Dead And Buried

‘Maurice Wharton is dying. He can’t have more than a few days left to live, weeks at most. I bet Nancy would be at the hospice now, sitting at his bedside, if you hadn’t pulled her in.’

‘Well, yes — that is what she told me,’ admitted Fry.

Cooper nodded. ‘But you took no notice, did you, Diane?’

‘Well what would you have done?’ she snapped. ‘I had to bring her in. It’s all very well this caring and sensitive stuff, but there comes a point where even you have to follow procedure and do your job properly, no matter how many sob stories people tell you.’

With an effort, Cooper tried not to smile too much. He felt unduly pleased with himself for having provoked a response from her. Despite the impression she tried to give, Fry was very much on edge. Something had unsettled her, and he was content to think that it might have been him.

He stood up, still holding on to the evidence bag containing Maurice Wharton’s letter.

‘I’ll go and talk to her then, shall I?’ he said.

‘Obviously, I’ll have to sit in,’ said Fry.

‘Fine. But try not to upset her too much.’

Nancy Wharton was huddled close to the table, hunched in an awkward position, as if cowering away from the walls of the room. The interview rooms at West Street weren’t very attractive, but her reaction was extreme.

Cooper recalled the furniture crammed into the Whartons’ council house on the Devonshire Estate. He wondered if she’d already become constrained by her new life there, and now no longer knew how to relax and stretch herself out into the available space.

‘Maurice has always had his faults,’ said Nancy, before Fry had even started the tapes. ‘No one knows that better than me. But he’s not really a murderer.’

Fry shrugged. ‘Oh, no one’s a murderer,’ she said. ‘Not until they kill someone.’

Nancy tried to ignore her, though Cooper could see she found it difficult. So do we all, he thought.

The tapes began to turn, and Mrs Wharton was advised of her rights by Fry in a practised monotone that the older woman seemed to take no notice of.

‘The thing is, we thought the Pearsons had been forgotten,’ she said. ‘No one seemed to be asking questions about them any more. So we relaxed a bit. It was a mistake, I suppose.’

‘Not your first mistake,’ said Fry.

Nancy turned towards Cooper. Though she’d been reluctant to come in and answer questions, she began to talk almost without prompting.

‘You have to understand the position we’d come to,’ she said. ‘Just that day, we’d told Eliot and Kirsten it might be the last Christmas we spent at the Light House. We had to explain to them why it had happened, about the people who said they’d invest money in the pub and be our business partners, about the big loan we’d taken out for the improvements they insisted on. And we told them that they’d pulled out, and left us with a pub that was losing money, with debts we couldn’t pay back.’

Nancy ran her hands over her hair and clutched her head tightly, as if to hold in the thoughts that were trying to escape.

‘The children needed to know that,’ she said. ‘They were old enough by then. Well, we thought they were.’

‘This would have been your arrangement with Diamond Hybrid Securities,’ said Cooper. ‘The company David Pearson worked for.’

‘Not just that. It was him we dealt with. Him who sweet-talked us into committing ourselves beyond our means. But we never met him. So of course we had no idea who he was when he came into the pub. Not a clue.’

‘Go on, Mrs Wharton.’

She paused for a while to collect herself.

‘Anyway, the children were very upset,’ she said. ‘Kirsten cried, and Eliot went really quiet, the way he does sometimes. I think that’s what hurt Maurice most. He loves his children. He’d do absolutely anything for them. And there he was, looking at the prospect of being unable to make a living and keep them in their home. It made him feel useless, a failure. Maurice was already a man on the brink. He’d tell you that himself, if he was able.’

‘And you kept quiet about it all this time,’ put in Fry.

Nancy looked up at her. ‘You can’t blame us for trying to protect our family. Anybody would have done it. Yes, we covered it up for nearly two years, never said a word. But then the bank called in our loan and the pub was closed. Even then, it was weeks afterwards before it occurred to us that there might be a problem. We imagined someone buying the pub and finding something we’d missed. And then …’

She shook her head. ‘But it was too late. We’d given up the keys, and we couldn’t get back in. We felt helpless. As the auction got nearer and nearer, we started to panic. We had crazy ideas about how to prevent anyone from wanting to buy the place.’

‘Hence all the stories going round about junkies and squatters, and the dangers of subsidence?’ asked Cooper.

‘Yes,’ she said.