Three Little Maids (7 page)

‘It has to be a local man, Jon. Someone she knew. Not a stranger
- someone she liked and trusted even. She wouldn’t have been out so late unless she’d arranged to meet that person.’

He nodded, picked up his cup and finished his tea. ‘I thought that too. I’m glad you agree. This investigation is not going to be easy, that girl was adept at keeping her assignations secret from everyone including her best friend Susan Flitch and her previous boyfriend Raymond Perkins.’

‘So the killer could do the same to another girl, couldn’t he? Couldn’t he, Jon? Unless you find him soon.’

9

In the living room, a can of beer in his hand, Kent relaxed back into the chair. Memories were hitting him once again, bad memories he had tried to bury for so long in the dark recesses of his mind. Today had brought back the terrible time he’d lived through with his own family. The long night hours waiting for news when his sister had gone missing after a visit to a friend’s house. It was thirty two years now since the police had come to their house early one summer morning to tell his mum that her pretty, loving fifteen year old daughter, Briony, had been found lying under the swings in the local playground, her clothes and her young life taken from her. Today he had seen his sister, Briony, again when he looked down at Maureen Carey’s lifeless body lying on the cliff top.

‘A penny for them, Jon?’

He grimaced. ‘You wouldn’t want to know.’

He was twelve years old like Maureen’s young brother, when Margaret Kent, his mum, a staff nurse working on night shifts in the local hospital, had to identify her daughter. The year before, his
dad had had an unexpected yet fatal heart attack, like Bill Sherlborne, that left Margaret Kent the sole provider for her young family.

He took a long drink of the fridge cold beer as he recalled that they had nailed his sister’s murderer after he was caught in the attempt of attacking another young girl. Terry Bolton, a nineteen-year
-old youth of diminished responsibility, was a middle-aged man now who would be most likely out of prison. He would need to check up on him. Essex was not so far away.

‘Sorry, Viviane, I’m not good company tonight. And you’ve had a long day too. Thanks for being so understanding and the meal.’ His smile was tired but genuine.

‘My pleasure.’

Upstairs, he looked at his family photographs distributed around the flat. His mother had remarried fifteen years ago, and was content and happy with Don Palmer, his stepfather but the anniversary of Briony’s death still hurt and upset her even now. And he knew he could never forget his sister. Today’s experience had proved that so emotionally for him.

How much his sister Briony’s death had affected his decision to take on a police career, he wasn’t sure. But he was determined that he would get Maureen’s killer sooner than later. This past crime, he was reluctant to discuss with Viviane or anyone else, in case it was thought that it might affect his police work. It wasn’t likely then, that anyone would be curious when he looked up Terry Bolton’s release date and living area.

Raymond Perkins could possibly become a suspect. He would have to proceed carefully there must be no preconceived suspicion of the youth because Perkins was of an age and similarity in appearance to Terry Bolton. It mustn’t influence him
in any way.

He found it difficult to sleep; he usually did once working on a case and this promised to be worse than ever. He made a mental note not to drink too much, it wouldn’t help. He tried counting and picturing his colourful collection of Toby jugs on the shelves instead of sheep but it didn’t work. He hoped he didn’t keep Viviane awake moving about in the bedroom and kitchen
, when he decided to cook an omelette for an early breakfast at 5.am.

10

Gwynith Ludlam came into the library with her two small daughters. A quiet mannered, young woman, in her early thirties, she was simply dressed that morning in a dark blue sleeveless linen dress. Viviane guessed it was in deference to the Carey’s sad loss. Gwynith fussed to excess over her children’s clothes. But she could have done with some good advice on her own account.

For a wealthy woman Gwynith had little fashion sense and wore the wrong styles for her too thin figure and hard parlours which drained the parlour from her pale skin. With her high cheekbones and large expressive brown eyes
; she was a doppelganger for Audrey Hepburn. Viviane longed at times to take her in hand and felt angry that Aiden didn’t advise her when he chose his own expensive suits and handmade shoes with style and flair.

