Dora McGann could finally be something other than a right royal pain in the arse. A town gossip of great renown, I often had the pleasure of her voice on the phone as she informed me of some piece of information that had come her way and demanded my immediate and undivided attention. Well, that’s the way she saw it, anyway. Now it was me turning to her for information. Her face lit up as she opened her front door.
‘Constable Shephard, Constable Shephard, I thought you might be around, I did. I said to myself you’d be around to see me. It’s about that poor young woman next door, isn’t it? A dreadful thing that. Oh that poor, lovely young man, left with a wee babe and all.’
I wondered if at any stage I’d actually be able to say hello.
‘It’s not right, is it? And people are saying she killed herself. Oh, that’s just awful, a young woman like that. Everything to live for, she had. Dreadfully sad. I can’t believe it, just can’t believe it.’
Fortunately, she had to pause for breath, so I grabbed the opportunity to speak.
‘Hello, Mrs McGann. I wanted to ask you a few questions relating to yesterday’s events and Mrs Knowes—’
‘Of course, of course, I’m only too happy to help. They were such a lovely young couple, you know, and that wee girl of theirs, she’s such a wee angel.’ She realised what she had said and gave a small chuckle. ‘Well, of course she is, isn’t she, Angel, but I shouldn’t be laughing; this is no time for laughter, is it? No. Oh, but I’m being rude, aren’t I? Come in, won’t you come in? Of course, yes, if you’ve got any questions I’m only too happy to help.’
It was the first time I had been in Dora McGann’s inner sanctum. I’m not quite sure what I expected, given her notoriety as a gossip and knower of all: binoculars, telescopes, listening devices? What I found was a rather dated but very welcoming home, festooned with photographs of children and grandchildren. The décor came right out of House & Garden magazine – a 1970s edition, complete with autumn-hued Axminster carpet, velvet drapes and three ceramic ducks flying their way across a rather busy wallpaper. I made my way over to the table she had indicated and tried to keep up with her constant stream of chatter. I recalled someone mentioning the late Mr McGann had been hard of hearing. Lucky bastard.
She must have had a pot of tea already brewed. I was only half settled into the seat when a tea tray appeared before me.
‘How do you take your tea, love?’
I smiled despite myself. I was unaccustomed to being referred to as ‘love’ by anybody, particularly when on duty.
‘Milk, no sugar, thanks.’
She was pouring what we referred to in our family as ‘frilly tea’. Fine bone-china cups and saucers of a delicate floral design, milk jug covered with a crocheted, bead-edged doily, matching sugar bowl with delicate undersized teaspoons – silver, no doubt. She didn’t have Devonshire scones or cream puffs, but served the next best thing – Toffee Pops biscuits, caramel filled, chocolate-coated goodness, on what even I recognised as Royal Doulton. I realised for the first time that day my heart rate felt somewhere about normal and the knot twisting my innards had begun to relax. She did have her uses, after all. And the tea was only slightly stewed.
From where I sat it was easy to make out the Knowes’ house and part of the driveway. I couldn’t see the back fence from here, but it would be visible from further into the room.
‘Were you home yesterday, Mrs McGann?’ I asked as I set my empty cup onto its saucer.
‘Oh yes, dear, I was home all day. I had the girls around for bridge, so I had to make some scones and tidy the house. Tuesday is always bridge day. My turn yesterday, so the girls came here. Oh you know them all, there’s Lola Bridges,’ I worked hard not to laugh, ‘she’s very good, you know, and Jill Sanders. They always come in Lola’s car. Jill hasn’t got a driver’s licence. Can you believe that? In this day and age. Lucky she’s got Lola next door to run her around when Gordon’s at work; it’s about time he retired anyway. He’s seventy-three now and still working. Mind you, a man like that would fade away and die if he stopped working. Anyway, Lola trots her everywhere. She’s always trying to get Jill to take driving lessons, but she’s not interested. And there’s Beryl Rawlings – you know Beryl, she’s president of the Country Women’s Institute around here – boy, can she preserve. You’d have to be really good to beat her – at preserving, I mean, oh, and bridge too. She plays a mean hand. She was a wee bit late yesterday, some trouble with the cattle.’
Under normal circumstances, such drivel would bring out an urge to give the woman a good slapping, but today the chatter somehow comforted my frayed nerves.
‘Did you notice anything unusual at the Knowes’ house during the day? Different people or cars? Did you see Mrs Knowes at all?’
‘Oh yes, dear, I saw Mrs Knowes. In the morning, early it would have been, nine o’clockish. She was hanging her first lot of washing out, as usual.’
That got my attention. Why the hell would you bother with the washing if you weren’t planning to survive the day? I’d noticed it hanging up when I first searched the property, but what with the immediacy of Gaby’s disappearance and Lockie’s distress, I hadn’t appreciated its significance.
