along with her.’
‘And then there was an encounter with Mr Elder away from the pub, I understand?’
‘Yes. Well, I used to see him many times away from the pub. But there was one specific occasion I recalled for the officers in Rakedale. Elder actually came here, to the house, once. Fortunately, no one else was home at the time, except for me. I often work from home, you see. That day, I couldn’t believe it when I saw Jack Elder park his lorry in my gateway and come up to the house. I was ready for an unpleasant scene, I can tell you.’
‘And what happened?’
‘Well, I answered the door, and he stood there, grinning at me through that awful beard. At first, I couldn’t understand what he wanted. But eventually it became clear that he was trying to sell me cheap fuel. He kept pointing at my car and saying, “Look, mate, it’s diesel, in’t it?”, or something like that. He got very aggressive after a while, and started making comments about Jo. Obviously, I shut the door and he went away again. I’m ashamed to say I was a bit shaken by the incident.’
‘But you didn’t report it?’
‘No. Well, it would only cause more trouble in the village. I’m thinking about the welfare of Jo and the children.’
‘So what made you change your mind now?’
‘The murders,’ said Brindley. ‘That’s what they are, aren’t they? The two bodies at Pity Wood Farm? If Jack Elder is connected in any way to those, I couldn’t possibly keep quiet any longer.’
‘But what makes you think he might be connected?’
Brindley leaned forward. ‘I said I’d seen him many times away from the pub. Perhaps I didn’t make it clear that the place I used to see him most often was coming and going from Pity Wood Farm with his lorry.’
Fry made a note in her notebook, listening to the quietness in the house.
‘Is your wife not at home, sir?’
‘No,’ said Brindley, relaxing again. ‘She’s at extra rehearsals in Edendale today. Some panic over a few changes to the dance routines for the chorus.’
‘A Christmas production of some kind?’ asked Fry, recalling that theatres came into the Brindleys’ lifestyle, along with restaurants and shopping.
‘Yes. I can tell you where she’s rehearsing, if you want to speak to her. I must warn you, she might be a bit distracted, though. She really gets into character, you know.’
Brindley laughed, showing a perfect set of teeth. Fry smiled politely, but she didn’t get the joke. Well, not until later.
While Fry was on the way back to Edendale, Murfin rang her mobile with a message. He sounded muffled, as though he’d started eating mince pies early. Fry fully expected to find the office carpet scattered with crumbs next time she went in.
‘Diane, there was a call for Ben Cooper,’ he said. ‘But he isn’t here, so I thought you ought to know about it.’
‘What, Gavin?’
‘The Garda Siochana have traced Martin Rourke.’
‘The Garda? So he’s back in Ireland then, just as Farnham thought he might be.’
‘Yes, he’s back on his home patch in Dublin. Running a souvenir business, apparently. Seems he’s given up manual labour and gone into the tourist industry.’
‘It’s where the money tends to be these days,’ said Fry. ‘It’s true here, and I’m sure it’s true in Ireland.’
As he was leaving The Oaks, Cooper found a small, elderly lady standing in the doorway of the dining room, supporting herself on a walking stick. She smiled at him as he passed.
‘Had a nice visit?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘You came to see Raymond.’
‘That’s right.’
Cooper was about to move away when he heard a voice in the back of his mind saying: ‘Talk to the old lady.’ And he stopped, and smiled.
‘I’m Mrs Greatorex,’ she said. ‘Annie Greatorex.’
‘Hello, Mrs Greatorex. Nice to meet you.’
‘He’s gone a bit ga-ga, hasn’t he? Raymond?’
‘Well …’
‘It’s no surprise. His brother went the same way. Well, not the same way — a bit different, I suppose. The result is the same. The place we all end up.’
She winked at Cooper and edged a bit closer, scraping the rubber end of her stick on the carpet. When she was near enough, she touched his sleeve. He noticed a faintly mischievous gleam in her eye, behind the harmless smile.
Diane Fry would have told him that he had work to do back at the office, and not to waste his time with batty old women just because he felt sorry for them. But there was something more than that about Mrs Greatorex. The glitter in her eye suggested that she wasn’t really batty at all. And old ladies … well, old ladies knew things that other people didn’t.
‘I lived near the Suttons before I came in here, you know,’ she said.
‘Did you? At Rakedale?’
‘One of the cottages on Main Street is mine. The one with the green door.’
‘I think I know it.’
Cooper decided not to tell her that the cottage was standing empty and the paintwork of the door could barely be called green any more. He guessed she hadn’t been home for a long time.
‘I know them all in that village. Have you met the family at the pub, the Dains?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Ada Dain is a friend of mine.’
‘It’s the Suttons I’m really interested in,’ said Cooper. ‘The Suttons of Pity Wood Farm.’
‘Pity Wood. Oh, aye.’
The old lady glanced to one side and clutched his arm a bit more tightly. ‘I could tell you a few things about the Suttons,’ she said.
‘Could you?’ said Cooper. ‘Could you really? Shall we have a sit down in the sun lounge for a moment?’
23
Fry hadn’t been in a theatre for a long time. She thought it had probably been the Birmingham Rep, and it was a smart new theatre then, all glass and white walls. Nothing like the Royal Theatre, Edendale. This place looked as though it had hardly been designed to accommodate the public at all. The access was via narrow corridors, and flight after flight of shallow, plush-covered steps.
She found Jo Brindley in a makeshift dressing room, waiting for her call to go on stage for a rehearsal. There were four or five other women there, but they left when Fry arrived and stood outside in the corridor, chattering.
‘We thought we had it all off perfectly, but the director and choreographer decided to make some changes after the first couple of nights,’ said Mrs Brindley. ‘It’s putting all the girls into a bit of a tizz. They’ll be nervous when we go on again. Sometimes it’s better just to leave things alone, don’t you think?’
‘I couldn’t really comment,’ said Fry, staring at the woman’s outfit and make-up. ‘So you’re a dancer, rather than an actress?’
‘Well, a bit of everything. The little group of us are a sort of comic turn, you see. We don’t dance exactly, but we do things together, so we have to be choreographed.’
‘I see. I came to ask you about the information you and your husband gave to the mobile police unit in Rakedale. About a Mr Jack Elder.’
‘Yes, Alex phoned to say that you’d called at the house. I don’t know what I can tell you that you don’t
