‘We never closed the case,’ Vera said. ‘You know that. But this is new evidence and we’ll be starting from scratch. There’ll be more questions.’
‘She was here all the time.’ Jan seemed not to have heard. ‘A stone’s throw from home.’
‘Maybe not all the time,’ Vera said. ‘That still has to be established. ‘Did you have anything to do with the chapel? When it was still a place of worship?’
‘We sang there a few times,’ Alice, statuesque, copper-haired and creamy skinned, ‘when we were starting out. Jenny was a friend of the minister’s son. The acoustics are fab and we used it for practice. Then he hosted an evening for us. Our first gig.’
‘What was his name?’
‘The minister? Elliott. Neil Elliott.’ This was Daisy, a slighter, less substantial version of her sister.
‘What was he like, this Neil Elliott?’
‘Not what the congregation were used to.’ Alice allowed a touch of humour into her voice. ‘A happy-clappy evangelical, who wanted to attract kids into the place. Always a bit hyper – you’d have said he’d been on the communion wine, but they don’t drink, do they, those Presbyterians? A wife who worked away a lot and certainly wasn’t into good works or tea at the Manse. The old ladies disapproved big style.’
‘You must have told us about the son at the time.’ Vera kept her voice calm and even. ‘We asked about all Jenny’s pals. I don’t remember a minister’s son though.’
‘Thomas.’ George spoke from the other end of the table. ‘That’s right isn’t it? He was called Thomas. He was on the list of friends we gave you. We probably didn’t mention his father’s profession.’
‘And where are they now, these Elliotts?’
‘They must have moved away when the chapel closed down. We don’t hear much Corbridge news, not up here by the wall.’ Jan was dismissive. The kettle was boiling but she seemed not to hear. There was no offer of a drink. The whole family was waiting for the officers to go.
When they left the Summerskill house it was snowing again. Proper snow this time, blown into whirls, the sky the lightest grey. Vera stood for a moment and sniffed the air. ‘I’m going straight home. If I go to the station I’ll never get back. This could go on for days.’ She looked at Holly. ‘Do you want to come too? I’ve got a spare room if you have to end up staying. And we have good broadband now. Jack and Joanna sorted it out.’ Jack and Joanna were her neighbours, ageing hippies, and the kindest people she knew.
Vera watched Holly’s face, saw an initial horror at the prospect of spending the night somewhere so chaotic and unhygienic replaced by the possibility of playing an important role in solving the crime. Holly was ambitious. She nodded. ‘OK. That makes sense. I wouldn’t want to try getting back to Kimmerston in this.’
‘You go ahead,’ Vera said. ‘The Land Rover will make it up the hill for a while yet, but your car will struggle in half an hour or so. I’ll sweep into Corbridge and pick up some supplies.’ Bread, milk, whisky. Something green because Holly is a health freak. ‘Light a fire. There’s a spare key under the pot on the windowsill.’
Another wince of horror at Vera’s lack of security and Holly was gone.
Vera parked in the square in the middle of Corbridge and saw Helen, the bookshop owner and her lanky assistant, wrapped in big coats, watching from the edge of the cordon. The woman called out to Vera as she walked past on her way to the butcher’s.
‘Any idea when we can get back inside? We’ve got our opening event tomorrow. Christmas readings and music. Completely sold out.’
Vera crossed the square to join them. ‘I’ve no idea, pet, but I’d work on the assumption that you need to find a new venue.’ She paused. ‘Were you around ten years ago when Jenny Summerskill went missing?’
‘We moved down from Scotland a year ago and we’ve been working on the chapel ever since. Doing bits of part time work to keep a roof over our heads. You know how it is … It’s always been a dream, running a bookshop, but it’s been a struggle.’ She nodded to the young man beside her. ‘This is my son. A degree in Fine Art but at the moment jobbing labourer and shop assistant. I’d never have got the place open without him.’ She put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him to her. He pulled a face.
‘Do you know the Summerskills?’
Helen gave a little laugh. ‘I know of them. They’re legends. So talented, all of them. And there are more stories about the daughter’s disappearance than you’d believe.’
‘What’s the consensus?’ The snow was still falling, but despite her cold feet, Vera was interested.
‘That her father drove her away. He’s an awkward character. Angry. And they never got on. But it seems they were wrong, doesn’t it? So much hurtful gossip and she was dead all the time.’
When Vera got home, Holly was still struggling to get a fire going; certainly, it was giving out no heat. The wind had blown the snow into banks on the outside window ledges, so inside it was already dark as evening. Vera wondered what the soldiers from Rome, used to sunshine, good wine and olives would have made of these wild lands. She thought of the Summerskills in the house tucked under the wall, grieving all over again for their lost daughter.
‘You make a start on checking out the minister and his lad. Neil and Thomas Elliott. Let’s see if either of them is known to us these days. It’s some coincidence that they knew Jenny and her body turned up where Elliott was working. I’ll get some heat in the place and make a brew.’
Vera soon had a blaze going in the hearth; she had the knack, but also the firelighters she’d forgotten to mention to Holly. When
