Three Little Maids

by Patricia Scott

  Viviane was glad that she’d finally decided to have someone else living in the old red brick, creeper covered four storey house in Lower Park road overlooking the Victoria Park. She’d worried over it for quite some time after she inherited the house from her Great-Aunt Ida along with Beazy, her large Main Coon cat. Her aunt had been a retired headmistress of a local private girls’ school.

  Realising that her children from now on would be spending more time away from her, Viviane knew that pretty soon she would feel like a solitary dried pea rattling around in a tin can in the empty house. Her aunt, no doubt, felt the same. She had established the self-contained top apartment some years ago, and rented it to a fellow teacher.

  Viviane had let it to DI. Kent only recently when they’d met up unexpectedly on the pier three weeks ago and shared old times with him. She hoped she wouldn’t regret this as, inevitably, it might stir up old memories and would be forced to fight the sadness creeping back all over again.

  She grimaced back fiercely in the small hand mirror by the kitchen sink at the rash of freckles on her small nose, freshened up her coral pink lipstick and raked a comb through the thick crop of short russet red curls. And prayed that her small blue mini wasn’t held up by the build-up of early morning traffic into the busy town centre.

  She didn’t have much time after that in the library to think about Jon Kent’s early outing. The counter work kept her busy as usual till her weekly regulars, the Wilberforce sisters came in. They were two elderly ladies, Thora and Alice, who were unlike in appearance and had very different tastes in reading. Thora, whom Viviane, judged to be the eldest, was the tallest. Lean and bony, her pale blue eyes were gimlet sharp and her wide smile produced a row of large protruding tombstone teeth and she wore her cream straw boater jauntily on her pepper and salt frizzed hair. She read romance avidly, whereas quietly speaking Alice with her small bird like features, bright conker brown eyes, read nothing but crime fiction.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Gordon,’ they chimed together over the library counter.

  ‘Good morning, ladies.’

  ‘It’s a lovely day out. Just the weather we want for the Carnival next week. Let’s hope it lasts awhile longer, my dear,’ Thora said placing her books down carefully in a neat pile in front of Viviane. ‘We must make the most of it.’

  ‘Yes, it is gorgeous,’ Viviane agreed, sorting out the dates ready for the computer. ‘Perfect if it continues for the Carnival week.’

  ‘Have you heard the news yet, about the dead body found on the cliff top, Mrs Gordon? They believe that it was a young girl’s,’ Alice said in a sepulchral whisper over the counter. ‘I wonder if she’s anyone we know?’

  Viviane felt an icy chill freeze down her spine despite the sunny warmth in the library. ‘What body, Miss Wilberforce?’

  The sisters exchanged conspiratorially glances. Thora nodded and continued for her sister. ‘Fred Hill, the hotel porter, told us all about it when he brought in our morning newspapers. His sister’s boy, Jimmy Barty, Fred said came across the body on the cliff top while on the way to work in the Fish Market. He’s still at school to get his A levels and it has shaken him up dreadfully.’

  ‘Poor boy,’ Alice said. ‘One can only hope he can forget what he saw, Mrs Gordon.’

  ‘A girl’s body. She was murdered?’ Viviane said temporarily lost for words.

  ‘Oh, yes. We believe so. The full details will be released later, I dare say, by the police.’ Alice said finding another book in her shopper to put on the counter. ‘I want to renew this one, Mrs Gordon, please.’

  The two elderly ladies, who were permanent boarders in a seaside hotel, were a fount of local information and gossip. Viviane usually listened to their small talk with some amusement and only half her mind switched on. This news didn’t make pleasant listening but it was intriguing just the same. It was like a 100-watt bulb had just lit up in her head. She’d been a policeman’s wife for seventeen years and she’d missed listening to Bill’s daily accounts. Although he kept bits from her that he thought she shouldn’t know.

  ‘Has she been identified yet? Does anyone know who she is? Is she a local?’

  ‘We don’t know any more than what Fred told us.’ Alice shook her head regretfully and the bunch of shining artificial red cherries bounced on the small pale green straw hat that perched on the white hair fluffed up like a dandelion clock around her small pink face. ‘I wonder if it was an assault or murder?’ her voice sank down again to a whisper. ‘You can never tell can you with so many holiday makers in town at the moment.’

