Harbour Street

Chapter Twenty-Four

Kate was drinking coffee in the kitchen with Stuart when there was a knock at the door, so loud that she jumped and felt an irrational surge of fear. They’d had a lazy morning. George Enderby had come to the dining room for breakfast as usual and then had disappeared. The kids were out. The house was still and quiet; it rarely was, and she thought that in the future their life could be like this, peaceful and easy. Then there was the knock at the door and Stuart looked up from the newspaper on his lap, frowning. ‘Shall I go?’

But he seemed so settled there, and a little elderly in the harsh light of a working kitchen, so she got to her feet and kissed his forehead as she went past him and felt the skin very dry on her lips.

She looked through the hall window before opening the door and saw the fat detective and her sidekick standing outside.

‘Sorry to disturb you, pet. Do you mind if we come in?’ And by the time Vera Stanhope had finished the words she was inside the house, the younger man trailing after her. Kate wondered how that must make him feel, always in the fat woman’s shadow.

Vera stood in the hall, rubbing her hands against the cold, as if they’d been waiting outside for hours and not just a few minutes.

‘I was wondering if we could get breakfast,’ she said. ‘I mean, we’d buy it of course. We’d have to. These days even a freebie fry-up might be taken the wrong way. Bribery and corruption.’

And she flashed a bright smile, so Kate wondered if this was the only reason for the visit – if they’d disturbed her perfect morning just to make them bacon and eggs. Or if this was some kind of weird joke. She remembered the rush of adrenaline when she’d heard the banging on the door and felt angry. The cheek of the woman! It was hard to believe this was happening – the strange woman invading her house and demanding breakfast. But then it was hard to believe that two women had been killed in the town.

Vera was still talking. ‘You’re not on your own, are you? I thought you still had guests staying.’

‘Only George,’ Kate said. ‘George Enderby.’

‘Ah, I thought I saw his car outside. We wouldn’t have disturbed you if we’d thought you were planning to take the day off.’ She walked further into the house, looking round her. ‘Is Mr Enderby around?’ She made the question casual, but Kate could tell it was important.

‘He went out,’ Kate said.

‘Oh?’ Still the pretence that it didn’t really matter. ‘But his car’s still there.’

‘He got the Metro into town.’

‘Did he say where he was going?’ Vera’s eyes were sharp as tacks and there was no mention now of Kate cooking breakfast for her. It seemed that was just a pretext to get through the door.

‘Some library? Something about getting a fix, a visit to a proper place for books to be cherished, before he heads south tomorrow.’ George had mentioned it at breakfast, but Kate hadn’t taken much notice.

‘The Lit & Phil Library?’

‘Yes!’ Kate thought the inspector must be some sort of witch to have guessed that right. ‘How did you know?’

‘It’s where book-lovers hang out.’ Vera flashed her another smile. ‘And the lonely and the slightly mad. I should know. I’m a member myself.’ Another pause. ‘Can you show Joe here into Mr Enderby’s room? I need to get back to work.’

Kate hesitated. She found it hard to stand up to the fat detective. ‘But I can’t do that. It’s an invasion of his privacy.’

‘It’s your house, pet. Give us permission and we don’t need a warrant.’

They stood for a moment staring at each other, and finally Kate gave in. She didn’t owe George Enderby anything and, if he was involved in these murders, then it was her duty to help the police. She wondered what Stuart would make of it. Surely he would agree too. And perhaps there’d always been something a bit odd about the man, something a bit unsettling.

Kate went into the kitchen to fetch her keys and, when she returned, Vera Stanhope had disappeared. It was hard to imagine that such a big woman could move so quickly or so lightly. The sergeant followed her up the stairs and waited in silence while she opened the door. She thought he would send her away, but he nodded for her to go in first. Perhaps he needed her there as a witness. Kate hadn’t been in to make up the room yet, but it was tidy as always, the duvet folded back to air the bed, the cup on the tray next to the kettle.

George’s holdall was open on the floor in the corner. It seemed that he hadn’t really bothered to unpack this time, and that was unusual. Normally he hung up his work shirts and his jacket as soon as he arrived. ‘If you’re a salesman, Kate, first impressions count.’

