Three Little Maids (6 page)

‘And how long did you spend in there? Was there anyone there that knows you?’

He thought carefully for a moment. Rubbed the knees of his jeans again. ‘Can’t say offhand. Stayed there for an hour or so till about ten. Then I took a stroll along the sea front and tried to get myself together. I thought I might meet up with Maureen - see.’

‘And did you?’

‘No!’ He shook his head. ‘So... So I went on the pier.’ Raymond glanced over at his grandmother again. ‘I didn’t come home right away. I played on a bingo stall for a bit and won a box of chocs for Gran, didn’t I?’

‘That’s right. He did. It’s a lovely big one too. He gave it to me first thing.’

‘So about what time was it when you got home?’

A bony hand tugged at the loose neck of his sweatshirt. ‘About twelve
, I reckon. The church clock was chiming as I walked back up the hill by the Havelock pub. I missed the last bus home from the town centre - see. And Gran was asleep when I looked in on her.’

‘He likes walking does our Raymond. He was always taking off on trek into the countryside when he was small. You know that yourself, Mr. Turner. The times I’ve had to call you when I’ve been worried about him.’

The Sergeant nodded. ‘That’s right, Mrs Perkins.’ He took a sip of his tea it was how he liked it strong and sweet. Best to let the old girl get it off her chest.

‘They found him on the top of a double-decker bus in Tonbridge Wells of all places when he was only six, Inspector Kent.’ She reached forward to pat Raymond’s hand fondly. He withdrew it quickly. ‘It was lucky he had his name printed in his school blazer jacket. Said he wanted to go to London like Dick Whittington. I took him to see the pantomime Puss in Boots only the week before. Sorry, Inspector. I must let you get on, mustn’t I?’

‘So where else did your long stroll take you last night? Was it along the cliff path near Lover Leap?’

‘What are you suggesting?’ June Perkins burst in. ‘That he has had something to do with that poor girl’s death?’

‘We have to establish his movements, Mrs Perkins,’ Turner said with a reassuring smile.

‘So where did you go other than the walk along the front and the bowling alley?’

‘On the pier and stayed awhile then walked back through the town centre home. Nowhere else.’

‘So if you did this can you remember meeting anyone on your travels who can verify that in the bowling alley for instance? What about the bingo stallholder on the pier? Would he remember you?’

‘Might do. Doubt it though.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t honestly say. There were lots of other people playing on it. And it was late.’

‘He might remember if you won a prize.’

‘Suppose so...’

‘Think hard now, son. We have to question everyone who knew the Carey girl personally.’

‘Maureen, you mean? Was she the girl found on the cliff top?’ June Perkins burst in again. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

Raymond stared back blankly at them for a second or so. ‘She can’t be
- not my Maureen,’ he said in a strangulated voice.

Kent nodded. ‘Afraid so, son, we have to find the person that Maureen was planning to meet last evening, Raymond, and if it was her killer
; we have to catch him.’

‘I bloody well know that,’ he said tearfully.

‘Raymond! Watch your language! She was a silly little girl, Inspector,’ June Perkins said. ‘Fancy arranging to meet someone on the cliff tops so late at night. She was only fifteen. She was asking for trouble.’ She shook her head. ‘They won’t be told anything these young girls. They think they know what they’re doing till it’s too late.’

‘Gran!’

‘It’s her parents that I feel really feel sorry for. Mr. Carey is a good man. He lives by the good book. Her mother, poor soul, I daresay will never get over it. I clean for her two days a week. Even when my back plays me up something chronic. She simply idolised that girl.’

Raymond’s answer to this was to bury his face in his hands and sob loudly. Turner sighed, popped a sweet into his mouth, and closed up his notebook. The grandmother was at the boy’s side immediately. She put her arms round him to give him a hug and a kiss as he tried to push her away. ‘There, there, don’t take on so.’

‘So you can’t think of anyone who can give you an alibi for last night? Answer me please.’

Raymond raised his tear stained face to mumble, ‘Not offhand, I can’t. I met up with n-no-one I knew
- not last night.’

