‘Well, he might have written that letter,’ Charlie said, ‘and he might have believed that he was the lass’s dad. Or hoped that he was, maybe, if he’d fallen for her mother. But the DNA’s just come through and he was no relation.’
Vera looked deflated. Physically smaller, like a balloon with a pin stuck in the side. Holly enjoyed the moment, then couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
‘Well,’ Vera said at last. ‘That’ll teach me to make assumptions. All that gossip – folk saying how Juliet and Lorna looked alike. Jumping to their own conclusions. Just because it made a good story, but ruining the lass’s life. Nearly killing her with the anorexia. And ruining the lives of her parents, tearing them apart.’
There was silence in the room. Everyone knew better than to speak.
‘I’ll call on the Falstones on the way home.’ Vera was talking to herself. ‘Let them know. After all these years . . .’
Joe stood up. He was the only one who could move her on when she was in this mood. ‘Does it make any difference to the investigation? If everyone thought she was Crispin’s daughter, the motive’s still the same.’
‘Maybe.’ Vera was still lost in thought.
‘I spoke to the vicar and her husband.’ Joe could be persistent when it was needed. Holly thought he knew Vera better than anyone else in the world. If he left the team, the boss would be lost. Maybe that was the only thing that would persuade her to retire. ‘Connie was at church the day before she went missing. So was the family from the big house. She didn’t speak to the vicar, but she did talk to Doug, the husband. He said something was troubling her and she asked if she could have a chat with them. He invited her to lunch on the Monday but of course she didn’t turn up.’
He’d managed to pull Vera’s attention back into the room. ‘Did Connie talk to the Brockburn lot at church?’
Joe shook his head. ‘Doug doesn’t think so. The family rushed away almost as soon as the service was over.’
‘So, what did Connie know?’ Vera looked around at them all. ‘What was the secret that killed her?’
Holly waited long enough to allow that particular question to remain unanswered before standing up to speak.
‘Yes, Hol? What have you got for us?’
‘I spent some time in Kirkhill, chatting to the residents about Constance Browne. One elderly guy saw a car outside her house on the morning she disappeared. He thought someone either went in or out of the house and then the car drove away.’
‘A credible witness?’
Holly thought of Matty Fuller. ‘Oh, definitely. A bit deaf but sharp as a tack.’
‘He’d have noticed if she’d been screaming and struggling?’
‘Yes,’ Holly said. ‘I think he would. That would have taken more time. The guy only saw shadows and he didn’t get any details of the vehicle, but if that was when Connie left the house, I’d say she went willingly.’
‘Did you get a chance to talk to Harriet?’
Holly nodded. ‘She definitely knew about her husband’s affair with Jill Falstone at the time and was furious that it had become public knowledge, but after all these years I can’t see she had any motive for killing Lorna, even if she believed she was his daughter.’
Vera nodded, then looked up at them. Holly could tell the boss was about to share the information that had excited her. ‘I’ve found Lorna’s cottage. The one that she painted. It’s in a bit of deciduous woodland on the Brockburn estate, not very far from the house, or from the patch of clear fell where Connie’s body was found, but you’d probably never find it if you didn’t know it was there.’ She paused. ‘Someone’s been using it recently.’
Holly felt a moment of anticlimax. She’d been expecting something more relevant.
Vera turned to the senior CSI. ‘Billy, your team has been in there. Have they found anything to make an ageing detective very happy?’
Billy smiled his weasel smile. ‘Lorna Falstone’s fingerprints. Will that do?’
‘Oh, it certainly will. Buy them a drink from me.’
Billy muttered under his breath that he’d need to see her money first.
Holly stuck up her hand. ‘But we know Lorna had been there. She must have been if she painted the place.’
‘They were everywhere,’ Billy said. ‘On the pieces of furniture. You won’t have seen the bed, Vera, because you were a good girl and didn’t go further than the front door, but Lorna’s fingerprints were on the brass headboard.’
‘And you needed to be there to tell it was important to Lorna.’ Vera had turned back to Holly. ‘You could see it was a love nest.’ She pinned a couple of pictures onto the board.
Holly saw a pile of sheepskins, some ancient wooden furniture. It didn’t look much like a love nest to her, but she knew better than to say so.
‘Got any photos of the other room, Billy?’
‘It just so happens . . .’ He moved to the front of the room, added half a dozen images to the board.
Holly saw the brass bedstead he’d mentioned. Tarnished, but clean, with proper bedding, not a manky sleeping bag of the sort a dosser might use. She moved closer to the board and pointed. ‘What’s that?’
‘A wooden cradle. An old-fashioned thing with rockers.’
‘That’s where they’d have put the bairn,’ Vera said. ‘Harriet said she’d seen Lorna walking down the back drive towards Dorothy’s cottage. She would have come from there. They call it Jinny’s Mill, by the way. You can still see the old mill wheel in the burn.’
‘Did you find Constance’s fingerprints?’ Holly thought Vera was making assumptions again.
Cartwright shook his head. ‘No matches. We checked.’
‘And if Constance was killed there, we wouldn’t find prints.’ Vera seemed carried away by her theory. ‘It was early morning, bloody freezing. She’d have been wearing gloves.’ She turned back to face the room. ‘Did you find anything