‘She was always out early with the washing – very good housekeeper, that girl. House always spotless, very organised. Fine girl, that one, fine girl.’ She suddenly gave me a slightly abashed look. It was evident her local knowledge extended to my own personal history.
‘Did she have any visitors during the day?’ I asked.
She jumped at the opportunity to remove the foot from her mouth. ‘I didn’t see anyone, I was quite busy with the bridge. But the girls were here, they might have noticed something.’
‘What time were they here?’
‘Oh we always start at 10.30 with a cup of tea, then continue until lunchtime. So I suppose everyone was gone by, oh, two o’clock – some of the girls like to have a wee turn-up in the afternoon, especially after a couple of sherries.’
It sounded like a breath test or two could have interesting results after one of their bridge sessions.
‘Could I grab their phone numbers from you, so I can follow up, please?’
‘Of course you can, dear. I’m only pleased to be able to help.’ She trotted over to the telephone and pulled out a battered-looking address file – the variety where you slid the marker up to the letter you wanted, then pushed the button and it flipped open to the page. ‘I don’t know the girls’ numbers off by heart – well, other than speeddial five, six and seven.’ She chuckled as she handed it over. ‘The only trouble with these modern phones. I had to get my Ben to put the numbers in for me; that was years ago, so I’ve well and truly forgotten them. I’m sure the girls will say if they saw something. Such a terrible shame all this, I just can’t believe it.’
I was going to try to put the next question delicately, but thought, given her reputation, what the hell.
‘Did Mr and Mrs Knowes seem to have a happy marriage?’
She blinked once or twice at my directness, and hesitated before answering.
‘I thought they seemed very happy. I never saw them argue or anything and certainly didn’t hear them – it’s a bit far, you know. They were always off doing things, the three of them – playing with wee Angel, going out. I thought they were a very happy family.’ She paused. Indecision tussled on her face.
‘But?’
‘I don’t like to gossip, especially now that Mrs Knowes is gone.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I had heard … that someone thought … that Mrs Knowes might have been seeing someone else as well.’
My eyes narrowed. If anyone knew, it would be Dora, but even she had hesitated on that titbit.
‘Did the rumour give you a name?’ I asked.
‘No. That’s why I wasn’t sure whether to mention it or not. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, and she was always such a lovely neighbour to me – even dropped in some baking at Christmas and all. I didn’t believe it myself, but you never know. These ideas don’t start by themselves, do they?’ Actually there were plenty of those kinds of ideas that had started by themselves, snowballed out of all proportion and ruined lives along the way. She’d probably sparked a few to life herself over the years, but I thought I wouldn’t mention that.
‘Did you see Mrs Knowes at the back of their property at all yesterday? Near the fence?’
‘No, love, I only saw her hanging out the washing – the last time I saw her alive, I suppose.’
‘What about their dog? Did you hear it barking at all?’
‘I can’t remember. It’s not a really barky dog, not like the Wheelers’ on the other side. Theirs barks all the time, so I probably wouldn’t notice if it did, sorry.’
‘And no visitors or vehicles?’
‘Not that I noticed. No one came to visit her, other than the van.’
‘Van? What kind of a van?’
‘Oh, a work van of some sort. It was white and had a ladder on the roof, but I couldn’t see the sign on it from here. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. I had my reading glasses on, not my looking glasses—’
‘Why didn’t you think to mention it earlier?’
Dora didn’t notice the edge. ‘Well, it wasn’t really a visitor, was it? It was just a tradesman. Do you think that might be important?’
‘Possibly. If we knew who it was, they might have been the last person to see Mrs Knowes alive. They might be able to give us a time, help us figure out the order of events. Did you see the tradesman?’ My warm feelings towards Mrs McGann were evaporating fast.
‘No, I only glanced really. We were in the middle of a hand.’
‘So what time would that have been?’
‘I suppose around eleven o’clock, maybe.’
‘Did you notice how long the van stayed?’
‘Not really, love. It was definitely gone when the girls were leaving. I’d have noticed it when I saw them out.’
That probably depended on how much sherry had accompanied lunch. I decided it was time for me to be seen out. My tolerance level for Dora McGann’s prattle had just been exceeded. At least I had gleaned some useful information, even though she’d barely thought to mention it. You had to wonder what went on in some people’s heads.
I didn’t quite know what to think of the affair rumour. I didn’t put it past Gaby to betray Lockie like that – a rebound relationship: did they ever last? – but it sounded like it was fourth-hand speculation. I couldn’t let it cloud my mind.
The van sighting, however, was another matter altogether. The unease in my belly reasserted itself.