‘Can you try to remember?’ Lottie could hardly breathe. Her chest was tight. ‘It’s very important, Miss Sutherland.’
‘That they’d killed her brother and they were after her to make her father pay. It just seemed so impossible…’ She stopped and stared at Lottie. ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’
‘We don’t know.’ At least she could give a truthful answer to that question. No white lie. ‘What was she wearing when she visited?’
‘I don’t know. She had her coat on the whole time. A mackintosh, camel-coloured.’
The one they discovered down by the water.
‘How long was she here? Did she say anything else?’
‘Only a few minutes. She said she had to go while she still could. That was very bizarre.’ She cocked her head quizzically. ‘Don’t you think so?’
‘Yes.’
‘All her words were a jumble.’ She paused. ‘That’s how it seemed, anyway.’
‘What time on Wednesday was she here? Late afternoon, you said.’
‘I don’t know, I wasn’t keeping track.’ A small, hesitant smile. ‘Five, maybe. Or half past.’
When Irene Walker was supposed to be meeting McMillan in Headingley.
‘Thank you.’
Now she could take something worthwhile back to Millgarth.
‘You said Irene had been here twice before?’ Cathy asked quietly. Alice turned to look at her.
‘That’s right. The first time was when we met downstairs and we came up here. Then she was back a few days later.’
‘How long did she stay?’
‘A while. I don’t see what business it is of—’
‘Do you know how old she is?’
The woman shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask and she didn’t say.’ Her eyes flashed a challenge.
‘Thank you,’ Lottie said quickly. She turned and mouthed, ‘Enough!’ at Cathy. ‘We appreciate the help.’
‘You know—’ Cathy began as soon as they were outside.
‘I can guess.’ Lottie cut her off. ‘It doesn’t matter for the moment. We have something concrete. Carter’s going to want to know.’
He listened intently.
‘She lives at the Royal?’ he asked when Lottie had finished.
‘Yes, sir. Owns it apparently.’
He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Well, I’ll be… Still, we have something definite. You’ve done very well,’ he admitted reluctantly.
‘Thank you, sir.’ She could sense Cathy still seething beside her. Say nothing, she’d told her before they entered. Right now it didn’t matter what Alice and Irene had done.
‘Go down to the canal, down by Crown Point Bridge. See if you can help at all. They’ve been searching the water down there.’
‘We should have told him,’ Cathy said as they walked down Wharf Street and towards the Calls.
‘Later, I said. He has too much on his plate right now. He wouldn’t want to know at the moment.’
What they’d do, she didn’t know. And right now she didn’t care. She was involved in a proper investigation, officially part of it. She was helping. She’d already made a difference.
It was easy to locate the group of policemen on the bank of the canal. A boat was tied up alongside, bobbing lightly on the water. Three men inside were talking, and one of them looked up and pointed, chatting with the uniforms as he did. He turned his head as the women approached.
The sergeant in charge frowned when he saw them. Davis, Lottie, recalled, the type of man who believed he knew everything.
‘Look who’s here,’ he said loudly, and the three constables beside him glanced over.
‘WPCs Armstrong and Taylor reporting. Inspector Carter sent us over, Sarge.’
‘Sent you over?’ He looked suspicious. ‘Why’s that, then?’
‘To see how we could help, Sarge.’
Davis chuckled. ‘Teas for everyone and a round of sandwiches would be a start.’
She put a tight smile on her face, determined to keep her voice even.
‘Beg pardon, sir, but I don’t think that’s what he had in mind.’
‘Well, luv, you’d do better to let real coppers take care of the policing. We don’t need the tart patrol around here, no matter what the inspector thinks.’
Tart patrol? Lottie breathed in sharply but said nothing. She hadn’t heard that one before. But it was no worse than some of the other names they’d been given. And it didn’t stop them doing a good job.
‘So you don’t need us here, Sarge?’
‘Of course I don’t.’ His temper flared for a second. ‘Stupid idea sending you down at all.’
