Three Little Maids

by Patricia Scott

  ‘I was sorry to hear it, sir. You’ve gone through quite a lot together already in the past.’

  Welbeck cleared his throat and grimaced. ‘Yes - well the other night I’d had a few pints, came home by taxi and went straight to bed. Sara can’t always hear me coming in when she’s painting. She’s in a different world altogether then. She might have heard the lift though. I used that instead of the stairs but she could hardly have come to assist me if I missed half a flight and fell down or broke my neck come to that.’

  At least he’s being honest, thought Kent. ‘Well, thank you, Welbeck. That’s all for now. We’ll be in touch if we need anything more from you.’

  15

  The girl looked cautiously ahead of her up the shadowy flight of carpeted stairs. There was no light on them to see by and it was dark but the chapel door had been left open for her so he must be there.

  She called out, ‘Hello - Tom? Are you there? Tom Berkley?’

  She tried the light switch again on the stairs it clicked but it still didn’t come on. If she had really thought it out carefully she would have known something was very wrong. His letter asked her to come here at this late hour. He wanted to avoid being seen by anyone and so did she.

  She was later than planned but she hadn’t been able to get away as early from the pub as she’d hoped. So perhaps he hadn’t waited for her after all. She hadn’t seen his car outside but he could have parked it further down the road. She would try the door, see if he was there, if not she would tell Cliff he didn’t turn up. It was obvious Berkley didn’t want to pay for his fun.

  She walked slowly up the stairs, and then along the landing. She saw the faint glimmer of light coming from the crack under the meeting room door. So he was there. But why didn’t he open it up and answer her when she called?

  She hesitated for a moment outside, turned the door handle nervously, and pushed open the door. The light went off and from the darkness the arms of the shadowy figure reached out and smothered her screams as quickly as they came...

  16

  Viviane expected Jon to go into work in the morning but not quite so early as it was Sunday. It had been another hot, sticky night and the day promised to be another scorcher. She glanced over at the clock when she heard him moving about overhead. It was seven-thirty, and the bright sunlight was pouring into the bedroom through the large bay windows stirring up the dancing dust motes. Beazy had been restless on her bed since five and was now scratching on the bedroom door that she had forgotten to leave open for him.

  She got up quickly and followed Beazy downstairs. He was eager to take his morning constitutional stroll in the back garden. He had no way of knowing the difference between Sunday and a working day.

  She came out of the kitchen with a piece of buttered toast in her hand as Jon moved lightly down the stairs. His feet were hardly touching the treads and he stopped when he saw her. ‘Sorry, Viviane. Have I woken you again?’

  ‘I wasn’t asleep. So - what’s the rush? It’s just gone eight. Are they drumming up custom by giving away a free breakfast in the canteen? Or are you looking for overtime?’

  Her laughter vanished as quickly as it came when she saw his face. For once it looked severe; his mouth set in firm grim lines. ‘It looks like we’ve got another murder to deal with, Viviane.’

  ‘Not another one,’ she whispered. She felt an icy chill go down her spine and her hand sweated and tightened on the doorknob behind her.

  ‘I’m afraid so. They’ve found a girl’s body in the woods bordering on the left side of the park. Can’t say anything more at present. See you later. May I? Thanks,’ he said taking the buttered toast from her and he relaxed his face into a grin as he went out of the front door.

  Another murder! She couldn’t be dreaming it, he’d actually said that. Viviane sleepwalked back into the kitchen, sat down at the kitchen table, and held her head in her hands as fear cramped and knotted up her stomach. She didn’t fancy anything else to eat. She knew she would be restless all day till she heard more details about the victim. Was it going to be some other local girl that she knew? When would Jon be able to put a name to the killer and put an end to this evil?

  *

  ‘So Turner, tell me what you know so far,’ Kent said rubbing his chin with the tips of his fingers. He hadn’t shaved and it felt like gritty sandpaper. He looked down at the naked body. It was neatly arranged ready to be found so like the other young victim. Only her eyes and hair colouring were different. Kent swore under his breath. It was beginning to feel like Groundhog Day.

