Private Sorrow, A (30 page)

Frances looked flustered when she came to the door. ‘What is it now?’

Charlie smiled. ‘Just a few more questions, Mrs Flynn, I hope you don’t mind.’

She gave him a sour look and said, ‘Does it matter if I do mind?’

She moved aside and he went into the living room. Jimmy and his father were busy reading the evening papers and they looked up with disinterested gazes. Maggie flounced down on the settee and looked at him with undisguised pleasure – this was something new; a real-life policeman in the house. Frances sat next to her. ‘What questions do you want answered now?’

‘I’m looking for Miss Price but she seems to have disappeared. I wondered if she told you what her plans were?’

As Frances shook her head no, her husband said, ‘What’s Vincent been up to?’

Charlie looked puzzled. Jimmy said, ‘It’s my dad’s little joke. He thinks she looks like Vincent Price.’

Charlie nodded. ‘Mrs Flynn, you knew her years ago. Do you know if she holds a driving licence, or have you ever seen her in a small black car?’

Frances shook her head. ‘I don’t know if she drives and no, I’ve never seen her in any car, black or otherwise.’

Charlie was getting nowhere. ‘Did she ever mention that she was in contact with her niece Etta?’

Frances was fed up with this harping on about Etta. ‘No, she never said. As I told you before, I met her last year by accident. I was at the chapel and she came and spoke to me. I was surprised that she even recognised me because I wouldn’t have known her. Mind you, the more I saw of her, the more I recognised my old teacher.’

‘Did she tell you why she had the urge to come back to Dundee after years living in Ireland? I mean, did she mention her sister Vera, or Etta?’

‘No. She just said she was back for a while and that she would be going back to Ireland soon. I got the impression she hadn’t been very well and maybe she wanted to have a last look for her sister, but she never mentioned her name.’

Mr Flynn piped up. ‘So Vincent’s disappeared has she? That family seem to make a habit of vanishing and putting people like us to a lot of bother with daft questions.’

Charlie looked at Jimmy. ‘How is Mr Walsh getting on?’

‘He’s doing fine but he won’t get out of hospital for a week or so. But the good news is they’ve got a key for a new house just along the road from us. Donna and the girls are so pleased.’

Maggie said, ‘It’ll be great having Andrea and Janey living so near. I used to be pally with them when we lived in Carnegie Street.’

‘Have you tried the chapel?’ asked Frances. ‘She seemed to spend her entire day there. Maybe Father Black will know where she is?’

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.

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 caught, 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.’