She knew all the men were paying attention and relishing her discomfort. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of making it obvious.
‘Right, Sarge, we’ll leave it to you and the boys, then.’ She turned and marched away, her face burning, Cathy at her side. In the distance she heard Davis’s voice quite clearly:
‘Must be bloody mad, sending a couple of bints down here thinking they could do something.’
They strode on.
‘I’ll swing for him,’ Lottie hissed.
‘He’s not worth it,’ Cathy told her. ‘There’s half a dozen like him on every corner.’
‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just… he doesn’t even know it, but we’ve done more on this than he has.’
‘Even if he knew, he wouldn’t care. Come on, forget him, he doesn’t matter.’ Cathy laughed. ‘He’ll still be a sergeant when we’re running the force.’ It made them both burst out laughing. Not unlikely; impossible. But a wonderful thought. ‘Look, it’s almost the end of shift. Too late to do any work. Let’s take our time before we report to Maitland.’
Why not? They’d earned their pay today, several times over.
She’d never felt happier to unlock the front door. Home. Upstairs she changed into a cotton frock in the new style with the dropped waist, combed her hair and put on lipstick, then sat on the edge of the bed with her eyes closed, feeling the calm of the place surround her.
The day had been so good, so exciting. Until the end. Davis and the others had ruined it all. She’d felt so proud, then he’d burst the bubble. Tart patrol, indeed.
He was right, that was the problem. WPCs dealt with women and children. Most often with prostitutes. But they still did something worthwhile. She did some good.
Don’t let it get to you, she thought. That’s what he wants. What they all want.
Lottie sighed. In the kitchen she lit the gas on the new cooker they’d rented after the big home show in Leeds the year before, waited till the kettle boiled and mashed the tea.
She felt comfortable here, more at home than she’d ever been in her mother’s house. She’d been glad to get away from there and into digs when she started at Barnbow. It wasn’t just the freedom; it felt like the first time in her life that she’d been able to breathe. And if that made her a bad daughter, well, maybe she was. But she had Geoff now.
Lottie smiled, cup in her hand, staring out of the window and down the street. She liked her evenings with the four walls around her. They made her feel comfortable and safe. She’d taken up knitting the winter before. Not that she’d managed anything recognisable yet, but this year she’d try a jumper for Geoff. And a few times she’d made dresses from patterns. Cooking, sewing: the skills girls learned at school. There was a pile of darning waiting for her now. She’d make a start on it later. Perhaps.
Tripe and onions for tea, with mashed potatoes and peas. A can of peaches for afters with some condensed milk. Geoff ate hungrily, talking blithely about his day. She didn’t know how he’d been before the war, but these days nothing seemed to worry him too much. He let it wash over and past him.
‘So are you really back on this case?’ he asked when she told him what had happened. Everything except the encounter with Davis. She’d keep that hidden away, out of sight.
‘I’m not sure.’
And really, she didn’t
know what might happen tomorrow. She daren’t even guess.
A little before six he turned on the radio, tuning in the BBC through the static until the sound of Big Ben rang out for the news.
Lottie sat, slowly sipping at her tea as she listened. The newscaster had the usual sort of voice, rounded and smug, completely different from anyone she’d actually met. He skated over the growing unemployment, the sad state of the economy. Then an item that made her sit up sharply.
‘Police in Leeds have reported that a girl is missing. Irene Walker, aged eighteen, was last seen the day before yesterday. Her brother Ronald was brutally killed a few days before, and the authorities believe the two incidents may be connected. Anyone with information is asked to urgently contact Leeds Police.’
‘Well,’ Geoff said as he looked at her. ‘It’s all out now.’
‘It means they haven’t found her yet,’ Lottie said hopefully. Carter had said he’d release the information during the afternoon. At least they hadn’t discovered a body in the canal. She might still be alive.
She didn’t even notice the rest of the news as her mind skipped through the afternoon, remembering fragments of conversations and weighing them to see if there was something she’d missed. Anything at all that might help them find Irene. But there was nothing she’d overlooked.
