Aftermath (49 page)

‘What do you mean, Laura?’

‘Linda was the eldest, so she took care of us.’

Keith snorted.

‘She
did
, Keith.’

‘All right.’

Laura’s lower lip trembled and for a moment Jenny thought she was going to cry. ‘Go on, Laura,’ she said. ‘Please.’

‘I know Linda was my sister,’ Laura said, rubbing one hand against the top of her thigh, ‘but there’s three years between us and that’s an awful lot when
you’re younger.’

‘Tell me about it. My brother’s three years older than me.’

‘Well, you’ll know what I mean, then. So I didn’t really
know
Linda. In some ways, she was as distant as an adult to me, and just as incomprehensible. We played together
when we were little, but the older we got, the more we drifted apart, especially with . . . you know . . . the way things were.’

‘What was she like, though?’

‘Linda? She was strange. Very distant. Very self-absorbed, even then. She liked to play games, and she could be cruel.’

‘In what way?’

‘If she didn’t get her own way, or if you didn’t do what she wanted, she could lie and get you in trouble with the adults. Get you put in the cage.’

‘She did that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Keith. ‘All of us got on her bad side at one time or another.’

‘Sometimes we just didn’t know if she was with us or them,’ said Laura. ‘But she could be kind. I remember her treating a cut I had once, putting some TCP on it so it
didn’t get infected. She was very gentle. And sometimes she even stuck up for us against them.’

‘In what ways?’

‘Little ways. If we were, you know, too weak to . . . or just . . . sometimes they listened to her. And she saved the kittens.’

‘What kittens?’

‘Our cat had kittens and D-D-Dad wanted to drown them but Linda took them and found them all homes.’

‘She liked animals, then?’

‘She adored them. She wanted to be a vet when she grew up.’

‘Why didn’t she?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe she wasn’t clever enough. Or maybe she changed her mind.’

‘But she was also their victim, too? The adults.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Keith. ‘We all were.’

‘She was their favourite for a long time,’ Laura added. ‘That is, until she . . .’

‘She what, Laura? Take your time.’

Laura blushed and looked away. ‘Until she became a woman. When she was twelve. Then they weren’t interested in her any more. Kathleen became their favourite then. She was only nine,
like me, but they liked her better.’

‘What was Kathleen like?’

Laura’s eyes shone. ‘She was . . . like a saint. She bore it all without complaining, everything those . . . those people did to us. Kathleen had some sort of inner light, some, I
don’t know, some spiritual quality that just shone out, but she was very f-f-fragile, very weak and she was always ill. She couldn’t take the kind of punishments and beatings they
dished out.’

‘Like what?’

‘The cage. And no food for days. She was too weak and frail to begin with.’

‘Tell me,’ said Jenny, ‘why did none of you tell the authorities what was going on?’

Keith and Laura looked at one another in that intense way again. ‘We didn’t dare,’ Keith said. ‘They said they’d kill us if we ever told a soul.’

‘And they were . . . they were family,’ Laura added. ‘I mean, you wanted your mummy and daddy to love you, didn’t you, so you had to do, you know, what they wanted, you
had to do what the grown-ups said or your d-d-daddy wouldn’t love you any more.’

Jenny sipped some tea to cover her face for a moment. She wasn’t sure whether anger or pity had brought the tears to her eyes but she didn’t want Laura to see them.

‘Besides,’ Keith went on, ‘we didn’t know any different. How could we know life was different for other kids?’

‘What about at school? You must have kept yourselves apart, been aware that you were
different
?’

‘We kept apart, yes. We were told not to talk about what happened. It was
family
, and nobody else’s business.’

‘What were you doing in Alderthorpe?’

‘I’m writing a book,’ Keith said. ‘A book about what happened. It’s partly therapeutic and partly because I think people should know what goes on, so maybe it can
be prevented from happening again.’

‘Why did you follow me?’

‘I thought you might be a reporter or something, poking about the place like that.’

‘You’d better get used to that idea, Keith. It won’t take them long to find out about Alderthorpe. I’m surprised they’re not swarming around already.’

‘I know.’

‘So you thought I was a reporter. What were you going to do about me?’

‘Nothing. I just wanted to see where you were going, make sure you were gone.’

‘And what if I’d come back?’

Keith spread his hands, palms up. ‘You did, didn’t you?’

‘Did you realize it was Linda as soon as the news about the Paynes broke?’

‘I did, yes,’ said Laura. ‘It wasn’t a good photo, but I knew she’d married Terry. I knew where she lived.’

