Three Things About Elsie(71)

‘She was seen going into the lavatories.’ Elsie turned from me and addressed the policeman.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we are aware of that.’

‘But that’s not the important thing,’ I said. ‘That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.’

The policeman stopped writing. ‘So what do you think might be the important thing, Miss …’

‘Claybourne,’ I said. ‘I’m eighty-four.’

‘Have you got something you feel you want to tell the police, Miss Claybourne?’

‘We most certainly have,’ I said.

‘We?’

‘Me and Elsie. And Jack of course.’

‘Jack?’

‘But he’s outside.’

‘I see.’ The policeman folded an arm across his chest, and sighed into his other hand.

‘You have someone on that list.’ I prodded my finger at the desk. ‘Called Ronnie Butler.’ I watched the policeman scroll with his pen down the names of the residents. ‘But you won’t find him.’

He looked up. ‘I won’t?’

‘No, you won’t. Because he’s not listed as Ronnie Butler, he’s listed as Gabriel Price.’

He didn’t reply, although his mouth opened very slightly.

‘He’s masquerading as someone else, Inspector,’ I said, ‘and he’s exceptionally dangerous. He always has been.’

The policeman sat back. ‘That’s a very serious allegation, Miss Claybourne.’

‘Oh, it’s not an allegation, it’s a well-known fact. He drowned, in 1953, and he’s come back from the dead pretending to be someone else. If that isn’t dangerous, I don’t know what is.’

‘It’s certainly quite an achievement.’

‘But he’s still got the scar.’ I pointed to the corner of my mouth. ‘So it’s definitely him.’

‘I see.’ The policeman tried to lean back a little more, but he’d run out of space to do it in. ‘So what exactly does this gentleman have to do with Mrs Honeyman?’

‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘He’s done away with her.’

The policeman looked as though he was going to speak, but nothing came out.

‘He broke into my flat, did you hear about it?’ I said. ‘Several times.’

The policeman began to say something, but changed his mind and shook his head instead.

‘He’s been moving things around. He bought all that cake. No one believes me. Even Miss Ambrose doesn’t believe me.’

‘Shall I get Miss Ambrose?’ the policeman said.

‘As a witness?’ I gripped the edge of the desk.

‘No, I just—’

‘He killed Beryl, but none of you could prove it. You’ll write it down, won’t you, the name? Ronnie Butler,’ I said. ‘You’ll make sure he’s arrested?’

The policeman stood, and we copied him. It was the same with doctors and solicitors. The strangest reflex. ‘I’ll make sure the right people know all about it,’ he said.

I held on to the sleeve of his uniform. ‘You’re the first person who’s listened to me,’ I said.

I waited for his reply, but there was nothing.

It was much later. When Elsie came out of the bathroom, I was leaning against the windowsill and looking out on to the crescent. The interviews took a lot longer than anyone anticipated, and it had grown very dark. It was quite amazing how much everyone had to say about Mrs Honeyman, considering we knew so little about her. The hotel put a light buffet on in the dining room, but no one had much of an appetite. I saw Ronnie Butler eat more than his fair share, and Jack forced down a couple of vol-au-vents, but most of it was returned to the kitchens untouched. Gail with an i sniffed very loudly as she took all the plates back, and said a lot of things about third-world countries which no one could really hear properly, because of all the sniffing.

Elsie joined me at the window. She stood there in her nightdress, silhouetted against a coastal sky, scoops of white hair and frail, worn shoulders, all floodlit by a Yorkshire moon.

‘Are you still not hungry?’ she said.

‘I might be able to manage an Ovaltine.’ I didn’t turn. ‘Except I can’t stop thinking about her being out there somewhere. On her own. It doesn’t make any sense, Elsie. Does it?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘She wasn’t confused. She wouldn’t just wander off.’

‘It might have been seeing Whitby again after all these years. Perhaps she got muddled. Perhaps she fell into the past and couldn’t find her way back.’

In the distance there were lights on the water. Ships, perhaps, sleeping somewhere far across the ocean, and even through the glass, I could hear the tides. The never-ending waves, pulling against the earth, shaping the landscape.

We watched a woman walk by with her dog.

‘It never stops, Whitby, does it?’ I said. ‘No matter what the time is. Most places settle down, but Whitby just keeps moving.’

‘I expect it’s the sea. A wave travels thousands of miles and finds its way here to make its mark. It must be difficult to sleep when something so amazing is happening.’