Towers of Silence - [6]

“Sometimes,” I suggested, “families can do the work themselves. Though of course the emotional impact can be difficult if you find out something upsetting first hand. But you could always try it yourselves.”

“No,” she said. “It’d be hard. I’m partially sighted so I don’t drive. Just getting about is tricky enough. And Ken has to travel with his work. He’s a rep and he covers the north east as well so he’s up there half the week. When he is here he’s out every day at work.”

“I see. Well, think it over and see how you get on. Get back to me if you decide you want to go ahead. I’m sure we can help.”

“Thank you. I think we’ll need it.”

She had little faith that her son would open up. It looked like another job was winging my way.

Chapter Five

The room was stuffy. I turned the heater off. I filed the notes I’d made from the phone call and returned to work at the screen. After another hour I felt as though cement was seeping into the muscles that run from my neck to my shoulder. It’s always been a weak spot. Driving aggravates it too. And no matter how clear I am about the need for good posture at the computer; wrists relaxed, and level with the keyboard, one foot ahead of the other, knees lower than hips, back comfortably supported, when it comes to real life I end up hunched over the keyboard, head thrust towards the screen, neck horizontal, legs tangled, shoulders high with concentration, back rigid like some myopic emu.

I stood and swung my arms a bit, managed to bash the paper shade on the light. Cellars have low ceilings. I swung my head about more gently but nearly dislocated it when there was a sudden loud knocking from upstairs.

Through the spy hole I made out a distorted version of a face I knew. Close cropped grey hair, slate coloured eyes, generous mouth. I flung open the door.

“Stuart, you’re back.”

Observant, aren’t I?

He grinned. “Last night.” Stepped forward to hug me. Then stood back.

“I thought if you hadn’t had lunch…”

I rounded my eyes. Cheeky sod. Lunch was a euphemism. Oh, sure, there’d be something to eat but eating would be the hors d’œuvre or maybe the afters. I glanced at my watch.

“All over by three,” he said. He had children himself and was well-versed in the school run.

“I’ll turn things off.”

He waited in the car while I closed up. I felt like a kid playing truant. As I climbed in the passenger seat I recognised the thrill of excitement and the lurch of uncertainty that accompanied teenage dates. I hadn’t been going out with Stuart very long – just a couple of months. My friend Diane had introduced us; she had decided we would be a good match and engineered it so we met at Stuart’s cafe bar without telling me first. It was my first relationship for longer than I care to remember and I felt as though I was entering unfamiliar territory where the ground might shift under my feet at any moment.

I snapped my seat belt shut, turned and smiled at him. He leant closer and kissed me very, very softly. He ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of my top lip. My stomach rippled and my breasts tingled. The ache in my shoulder seemed completely irrelevant. I was starving. Mmmm. Love in the afternoon.

In between sorting laundry and refereeing the children who were in squabbling mode I rang and collected my answer phone messages. Patrick Dowley had rung, he gave a phone number. I wrote it down.

“You pig, you evil smelly pig.”

“Get off me! Sa-a-al,” Tom roared for help.

I marched into the lounge where the pair of them were glowering at each other. “He turned it over,” Maddie said pointing at the telly. “I was watching it.”

“I didn’t. She hit me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Leave the telly alone,” I told Tom, “and you don’t hit people,” I said to Maddie. “If there’s a problem, get me. And if there’s any more messing about, it goes off.” Maddie pulled a smirky ‘see’ face at Tom.

“Maddie,” I scolded her. “I need to make some phone calls for work and I can’t do it if you two are screaming and shouting.”

“It’s finished now anyway,” she said.

“Would you like a video then?”

They finally agreed on Winnie The Pooh and I went back to the phone and returned the Johnstones’ call.

It was Connie who answered.

“I’ve had a look at the file you left and a chance to think about it. I’m afraid I still agree with the official version of events, going on the evidence available. And if I did do any work for you I’d want that to be understood.”

“Oh,” she said cautiously.

“Mr Dowley suggested I could try and establish more about your mother’s movements during the Thursday. Try to fill in some of the gaps in the police account. There’s quite a lot of time unaccounted for when no one knows where she was, is that right?”

“Yes, nothing after lunchtime. After she left the community centre. The police asked her neighbours if they’d seen her and I think that’s all. I don’t think they spoke to anyone else.”

There was no reason to. Suicide isn’t a crime. And once it was clearly a suicide then there would be no need for the police to look any further.

“They wouldn’t have,” I said. “But if further information about those missing hours is what you want then I can take the case on that basis but only on that basis. You may want to discuss it with the family?”