The Word Is Murder(71)

Just two of the tables were occupied. An elderly couple sat at one. Two young mothers with pushchairs and babies were at the other. We went up to the counter where a large, smiling woman in her fifties, wearing a dress and an apron that matched the canopy, was waiting to serve.

‘What can I get you?’ she asked.

‘I’m hoping you can help me,’ Hawthorne said. ‘I’m with the police.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m making enquiries about the accident that happened here a while ago. The two children who were hit by the car.’

‘But that was ten years ago!’

‘Diana Cowper, the woman who was driving … she died. You didn’t read about that?’

‘I may have read something. But I don’t see—’

‘Fresh evidence may have come to light.’ Hawthorne was keen to shut down the conversation.

‘Oh!’ She looked at us nervously, in a way that made me wonder if she had something to hide. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you very much about it,’ she said.

‘Were you here?’

‘I’m Gail Harcourt. This is my shop. And I was here the day it happened. It makes me feel sick when I remember those poor little children. All they wanted was an ice-cream and that was why they ran across the road. But they were wasting their time. We weren’t open.’

‘At the beginning of June? Why was that?’

She pointed at the ceiling. ‘We had a burst pipe. It completely flooded the place, ruined the stock and put out the electrics. We weren’t insured either, of course. Well, you should have seen the premium. It nearly ruined us.’ She sighed. ‘If only they’d stopped to look! They just ran across the road at the worst possible moment. I heard the accident. I didn’t see it. I went out into the street and saw them both lying there. The nanny didn’t know what to do. She was in shock – but then she was young herself. Only in her twenties. I turned my head and then I saw the car. It had stopped just the other side of the pier. It stayed there a minute and then it drove off.’

‘Did you see the driver?’ I asked. I got a dark look from Hawthorne but I didn’t care.

‘Only the back of her head.’

‘So it could have been anyone?’

‘It was that woman! They put her on trial!’ She turned back to Hawthorne. ‘I don’t know how anyone could do that, drive away from the scene of the accident. And those two little children, lying there! What a bitch! She wasn’t wearing her glasses, you know. But who gets behind the wheel of a car when they can’t see? She should have been locked up for life and that judge, the one who let her walk free, he should have been sacked. It’s disgusting. There’s no justice any more.’

I was quite taken aback by her vehemence. For a moment, she seemed almost monstrous.

‘I’ve never felt the same here since,’ she continued. ‘It’s taken all the pleasure out of running this business but there’s nothing else I can do.’ Two more customers came in and she hitched up her apron strings, preparing for business. ‘You should talk to Mr Traverton next door. He was there. He saw much more than me.’ She brushed us aside and suddenly the plump, smiling lady was back, everyone’s favourite aunt. ‘Yes, dear. What would you like?’

‘I remember it like it was yesterday. Quarter past four. It had been a beautiful day. Not like today. Perfect sunshine and warm enough to go paddling in the sea. I’d just been serving a customer – he was the one everyone was interested in later on. The mystery man. He left the shop about five seconds before it happened and it was thanks to him that I heard it so clearly. You see, he activated the entrance door. I actually heard the car hitting those two children. It was a horrible sound. You wouldn’t have thought it would be so loud. I knew at once it was going to be bad. I grabbed my mobile phone and went straight out. There was nobody else in the shop, by the way, except Miss Presley, who used to work in natural remedies but she’s married now and I don’t think she lives in Deal. I made sure she stayed behind before I left. We have a lot of drugs and medicines here and we’re not allowed to leave the premises unguarded, even in exceptional circumstances such as these.’

Pier Pharmacy was one of those strange, old-fashioned shops that seem very much at home in a British seaside resort. As we’d gone in, the door had folded open automatically to reveal a rack with a dozen varieties of hot water bottle. Nearby, a collection of brightly coloured scarves hung forlornly on a wire display. The shop seemed to sell a little bit of everything. Looking around, I saw stuffed toys, jam, chocolate bars, cereal, toilet paper and dog leads. It was like one of those crazy memory games I used to play with my children. There was a corner with stationery and terrible birthday cards, the sort you might find in a garage. A whole aisle was given over to herbal remedies. By far the biggest area was at the back of the shop, which contained the actual pharmacy. Deal might have more than its fair share of old-age pensioners but no matter what diseases their later years might bring, I was sure they would find a remedy here. The staff wore white coats. They had hundreds of different packets, foils and bottles within reach.

We were talking to one of them – Graham Traverton – the owner and manager, a man in his fifties, bald and ruddy-cheeked, with an off-putting gap between his two front teeth. He was keen to talk to us and I was astonished at his grasp of detail. He seemed to have a perfect memory of everything that had happened that day, to the extent that I wondered if he wasn’t making some of it up. But then again, he had been interviewed before – by the police and by journalists. He’d had plenty of opportunities to rehearse his story. And I suppose, when something terrible happens, you do tend to hang on to the details that surround it.