Silent Voices

for a moment. In the distance she saw Freya approaching.
    ‘Well? It was recently, wasn’t it? Within the last two weeks. She’d found out from Mattie Jones that your young lassie was expecting a baby. She wanted to warn you from playing the same games with her as you did with Mattie.’
    ‘I don’t play games, Inspector.’
    ‘When did you last see her?’ Vera bellowed and the sound seemed to echo around the uncluttered room.
    He gave a little nod. ‘You’re quite right. It was ten days ago, just a week before Jenny was murdered.’
    ‘And what did she want with you?’
    ‘She spoke to Freya, who confirmed that she was here under her own free will, that we love each other. But I’d guess love is a concept you don’t understand, Inspector.’
    ‘Did you have a relationship with Jenny Lister, Mr Morgan?’
    He threw back his head and laughed.
    Outside, the girl was almost at the door. Vera stood up suddenly, fury giving her the impetus to rise from the futon.
    ‘I want an answer!’
    ‘Of course there was no relationship, Inspector. Ms Lister was a rather beautiful woman. But not my type.’
    Vera stamped out of the room, leaving Ashworth to follow.

 
Chapter Twenty
     
    Ashworth thought Vera had seriously messed up the interview with Morgan. Sometimes that happened to her: she let a witness get under her skin, play with her head. Then she completely lost focus. They should have taken time to prepare for this meeting, and now they were leaving with important questions left unanswered. After Vera had clattered down the wooden stairs to the street, Ashworth spent a few moments talking to Morgan, thanking him for his time. On the next occasion he’d come back here on his own. He thought the man still had information to give. Morgan was clearly a pervy bastard, but unlike Vera, Ashworth thought he was sufficiently professional not to let his personal opinion get in the way.
    By the time he reached the pavement the two women were walking away from him towards the main street. The spring sun was very low now and he saw them as silhouettes, Vera’s bulk and the girl’s figure slender, willowy, reminding him suddenly of the iconic outlines of Laurel and Hardy at the end of their movies. Turning back towards the sea, he saw a dense, grey bank of fog on the horizon, and a huge tanker emerging from the mouth of the Tyne.
    In the street, he kept his distance. The women were already in conversation and he didn’t want to interrupt. They turned into a new cafe bar, and there Ashworth joined them. It was the sort of place his wife might have enjoyed. Unpretentious, solid furniture: scrubbed kitchen tables and wooden chairs, on the wall blackboards showing the menus, mostly local food, fish and lamb. Maybe he’d bring Sarah here next time they were down the coast. There were a couple of highchairs in the corner so they obviously welcomed bairns.
    ‘This is Joe,’ Vera said. ‘My right-hand man.’
    ‘I should go back.’ The girl still seemed unsure, ill at ease. She hadn’t yet fallen under Vera’s spell. ‘Michael will be wondering where I am.’
    ‘No rush.’ Vera took a seat, set her enormous hands flat on the table. ‘He’ll be meditating. You said he wouldn’t want to be interrupted while he was in the middle of meditation.’ And of course Freya had no answer to that. ‘I’ll have a pint, Joe. They stock that ale they make in Allendale. And something to nibble on, because I’m feeling a bit peckish. What about you, love? I suppose you’re off the alcohol, with the baby on the way.’
    ‘Michael and I don’t drink anyway.’ Freya sat primly, her hands in her lap.
    ‘Good for you. Orange juice then. Or would you rather have an ice cream?’
    The girl regarded Vera suspiciously. Joe thought his boss should cut out the flip remarks, but Freya answered anyway. ‘Orange juice would be fine.’
    When Joe returned from the bar, they were still sitting in an uncomfortable silence.
    ‘Did you know that Mrs Lister had been murdered?’ Vera asked. She’d stopped being playful and her voice was serious and low.
    ‘Mrs Lister?’ Freya seemed genuinely confused.
    ‘The social worker that came to talk to you about your relationship with Michael.’
    ‘Oh her! I think I only knew her first name.’
    ‘Michael was on first-name terms with her, was he?’
    Ashworth thought this was Vera back to her surefooted best, but the girl didn’t answer. The waiter brought their drinks, a basket of