but actually I think they enjoyed the drama of it. By the time the lights came back on we were all in bed.’
‘Margaret Krukowski was murdered,’ Joe said. ‘We’re talking to everyone who knew her.’
Jane Cameron stared at him. Suddenly she seemed older, paler. ‘I don’t believe it. Who would want to kill Margaret?’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Joe said. ‘I thought you might be able to help with that.’
There was a tap on the door and the woman he’d seen previously came in, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, a plastic bottle of milk and two mugs. On a plate were some biscuits similar to those he’d already eaten in the guest house in Harbour Street. So Margaret had baked here too. Laurie set the tray on the desk. She looked at Jane and noticed the change in her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ Then Jane realized that the woman was worried. ‘Really, I’m fine. We’ll come through and explain. Just give us a few minutes.’
Laurie looked furiously at Joe Ashworth, as if she blamed him for Jane’s distress, and left the room.
Jane poured coffee, offered milk and sugar in a distracted way. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t take this in. Margaret seemed indestructible. She had more energy than anyone I knew. And we’ll all miss her here so much. She was very much part of the family. She even brought Kate’s children along with her sometimes. She still does occasionally, if we’re running a special event. We had a winter fair a couple of weeks ago to raise some cash and Kate and the kids came along to that.’ She gave a tight little grin. ‘We’re always strapped for money here. Always under threat of closure, and these events never seem to make as much as I hope.’
‘Tell me about the Haven.’
‘It’s been running for about twenty years. I’ve been here for all that time, and Margaret started volunteering soon after I arrived. It’s a place for women who need somewhere safe to stay on a temporary basis. Not just a refuge for victims of domestic violence, but women with problems of addiction, or who need support after leaving care or being discharged from psychiatric hospital or prison. We can take the kids of residents too, though we don’t have any staying with us just now.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I was working as a senior social worker in the city and took a six-month sabbatical to set the place up. I never left. A cop-out perhaps, but much less stressful in some ways. But it’s a chance to work intensively with people and to build a community. I still stay in touch with ex-residents. We have reunions sometimes – loads of them turned up to the fair. It’s brilliant to see what some of the women have achieved. I’ll be here until I retire now – it’s my life’s work.’ She smiled to show that she didn’t take the thought, or herself, too seriously.
‘And you live here?’ Joe wondered what that must be like. Sal thought he gave every spare minute to his work.
Your soul belongs to the fat woman.
But Jane Cameron could have no escape from hers.
‘I’ve got my own flat,’ Jane said. ‘The women are usually pretty good at respecting my privacy. And I have friends in town – they put me up when I need a break or a bit of culture.’
But no family of your own? No partner?
Vera would have asked, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the question.
‘You must have problems over the years,’ he said. ‘Abusive husbands. Dealers. Pimps. Coming here and causing trouble.’
‘All of those,’ she replied. ‘We’ve built up a very good relationship with the community police officers, who turn out to help when needed. But there’s been no hassle recently. And there was no reason why anyone would target Margaret. She was a volunteer and her style was unobtrusive. She befriended the women once they arrived here. She had nothing to do with persuading them to come in the first place.’
Joe drank his coffee. ‘I’ll need to talk to your
‘Margaret Krukowski was murdered,’ Joe said. ‘We’re talking to everyone who knew her.’
Jane Cameron stared at him. Suddenly she seemed older, paler. ‘I don’t believe it. Who would want to kill Margaret?’
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Joe said. ‘I thought you might be able to help with that.’
There was a tap on the door and the woman he’d seen previously came in, carrying a tray with a pot of coffee, a plastic bottle of milk and two mugs. On a plate were some biscuits similar to those he’d already eaten in the guest house in Harbour Street. So Margaret had baked here too. Laurie set the tray on the desk. She looked at Jane and noticed the change in her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’ Then Jane realized that the woman was worried. ‘Really, I’m fine. We’ll come through and explain. Just give us a few minutes.’
Laurie looked furiously at Joe Ashworth, as if she blamed him for Jane’s distress, and left the room.
Jane poured coffee, offered milk and sugar in a distracted way. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t take this in. Margaret seemed indestructible. She had more energy than anyone I knew. And we’ll all miss her here so much. She was very much part of the family. She even brought Kate’s children along with her sometimes. She still does occasionally, if we’re running a special event. We had a winter fair a couple of weeks ago to raise some cash and Kate and the kids came along to that.’ She gave a tight little grin. ‘We’re always strapped for money here. Always under threat of closure, and these events never seem to make as much as I hope.’
‘Tell me about the Haven.’
‘It’s been running for about twenty years. I’ve been here for all that time, and Margaret started volunteering soon after I arrived. It’s a place for women who need somewhere safe to stay on a temporary basis. Not just a refuge for victims of domestic violence, but women with problems of addiction, or who need support after leaving care or being discharged from psychiatric hospital or prison. We can take the kids of residents too, though we don’t have any staying with us just now.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘I was working as a senior social worker in the city and took a six-month sabbatical to set the place up. I never left. A cop-out perhaps, but much less stressful in some ways. But it’s a chance to work intensively with people and to build a community. I still stay in touch with ex-residents. We have reunions sometimes – loads of them turned up to the fair. It’s brilliant to see what some of the women have achieved. I’ll be here until I retire now – it’s my life’s work.’ She smiled to show that she didn’t take the thought, or herself, too seriously.
‘And you live here?’ Joe wondered what that must be like. Sal thought he gave every spare minute to his work.
Your soul belongs to the fat woman.
But Jane Cameron could have no escape from hers.
‘I’ve got my own flat,’ Jane said. ‘The women are usually pretty good at respecting my privacy. And I have friends in town – they put me up when I need a break or a bit of culture.’
But no family of your own? No partner?
Vera would have asked, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the question.
‘You must have problems over the years,’ he said. ‘Abusive husbands. Dealers. Pimps. Coming here and causing trouble.’
‘All of those,’ she replied. ‘We’ve built up a very good relationship with the community police officers, who turn out to help when needed. But there’s been no hassle recently. And there was no reason why anyone would target Margaret. She was a volunteer and her style was unobtrusive. She befriended the women once they arrived here. She had nothing to do with persuading them to come in the first place.’
Joe drank his coffee. ‘I’ll need to talk to your
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