‘Can’t you see how my boy’s suffering? He’s taking it real bad. He wouldn’t harm a hair of that girl’s head. Even though the little tart played him up something cruel. I’ll send him along to the police station if he can remember anything useful later, Mr. Turner.’

Kent studied Raymond’s miserable face thoughtfully. There was angst there too. ‘Do that, son, if you can recall anything at all about what Maureen said about her date last night. Any tip offs she might have given you. Was it someone she might have known for some time or someone new? A blind date, maybe from the Internet? It could be almost anyone these days.’

‘I told you. I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. She was funny and kind of secretive about it. She enjoyed bloody teasing me. Wanted to see me get mad. It gave her a buzz. There’s no way she would tell me,’ he said scowling.

‘Okay. Come along to the station if you do remember anything at all. You want to help us catch her killer, don’t you?’ Raymond nodded; the fair hair flopped in Byronic fashion over his forehead again. ‘Ask for Sergeant Turner or myself. Thank you Raymond- Mrs Perkins- for your time.’

8

Viviane heard Kent come in at seven. She’d had her evening meal and, as usual, cooked for two. She would have to get used to cooking in smaller portions when Simon left home

She was about to settle down for the evening, her TV program picked out, when she heard Beazy utter a low throaty meow, his version of a growl when the knock came on her living room door.

‘Viviane?’

‘Come in, Jon. Quiet, Beazy!’

Jon put his head round the door and the rest of his spare, lean body followed. She was always amazed that with his cooking skills and the amount he ate, he never visibly put on weight. He had friendly hazel eyes, with attached laughter lines, a thin well - used face, neatly kept brown hair and the wide mobile mouth smiled back at her generously. As she saw him now he was the opposite in every way to her stolid, chunky built husband Bill.

‘Hi! Is it safe to come in?’ He chuckled, viewing Beazy cautiously from across the room. ‘You’re two of a kind, Viviane. You’re both incurably nosy, you go on the defensive when you’re rattled and you’re even alike in colouring.’ He grinned. ‘Except your eyes are a shade darker honey gold than his,’ he said staring at her till she blushed. A man hadn’t paid her a compliment in a long while or so it seemed to her at that moment. ‘Are you sure you don’t turn into a cat at night?’

She sighed. ‘What are you after Jonathan Kent?’

‘There you’ve proved me right. Who gave the cat that weird name?’

‘My great-aunt, Ida. It’s her cat. And she acquired a bit of a reputation for her herbal cures around here and Joseph Carey showed his disapproval often as her neighbour, because she offered Gwynith Ludlam some Feverfew; a herb for her headaches, and included Esmeralda Corrie the clairvoyant amongst her best friends. So Aunt Ida went a stage further and bought Beazlebub. He’s a Maine Coon cat. Do sit down and push Beazy out. Have you had a hard day? I heard you leave early.’

‘Yeah
- you could say that. Hasn’t the bush telegraph told you what I’ve been working on?’ he said easing himself into the chair which the cat vacated quickly in a huff.

‘Let’s forget work. Have you had anything solid to eat?’ She hesitated. ‘I cooked too much chicken supreme and Simon’s in London this weekend with his sister. If you can face anything hot? I can rustle up some salad and ham though if you’d prefer it?’

He smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Viviane. I shan’t make a habit of turning up to mess up your routine. Mine kinda got mucked up today.’ He yawned and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m bushed. But I could do with something to eat. I’m starving.’

She laughed. ‘Come on then. I’ll put it in the microwave.’

He followed her out into the kitchen and sat up at the table where Beazy viewed him suspiciously from the fridge top. ‘The chicken smells good. I suppose you have heard something about the girl’s death that we’re dealing with right now?’

‘I did, this morning in the library. The Wilberforce sisters brought in the news. They live at the White Rock
Hoteel and they were told by Fred Hill, the hotel porter.’ Jon’s high forehead creased at this. ‘It was Nathan, his nephew, who found the body this morning.’ She chuckled. ‘You’ll soon discover that nothing gets by the locals here. Gossip spreads like a forest fire. Was she a local girl?’

