Vera was on the phone again. She dialled the number Holly had given her for Constance Browne. The snow had piled onto the outside window ledge, but the top panes were clear and she could see headlights; the tractor must be on its way.
At the other end of the line a voice gave the number Vera had dialled. An older voice, a little prim but firm, confident, with the hint of a question when she added, ‘Hello.’
‘Is that Constance Browne?’
‘Who’s calling?’
‘Vera Stanhope. Northumbria Police.’
A moment’s pause. ‘Yes, this is Miss Browne.’ Another pause. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘It’s about your car, Miss Browne. It was found abandoned near Brockburn. It had come off the road.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Has it been stolen?’ Vera wished she was in the same room as the woman. She always found it hard to judge a person’s reaction on the phone. ‘Or have you lent it to someone?’
There was no reply and Vera continued. ‘There was a child in the car. A little boy. A toddler. He’s quite well. I have him with me now in the big house at Brockburn. But I’m anxious about the safety of the driver, who seems to have left the car to get help. There was no phone signal out there, you see.’
There was another pause and then Constance Browne spoke. ‘I let Lorna use my car sometimes. Lorna Falstone. She assured me she was insured to drive it.’ This seemed to trouble the woman. ‘I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have checked.’
‘You’re not in any trouble, Miss Browne, and neither is Lorna. We’re just anxious about her. Does she have a baby?’
‘Yes. Thomas. A lovely little thing. But Lorna didn’t ask to borrow the car today and she would never take it without my permission.’
‘Is there some way you can check if your car is there, Miss Browne?’ Vera was starting to lose patience. Her colleague Joe Ashworth was much better with witnesses like this.
‘Just a moment.’ The woman returned almost immediately. ‘I’ve just looked out of the window. You’re right, Inspector. The car isn’t where I parked it.’
‘Who is Lorna?’
‘She’s a neighbour. Her parents are farmers. I taught her in the village first school here and I’ve known the family for years.’
‘Is there a husband? A partner? Someone we should contact about Thomas?’
The question was followed by a silence that stretched so long that Vera wondered if Constance Browne had hung up.
Eventually she spoke. ‘Lorna has been very unfortunate in her choice of men, Inspector. She’s a very gentle soul.’
‘Could you give me a name of her most recent partner? An address?’ Vera wondered if, after all, somebody else had been in the car with Lorna. This might turn out to be more than an unfortunate accident. She still couldn’t believe that a caring mother would leave her child with the vehicle door wide open to let in the cold.
It seemed that this question was too direct for the woman on the other end of the line. ‘This is very difficult over the telephone. But no, I’m afraid I can’t give you any contact details for her child’s father.’
‘What are the roads like there?’ Vera said. ‘If it’s possible to drive I could ask one of my officers to talk to you in person.’
‘Oh, no! That wouldn’t be sensible at all. We’ve all been advised to stay indoors.’
‘If Lorna was in trouble,’ Vera asked, ‘is there anyone she might go to? Her parents? Could she have been making her way to them?’
Another moment of silence, but now Constance seemed to have appreciated the need for frankness. ‘Really, I don’t think so, Inspector. They had very little in common. Robert Falstone is a rather unforgiving man and it seems his wife hasn’t the courage to stand up for herself. I like to think that if Lorna was in trouble, she would have come to me.’
‘She didn’t, though. Not today.’
‘But I was out all afternoon! The old folks’ lunch club was holding their Christmas tea in the church hall. I’m on the committee and of course I was there to help out. Perhaps she did try to come and I wasn’t there for her.’ Now, Constance sounded distraught.
Vera’s attention was caught by the tractor headlights, right outside the window. She expected the girls in black to run out to their father and disappear into the night, but before they could move, the door opened and a man in overalls and a heavy jacket came in. He banged his boots on the floor and took off a balaclava so Vera could see his face. It was red with cold. He filled the room with the outside chill, so the warmth from the range and the girls’ cheerful chatter seemed overwhelmed by it. The conversation fizzled out like hot coals doused with water. They looked at him as if he was a stranger. Usually, she could see, he didn’t behave like this. He stared at Vera. ‘I need to use that phone.’
‘Sorry, pet. This is important.’
‘There’s a woman out there. A dead woman. I doubt what you have to say is more important than that. The police need to know.’
Vera returned her attention to the woman on the other end of the line. ‘Constance? Sorry about this. I’ll have to get back to you.’ She ended the call. Then she turned to the man. ‘I am the police.’ She saw his incredulity, allowed herself to enjoy it just for a moment, then introduced herself properly.
Vera pulled on her coat and followed him out into the night. He’d parked the tractor so the headlights shone out into the garden. This was a competent man who thought things through. A practical man, not given to shock, though she could tell this had shaken him. ‘I wouldn’t have seen her if I hadn’t nearly driven over her. She was almost covered in snow. But the wind must have blown some of it away, because I could see her face.’
They were at the back of the house. Vera wouldn’t have