‘Did you ever get together, keep in touch?’

‘We did until Susan committed suicide and Tom went to Australia. And Keith and I visit Dianne as often as we can. But as I said, Linda was always distant, older. I mean, we met up
sometimes, for birthdays, that sort of thing, but I thought she was weird.’

‘In what way?’

‘I don’t know. It was an evil thought. I mean, she’d suffered the same as we had.’

‘But it seemed to have affected her in a different way,’ Keith added.

‘What way?’

‘I didn’t see her nearly as often as Laura did,’ he went on, ‘but she always gave me the impression that she was up to something bad, something deliciously evil. It was
just the way she spoke, the hint of sin. She was secretive, so she never told us exactly what she was doing, but . . .’

‘She was into some pretty weird stuff,’ Laura said, blushing. ‘S & M. That sort of thing.’

‘She told you?’

‘Once. Yes. She only did it to embarrass me. I’m not comfortable talking about sex.’ She hugged herself and avoided Jenny’s eyes.

‘And Linda liked to embarrass you?’

‘Yes. Tease me, I suppose.’

‘Wasn’t it a shock to you, what Terry had done, with Linda so close by, especially after the events of your childhood?’

‘Of course it was,’ said Keith. ‘It still is. We’re still trying to come to terms with it.’

‘That’s partly why I’m here,’ said Laura. ‘I needed to be with Keith. To talk. To decide what to do.’

‘What do you mean, what to do?’

‘But we didn’t want to be rushed,’ said Keith.

Jenny leaned forward. ‘What is it?’ she asked. ‘What is it you need to do?’

They looked at one another again, and Jenny waited what seemed like ages before Keith spoke. ‘We’d better tell her, don’t you think?’ he said.

‘I suppose so.’

‘Tell me what?’

‘About what happened. That’s what we’ve been trying to decide, you see. Whether we should tell.’

‘But I’m sure you can understand,’ Keith said, ‘that we don’t want the limelight any more. We don’t want it all raked up again.’

‘Your book will do that,’ Jenny said.

‘I’ll deal with that when and if it happens.’ He leaned forward. ‘Anyway, you’ve sort of forced our hand, haven’t you? We would probably have told someone
soon, anyway, so it might as well be you, now.’

‘I’m still not sure what you want to tell me,’ Jenny said.

Laura looked at her, tears in her eyes. ‘It’s about Kathleen. Our parents didn’t kill her, Tom didn’t kill her. Linda killed her. Linda killed Kathleen.’

•

Mick Blair was surly when Banks and Winsome entered the interview room at 3.35 that afternoon. As well he might be, Banks thought. He had been dragged away from his job as an
assistant in the Tandy shop in the Swainsdale Centre by two uniformed police officers and left waiting in the dingy room for over an hour. It was a wonder he wasn’t screaming for his brief.
Banks would have been.

‘Just another little chat, Mick,’ said Banks, smiling as he turned on the tape recorders. ‘But we’ll get it on record this time. That way you can be certain there’s
no funny business from us.’

‘Very grateful, I’m sure,’ said Blair. ‘And why the hell did you have to keep me waiting so long?’

‘Important police business,’ said Banks. ‘The bad guys just never stop.’

‘What’s Sarah doing here?’

‘Sarah?’

‘You know who I mean. Sarah Francis. Ian’s girlfriend. I saw her in the corridor. What’s she doing here?’

‘Just answering our questions, Mick, the way I hope you will.’

‘I don’t know why you’re wasting your time on me. I can’t tell you anything you don’t know already.’

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Mick.’

‘What’s it about this time, then?’ He eyed Winsome suspiciously.

‘It’s about the night Leanne Wray disappeared.’

‘Again? But we’ve been over and over all that.’

‘Yes, I know, but we haven’t got to the truth yet. See, it’s like peeling off the layers of an onion, Mick. All we’ve got so far is layer after layer of lies.’

‘It’s the truth. She left us outside the Old Ship and we went our separate ways. We didn’t see her again. What else can I tell you?’

‘The truth. Where the four of you went.’

‘I’ve told you all I know.’

‘You see, Mick,’ Banks went on, ‘Leanne was upset that day. She’d just heard some bad news. Her stepmother was going to have a baby. You might not understand why, but
believe me, that upset her. So I should think that night she was in a rebellious mood, ready to say to hell with the curfew and let’s have some fun. Make her parents suffer a bit at the same
time. I don’t know whose suggestion it was, maybe yours, but you decided to steal a car—’

‘Now, wait a minute—’

‘A car belonging to Mr Samuel Gardner, a blue Fiat Brava to be exact, which was parked just around the corner from the pub.’