Standing next to it was the wheelie suitcase in which George carried his samples. The sergeant laid it flat on the floor and unzipped it. Inside she saw some jeans and a heavy jersey, a pair of walking boots and a waterproof jacket.

‘But where are the books?’ Kate couldn’t help herself.

‘What books?’ The sergeant looked up. He was still kneeling on the floor. He frowned a little.

‘He carries books in the suitcase. Samples to show the shopkeepers.’

The detective said nothing. He began opening the drawers, but all George’s clothes were still in the holdall. Joe Ashworth emptied that carefully, laying each item on the bed, but it seemed there was nothing of interest to him. He looked in the bathroom, before turning back to Kate. ‘That’s been very helpful. Thank you.’ His face gave nothing away. She wanted to ask if they thought George was a murderer.

‘I have children,’ she said. ‘A daughter. Is it safe to let Mr Enderby stay here tonight?’ She could hear the hysteria in her own voice.

There was only a moment of hesitation before he replied. ‘We have no evidence against Mr Enderby. We think he can help us with our enquiries.’

She didn’t find that reassuring.

At the bottom of the stairs the detective held out his hand and thanked her again. He could have been one of her paying guests.

Stuart was still in the kitchen. He’d heard Kate come down the stairs and already had the coffee machine on again. ‘What was all that about?’ He didn’t look at her as he asked the question and she couldn’t tell how curious he really was.

‘The police. They wanted to look inside George’s room.’

‘Did you let them?’ Now he did turn to look at her.

‘Yes.’ She wondered now if she’d been a coward not to stand up to them. ‘If it helps find the killer…’ Her voice trailed away.

‘You think George could be the murderer?’ Stuart waited for her to answer and she saw that this wasn’t an idle question. She recognized the teacher in him. He’d use the same tone standing in front of his class. Is that really how you think that piece should be played? He seemed unusually serious.

She took his question seriously too. ‘No,’ she said at last, because despite her earlier misgivings and the hesitation in the detective’s voice, it was impossible to think of quiet and gentle George Enderby hurting anyone. She’d seen him open a window to allow a wasp to escape. ‘What reason would George have for killing Margaret? And he’d have hardly known Dee Robson. Unless she’d tried to pick him up in the Coble.’

‘What do you mean?’ Stuart frowned.

‘Dee was always trying to pick up men in the Coble. The locals knew her and just made fun of her.’ Kate couldn’t help an awkward smile, as she thought how embarrassed George Enderby would be by such an encounter. Polite and awkward, but terrified too.

‘Are you saying that Dee Robson was a prostitute?’ The coffee had stopped dripping and he poured a mug for Kate. She saw that he was shocked. She had never thought of him as a prude.

‘I suppose I am. Not a very good one, though.’ She gave a nervous smile. ‘An amateur, not a professional.’ Then she thought the attempt at humour was in poor taste. The woman had just been killed. She slid a look at Stuart, but if he disapproved of her flippancy he didn’t show it. He seemed lost in thought.

‘What shall we do for the rest of the day?’ She imagined a walk in the hills. The kids had said they’d be out until the evening, so there was no danger they’d be in the house alone with George. She and Stuart had talked about doing a part of Hadrian’s Wall. Then perhaps lunch in a pub. A real fire and homemade broth. Suddenly she was desperate to escape from Mardle and Harbour Street.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll be a bit tied up after all.’ She was expecting an explanation, but he still seemed preoccupied. He jumped to his feet as if he had a sudden impulse to escape from her. At the bottom of the stairs he stopped abruptly. ‘Can I come round again later?’

‘Of course!’ It came to her now that the strange behaviour had a logical explanation: he was going into town to buy her Christmas present. That was why he was being so secretive. ‘You know you can come here at any time.’ And she turned her head to kiss him.

Left to herself in the big house, Kate felt that things were slipping out of her control. She wished now that the children were still at home, that Ryan was back from Malcolm’s boatyard and that Chloe hadn’t disappeared into town with a mysterious friend. She wanted everyone here, where she could keep an eye on them. Where they’d be safe.