Butterfly Grave (Murder Notebooks) (20 page)

Rose thought of the name
Barbara Greaves
. It rang a bell.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘No, thank you. I’m on my way to work so I won’t stay long.’

There were scrabbling sounds on the door.

‘It’s the dog,’ Rose explained.

‘You can let it in. I like dogs.’

Rose opened the door and Poppy ran straight over to Barbara, her tail wagging furiously. Barbara sat down and began to
shush
Poppy and stroke her ears. After a few moments she pushed the gift towards Rose.

‘My family and I, we bought this for Stuart. I think he’ll like it – it’s a book about vintage MGs. We were hoping his nephew would take it to him in hospital. I thought of going myself but it didn’t seem quite right. I haven’t seen him in a couple of years and I didn’t want to just turn up . . .’

‘That’s very nice of you,’ Rose said, still puzzled.

‘I would have waited to come and see him when he’s out of hospital but my family and I are just about to go off on a skiing holiday. I didn’t want Stuart to think that we’d not thought of him at this difficult time.’

‘I don’t really understand. You and your family were close to Stuart?’

‘He was my form teacher. He helped me and my parents through a really rough time. It was because of him that I eventually got to university. I won’t say everything in our lives is fine now but it’s a lot better than it used . . .’

‘You’re Judy Greave’s sister,’ Rose said, the name suddenly slotting into place.

Judy Greaves. The Butterfly Murder
.

‘Yes, I am. I don’t know what you know about . . .’

‘Stuart has some newspaper cuttings in a file. Joshua and I read them. It was a dreadful story . . .’

‘It was a bad time.’

There was an awkward silence. Barbara’s hand was resting on the gift, her fingers tapping. There was a label that said
To Stuart, from the Greaves family.
Rose remembered then that Judy Greaves had been sitting in a car in Morrisons’ car park when she was abducted. Her mother had left her sister in charge of her but she had gone back into the shop and left Judy on her own. Barbara Greaves, the smart young woman sitting opposite her, had been that girl. As if reading her mind Barbara began to talk.

‘My sister was ten and I was fourteen. My mum was always telling me to look after her. You have any sisters?’

Rose shook her head.

‘Well, it’s pretty annoying to be the older sister.
Barbara, will you see to Judy? Barbara, can you find Judy’s school project? Barbara, can you stay in the car with Judy while I pop into Morrrisons?
You’ll know the story of course. I didn’t stay in the car and when I got back Judy had gone.’

Rose sat down at the table close to where Barbara was sitting. Poppy was lying on the floor.

‘Even then I didn’t call for help. I was probably in some daydream about a boy I liked or some such thing. Oh, this is silly. I don’t even know you and I’m going on about this. It’s been ten years. I should move on . . .’

‘It’s OK. Really . . .’

Barbara stood up and picked up her case. Her cheeks had reddened and Rose could see that she was upset. She hooked up her coat from the chair and gave a shaky smile.

‘I must go,’ she said.

Rose put a hand on her arm.

‘I know what it’s like to lose someone. My mother disappeared five years ago. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know what’s happened to her and I think about her every day.’

Barbara stared at Rose. Her eyes glassed over and she seemed to slump back down into the seat.

‘I’ll make a cup of tea,’ Rose said.

‘Please, two sugars, no milk,’ Barbara said.

Later when the tea had been drunk Barbara started to talk about it again.

‘That afternoon when she disappeared was the worst afternoon of my life. At least I thought it was at the time. But then five days later when we got the phone call to say that they’d found her in that house, in that room . . .’

Rose stared down at the table.

‘They said that they were all over the walls. Frame after frame of mounted butterflies. Someone said, one of the reporters I think, that there were maybe three or four hundred butterflies in that room. And Judy lying there . . .’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Rose said.

Barbara used one finger to push her mug away.

‘Now I really must stop talking about it and go.’

Rose stood up. Barbara pointed at the gift.

