Three Little Maids (10 page)

‘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?’

‘Thanks.’ He searched in his jeans pocket, took two keys off his key ring and pushed them across the desktop. ‘Here’s both keys. To the front door and her place up on the top floor and I would like them back. I’ve kept some of my things there and I wouldn’t like her parents to find them, see?’

‘Your wishes will be respected, sir.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ He drank the tea down in long gulps, got up and left the room quietly with a dazed look still on his face.

‘What do you think of that young man, Turner? Do you think he was being straight with us? Or did they have a lovers quarrel?’

‘Could be. I think that there’s more to it than what he’s saying. The parents may not have known of their daughter’s relationship with our lad. She didn’t seem more than a kid to me.’

‘She was working in the pub so she would have to be eighteen anyway. He wasn’t that keen for us to see her place, Turner.’

‘Shall we deal with it right away, guv? There wasn’t a gold anklet on the body, was it taken?’

‘Possibly but I hardly think that robbery was the
motive.’

19

Kent thought it must be a good thing to have a dog, a Labrador perhaps or a Wire Haired Terrier, for company if you lived right on the top of the West hill. A long walk over it would give both of them some healthy exercise after work and a good appetite.

Getting out of the car, he paused for a moment or so, gazed down at the old part of the town nestled comfortably in the valley below, licked his dry lips and fancied he could taste the salt on them as the East wind whipped up over the hill from the sea.

‘Right now, a kite would be the just the thing, Turner. Have you got one for your kids? I bet you’d have some great fun up here today. It gives a great view of the town. You live near here, don’t you?’

‘Yes, guv. You can see our house from up here. Down there, near the cricket ground.’

‘A nice spot to be, Turner. It would suit me to have a season ticket for the cricket. Although tennis’s more my game. Now where exactly is the street we’re looking for, Turner?’

Yvette’s small bed-sit was in the top half of a graceful, Edwardian house in a long street of similar old buildings. Set amongst variegated rows of individual red tiled late Victorian terraced houses built on the top of the hill. There were several students sharing the same house.

Looking out of its tall side windows, it had a wonderful view overlooking the old town and the irregular tiled roofs of the black timbered houses set in the cobbled streets below. And the tall black tarred fishing huts, the pebbled beach and the Fish Market could be seen clearly now that the early sea mist had lifted. Even if it was quite a climb to get there, it was well worth it, Kent thought, as, hiding his amusement, he saw Turner with a sweating red face take a rest, half way up the wooden stairs. He sighed with relief when they reached the top landing.

Yvette was a private person. She didn’t mix with the other students. Even though they shared the large kitchen in the basement, and the boy in the bed-sit on the same landing, when questioned, said
wryly; ‘Yvette rarely mixed with us. She was a poor, little rich girl.’

Kent turned the key in the lock and opened the door. They caught back their breath quickly. ‘Strewth! What a pong!’ Kent said bringing out his handkerchief, as he took in the disorder that lay out in front of them. The room reeking headily of expensive French perfume, from an empty scent flask lying amongst the strewn, tumbled contents from the dressing table drawers that had been tipped out onto the polished wood floor boards.

‘Good Grief!’ Turner said nearly choking on his sweet. ‘Has she been robbed?’

‘Shut the door quietly behind you, Turner. We don’t want this to get out.’

They put on their disposable gloves and gazed carefully at the wreckage lying around them. Turner took several photos. ‘Someone’s been a busy little bee in here,’ Kent said. ‘So - where do we start?’

‘What’s this all about then, guv? Who would want to wreck her place? Someone perhaps who didn’t like our poor
, little rich girl? One of the other tenants?’

‘Could be. Was Jones lying? Did he come here and do this after he killed her? Or is it someone else who has her key? Were they looking for something and what was it? Could it be money or drugs?’

‘Hard to tell, guv. Looks like she made the most of this place. She liked the music scene too. Look at the posters of all these popstars,’ Turner said glancing round at the highly decorated walls.

‘See if you can spot the anklet anywhere. Or was she wearing it last night and it was stolen?’ Kent rubbed his chin and stifled a groan as they studied the general disarray all over the room. Most of it was on the floor. The mattress on the single bed had been turned up and over completely, throwing the bedding with it onto the floor, and the fitted wardrobe left wide open and the clothes fallen off their hangers onto the floor.

‘Phew! She spent a lot on clothes,’ Turner commented picking up dresses and examining them carefully. ‘You can tell by the designer labels. See here! Where would a young student get enough cash to pay for these expensive outfits? Yeah, she’s working but this bed-sit must cost her most of her wages; unless her parents are filthy rich and spoil her rotten.’

‘Whoever stirred these drawers up and turned over the mattress was looking for something. Something they wanted badly enough to risk being caught here after the crime. The news is hardly out on the streets yet. So who would know about it so quickly? The killer or someone else is desperate enough to come over here? Someone with a key and someone she knew well,’ Kent said, looking into the bathroom cabinet over the washbasin in the corner.

‘Perhaps waiting, till they saw the boyfriend leave. Jones would, I think, have mentioned the state it was in to us, if it had been turned over before he arrived. He’d have been breathing fire at the station.’