The Locked Room (Ruth Galloway #14)(59)

‘The other side was probably just plastered over,’ says Ruth. ‘We can have a look inside when restrictions are lifted.’ If they ever are, she thinks. Will there ever be a time when Covid-19 is as distant as the plague?

The alleyway leads into a grassy space, fringed by lilac bushes and surrounded by topsy-turvy houses. Are they really all empty? Kate has wandered away and is picking lilac. Should Ruth tell her to stop? Is anyone watching?

‘I saw your student a couple of days ago,’ says Janet.

‘Which student?’ asks Ruth. Though she thinks she can guess.

‘The bearded one. Joe Whatshisname. The one you were asking about.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘Standing right here. Looking up at the houses. I waved but I don’t think he saw me.’

Who knows what he thought if he saw a woman waving from one of the sightless windows, thinks Ruth. Beware the Grey Lady.



The car smells strongly of lilac on the way home. Kate seems energised by the outing, singing along to the radio and telling Ruth a long story about a boy in her class who makes rude noises during Zooms. Then she picks up Ruth’s phone.

‘Mum. You’ve got loads of messages from Dad.’

‘Have I?’ says Ruth. Now that she has Kate with her all the time, she keeps her phone on silent. She left it in the car when they were with Janet.

‘Oh God,’ she says. ‘Is it about Cathbad?’

‘I don’t think so,’ says Kate. ‘“Where are you?”’ she reads. ‘“For F’s sake, pick up the phone.” Then there are lots of question marks and exclamation points.’ Clearly the grammar lessons are paying off.

‘Text him,’ says Ruth. ‘Say we went into Norwich and we’re on our way back.’

Kate texts at lightning speed. Will skeletons of twenty-first century humans show enlarged thumbs?

‘Shall I add a kiss?’ she says.

‘No,’ says Ruth.

She can see Nelson from a long way off, a dark shape standing by her fence. Typical of him just to stand there like a thundercloud. Maybe she should get him a spare key, but would this make their arrangement, whatever it is, too official? Besides, Nelson has moved back home now. He’s made his choice. Which means he can keep his disapproval to himself.

‘Where have you been?’ he says, as soon as Ruth gets out of the car.

‘We went to the cathedral,’ says Kate. ‘We saw a secret door.’

‘Sounds well worth breaking lockdown for,’ says Nelson.

‘Are you coming in?’ says Ruth, opening the front door. ‘Or are you going to stand there pontificating all night?’

Nelson glowers at her for a few minutes and then steps over the threshold, ducking as always at the low doorway.

‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ he says quietly, as Kate runs upstairs in search of Flint.

‘OK,’ says Ruth. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

‘You sound like my mum,’ says Nelson. ‘When in doubt, make tea.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ says Ruth.

Nelson, as always, looks too big for the kitchen. He folds himself into one of the chairs and says, ‘How much do you know about your neighbour? The new woman?’

‘Zoe? Not much. She’s a nurse, divorced. She’s got a lovely cat called Derek.’

‘Is that the creature I saw at the window? It looked too big to be a cat.’

‘It’s a Maine Coon.’

‘If you say so. Well, for a start she isn’t called Zoe.’

For a moment, Ruth thinks he means the cat. She puts a mug of tea in front of Nelson.

‘What?’

‘Your neighbour. She isn’t called Zoe. She’s called Dawn Stainton and, in 1994, she was accused of murdering three patients in her care.’

Ruth feels her heart thumping. Various words rush into her head – neighbour, murdering, patients – but one keeps bumping up against the sides: Dawn.

‘Dawn?’ she says.

Nelson looks at her in confusion. ‘What?’

‘Dawn. Is her name really Dawn?’

‘Apparently so. She changed her name after the trial. You can’t blame her really.’

‘I take it she was found not guilty?’

‘Yes,’ admits Nelson.

‘How old was she in 1994?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Just tell me, Nelson. Please.’

Nelson gets out his phone and scrolls, much less efficiently than Kate, until he finds the relevant page.

‘She was thirty-two when it came to trial in 1995. She would have been thirty-one in 1994.’

Ruth does the sum in her head, never an easy task for her. ‘So, she was born in 1963?’

‘Yes. I suppose so. Why?’

‘Dawn 1963,’ says Ruth. ‘It was on that photograph I found in my mother’s belongings.’

‘I remember you saying something about it.’ Nelson dismisses this, as she knew he would. ‘The point is that your next-door neighbour is a murderer.’

‘No, she isn’t. I’m going to talk to her.’

‘She’s out,’ says Nelson. ‘I’ve been knocking all the time you were away. And a bloody long time it was too.’