“You’re going to have to tell the police,” said Carole, “so you might as well have a dry run.”
Nathan saw the logic of that. “All right. Well, it’s embarrassing, but…” He took a deep breath. “Basically, it didn’t work. Nothing worked.”
Jude’s voice was mesmerizingly soft as she asked, “You mean the sex?”
He nodded, now looking very young and confused. “Maybe I was too nervous. There’d been such a long build-up and…I don’t know…I wanted it to be a really romantic moment.”
Hence the dozen red roses, thought Carole.
“But when I actually got there…you know, in the back room of the salon…I just lost it. In a strange place, afraid we’d be interrupted at any moment…I mean, at one stage it seemed to be going all right, but then I thought I heard someone coming in…”
“You mean coming into the salon?”
“Well, I thought I heard the back gate bang, and then like footsteps…”
“Are you sure?”
“No, I’m not sure. As I say, I was terribly nervous…and also I’d got through most of the vodka…and I was worried about what Kyra would think of me. Anyway, it didn’t work…you know, the sex,” he concluded lamely.
There was a silence before Jude asked if he and Kyra had quarrelled.
“No, not exactly. It was…just awkward. I felt kind of humiliated…She said it didn’t matter, but…I just had to get away. I feel dreadful about it now…after what happened, but I left her on her own.”
“What time was that?”
“I don’t know exactly. Half-past twelve…one o’clock…?”
“You didn’t see anyone outside?”
“What?”
“You said you’d heard the gate bang.”
“That was a lot earlier. And I could have imagined it. I don’t know.” He let out a little gasp. “I suppose, if there really was someone there, it could have been the murderer.”
Jude agreed that this was quite possible, then Carole asked, “Why didn’t Kyra go home?”
“Because she’d set up this big alibi with her dad. You know, she was supposed to be with some school friend for the night, so she couldn’t suddenly say she wasn’t. Also she’d been drinking, and if her old man had smelt that on her breath…” He didn’t need to complete the sentence.
“And what about you?” asked Carole. “Did you go straight home?”
Nathan shook his head, still traumatized by the images he had brought back to life. “No. I don’t know what I did really. I was pretty wasted, for a start. I’d drunk most of the bottle of vodka. And I felt terrible about, you know, what’d happened.” He let out a bark of pained laughter. “Or rather what hadn’t happened.”
“So where did you go?”
“I wandered along the beach. I don’t know how long I did that. Just walking back and forth, back and forth, thinking terrible thoughts. You know, I loved Kyra…” there was a naked appeal in his voice, “…but I couldn’t, you know…When it mattered, I couldn’t…”
“So when did you go home?”
“Not till the morning. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but at some point I fell asleep in the dunes…you know, about as far along Fethering Beach as you can go. I felt dreadful, but I’d slept through till after half-past ten. So I started back home.”
“I’m surprised no one saw you at that time of day,” Carole observed.
“I kept off the roads. I didn’t want to be seen. So I was on the beach and then up by the side of the Fether. There’s a way into our back garden from the tow-path. Anyway, by the time I got back to Marine Villas, Uncle Rowley was already there. Mummy had somehow heard about Kyra’s body being found…” Another triumph for the Fethering bush telegraph, thought Carole. “And Mummy had called Uncle Rowley and – ”
“What did your father do?”
“He did what he always did – waited for Uncle Rowley to come and make the decisions.” He said the words with resignation rather than contempt.
“Anyway, as soon as I saw him, Uncle Rowley said I was bound to be the police’s prime suspect because I’d been going out with Kyra and he soon got me to tell him that I had actually been to the salon to see her…”
“Did he ask you what had happened when you were there?”
“No, he’d already made his plans that I should lie low at Treboddick. As soon as I’d got my stuff together, we drove off.”
Carole and Jude exchanged looks. As alibis went, Nathan Locke’s was not of the greatest. Poor boy, he wasn’t going to have an easy time when they handed him over to the police. Neither of them believed that he had strangled Kyra Bartos, but the circumstantial evidence was against him. It had become even more imperative that they should find out who had really committed the murder.
Carole and Jude knew it would be late when they got back to West Sussex, but no one suggested breaking the journey, except for a brief stop and a taste-free Little Chef meal. Though none of the Lockes had any power to identify or stop the Renault on its way, the two women still wanted to get home as soon as possible. In both of their minds suspicions of Rowley were developing apace, though they knew they should not share such ideas with his nephew.
They outlined what they proposed to do, and Nathan was docile in his agreement to their plan. They would take him to the police station in Littlehampton, from which the investigation into Kyra Bartos’s murder was being coordinated.
Jude said he could use her mobile if he wanted to call his parents to tell them he was all right, but he declined the offer. Arnold and Eithne Locke had presumably heard by now from Mopsa about their son’s escape from the Wheal Chamber at Treboddick, and if he didn’t want to talk to them, then that was his decision. The only person who’d seemed genuinely worried about the boy was Bridget Locke, and Jude decided she’d give the woman a call first thing in the morning. For the rest of his family, the longer they stewed in their own juice the better.
Before he got out of the car in Littlehampton, they wished Nathan luck. He looked very young as they deposited him outside the police station. They watched him go inside and then drove on the few miles to Fethering. No need for them to get involved at this point. There was plenty for the detectives to ask Nathan Locke about without Carole or Jude’s names being mentioned. They thought he might need the luck they had wished him.
? Death under the Dryer ?
Thirty-One
When she got back to High Tor, Carole found a message on her answering machine. It was, predictably enough, from Rowley Locke.
Although by now the small hours of the morning, she immediately phoned Jude and they ended up opening a bottle of wine in the sitting room of Woodside Cottage.
“So what did Rowley say?” asked Jude as she poured Chardonnay into two glasses. “Is he furious?”
“I’m pretty sure he is, but the message is a bit tentative. You see, he’s only got Mopsa’s description to go by, so he’s not absolutely certain that we were Jenny and…” The name wouldn’t come.
“Cindy.”
“Yes,” said Carole with distaste. “So he’s not accusing me of anything. All he’s saying is that he’s had some news on the whereabouts of Nathan, and he’d like to tell me about it.”
“Did he sound relieved?”
“Yes, he did quite a good impression of the concerned uncle. He said that Arnold and Eithne were ecstatic to have news of the boy.”
“So he wants you to ring him?”
“Yes, ‘ring and fix to meet up’ was how he put it.”
Jude pursed her full lips. “Could be risky. I mean, I’m sure Rowley Locke has worked out that we were the two women who went to Treboddick…and if he is actually the murderer…”
“But do you think he is?”
“I’m not sure. It would explain why he wanted Nathan kept out of the way. So that the boy remained the
