Wings over the Watcher (6 page)

He looked excited. “She does. She does. I’d forgotten all about that. She does.” At last the policewoman had earned his respect. “I’ve never seen her use it though. It just sits at the bottom of her bag. I’ve never heard it go off. It’s for emergencies, you know?”

“Do you have the number?”

“It’s written down somewhere. I’m not sure where. I have it at home.”

“So you haven’t rung it?”

“No. No. I simply forgot all about it.” He looked flustered. Probably cross with himself for such an oversight. “How strange. How very odd. I’ll ring you and let you know. Will that be all right?”

“Fine.”

They both stood up together. The interview was at an end.

Joanna touched his shoulder in a gesture of friendship. It was peculiar that she should feel she shared any responsibility for Beatrice Pennington’s disappearance. She certainly had had no hand in it. She had hardly known the woman. And yet, oddly, she did feel this was more than a normal disappearance.
“Behind every crime,”
Colclough, her Chief
Superintendent, had once told her,
“lies a story. It’s up to you, Piercy, to tease it out. Not to make judgements, just make sure that, when appropriate, the entire story is lain before the courts.”

She shook herself. This was ridiculous. This was not a police case. Beatrice’s story was a private affair, something she must square with her husband.

And lover.

“Please,” she said, “don’t worry, Mr Pennington, Arthur. Statistically your wife is likely to be fine. Just going through a bit of a crisis. A brainstorm, if you like. She wasn’t depressed, was she?”

She hadn’t needed to ask this. Beatrice Pennington had been a woman who had been happily rediscovering herself. Right at the opposite end of the spectrum to depression.

“No.”

“And she wasn’t on medication?”

“I’ve seen her take some pills occasionally but…” He turned around. “She was happy with her life. With
our
life. As I’ve said. None of this makes any sense.”

“And you’re sure,” she began delicately, “that there is not another man?”

“Oh, no,” he said firmly. “No. It isn’t possible. It simply isn’t possible.”

And that was as far as she would get with him now.

He left then, his shoulders slightly more bent than before.

Joanna closed the door behind him very gently.

When she was again alone in her room she realised there had been something fiercely uncompromising in Arthur Pennington’s stance.

He would defend his point of view, fail to recognise another’s.

In some circumstances this could be a dangerous attitude to take.

Working in the same room as Korpanski it was impossible to sustain any sort of bad atmosphere so when he returned she launched straight in without preamble and speaking in a way deliberately blocking out previous hostilities.

“I’ve lumbered myself with this now, Korpanski,” she said laughing, running her hands through the unruly hair, as she invariably did when she was embarrassed, “so I may as well see it through. I shall always blame the Femina Club of Leek,” she finished ruefully.

“Ladies with bikes,” was Korpanski’s cryptic comment and Joanna couldn’t resist making a sly dig at him. “Safer than ladies with cars?”

He made a face. “Don’t remind me. And I’m not really sure about safer the way you rattle around the countryside on your bike, but cheaper certainly.” His grin was the usual warm-Mike grin and she felt a quick heat towards him. He was a good colleague, one who would back her all the way. A loyal friend too. Korpanski was the immovable object as far as his emotions went. Once you had enlisted his friendship you could count on it.
Forever
.

She picked her jacket up from the chair. “Well I may as well make a start on this.”

“Want any help?”

She stopped in front of his desk. “Not sure at this point, Mike.” She laughed again. “To be absolutely honest Arthur Pennington had forgotten she has a mobile phone. He’s going to go home for the number then ring it. If she answers it’ll all be sorted by tea-time.” She was thoughtful for the briefest of seconds.

If Beatrice Pennington had a mobile phone why hadn’t she at least put her husband out of his misery? Told him she was safe, left a message – or something. That was the whole point about mobile phones. You could use them any time, any place.

So why hadn’t she?

It was that and the
Ann Summers
underwear. So obviously meant to have been packed. But left behind. She’d considered the theory that it had been a deliberate and malicious act and discounted it in the same second. From the brief contact she’d had with Beatrice Pennington she hadn’t struck her as a malicious type. She simply
wouldn’t
have abandoned her husband then twisted the knife in the wound with such spite.

