“I told the police everything,” Margery said as they waited for a car to pass.
“It would really help if you could just go over exactly what you saw.”
Margery frowned, and Harri followed her across the road towards the bridge.
“I like it up there.” Margery nodded towards the cliffs on the other side of the estuary. “Away from all the tourists and bother makers.” If there had been any doubt she was referring to Harri, she eradicated it with a pointed glance. “My heart sank when I saw him. Unhinged. Degenerate. Talking to himself. I thought he was holding something.”
“What?” Harri asked.
Margery tutted. “Are you going to constantly interrupt like that? It’s very rude, you know. And you throw me off my rhythm. Where was I…”
“You thought he was holding something.”
Margery scowled. “It was something small. A ball or a stone. He kept looking at it.”
Harri had to skip as Margery strode down the steps. She really did walk fast.
“Did you hear what he was saying?”
“I didn’t get too close. Just the odd word. Something about courage, I think, but I couldn’t swear to it.”
They wove through groups of slow-moving walkers and tourists.
“And you passed him on your way back?” Harri asked.
Margery nodded, but there was hesitation in the gesture. She had the expression of a child being forced to the dentist. The conversation was going somewhere unwelcome.
“And it was another quarter of a mile before you noticed he’d gone? What’s that? About five or six minutes?”
They approached the old turnstile, and Harri ferreted in her pocket for some change to put in the donation box to contribute to the upkeep of the bridge.
“More like three or four. I’m a fast walker.”
“I’ve noticed,” Harri said.
Margery snorted again. “Is that all? I’d really like to get going now, and you’re slowing me down.”
“I’m sorry,” Harri replied. “I do have one last question.”
The sound of their footsteps thudding against the planks merged with the hubbub of the small crowd and the rattle of an approaching train.
“Why are you lying?” Harri asked. She was fishing, but something about the way Margery had reacted to being asked about the return journey suggested she was holding back.
The older woman stopped walking. “How dare you? I don’t think I’ve ever…”
Harri was familiar with this particular brand of indignation. Billy Tompkins, her old patrol partner in London, used to say people squeal the loudest when you’ve got the tightest grip on their balls.
She cut Margery off. “I’ve been around long enough to spot a liar. I just don’t understand why you’re not telling the truth. Unless you were involved?”
Margery’s scowl fell away. “Involved? You don’t think… Why would I? I didn’t even know the man.”
Harri was surprised to see tears form in Margery’s eyes, and she gently led the older woman to the west side of the bridge, behind the tiny rail terminal. Fred sniffed the struts that supported the handrail.
Margery wiped her eyes. “I was a headmistress once. A good one. They made me take early retirement. ‘Your views are outdated,’ they said. ‘You’re too cold. Too inhumane. Too distant.’ ” The tears were gone, replaced by seething fury at past injustice. “Too distant? Ridiculous. Do children need a friend, or do they need a teacher?”
Margery’s chin quivered and her eyes lost focus for a moment. “I didn’t do anything. I could see the man was in trouble, and I didn’t help him.” She hesitated. “Now I’ve got to live with that for the rest of my life. It’s my punishment.”
“What punishment?” Harri asked. “What did you do wrong?”
Margery took a deep breath, and her vulnerable core was replaced by the hard shell Harri had encountered at the woman’s front door. Margery’s eyes burned with resentment, and Harri had no doubt she hated the idea of showing weakness, particularly to a stranger.
“You’re right. I’ve been lying. I never looked back. I was too busy running away.”
“Why?”
Margery hesitated again. “I saw him do it. I saw him jump. I was trying to pass as quickly as I could. The poor man needed someone to help him and I went on by.” Her eyes welled again, and she wiped them angrily, as though they were traitors. “He was right beside me. He looked straight at me, smiled the kind of sad smile of someone who was grieving, and stepped off the cliff.”
“Did he say anything?” Harri asked.
Margery nodded. “ ‘They’re going to think I murdered her.’ ”
“He said that?”
“Yes,” Margery replied. “A man died because I walked on. Too cold. Too distant.”
She fixed her hair with a resentful stare, but Harri didn’t care about the old woman anymore. Her mind was turning over questions. Had guilt driven David Asha to suicide? Had he played a part in his wife’s death?
“His statement, what he said, that might be important,” Harri suggested. “Why didn’t you tell the police?”
“You think I want that on a file somewhere? That I watched a man jump to his death?” Margery Allen asked.
“I’m sorry,” Harri said absently.
She reached to touch the woman’s shoulder, but Margery stiffened and stepped back.
“That’s quite enough of that,” the former headmistress said. She made a play of adjusting Fred’s collar. “Well, now you know. There’s nothing more to discuss. If you’ll excuse me, I don’t think Fred is in the mood for a walk after all.”
Margery pushed past Harri. “Come on, Fred.”
Harri watched the fearsome woman stride north, returning the way they’d come. The poor dog struggled to keep up. She took her phone from her pocket and made a call.
“Sab, it’s me,” she said. “I need your help with something.”