Death and the Decorator

SEVENTEEN

Carole Seddon felt quite smug. She had completed the investigation on her own. She knew who had killed Harry Lasalle and, very satisfactorily, the perpetrator was going to confess to the police.

Carole felt pretty sure that she now knew what had happened to Anita Garner. Veronica Lasalle had effectively admitted that her husband had killed the girl. Whether she knew what he had done with the body was a question that no doubt the police would be raising with her during intensive grilling.

Part of Carole wanted to ring Jude on her mobile, just to crow about what she’d achieved. But she curbed the instinct. If Jude was going to swan off without telling her friend where she was going, then she would have to wait for news of Carole’s triumph.

It was a good feeling to have such an explosive secret to impart, thought Carole. And impart it she would. In her own good time.

Meanwhile, in a drab front room in Liverpool, the very-much-alive Anita Garner – or Mary White – was still talking to Jude, who had just explained how she had heard the name Pablo from Shona Nuttall.

‘Shona. She was a nosy cow. Always snooping on me and Pablo.’

‘But were the two of you having affair?’

‘Certainly not.’ She was shocked by the idea. ‘We may have been falling in love, but we weren’t having an affair. We were both good Catholics.’

‘But did you get the passport because you were going to visit him in Spain?’

‘Yes. That was the idea. I don’t know whether it would ever have happened. Pablo’s mother was ill. The plan was that I would go out to Cádiz to meet his family and then, if they approved of me … I don’t know. That was the plan. It didn’t happen.’

‘So, did you ever meet Pablo again?’ A small shake of the head. ‘Or were you in touch with him again?’ The same reaction. ‘But did you tell your parents about your plans?’

‘No.’

‘Did they know you had applied for a passport?’

‘My mother knew I had applied for it, but she didn’t know why. I never told her. My father didn’t even know I’d made the application. My father was … I had to find the right moment to tell him and it never came. He would have been appalled by the idea of my following a boy out to Spain. He had strict rules about relationships.’

‘But you say yours with Pablo was perfectly innocent.’

‘My father would never have believed that.’

‘Hm.’ Ideas were beginning to take shape in Jude’s mind, explanations for the events of thirty years before. But she didn’t yet have enough data to firm them up. ‘Your Catholicism is very important to you?’

‘It is the most important thing in my life. I draw great comfort from the Catholic Church. It dictates everything I do, every decision I have ever made.’

‘And you’re attached to a church up here?’

‘Of course. The Metropolitan Cathedral. People still call it “the modern one”, though it’s been around since the Sixties. Known locally as “Paddy’s Wigwam”. I’m very involved with the community there. Do a lot of voluntary stuff.’ A pale grin. ‘Though, of course, ironically, I live this side of town in the shadows of the Anglican Cathedral.’

Jude got a feeling that the fullness of this answer was a stalling tactic, a way of postponing the more personal questions that must inevitably follow.

‘You know, Mary, that I’m here because of Glen Porter.’

‘Yes.’

‘Where does he fit into your story?’

‘Well … We were at school together.’

‘I heard that.’

‘But we didn’t know each other very well.’

‘He said he took you out a couple of times.’

‘Yes, but he only wanted sex and he wasn’t going to get any of that, so it didn’t last.’

‘Then why is he apparently the only person in Fethering – possibly the only person in the world – who knows what happened to you?’

‘Ah. We met again later.’

‘When he was at university up here?’

‘Yes. We just met on the street one day. I was in a bad way.’ She coloured at the recollection. ‘A very bad way. I was actually begging. Glen saw me and recognized me. He took me for a hot meal and he … transformed my life.’

‘Oh?’

‘I don’t know if you’ve heard but Glen unexpectedly came into a lot of money?’ Jude nodded. ‘And he had plans to set up various charities abroad, but he said to me … that charity begins at home.’

‘So, he helped you?’

‘Yes. More than just helped. As I say, he transformed my life.’

‘How?’

‘He bought me this flat, for a start.’

‘Very generous.’

‘Yes. And he made me an allowance, to see me through, until I could get back into full-time working. And he rings to check that I’m OK, every month or so. If I’ve got a financial problem … you know, like I need a new freezer or something … Glen pays for it.’

‘And does he …’ Jude didn’t know how to put this tactfully – ‘does he expect anything in return?’

Mary White looked puzzled for a moment, then realized what the question meant. ‘You mean, do Glen and I have a relationship? Am I his mistress?’

‘Yes, that was more or less what I was asking.’

‘No.’ The woman again looked shocked. ‘It’s nothing like that. I wouldn’t get involved in that kind of set-up. Glen Porter is just a very generous, charitable man. I’ve never had a relationship with anyone.’