  ‘It could be a suicide, or an accident I suppose,’ Thora said also in a low hushed voice. ‘These silly young girls do such foolish things, don’t they?’ She sighed heavily. ‘They can take ‘morning after’ pills on demand. Then there are pills they can buy in discos. Hard drugs, you know? They can be so dangerous.’

  ‘It could be a sexual assault that went wrong, dear,’ Alice said picking up her basket. ‘Perhaps her drink was doped... And she was taken there by someone last night?’

  ‘If she was so young she wouldn’t be served with a drink in a pub.’ Viviane intervened. ‘I would have thought that she knew and trusted her date to go there late at night with them.’

  Thora nodded solemnly. ‘Everyone knows that the cliff path near Lovers Leap is dangerous, especially at night. Everyone local that is - -’

  ‘Perhaps she was a girl staying on holiday here. Perhaps in the Caravan camp. It’s not so good for the publicity and tourist business but I’m sure that the police are dealing with it efficiently. Someone will come forward soon to identify her soon. Don’t worry, ladies.’ Viviane assured them with a smile that belied the unease that she was feeling at that moment.

  The sisters wandered off together down to the fiction shelves. Sometimes, Alice took a fancy to reading true crimes from the non-fiction. She often chatted about them in depth to Viviane; how she thought that she’d met Heath, the lady killer, in London just after the Second War and mentioned often how her father, Colonel Willard Wilberforce, had been present at the Nuremberg trials for war criminals.

  The two sisters seemed inseparable. They were, Viviane suspected, living on a tight, fixed income in the White Rock Hotel. Thora watching over Alice with such loving care, Viviane didn’t like to think what would happen to the one left behind when the inevitable happened.

  Viviane snapped out quickly though from her blue reverie when Esmeralda Randall came in briskly through the swing doors like a sharp North East wind, five minutes later, and filled the library with her sweetly cloying scent of Patchouli and Ashes of Roses. A peacock blue silk turban swathed her fizz of hennaed red hair, and her long beaky nose, sallow skin and deep set sloe black eyes were sharply complimented by the vivid slash of cardinal red lipstick on her generous mouth.

  This morning, long strings of heavy amber beads clinked and chinked around her thin neck, and her ankle length blue silk dress blazed with the brilliant parlours of the red and orange poppies printed on it. Once seen never forgotten was true in Esmeralda’s case. She read the Tarot cards in a brightly painted booth on the pier next to the candy floss stall and was Viviane’s aunt’s oldest friend.

  ‘Good morning, Esmeralda, the Mary Higgins Clark’s novel you reserved has just come in.’ Esmeralda shared the same taste in books as Alice Wilberforce and took out mainly suspense and crime fiction.

  ‘Thank you, Viviane. I felt sure that it was here waiting for me and it will save you a phone call, won’t it, dear. And by the way, I’m not living in my flat at present. I’m having gas central heating put in at last before the winter sets in and the rooms decorated too.’

  ‘So you’ve moved out?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s only temporary. My frail old bones.’ She grinned widely. ‘Can’t suffer the chill and the mist creeping in from the sea front any more. Stella Frost has most kindly found a comfortable room at the White Rock Hotel for me. So, I’m booked in there for as long as it takes to get the work f
inished.’

  ‘Oh! I suppose then you might have heard about the discovery of the young girl’s body?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I saw it all in the Tarot cards last evening. I don’t suppose the Wilberforce sisters told you that I foretold a death and....’ She paused dramatically. ‘Another could follow quite soon. Bad things have a habit of following in threes, don’t they?’ she declared loudly.

  ‘Esmeralda.’ Viviane shook her head in dismay. ‘Hush! You mustn’t say that. You’ll give us all the frights.’

  ‘Pshaw! Why not? Those two silly old women, they made such a song and dance about my reading the Tarot cards for Mrs Frost,’ she said scornfully, glancing down to the end of the fiction shelves where the Wilberforce sisters hovered, obviously listening to every word. ‘They said that they were the Devil’s cards and should be burnt,’ she snorted loudly. ‘Stuff and rubbish!’

  ‘Esmeralda! Shush!’

  Her deep booming voice carried around the library like the tones of Big Ben and Alice uttered a shrill squeak of alarm and trembled as it reached her.