‘Tell Stuart there’s a bottle of champagne on ice for him when he’s on his feet again.’

Rose wondered what Barbara would say if she were to read Stuart’s letter of confession. Maybe she wouldn’t be shocked or saddened. Maybe she’d be even more grateful to him. When they got to the front door Barbara rested her case on the floor while she put her coat over her suit. Then she pulled a set of keys from her pocket and pointed them at a nearby car. Rose stood and waited for her to get in. When the car moved off she closed the front door.

Rose went up to Stuart’s bedroom and opened his desk drawers one after the other. What was she looking for? Had Joshua filed away the Butterfly Murder papers? She shook her head. Looking at the shelves along the wall she saw the steel box that they’d found in the engine of the MG. She took it off the shelf and lifted the lid. All of Stuart’s stuff was in it. She carried it to her room. She took the notebook and the letter and the newspaper cuttings out. Lying at the bottom was the Last Will and Testament envelope. She left that in the box and picked up the notebook, opening it at the first page.

The face of ten-year-old Judy Greaves looked back at her.

What had happened in Morrisons’ car park? Had a man knocked on the window of the car that Judy was sitting in? Had he spun a story of some sort to get Judy to get out and follow him to his car?
Your mum asked me to come and get you. She slipped over in the shop and hurt her ankle. They’re taking her to hospital now. I’ve got my car here and we can follow the ambulance.
Rose thought about the little girl looking out of the car window at the perfectly nice man who was offering to help her. Of course she would have gone. Rose would have gone. Any story that involved a mother would have overridden any advice on talking to strangers.

Poor Judy Greaves.

The front door sounded. Rose heard Joshua call out her name. She put the papers back in the steel box and pushed it under the bed.

‘Hi!’ she shouted.

There was no answer so she went downstairs, tense about what information Joshua would have about Rory Spenser’s brother.

‘Josh?’

She went into the kitchen and saw him sitting at the table, his face in a scowl.

‘What’s up?’

‘Sean Spenser has an alibi. One of his mates’ mothers says he was at her house. They’re contacting her now.’

‘Oh.’

‘Bob thinks it might not hold. Once Sean has been interviewed a few times he might go back on it.’

‘Did you see him? Sean, I mean?’

‘No.’

‘Give them time. He’s bound to deny it.’

‘That’s what Bob says. What’s this?’

Joshua pulled the wrapped book that Barbara Greaves had left.

‘One of Stuart’s old pupils came round. This is a gift . . .’

‘For Stu?’ Joshua said sharply.

Rose nodded. He tossed it aside.

‘She was very nice. She was telling me that . . .’

‘I can’t be thinking about that now,’ he said, standing up. ‘I can’t think about anything except this Skeggsie stuff, Rose. Not now. Don’t bother me with it now.’

He walked out of the kitchen. Moments later she heard the front door slam. She stayed sitting at the table, her hand resting on the gift for Stuart.

TWENTY-TWO

Rose went out in the afternoon and walked along the Promenade. She’d left Poppy at home so she could look in the shops. It was windy but not too cold and she liked the feel of the breeze ruffling her hair, blowing at her collar. She was tired of being in Stuart Johnson’s house. She was tired of being here, in Newcastle. She wanted to go back to London. Everything was complicated. Joshua was so unhappy and there was nothing she could do about it. She ardently wished she could turn back time – the three of them in London, sitting eating in the kitchen at the flat in Camden, Joshua cooking, Skeggsie washing up, Rose drifting between the two.

What if she got a train home?

What if she went to the house now and wrote a letter for Joshua telling him that she had to go back and see Anna? What would he do? Maybe he would be better on his own; possibly she was a
burden
on top of all his other troubles.

Most of the shops were still shut for the Christmas holidays but a couple of cafes were open, the smell of bacon wafting temptingly from them. She passed the Lighthouse pub and then went along the front of the arcades, their machines pumping sounds like gunfire into the street.