So, still paused in front of Korpanski’s desk, she frowned. “It won’t do any harm for you to do a spot of fishing, Mike. I’ve got the name of Beatrice’s two closest buddies. I’ll just try and find out the name of this secret lover, maybe even where she’s gone off to.” She knew she was still frowning. “I’ll tell you what though, Mike, just in case there is a hiccup, you could see what you can get on the mobile phone companies. See what was registered to her and then we’ll home in on the detail. Whoever this secret lover was, she’s bound to have used the mobile to contact him. It’ll all be in the printout.”

Korpanski tilted so far back in his chair he could look up, straight into her face. “And having wound up the mystery of the missing woman you can spend the evening sorting things out with Levin.”

Now it was her turn to make a face. “I’m not sure he’ll want to hear from me, Mike. He isn’t lonely any more.”

Awkwardly he covered her hand with his own, his eyes glancing away. “He will want to talk to you, Jo. I know he will. If he doesn’t he’s a…”

Now it was
her
turn to feel awkward. “Well thanks for the vote of confidence, Korpanski.” She was back to her own, habitual acerbic tone.

Once outside she looked down her list of the missing woman’s friends. The one that appealed most was conversely the buddy that Arthur Pennington had appeared to dislike. Jewel Pirtek, the woman who had (pretentiously according to Arthur) changed her name in accordance with her image. Idly she wondered what Jewel’s name had been before.

Derby Street was only a stone’s throw away so Joanna strode out for what passed as the High Street, but was actually named Derby Street. Bustling with people, busily doing their shopping.

She knew Jewel Pirtek’s shop well. It sold handbags and belts, jewellery and perfume. Today the window was filled with bright, flowery beach bags and big, flashy necklaces, strewn with seashells, luring the individuals about to head off on holiday into a late buy.

She pushed open the door. It was a small premises, a tiny counter on her left, huge hooks of handbags on her right – and at the back of the shop were pashminas and scarves. A woman was sitting behind the counter, regarding her.

“Jewel?” she asked hesitantly.

“That’s me.” A bright, gravelly voice only very slightly tinged with suspicion. “Who wants to know?”

Like many old school friends Beatrice Pennington and Jewel Pirtek were as dissimilar as the proverbial chalk and cheese. Jewel was skinny, a size eight or ten, deeply suntanned, wearing an impressive amount of make-up including heavy, black false eyelashes. She displayed a scrawny cleavage and enough jewellery to sink a boat. She also smelt very strongly of Estee Lauder’s Beautiful. And Joanna had a sensitive nose for such things.

The shop-owner treated Joanna to a great view of capped teeth. “Can I ‘elp you?” Her accent was pure Leek.

Joanna flashed her ID card. “Does the name Beatrice Pennington mean anything to you?”

The woman blinked. “Beattie? Course it does. We’ve known each other since schooldays. A few years ago now,” she added coyly.

There was no affectation about Jewel – except the name – and that Joanna liked. Particularly when compared to Beatrice; it sounded exotic, exciting, unusual. And it suited this tough-skinned woman.

The sticky eyelashes flickered wide. “What’s she done? Parked on double yellows?” There was a throaty cackle.

“No. She seems to have disappeared,” Joanna said apologetically.

Jewel did a double-take. “Beattie. Disappeared?” But there was not quite enough incredulity in the word.

Joanna realised that this woman was busily sizing her up, wondering how much she knew.

“Look,” she said, settling down on the stool the
shop-side
of the counter. Girl to girl. Woman to woman. “Arthur Pennington has consulted me professionally but I had met his wife on a couple of occasions. She came cycling with us. The Femina Club of Leek?”

“Oh,” Jewel said again. “Yes. She did mention it. After getting fit, weren’t she?”

“Yes. Why?”

Jewel shrugged. Eyes wide open. “We’re always being told, aren’t we? Get fit, stop smoking, don’t drink too much. I suppose she was just following health advice.”

Joanna thought there was something more to Beatrice’s sudden desire to change her image but she said nothing, leaving it to Beattie’s friend to continue.

Jewel fixed her with a suddenly sharp look. “I can’t believe she’s gone missing. Since when?”

