‘Are they catching that fish?’ asked Humph. ‘We could have had chips in town by now.’
Woodruffe brought the food on a tray and set it out, then retreated without a word only to return a minute later with the pottery mug. He sat, placing a large packet of chewing gum on the table, which he began to rotate in 45- degree instalments.
‘Bar staff are on now – it’s eight. I can talk, for a bit.’
Dryden pushed a plate of chips towards him, noticing the sheen of sweat on his forehead even in the cool night air. He wondered what had changed his mind. ‘Help yourself,’ said Dryden.
Woodruffe shook his head. ‘Off me food.’
‘Big party in?’
Woodruffe’s shoulders sagged. ‘Every Tuesday. We do a cut-price meal for OAPs; it’s all linked to the heart unit at the West Suffolk. I did their Christmas bar last year, girls came too. They looked after Mum – the West Suffolk – did a great job so it’s the least we can do.’
A hand strayed across the table and rearranged the ketchup and salt.
Dryden nodded, thinking about the woman in the picture in the bar. Looking round he saw that a couple of children were still playing on a climbing frame set back from the riverbank.
‘Your kids?’
‘No. No.’ He flipped the gum packet and took some and Dryden guessed he was trying not to think of a cigarette, the moment when the nicotine hits the nervous system a second after the first deep breath.
‘Sorry,’ said Dryden, knowing he was about to push his luck, delving into someone else’s past. ‘I thought you were married – there was a woman with you on that last morning, outside the inn, and we found kids’ stuff in the cellar.’
‘You were there? What – back in 1990?’
Dryden nodded. ‘Like I said, it was one of my first decent assignments so I’m not likely to forget.’
Woodruffe watched a pleasure boat slip past, the portholes lit. ‘Jill Palmer – we weren’t married. A lot of things didn’t survive the move, you know – that was one of them. She went north – Lincoln, I think. A new life. Haven’t seen her since we left.’
One of the waitresses came out with a ham sandwich and salad and put it in front of Woodruffe. He watched her leave and then tossed the lettuce into the reeds, biting without enthusiasm into the white processed bread.
‘I didn’t ask for this. They think I need mothering,’ he said. Then, almost without a beat, he went on, ‘So you were there when they found him. Anything else… ? The police don’t seem to know what it was all about… this bloke’s skeleton just hanging there all those years. I mean, that’s fucking weird.’
The children sniggered at the language. Woodruffe dropped his head, sipping from the mug. The scent of the whisky hung about them now in the evening air and Humph sniffed loudly.
‘I think it’s all in the paper,’ said Dryden, nodding at the rolled-up copy. ‘All that they know.’
Woodruffe unfurled the
‘So the police have been round?’ Dryden asked.
‘Could say that. Two hours this morning. I had to go in this afternoon, all the way to soddin’ Lynn. I’ve got a business to run.’
‘You can see why they’re worried,’ said Dryden carefully. ‘He was hanging in your cellar. A cellar you hadn’t registered with the army. I’ve seen the questionnaire – nothing’s listed. It’s your mother’s signature, right? But I guess they think you would have checked the place out. What are they supposed to think?’
Woodruffe nodded. ‘I don’t want this in the paper,’ he said.
Dryden held his hands up as if that constituted a promise, wondering again why Woodruffe had agreed to talk, what was in it for him.
‘We never used that cellar, it floods in winter. I told ’em. When the form came round there was loads to do – it just slipped by. I’ve told ’em I’m sorry. And then they didn’t find it after anyway, did they? When they did a survey. It’s not all my fault.’
Dryden let the answer peter out. ‘So, who do you think he is, our Skeleton Man?’
Woodruffe pushed the gum packet away, turning the now-empty sandwich plate with his other hand.
‘God knows,’ he said, and Dryden found he wanted to believe him. But the landlord’s hand shook slightly as he sketched a line on the rough wooden tabletop.
‘But it was your cellar. There was stuff down there. You must have used it.’
‘Must I?’ Dryden saw a flash of anger in the eyes and watched as the muscles on Woodruffe’s arm bunched, adrenaline pumping round his blood system.
He pushed himself back from the table, creating more distance again between them.
He ripped open a piece of chewing gum and his jaw began to work at it manically. ‘Like I said, it flooded most winters. We used the bottle store above, but the cellar was useless. Everyone knew it was there – back in the eighties they tried running a folk club in it in the summer. Some kids formed a group and hired it for practice. It was no secret. There was no key, and you didn’t need to be the Pink Panther to get into the bottle store upstairs. Mum had put some things down there from when I was a kid because she didn’t want to chuck them, but that was it. That and some old bottles.’
‘Why d’you think the army never found it then?’
Woodruffe stretched his arms above his head, the joints clicking.
