The House of Women Read online

  ‘You left your car outside the house, so I’ll walk back with you.’ She peered inside one of the plastic carrier bags. ‘Your cats have exactly the same food as Tom. Isn’t that odd?’

  ‘What if your mother asks where you’ve been?’

  ‘I’ll tell her I just happened to meet you on the road. She’s not really interested in me, you know. She says she’s given up trying to fathom my strange behaviour.’

  She plodded beside him, carrying the bag of cat food, shapeless clothes hung about her podgy young body. He wondered why she dressed like a derelict old woman, and thought it was probably another expression of her individuality, a rebellion against the expectations of peers and parent. As they neared the house, she halted in her tracks, and moaned. ‘Oh, no! Not again!’

  ‘Not again what?’

  Pointing to a late model silver Jaguar, parked half on the pavement, she said: ‘He was here all yesterday, fawning over Mama and being all serious and pseudo-grief-stricken.’

  ‘Who was?’

  ‘Professor Williams from the university.’ She waited while he opened the boot, and stowed the shopping. ‘And he’s probably brought his ghastly wife with him again. If Uncle Ned was neurotic, like everybody says, I don’t know what you’d call those two.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘You’ll see when you meet them. She’s a lot younger than him, and French. D’you think that’s why she’s so weird?’

  15

  McKenna found Rowlands and Dewi humping furniture and boxes and piles of documents, and dripping with sweat. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m moving into the general office while the decorators are in, sir,’ Rowlands said, breathing heavily.

  ‘I understood we would be sharing.’

  ‘That seemed a bit unreasonable.’ He dropped a heap of papers on one of the desks. ‘Anyway, it’s easier for me to move for the duration than muck about changing again when the other office gets decorated.’

  ‘And Mr Rowlands is here for at least a month, so Mr Tuttle’ll be back from France before then,’ Dewi offered.

  ‘And does Superintendent Bradshaw know about the new arrangements?’

  ‘Dunno, sir.’ Dewi shrugged. ‘She’d left for the day by the time we got back.’ He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘If you tell us what you want moved into the other office, we’ll get on with it when we’ve finished here.’

  ‘Desk, chair and filing cabinets, please,’ McKenna replied, finding a vacant chair, and lighting a cigarette. ‘Any joy with the cars?’

  ‘Nope. Same story as last time and the time before.’ Inching a filing cabinet into the gap between two desks, Dewi asked: ‘What about Ned Jones, sir? Suicide, murder, or Mother Nature?’

  ‘Take your pick,’ McKenna said. ‘Mrs Harris admitted to tidying up his shirt and tie, so that discrepancy’s explained.’

  ‘What discrepancy?’ Rowlands asked.

  ‘I asked Ms Bradshaw to bring you up to date. Has she not done so?’

  ‘Like I said, sir, she’d left when we got back,’ Dewi said. ‘Nobody’s told us anything.’

  16

  Slouching in a chair in the little garden at the rear of his house, McKenna watched the sun go down behind the old university building, gilding its tower, and pouring gold light and long shadows down the hillside. The cats lay by his feet, soaking up the heat trapped in the earth, then the black and white cat rolled on to her back, stretched her legs in the air, and subsided in a heap. The black cat looked up and yawned.

  ‘I could always take early retirement,’ he told them. ‘My pension would take care of us, even if I couldn’t get another job.’ He stubbed out his cigarette, and lit another, the smoke fragrant in the warm air. ‘And I really think Denise should fend for herself. She’s not a moron or a cripple, so why should I beggar myself for her benefit, just because I married her?’ The black cat rose and stretched, then curled around his ankles, nuzzling his legs. ‘And who’ll look after us if I can’t? She’ll argue that I left her, but I wonder if she’ll ever say why?’ He smiled bleakly. ‘D’you know, she wouldn’t have given you two house room. She thinks all animals are dirty, and cats especially.’ He bent down to stroke the animal’s ears. ‘Perhaps you are. Who knows?’ The cat purred. ‘And who cares? You’re much nicer company than most of the people I’ve ever met.’

