‘What about Karen?’
Ellie shook her head. ‘I didn’t see anyone but Dolores.’
‘Dolores … What’s her second name?’
‘Haven’t a clue. She told me something about herself and the other people who live in the house. The ground floor is occupied by Ambrose and communal rooms for the Vision. Upstairs in the big house are flats of varying sizes, occupied by council tenants. The extension is occupied by Ambrose’s waifs and strays, but Dolores wasn’t allowed to show me them. She couldn’t even give me a cup of tea. The kitchen is locked up till they prepare the evening meal. Dolores was in a state over Liddy, the girl that she usually works with, who’d been taken poorly and gone back to stay with her sister, which apparently was not a good thing. And then I left.’
‘You didn’t see anyone else, coming or going?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Or hear anyone? No one came to the door? What about someone coming down the stairs?’
‘No one. We were in the communal dining room. I was facing the open door into the hall. I’d have seen if anyone else had crossed the hall.’
‘Bear with me for a minute. You left at what time?’
A shrug. ‘Half-past five? I was back here before six. We had supper together, and then Ambrose hurtled in, accusing me of doing away with Liddy.’
‘What!’
‘The cleaner I told you about, who works with Dolores. He was furious because she’s not supposed to go back to her sister’s, which is what she has done … and, to be frank, I don’t blame her. At least, I blame him for creating a climate of fear which meant Liddy couldn’t go to him when she needed the attention of a dentist. This has nothing to do with the latest girl, Karen, disappearing, has it?’
‘Ambrose wanted to know what you’d done with Liddy? He didn’t mention anyone else?’
‘No. I suggested he went off to rescue Liddy if he could, and he did so. At least, I assume that is what he did. He left, and then you rang.’
‘Did he visit you to establish some sort of alibi, do you think?’
Ellie thought about that. ‘No. He was concentrating on Liddy’s disappearance. I honestly don’t think he knew about Karen going AWOL, and as far as I know, she was not a member of his group. I wonder … Dolores said the people at the top of the house were trailer trash. Does that description fit Karen?’
‘Sixteen, looking twenty-five? Badly bleached blonde hair, boobs out to here …?’ Lesley produced a photo. ‘Take a look.’
Ellie looked. Pouting lips and slumberous eyes. A mass of hair which was a tousled mess, dark brown at the roots, brassy blonde at the tips. ‘No, I haven’t seen her. What’s the betting she’s gone the same way as Jenna and Gail? If so, she’s still alive. The man kept both girls for some months, didn’t he?’
‘If she doesn’t turn up by tomorrow, Forensics will pull the Vision place apart, and the Murder Squad will want to know you were there about the time the girl went missing.’
‘Do I need my solicitor?’
‘I wouldn’t think so.’
Ellie sighed. ‘What I have to say is not going to help you much, is it?’
Lesley left. Ellie checked that Mikey was still happily working away on her computer and made her way into Thomas’s Quiet Room, which was a refuge for them all when the world became too demanding.
She sank into her chair and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t go to sleep. No. She was far too wound up for that. But, if she could manage it, she might just drift away from all her troubles, placing them firmly in the hands of someone who knew the answers to everything.
If you please, Lord. This is a tangle too far for me to cope with. Oh, and please will you look after Diana, who pretends she doesn’t believe in you, but does, and is very distressed about being cursed by Ambrose … which is a bit of a laugh, really.
Now, these missing girls … Oh dear. And now another one? Somehow, I can’t feel involved. It honestly doesn’t seem to have anything to do with me.
Ambrose, now. Thomas was right. How he operates his project is Social Services’ concern. Not mine. Ought I perhaps to point them in that direction? Well, they won’t be open on a Saturday, will they?
I can’t see a happy ending there. The trust should not – will not – give him the money he wants, for two reasons; one, because he is clearly off his rocker, and two, because we can’t fund a regime which neglects its clients’ health. If ‘client’ is the right word. Yes, I worry about what will happen to the likes of Liddy and Dolores if the project has to end, but … No, that is not my problem.
