Private Sorrow, A

by Reynolds, Maureen

  Charlie nodded. ‘I’ve had a police constable check it out but the priest doesn’t know where she is. She hasn’t been to the chapel since Saturday.’ He got ready to leave, there wasn’t anything new to be gained from questioning this family any further.

  Maggie went to the door with him. ‘Do you know Miss McQueen?’ Charlie said he did. ‘I gave her an important clue and now she says I can get a job with her agency when I leave school.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have an important clue to give me?’

  She drew herself up taller, trying to look important. ‘I might have.’

  Then Frances called out, ‘Hurry up, Maggie. You’ve got to help me with the dishes.’

  Charlie put his hand on her arm. ‘What important clue, Maggie?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t mention it to Mum or Dad, but I saw Miss Price driving a small black car a month ago. I was coming out of Andrea’s close when she passed. She was driving very slowly because it was dark. It was a Saturday night and Mum said I could get the bus to go and see Andrea. Miss Price never saw me but I watched as she drove up to the top of James Street and parked the car there, in that small piece of spare ground. She then walked back towards her house.’

  Frances shouted again. ‘Maggie, will you hurry up?’

  Maggie hurried away and Charlie thanked her. He blessed the observance of young people who sometimes saw things older people missed. If she was correct and not lying to maybe impress him, then Miss Price could have been at the wheel of the car during the attacks.

  He hurried back into town and made his way first to Elizabeth Street where he had asked the policeman on the beat to keep an eye on number ten. The window was in darkness but the other flats were showing lights. He debated about going to ask them some questions, but decided to go and look at the piece of spare ground in James Street, which was the next street. The street was crammed with crumbling tenements; some of them facing the street but others tucked away in back courtyards.

  At the top of the street, he found the small bit of ground. It had been a yard for some sort of business but it now looked derelict. He shone his torch over the ground. Bits and pieces of broken wire, tin cans and other general rubbish were strewn around. There was no sign of a car but he could make out distinct tyre marks. It looked as if she had parked it out of sight of the street, definitely hidden from view at night. Come the morning, it probably could have been seen, especially by children who would use this space as a playground.

  He went back to Elizabeth Street. He didn’t want to bother Mrs Davidson but he had one question that he needed answered. She came to the door and he apologised for calling so late. This didn’t put her out. ‘Come in, the baby is asleep and my husband is working some overtime, but he’ll be home soon if you want to speak to him.’

  Charlie said that wouldn’t be necessary. ‘Can you tell me the name of the house factor that lets out these houses?’

  ‘Yes, it’s Campbell and Cooke in Commercial Street.’

  ‘Thank you. Well, I’ll say goodnight for now, Mrs Davidson.’

  ‘I see there’s still no sign of Miss Price?’

  ‘No, there isn’t, but you’ll let me know if she comes back?’ She nodded and showed him to the door.

  Charlie was tired. He thought about going to see Molly but she would have had the painter in today and she wouldn’t be in the mood for a visitor, so he went home. Tomorrow he would get the police team to check on those tyre prints and hopefully figure out the make of the car. He would also go and see Campbell and Cooke and ask about Miss Price’s tenancy. From what he had gathered, houses to rent were scarce and he wanted to know why someone from Ireland could walk into a flat right away.

  One thing was clear. Miss Price had lived within the radius of all the attacks. She could easily have made her way to Peter’s bike shed and cut his brakes. She could also have been Vera and Molly’s attacker, nipping quickly down the street and then hugging the shadows as she made her way home – either on foot or in the car.

  50

  The day began with a disappointment and a surprise. The team had gathered at the spare ground to look at the tyre prints but it had been a night of heavy rain and the ground was waterlogged into a sea of mud. A small gathering of curious residents from the surrounding houses had gathered at the edge of the pavement, wondering what the police presence was all about. Some of the women carried young children in their arms and small boys and girls stood open-mouthed and wide-eyed as the policemen skirted around the mud, looking for the tracks.

