Chapter 31

Tuesday 2nd November, 4:25am

The door is pulled to, I can’t see into the hall, just hear the chain rattle. The village is one of those places where doors are left unlocked, the chain redundant until tonight, as far as I was aware. A rush of cold air floods under the door into the kitchen. A hurried, whispered conversation. A man, judging by the tone, words too low to make out. The front door closes with a rattle of keys and chain. The visitor stays in the hall with Shirley, conversation continues. I can’t resist tipping back my chair, pulling the door open a crack.

A slice of the hall is visible, part of Shirley’s back and a portion of Mr Whittle in a jacket, slippers and what look like pyjama bottoms. Old fashioned brushed cotton, paisley print. The estate agent is hugely agitated, flapping his arms about in an attempt to explain some issue to Shirley as quietly as possible. They stand very close to one another, noses almost touching. Whittle glances towards the kitchen and catches me watching. I rock forward, my cheeks hot. Their voices get louder, footsteps coming closer.

‘It’s only Jerry Whittle.’

Shirley looks flustered. Mr Whittle tries to put his hands in his pockets, finds his pyjamas have none. We look at his feet. Wet, rather muddy slippers.

‘I came out in a bit of a rush,’ he says, turning to Shirley. I can’t make out his expression.

‘Sit down, Jerry. I’m brewing some tea. You tell her as it’s your doing. It’ll be all around the village before lunchtime anyway.’

‘I really want to be off, Shirley.’ I push back my chair and start to stand.

‘You sit down and hear what he has to say. I’ll call that taxi company for you. I’ll not have you wandering around on your own out there tonight.’

I look at Whittle who shrugs. Shirley’s never spoken to me in such a way before. I don’t feel I can argue. I can’t imagine what’s made her speak so angrily and so sharply. Has he got news about the twins? How can he have?

The estate agent is too big for the cramped space, heaving his stomach in as he sits down, pulling his chair towards the table. He gives me a sideways glance and begins patting the pockets of his jacket. Shirley’s busy at the sink with mugs, teapot, and milk, her back to us.

‘Get on with it, Jerry, the girl’s in a hurry. Don’t leave anything out.’

Mr Whittle takes his glasses from the top pocket, then replaces them. He stares at the table top, clears his throat, his ears a deep crimson.

‘You two . . . ?’ I ask.

Whittle beams and nods at Shirley. ‘Lovely woman.’

‘That’s not what I was meaning at all!’ Shirley chides him, looking more flustered than ever.

She places a mug of tea in front of the estate agent with such force a little slops onto the table. Whittle looks up at her.

‘Really! The less said about that the better. Just get on with it, Jerry. Kate can’t wait around all night for you.’ Shirley storms into the hall, the quaver in her voice unmistakable. ‘I’ll call the taxi for you, Kate.’

I look at Mr Whittle. Beads of perspiration glisten across his bald head, his Adam’s apple popping up and down.

‘Lyle phoned me earlier, just after Shirley had left to come back here. A nasty call, it was. He said he wanted a word and was coming straight over. He quite upset me. He said the police had spoken to him about his buying up Mrs Havers’ land. I didn’t fancy speaking to him, not with the mood he was in, so I came straight over here.’

‘In your pyjamas?’

He nods and shrugs, an apologetic smile.

‘The police were speaking to him about Richard Denning when I left.’

‘Shirley says I’ve to let the police know what sort of man Lyle is. Mrs Havers was worried with him representing you.’

‘What do you mean?’ Anxiety makes me shiver. Lyle hung around like glue this evening, waited while I gave my statement. Why didn’t he just go home?

‘Lyle wants me to keep quiet, but I already told the police the gist of it last night. I’m going into the station later this morning to make a formal statement. Shirley’s arranged it all.’

Shirley comes back into the kitchen.

‘The taxi’s on its way. I feel so bad, Kate, about you being dragged off to the station like that. I told Jerry you were meeting Richard on Monday afternoon. I should keep my mouth shut, so I should.’ She glares at Whittle. ‘Jerry went running off to Lyle and told him you were meeting Richard Denning.’

‘The police can’t have told Lyle I’ve spoken to them already. He says we’ll both go inside if I let the cat out of the bag.’

‘Let the cat out of the bag about what?’ I try not to snap, just wish Whittle would get to the point.

‘My firm dealt with the valuations of Mrs Havers’ land. I undervalued the plots. Lyle paid me a backhander the first time. Back then, Shirley and me were getting married and were short of money. I shouldn’t have done it, and I tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it. I never took any more money, I refused to, but I should’ve spoken up.’

Mr Whittle pulls out his glasses again and turns them over and over in his hands as if he’s never seen them before. I look at Shirley and shake my head in disbelief.

