Free A Lesson in Dying by Ann Cleeves Page B

they get a new head.’
    She polished the last ashtray with a duster then scuttled behind the bar to serve him.
    ‘A pint of Scotch is it?’
    He nodded and watched her pull the beer. ‘And something for yourself,’ he said.
    She poured a small glass of whisky and sipped at it, like a pigeon taking grain.
    ‘What do you think of Mr Medburn getting himself murdered?’ she asked. Nothing so exciting had ever happened in the village before.
    ‘I don’t think Kitty killed him,’ he said firmly.
    ‘Do you not?’ Her eyes were bright and she pecked again at the whisky.
    ‘No.’ He looked at her across the bar. ‘You haven’t heard anything,’ he said, ‘ which might help? People talk to you.’
    ‘Folks were scared of him,’ she said. ‘ I know that.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘You should talk to Miss Hunt,’ she said. ‘She was scared of him. My daughter was dinner nanny at the school years ago and she heard some things then …’
    ‘What sort of things?’
    But she refused to say and changed the subject abruptly.
    ‘I’ve heard Angela Brayshaw got herself into a terrible lot of debt,’ she said. ‘ They were going to take her house off her, but her mother stepped in and paid off the building society. I hear Angela will be working at the nursing home now. She won’t like that.’
    He drank the rest of his beer. ‘ No,’ he said, ‘ she won’t like that.’ He smiled broadly. ‘ Thanks,’ he said, ‘you’ve been a great help.’
    She winked at him as he went out. Walking out of the gloomy pub into the street he almost bumped into the policeman who had been at the school. It occurred to him that Ramsay had followed him and was waiting for him. As if I was a bloody criminal, he thought. He had never liked the police, and the miners’ strike had made things worse.
    ‘Councillor Robson,’ Ramsay said. ‘I was hoping to talk to you.’
    ‘I can’t stop now,’ Robson said. ‘ My daughter’s expecting me.’ It was a lie. He had made no arrangements to visit Patty.
    ‘I’ll give you a lift,’ Ramsay said smoothly. ‘ I was wanting to talk to Mrs Atkins again.’
    ‘You’ll be lucky if you get any sense out of her tonight,’ Jack said spitefully. ‘ It’ll be chaos in there. It always is. The bairns’ll not be in bed yet.’
    ‘All the same,’ Ramsay said, ‘you’ll not say no to a lift.’
    His car was parked outside the British Legion Hall.
    ‘You seem to have been taking a lot of interest in this case,’ the inspector said.
    Jack remained stubbornly silent.
    ‘If you have any information you will come to see me,’ Ramsay said gently. ‘I understand that Mrs Medburn was an old friend of yours.’
    Sly bastard, Jack thought. What business is it of yours? You think she killed him. But still he said nothing. He allowed himself to be helped into the big, comfortable car, then Ramsay drove to Patty’s house and parked immaculately close to the kerb.
    ‘Surely you don’t need to come in now,’ Jack said irritably. ‘You can talk to Patty tomorrow.’
    ‘I’ll just come to the door,’ Ramsay said, ‘and ask Mrs Atkins if it’s convenient.’
    Jack had hoped that it would be a mess, that Ramsay would find it impossible to make himself heard above the noise of the television and the children’s games. He had thought that they would still be at their tea, had imagined the smell of fried food, the floor covered with Andrew’s Lego and Jennifer’s crayons. But Patty was alone there. Jim had taken Andrew to cubs and Jennifer was at a friend’s for tea. The toys had been put away and the dishes, if unwashed, were hidden in the kitchen.
    ‘Dad,’ she said as she opened the door and saw him standing there, a Charlie Chaplin figure with the policeman by his side. ‘What have you been doing? Why are you here?’
    ‘I thought Mr Robson was expected,’ Ramsay said in mock surprise. She was aware of him immediately, felt flushed and awkward in front of him as she invited