  The front doorbell interrupted the one-sided conversation, and the noise made his stomach lurch with memories of the morning. He waited, thinking of all the people he had no wish to see, but as the bell rang again, insistently, he went slowly up the staircase and along the hall.

  Janet smiled tentatively. ‘I wanted to apologize for the way I carried on earlier. I was a bit upset.’

  He shut the door and followed her downstairs. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely and tied with a silk scarf, showing pretty ears and the curve of her neck, and, smartly dressed in pale linen trousers and a silk shirt, she bore no resemblance to the wreck of a girl who had wept in his arms.

  He took another chair outside, and poured her a glass of wine.

  ‘Things have improved since this morning, have they?’

  ‘Being hysterical doesn’t solve problems, sir.’

  ‘So you’ve still got a problem?’

  She took a gulp of wine, and nodded.

  ‘Are you sure?’ McKenna asked. ‘My wife had a couple of false alarms, you know. Have you done a pregnancy test yet?’

  ‘I’m too scared.’ She sighed. ‘Anyway, I know. Women usually do.’

  ‘Not necessarily. Worry can upset your system. So can air travel, and changes in routine.’

  ‘I’m quite sure, sir.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I knew almost as soon as it happened.’

  ‘And when did it happen?’ He lit another cigarette. ‘On holiday?’

  She flushed. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was low.

  ‘Someone you met in Italy?’

  ‘Yes. He was on holiday, as well.’

  ‘Does he know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you get in touch with him?’

  ‘Of course I can!’ The flush deepened.

  ‘I only asked, Janet,’ McKenna said gently. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you went in for a one night stand with a total stranger.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ She rubbed her eyes again. ‘I feel so strange, like I don’t belong to myself any longer.’

  ‘Pregnancy out of wedlock is something of a crisis, Janet, and you can’t avoid making a decision about it, so what choice will you make? Abortion, adoption, or being a single parent?’

  ‘Those aren’t really choices, are they? They’re more like lesser evils.’

  ‘You could tell the baby’s father, and see what he’s got to say. He has every right to know.’

  ‘I’ve got to make my own decision. It’s my life, and my body.’

  ‘And his baby.’ Watching her, he said: ‘He might want to get married.’

  ‘Oh, my parents would love that, wouldn’t they? A shotgun wedding, of all things!’

  ‘They might well prefer that to the alternatives. In any case, weddings don’t make a marriage. Why not talk to them, at least? Contrary to what you said earlier, I’m sure it wouldn’t enter your father’s head to kill you.’

  ‘No, he’ll simply disown me, and expect my mother to do the same.’

  TUESDAY, 21 AUGUST

  1

  EARLY ON TUESDAY morning, McKenna was disturbed by the postman, pounding on the glass panels of the front door to hand over a recorded delivery letter. Trying to decipher the postmark as he crunched his toast, he could think of no-one he knew in Manchester who might need to be sure he received their letter. It had a bad feeling, he thought: more bad news brought by another early morning herald.

  He washed the dishes, and went out to a garden already sweltering in the brilliant sunshine. The cats were indoors, in the deepest, coolest shade they could find. As he lit his first cigarette and carefully opened the long buff envelope,
he learned that Denise was suing for divorce, and intending to prove such unreasonable conduct on his part that he would be well-advised, her solicitor explained, to allow the petition and her application for maintenance to proceed uncontested.

  He felt chilled to the marrow, unreasonably and inexplicably, for she was doing only what he predicted. Heart fluttering, he ripped open the other envelope the postman had handed over, and read the chief constable’s confirmation of the decision to delay promotion, a blow not lessened by the assurance that the delay was temporary and no reflection on McKenna’s professional integrity or competence.

  He put the letters and envelopes on the flagstones beside his chair, and tried to distract himself with other thoughts, but the dazzle of paper intruded, and he glanced down, wondering if the stuff on which the letters were written might darken to the dreary colour of the failures they represented.

