The Hiding Place(19)

“The council wants to turn it into a country park?”

“Yep. Well, one of the reasons it has taken so long to get off the ground is because of Hurst.”

“How come?”

“Well, officially, because of difficulties with funding. Unofficially, Hurst has ties to a property company that wants to build houses on the land instead.”

“Housing? On an old mining site? That would take years for the council to approve—” And then it hits me. “Ah, I see.”

“Yup. Basically, Hurst Junior is a chip off the old block. And Daddy is on the school board, so every time Jeremy does something that would get any other kid suspended Hurst Senior waltzes in, has a chat with Harry, probably about funding for the new sports center or the extra science block we need, and guess what? Nothing happens.”

I feel a familiar anger start to stir in my gut. Same as it ever was, I think.

Barmaid of the Year approaches again, brandishing our cutlery like weapons. She plonks it down on the table.

“Chips’ll take a mo.” We’re out of ketchup.”

“Okay.”

She stares at me for a moment longer than is comfortable and I wonder if saying, “Okay,” has somehow offended her. Then she stalks away again.

Beth looks at me. “You really do know how to make friends and influence people, don’t you?”

“My natural charm?”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

I take a sip of Diet Coke then I say, “Julia Morton was Hurst’s form tutor last year, wasn’t she?”

She nods. “But I wouldn’t read anything into it.”

“No?”

“No. Julia could deal with Hurst. She didn’t take any shit and he didn’t give her too much. She was a tough cookie. She didn’t crumble easily.”

And yet she did, I think. She beat her own son to death. And why not use the gun? A moment of madness? Or something else?

As if she can read my mind, Beth says, “That’s why what happened just doesn’t make any sense.”

“You said she was depressed?”

“She’d suffered from depression, in the past.”

“But depression doesn’t just go away. She’d stopped taking her medication. Maybe she had some sort of relapse, a breakdown?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe. And maybe if she had just killed herself, I could understand it. But to kill Ben? She doted on him. I’ll never understand that.”

“What was Ben like?”

“Bright enough, plenty of friends. Maybe a little easily led. That got him into trouble a couple of times. But a good kid. Until he went missing.”

“Ben went missing? When?”

“A couple of months before he died. Turned up after twenty-four hours, and after the whole village had been out looking for him. Wouldn’t say where he’d been. It was out of character, not like him.”

I let this sink in. Missing. But he came back.

“I never read anything about that.”

She shrugs. “Kind of got swept under the carpet with everything else that happened. Anyway, afterward…” She pauses. “He was different.”

“How?”

“Withdrawn, distracted. He stopped hanging out with his friends, or they stopped hanging out with him. This sounds awful, but he smelled, like he wasn’t washing. Then he got into a fight. Hurt the other kid quite badly. That’s when Julia asked for some time off and took him out of school. Said he was having ‘emotional issues’ because of the divorce.”

“Why did no one else mention this?”

“Seriously? Who’s going to say anything bad about a dead kid? Besides, everyone just blamed Julia for his behavior. His mother was nuts. Must all be her fault, right?”

I think about that unnamed school source. I want to ask more but, right on cue, our charming waitress emerges back at the table.

“Cheese baps, chips.”

“Thanks.”

She thuds the plates down and glares at me again.

“Sorry,” I say. “Is there something wrong?”

“You’re renting the Morton cottage?”

“Yes.”

“You know what happened there?”

This seems to be the question of the week.

“Yes.”

“So, what are you?”

“Sorry?”

“Some kind of ghoul?”

“Erm, no? Actually, I’m a teacher.”

“Right.”

She considers this, then she reaches into her pocket, takes out a card and holds it out to me.

Not wanting to incur further wrath, I take it: “Dawson’s Dust Busters.”

“What’s this?”

“My mum. She’s a cleaner. She used to clean the cottage for Mrs. Morton. You might want to give her a call.”

Possibly the strangest sales pitch I’ve ever had.

“Well, I’m not sure I can stretch to a cleaner right now, but thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

She wanders off again. I look at Beth. “Whoa.”

“Yeah, she’s a little—”

“Rude? Weird? Scary?”

“Actually, Lauren is on the spectrum. So normal social conventions can be difficult for her.”