Viviane figured if she got her questions in while his mouth was drooling for the food that was sending out a
mouth-watering smell, he might be a shade less cautious.

He grinned. ‘Who are you kidding, Viviane? You know just as much as me. She was a local girl
, as it happens, and it wasn’t an accidental death. I don’t suppose you’ve had that many murders here.’

‘Not that I can remember.’ She filled up the kettle automatically. And had to force herself not to sound too inquisitive. ‘So-o
- how was she killed? Or can’t you say? Is it too early to tell?’

His hazel eyes were giving nothing away except amusement so far. The microwave pinged and she served up the meal.

‘Was she sexually assaulted, Jon?’ she asked exasperated by his silence. ‘What was the motive? Do you know?’

‘Hard to tell so far,’ he said, drawing the chair in closer to the table. ‘We shall have the news hounds making themselves heard outside the station tomorrow. We’ve managed to contain it so far and it couldn’t have happened at the worst possible time,’ he groaned picking up his knife and fork. ‘High summer with the
carnival week starting on Monday and everything geared up for the celebrations. Sounds like fun.’

‘It usually fills the place with covered floats, great features, fancy dress and fireworks.’ She nodded sympathetically. ‘You know who she is though
- I heard from my last reader to come in that it was believed to be Maureen Carey. Is that correct?’

‘Yeah, it was. Just a kid, Maureen Carey, the fifteen year old daughter of the local undertaker, Joseph Carey. You’ve just mentioned him?’

‘Yes, I know him,’ she said, holding the kettle over the teapot with a shaking hand. ‘My God! It must be terrible for them!’

She made the pot of tea automatically, bringing it over to the table with her thoughts whirling around in her head like a snowstorm in a glass bauble. ‘The Carey’s are neighbours of mine. They own that big mausoleum of a place, with the Gothic towers, down on the corner.’ He obviously knew this already. ‘How was she killed? You said it wasn’t accidental.’

‘She was choked to death. And the time of death was sometime between eleven and midnight last night.’

‘Choked!’ She poured out the tea. ‘What was a young girl doing on the cliff top at that time of night? Her father was so strict with Maureen and Gordon, her twelve-year old brother. They’re chapel goers and live under curfew rules in that household but Maureen might have felt like flouting them occasionally.’

As she sipped her tea, she pictured the girl as she had last seen her. Maureen had distinctive silvery blonde hair like her mother, fair lashes, deep cornflower blue eyes, dimpled pink cheeks, pouting cherry lips. And practiced a vapid bored expression when speaking to adults.

Her maternal grandmother was Danish, she’d been told by Paula Carey when Viviane commented once on her fair colouring. She’d reminded Viviane of a white mouse when she came into the library, usually accompanied by her friend, Susan
Flitch who were as different from each other as chalk and cheese. Perhaps her father’s almost puritanical strictness had made her break out unwisely?

Kent studied her closely. He sighed and shook his head. ‘I suppose you must know most of these people. You come in contact with them at work, don’t you?’

She shrugged. ‘Some of them. I don’t know Mr. Carey that well.’

He drank a mouthful of tea. Grimaced and added another spoonful of sugar and stirred it in with a frown. ‘This is not a case that is open and shut. It’s not easy to put it into so many words. It’s a feeling I’ve got. I think we’re looking for someone who is mentally sick.’

Her spoon clattered in the saucer. ‘Really?’

He was holding her attention deliberately. But would he tell her more?

‘This is not for public hearing, Viviane. What I’m about to tell you now I don’t want to see reported in the papers.’ She nodded. ‘She was throttled and then the poor kid was choked to death on her panties. Literally. They were stuffed down her throat cutting off the poor kid’s air supply.’

Viviane closed her eyes, and sucked in her breath. It was much worse than she’d imagined it could be.

‘I’m telling you this, Viviane, because you were married to a copper. And I hope I can trust you not to say anything of this outside these four walls. Not even to your children.’