  2

  From his listening post by the door of the general office, Dewi could decipher nothing of what passed between Diana Bradshaw and Ian Rowlands behind the closed door of her office. He heard the shrill inflections in her voice, the rumble of anger in his, but the words eluded him. Rowlands emerged at last, slammed the door, and stood in the corridor, breathing heavily. Dewi slunk back to his desk, and was pushing papers around when the inspector finally gathered himself together.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ Dewi said. ‘Lovely day again, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it bloody isn’t! It’s a sodding bloody awful day, and don’t pretend you don’t know why!’

  ‘I didn’t hear a word, sir. I just heard the argument.’

  ‘Bradshaw’s very annoyed that we took it upon ourselves to move furniture.’ Rowlands sat down, and lit a cigarette. ‘And even though she’d never set foot in the place before yesterday, she’s already decided general discipline leaves a lot to be desired!’

  ‘She’d have been well primed beforehand,’ Dewi commented, ‘HQ are bound to have put about a load of crap to justify the situation.’

  ‘She said the special constables are being used inappropriately, and getting out of their depth. They’re only supposed to assist the regulars, not replace them. And that,’ Rowlands added, looking round for an ashtray, ‘is another sign of very poor management.’

  ‘It’s a sign of cutbacks and penny-pinching, sir, because we’ve lost a quarter of our manpower in the last ten years, so who else can we send out pounding the streets?’ Watching Rowlands blow smoke towards the ceiling, Dewi thought how ordinary he looked, his height and build average, his hair mousy, his features regular and unremarkable. Out of uniform, he was almost nondescript. ‘She can take her gripes to the next police authority get-together,’ he went on, ‘and while she’s there, she can ask for some horsepower.’

  ‘Bangor’s too small for mounted police.’

  ‘We had two enormous horses at one time, and they were a bloody sight more frightening than plods on foot, especially at football matches.’

  ‘And would you like to carry arms, as well?’

  ‘We already do when necessary, only Joe Public doesn’t know.’

  ‘Joe Public doesn’t know a lot of things,’ Rowlands commented. ‘Is McKenna here yet?’

  Dewi shook his head. ‘Janet’s back, though. She’s gone to the canteen.’

  ‘Is she better?’

  ‘Seems to be.’

  ‘Then she can take Mrs Harris’s statement, and get those girls to give their version of events.’ Stubbing out his cigarette, he added: ‘Haven’t you any paid informants in this nick who could help with these cars?’

  ‘They’ve been asked.’

  ‘So what about coincidences in the history of the bent cars? Were they sold on by the same dealer, serviced at the same garage, ever owned by the same person?’

  ‘No, sir, and we don’t know the extent of the problem. Trading Standards or us only get to hear when something happens, the insurance companies and DVLA don’t keep the sort of information we need, and even though we liaised with other forces and DVLA over the false MOT certificates, we didn’t learn anything new.’

  ‘I think we’ll target six of the vehicles,’ Rowlands decided, ‘re-interview the previous owners, and see if we can turn up Mr X. And although we’ll have to go into other force areas to do it, I’m sure Bradshaw won’t object to the extra costs. She’s very anxious to chalk this up as her first successful detection.’

  *

  ‘With respect, ma’am, this is your first time in charge of a station.’

  ‘I know chaos when I see it!’ Diana Bradshaw snapped. ‘And bad discipline! Why didn’t you stop Rowlands moving out of his office?’

  ‘He’d already moved, and now, instead of all of us playing musical offices, I need only move once.’ McKenna paused, then said: ‘I asked you to bring him up to date on the Jones case, but he tells me you left while he was out.’

  ‘I’m not here to nursemaid CID! I went to a planning meeting at divisional HQ.’

  ‘In future, ma’am, I’d appreciate knowing your plans, as I’m responsible for the station in your absence.’ Rising to his feet, he added: ‘And as good forward planning is crucial to crime management, you’ll need my quarterly report for the next planning meeting. While reported rapes and burglaries were well below expectations, our projections on homicide and crimes against children were quite unrealistic.’

  *

  Placing a mug of fresh tea on McKenna’s desk, Dewi said: ‘Inspector Rowlands wants permission to re-interview some of the former owners of the duff cars, only it means travelling.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Chester. The Wirral. Maybe Liverpool.’