Claire. She’s my problem. I don’t know why. I don’t like her. I think she’s one of those seemingly harmless people of limited intelligence who can actually do a great deal of harm. Just look at the way she worked on Rose. Ugh! And the way she crawls to people … Ugh! And, ugh again!
She pleaded with me to help her. So I suppose … What do you think, Lord? Do you think I should?
Her descent from self-sufficiency to dependency and menial jobs is intriguing. There must be a flaw in the woman’s character to account for it. Perhaps it’s her uncertain temper? Something must have happened to trigger her descent from riches to rags.
Well, it’s no use sitting here, wishing that things were different. Up and at ’em!
She made her way to the study and found Mikey working on the computer. She said, ‘How are you getting on with your search for Claire?’
He passed her a note. ‘There’s only one Bonner listed in Perivale. That’s his address and telephone number. Malcolm by name. Would that be Claire’s father or her brother? I went on to the Google map place and found a picture of the house. Here it is. Ordinary three or four bed, two reception, semi-d, with a loft extension, built on a steep slope. By the look of it the earth has been scooped out of the hill at the side of the house, allowing for a garage to be built there with an extension on top. The house next door is the same. Steps up the garden to the front door, and a drive down a slope into the garage. Well-maintained, but the present occupant doesn’t seem to have any interest in the garden. Rockery which is mostly rocks.’
Ellie looked at the picture he’d given her. A very ordinary-looking house. Velux windows on the sloping roof, indicating a loft extension.
Mikey said, ‘I looked up similar houses for sale in the area. Some have a loft conversion like this one. Surprisingly pricey. Nice area. Quiet. Near a good school. Five minutes from the nearest bus stop.’
‘I got the impression that the house was supposed to have been sold after the mother died. Claire said … Now, what exactly did she say? Or Rose said … Yes, that’s it. Something about Claire having been badly treated by her family. Can we discover the terms of Mrs Bonner’s will? That’s all in the public domain, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose I could, but it would take time. Why are you so interested in Claire’s past?’
Yes, why? Ellie struggled to work it out. ‘A steep rise to riches from rags is always interesting. You want to know how they did it. Likewise, a drop from riches to rags. If they had so much, why did they lose it? Claire had a good job, a car, lived with her family in this desirable residence. The mother dies and this Malcolm keeps the house. If he was the father then it makes sense that she’d want to leave … I suppose. But if he was her brother, why wasn’t it shared between them? Perhaps he bought her out? At that point Claire departs from her job and her home. I sense something rotten in the state of Denmark – to misquote Hamlet.’
‘“Fee-fi-fo-fum!”’ quoted Mikey. ‘I smell the blood of rotten old Claire. She tried to get Rose to leave all her worldly goods to her, you know. That wasn’t fair. Also, she smells.’
‘A rose scents, a person smells. I mean, smelling is a verb. I think. Or does no one care nowadays? Oh, now you’ve got me muddled.’
Mikey grinned, turning up his nose and pretending he could sense a bad odour. ‘She smells of boiled cabbage.’
Ellie sighed. It was true; Claire did. Infrequently washe
d underwear? Ellie shuddered. Yuk.
Mikey said, ‘Do you want to talk to Malcolm about Claire? I wouldn’t mind coming with you. I’ve got nothing better to do today.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘This is more interesting than homework, which, in case you’re asking, I have already finished, right? So let’s go and have a look at Claire’s old stamping ground. Shall I order a cab to take us there?’
Ellie’s long-deceased first husband had told her she’d never be able to drive a car, and for many years she had accepted that. When he died, she did try, once. Only to realize that he had been right. If she’d started younger …? But she hadn’t. So, she hired a cab from a local firm when she needed one. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ll go after we’ve had a spot of lunch.’
Mikey said, ‘Your computer ought to be updated. I’ll do it for you sometime, shall I?’
Ellie shuddered. ‘I can’t face learning a new system.’
Mikey almost, but not quite, patted her on the head. ‘You can do it. I’ll help you.’
TWELVE
Saturday afternoon
Mikey watched their cab driver turn smoothly out of a side road into the busy stream of traffic on the A40. ‘How soon do you think I could learn to drive? It’s legal off road, isn’t it?’