She went into a charity shop. It was warm and there was music playing and she found herself looking through racks of women’s clothes. She pulled out a black shirt that was her size. It was made from linen so it would crease but still she liked the shape of it. Next to it was a light yellow top, the colour subtle like misty sunshine. It wasn’t her colour, but even so she took it to the till and paid for it. Outside the pavement was blocked by two elderly women standing talking, two shopping trolleys in between them. Rose moved past.

‘Hello,’ a voice said.

She looked round and saw Michelle Hinds coming towards her.

‘Oh hi!’ she said, holding her bag close to her chest as though she’d been caught doing something wrong.

‘How are you guys?’

‘Not so bad,’ Rose lied.

Michelle was immaculately made-up, eyeliner on her lids and her lips painted pillar-box red. Her coat was open and showed a low cut top over black trousers.

‘I’m glad I met you. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I’m on my way to work,’ Michelle said. ‘Will you walk with me?’

‘Sure.’

They carried on, weaving in and out of passers-by. Michelle talked as she went, Rose straining to hear some of the things she said.

‘I wanted to tell Joshua the other night but I didn’t want him rushing off and being aggressive with Rory Spenser. Now I’m thinking you might be a better person to tell just so Josh knows I’ve been straight with him.’

‘What is it?’

‘When I said I was with Rory in the Beer Hut I was being honest but he did go out for about fifteen minutes. He went to get some dope. To take back to the party.’

‘So he was on his own for a while?’

‘It was about eleven twenty, something like that? I didn’t mention it to the policeman who I spoke to because I didn’t want to get Rory into trouble. He’s already got a couple of cautions for possession.’

‘But if he was on his own for fifteen minutes he could have gone to that alley?’ Rose said.

‘He went out for dope. He came back with some dope. I’m not telling you this so that you can start thinking that he killed Josh’s friend. I’m just trying to be honest with Josh. I can see he is in a state.’

Rose nodded.

‘Rory didn’t kill his friend.’

They were in front of the Royal.

‘Look, he does boxing now and on top of that he’s got an interview for a college course in a couple of weeks. He’s not the idiot he comes across. He talks before he thinks and he doesn’t like Josh-u-a. But he’s harmless. Why don’t you go and talk to him? He lives in Cork Street, about a mile down Jesmond Road on the right. Number Six. He’s a pain but he wouldn’t kill anyone.’

She looked at Rose. Rose didn’t know what to say.

‘I’ve got to go. I’m due to start in five minutes. I’m on my knees I’ve worked so much this week.’

‘Thanks, Michelle,’ Rose said.

‘You’re quite nice, pet. For a southerner.’

Just then the front doors of the hotel opened and some people came out. One of them was the blonde woman with the dog. She was fussing over the dog and pulling car keys out of a bag. Rose stepped back away from the entrance to the car park. She beckoned for Michelle to move with her.

‘I’m due in work,’ Michelle said.

‘Could you find out who that woman is? She’s been staying in your hotel.’

‘Which one?’ Michelle said, looking round.

‘The blonde woman with the dog.’

‘Oh, her. She’s Mrs Spicer. Everyone knows who she is because of the dog. She’s from London but has family here and has come up for Christmas. She’s a nice lady. And the dog’s name is Alfie. Anything else?’

‘No,’ she said.

Margaret Spicer, the Managing Director of Beaufort Holdings.

‘Bye,’ Michelle sang out the word and ran off through the car park and into the hotel.

When Rose got back to the house she saw the leather jacket hanging on the hall pegs. Joshua was back from wherever he had gone. She wondered if she should tell him what Michelle had said about Rory. It might make matters worse, though. He might rush round to Rory’s and there could be another fight. Wouldn’t it be better to leave the whole thing to the police? Skeggsie was the son of a retired police officer. They would do everything they could to find who was responsible. No doubt they would find out about Rory’s trip to buy dope from someone else.