  ‘Then tell Cheshire and Merseyside you’ll be on their patch.’

  ‘Why?’ Diana Bradshaw stood imperiously at the door.

  ‘Re-interviewing former car owners, ma’am.’ McKenna rose to his feet. ‘It could be more cost-effective than chasing aimlessly around North Wales.’

  ‘I’m surprised you know the meaning of the term!’ She moved aside to let Dewi pass, then faced McKenna. ‘I’ve just seen the overnight incident reports.’

  ‘None of which concerns CID, ma’am. I checked, even though divisional HQ classify all incoming reports.’

  ‘They may not concern you, but they certainly bother me! I’ve never come across such waste of police time and public money!’ She stared at him, eyes hard. ‘I may not be able to shut the stable door on this particular horse, but in future, I intend to make sure the horse stays put, along with the smallest item of police property!’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ McKenna smiled. ‘The donated toilet roll.’

  ‘It is not funny when some stupid woman calls us on her mobile phone at midnight because there’s no toilet paper in the public lavatory.’

  ‘Well, it was arguably an emergency for her, and the loos are only across the road.’ He sat down, bored with her carping. ‘And we shouldn’t let concerns about forward planning and cost-efficiency obscure our primary function of public service.’

  ‘Our primary function is keeping the Queen’s Peace,’ she said, ‘and I don’t think you’re making a very good job of it at the moment.’

  *

  As one woman left his office, another waited in the doorway, her face miserable, her mouth drawn in a sharp line, and he felt wearied by the sight of her, drained of energy and interest. ‘Yes, Janet?’

  ‘Inspector Rowlands told me to take Mrs Harris’s statement, sir. Shall I confine it to her tidying up the body?’

  ‘Use your initiative,’ McKenna said.

  ‘He said to interview the daughters as well.’

  ‘Until there’s more information from pathology, we’ll shelve the formal interviews.’

  She made slowly for the door, feet dragging, then said: ‘Shall I look for the old man’s bracelet?’

  ‘Not yet. I want the room left as it is.’

  ‘Right, sir.’ Pulling a wad of tissues from her pocket, she wiped her forehead.

  ‘Have y
ou reached a decision yet, Janet?’

  ‘No, sir.’ She leaned against the door, staring at him. ‘I can’t find the right one.’

  ‘As the situation isn’t of your choosing, the best you can hope for is the least painful way of extricating yourself.’

  ‘I can’t imagine myself married, especially not like this.’

  ‘If you book a few days’ leave and arrange an abortion, no-one need be any the wiser.’

  ‘Don’t you think abortion’s wrong, sir?’

  ‘Unless it’s a medical necessity, I think it’s an abomination, but I’m not the one who’s pregnant.’

  She smiled wanly. ‘If I don’t make a decision soon, it’ll be too late, so I won’t need to, and in a few months, people’ll know without being told. Even my father.’

  ‘You’d be entitled to maternity leave.’

  ‘My mother thinks I can’t even look after myself. God knows what she’d say about my looking after a baby.’

  ‘I imagine she’d help you.’ He watched the doubt in her eyes brighten with hope, and said: ‘If having the baby’s become an option, you’d better see your doctor very soon.’

  ‘I will.’ She smiled again, and opened the door.

  3

  Professor Iorwerth Williams, the owner of the silver Jaguar, and Edith Harris’s visitor, was the first incumbent of the Chair of Celtic Studies at the university. Parking his own car under the spreading branches of the beech trees which shaded the gardens and granite walls of the professor’s house, McKenna wondered how the ordinary Mrs Harris could capture the interest of such an extraordinary scholar. Like the leaves which rustled overhead, Williams’s reputation had flourished upon the chance discovery of some ancient Welsh manuscript texts, long thought to be lost forever. He published papers and books, lectured abroad, and won acclaim wherever he set foot. Stepping from the car into the sunshine, suddenly and unreasonably, McKenna saw Edith Harris as the harbinger of an autumn which might wither that reputation as the beech tree leaves would perish on the turn of the year.