‘That’s ridiculous! We never stole no car. You can’t pin that on us.’

‘Shut up and listen, Mick,’ said Winsome. Blair looked at her, then swallowed and shut up. Winsome’s expression was hard and unflinching, her eyes full of scorn and
disgust.

‘Where did you go on your little joyride, Mick?’ Banks asked. ‘What happened? What happened to Leanne? Was she giving you the come on? Did you think it was going to be your
lucky night? Did you try it on with her and she changed her mind? Did you get a bit rough? Were you on drugs, Mick?’

‘No! It’s not true. None of it’s true. She left us outside the pub.’

‘You sound like a drowning man clinging to a bit of wood, Mick. Pretty soon you’ll have to let go.’

‘I’m telling the truth.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Then prove it.’

‘Listen, Mick,’ said Winsome, standing up and pacing the small room. ‘We’ve got Mr Gardner’s car in the police garage right now and our forensics people are going
over it inch by inch. Are you trying to tell us that they won’t find anything?’

‘I don’t know what they’ll find,’ said Mick. ‘How can I? I’ve never even seen the fucking car.’

Winsome stopped pacing and sat down. ‘They’re the best in the business, our forensics team. They don’t even need fingerprints. If there’s just one hair, they’ll
find it. And if it belongs to you, Ian, Sarah or Leanne, we’ve got you.’ She held a finger up. ‘One hair. Think about it, Mick.’

‘She’s right, you know,’ said Banks. ‘They
are
very good, these scientists. Me, I know bugger all about DNA and hair follicles, but these lads could find the exact
spot on your head the hair came from.’

‘We didn’t steal no car.’

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Banks said.

‘Mind reader, too, are you?’

Banks laughed. ‘It doesn’t take much. You’re thinking, how long ago was it we took that car? It was the thirty-first of March. And what’s today’s date? It’s
the sixteenth of May. That’s a month and a half. Surely there can’t be any traces left by now? Surely the car must have been washed, the interior vacuumed? Isn’t that what
you’re thinking, Mick?’

‘I’ve told you. I don’t know nothing about a stolen car.’ He folded his arms and tried to look defiant. Winsome gave a grunt of disgust and impatience.

‘DC Jackman’s getting restless,’ said Banks. ‘And I wouldn’t want to push her too far, if I were you.’

‘You can’t touch me. It’s all on tape.’

‘Touch you? Who said anything about touching you?’

‘You’re threatening me.’

‘No. You’ve got it wrong, Mick. See,
I
want to get this all settled, get you back off to work, home in time for the evening news. Nothing I’d like better. But DC Jackman
here is, well, let’s just say that she’d be more than happy to see you in detention.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘In the cells, Mick. Downstairs. Overnight.’

‘But I haven’t done anything. You can’t do that.’

‘Was it Ian? Is that whose idea it was?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘What happened to Leanne?’

‘Nothing. I don’t know.’

‘I’ll bet Sarah tells us it was all your fault.’

‘I haven’t done anything.’

‘She’ll want to protect her boyfriend, won’t she, Mick? I’ll bet she doesn’t give a damn about you when the chips are down.’

‘Stop it!’

Winsome looked at her watch. ‘Let’s just lock him up and go home,’ she said. ‘I’m getting fed up of this.’

‘What do you think, Mick?’

‘I’ve told you all I know.’

Banks looked at Winsome before turning back to Mick. ‘I’m afraid, then, we’re going to have to hold you on suspicion.’

‘Suspicion of
what
?’

‘Suspicion of the murder of Leanne Wray.’

Mick jumped to his feet. ‘That’s absurd. I didn’t kill anyone. Nobody
murdered
Leanne.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I mean
I
didn’t murder Leanne. I don’t know what happened to her. It’s not my fault if somebody else killed her.’

‘It is if you were there.’

‘I wasn’t there.’

‘Then tell us the truth, Mick. Tell us what happened.’

‘I’ve told you.’

Banks stood up and gathered his folders together. ‘All right. We’ll see what Sarah has to say. In the meantime, I want you to think about two things while you’re in the cells
for the night, Mick. Time can drag down there, especially in the wee hours, when all you’ve got for company is the drunk next door singing “Your Cheating Heart” over and over
again, so it’s nice to have something to think about, something to distract you.’