This last sentence was spoken with a kind of perverse pride. And suddenly Jude had an image of Mary White as a woman above the lusts of the flesh, a kind of secular nun. It was not a path that she would have chosen for herself, but she could respect those who had that kind of vocation.

‘What we haven’t established yet,’ she said, ‘is what actually happened in Fethering, what made you cut yourself off from your family and come up here.’

‘No, we haven’t.’ And the woman’s tone suggested she thought that to be a satisfactory state of affairs.

But Jude had to find out more. She used her intuition, piecing together details from things Mary White had said. ‘It’s something to do with that room, isn’t it? The room where the handbag was found?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Were you staying there that night, the night it happened?’

Mary White nodded uncomfortably. They were encroaching on events she had no wish to remember.

‘Were you raped, Mary?’ asked Jude.

Tears welled in the woman’s eyes, then there was another, almost imperceptible nod.

‘And that was why you left Fethering? You couldn’t face your father after what had happened to you?’

‘No, I couldn’t.’ A silence. Then, with mounting intensity, the thoughts and emotions which had been dammed up for so long were allowed to flow. ‘I felt so dirty. I felt disgusting. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have let myself get caught that way. I screamed but that didn’t stop him. I shouldn’t have stayed that night. I should have known I was putting myself at risk. It was my fault,’ she repeated.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Jude gently, ‘but I can understand how you must have felt.’

‘All I could think was that I had to get away. I couldn’t face my father, not after what I had allowed to happen to me. It would have destroyed his life.’

‘You were in shock.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. All I knew was that I had to get away. I rushed out of the room …’

‘Leaving your handbag behind.’

‘I wasn’t in a state to worry about handbags. It was early in the morning, early on the Wednesday morning. I just ran away to Fethering Station. I caught the first train up to London, and then on up to Liverpool. I wasn’t really aware of what I was doing. I just needed to get away.’

‘And didn’t you think of contacting your parents? You must have known what a state they would be in. Surely, once you’d calmed down a bit, you could have given them a call?’

‘Yes. I intended to. But, by the time I had made the decision to call them, something else had happened.’

Intuitively, Jude knew. ‘You found out you were pregnant?’

A small nod acknowledged the truth of this. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I suspected it when you said Glen subsidized you until you could “get back to full-time working”. And when you said you couldn’t contact your parents, that confirmed it.’

‘Right.’

‘So presumably you had the baby?’

‘Of course,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’m a Catholic. I couldn’t not have the baby.’

‘No. Of course not. Boy or girl?’

‘Boy. Francis.’ She nodded to the picture of the saint on the wall. ‘After him.’

‘So, you gave birth on your own?’

‘In a hospital run by nuns. They weren’t very forgiving to unmarried mothers back then. Light on the pain relief. “You got yourself into this situation, you have to suffer for it”, that was their attitude. But it was worth all the pain, all the problems, all the difficulties. I got Francis.’

‘So, he must be … what? Round thirty now?’

‘Twenty-nine.’ She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice.

‘And does he live here with you?’

‘He did, till a couple of years ago.’

‘So, where is he now?’

‘Francis tried a lot of jobs but none of them was a fit for him. He got very low, not being able to find the right way in his life. Then, finally, he did what he always should have done, what I always, in my heart of hearts, knew he would do.’

‘And what was that?’

‘He’s at the seminary. Oscott College down in Birmingham. He’s going to be a Catholic priest.’ The pride in her voice redoubled as she said this.

‘Congratulations,’ said Jude. It somehow seemed appropriate. ‘But …’ Again, she had to get the wording right. ‘You haven’t told me who Francis’s father was.’

‘No. And I’m afraid that’s the way things are going to stay.’

‘If it was Glen Porter …’ Jude fished, ‘that would explain why he supported you financially. A guilty conscience …? A feeling of responsibility …?’

‘It’s my secret, Jude. Allow me that.’

‘Yes. I would normally … but …’ She had another go. ‘If it was Harry Lasalle, then it might explain his death, either as—’

‘I’m not going to tell you, Jude.’

‘No. No. Well, fair enough. I’m grateful for all you have told me.’

‘I only did tell you stuff because Glen asked me to.’

‘I know. And it must have been hard for you. Thank you.’

‘Right.’ Suddenly businesslike, Mary White looked at her watch. ‘I have to go down to the cathedral. There are some preparations I help with before the seven o’clock Mass.’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you so much for your time and for … all you’ve told me. Rest assured, I won’t do anything that’s going to disrupt the life you have up here.’

‘You’d better not,’ said Mary White grimly.

As she was led through the hall, Jude noticed a framed photograph on the wall. It looked like a studio shot, head and shoulders, of a man in his twenties. ‘Is that …?’

‘Yes, that’s Francis,’ said the proud mother.

And, suddenly, as Jude noted the hair colour and the unusual teeth, everything fell into place.