Silent Voices

him. Or was he embarrassed by the petty cruelties of his colleagues?
    ‘The thing with Lisa has been horrible. I don’t think there’s a ringleader. No one person stirring up bother; it’s more a strange sort of herd mentality. It’s kept me awake at nights. Louise, my boss, won’t do anything about it. She wants to be part of the gang too. Pathetic! I was hoping I might deal with the problem while she was on holiday, but I only seemed to make things worse.’ He looked up at Ashworth, relieved at last to be able to confide about the problem that had obviously been haunting him. ‘When that woman was killed yesterday I was pleased. Dreadful, isn’t it? But I thought it would give them all something else to gossip about. Take the heat off Lisa for a while.’
    ‘When did all this nastiness against Lisa start? Since Danny began working here?’
    ‘God no! Long before that. On her first day at work. Something she said, or something in her attitude, just turned them against her.’
    ‘And you really think they might have orchestrated the thefts to force her out?’ It seemed to Ashworth to be ridiculously far-fetched. But if you had a load of people cooped up in a place like this, bored by their work and by each other, perhaps they would create a drama just to bring some excitement to their working lives. A conspiracy to make them feel they belonged.
    Taylor shrugged. ‘Or to get rid of me. I’m not their most popular person either.’
    ‘Why are you so interested in Lisa?’ Ashworth asked. ‘Are you going out with her?’ He still wondered if the man was exaggerating the problem, his judgement clouded because of a romantic attachment.
    Taylor laughed, glad to relieve the tension. ‘Hardly! I’m already spoken for. My partner’s called Paul and we share a flat in Jesmond. I don’t fancy Lisa, but I like her. She’s a bloody good worker. And brave. She needs somebody on her side.’

 
Chapter Fourteen
     
    Connie flattened herself against the wall of the post office to let a livestock lorry down the narrow main road of the village. There was a campaign to get a bypass for Barnard Bridge, but nobody really thought it would happen. Outside the hall, waiting again for the end of playgroup, she thought: Twenty-four hours ago I was standing here and I didn’t know Jenny Lister was dead. She ran through her conversation with the young detective. Had she hit the right tone? It was important that he believed her. She couldn’t stand the idea of more publicity, of having to face the same intrusive questions from prying officials. She hadn’t told him everything of course, that would have been impossible. Even now, she hated the idea of appearing a fool.
    Veronica Eliot made her way along the street, looking very much the country lady in smart brown trousers and a tweed jacket. She’d parked her car outside the old school. Even from a distance Connie could make out the signature, rather incongruous red lips and red nails. A vampire in cashmere and green Hunter wellies. Why do I hate her so much?
    As Veronica approached, Connie braced herself for the icy stare or the barbed comment, the chin in the air as she stalked past, but instead the older woman stopped. She hesitated, uncertain for the first time since Connie had met her. It was still early and there were no other parents around, nobody to witness the meeting.
    Connie took a brief moment of pleasure in the woman’s discomfort and said nothing.
    ‘You’ll have heard about Mrs Lister.’ For Veronica, this was tentative. It didn’t sound like a challenge, or even an attempt to fish for information, which was what Connie had been expecting. She’d felt sure Veronica would have noticed the strange car outside her cottage, and Ashworth was so obviously a detective that Veronica must have guessed there’d been a visitation from the police. She’d want to know all about that.
    ‘Of course,’ Connie said. ‘It was on the local news last night.’
    ‘You must have known her. She’d have been a colleague of yours?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Such a terrible shock,’ Veronica said, at last recovering something of her poise. ‘I didn’t know her well, but our children are friends. Have you heard if the police have made any headway in their investigation?’
    So she was fishing after all. Or was it just that her desire for gossip outweighed her dislike of Connie?
    ‘They’d hardly be likely to confide in me, would they?’ Connie felt some of her old