  Charlie stood beside them, bitterly disappointed that the weather had turned so nasty. It had rained before, nothing as heavy as last night, but even so, the tyre tracks would have been obliterated on these nights as well, which meant the car had been parked on the spare ground on Saturday night. So where did it go to and who drove it? That was the question.

  He went and spoke to some of the neighbours who were still standing and watching. No doubt this was a piece of drama in their lives. ‘Has anyone seen a car parked here during the last two or three weeks?’

  They stood in silence but a few shook their heads. One man said, ‘I pass here every day and I’ve never seen a car parked here.’

  That seemed to be the general consensus, which left him puzzled. If Maggie had been telling the truth, then she had seen Miss Price park the car here one Saturday evening, which meant that someone must have come to take it away before any of the neighbours noticed it. Or else that someone was already in the car. ‘Are there any old garages around here where a car could be hidden?’

  The same man said, ‘You must be joking. Ten families share a single toilet in this close, so where’s the room for garages?’

  The surprise came when he left the men packing up to go back to the station. He set off for Commercial Street and the office of Campbell and Cooke. A smart young woman was typing at a desk behind the main counter but she rose to her feet when he entered. ‘I’m checking on a tenant of yours. A Miss Price who lives at 10 Elizabeth Street. Can you tell me when she got the key for this property, as it seems she has not long arrived from Ireland?’

  The woman excused herself and headed into another office where he could hear a muffled conversation. After a moment or two, a small plump man appeared. He was dressed very smartly in a three-piece brown suit with an impressive watch and chain on his waistcoat. ‘I’m Mr Campbell. How can I help you?’

  Charlie repeated his request and added, ‘It seems like rented houses are difficult to come by and I wondered how Miss Price could walk into one right after arriving from Ireland.’

  It was now Mr Campbell who seemed puzzled. ‘I think you’re under a misapprehension. Miss Price bought that property in 1929. We look after it for her and she pays her fees half-yearly, along with her rates. She’s a very religious person, I believe, and she left instructions that the chapel can use it if they need it for any reason. Should it be let to anyone, then they pay the running costs of heating and light but they don’t pay any rent, which is a generous gesture from Miss Price.’

  ‘But she’s been living there for the past year, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, she has. We got a letter from her a year ago to say she would be coming back to live in it and not to let it out again. She was in here about ten days ago to say she would be leaving to go back to Ireland and she would hand the key back to us. We haven’t received it yet, but she could possibly have left it with the chapel and they just haven’t had time to return it.’

  Charlie didn’t know what to think about this turn of events. Had she left to go back to Ireland or was she still here, perhaps lurking about the house and not answering the door?

  He decided to go and see Molly. She was busy in the office and he could hear Ronnie whistling as he painted the flat upstairs. He wanted to speak to her privately but because she didn’t want to get in the painter’s way, they went to Wilson’s café at the foot of the Wellgate. She looked tired, he thought, and with good reason. Until this woman was caugh
t, there was no telling what she might do. He told her about his fruitless search for the tyre tracks and the surprise over Miss Price. ‘What I can’t understand,’ he said, ‘is why she bought a flat if she had no intention of staying in it?’

  ‘Do you think that’s where Etta went after she disappeared? It would be the perfect hideout.’

  Charlie agreed with her up to a point. ‘But what would she do for money or going out for food? Anyone could have recognised her.’

  ‘She would have had some money to tide her over, as she almost emptied her post office savings account before she went missing,’ said Molly.

  ‘Well, I suppose she could have kept her head down till all the fuss went away.’ He suddenly had an idea. ‘Does Mrs Barton know if her sister came back after the 1929 visit?’

  ‘I can ask her but I’m not sure if she would know if Miss Price ever visited the flat.’

  ‘But she must have,’ said Charlie. ‘Why buy the flat to leave it empty for years?’

  ‘Well, she was letting the chapel use it. She was very religious and maybe this was what she wanted to do with her money.’

  ‘And yet a year ago she suddenly turns up out of the blue and becomes my prime suspect for all these attacks? I can just about manage to get my mind around her harming her sister because she had done that on at least two occasions during their childhood. But why try to kill you and Peter Walsh? It doesn’t make any sense.’

