I don’t believe her,” said Yasmin, as they left the pit cottage and waved goodbye to the woman in her best day frock and pinny. “I think there is something else she’s not telling us.”
“I’m afraid, Mrs Rolandson, I agree with you,” Alice admitted. “I shall drop by again tomorrow. Perhaps without you here, she might be more willing to talk.”
“Thank you Mrs Denby; that would be most appreciated. Meanwhile, your daughter and I have a lot to do back in Newcastle. The information about the baby is very useful. Very useful indeed. Poppy, do you think you can look into that when we get back?”
“I can, yes. But before we go, do you mind if we stop in at the sweet shop, please?”
Yasmin chuckled. “Are you feeling peckish?”
“No, but there’s something I want to ask Edna’s mam.”
Poppy pushed open the door of the shop and set off the bell. She remembered this shop from when she was young and her parents visited Ashington on the train. She and Christopher would be allowed a penny-bag of sweets – if they’d been good – to eat on the train back to Morpeth. Back then the shop had been more of a general goods store which sold sweets; now, twenty years later, the pots and pans and balls of string were gone, and the sweets and confectionery expanded. But there, on the shelves behind the counter, were the same jars of fizz balls and bonbons, as well as Poppy’s personal favourite: mint humbugs.
They were greeted by a smiling woman in a red and white striped apron and mop cap, whose smile faded when she recognized who her customers were.
“Hello, Mrs Storey.”
“Miss Denby. Mrs Denby,” said Mrs Storey flatly.
“And this is Mrs Rolandson. I don’t think you’ve met.”
“We haven’t. Good day to you, Mrs Storey.”
Mrs Storey pursed her lips and looked to the door. “What can I do for you ladies? It’s nearly dinnertime and the shop’ll be busy soon.”
“We won’t keep you long. We’ve just been to Mrs Robson’s house to offer our condolences,” said Poppy.
“Aye, it’s a terrible thing that happened. Our Edna’s having nightmares.”
“I’m sure she is,” answered Poppy. “It was a horrible thing to see. And a child should never have to be subjected to it. But if you don’t mind, I have a few questions for you. You see, they haven’t yet caught Agnes’ killer –”
“I thought they’d got that Wilson woman. That’s what it said in the paper.”
“She’s been released on bail and the police admit that the case against her isn’t watertight. They are looking at other suspects.”
“Oh aye, who might that be?”
“I’m afraid I can’t say. But I’m sure we’ll all find out in a few days. For now, we – Mrs Rolandson and I – are talking to as many people as possible who might have seen something at the exhibition. Mrs Rolandson here is a barrister.”
Mrs Storey looked at Yasmin as if Poppy had just announced that she was a two-headed horse, then crossed her arms across her chest. “I’ve already told the police what I’d seen and didn’t see.”
Poppy smiled, but not too widely. Mrs Storey seemed like the type of woman who would be suspicious of pleasantries. “I’m sure you have. We’ve all been interviewed. But, in mine and Mrs Rolandson’s line of work, we’ve noticed that people often remember things after they’ve been interviewed. Or perhaps don’t even realize the significance of something that has happened or that they’ve seen.”
“Oh aye? Like what?”
“Well, for instance, I noticed you talking to Mr Dante Sherman at the gallery on Thursday night – the man in charge of putting the exhibition on.”
“There’s no law about talking to someone, is there?”
“Of course not. But I couldn’t help noticing that you and he seemed already familiar with one another. And I was wondering where you had met him before?”
Yasmin shot Poppy a quick glance, her eyes approving.
“Well, what if I have? Nowt wrong with that, is there?”
“Well no, obviously not. I was just wondering where it was you had met him.”
Mrs Storey’s eyes narrowed and she looked up at the clock on the wall. “Why do you want to know?”
“Because,” said Yasmin, stepping forward, “we need to eliminate people from our enquiries. We don’t want innocent people to be arrested now, do we? Innocent people such as yourself, who may know something that could help the case but might be understood – wrongly I’m sure – to be hiding evidence.”
Mrs Storey’s eyes opened wide. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
“We’re sure you haven’t,” chipped in Poppy soothingly. “And if you tell us what you know, we can ensure that the police know that too.”
Mrs Storey’s lips pursed, then relaxed. “All right. But there’s nowt in it. He came into the shop about a month ago. He was asking questions.”
“About what?” asked Yasmin.
“Old history. He wanted to know if I was one of the bairns that Brownley fella taught.” She looked at Alice Denby pointedly. “You know the one.”
“And were you?” asked Poppy.
Mrs Storey’s eyes flicked to the door and back. No one was coming in. “I was. I was one of the younger students. I was about eight or nine. I don’t remember much.”
Poppy wondered if she should ask whether or not Mrs Storey had posed naked, but she decided against it. She didn’t want the woman to clam up in shame. “I see,” she said instead. “And what else did he ask?”
Mrs Storey shrugged. “Oh, this and that. He wanted to know if I remembered what had happened the day and the night when Brownley died. I told him I didn’t remember much personally, but told him what people had said had happened. They talked about it for years after, they did.”
“And what did they talk about?” asked Poppy.
Mrs Storey lowered her eyes. “I can’t remember now.”
“Come on, woman,” said Yasmin, as if she were addressing a witness at the Old Bailey, “we already know there’d been talk about Agnes pushing Brownley down the shaft and that she was pregnant and had an abortion. Was that what you told Sherman?”
“What if it was?” asked the shopkeeper, her eyes defiant. “It’s no crime to pass on a bit of gossip, is there?”
Yasmin took a short, controlled breath, then released it. “Unfortunately not.”
Just then, the doorbell rang, and two customers walked in.
Mrs Storey smirked. “Well, that’s all the time I’ve got for you. So unless there’s anything else, I’ll ask you to leave.”
Yasmin and Poppy turned to walk away, but Alice Denby stood her ground.
“Mother,” said Poppy quietly, “we should probably go.”
“I’ll be out in a minute, Poppy. You go without me.”
Poppy and Yasmin looked at one another. Yasmin shrugged.
“All right, Mam.”
A few minutes later – during which Yasmin and Poppy assessed the information they’d just received about Sherman – Alice emerged from the shop and handed something to her daughter. It was a penny-bag of mint humbugs.
“You did a grand job in there, pet. I’m proud of you.”
Poppy bit back her tears.