Silent Voices

so they’ll have them saved somewhere on the computer.’
    ‘You a member?’ Ashworth stifled a grin.
    Vera ignored the question. ‘Show the photo to the staff, see if they know her. And get Holly to find out from her computer geek what time Jenny checked into the club this morning.’ She slid the car keys from the keyring that had been attached to Jenny’s purse. ‘And when you’ve chatted to the staff, see if her car’s still here. Best take a CSI with you. They’ll treat it as a crime scene. I think the victim’s bag might still be inside. If so, let me know.’
    ‘I’ll let the wife know I’ll be late then.’ The words were meant to be sarcastic, but Vera took no notice.
    ‘Aye. I’ll meet you back here if I finish in time. Otherwise I’ll give you a ring. Meeting first thing in the morning at the station. They’ve set up an incident room?’
    ‘Holly’s looking after that. Charlie’s been helping me take statements here.’
    Vera nodded. She thought she’d better let Holly out to see some action the next day. She wasn’t a hard boss. Not really. She knew it was important to keep her troops happy. Walking across the car park, she realized she was starving. She’d picked up a cheese pasty from Gregg’s before going swimming and it was still in the bag on the passenger seat of the car. A bit greasy and tepid after sitting in the sun all day, but no meat in it, so nothing to go off. She ate it with relish and set off south and west towards the Tyne.
    Barnard Bridge was west of the hotel, on the way to Cumbria. It was in an area unfamiliar to Vera. She’d grown up in the hills, and most of the crime in her patch occurred in the city or in the post-industrial villages on the south-east coast of the county. This was rich farming country. The cottages in the villages and small market towns had been bought up by professionals looking for the good life, environmentalists who seemed to square their green credentials with the commute along the A69 into Newcastle, Hexham or Carlisle. It was a place of farmers’ markets, independent booksellers and writers. A little bit of southern England planted in the north. Or so Vera thought. But she had a chip on her shoulder the size of Kielder Forest. What would she know? She’d never felt comfortable with the intellectual classes.

 
Chapter Five
     
    The house was more modest than Vera had been expecting, part of a terrace on the main street running through the village. She parked right against the pavement. It was five o’clock and the place was quiet. The Co-op on the corner was still open, but there was nobody about. This was teatime for kids, and the commuters from the city would still be at work or on their way home. She knocked on the door, not really expecting an answer, but almost immediately there were footsteps inside, the click of the Yale being turned.
    ‘Forgotten your key again?’ The words were spoken before the door was properly opened. There was laughter behind them. ‘Really, Mum, you are the limit.’ Then the girl saw Vera, paused and smiled.
    ‘Sorry I was expecting someone . . . Can I help you?’
    ‘Is your mum Jenny Lister?’
    ‘Yes, but I’m afraid she’s not here.’
    ‘I’m with Northumbria Police, pet. I think I’d best come in.’ She saw the panic that was the inevitable result of a police officer turning up unexpectedly on the doorstep. The girl stepped back to allow her in, and then her questions followed Vera down the narrow hall.
    ‘What’s this about? Has there been an accident? Have you come to take me to the hospital? Shouldn’t we leave now?’
    Vera took a seat at a table in the kitchen at the back of the house. The walls were yellow and the low sun lit them up. Again this wasn’t what Vera had been expecting. She’d imagined Jenny as a stay-at-home wife, kept in idleness and luxury by a hard-working businessman, but this looked more like a student house. The kitchen looked out over a small garden, the Sunday papers were still on the table, and a bottle of red wine stood on the counter, half drunk, a cork stuck back into the neck.
    ‘Is it just you and your mam?’ Vera asked. There were photos pinned on a big cork noticeboard on one wall. The victim with this girl, both of them smiling into the camera. No doubt then as to the identity of the dead woman, and Vera felt suddenly very sad about that. She looked like a nice woman. No reason why decent women shouldn’t join health clubs