Ellie gave him a Look. He was, after all, only thirteen years old. Nearly fourteen, but nowhere near the legal age for learning to drive on British roads.
He grinned. ‘All right. Probably not yet.’
Their cab turned off the A40 into Perivale, which was a quieter suburb than the one in which Ellie lived. Wide, tree-lined roads, buses, a school and a tube station … acres of housing built to the same pattern, three bed, two reception, semi-detached. And on to an area of slightly larger, better-built semis climbing a hillside.
The driver drew up to the kerb and let them out. ‘Shall I wait for you?’
Ellie shook her head. ‘I don’t know how long we’re going to be. We’ll ring for you to fetch us when we’re done.’
Most of the gardens hereabouts were well tended. Residents’ cars were parked on the driveways and in the road. The houses on the left were on steeply rising ground, which meant there’d be a good view from their top windows. Those on the right dropped down the hill.
Mikey said, ‘This is the house.’ Just as it had looked on Google. Well-maintained, semi-detached. Bay windows to ground and first floors, Velux windows in the roof. Broad steps climbed the slope to the front door, while to the left the driveway descended to a garage, the electrically-operated door of which was closed.
‘Shall I ring the bell?’ He climbed the steps to the front door without waiting for her and rang the bell. Ding dong. Ellie toiled up the steps after him.
There were some of these newfangled blinds at the window; slats which theoretically could be adjusted to let the light in or keep it out. Ellie’s mother had always told her that Venetian blinds – which is what they were called in her day – were more trouble than they were worth, collecting dust and with a tendency to stick at an angle. These were already showing signs of age. Ah well, each generation seemed to need to reinvent the wheel.
They stood in the porch and tried to see through the slats into the bay window. To no avail. Mikey pressed the bell again. No reply.
Ellie stepped back on to the path and looked up. It was a fine, bright blue day, but there were no windows open anywhere.
‘He’s out. What do we do now?’
Ellie descended the steps to the road with care. A fall here might have nasty consequences. ‘It’s a Saturday. He may be out shopping.’
‘Or at a football match. You want to wait?’
‘We’ve sent the cab away, so let’s think about it.’ She seated herself on the low wall which kept the garden from tumbling on to the pavement. Not that it was much of a garden. A rockery with nothing but rocks in it … and a few weeds. Not like next door, which was a riot of colourful shrubs, some of which Ellie was hard put to it to name.
Ellie looked up and down the road. ‘I may not be much good at computers, but I’m quite good at getting information from neighbours who like to chat.’
The street was deserted. Mikey shifted from one foot to the other. He liked action. ‘Shall I try the house next door?’ A similar house, bay windows, loft conversion. Their garage doors, however, were wooden with panes of glass to give light to the interior.
Without waiting for a reply, Mikey climbed the steps to the next house and rang the doorbell.
Ellie spotted a nasty bit of milkweed just about to send its fluffy seeds all over the neighbouring gardens. That would not please the householders. Not one bit. She pulled it out. Saw another a little further on and got to her feet to attend to that, too.
‘Has he actually employed a gardener?’ A scarecrow of a man, bent over a walker from which dangled various plastic bags. One of them clinked. Saturday morning shopping spree? An interested neighbour?
Ellie blushed. ‘Oh, no. Not really. I mean, I was wanting a word with Mr Bonner, and then I was thinking of my own garden and how easily weeds can spread if you let them seed, and I didn’t think. It was silly of me. I don’t know what I was going to do with them, once I’d pulled them out. I can’t just leave them in the gutter.’
‘You were wanting a word with Malcolm?’ Bright eyes that missed nothing. Clothes which had once been good and which were still well cared for. A retired professional, bent over with arthritis, not as old as Methuselah, but getting on that way. His voice was still strong. ‘Now why would that be?’
A door slammed above them, and Mikey half tumbled and half slid down the slope to the road. ‘She slammed the door in my face!’
The elderly man looked from Mikey to Ellie. ‘Your grandson?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Ellie. ‘Well, sort of. My name’s Ellie Quicke, and this is Mikey.’
‘So, why were you after a word with young Malcolm?’
