‘I’m not supposed to let anyone in this way,’ the PC said, sounding as bored and mutinous as she looked.
‘I’m with ReMIT,’ Paula said. ‘Not the Daily Mirror. I’m here to conduct an interview, that’s all. I’m trying to avoid the circus out front.’ She grinned. ‘I have a bribe.’ She proffered the cup. ‘Mocha. Nice and hot.’
At once, the PC thawed. She took the cup and stepped aside. ‘Be my guest, Inspector.’ Then she frowned. ‘You OK on your own? He’s a big bloke.’
Paula hesitated for a moment. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She patted her pocket. ‘I’ve got my Airwave handy if he turns out to be a bit of a handful. Plenty of support at hand.’
The gate gave on to a short rutted track through the tall hedge that lined the grounds then opened out into a neat back garden with a fruit cage along one border and a substantial shed opposite. The cottage itself was squat and unprepossessing but well-maintained. Paula walked down the gravel path and knocked on the back door. She heard footsteps approaching. Boots on flagstones, by the sound of it.
The man who opened the door looked like he’d have no trouble toting bodies around the parkland. He was stocky, muscle rather than fat revealed by a snug Bradfield Vics replica top. His thick dark hair, clean and glossy, showed the remains of a decent haircut. A couple of days’ stubble blurred his strong jaw and heavy brows formed a ledge above his broad face. He frowned. ‘Are you another cop?’
Paula flashed her ID. ‘Detective Inspector McIntyre,’ she said. ‘Can I come in?’
‘I’ve already spoken to two of you. How many more times do I have to go over the same ground?’ He spoke mildly, without aggression, his Bradfield accent obvious.
‘Not quite the same ground,’ Paula said. ‘The more we dig up, the more we need to ask you about.’
Wariness crept over his face. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Why don’t I come inside and we can talk out of the rain?’
He gave a quick, sly grin. ‘I’m not in the rain.’
‘If I’d been digging graves for little girls, I’d be going out of my way to be nice to police officers.’ Paula smiled.
‘Look, I already told you people. I’ve no idea what went on inside the convent. I did what the Reverend Mother told me to do. Mow the lawns. Grow the vegetables. Drains and gutters. And when one of the girls died, make sure they had a proper grave. I’ve got nothing else to say.’ He folded his arms across his chest.
‘You’ve not been out this afternoon, then?’
‘No. Because I can’t get any work done with you people crawling all over the grounds. Why? What am I supposed to have done?’ Now he looked defiant. It was, Paula knew, the ugly twin of fear. Something she could capitalise on.
‘Are you going to let me in? Or are we going to have to have this conversation at a police station?’ She leaned in. ‘What’s it to be, Jezza? Because you can bet your last pay cheque I’ll be driving past the press posse if I’ve got you in the back of a police car.’
He shook his head, blowing air into his cheeks in an unconvincing display of exasperation. ‘Come in, then. I’ve got nothing to hide. There’s no cause to drag me down the nick.’
She followed him into a stone-flagged kitchen, neat and clean. The dish drainer held a bowl and plate, a kitchen knife, spoon and fork in the cutlery section. Four chairs were tucked under a spotless pine table; the kettle and toaster gleamed on the work surface. On the stove, a battered pressure cooker squatted, out of place in the overly tidy room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, big hands clasped on the table in front of him.
Paula chose a chair at right angles to him. If she wasn’t happy with his responses there would be plenty of opportunity for the head-on confrontational position. For now, she wanted to get a sense of what was going on behind Martinu’s front. Because it was a front, she was sure of that. Not for the first time, she wished Tony was part of the team. She was good at interviews, but it was always helpful to have somebody else involved who had a different style. ‘We’ve found the other bodies,’ she said.
He frowned. ‘What other bodies?’
Paula chuckled. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that, Jezza, You know what other bodies. You’re the man who digs the graves round here.’
‘You mean the ones in the cemetery? The nuns?’ Eyes innocent, the way every amateur had learned from bad Hollywood movies.
Paula shook her head. ‘The time for playing dumb is over. What you missed this afternoon is the cadaver dog earning its keep. You know what a cadaver dog is? It’s a specially trained dog that can nose out dead bodies. Even when they’ve been buried for a long time. Even when they’ve been buried good and deep. I’m not talking about the cemetery, Jezza, I’m talking about the bodies at the bottom of your raised beds. Oh, and the couple of other ones underneath your vegetable patch.’
His eyes glazed over. He stared straight ahead, unblinking. Then a flurry of fast eye movements, flicking from side to side and his eyelids fluttered like the wings of a moth. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’ It sounded as if he couldn’t even convince himself.
‘You’re the gravedigger around here, Jezza. Do you seriously expect me to believe there were two of you at it? And that the other one just happened to choose burial sites under the very places you were growing your vegetables? I bet you win first prize at the village show every year, with all that fertiliser
