Read Leave the Grave Green Online

Authors: Deborah Crombie

Tags: #Yorkshire Dales (England), #Police Procedural, #Police, #Contemporary Women, #Mystery & Detective, #James; Gemma (Fictitious character: Crombie), #Yorkshire (England), #Police - England - Yorkshire Dales, #General, #Fiction, #James; Gemma (Fictitious character : Crombie), #Mystery fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Kincaid; Duncan (Fictitious character), #Traditional British, #Policewomen, #Murder, #Political

Leave the Grave Green (22 page)

BOOK: Leave the Grave Green
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“I’ll bet he has a good memory for customers. After we eat, we’ll give it a go.”

When David had returned and filled their glasses with chilled wine, Kincaid said, “Tell me.”

Gemma related her interview with Tommy Godwin, omitting her rather inglorious arrival. “I’m not sure I buy the bit about his coming into the theater from the front and standing up at the back of the stalls. Doesn’t feel quite right.”

Their starters came, and as Kincaid tucked into his pate, he said, “And what about Dame Caroline? Any joy there?”

“It seems their lunch didn’t go quite as smoothly as they
claimed at first. Connor excused himself to help with the washing up, but Plummy says he never came in the kitchen, and he left without saying good-bye to Gerald and Caroline.” She scraped the last bit of soup from the cup. “I think he must have gone upstairs to Julia.”

“He did, and they had a nasty row.”

Gemma felt her mouth drop open. She closed it with a snap, then said, “How could you possibly know that?”

“Kenneth Hicks told me, then Julia herself.”

“All right, guv,” Gemma said, exasperated. “You’ve got that cat-in-the-cream look. Give.”

By the time he’d recounted his day, their main courses had come and they both ate quietly for a few minutes. “What I can’t understand,” he said as he finished a bite of fish and sipped his wine, “is how a yobbo like Kenneth Hicks managed to hook Connor so thoroughly.”

“Money can be a powerful incentive.” Gemma deliberated between more braised leeks or more roasted potatoes, then took both. “Why did Julia lie about the row with Connor? It seems innocent enough.”

Kincaid hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose she didn’t think it significant. It certainly wasn’t a new argument.”

Fork halfway to her mouth, Gemma said hotly, “But this wasn’t a case of failing to mention something that might or might not have been significant. She deliberately lied. And she lied about leaving the gallery as well.” She returned her fork with its speared chicken to her plate, and leaned toward Kincaid. “It’s not right the way she’s behaved, refusing to take care of the funeral arrangements. What would she have done, let the county bury him?”

“I doubt that very much.” Kincaid pushed his plate aside and leaned back a little in his chair.

Although his tone had been mild enough, Gemma felt rebuked. Feeling a flush begin to stain her cheeks, she retrieved her fork, then set it down again as she realized she’d lost her appetite.

Watching her, Kincaid said, “Finished already? What about that pudding?”

“I don’t think I can possibly manage it.”

“Drink your wine, then,” he said, topping up her glass, “and we’ll have a word with David.”

Gemma bristled at this avuncular instruction, but before she could respond he caught the barman’s eye.

“Ready for your sweets?” David said as he reached their table. “The chocolate roulade is heavenly—” As they both shook their heads he continued with hardly a break in stride, “No takers. Cheese, then? The cheese selection is quite good.”

“A question or two, actually.” Kincaid had opened his wallet. First he showed David his warrant card, then a snapshot of Connor he had begged from Julia. “We understand this fellow was a regular customer of yours. Do you recognize him?”

“Of course I do,” answered David, puzzled. “It’s Mr. Swann. What do you mean, ‘was’?”

“I’m afraid he’s dead,” Kincaid said, using the standard formula. “We’re looking into the circumstances of his death.”

“Mr. Swann—dead?” For a moment the young man looked so pale that Kincaid reached out and pulled up a chair from the next table.

“Sit down,” said Kincaid. “The mob is not exactly queuing up for service at the bar.”

“What?” David folded into the proffered chair as if legless. “Oh, I see what you mean.” He gave a wan attempt at a smile. “It’s just a bit of a shock, is all. Seems like just the other night he was here, and he was always so… larger-than-life. Vital.” Reaching out, he touched the surface of the photograph with a tentative fingertip.

“Can you remember what night it was you saw him last?” Kincaid asked quietly, but Gemma could sense his concentrated attention.

