Читать книгу St Oda's Bones - Marcus Attwater - Страница 19

While they were both visiting with her father on Sunday Henrietta asked her sister if she remembered the night Kester disappeared

'The boy who vanished when we were young?' Karen said, 'I don't recall the night, but I remember the police investigation. I didn't know him, but you were very upset that he was gone.'

'I was?' She didn't recall that, she'd thought that the sadness which accompanied Kester's memory was an overlay of later years. She certainly hadn't believed herself upset enough for her older sister to have noticed.

'Yes, you were,' Karen said, 'You kept saying 'if only we had listened to him', and mum kept telling you it wouldn't have made any difference. I think that was the first time I realised you were a grown up human being instead of a little girl.'

Thinking about what her sister had said on Sunday, Henrietta recalled that she certainly hadn't thought of herself as a little girl anymore, the autumn she turned sixteen. From the time when she was fourteen she'd always had boyfriends, or at least potential boyfriends, and they usually were a year or two older than she was. The pattern had held through her university years, and her adult relationships. But inconveniently, after she and Robert had split up, her idea of an attractive man had come to rest around age 35. Older men so easily became ridiculous. While that man below in the courtyard, for example, with his dark hair and stylish suit, chatting to one of the students, looked pretty much ideal. And at least ten years her junior. She wasn't entirely surprised when the same man knocked on her office door a few minutes later.

'Are you Inspector Collins? Do come in. Can I get you anything to drink?'

He took the chair across from her desk. 'Thank you, Ms Dunstable. A coffee would be nice, if it's no trouble.'

'It's no trouble, but I make no claims as to its drinkability.'

When she returned with a cardboard cup from the machine in the corridor, he was looking curiously around her tiny workspace.

'Very tidy office you keep here. My own is always a mess.'

'I like to be organised.'

'But that's not quite the same thing, is it? I can usually find what I'm looking for.'

She liked him already. 'Maybe not. But you're not here to discuss the human tendency to impose order on chaos, are you, Inspector?'

'No, of course. I have all the documents relating to the case now, so I'm a little better informed than when you called on Friday. But I still would like you to tell me as if I wasn't. Tell the story as if it's all new to me, and don't worry about saying things that don't seem relevant. We don't know yet what is going to be important.'

Henrietta thought for a moment. 'Right. I'll start with Kester. He never really belonged. There was a whole gang of us, we all went to Abbey Hill school, though we were in different forms. We would go out in town on Saturdays, and we often saw each other during the week. The adults were divided between those who lived in the old village and came from there, and the ones from outside who had bought houses on the Wildflower Estate. There was still something in that divide when I was in my teens, although it was beginning to fade as more people moved about. But among the young people there was a different split. We would meet on the Green and they hung out in the schoolyard. And you know, I can't for the life of me think what the difference was. We all went to the same school, were of roughly the same class. But there you had it. Kester wasn't really part of our group, but I suppose we were the nearest he had to friends. A few of us went to confirmation classes with Reverend Harwood, and Kester attended those as well. He was an only child, lived with his mother. His father was dead.'

She collected her thoughts. 'That evening, the seventh, I was sitting on the church wall with Gail Thompson and Fiona Matthews, I think we were debating whether to go into town, or just go back to my house and watch telly. There were some boys hanging around, also not doing much, Phil Watkiss was revving around the Green with his moped. I'm not sure if Kester was with them or only joined later.' She stopped talking. 'Do I have to tell you exactly what happened? I made a statement back then, and you know what memory is like. For example, the night Kester disappeared was the day before my sixteenth birthday. But those events aren't linked in my mind at all. I remember Kester's disappearance happening after my birthday.'

Collins nodded. 'I suppose the investigation only got under way on the Monday, so the most you would have noticed on the Saturday was casual questions as to his whereabouts. I'm aware that what you recall now will not exactly match your statement back then. I'll be interested to see the difference. Do go on.'

She told her story just as she saw it happen in her mind, trying not to censor her thoughts. The inspector made notes and asked the occasional question. 'Thank you,' he said, when she finished at last, 'You must have wondered, later, if there was anything you could have done or said…'

'I did, but perhaps more prosaically than you imagine. I thought maybe he would have asked us for money, or if we knew a place to go. I simply assumed he had made up his mind to run away by then, and was just gathering the courage.'

'You believed Inspector Clarke's interpretation?' he asked.

'That sounds an unlikely thing to do when you put it like that. But it was certainly more comfortable to live with than the alternative. I do recall thinking it strange that Kester didn't contact his mother. He may not have been very good at other people's emotions, but he would have known to reassure his mother he was still alive. That was out of character. When the fuss died down and the police had gone, leaving us all with the questions, then I was inclined to agree with Mrs Johnson that Kester was dead. And I shouldn't make myself look better than the rest. Yes, I felt sorry, and I did wonder if there was anything I could have done to change things. But Kester was not a friend, I did not miss him, and after a while I forgot.'

The inspector had a nice line in looking sceptical. 'But you did not forget. When the body was found you remembered at once, and you acted at once. And from your account just now, you remember both vividly and accurately. I may need to ask you some more questions when I know what it is I am looking for. For now, I wonder if you could give me a list of people who knew Kester? Friends, classmates, family who lived nearby, anyone.'

Despite her impulse to help, she felt reluctant about this, as if she was about to betray her friends. 'But surely you have those already?'

'I prefer to approach this as an entirely new investigation, it's too easy to overlook things because you think they've already been done. And my colleagues back then must have overlooked something, else I wouldn't be interviewing you now.'

Names from the past poured through her mind. Michael, Phil, Fiona, Gail, Ian…

'I'll have to think about it. I mean, of course I'll do it, but I don't recall everyone off the top of my head. Is it all right if I email you the list?'

'Of course.' The inspector reeled off his email address. 'Thank you very much for your help. I will be in touch again, I'm only just starting, and there will be other things to ask.'

She watched from her office window as he walked away towards the parking lot, wondering if he knew the havoc his questions caused in people's minds. Or did other people shrug off such things more easily?

She had to shrug them off, though, because she heard one of her colleagues come in, and there were everyday matters to attend to.

'Miss Dacre, could you look at these papers for me? I'd like to have a second opinion. Or a third really.'

Miss Dacre looked at the titles. 'But these are the first-years' Social Psychology assignments, you know that's not really my area, Henrietta.'

'That doesn't matter. I would just like to know how you would grade them if you had to.'

Her colleague took the essays looking suspicious. Henrietta hesitated, but it really wasn't fair not to let Miss Dacre know what she was doing.

'I'd better explain. Melanie has already marked these papers, and returned them to the students. But I noticed there were some odd results. A low score for Eden Kingston, who is usually among the highest, and high scores for a few who are usually no more than middling. So I checked them myself, and I found that in those cases I did not agree with Melanie's assessment at all. That is why I would like to have your opinion.'

'I see. In that case I'd better have a read. I'll return these to you soon.'