A Body in the Village Hall by Dee MacDonald (best business books of all time .txt) 📗

‘They kept her in Bodmin for six months,’ said Mrs Grey. ‘But Billy had gone up to London. Money’s good up there and there weren’t nothin’ for him round here, was there? Only me. He stayed here for a while off and on, but we don’t get on that well.’

‘Sometimes we take out our resentment and sorrow on the person we love most. Perhaps Billy did that to you, and perhaps Maureen took hers out on Billy. I really want to help, Mrs Grey, and I have a long – and possibly fruitless – journey ahead of me. But it’s worth a try.’

Mrs Grey eased herself up slowly from the armchair. ‘I’ll have a look,’ she said, heading for the door, ‘and find that address for you. Can’t remember it offhand.’

Kate could hear much rummaging going on next door before Mrs Grey reappeared with a scrap of paper on which she’d written the address.

‘They live in Shoreditch,’ she said, handing the scrap of paper to Kate, ‘but it’s very close to Bethnal Green Tube station. Her name is Delyse Barber. Nassau Road, number 182. It’s a flat.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Kate said, memorising the address in case she lost the piece of paper. ‘I’m really grateful to you.’

‘She’s such a beautiful little girl,’ Mrs Grey said dreamily. ‘Jasmine, she’s called. Looks a lot like her dad, just like Lucy did, God rest her soul. Just make sure that Maureen don’t harm her. She went mad once so she could go mad again. Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘No thank you, Mrs Grey. I’d love one but I’ve a long drive ahead of me so I’d best be on my way. But I promise that next time I will! You’ve been very helpful and understanding. Thanks so much for the address. Wish me luck!’

‘I do wish you luck, ’specially if it helps to free my Billy,’ Mrs Grey said, her lower lip trembling as she escorted Kate to the door.

Kate turned and gave the other woman a hug. ‘I’m going to do my best,’ she said.

As she drove away Kate tried to imagine how Mrs Grey must be feeling. It was almost impossible to think of either of her two sons in jail for murders they didn’t commit, and she felt her eyes brim with tears. Motherhood was also a life sentence in a strange sort of way.

Four hours and ten minutes later Kate drew up outside Shirley Munro’s smart house on the outskirts of Windsor. When Kate had left to live in Cornwall, her friend Shirley’s parting shot had been, ‘There’ll always be a bed for you here!’

‘I’ve come for that bed you promised,’ Kate said with a grin as Shirley opened her smart grey-green front door. Grey-green front doors were the thing at the moment and Shirley liked to be with it, right down to her enormous open-plan living/dining/kitchen area, with its bi-fold doors to the courtyard garden and the carefully arranged shabby-chic furnishings.

Like good friends everywhere they exchanged news, jokes and memories, while getting through large quantities of wine and food. At eleven o’clock Kate yawned and said, ‘I must go to bed now; I need to be up really early tomorrow. I’m hoping to be back sometime in the afternoon with a woman called Maureen and then we’ll drive down to Cornwall.’

Twenty-Three

At nine o’clock on Saturday morning Kate was on a train from Windsor heading towards Waterloo, feeling more nervous than she had in years. What if her hunch was wrong and Maureen hadn’t gone to Shoreditch? What if Maureen was the killer and left the note? What the hell am I doing up here anyway? Why should I care? Well, she told herself, I’ve got to try. I’ll be home tonight, hopefully, with or without Maureen, and Woody need never know I came here. I’ll take the note to him on Monday. No, I won’t, I’ll take the note to him tomorrow.

She withdrew the note from her handbag as the train was crossing the Thames between Richmond and Kew. How could it have been from Maureen? There’d been no signs of any technology in Maureen’s house, unless she had a laptop and printer hidden away in her bedroom. Because you couldn’t very well ask anyone else to type a note like that out for you.

By the time Kate could see The Shard towering above the rooftops on her right, as the train slid into Waterloo, she was feeling more confused than ever. The worst of the rush hour was over but Kate was still amazed at the sheer volume of people moving at speed in every direction, pulling suitcases along, talking on their phones. She’d forgotten about all this after only a few months in Cornwall and she wondered if she was already becoming a country bumpkin, particularly as the crowds thundered past her down the steps into the Underground.

Kate spent the journey on the Northern Line wedged between the door and a young couple, speaking in some unrecognisable language in between kissing and openly fondling each other. As always she was amused by the complete disinterest of all the other passengers staring vacantly into space, if not on their phones. Fortunately, the Central Line to Bethnal Green was quieter, if less entertaining, and Kate got a seat.

As she surfaced into the daylight, the noise and the traffic, she hesitated for a moment trying to remember the directions to Nassau Road and then checked the map on her phone. She set off past parades of shops selling everything from halloumi to halal meat, mangoes to Marengo, curtains, curries, sari shops, coffee shops and newspapers in every language imaginable. It couldn’t be more different to Tinworthy’s modest parade of shops. Kate breathed in the exotic sights and smells and smiled to herself. Having only had a slice of toast for breakfast some of these savoury smells were making her mouth water.

Nassau Road was the second turning on the right; a long