Lottie stirred as Geoff turned off the radio.
‘I’ve been thinking…’ he began with a shy smile. ‘What would you say about us getting a motorcycle?’
The question took her by surprise. They had their bicycles, and rode out into the country when the weather was good. The year before they’d taken a cycling holiday, four days up in the Dales that left her legs aching for days. But she’d never heard him even mention a motorcycle before.
‘Why?’
‘We could go to all sorts of places. With a sidecar for you. We can afford it.’
She didn’t know how to respond. ‘Are you sure?’ It was the best she could manage. A silly question. He was well paid, she brought home a wage. They didn’t spend much.
‘Positive, I’ve gone over it.’ He smiled enthusiastically. ‘And the engines are straightforward. I’d be able to do all the repairs.’
‘It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.’
‘Well.’ Geoff gave a laugh. ‘I know a chap who has one. He’s been singing their praises for months.’
‘And he’s convinced you?’
‘I thought perhaps we could take a look on Saturday. Go to a showroom.’
‘That’s fine,’ she agreed. He was like a little boy, the excitement so obvious on his face. ‘It could be fun. And only one way to find out, isn’t there?’
CHAPTER NINE
STANDING outside Millgarth, Lottie took a breath and stared up at the building. The windows were grimy, unwashed for years, the stone dark from generations of Leeds soot. It had probably looked grand when it was built. Now it was simply there, part of the fabric of the city. Worn, useful, not quite cared for, but home to her now, in a curious way.
She had no idea what she’d be doing today. More on Irene Walker’s disappearance? Back on patrol with Cathy? The tart patrol. That still stung.
‘Armstrong,’ Mrs Maitland said. ‘Sergeant McMillan wants you upstairs. Taylor, you’re on your own today.’
‘Lucky dog,’ Cathy whispered as they left the office. ‘Even if he is happily married.’
‘We talked to the Walkers till we’re blue in the face,’ McMillan said as they clattered back down the stairs and out to the Peugeot. ‘They’re completely broken by what’s happened—’ He held up a hand before she could speak. ‘I know, anyone would be. But I can’t get anything out of them about why it’s happened. Who’s after them and why. They know, I can see it in their eyes, but they’re too scared to tell me.’
‘Why do you want me there?’
‘I need you to sit down with Mrs Walker. See if you can get her to open up to you. We still have no idea where Irene is, if she’s even dead or alive. Every copper in Leeds has his eyes open for her. The mother’s going through hell. You might be able to start her talking.’ He stared at her. ‘I’m not kidding. We’re desperate. I’ve tried everything I know short of bullying.’
‘I’ll do what I can.’ It was a tall order. ‘One thing.’
‘What?’
‘On the way out there, could we stop by the infirmary? I’d like to see Jocelyn Hill. Just for five minutes.’ They’d gone this long without finding anything, a short while longer couldn’t make any difference.
He shrugged. ‘As long as it’s quick. I mean it, Lottie, we need something very soon.’
The girl’s hair was brushed, her eyes alert. Her face showed some of the ache and the pain, but she seemed more settled and comfortable.
‘I said I’d come back,’ Lottie told her. ‘I’m afraid I can’t stay, though. How do you feel?’
‘A little better. It still hurts.’
Inside as well as out, Lottie was certain. The wounds that didn’t show
‘Have they said how low long you’ll be in?’
‘A few more days. I suppose I’ll have to go back to my mam and dad’s after that.’
‘Maybe it won’t be too bad.’ Hopeful words. Probably wasted, though; she’d met Jos’s mother. There’d be little love and sympathy in that house. She reached out and lightly squeezed the girl’s hand. ‘Chin up.’
‘I did remember something else,’ Jocelyn said quietly. ‘About when it happened.’
‘What?’ She leaned closer, her eyes intent on the girl’s face.
