‘You won’t go public on this?’ Juliet sounded alarmed. ‘That’s why I came to you. You’re family after all.’
Vera didn’t answer that directly, but still she spoke:
‘Lorna might have decided to go public. She was building a new life for herself. If she knew what Crispin intended, she might have put pressure on Harriet to comply with his wishes.’
Especially if she was in danger of losing her man. A payout from the Brockburn estate might have persuaded him to stay.
Vera thought she wouldn’t sink so low as to bribe a bloke to stay with her, but then she wasn’t sure she’d ever been in love. People in love, it seemed, had no pride.
‘How could Lorna have known?’ Juliet was sounding seriously scared now.
‘Perhaps your father told her,’ Vera said. ‘We know that Crispin paid the bills of the private hospital. And an elderly man visited her once. Perhaps that was him, wanting to make his peace. To tell her that she’d be cared for even after his death.’ There was a moment of silence. ‘You do know,’ Vera went on, ‘that we’ll have to ask Harriet about this.’
‘Oh, God, no! She’ll realize that I went into her room. Nobody else could have told you about the letter.’
‘You’d better warn her then. Tell her what you did. It’d be better coming from you.’ Vera couldn’t understand Juliet. Did she really think a police officer could keep this information quiet in the middle of a murder investigation? ‘I’ll give you until six this evening. I’ll be round at Brockburn then to speak to Harriet.’
‘But you’re family!’ This time it came out as a scream.
Another silence while the accusation hit home, then Vera spoke very quietly:
‘But I’m not really, am I, pet? Only when it suits you. And even if I were, I’ll always be a cop first.’ She stood up and held both empty mugs in one hand. Gloria appeared miraculously from the kitchen and took them. Juliet remained where she was and watched Vera stamp out into the street.
Vera walked. It was what she did when she needed to think. She walked and when she stopped walking, she ate. The cold snap seemed to be lasting. It was late morning now but there was still frost on the ground and ice on the river. She followed the path along the bank, passed the school on the slight rise in the land where Constance Browne had taught for her career. The playground was empty, but there was a light on in the classroom. Suddenly, there floated over the clear air the sound of children’s voices, singing a carol. ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’.
She was thinking that this valley, surrounded by hills on one side and the forest on the other, was its own complete world. There were rich people and the self-satisfied middle classes and the poor sods who did most of the work. Though Vera hadn’t met many of those: the cleaners, the care workers who wiped old people’s bums. The farmers – Neil Heslop and Robert Falstone – grafted, but they went home at night to a comfortable home. The domestic work at Brockburn was done by Dorothy Felling, who could hardly be described as downtrodden. Vera decided these musings were bonkers and would lead her nowhere.
Her thoughts turned to Juliet. The letter from Crispin only told them what they’d already suspected. It was good to have the confirmation, but it didn’t do much to move the investigation on. What really interested Vera was Juliet’s motivation. Why bring the letter to Vera’s attention? She can’t have been so stupid as to believe that Vera wouldn’t follow it up. She was still thinking that over when she came to the Falstones’ place. She was close to the fence Robert had been mending on her previous visit, but there was no sign of him now.
On impulse she took the track to the farm. Jill must have been at the kitchen window and had seen her coming, because the door was opened before Vera could knock. The woman stood there with the boy on her hip, looking better than when Vera had seen her before, less worn down and worn out.
‘Come away in.’ A smile.
Even since her visit on the previous day, the kitchen looked different. A colourful rug on the floor had replaced the brown mucky one, and a painting made from a child’s handprints was stuck on the fridge.
Jill saw Vera looking at it. ‘We’ve started going to the parent-and-toddler group in the village. I’m not the only gran going along with the bairns. It’s been a chance to meet up with old friends.’
‘Did Crispin promise that he’d look after Lorna? Even after he’d died.’
Now Jill looked wary. ‘He said we weren’t to worry.’
‘Were you surprised that there was nothing in his will?’
Jill gave a little laugh and shook her head. ‘Nah, the rich always look after their own. And we never really belonged to him. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted it.’
‘It might come in handy now, with little Thomas to care for.’
‘I suppose it might. But we can manage.’
Jill set the child down on the rug and offered coffee, but Vera shook her head. She hadn’t finished thinking. There was more walking to do.
She was tempted to make her way back to Kirkhill, to her car and then on to a pile of ham, eggs and chips in Gloria’s. Her legs were aching. She’d walked further during this investigation than she had for years, since long before Hector had died. When she’d been looking after him, there’d been no time for walking for pleasure. It was all work and then thankless grind at home. But her brain was firing on all cylinders now and she had the sense that if she went further, she might make the links that would bring her close to a solution.
In the distance, she could see the high wall that surrounded Brockburn. Before