‘Good morning, Mrs Sherlborne.’ Gwynith wanted to speak about the tragedy. ‘You’ve heard
, haven’t you about the dreadful murder? The Carey girl, I still can’t believe it.’ She shook her head and sighed deeply. ‘We have just visited the Carey’s and my heart bleeds for them. Paula is in bed. I don’t know how we could ever recover from such a tragedy if it was one of our children, Tamsin or Adele,’ she said with her hand tenderly smoothing Tamsin’s fair cherub like curls.

‘Yes. It must be terrible for anyone to lose a young daughter,’ Viviane agreed smiling at the two little girls.

It wasn’t like Mrs Ludlam to express herself so readily, she was usually silenced by Aiden`s eloquent, charismatic presence when he accompanied her anywhere. This morning though, she was on her own. Aiden must be staying over to give Mr. Carey his support and making plans for the funeral service to be held in the chapel. How could Carey possibly hold things together having to deal with his child’s funeral arrangements? It must be a sad, sombre occasion for all the family. No one is prepared for the loss of a child especially in such terrible circumstances.

‘Thank you, I just had to get out of the house,’ Gwynith said taking the library card from Viviane. ‘It wasn’t fair to the children, to stay in and as the weather is so beautiful
; I thought I would take the children into the park later. They like feeding the ducks and swans, don’t you, dears?’

‘Yes, Mummy.’ Adele the eight year old, a pretty little girl with soft brown curls and brown eyes like her mother, held up the basket filled with stale bread and a bag of bird seed. ‘We’re going to feed some of the budgies and love birds in the aviary too, Mrs Sherlborne. Aren’t we, Mummy?’

‘Yes, dear, hold onto Tamsin’s hand and take her into the children’s library. See if you can find a nice picture book for her to read.’

‘Yes, Mummy.’

‘They’re doing well with their reading, Mrs Ludlam. You must be pleased that they have taken to it so well.’

‘I am
- oh-dear, Mrs Sherlborne. I can’t get that poor girl out of my mind, you know. I saw Maureen in the chapel only on Monday.’

‘You did?’

She sighed. ‘Yes - I was looking through the hymnbooks for Aiden. Some are very tatty now and we need to order some more. It was Aiden’s birthday, and Maureen came in with some flowers and a birthday card for Aiden. He told me that she seemed a bit upset about something. She was at a funny age and Tom Berkley’s son, Michael was with Aiden in his office. A nice looking boy and very polite. Michael was a bit too old for her, I think. She was obviously attracted to him but he wasn’t keen.’

‘Sometimes they’re only interested in sports at that age. Michael’s like Simon my eighteen
-year-old. They play cricket together occasionally.’

‘And as it was Aiden’s birthday
, he’d come over with a dinner invitation from his father. The Berkley’s want us to meet their prospective son-in-law Hugh Manderville. His parents are wealthy landowners, his father is the Lord of the Pealinghurst Manor, and it promises well for a very happy marriage, I think. The Berkleys are pleased with the match. Brenda Berkley, I know, is pulling out all the stops to make the wedding a success and the marriage is to take place in the old Norman church at Pealinghurst.’

‘They must be highly delighted then if Debbie’s happy with her choice of husband. I hope you and the children enjoy your day out in the Park.’

Afterwards, during her coffee break, Viviane wondered why Mrs Ludlam was telling her so much about Maureen and the Berkleys. Was it perhaps because she was worried about them for some reason? Or was it something that she knew about Maureen. She couldn’t have made a play for Aiden Ludlam surely. Gwynith obviously knew that her husband was the main attraction for the women in the chapel even if he never gave her any cause for jealousy. And a teenager like Maureen was looking for someone like Michael. He was an especially pleasant boy and Simon had brought him home for a meal several times.

She wondered how the investigation was going. Were things moving on well in the incident room? She’d heard Jon Kent leave again just after eight that morning. Another early start for him. And during her lunch break spent on the sea front shelter she recalled once again how she had first met up with him in the pier ballroom three weeks previously
- at the Antique Fair. He collected Toby Jugs and she collected Vintage underwear

Viviane happened to be holding up a pair of split cambric panties that a Jane Austen heroine might have worn, in one hand and a silk corset in the other, when Jonathan Kent passed by with his latest acquisition, a china Toby jug under his arm.