‘Well,’ said Ellie, ‘it’s a long story, but someone called Claire Bonner who used to live here came to me for a job. It didn’t work out, and I had to let her go. But I feel sorry for her, in a way, and—’
‘What’s she done now, then?’
‘Done?’ Ellie wasn’t sure what he meant. ‘I don’t know that she’s done anything wrong, exactly—’
Mikey interrupted. ‘Except feed Rose that stuff which made her go all doolally. Rose is an elderly lady who used to be Mrs Quicke’s housekeeper, but is part of the family now. Claire was supposed to be looking after Rose while Mrs Quicke was away, but I saw her putting cough mixture into Rose’s food, and it seemed to make her lose the plot.’
‘Ah,’ said the old man. ‘A bottle of linctus, was it?’
Ellie stared at him. ‘How did you know?’
Mikey clicked his fingers. ‘She’s done it before, right?’
The elderly man squinched his eyes shut, rocking his walker to and fro. Thinking. Then he made up his mind. He pointed his chin at Mikey. ‘You go back up there. Tell that old ratbag to put the kettle on, as I’m coming up for a cuppa and bringing some friends with me. She usually comes to my house because my path isn’t so steep, but I can still get up to her place if I take a breather halfway up.’
‘She threw me out just now,’ said Mikey.
‘She won’t throw me out. Tell her Emmanuel Cook’s on his way.’
Mikey raced up the slope while Mr Cook, disdaining Ellie’s proffered hand, set off along the pavement and up the steps to the next house door.
Ding dong. This time when the door was opened, the householder said, ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’
‘Bringing tidings. Let us in why don’t you, Agnes?’
Agnes ushered them inside. Spotlessly clean, the house had probably been furnished when the woman had got married. Nothing much seemed to have been changed since then except the size of the television and the introduction of a modern phone.
Agnes was probably only in her early fifties, much younger than Mr Cook. She was
a wisp of a woman with a ramrod straight back and large, flashing spectacles. Her hair was tightly permed, she had slashed a bright-red lipstick on, and she was wearing what used to be called a sundress, which allowed for unintentional glimpses of bra and vest straps. Her ankles were neat, and her high-heeled sandals matched the red of her dress, as did her painted toenails. Agnes was informing the world that she might be past the age of childbearing, but she was Not Giving Up.
The elderly man charged into the sitting room and seated himself with a sigh, saying, ‘Agnes, this is Mrs Quicke and her sort-of-grandson Mikey, and they have a story to tell about our neighbour-that-was, Claire. Before they start, a cup of tea wouldn’t come amiss.’
A pot of tea was duly produced, and an array of biscuits on a doily on a china plate. The tea was served in matching china cups and saucers, and very welcome it was, too.
Mr Cook placed his cup on the coffee table and nodded to Ellie. ‘Now, you tell Agnes what you told me.’
Ellie told. She concluded, ‘Claire has asked me for help, but to tell the truth, I’m not sure I trust her. On the other hand, I do feel sorry for her. A bit.’
‘You needn’t,’ said the elderly man. ‘We’ve known her since she was ten.’
Agnes nodded agreement. ‘Claire was always difficult.’
Ellie said, ‘Could you bear to tell us what you know about her?’
Agnes looked at Emmanuel, who sighed and said, ‘Tell them.’
Agnes took a deep breath. ‘We moved into this neighbourhood, Emmanuel and his wife, me and my hubby, about the same time. Beryl and her man were already there, next door, with the one girl, that’s Claire, who was … How would you describe her, Emmanuel?’
Emmanuel grunted, pulling a face.
Agnes shook her head. ‘At that time the garden here was a mess and next door’s not much better. The fence between had blown down and not been replaced. Soon after we moved in, I was upstairs making the beds when I spotted Claire in our garden, poking at something in our water butt. Something that was splashing, trying to get out. I was pregnant and it made me slow, getting down. It was a little white cat that had been a birthday present to Claire, though apparently she’d never liked it. I got the cat out, but it was too late. Claire said she’d been trying to teach it a lesson because it had scratched her, but there was never a sign on her that she’d been hurt. We were new to the neighbourhood, we didn’t want to make a big fuss, but we had to tell Beryl what had happened. I know Claire’s dad walloped her for it, but …’
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