  ‘Not good, is it, guv?’

  ‘It isn’t, Turner.’

  The Scene of Crime officers were there already. Around their small group, a team of police officers was meticulously examining every inch of the ground taped off now for anything left behind by the killer that could throw light on this new crime.

  Turner took out his notebook, opened it and cleared his throat. It felt thick and dry. He was wishing that he’d had another cup of tea and was spending an extra hour in bed with Carole. This should have been his weekend off. He groaned silently and frowned over his notes. Kent grunted; ‘Get on with it, Turner. I could have done with a lie-in too.’

  ‘Well according to the witness, Mrs Laidler; she was out early this morning walking with her dogs in the woods behind the park. She has two young retrievers. And the dogs let loose into the thicket and bramble, set up a hell of a commotion. She thought at first they’d got a rabbit or a squirrel and going further in to check up on them, found the body lying here in the undergrowth amongst the ferns and brambles. It must have given her the fright of her life. But she kept her head, called off her dogs straight away and used her cell; she keeps one on her for safety while out walking and phoned us and that was at seven-forty five am precisely.’

  ‘So how is Mrs Laidler? Is someone looking after her? Given her a drink? It couldn’t have been at all pleasant. This is not a pretty sight to find on a bright sunny morning like this.’

  ‘A police woman is with her, guv. She’s feeling a bit rough right now. I don’t suppose she’ll fancy walking the dogs in these woods for a long while.’

  There was a cough and a quiet voice beside them. ‘When you’re ready, Kent. I hoped to get a round of golf in this morning.’

  ‘Sorry, Doc. How does this body appear to you?’

  The medical man grimaced and peeled off his disposable gloves. ‘Nasty. Pretty much like the previous one. This girl I think is slightly older; about eighteen I would say and, taking a quick guess, by the purple marking on the lower part of the body I think she was more than likely killed elsewhere and then was dumped here with her clothes folded up neatly beside her like the other victim.’

  ‘Could it be the same killer?’ Kent said gazing down at the latest victim where she lay in the tangled undergrowth of briars and tufted grass. Her blood streaked, velvet brown irises saw nothing of the sun shining down through the cathedral of green trees, and the wavering shadows from the leafy branches overhead that dappled and camouflaged her naked body. ‘Is it another local girl or a local? Could it perhaps be a copycat killing? Although I think we can strike that, Turner, as no details of the other victim have been given out so far.’

  Turner put away his notebook. ‘So it looks like he’s done it again, guv.’

  17

  ‘Yep. Another young girl in similar circumstances and not identified so far. Let’s hope someone comes forward with the right information pretty quick so that we can make some moves on the killer.’

  In the Incident Room, there were loud groans all round when Kent announced the new crime. ‘We’ll have her picture ready to circulate as soon as they can make her look a sight better than when we saw her last. I wouldn’t like to be the one having to identity her. The poor woman who found her hasn’t got over the shock yet.’

  ‘Why do these young kids choose to come home late, on their own, from the nightclubs and dancing on the pier? You’d think that this girl would
have been on her guard after the other death, sir.’

  ‘They never think that it’s going to happen to them, Carter.’

  ‘Well let’s hope they will be more careful when this one has been made public.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  Turner took the last peppermint lump out of his pocket, popped it into his mouth and wished himself anywhere but there. ‘Going to the canteen, guv? Or do you want me to bring you a tea and sandwich up here? I fancy a bacon sandwich myself.’

  ‘Well - -you can get me one too. There’s a yawning hole in my stomach which needs filling. If we’re having brunch, Turner - see if they have any apple tart and custard? Oh, wait a minute, I’ll come along with you.’

  They walked into the canteen and looked along the counter where someone was working at the stove. Turner grinned. ‘It’s a bit early but I expect Marie will fix us up okay, won’t you? Two teas to start with please, love.’

