Val McDermid 3-Book Crime Collection: A Place of Execution, The Distant Echo, The Grave Tattoo. Val McDermid
frowned. ‘Surely nobody would imagine I have that kind of money, Inspector? Just because I own a bit of land?’
‘People get all sorts of ideas in their heads, sir. And with the Sinatra kidnapping being in the news, it’s as well to bear it in mind as a possibility.’
Hawkin shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I’ve had no such thing. Not a letter, not a phone call. We had several letters today from local Buxton people who had heard about Alison’s disappearance, but they were all offering sympathy, not asking for money. You’re welcome to take a look; they’re all on the dresser in the kitchen.’
‘If you do, sir, it’s important that you let us know. Even if you’re warned against telling us, for Alison’s sake, you mustn’t keep it from us. We need your cooperation in this.’
Hawkin gave a nervous laugh. ‘Believe me, Inspector, if anybody thinks they’re going to get their hands on my money as well as my stepdaughter, they’ve got another thing coming. You can rely on me to get right on to you if anyone is foolish enough to think I’m in a position to ransom Alison. Now, what was it you wanted to see me about? I’ve been out in the dale all afternoon, and I’m famished.’
‘We’ve discovered a small discrepancy between statements. We wanted to clear the matter up. Finding Alison is our highest priority, so any potential misunderstandings need to be sorted out as quickly as possible.’
‘Of course they do,’ Hawkin said, turning away to crush out his cigarette in the ashtray perched on top of a pile of newspapers next to his chair.
‘You stated that on the afternoon Alison disappeared, you were in your darkroom?’
Hawkin cocked his head to one side. ‘Yes,’ he drawled, caution in his eyes.
‘All afternoon?’
‘Why does it matter when I went into my darkroom?’ he said. ‘I don’t understand what my afternoon activities had to do with Alison.’
‘If you could bear with me, sir, then we can resolve this problem very quickly. Can you tell us when you went through to your darkroom?’
Hawkin rubbed the side of his narrow nose with his index finger. ‘We ate lunch at twelve thirty as usual, then I came through here to read the paper. One of the drawbacks of rural living is that the post and the morning paper seldom arrive before lunch. So I have my little ritual after lunch of retiring here to deal with any post and read the Express. On Wednesday, I had a couple of letters to answer, so it was probably somewhere in the region of half past two when I went out to the darkroom. It’s a small outbuilding at the back of the manor that already had running water. I had it converted. Are you interested in photography, Inspector? I promise you, you won’t have seen a private darkroom as well equipped and laid out as mine.’ Hawkin’s smile was the nearest thing to unguarded candour George had ever seen on his face.
‘I’d like to take a look later, if I may.’
‘You’re welcome. Your uniformed lads were in there the night Alison disappeared, just checking that she wasn’t hiding there, but I explained that it’s normally kept locked. Because of the valuable equipment. But please don’t take their word for it. And if you ever need any professional photographs…’ Hawkin nodded at the gold ring gleaming on George’s finger. ‘Perhaps a portrait of you and your wife?’
The thought of Hawkin’s lounge-lizard charm focusing on Anne, even mediated by a camera lens, was disproportionately repugnant to George. Masking his distaste, he merely said, ‘That’s a very kind offer, sir. Now, about Wednesday afternoon. You’ve told us you went across to your darkroom about half-two. How long did you stay there?’
Hawkin frowned and reached for his cigarettes. ‘I had quite a backlog of printing to do. Entries for a competition, so it’s important to get the prints just so. I didn’t come back indoors until just before dinner time. I found my wife and Kathy Lomas getting themselves in a terrible state in the kitchen about Alison. Does that answer your question, Inspector?’
‘It answers my question, but it doesn’t resolve my difficulty. You see, sir, we have been told that you were seen walking from the woodland where we found Shep to the spinney where we discovered what we believe to be traces of a struggle involving Alison. The time has been put at about four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. Can you explain why anyone might think that, sir?’
It was Hawkin’s ears that flushed first, turning a deep scarlet that spread along his jaw and up his cheeks. ‘Because they are stupid peasants, Inspector?’
George sat up straight in his seat, astonished at the virulence of Hawkin’s response. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘They’ve been inbreeding for centuries, Inspector. A village with three surnames? They’re not exactly going to win Top of the Form, are they? Some of them barely know what year it is, never mind what day it is. Just because one of those halfwits mistook Tuesday for Wednesday…well, it’s hardly something to take seriously, is it? Look, Inspector, my uncle ran this village as if it was his personal hobby for a very good reason. He knew that without the protection of a squire, the people of Scardale would never survive. They’re just not equipped for the modern world.’ Suddenly, Hawkin ran out of vitriol. He ran a hand over his hair and managed one of his neat three-cornered smiles. ‘Believe me, Inspector, I never moved out of my darkroom on Wednesday afternoon. Whoever told you otherwise was mistaken.’
Before George could respond, Clough chimed in with the perfect timing that makes comedy duos into stars. Ostentatiously flicking back the pages of his notebook, he spoke apologetically, ‘Sir, there were two statements. Two individuals claim they saw you in the same place at about four o’clock on Wednesday. If it was just the one, well, frankly, sir, we’ve seen enough in the last couple of days to understand exactly what you’re getting at. But with two…It’s a bit more awkward.’
This time, Hawkin’s smile appeared genuine. For the first time, George had a flash of what had attracted a Scardale widow like Ruth Carter. When he smiled, Hawkin had the same devilish quality as the young David Niven. And the same smoothness, George added mentally as Hawkin offered both policemen cigarettes with an expansive gesture. ‘Thankfully, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,’ he said, his voice straining for lightness.
‘And that would be?’ George asked, leaning forward to accept a light, his eyes never leaving Hawkin’s.
‘I’m often out in the dale. I take photographs, I walk my land to make sure everything is as it should be. You have to keep them up to the mark, you know, or the walls would be nothing more than piles of limestone rubble. And as for the gates…’ Pursed lips, shaken head. ‘Anyway, it so happens that on Tuesday I was in the field you mentioned. Obviously a couple of the villagers saw me there. After Alison disappeared, they’ll have been arguing about what day it was. Now, if I had been a Carter or a Crowther or a Lomas, I’d have been given the benefit of the doubt and they’d all have agreed it was Tuesday. But I’m an outsider, so they’re always ready to think the worst of me. And, let’s not forget, they’re like children, always playing to the gallery. So if there was any doubt in what passes for a mind among the Carters, the Crowthers and the Lomases, they’d automatically pick the version of events that made them look important and me look bad.’ Hawkin leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other to reveal a bony ankle and a few inches of white, hairy skin between pyjama and slipper.
‘You’re certain it wasn’t Wednesday?’ George asked.
‘I’m positive.’
‘And you’d be willing to sign a sworn statement to that effect?’ George asked. Nothing Hawkin had said persuaded him Ma Lomas and Charlie were mistaken, but it remained their word against his. And George knew who would make the more convincing witness.
They were back in the kitchen within a couple of minutes. Ruth Hawkin was sitting at the kitchen table, a forgotten cigarette in the ashtray next to her transformed into three inches of marled grey ash. Her hand was clamped over her mouth and her eyes were fixed on the front page of a newspaper