  Esmeralda’s wicked grin reminded Viviane of the grimace on the face of stone church gargoyle. ‘I’ll browse along the shelves awhile before picking up my book.’ She stared at Viviane intently for a moment then said with a wealth of meaning in her dark eyes. ‘I’ve got to give you fair warning, my girl. Do watch where that inquisitive nose of yours, takes you, Viviane. I sense an aura of evil at work here and more people could get badly hurt, good people that you know before it runs out ...’

  3

  ‘So you say the cause of death was due to severe strangulation, Matthews?’ Kent and Turner in matching green overalls stood on the periphery of the post mortem table. The latter wishing he was anywhere else but there. And more especially since his daughter knew the victim personally and had been invited to her last birthday party a short while ago.

  ‘I would say so, definitely. Terrific pressure was put on her throat causing a fracture of one of the horn bones of the cartilage. And with this pretty thing stuffed down it. Look! The poor kid choked on it and didn’t stand an earthly!’

  The medical examiner waved a pink object in the plastic envelope like a conjurer in the air and explained, ‘She was choked to death by her own panties, gentlemen.’

  ‘Good God!’ Turner stopped chewing his peppermint lump to gasp his comment. ‘What a bastard.’

  ‘So - what was the motive? Rape? Was she sexually assaulted before this was done?’ Kent studied the schoolgirl’s body again carefully. This was the usual motive in a case like this but the way this one was going he had a gut feeling that he wasn’t going to like what he heard next.

  Henry Matthews shook his green capped head. ‘No signs of sexual activity. But she wasn’t a virgin, I can tell you that much. She’d had some sexual experience. Her age was fifteen going on sixteen? So that’s not entirely unexpected. Practically the norm these days.’ He shrugged his thin shoulder in his creased green overall. ‘She was obviously no different.’

  Not if you knew the Carey’s, Turner skilfully covered his immediate impulse to grin.

  ‘There are no signs of semen on the body whatsoever. It’ll be hard to find any DNA. Looks like someone cleaned her up, save for that torn ear. So if she was enticed up there to meet someone for sex, it didn’t happen. She was a pretty child before this happened to her. Well nourished. She’s a natural platinum blonde by the way. She’d have been a real stunner in a year or so.’

  ‘Christ!’ Kent moved in closer. ‘What a waste. What was the motive, man? Are there any signs of drugs? Could she have met up with a dealer for a fix? But if that was the case why was she found in this state and starkers?’

  ‘Bear in mind another strange thing,’ Matthews said wiping his hands with a cloth. ‘This killer came well prepared for the kill. We know that he washed or wiped the body over thoroughly, could be with baby wipes. He cleaned off any DNA we might find and there are no traces of skin under the girl’s nails either. He was very thorough indeed. Took one of her gold earrings with him. Hence the torn left ear. See... It was done after death.’

  ‘Anything else useful?’

  ‘Her last meal was fish and chips eaten about nine,’ Henry Matthews continued sanguinely while sucking a morsel of breakfast bacon out of a back tooth. ‘That more than likely would have been bought and eaten before the meeting.’

  ‘Turner! Get ready to hand out Angela’s pictures.’

  The sergeant who had been listening with growing unease to the summary said, ‘Yes, guv.’ And swallowed the remains of the peppermint lump in his mouth hurriedly.

  ‘Give ‘em out to all the officers available to tout round the local fish bars and to make enquiries if she was either seen on her own or accompanied by anyone around ten or just before. Got that?’

  Turner nodded and took another peppermint lump out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth.

  ‘And we’ll interview Angela’s girlfriend, Stacey Flitch, next. Find out if she knows who Angela was meeting and what boyfriend, or boyfriends, she’s been seeing lately. And for God’s sake, try to avoid upsetting the Carey’s. They obviously haven’t a clue about what young Angela got up to on the quiet.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Twelve thirty. Might catch the girl in. She must know about her pal’s death by now. The Carey’s would have been in touch. Stacey had obviously been covering up for her frequently. And no doubt those in the Flitch household have been made aware of the tragedy. I wonder just how long those girls have been stringing along Angela’s parents?’