  Molly had a headache. She took two aspirins from her bag and asked the waitress for a glass of water. She would be glad when this case was over. She had sent her bill to Vera Barton last week, and when that was paid then surely it would be all over. ‘How did you find out about the car being parked in James Street?’ she asked.

  Charlie laughed. ‘Oh, didn’t I tell you? It was young Maggie Flynn. She said she had given you an important clue as well.’

  ‘Maggie? But how did she know?’

  ‘She said she saw her driving it.’

  ‘Charlie, you don’t think she’s lying, do you?’

  ‘It did cross my mind but she was adamant it was Miss Price and she did know the woman through her friendship with her mother.’

  Molly looked doubtful. ‘I just hope she’s not simply trying to impress us. Young girls like getting attention.’

  ‘Was the important clue she gave you any good or was it a false trail?’

  Molly shook her head. ‘Oh no, it was a great breakthrough but it just fizzled out. Etta had gone out for a few weeks with a boy called Pedro who turned out to be Peter Walsh, but he had broken up with her a few weeks earlier.’

  Charlie said, ‘I think Robina Price has been watching you all. First Vera, then Peter and you. For some unknown reason, she decided to attack you, but why remains a mystery. She has access to a black car and she is able to keep it somewhere, maybe a garage. Perhaps she bought the car when she arrived here or maybe she brought it over from Ireland. The other solution is that she has an accomplice, but who? It must be someone she’s met through the chapel because I can’t see it being anyone from the Flynn household. Those are the only two places we know she visited.’

  ‘I’ve brought my father’s car here and I’ve parked it in Paradise Road, just in case she tries to break in again and damage it.’

  ‘How is Marigold?’

  Molly laughed. ‘She’s great. It’ll take more than an attacker to dent Marigold’s courage. Sabby is a different matter. Apparently, since coming back from Peggy’s, she won’t eat her food or look at Marigold. Marigold thinks she’s in the huff. Honestly, that cat is a prima donna.’

  Charlie gave her a serious look. ‘Now, I still want you to be cautious, Molly. We don’t know where this woman is but hopefully I’ll start getting answers to some of my inquiries.’

  ‘Charlie, how would Robina get to Ireland? Do you think she’s driven the car to Larne or Stranraer and caught the ferry? If she was seen on Saturday night by that young lad then she must have left early on Sunday morning.’

  ‘Yes, I think she did. I made enquiries at the chapel and she didn’t show for mass on Sunday, and she hasn’t been back since, which isn’t like her. The priest said she always went to early morning mass.’ He changed the subject. ‘Will you stay in the flat tonight?’ he asked.

  Molly said no, she would go over to Newport and stay there. There had been a lot of mail delivered and she planned to deal with it all. ‘But I’ll be back in my own wee corner tomorrow night.’

  When he got back to the station, PC Williams came over. ‘There’s been no one answering to Miss Price’s description on any of the ferries since Saturday. There have been a few small black cars but they have all belonged to couples with families. None of them was driven by a single lady driver.’

  Charlie felt wearied by all the negatives in this case. He had nothing else planned except to have the policeman on the beat keep a beady eye on the house.

  51

  Molly couldn’t settle when Ronnie left. He had painted most of the ceilings and walls and he was coming back to paint the doors. She had no idea how much this would cost her but she looked out her insurance policy to see if this wilful act would be covered. She decided to phone the company in the morning and find out. She had made a reasonable profit since opening last year but if these things were going to happen often, then the repairs would soon eat away at her bank balance. She didn’t want her parents or Nell to know of this latest drama, and she had warned Marigold to say nothing should she write to them.

  The thought of travelling over on the Fifie tonight didn’t appeal to her but she couldn’t stay here with the strong smell of paint everywhere. In spite of her tiredness, she was amused. Last night, the flat had smelled like a fish and chip shop and tonight, it was like a paint factory. She wondered, whatever happened to the smell of roses?