  The canteen cook, a small blonde woman with a button nose, round rosy face and bright blue eyes, didn’t seem at all surprised to see them. She smiled and poured out their teas. ‘What are you after, Stan Turner? A bacon sandwich I suppose. Doesn’t our Carole feed you properly at home? Can I get you something, Inspector?’

  ‘A bacon sandwich will do me fine too.’

  They took their drinks over to a table and sat down. ‘Another cousin, Turner?’

  He grinned. ‘You’re getting warm. Marie’s my sister-in-law, guv. My brother, Eric’s, wife. She works extra hours Sunday morning sometimes during the holiday times. She’s putting her son, Richard through college. He wants to be a vet.’

  Marie brought over the plate of sandwiches with a smile. ‘Here you are Stan, Mr. Kent. Is it right that there’s been another murder? Another young girl?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  She waited with a plump hand on the table top. ‘Do they know who she is?’

  ‘Not yet. Why?’

  ‘Well, my Eric said when he came in early this morning from his night shift that he picked up a young girl in his cab in the street near the Nag’s Head last night.’ She had their full attention immediately now. ‘And she asked to be taken to that old chapel at the back of the town on the West hill. So he made a quick comment like ‘isn’t it a bit late for a service?` But it didn’t go down very well with her. So he kept quiet after that.’

  ‘Did he say what time it was, Marie?’

  ‘Nearly midnight. He was going to take a break and have a snack. That’s how he remembered it being so late.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  Said she looked nervous when she got into his cab. Looked as if she wanted to change her mind at the last minute and hesitated, when he stopped outside the chapel. Then he asked her if she’d rather be taken straight home and she said, ‘No!’ A bit sharp with him she was.’

  Marie wiped the top of the nearest vacant table with a damp cloth she had in her hand.

  ‘So he dropped her off there at the chapel. He worried about her a lot afterwards and wished he’d stayed awhile longer to see if she was okay. Said she was just a kid. Wondered what she was doing there so late. She was foreign, he said. And spoke with a French accent. Could have been one of those foreign students.’

  ‘A French girl?’

  ‘Yes. We’ve got these students everywhere. Only he remembered this one. Said she was such a pretty girl. Much too attractive to be out so late at night in one of those skimpy, short dresses. He likes a good pair of legs. He waited till he saw her go in. Then he drove off. The main door wasn’t locked so she must have arranged to meet someone in there. Funny, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Very - thanks, Marie.’

  The two police officers looked at one another as they chewed their bacon sandwiches slowly. ‘Could be,’ Turner said, ‘It’s a lead to start with if it’s the same girl, guv. Certainly seems like it might be.’

  ‘Is it the chapel we visited yesterday to speak to Welbeck?’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  Marie chipped in over the counter. ‘Eric knows that chapel well as he takes the two old Wilberforce ladies there every Sunday evening. They stay at the White Rock Hotel and he does special rates for them, Inspector.’

  18

  ‘My girl’s gone missing.’ A young man, with a quiff made of stiff jelled spikes of sun-bleached fair hair, which reminded Police Constable Bennett of a lavatory brush, hunched his muscular brown arms over the front office desk. ‘You’ve got to find her for me.’

  ‘And your name, sir?’

  ‘Jones. Cliff Jones.’

  ‘And her name, sir?’

  ‘Yvette Marceau, she’s a student.’

  ‘Would she be French, sir?’

  ‘Yeah, she is. She’s a student at the Language College. So what are you going to do about it, man?’

  Constable Bennett picked up the phone. ‘If you’d like to wait over there, Mr. Jones.’ He indicated the bench with a nod of his balding head. ‘I’ll get someone to speak to you.’ Jones sat down and leant forward, his hands clenched together and rocked his lean frame impatiently on his seat. His dark eyes fixed intently on the adjoining door.

  ‘Turner? Bennett here, front desk. There’s a young chap out here. He wants to see someone about his girlfriend, Yvette Marceau. She’s gone missing. Okay. Mr. Jones.’ He beckoned him over. ‘Shall I send him along to your office? Righto. Inspector Kent would like to speak to you, sir.’

  ‘Well it’s about time. Anything could have happened to her by now.’