David drew his brows together, but said quickly enough, “My girlfriend, Kelly, was working late checkout at the Tesco, didn’t finish till half-past nine or thereabouts… Thursday. It must have been Thursday.” He glanced at them both, expecting approbation.

Kincaid met Gemma’s eyes across the table and she saw the flash of victory, but he only said, “Good man. Do you remember what time he came in on Thursday?”

“Late-ish. Must have been after eight.” Warming up to his tale,
David continued, “Sometimes he came in by himself, but usually he was with people I thought must be clients of some sort. Not that I eavesdropped on purpose, mind you,” he added, looking a bit uncomfortable, “but when you’re waiting tables sometimes you can’t help but overhear, and they seemed to be talking business.”

“And that night?” Gemma prompted.

“I remember it particularly because it was different. He came in alone, and even then he didn’t seem his usual self. He was short with me, for one thing. ‘Something’s really got on his wick,’ I thought.” Remembering Gemma, he added, “Sorry, miss.”

She smiled at him. “Don’t mind me.”

“Mr. Swann, now, he could put it away with the best of them, but he was always jolly with it. Not like some.” David made a face and Gemma nodded sympathetically. As if that had reminded him of his other customers, he glanced at the table in the back, but its occupants were still too engrossed in one another to notice his lack of attention. “Then this other bloke came in, and they took a table for dinner.”

“Did they know each other?” Kincaid asked.

“What did—” Gemma interjected, but Kincaid stopped her with a quickly lifted hand.

“Oh, I’m sure they must have done. Mr. Swann stood up as soon as the other bloke came in the door. They went straight to their table after that, so I didn’t hear what they said—custom was fairly good that night—but things seemed friendly enough at first.”

“And then?” Kincaid said into the moment’s pause.

David looked from one to the other, less comfortable now. “I guess you could say they had a heated discussion. Not a shouting match—they didn’t really raise their voices, but you could tell they were arguing. And Mr. Swann, well, he always enjoyed the food here, made a point to compliment the cook, that sort of thing.” He paused, as if making sure they fully understood the import of what he was about to say. “He didn’t even finish his dinner.”

“Do you remember what he had?” Kincaid asked, and Gemma knew he was thinking of the still incomplete lab report on the contents of Connor’s stomach.

“Steak. Washed down with a good part of a bottle of Burgundy.”

Kincaid considered this, then asked, “What happened after that?”

David shifted in his chair and scratched his nose. “They paid their bills—separately—and left.”

“They left together?” Gemma asked, clarifying the point.

Nodding, David said, “Still arguing, as far as I could tell.” He was fidgeting more obviously now, turning around in his chair to glance at the bar.

Gemma looked at Kincaid, and receiving an almost imperceptible nod, said, “Just one more thing, David. The other man, what did he look like?”

David’s smile lit his face. “Very elegant, nice dresser, if you know what I mean. Tall, thin, fairish—”he puckered his brow and thought for a moment—“in his fifties, I should think, but he’d kept himself well.”

“Did he pay by credit card?” Kincaid asked hopefully.

Shaking his head and looking genuinely regretful, David said, “Sorry. Cash.”

Making an effort to keep the excitement out of her voice, Gemma congratulated him. “You’re very observant, David. We seldom get a description half as good.”

“It’s the job,” he said, smiling. “You get in the habit. I put names with the faces when I can. People like to be recognized.” Pushing back his chair, he looked questioningly from one to the other. “All right if I clear up now?”

Kincaid nodded and handed him a business card. “You can ring us if you think of anything else.”

David had stood and deftly stacked their dirty dishes on his arm when he stopped and seemed to hesitate. “What happened to him? Mr. Swann. You never said.”

“To tell you the truth, we’re not quite sure, but we are treating it as a suspicious death,” said Gemma. “His body was found in the Thames.”

The plates rattled and David steadied them with his other hand. “Not along here, surely?”

“No, at Hambleden Lock.” Gemma fancied she saw a shadow of relief cross the young man’s face, but put it down to the normal human tendency to want trouble kept off one’s own patch.

David reached for another dish, balancing it with nonchalant ease. “When? When did it happen?”

“His body was found early Friday morning,” Kincaid said, watching David with a pleasant expression that Gemma recognized as meaning his interest was fully engaged.

“Friday morning?” David froze, and although Gemma couldn’t be sure in the flickering reflection from the fire, she thought his face paled. “You mean Thursday night…”

The front door opened and a large and fairly well-heeled party came in, faces rosy with the cold. David looked from them to the couple in the back, who were finally showing signs of restiveness. “I’ll have to go. Sorry.” With a flash of an apologetic smile and a rattle of crockery, he hurried to the bar.