  Jean was covering the typewriter, getting ready to go. She was also feeling worried about Molly. ‘Come home with me and have your tea and you can easily stay the night. I’ve got a spare bed.’

  Molly was touched by all the concern the women were showing her. Everyone had offered her a place to stay. Even Alice, who certainly didn’t have a spare bed, but she was grateful. She smiled. ‘Thanks, Jean, but I told DS Johns I would be going to Newport tonight. He’s got the telephone number – just in case he finds out something, I asked if he would let me know.’

  Jean smiled back. ‘I’m glad he’s on this case now. Whoever is doing this won’t want to mess with him and I feel better that he’s keeping an eye on you.’ Molly felt the same but he wasn’t with her twenty-four hours a day and she felt vulnerable when she was on her own.

  After Jean left, Molly got her coat and bag and switched off the light. As she locked up, she looked over her shoulder, wondering if Robina Price was watching her from the dark abyss of a shop doorway. Charlie had said that the policeman on the beat would keep an eye on the agency, so she hoped that would prove to be a deterrent should Robina plan any more mischief. She had no idea why she should be a target for this woman’s hate. Something must have happened years ago when Etta went missing. But what?

  As she made her way through the town, she was too tired to think about Etta or Vera or Robina. She would go and see Marigold when she got home to see how she was after her ordeal, then she planned to have a hot bath and hopefully get a good night’s sleep.

  The ferry was quiet and there were hardly any passengers or vehicles. She sat in the saloon and watched to see if any elderly women were lurking around. Thankfully, there was no one who looked suspicious, not unless they were hiding on the deck. When the Fifie docked, she walked towards the house, wary of anyone walking behind her, but the only person she saw was an old man out walking with his dog. He said ‘good evening’ as he passed and she turned to watch his figure disappear slowly up the road.

  The rain had come on again and it was misty. The streetlights glowed hazily through the drizzle and fog and she was glad when she reached Marigold’s house. The light was on in the front
porch and a golden glow from the living room window seeped out onto the front garden. In contrast, her parents’ house lay in darkness, with the dripping trees and shrubs making the garden into a mysterious place of menace. Molly had to give herself a good shake. She was becoming quite paranoid about shadows.

  Marigold was pleased to see her. ‘I’ve made your tea as I thought you might be hungry.’

  Molly hadn’t eaten much during the day and was surprised at how hungry she was. She loved being with Marigold and she thought her parents were lucky to have such a super neighbour. Once again, she felt a bit homesick. It had been her idea to have the flat renovated but she missed the warmth and homeliness of her mum and dad’s house, and the company. When all the staff went home in the evening, she was on her own in the flat and although she didn’t mind solitude, all this trouble had knocked the pleasure out of living on her own.

  She was thinking about leaving Marigold’s comfortable chair to go next door and put on the immersion heater for her bath when the phone rang. Marigold answered it and then handed it to her. ‘It’s DS Johns, he wants to speak to you, Molly.’

  She suddenly felt cold with apprehension and she said a small prayer that the office hadn’t been burnt to the ground. But it was more serious than that. Charlie didn’t waste time with social chitchat. ‘It’s Miss Price. We’ve found her body in her house. It looks like she’s been dead a few days.’

  Molly suddenly felt faint but she gripped the receiver in her hand. ‘How did she die, Charlie?’

  ‘There will be a post-mortem done tomorrow so we’ll know what happened then. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’ll come to the office but try and get a good night’s sleep, Molly.’

  Molly wondered if she would ever get a good night’s sleep again.

  52

  It was snowing when she woke up and she spent a very cold half-hour crossing the river. The streets were white as she made her way to the office. The girls were coming in, dressed in warm coats and furry boots, scarves, hats and gloves. The radiator was on but it was still quite cold in the office and it would be even colder upstairs. She went to put on the electric fire so the room would be warmer for Ronnie to finish his painting. Not for the first time did Molly think longingly of the hot climate of Sydney and the wonderful blue water and white sandy beaches of Australia – especially with winter so fast approaching.