Particularly for someone who’s never really engaged with the real world.”
“That’s a very unfair description of him.”
“No, it’s not. It’s accurate. So there’s Nathan, facing the conflicting pressures of love and lust and the girl’s demands and his parents’ disapproval and – ”
“Now that’s unfair, Bridget. Arnold and Eithne are the most tolerant parents in the world. They wouldn’t mind Nathan bringing a girl home and going to bed with her. They didn’t mind when Diggo had – ”
“No, they wouldn’t disapprove of Nathan having sex, but they would disapprove of the girl he was having sex with.”
“They never really met Kyra.”
“I’m not talking about Kyra. They’d disapprove of anyone who Nathan fancied. No girl would be good enough for the Lockes.”
“Now you’re just being silly.”
“No, I’m…” But she didn’t continue. It was an old argument, not worth reviving in the presence of a stranger. “All I’m saying is that we should at least entertain the possibility that Nathan might have…harmed himself.” As her husband snorted disagreement, Bridget Locke chose her next words very carefully. “Particularly if he was actually responsible for the girl’s death.”
Rowley was appalled. “You can’t say that! You’re talking about your nephew. You can’t say he’s a murderer.”
“Until it has been proved otherwise, you must at least acknowledge why the police see him as a major suspect.”
“No. The police have got it wrong,” he insisted, before appealing to Carole. “Come on, you’ve got something new to tell us. You said on the phone there was someone else who had a motive to kill Kyra Bartos.”
Carole quickly recapped what Jude had heard from Connie Rutherford about her ex-husband. Rowley Locke seized on the information avidly. “Well, there you are, you see! This Martin Rutherford, he wanted to stop Kyra Bartos shopping him about the sexual harassment. He must have killed her. It was nothing to do with Nathan.”
Bridget looked at Carole. “Do the police know about this? Did Connie tell them?”
“I didn’t actually ask her, but I think we can safely assume she did.”
“Hmm.”
“If we don’t know for certain that they have been told, then we must see to it that they are,” Rowley announced.
“How?” asked his wife.
“I’ll tell them.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“No,” Carole agreed. “Going round scattering murder accusations at people can get you into serious trouble.”
“I’m not suggesting that I’ll tell the police in person. I’ll just see that they get the information.”
“What will it be, Rowley? An anonymous letter? A call from a phone box with you holding a handkerchief over the receiver?”
Rowley Locke didn’t enjoy his wife sending him up like this. With a rather petulant cry of “I’ve got to sort out some stuff,” he left the room, and Carole heard his footsteps stomping upstairs.
“I’m sorry.” Bridget Locke sighed. “He can be very childish at times.”
“I’m sure you’re all under a lot of stress at the moment.”
She nodded agreement, as Carole went on, “You really think Nathan might have killed the girl?”
“Without further information, what else is there to think?”
“And that he might have killed himself too?”
Bridget Locke sighed. “Again, there is a logic to the idea. He’s certainly disappeared off the face of the earth. If he had somehow killed the girl, I hate to think of the kind of state he’d have been in.”
“But you think he’d be capable of killing himself?”
“Yes. I’ve got to know Nathan quite well. He has dark moods, and sixteen isn’t the easiest age for a boy. He could have done it…done both perhaps, I mean. The murder and the suicide.” Carole had a mental image of the photograph she’d seen at his parents’ house, of the brooding figure amongst all the extrovert children on the boat.
She nodded, then said, “You’re not Rowley’s first wife, are you?”
“No. Sorry. Should have made that clear. His first wife, who was called Joan…went off with someone.”
“So the girls…?”
“Are hers. All of them. Not that she’s ever in touch. Rowley used to teach at a local girls’ school. I met him when I got a job there.”
“But I gather he’s no longer teaching…?”
“No.” Bridget Locke chose her words with delicacy. “Rowley’s always had a problem with authority. He’s one of those teachers who’d rather make a lasting impression on his students than guide them through the required curriculum.” Her mouth set in a rueful expression. “Just coming up for our tenth wedding anniversary.” She looked pleadingly at Carole. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t often behave like he did this morning. There’s much more to him than he sometimes shows to strangers.”
There would need to be, thought Garole.
“Do you think he will go to the police about what I told him? Because I’m not sure that that would be wise.”
“I’ll see to it that he doesn’t.” Bridget Locke spoke with assurance. Her husband might never encounter any opposition from the other members of the family, but when necessary his wife could stand up to him. “The way he’s behaving at the moment is because he’s really worried about Nathan. It’s his way of showing it. Quite exhausting though.” Bridget Locke wrinkled up her nose in wry amusement. “Being part of the Locke Family Roadshow can sometimes be very wearing.”
? Death under the Dryer ?
Ten
Jude had been lucky to get an appointment at the Worthing Martin & Martina. When she rang the day before they’d just had a cancellation. Saturday was the busiest day of the week in any provincial hairdresser’s, and Jude seemed to be in the town’s most popular one. The decor was in marked contrast to that of Connie’s Clip Joint. Everything looked gleaming new. There was a lot of black glass with trim in brushed aluminium. And the silver ‘Martin & Martina’ logo was omnipresent. Looking round the salon, Jude saw a scene of almost manic activity. With all the chairs full, twelve stylists were snipping away, while clients sat under dryers or sipped coffee in the waiting area. There was a buzz about the place, an air of deliberately orchestrated chaos.
Jude introduced herself to the woman at the reception desk and was told that her stylist Kelly-Jane was just finishing with another client and would be ready for her very soon. Would she like a cup of coffee? Jude accepted and took the only free seat in the waiting area, which was adjacent to the reception desk. The woman sent off a junior to get the coffee. She didn’t do menial tasks like coffee-making. There was an air of authority about her, and the speed at which the junior moved showed that it didn’t do to cross her.
The woman was so smartly dressed and made up that she looked as though she’d just been taken out of her packaging. A slate-grey business suit with a froth of white blouse at the neck. Light brown hair cut immaculately short (maybe similar to the style Connie had had in mind for Jude). Blue eyes above Slavic cheekbones, and full red lips. But the eyes were cold, and the line of the mouth was hard.
Jude flashed a grin at her, and was rewarded by a professional smile in return. “I am Martina,” the woman said. Her English was immaculate, but still flavoured with an accent from somewhere in central Europe.
“Martina of Martin & Martina?”
“Yes, Martina Rutherford. My husband and I run the chain.”
“Congratulations. It seems to be doing very well.”
“Yes, we have put a lot of work into the business and I am glad to say it is now paying off. We are opening a new salon in Folkestone soon.”