‘When Shirley found out what had gone on, she dumped me and ended up married to Nick Cooper instead.’

He half-smiles at Shirley.

‘Go on Jerry, out with it all now.’

He continues speaking, looking at me. ‘Once you moved in, I thought it was all over with. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, I can tell you, the end of the whole nasty mess.’

Shirley tuts and starts to pick up plates, piling them in the sink.

‘Then Richard Denning spoke to me a few weeks back. He said the old lady was short of money and she shouldn’t have been. He wanted to know where it’d all gone.’

‘Did he know then, about the fraud?’

Whittle is shaking, his face pale and sweating.

‘I don’t know, but he was suspicious, asking too many questions. Lyle says if I tell anyone about the land going to him on the cheap I’ll go down with him. I should’ve said something years back, when I first knew what Lyle was up to. He wants the house, you see, always has.’

‘If you’d spoken up right away Richard might still be here.’ Shirley glares at Whittle, her eyes bright. She picks up the last dirty plate and turns to the sink. ‘He’ll be greatly missed. He was a better man than most, so he was.’

Whittle gives me a sideways glance. He looks utterly miserable.

‘Old Lyle couldn’t believe it when Mrs Havers moved into Fairfields and still didn’t sell the house. He got impatient, he wanted it straight away and said he’s entitled to it, you see.’

‘How?’ I say, looking between Mr Whittle and Shirley. ‘Because he bought the land?’

‘He says that he’s Edward Havers’ son. Illegitimate, but all the same, he’s got a right to the place.’ Whittle raises his eyebrows, turns the glasses between his fingers. ‘It annoyed the old girl, making claims like that.’

‘Mrs Havers has a reputation to maintain,’ I say, sending Shirley a flat smile.

‘Lyle wanted me to say the place was about to fall down and to get shot of it quick. I, well, I just wasn’t any good at that sort of thing. The old girl knew I was lying. I’d no stomach for it, to tell you the truth.’

Mr Whittle looks at me properly for the first time since he arrived. ‘She even thought there was some trickery in you and your husband buying it from her. She thought you were buying on Lyle’s behalf.’

‘He’s obsessive about the place. He has to have it at all costs.’ Shirley reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘I was so worried when we heard he was with you at the station.’

I squeeze her fingers. ‘Shirley, I’m just fine, really I am.’

She looks at Whittle and again I can’t interpret their expressions.

‘Lyle was going to speak to Denning, tell him to mind his own business, right worked up about it he was. He went over to Denning’s boat first thing yesterday morning.’

We sit in silence, the only sound is Mr Whittle’s wheezy breathing. Not used to running, his lungs must have had an extraordinary shock this evening.

‘You know Richard Denning’s been unwell, don’t you?’ I glance between Shirley and Whittle. ‘I’d wait to see what the post-mortem says before drawing too many conclusions.’

‘Do you think I’ll go to jail, Kate? I don’t think I’d cope with that.’

Shirley stands and turns to the sink, her back to us, shoulders hunched. Whittle looks at her and fiddles with his glasses, his fingers shaking.

‘I don’t really know. Mark will tell you, it’s what he does. Lyle will certainly go inside, he’ll lose everything. The land will get taken as proceeds of crime and he’ll get struck off as a solicitor.’

Shirley sits back at the table, her face pale and strained. Despite her anger at Jerry Whittle, she’s clearly concerned for him.

‘No wonder he’s desperate.’ Shirley’s looking at Whittle.

‘Go over to Haverscroft first thing before Mark heads off for London. He’ll be able to tell you what to expect at the police station and what the likely outcome will be.’ I stand and pick up my bag. ‘By then the police will probably have the post-mortem results as well.’

‘You’re not going yet, love. The taxi won’t be many more minutes.’

‘I can’t wait, Shirley. I’ve waited too long as it is.’

‘Jerry, you walk back with her, speak to her husband about it all if he’s awake.’ Shirley’s on her feet tugging the sleeve of Whittle’s jacket.

The estate agent’s head is bowed, shaking from side to side. I don’t think Whittle will be much use if we do bump into Oliver Lyle, or anyone else for that matter. I head for the door, Shirley’s quick footsteps at my back along the narrow hall. She pulls back the chain, top bolt and unlocks the door.

‘Fetch the children back here, Kate.’ I step past her onto the doorstep. ‘Be careful love, won’t you?’

The street is empty, dark and alive with shifting shadows. I glance back at Shirley, her brightly-lit hall, Jerry Whittle sitting at the kitchen table, watching. I should wait for the taxi and take Whittle with me, but I dare not lose another second. I pull Shirley into a hug.

‘Thank you for everything, Shirley. Go back inside, don’t get cold. I’ll be just fine.’