Kincaid watched him for a moment, then shrugged and smiled at Gemma. “Nice lad. Might make a good copper. Has the memory for it.”

“Listen.” Gemma leaned toward him, her voice urgent.

At that moment the two rosy-faced couples, having ordered drinks at the bar, sat down at the next table. They smiled at Gemma and Kincaid in a neighborly fashion, then began a clearly audible conversation among themselves. “Here, David’s left us a bill,” said Kincaid. “Let’s settle up and be on our way.”

Not until they had stepped out into the street again was Gemma able to hiss at him, “That was Tommy Godwin.” Seeing Kincaid’s blank expression, she said, “The man with Connor that night. I’m sure it was Tommy Godwin. That’s what I kept trying to tell you,” she added testily.

They had stopped on the pavement just outside the pub and stood holding their coat collars up around their throats, a defense against the fog that had crept up from the river. “How can you be certain?”

“I’m telling you, it had to be him.” She heard her voice rise in exasperation and made an attempt to level it. “You said yourself
that David was observant. His description was too accurate for it to be anyone but Tommy. It’s beyond the bounds of probability.”

“Okay, okay.” Kincaid held up a hand in mock surrender. “But what about the theater? You’ll have to recheck—”

The pub door flew open and David almost catapulted into them. “Oh, sorry. I thought I might catch you. Look—” He stopped, as if his impetus had vanished. Still in shirtsleeves, he folded his arms across his torso and stamped his feet a little. “Look—I had no way of knowing, did I? I thought it was just a bit of argy-bargy. I’d have felt a right prat interfering…”

“Tell us what happened, David,” said Kincaid. “Do you want to go back inside?”

David glanced at the door. “No, they’ll be all right for a bit.” He looked back at them, swallowed and went on. “A few minutes after Mr. Swann and the other bloke left, I came out for a break. Kelly usually stops by for a drink when she gets off work, and I like to keep an eye out for her—a bird on her own at night, you know. It’s not as safe as it used to be.” For a moment he paused, perhaps realizing just whom he was lecturing, and Gemma could feel his embarrassment intensify. “Anyway, I was standing just about where we are now, having a smoke, when I heard a noise by the river.” He pointed down the gently sloping street. “It was clear, not like tonight, and the river’s only a hundred yards or so along.” Again he stopped, as if waiting to be drawn.

“Could you see anything?” Kincaid asked.

“The street lamp reflecting off fair hair, and a slightly smaller, darker figure. I think it must have been Mr. Swann and the other bloke, but I couldn’t swear to it.”

“They were fighting?” Gemma couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. She found the idea of Tommy Godwin involved in a physical confrontation almost inconceivable.

“Scuffling. Like kids in a school yard.”

Kincaid glanced at Gemma, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What happened then, David?”

“I heard Kelly’s car. Loose muffler,” he added in explanation. “You can hear the bloody thing for a mile. I went to meet her, and
when we came back, they were gone.” He scanned their faces anxiously. “You don’t think… I never dreamed…”

“David,” said Kincaid, “can you tell us what time this happened?”

He nodded. “Quarter to ten, or near enough.”

“The other man,” put in Gemma, “would you know him if you saw him again?”

She could see the gooseflesh on his arms from the cold, but he stood still, considering. “Well, yes. I suppose I would. Surely, you don’t think he—”

“We might want you to make an identification. Just a matter of routine,” Gemma added soothingly. “Can we reach you here? You’d best give us your home address and telephone as well.” She passed her notebook to him and he scribbled in it, squinting in the orange glow of the street lamps. “You’d better see to your customers,” she said when he’d finished, smiling at him. “We’ll be in touch if we need you.”

When David had gone, she turned to Kincaid. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not possible! We know he was in London a few minutes after eleven—”

Kincaid touched his fingers to her shoulder, gently turning her. “Let’s have a look at the river.” As they walked the fog enveloped them, sneaking into their clothes, beading their skin, so that their faces glistened when caught by the light. The pavement ended and their footsteps scrunched on gravel, then they heard the lapping of water against shoreline. “It must be close now,” said Kincaid. “Can you smell it?”

The temperature had dropped noticeably as they neared the water, and Gemma shivered, hugging her coat around her. The darkness before them became denser, blacker, and they stopped, straining their eyes. “What is this place?”

BOOK: Leave the Grave Green
11.43Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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