‘Yer,’ said Dilys. ‘He used to have an air rifle. He wanted to join the army, but they wouldn’t take him.’
‘Did he?’ said Griffiths, looking surprised.
‘That was before you moved here,’ said Dilys, who seemed to take some satisfaction in the fact that there was something about Tyler that Griffiths didn’t know. ‘Upset when he didn’t get in. Heart set on it.’
‘Why wouldn’t they take him, Dilys?’ asked Robin.
‘He’s allergic to peanuts,’ said Dilys. ‘Nearly died once, when a kid at school gave him one.’
‘How awful,’ said Robin.
‘I never knew he was allergic to peanuts,’ said Griffiths.
‘Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know,’ said Dilys rudely.
‘Did Tyler work out, at all?’ Robin asked.
‘He worked at a garridge,’ Dilys said again.
‘Did he like to keep fit?’ asked Robin, raising her voice again.
‘Yeah, he was fit.’
‘Lugging tyres around all day,’ said Griffiths.
‘He’s not stupid,’ snapped Dilys again.
‘Did he ever know a girl called Rita?’ asked Robin.
‘Rita who?’ said Dilys. Her hands continued to move restlessly in her lap.
‘We don’t know her surname,’ said Robin. ‘Did he know anyone with the first name Rita?’
‘There’s no Rita round here,’ said Dilys.
‘Did you ever hear Tyler talking about a Rita?’ Robin asked Griffiths. ‘Or a Rita Linda?’
‘No,’ said Griffiths. ‘The only girl I ever heard him talk about was Anne-Marie.’
‘No better’n she should’ve been,’ muttered Dilys. ‘Look at the bloody trouble she caused.’
There were two ways of looking at that statement, Robin thought.
‘Tyler was upset when he split up with Anne-Marie, was he?’ she asked.
‘He didn’t care. Why should he care? She was with everyone, that one.’
‘He was cut up when she died, Dilys,’ said Griffiths reproachfully.
‘Soft-hearted,’ said Dilys. ‘Dead’s dead.’
‘Mr Griffiths was telling us about the Whitehead family,’ said Robin.
‘Them!’ said Dilys, her hands trembling in her lap. ‘Gawn now, after all the trouble they caused.’
‘They moved,’ explained Griffiths. ‘After Hugo died.’
‘Any idea where they went?’ asked Robin.
‘I know they were from the Home Counties orig—’
‘Good riddance. Spreading lies,’ said Dilys. ‘Saying it was Tyler’s fault. And everyone believed it.’
‘I didn’t believe it, Dilys,’ said Griffiths, ‘and nor did—’
‘Your Chloe just buggered off and left him to it. Nobody stuck up for him.’
Dilys pursed her lips, as though to stop herself crying.
‘When you read the news reports about the body in the vault,’ Robin said, as compassionately as she could, ‘what made you—?’
‘’Cause it was like him and he said “silver”,’ said Dilys. ‘I heard him, on the phone.’
‘Did the police come and see you, after you called the helpline?’ asked Robin.
‘Useless,’ said Dilys. ‘Useless.’
‘They interviewed you, did—?’
‘Come see me,’ said Dilys. ‘Useless.’
‘One other thing, Mrs Powell: did Tyler ever talk about a man called Oz, or a man in the music business?’
‘Oz?’ said Dilys. ‘Who’s Oz? What are you, reporters?’
‘No, Mrs Powell, we’re private detectives,’ said Robin. ‘We spoke, on the phone. I asked if we could—’
‘I need to get home,’ said Dilys suddenly. ‘I need to go.’
She seemed overwhelmed and a little confused, batting away Griffiths’ help as she struggled out of her chair. Robin could tell there was no point trying to persuade her to stay. Dilys grasped her walking frame, accepted her bag from Griffiths without thanking him, then set off at a snail’s pace for the back door.
‘I can manage,’ she snapped at Griffiths, when he made to follow her.
‘Sorry,’ said Griffiths quietly, once Dilys was shuffling up the garden path.
‘No, we’re grateful for the tea and the information,’ said Robin, getting to her feet. Beside her, Strike was having some difficulty doing the same: his knee was refusing to cooperate. Robin took her card out of her purse and handed it to Griffiths.
‘If you remember anything else, could you let us know?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ said Griffiths, tucking the card in his jeans pocket. ‘This whole thing – it was an accident and people wanting someone to blame. Small-town gossip. You know what it’s like.’
Robin’s thoughts flew unhelpfully towards Masham, and the fact that her rape had been leaked onto the internet.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I do know.’
With a low groan he failed to suppress, Strike succeeded in leaving the sofa.
‘Yeah, cheers,’ he said, trying not to grimace in pain as he held out his hand to Griffiths. ‘Big help.’
68
Matthew Arnold
‘I think we can get back down to the High Street that way,’ said Robin, looking at an almost vertically descending lane just around the corner from Griffiths’ house, which seemed to lead towards the foot of the hill, ‘but—’
‘I’d rather go back the way we came,’ said Strike, which wasn’t entirely true: what he’d rather have done was get into a cable car that would take him painlessly back to his car.