He looked as though he had his dad's trousers and jacket on. And an outsize dad at that.'
âWas he wearing shoes?'
âWell, of course. Or maybe boots. Big clumping things. Like I said, he went over a fence, but he hardly made it because of his bulk.'
âIf you'll just take a seat, I'll get someone from CID to see you.'
It was Beaumont who took the call and came straight down. He showed her into a vacant interview room. âMrs Durrant? Can you give me a time for this sighting?'
It was, she was sure, about 7.30, at latest 7.35, on the Saturday evening. That was when her number 334 was due in at the bus station, and it had been right on time when she picked it up in Mardham village. It was only ten minutes' walk to the hospital from where it dropped her off, and this was about half way, by
that vacant lot behind the Odeon car park. Visiting hours had been extended for her because her daughter was so ill.
âAnd the boy was running away? Can you describe the man chasing him?'
She shook her head vigorously. âOh, it wasn't a man, Sergeant. It was a woman. I suppose that's why she didn't go over the fence after him. She had a longish skirt on, see.'
Â
âA bit inconsiderate of you, Mike,' Prof Littlejohn had boomed down the telephone. âThis is high season for poor old pensioners going down with pneumonia. I don't need you cluttering up my morgue with your gratuitous bodies. Still, since you ask so nicely, I'll find a slot. How does 10.30 tomorrow suit you?'