  ‘Take it easy, son. You can see Inspector Kent. He’ll listen to what you have to say.’

  ‘Mr. Jones, to see Inspector Kent.’ Constable Townsend opened the door and the young man followed the police officer through the door like a greyhound out of a trap, leaving it banging hard behind him. Bennett scratched his head thoughtfully with the tip of his biro. She had to belong to someone, the girl they’d found this morning in the woods. Could it be his young lady?

  ‘Mr. Jones, sir.’

  Kent was talking to Turner at his desk. ‘Thank you, Townsend.’ He stood up to greet him as Cliff Jones came in. Turner said, ‘Good morning, sir.’ And went over to the filing cabinet to open up the top drawer.

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Jones. I’m DI. Kent so how can I help you? Take a seat.’

  Jones sat down and fixed his eyes on the police officer. ‘I understand you’re worried about your girlfriend, Yvette Marceau.’

  ‘I want you to find her, see. She wasn’t in her place this morning.’

  ‘How long has she been missing?’

  ‘All night, I think. She wasn’t at home when I called an hour ago.’

  ‘Could she be staying with a friend perhaps?’

  ‘Her bed hasn’t been slept in, and she was going out with me today.’

  Kent leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head and studied the young man. ‘How old is she, Mr. Jones?’

  ‘Eighteen. She’s French and she works part-time as a barmaid at the Nag’s Head in the town centre.’

  ‘So where do her parents live?’

  ‘Yvette comes from Nimmes. Her family owns a hotel and restaurant there. What is all this? Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Bear with me a moment, please. Would you have a photo of her on you, sir?’

  ‘I have.’ Jones felt in his blue linen jacket pocket and brought out his wallet. ‘Here’s one she had taken last week at a dance on the pier.’ He took out a picture and handed it over to Kent.

  Kent looked at the doe-like golden brown eyes in the laughing elfin face and passed it over without a word to Turner, who handled it reluctantly. He nodded and gave it back to the young man.

  ‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’ Jones said smiling, his anxiety briefly forgotten.

  ‘Can you tell me, sir, if she wears jewellery of any kind? A ring perhaps or earrings? I notice that she is wearing an anklet on her right ankle in the photo.’

  ‘That was a gift from her father. And she
wears a ring I gave her with her birthstone in it. An amethyst.’

  ‘I don’t know about the anklet. But would this be the ring, sir?’ Kent held up a small plastic envelope with a ring in it. ‘It has an amethyst and an inscription which reads, ‘With all my love, Cliff.’ Is that correct?’

  ‘That’s right. You have it! Where did you get it? Where is Yvette? Is she okay?’

  ‘Turner fetch a cup of tea for Mr. Jones, please. Or would you prefer coffee, sir?’

  ‘Tea will do. What is all this?’ Cliff Jones bounced out of his chair and leant over the desk. His deep set brown eyes burning feverishly bright in the strong square cut features. His clenched fist came down hard on the desk disturbing the folder on it. ‘Just cut out the crap, Inspector. Tell me where she is - Yvette’s dead, isn’t she?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Mr. Jones.’

  ‘I want to see her. Now. Take me to her at once!’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t. It has to be her parents who can identify her. After that you may, of course, be allowed to see her.’

  Jones collapsed back into the chair and the colour under the tanned skin faded. ‘Christ! Where did you find her? You can tell me that much, can’t you, officer?’

  ‘Yvette was found early this morning in the woods bordering the park. The cause of death is not known yet.’

  Jones slumped forward, his head buried in his hands, muffling his sobs as Turner came back in with a mug of tea, a spoon and a small packet of sugar on a tray. He put it down on the desk and waited.

  ‘You have a key to her place, Mr. Jones?’

  He lifted his head. His eyes were dark holes in his tear stained face. ‘Sure. Didn’t - didn’t you find one in her purse?’

  ‘Her purse wasn’t with her when she was found and it would be easier for us if you can let us have your key, sir. So we can examine her room. We can find her home address there, I daresay. Would you like the tea now?’