‘Had any of the rest of you met this Lily Marsh?’ The woman stared around the table at them. Gary thought she could make you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong. ‘Seems she was a bonny lass. You’d not forget her in a hurry.’
There was a murmured denial, shaken heads.
‘Take me through finding the body. The boy found her first, then you went to look. Was there anyone else about?’
Clive raised his hand from the table. As if he was still a kid, Gary thought. A shy nervous kid. ‘There was a family on the flat bit of grass by the burn. A father and two boys, I think. Playing football.’
‘Any cars parked next to the lighthouse?’
Clive answered again. ‘A people carrier. One of those big Renaults. Maroon. I don’t remember the number, but registered last year.’
‘Why would you remember something like that?’
‘I notice things,’ Clive said defensively. ‘Detail. It’s what I’m good at.’
‘What were you doing in the watch tower anyway? It’s hardly the right time of year for sea watching and the tide was right out.’
‘What do you know about sea watching?’ The words came out before Gary could stop them.
She looked at him, laughed. ‘My dad was a bit of a birder. I suppose you pick it up. It seeps into the blood. He took me to the coast sometimes. Really, though, he was happier in the hills. He was a bit of a raptor freak.’ She paused. ‘Is that what brought you all together? The birding?’
‘Aye.’ Gary wondered if she really wanted to know and how he’d explain it. He’d always been interested in birds. Since seeing an old copy of
And one day, sitting in the hide at Seaton, waiting for a Temminck’s stint to emerge into view, they’d met Peter Calvert. The famous Dr Calvert, who’d written papers for
Then he’d suggested that they might become trainee ringers. Casually. Not realizing that for them it was the most exciting suggestion in the world. There was another trainer, he’d said. Samuel Parr. He’d look after them. It was Sam’s wife who’d just died and he’d need something else to focus on. Besides, they could do with some new blood in the Deepden team. After that Gary and Clive had spent most of their weekends up the coast at the Deepden Bird Observatory, sleeping on the bunk beds in the dorm at the cottage, waking at dawn to set nets and ring birds. They’d all become friends.
Gary realized the detective was still staring at him. ‘Well?’ she said. ‘What were you doing in the watch tower if you weren’t sea watching?’
‘There’s always a chance,’ he said, ‘that something good will fly past. But we’d gone for a walk. It’s Peter’s birthday. We do it every year.’
‘A ritual?’
‘Yeah. Kind of Gary wondered why someone else couldn’t join in the conversation. Why had they left it to him?
Vera continued to look at him. She had her legs stuck out in front of her, big, rather grubby feet in sandals.
‘What’s your name, pet?’
‘Gary Wright.’
She took a notebook out of a big, soft, leather handbag, flipped a page, looked at the squiggles written there. But Gary thought that was just for effect. She knew the facts already, had probably worked out who he was as soon as she’d sat down at the table.
‘You live in Shields?’
He nodded.
‘You’re sure you didn’t know the lass? Only it seems to me you’re a bit of a party animal. You’ve got a history. A couple of cautions for drunk and disorderly, a conviction for possession.’
Gary looked up, suddenly sober. ‘That was years ago. You’ve no right-’
‘This is a murder investigation.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘I’ve every right. Are you sure you never came across her?’
‘I don’t remember her. The town’s full of students.’
‘You didn’t meet her while you were working?’
‘I don’t mix business and pleasure.’ He couldn’t understand why she was picking on him, felt an irrational panic. The mellowing effect of the wine had quite left him. ‘I’m serious about my work.’
‘Tell me about that.’
‘I’m a sound engineer. Self-employed. It could be anything from an opera gig at the City Hall to the Great North Run. There are a couple of bands I do the sound for and I go on tour with them.’
‘Glamorous.’
‘Not really. Folk clubs, small arts centres. The same mediocre musicians singing the same boring songs. A night in a Travelodge before unloading the van somewhere equally forgettable.’ Until he’d started talking he hadn’t realized just how much he’d come to dislike it. He reached a decision he’d been hesitating over for a week. ‘I’m giving it up. The freelance work. I’ve been doing quite a lot of work at the Sage Music Centre, Gateshead, and now they’ve offered me a permanent job. Regular wages, holiday pay, a pension. Suddenly it seems quite attractive.’
‘So you’re going to settle down? Why now?’
‘Age,’ he said. ‘I suppose that’s it. The late-night curries in small towns have lost their appeal.’
‘Not a woman, then?’
He hesitated for a moment, then thought: What business is it of hers? ‘No, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Not a woman. Certainly not Lily Marsh.’
He wondered if the use of the name was a mistake. Did that imply previous knowledge? But Vera Stanhope let it go and turned her attention to the others gathered at the table. Gary was relieved that he’d had to go first. He took a drink from his glass, surprised to find it still almost full. Now it was his turn to be the audience. Vera was about to speak when her phone rang. She got up, walked away from them to take the call and stood at the end of the veranda in complete shadow. They began to talk among themselves to prove that her conversation was of no interest to them, but when she returned they fell silent.
‘Sorry, folks,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ll have to go. Don’t worry, though, I’ve got all your addresses. I’ll catch up with the rest of you another time.’
But she stood there, not moving.
Felicity stood up. ‘I’ll just see you to the door.’
‘Are you interested in how she died?’ Vera asked, looking at them all.
‘I thought suicide,’ Felicity said, shocked. ‘It was all so dramatic, so arranged.’
‘She was strangled,’ Vera said. ‘Hard to manage that by yourself.’
They stared back at her, silent.
‘One last question. Does the name Luke Armstrong mean anything to any of you?’
Nobody replied.
‘I’ll take that as a no, then, shall I?’ she said irritably. ‘Only he was strangled too. Not so far from here.’ She