Silent Voices

could risk another baby after Patrick had died.’ He looked up. ‘What is all this about, Inspector?’
    ‘Background.’ She kept her voice light. ‘More likely just plain nosiness. Not what I’m here for. I’m here because there’s a car outside that belongs to a missing woman.’
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘Connie Masters. She lives in Mallow Cottage, just over the road from you.’
    ‘I’ve heard my wife speak of her, but I’ve never met the woman.’
    ‘So you don’t know what her Nissan Micra’s doing in your car park?’
    ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I haven’t a clue.’ He looked up at her with clear grey eyes and for once in her life she couldn’t say if he was telling the truth. She imagined him in business negotiations. Or playing poker. He’d be good. He could be bluffing, but his face would give nothing away.
    She stood up and saw that Ashworth was surprised that she was prepared to leave things at that. At the door she stopped and turned back to face Eliot. ‘Was Patrick buried?’ she asked. ‘Is there a grave?’
    If the question shocked him, the man gave no sign of it.
    ‘No. He was cremated. Veronica’s decision.’
    ‘And the ashes were scattered at Greenhough, her old family home.’ A statement this time, not a question.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And that’s why the place is so important to her?’ Vera said.
    ‘It’s important to us all.’
    This time Vera left the room and shut the door carefully behind her.

 
Chapter Thirty-Eight
     
    On the short drive from the business park to Barnard Bridge, Vera didn’t open her mouth except to take one phone call. Joe Ashworth thought it was the chap in social services because Vera called him Craig, but he couldn’t tell what it was about. It was all Craig talking and Vera listening, and it lasted the whole journey. They were still using Vera’s Land Rover, which was completely against all regulations because it was about a hundred years old and likely to clap out at any time, but she’d said if there was floodwater on the road, at least they’d get through. The windows didn’t close properly and the engine was so noisy it felt as if they were riding in a tank. There was a stink of diesel fumes.
    They rolled onto the gravel drive at the White House and at last she did speak. ‘You keep your mouth shut here, OK? And you take notes. Detailed notes. We’re going to need this in court.’
    Veronica opened the door to them on the first knock. She looked pale and tense, and Ashworth was reminded of the photo Christopher Eliot had shown them in his office. The hardness had gone and she was a vulnerable young woman again. She was dressed in a long waxed coat and wellingtons.
    ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I was just on my way out.’
    ‘We need to talk.’ Vera walked straight in past her and into the kitchen as if it were her place, not Veronica’s. Ashworth followed. When Veronica hesitated, Vera barked at her, ‘Now! I’m in a hurry here.’
    They sat at the kitchen table, Vera and the woman facing each other, Ashworth at the far end, his notebook discreetly on his knee. Veronica slipped her coat off her shoulders, but was still wearing the boots.
    ‘Where have you hidden Connie Masters?’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘Don’t piss me about, lady. Her car was found in your husband’s office car park. I need to know where they are. That lass of hers’ll be scared stiff by now.’
    Veronica said nothing. She stared, haughty and impassive, into the garden.
    ‘I know it was you who left the Nissan, and if I need to I’ll prove it. A call to every minicab firm in the Tyne valley and we’ll find someone who picked you up there and brought you back to Barnard Bridge. Because you couldn’t ask your husband for a lift, could you? You couldn’t have him asking questions.’
    Still the woman remained silent. But Ashworth saw that the white hand resting on the table was trembling. Soon she would crack, he thought.
    Vera leaned forward and when she spoke her voice was quite different. So low that Ashworth at the other end of the table could hardly make out the words. ‘Tell me about your baby, Veronica. Your first baby. Tell me about Matilda.’
    Veronica remained completely still, but her eyes were full of tears. She blinked and they ran down her cheeks. Ashworth realized she was wearing no makeup; perhaps that was why she looked so different.
    ‘How old were you when you had her, Veronica? It’s in the records. The