‘The thin one, with the fair hair. He had a wart on the back on his hand. Right here.’ She rubbed the spot with a fingertip. ‘I know it was a wart, my little brother gets them. And the other called him Don. I heard it just before I passed out.’
‘Don? Are you sure?’
Jocelyn nodded slowly. ‘It came back to me.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is it right what they’re saying about Ronnie’s sister? That she’s vanished?’
‘Yes. We’re trying to find her.’
‘God. How could anyone do that? Their parents…’
‘I don’t know. We’ll find out who did it.’ She stood. ‘You get some rest. And you know something?’
‘What?’
‘When you get back to Cross Green you might find there’s someone who’s happy to see you.’
For a moment Jos looked confused.
‘Ray, you mean? Ray Coleman.’
‘Yes. If it hadn’t been for him we might not have found you.’
‘But he’s just a boy.’ The corners of her mouth turned down.
‘Sometimes that’s not a bad thing.’
‘You got that out of her?’ McMillan was impressed. He parked on the street across from the Walker’s house. A constable stood guard at the end of the drive.
‘She remembered it.’
‘Doesn’t matter. We can use it. Now let’s see if you can use your magic on Jane Walker. Get her on her own and press her. Gently, though.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Quiet,’ he answered after a moment. ‘Not surprising. She’s been crying a lot.’
It wasn’t what she wanted to know, but she’d find out soon enough. The servant led them through to the morning room. A fire was burning, even this early in the season, making the room hot and close. The air of tension and despair was so thick she could almost cut it.
Mrs Walker was huddled in on herself, looking cold in spite of the warmth. Her arms were tightly folded across her stomach and she seemed to be staring at nothing. There was a shocked softness to her face, with deep shadows under red-rimmed eyes. Her hair was fashionably short, but unwashed and dull. She wore a cardigan pulled over a blouse, a skirt reaching down to her calves.
Her husband sat in a chair on the other side of the hearth, back very straight. Benjamin Walker had a bristle of grey hair across his scalp, a thick moustache and a fixed, determined expression. Suit
, tie, everything formal and ordered. Lottie felt someone watching her. She turned her head, seeing McMillan’s pleading expression.
‘Hello, Mrs Walker. I’m WPC Armstrong.’ She knelt by the woman, placing a hand lightly on her arm. ‘Do you think you could show me Irene’s room?’
Jane Walker nodded lightly and rose. She moved like an old woman, shoulders slumped, arms still clutched around herself. Lottie followed her up an oak-panelled staircase that smelt of beeswax, down a hallway and into a bedroom that looked out over a long back garden.
‘Here.’ It was the first word she’d said, husky, empty.
The room was colourful, bright silk scarves hanging from the back of the door, a fashionable dress in red and gold on a hanger, still with a price tag. Bed, wardrobe, dressing table with a jumble of cosmetics spilling across the top. Nothing that seemed to show who Irene Walker really was.
‘That sergeant already looked in the drawers,’ the woman said. ‘I watched him.’
If he’d found anything useful, apart from the notebook, he’d have told her. She stared at the mother, seeing her whole history in her eyes. Strict upbringing, obedience drilled into her with discipline, cowed even before she was married then far more after so many years wearing a wedding ring.
‘What’s Irene like?’
‘She wants to be grown up so badly.’ Jane Walker gave a sad little smile. ‘She thinks that will make everything fine. She’ll learn.’
‘No magic answer, is there?’
‘No. She thinks I don’t know about a lot of the things she does. But mothers hear.’ She sighed, staring at Lottie. ‘I just want her back safe and sound, that’s all.’
‘We’ll bring her home.’
The tears were brimming. Lottie reached out and hugged her, feeling the other woman’s head against her shoulder, her body shuddering as she sobbed silently. A son dead, a daughter vanished: who could keep all those feelings inside?
It lasted five minutes and more. Lottie stroked and patted her back as if she was a child, feeling everything drain out of Mrs Walker. But she needed to release it. Finally the shaking slowed and the crying became tiny snuffles.
Modern Crimes Page 10
