suppress the shudder of distaste when she dribbled and choked over the water.
‘Filthy … nasty,’ she mumbled. He half-eased, half-rolled her into the chair and pulled together the gaping edges of the dressing gown. Moved with pity and with horror, he knelt down beside her.
‘I will be your friend if you want me to be,’ he said soothingly.
The words had the opposite effect. She made a tremendous effort to draw breath. Her lips split open and he could see her tongue rising and quivering against the roof of her mouth.
‘Not my friend … enemy … police fiend! Take my baby away … I saw you with them … I watched you come out with them.’ He drew back from her, rising. Never would he have believed her capable of screaming after that spasm and when the scream came, as clear and ear-splitting as a child’s, he felt his hands go up to his face ‘… Not let them get her in there! Not in the prison! They’ll find it out in there. She’ll tell them … my baby … She’ll have to tell them!’ With a sudden galvanic jerk she reared up, her mouth open and her arms flailing. ‘They’ll find it all out. I’ll kill her first, kill her … D’you hear?’
The French windows stood open. Archery staggered back into the sun against a stinging prickling wall of weeds. Mrs Crilling’s incoherent gasps had swollen into a stream of obscenity. There was a gate in the wire netting fence. He unlatched it, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and stepped into the cool dark cave of the sand-walled arch.
‘Good afternoon, sir. You don’t look very well. Heat affecting you?’
Archery had been leaning over the bridge parapet, breathing deeply, when the detective inspector’s face appeared beside him.
‘Inspector Burden, isn’t it?’ He shook himself, blinking his eyes. There was comfort in this man’s steady gaze and in the shoppers who flowed languidly across the bridge. ‘I’ve just come from Mrs Crilling’s and …’
‘Say no more, sir. I quite understand.’
‘I left her in the throes of an asthma attack. Perhaps I should have got a doctor or an ambulance. Frankly, I hardly knew what to do.’
There was a crumb of stony bread on the wall. Burden flicked it into the water and a swan dived for it.
‘It’s mostly in the mind with her, Mr Archery. I should have warned you what to expect. Threw one of her scenes on you, did she?’ Archery nodded. ‘Next time you see her I daresay she’ll be as nice as pie. That’s the way it takes her, up one minute, down the next. Manic-depressive is the term. I was just going into Carousel for a cup of tea. Why don’t you join me?’
They walked up the High Street together. Some of the shops sported faded striped sunblinds. The shadows were as black as night, the light cruelly bright under a Mediterranean blue sky. Inside the Carousel it was darkish and stuffy and it smelt of aerosol fly spray.
‘Two teas, please,’ said Burden.
‘Tell me about the Crillings.’
‘There’s plenty to tell, Mr Archery. Mrs Crilling’s husband died and left her without a penny, so she moved into town and got a job. The kid, Elizabeth, was always difficult and Mrs Crilling made her worse. She took her to psychiatrists – don’t ask me where the money came from – and then when they made her send her to school it was one school after another. She was in St Catherine’s, Sewingbury for a bit but she got expelled. When she was about fourteen she came up before the juvenile court here as being in need of care and protection and she was taken away from her mother. But she went back eventually. They usually do.’
‘Do you think all this came about because she found Mrs Primero’s body?’
‘Could be.’ Burden looked up and smiled as the waitress brought the tea. ‘Thanks very much, miss. Sugar, Mr Archery? No, I don’t either.’ He cleared his throat and went on, ‘I reckon it would have made a difference if she’d had a decent home background, but Mrs Crilling was
‘Filthy … nasty,’ she mumbled. He half-eased, half-rolled her into the chair and pulled together the gaping edges of the dressing gown. Moved with pity and with horror, he knelt down beside her.
‘I will be your friend if you want me to be,’ he said soothingly.
The words had the opposite effect. She made a tremendous effort to draw breath. Her lips split open and he could see her tongue rising and quivering against the roof of her mouth.
‘Not my friend … enemy … police fiend! Take my baby away … I saw you with them … I watched you come out with them.’ He drew back from her, rising. Never would he have believed her capable of screaming after that spasm and when the scream came, as clear and ear-splitting as a child’s, he felt his hands go up to his face ‘… Not let them get her in there! Not in the prison! They’ll find it out in there. She’ll tell them … my baby … She’ll have to tell them!’ With a sudden galvanic jerk she reared up, her mouth open and her arms flailing. ‘They’ll find it all out. I’ll kill her first, kill her … D’you hear?’
The French windows stood open. Archery staggered back into the sun against a stinging prickling wall of weeds. Mrs Crilling’s incoherent gasps had swollen into a stream of obscenity. There was a gate in the wire netting fence. He unlatched it, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and stepped into the cool dark cave of the sand-walled arch.
‘Good afternoon, sir. You don’t look very well. Heat affecting you?’
Archery had been leaning over the bridge parapet, breathing deeply, when the detective inspector’s face appeared beside him.
‘Inspector Burden, isn’t it?’ He shook himself, blinking his eyes. There was comfort in this man’s steady gaze and in the shoppers who flowed languidly across the bridge. ‘I’ve just come from Mrs Crilling’s and …’
‘Say no more, sir. I quite understand.’
‘I left her in the throes of an asthma attack. Perhaps I should have got a doctor or an ambulance. Frankly, I hardly knew what to do.’
There was a crumb of stony bread on the wall. Burden flicked it into the water and a swan dived for it.
‘It’s mostly in the mind with her, Mr Archery. I should have warned you what to expect. Threw one of her scenes on you, did she?’ Archery nodded. ‘Next time you see her I daresay she’ll be as nice as pie. That’s the way it takes her, up one minute, down the next. Manic-depressive is the term. I was just going into Carousel for a cup of tea. Why don’t you join me?’
They walked up the High Street together. Some of the shops sported faded striped sunblinds. The shadows were as black as night, the light cruelly bright under a Mediterranean blue sky. Inside the Carousel it was darkish and stuffy and it smelt of aerosol fly spray.
‘Two teas, please,’ said Burden.
‘Tell me about the Crillings.’
‘There’s plenty to tell, Mr Archery. Mrs Crilling’s husband died and left her without a penny, so she moved into town and got a job. The kid, Elizabeth, was always difficult and Mrs Crilling made her worse. She took her to psychiatrists – don’t ask me where the money came from – and then when they made her send her to school it was one school after another. She was in St Catherine’s, Sewingbury for a bit but she got expelled. When she was about fourteen she came up before the juvenile court here as being in need of care and protection and she was taken away from her mother. But she went back eventually. They usually do.’
‘Do you think all this came about because she found Mrs Primero’s body?’
‘Could be.’ Burden looked up and smiled as the waitress brought the tea. ‘Thanks very much, miss. Sugar, Mr Archery? No, I don’t either.’ He cleared his throat and went on, ‘I reckon it would have made a difference if she’d had a decent home background, but Mrs Crilling was
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