His sly chuckle and comment; ‘They won’t do you justice,’ invited a sharp reply from her and they exchanged more words and conversation afterwards over a cream tea in the pier cafe. And he’d mentioned that he was new to the Harcombe Police Force from the London Met and had met Bill when he was attached to Homicide. Bill had died shortly afterwards.

And she had no idea that she would acquire a tenant for her flat after she made an innocent inquiry, ‘Are you staying in police accommodation?’

‘Sort of.’ He grinned. I’m staying with one of my Sergeant’s; Stan Turner. A nice bloke. A good family man. But it’s only temporary, like I said, I must have a rented place of my own. Till I can find a suitable property to buy, I suppose. I guess I’ll be here for quite some time.’

She swallowed and thought for a moment. She could be making the biggest gaffe of her life by suggesting this. After all, this man had been a colleague of Bill’s but she didn’t want him to take her offer the wrong way.

She put down her cup, and said cautiously, ‘This is only a suggestion. Look, I have a self-contained unfurnished top apartment in my house and it’s large, it has two bedrooms. Has a lovely view of the park and it’s practically sound proof. My schoolteacher aunt had it adapted for a colleague of hers. I hadn’t thought of letting it out, up to now that is.’ She paused delicately. ‘I don’t like the thought of having the wrong kind of tenant I can’t get out.’ She smiled nervously. ‘My children are independent now and leaving the nest but I’m working and I don’t want any complications.’

He studied her quietly for a moment or so. By now he knew quite a bit about her. Knew that she’d been widowed for six years now. He could be thinking that there was a man friend here somewhere in her background.

He smiled warmly. ‘Right. I’ll be pleased to accept. Tell me your terms. And we’ll make it so that I can respect your wishes and your family’s.’

And so it had been settled amicably between them and within the week he had moved in his things and as he’d said there was a lot more when his furniture and books and his collection of Toby jugs, came down out of storage from London. He had lived like a bachelor for the past four years and he could feel the need for some feminine company occasionally.

But he could do what he liked, she thought, in his own place. He was after all a free agent, as she was, and so far he seemed to be settling in well. And right now, he would be working hard to solve this murder committed right on their doorstep. He wouldn’t need her giving opinions on his daily work and, unless she was asked, she must keep her mouth tightly shut.

She washed up her cup in the rest room sink when she finished that evening, she wouldn’t be going home to an empty house. She knew she had done the right thing.

11

Constable Townsend put his head round Kent’s office door. ‘We’ve got Mrs Flitch outside in the office, sir. She said she had something she thought you should see. Looks like a diary and
, more than likely, it belonged to that girl Maureen Carey.’

‘Mrs Flitch?’ He greeted the young woman with a smile as she came into the room. ‘How can I help you?’

‘I think I can help you, Inspector.’

‘I’ll be glad of any possible lead you can give us right now, Mrs Flitch.’

‘Well, I found this in Sue’s room this morning.’ She held out a cheap red school exercise book. ‘And I think you ought to read it. It was Maureen’s; it has her name inside. Sue was hiding it in her dressing table drawer and I thought it might help you to catch her murderer. I’m only doing this because I don’t want some other poor kid to be killed.’

‘Thank you for bringing it in,’ Kent said taking it from her. ‘Did you take a look at it?’

‘I read it and I think she could have done with some help,’ she said, as she left the room. ‘Should warn you though it leaves the Karma Sutra standing behind the starting gate.’

‘What
’d you think she meant by that, guv?’ Turner said with a chuckle.

‘We’d better read it and find out, hadn’t we?’ Kent said ruffling through the pages. By rights he knew he should give it over to her parents but was it going to be a bad move? This was something she hadn’t wanted anyone else to read. Especially her folks. She’d left it
at her friend’s place for just that reason.