  In the small terraced cottage, the borders of its tiny front square of sun burnt grass decorated by cockleshells, Stacey Flitch wasn’t keen on talking; not at first. Her mother, a single parent, Kathie Flitch, who answered the door to the officers, was an attractive barmaid at the Nag’s Head pub, in the town centre.

  ‘DI. Kent and DS. Turner. We would like to talk to Stacey please, Mrs Flitch? We need to know Angela’s plans for the last evening. She confided in Stacey obviously more than she did her parents.’

  ‘I work most nights, Inspector. It’s the holiday season. So I welcomed Angela coming to spend an occasional night or two in with my girl. But she kept it from me what Angela was up to.’ She opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come in if you want to see Stacey. If you can get anything sensible out of her. I’ve not managed to get a word out of her since she heard. Would you like a cup of tea while you’re here? I’ve just made a fresh pot,’ she added conversationally.

  Kent looked at Turner. ‘If it’s no trouble, thanks.’

  They followed her through into the kitchen and sat down. She called out up the stairs, ‘Stacey come down, now, my girl. Sergeant Turner wants to speak to you.’

  Kent exchanged a glance with Turner, who grinned. He was obviously known to the family already. More than likely had been in the kitchen at some time before.

  ‘It’s made me good and mad, I can tell you. When I think what she was up to - the crafty little tart,’ Kath Flitch said bringing over the pot of tea. ‘Sorry, Inspector,’ she said handing him his cup.’ But I think Angela asked for it, you know. She made a fool out of my Stacey. The sly little bitch. She gave Stacey presents so she wouldn’t tell me what she was getting into. She’ll be down in a minute. I told her to wash her face. She’s cried buckets since she heard.’

  ‘Did Stacey know who Angela was meeting?’

  ‘Mind if I smoke, officers? It’s not banned in here.’ she asked with a smile. ‘This has been a hell of day so far.’

  She sat down took a cigarette out of the packet on the table, lit it up with a gas lighter. Turner sniffed the smoke appreciatively and felt for a peppermint chew in his blazer pocket. ‘I honestly don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. She’s not made much sense since she heard about Angela. Mr Carey came storming over here an hour ago. Sorry, but I sent him off with a flea in his ear. He wanted to know why I hadn’t stopped Angela. For a man of the church, he’s a bloo
dy fool. He wouldn’t believe that it was his daughter’s fault. He thought Stacey had encouraged her. I felt sorry afterwards though for the poor old bugger.’

  She shrugged her dress off of her bare shoulders and hitched it up again with a rose pink tipped hand. ‘He brought it all on himself, you know. If you ask me he’s much too bloody strict. All that church going. Twice on Sundays. No wonder his kid went off the rails.’

  Kathie flicked her cigarette ash into a nearby saucer on the kitchen table with an angry gesture, and folded her bare tanned arms, the gold bangles clinking on them, tightly across the front of her low cut, pink flowered-print dress. They heard some slow laboured footfalls outside. ‘Here comes Stacey now.’

  A short, plump girl, Stacey, in tight blue jeans and cream sweat shirt, white ankle socks and blue and white trainers came into the room cautiously. Kent quickly summed her up as having the mental age of a twelve year old as she blinked her tearful brown eyes owlishly behind her round glasses at the two police officers.

  ‘Hello, Stacey. I’m DI. Kent. You know DS. Turner, don’t you? Can you tell us what Angela told you? Do you know where she was going last night? Did she tell you who she was meeting?’

  She gulped and said; ‘She-she told me that she was supposed to be meeting Jason Perkins in her father’s workshop.’ She blinked cast a scared glance in her mother’s direction and sniffed into a wad of wet tissue. ‘In the Carey’s Funeral Parlour. She’d met him there before. But she said she wasn’t going out with him. She changed her mind.’

  ‘In her father’s funeral parlour!’ Kent exchanged astonished looks with Turner over the table. Turner put down his empty cup with a clatter.

  ‘Yes-s,’ Stacey hiccupped tearfully. ‘Angela - she liked the idea. Said it gave her a buzz being shagged amongst the coffins.’

  Kathie stubbed out her cigarette jerkily into the saucer. ‘Christ! Why on earth didn’t you tell me that this was going on? Her old man would have had a heart attack if he’d found them in there.’ She turned her face aside to grin at Turner who fished out another sweet from his jacket pocket.