The blue eyes looked at her bleakly. That question wasn’t going to get any kind of answer. Someone like Jiri Bartos did not have time for psychology; his only imperative was survival. Jude tried another tack. “Do you know Connie Rutherford…the one who runs the salon?”
“I meet. Pick up Krystina from work one day. Also she live near.”
“Near your house?”
“Yes. Two gardens meet at back, only fence between.”
Distantly this rang a bell with something she had heard from Carole. “And did Krystina like Connie?”
“I think. Krystina happy in job.”
“But she wasn’t happy in her previous job?”
Puzzlement etched new lines in his craggy brow. “Not happy? This I not know.”
“She worked at Martin & Martina in Worthing. But not for long. Then she went to Connie’s Clip Joint. Why?”
“Better job, she tell me.”
“No other reason?”
He shook his massive head.
“Did she say whether she got on with her boss at the Worthing salon? His name was Martin.”
“I know who you mean, yes. I’ve seen him around. Krystina say she like him very much.”
It made sense. If her father was so protective, Kyra wouldn’t have told him about Martin Rutherford coming on to her. It could have made for rather an ugly confrontation.
Jude sighed and went back to the most basic of questions. “Can you think of any reason why someone would want to kill your daughter?”
“If not boy, no.”
“I’m absolutely certain it wasn’t Nathan.”
He shrugged. Tell me why, he seemed to be saying, you still haven’t convinced me.
“Look, you disapproved of their relationship, Nathan and K – Krystina.”
“Yes, I disapprove. That not mean I kill my own daughter.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. But can you think of anyone else who might have disapproved of their relationship?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know boy at all. Maybe he have other girlfriend not happy.”
“From what I can find out, Krystina was his first girlfriend.”
“Then I not know. Unless his parents disapprove of my daughter.”
“Did you ever meet his parents?”
“Of course, no. I only meet boy once. But his parents…maybe rich. Maybe think they important family. Maybe not think daughter of Czech electrician good enough for boy.” He looked at her, challenging, almost amused through his pain. “Maybe they kill her…?”
It’s a possibility, thought Jude, that I certainly haven’t ruled out.
? Death under the Dryer ?
Thirty-Four
Rowiey Locke had been just as shocked as Carole by the sudden change in his brother’s manner. “Arnold, what are you saying?”
“I am saying that that girl Kyra was not worthy of Nathan. We can’t allow anyone into the Locke family who thinks that the Wheal Quest is funny. That girl would only have been a disruptive influence.”
Rowley now looked positively worried. “I agree, it’s a family thing, and it should be kept within the family.” And then he said something so out of keeping with his usual attitude that it showed the extent of his anxiety. “But we shouldn’t take it too seriously. The Wheal Quest is only a game.”
“No, it’s more than that! It’s a philosophy, it’s a life system!” The sudden vehemence with which Arnold spoke drew disturbed glances from people at adjacent tables. The serenity of Fethering Beach on a September afternoon was rarely broken by shouting.
But if the geriatric onlookers had been shocked by Arnold’s outburst, they were about to get more free entertainment. Before he could say more, the group at Carole’s table was joined by a fast-striding Bridget Locke, with an embarrassed Eithne in her wake.
“Rowley! What the hell have you been doing?”
He quailed visibly under his wife’s onslaught and asked feebly, “What are you talking about?”
“You know bloody well what I’m talking about! What you did to Nathan.”
“I did it for his own good. I was trying to protect him.”
“Rowley, that is so much crap! I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me what you’d done. I’ve spent the past three weeks worried sick about the boy, when you could have put my mind at rest at any moment by telling me where Nathan was.”
“But I thought if you knew, you’d have told the police.”
“Too bloody right I would.”
“Bridget, if the police had got hold of him, God knows what would have happened. Our fine boys in blue are not – ”
“Oh, shut up, Rowley! You sound like a record whose needle’s stuck. I’ve had enough of your right-on Guardian-reading claptrap to last me a lifetime!” (Carole was rather enjoying this conversation. What a very sensible woman Bridget Locke was. She thought exactly like Carole did.) “You weren’t thinking about Nathan at all! I wonder if you’ve ever thought about anyone else apart from yourself, except to see if you can make an anagram out of their name. As ever, with Nathan in trouble, your first thought was about you. A Locke family crisis? Someone’s got to take control here. And, because the rest of the family are so bloody pusillanimous, it had to be you, didn’t it? He’s only your nephew, not your son, but it’s still got to be you who comes to the rescue. Don’t worry, Rowley can sort everything out! Here comes the hero, galloping up on his white charger.”
“And then what did you do? What was your solution to the crisis? You made it all part of a game. Yes, the bloody Wheal Quest. And you took advantage of your vulnerable daughter Mopsa and made her play along with your stupid, sub-Tolkien fantasy. And you never for one moment thought of what you might be doing to Nathan!”
Bridget Locke paused for breath. Her geriatric audience settled in their seats, and took another sip of tea in anticipation of Act Two.
“How do you know all this?” Rowley managed to ask.
“I know because the police rang the house to tell me that they were questioning Nathan. Because he’s a juvenile, they wanted a family member there.” She turned the beam of her displeasure on the shrinking Eithne. “And apparently I was the one who he wanted to be there with him.”
“But surely you should be at work?”
“Yes, Rowley, it’s a Friday. I should be at work. But some things are more important than work. Listen, that call I had from the police was the first I knew that the poor boy was still alive. So, since I couldn’t get hold of you anywhere, after I’d been to the police station to see Nathan, I went straight round to Eithne’s, and made her tell me what the hell had been going on.”
Arnold’s wife appealed apologetically to the two brothers. “I’m sorry. You know what she’s like when she gets forceful.” She still looked to Carole like Mrs Bun the Baker’s Wife, but the game was no longer Happy Families.
“Anyway,” Bridget steamed on, “the police are extremely interested in talking to you, Rowley. I’m sure they won’t have any problem finding you, but you might make things easier by turning yourself in.”
“What do you mean, ‘turning myself in’?” he asked petulantly. “I haven’t committed any crime.”
“No? I think the police could probably think of a few. ‘Perverting the Course of Justice’…? I don’t know the proper terms, but I’m sure there’s one called ‘Abduction of a Juvenile’. And there’s certainly ‘Unlawful Imprisonment’.”
“For heaven’s sake, Bridget! These weren’t crimes. They were all in the family.”
“God, Rowley, that sums you up, doesn’t it? “All in the family.” Everything’s all right so long as it’s kept within the magic circle of the Lockes. That’s always been your escape. When you fail publicly, when you lose a job…never
