was stained with splashed clay.
Finally, she drenched the wheel-head with water, sliced off the vase with a length of cheese-wire, then slid it carefully onto her hand before transferring it to a board.
“What now?” Banks asked.
“It has to dry.” She put it away in a large cupboard at the back of the room.
“Then it goes in the kiln.”
“I thought the kiln dried it.”
“No. That bakes it. First it has to be dried to the consistency of old cheddar.”
“These are good,” Banks said, pointing to some finished mugs glazed in shades of orange and brown.
“Thanks.” Mara’s eyes were puffy and slightly unfocussed, her movements slow and zombie-like. Even her voice, Banks noticed, was flatter than usual, drained of emotion and vitality.
“I have to ask you some questions,” he said.
“I suppose you do.”
“Do you mind?”
Mara shook her head. “Let’s get it over with.”
She perched at the edge of her stool and Banks sat on a 281
packing crate just inside the doorway. He could hear Elspeth humming as she busied herself checking on stock in the shop.
“Did you notice anyone gone for an unusually long time during the meeting yesterday afternoon?” Banks asked.
“Was it only yesterday? Lord, it seems like months. No, I didn’t notice. People came and went, but I don’t think anyone was gone for long. I’m not sure I would have noticed, though.”
“Did Seth ever say anything to you before about suicide? Did he ever mention the subject?”
Mara’s lips tightened and the blood seemed to drain from them. “No. Never.”
“He’d tried once before, you know.”
Mara raised her thin eyebrows. “It seems you knew him better than I did.”
“Nobody knew him, as far as I can tell. There was a will, Mara.”
“I know.”
“Do you remember when he made it?”
“Yes. He joked about it. Said it made him feel like an old man.”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all I remember.”
“Did he say why he was making it at that time?”
“No. He just told me that the solicitor who handled the house, Courtney, said he should, and he’d been thinking about it for a long time.”
“Do you know what was in the will?”
“Yes. He said he was leaving me the house. Does that make me a suspect?”
“Did you know about the codicil?”
“Codicil? No.”
“He left his tools and things to Paul.”
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he. Paul was keen, and I’ve got no use for them.”
“Did Paul know?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“This would be around last Christmas.”
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“Maybe it was his idea of a present.”
“But what made him think he was going to die? Seth was what age-forty? By all rights he could expect to live to seventy or so. Was he worried about anything?”
“Seth always seemed … well, not worried, but preoccupied. He’d got even more morbid of late. It was just his way.”
“But there was nothing in particular?”
Mara shook her head. “I don’t believe he killed himself, Mr Banks. He had lots to live for. He wouldn’t just leave us like that. Everyone depended on Seth. We looked up to him. And he cared about me, about us. I think somebody must have killed him.”
“Who?”
