Val McDermid 3-Book Crime Collection: A Place of Execution, The Distant Echo, The Grave Tattoo. Val McDermid

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СКАЧАТЬ frowned and reached for his cigarettes. ‘I had quite a backlog of printing to do. Entries for a competition, so it’s important to get the prints just so. I didn’t come back indoors until just before dinner time. I found my wife and Kathy Lomas getting themselves in a terrible state in the kitchen about Alison. Does that answer your question, Inspector?’

      ‘It answers my question, but it doesn’t resolve my difficulty. You see, sir, we have been told that you were seen walking from the woodland where we found Shep to the spinney where we discovered what we believe to be traces of a struggle involving Alison. The time has been put at about four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. Can you explain why anyone might think that, sir?’

      It was Hawkin’s ears that flushed first, turning a deep scarlet that spread along his jaw and up his cheeks. ‘Because they are stupid peasants, Inspector?’

      George sat up straight in his seat, astonished at the virulence of Hawkin’s response. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘They’ve been inbreeding for centuries, Inspector. A village with three surnames? They’re not exactly going to win Top of the Form, are they? Some of them barely know what year it is, never mind what day it is. Just because one of those halfwits mistook Tuesday for Wednesday…well, it’s hardly something to take seriously, is it? Look, Inspector, my uncle ran this village as if it was his personal hobby for a very good reason. He knew that without the protection of a squire, the people of Scardale would never survive. They’re just not equipped for the modern world.’ Suddenly, Hawkin ran out of vitriol. He ran a hand over his hair and managed one of his neat three-cornered smiles. ‘Believe me, Inspector, I never moved out of my darkroom on Wednesday afternoon. Whoever told you otherwise was mistaken.’

      Before George could respond, Clough chimed in with the perfect timing that makes comedy duos into stars. Ostentatiously flicking back the pages of his notebook, he spoke apologetically, ‘Sir, there were two statements. Two individuals claim they saw you in the same place at about four o’clock on Wednesday. If it was just the one, well, frankly, sir, we’ve seen enough in the last couple of days to understand exactly what you’re getting at. But with two…It’s a bit more awkward.’

      This time, Hawkin’s smile appeared genuine. For the first time, George had a flash of what had attracted a Scardale widow like Ruth Carter. When he smiled, Hawkin had the same devilish quality as the young David Niven. And the same smoothness, George added mentally as Hawkin offered both policemen cigarettes with an expansive gesture. ‘Thankfully, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,’ he said, his voice straining for lightness.

      ‘And that would be?’ George asked, leaning forward to accept a light, his eyes never leaving Hawkin’s.

      ‘I’m often out in the dale. I take photographs, I walk my land to make sure everything is as it should be. You have to keep them up to the mark, you know, or the walls would be nothing more than piles of limestone rubble. And as for the gates…’ Pursed lips, shaken head. ‘Anyway, it so happens that on Tuesday I was in the field you mentioned. Obviously a couple of the villagers saw me there. After Alison disappeared, they’ll have been arguing about what day it was. Now, if I had been a Carter or a Crowther or a Lomas, I’d have been given the benefit of the doubt and they’d all have agreed it was Tuesday. But I’m an outsider, so they’re always ready to think the worst of me. And, let’s not forget, they’re like children, always playing to the gallery. So if there was any doubt in what passes for a mind among the Carters, the Crowthers and the Lomases, they’d automatically pick the version of events that made them look important and me look bad.’ Hawkin leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other to reveal a bony ankle and a few inches of white, hairy skin between pyjama and slipper.

      ‘You’re certain it wasn’t Wednesday?’ George asked.

      ‘I’m positive.’

      ‘And you’d be willing to sign a sworn statement to that effect?’ George asked. Nothing Hawkin had said persuaded him Ma Lomas and Charlie were mistaken, but it remained their word against his. And George knew who would make the more convincing witness.

      They were back in the kitchen within a couple of minutes. Ruth Hawkin was sitting at the kitchen table, a forgotten cigarette in the ashtray next to her transformed into three inches of marled grey ash. Her hand was clamped over her mouth and her eyes were fixed on the front page of a newspaper on the table in front of her.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Hawkin asked, his voice showing more concern for his wife than he ever had in George’s hearing before.

      Wordlessly, she pushed the paper towards the three men. It was that week’s High Peak Courant, printed that very afternoon. George stared down at the front page headlines, scarcely able to credit what he was reading.

       RELATIVE IN CUSTODY IN MISSING GIRL HUNT

      A man is being questioned by Buxton police in connection with the disappearance of Scardale schoolgirl Alison Carter.

      The man assisting police with their inquiries is believed to be a relative of the missing thirteen-year-old who has not been seen since late on Wednesday afternoon.

      Alison took her collie Shep for a walk in the woods by the river Scarlaston, as she often did after she came home from school.

      Police with tracker dogs have led a massive two-day comb-out of the secluded dale. Local farmers have searched isolated outbuildings and High Peak Mountain Rescue Team have investigated remote gullies where Alison might have fallen.

      Further searches are planned for the weekend. Volunteers are asked to assemble at the Methodist Hall on the B8673 south of Longnor at half past eight on Saturday morning.

      The man in custody is thought to be a close relative of Alison Carter, and familiar with the Scardale area, although he has not lived in the dale for twenty years.

      He is believed to live in a hostel for single men on the outskirts of Buxton. It is understood that he is employed at a sheltered workshop in the town, where he was met by police when he arrived for work this morning.

      A police spokesman refused to confirm or deny the Courant story, saying only that wideranging inquiries into Alison’s disappearance were continuing.

      Among those questioned have been Alison’s classmates at Peak Girls’ High…

      George could scarcely credit what he was seeing. The glory-hunting Detective Chief Inspector Carver had wasted no time in leaking the story to the local paper. He must have been on the phone to them even before Peter Crowther was in the station. George’s heart sank. He thought he and Clough had protected Crowther by arranging for the word to be spread that the man had no connection to his niece’s disappearance. They’d reckoned without the Buxton grapevine and the early deadline of the weekly Courant. This paper was on the streets of Buxton. And thanks to him, so was Peter Crowther.

      Then he caught sight of Ruth Hawkin’s stricken face and he reminded himself that his anger would have to wait. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘There’s no reason to suppose he had anything to do with Alison’s disappearance. He’s been released. That story should never have appeared.’

      ‘What are you talking about?’ Hawkin demanded, sounding genuinely puzzled. He jerked the paper closer and read the first few paragraphs again. ‘I don’t understand. Who is this relative who’s been arrested? Why weren’t we informed? And why have you been pestering me with pointless questions when you already have someone in custody?’

      ‘That’s СКАЧАТЬ