“Since yesterday morning. She didn’t go to work in the morning and didn’t return home last night.”

“Doesn’t Arthur know where she is?”

“No. Have
you
any idea where she might be?”

Instinctively Joanna just knew that on the tip of Jewel’s tongue was the phrase, it’s for me to know and for you to find out.

She braced herself, daring Beattie’s friend to say it but she didn’t so Joanna added.

“She hinted to me that there was someone else. And Mr Pennington himself has some
evidence
…” (It seemed inappropriate to call the titillating underwear evidence but that was what it was or what it might become), “that she might be having an affair.”

“Oh,” Jewel said again. She was giving nothing away.

It was time to play the heavy-handed cop. “Ms Pirtek, Police investigations are very expensive and time-consuming. If this is a simple case of a middle-aged woman going off with another man I’d like to save the state some money. Understand?”

“Oh I do that, dear.” Jewel was playing pally now.

“And anything you tell me will be treated in confidence. So?”

Jewel smirked and studied her false fingernails. “I had my suspicions,” she said. “I don’t know who it was but about six months ago Beattie completely changed. Just before Christmas it were. She had been down. Really down. We was worried about her. But then she changed. She started to look brighter. Much happier. Said she’d met someone. That was all she said, that she’d met someone. But it had quite an effect on her. She joined Weight Watchers. Tried on the fitness thing.” The eyelashes flickered. “To be fair to Beattie, life with Arthur was…well…shall we say predictable?”

Joanna bit back the instinct to agree. It was not for her to pass judgement.

“Do you know anything about the man? Do you know who he was?”

Jewel hesitated. “No not really, except that she said this was someone who’d brought her back to life. That she’d never felt better or more fulfilled. That this was what the word kindness meant. She said an awful lot of things.”

And suddenly now the flood gates had been opened there was no holding Jewel back.

“Look – I can’t hide it, Inspector. To be honest, I didn’t really take it that seriously. I didn’t listen that hard. You see.” She leaned forward, right across the counter. “I’ve known Beattie all my life, practically. I’m not saying she makes things up but she sort of romanticises. Maybe she reads too many slushy novels and it gives her ideas.”

“Like what?”

“Well – someone gives her a bit of a smile and she sort of takes it further, imagines they’re eyeing her up – when it’s 
just friendliness. I’ve known it happen a few times to Beattie and watched her slowly wake up to find out she’s been made a bit of a fool of. That’s when she needs her friends, Inspector. Me and Marilyn.”

“But this time she must have gone somewhere, with someone,” Joanna pointed out.

“Aye maybe this time it was for real. Maybe not.”

“So how did you feel when she was telling you she’d found a lover?”

“If you want to know the truth, Inspector, at first sceptical. I didn’t believe a word of it.”

“Later?”

“I started to believe in it.”

“And then?” Joanna persisted doggedly.

“Then I was glad for her.” Jewel was in defensive, defiant mood. “It was fun to see the old Beattie up to no good.
She’d
always been the stodgy one.
I’d
always been the tearaway. And then of course, Marilyn. Well – Marilyn.”

Marilyn would have to wait until later.

“Do you have Beatrice’s mobile phone number?”

“Oh – somewhere.” Jewel looked vaguely around her. “But she never answers it, you know. Waste of time her having one. I don’t even know that she knows what to do with it. And she always forgets to charge it up. It usually has a flat battery so you start talking and then lose her. So frustrating.”

“The number?”

Jewel dived beneath the desk, fished out a brown leather handbag as big as a suitcase, delved around inside it and finally produced a maroon leather Filofax. She flicked through it, produced a scrap of paper and handed it to Joanna. Immediately Joanna dialled it on her own phone.

The mobile phone you have just dialled may be switched off. Please call again later.

“Bugger,” she said. There was no offer of a messaging service.

It would have been so nice to have kept her promise to
Korpanski and sewn the thing up by teatime.

Jewel was watching her. “No answer?”

Joanna shook her head.

Jewel looked unsurprised. “That’s our Beattie,” she said pertly. “Mind you – if you’d just gone off with your fancy man you wouldn’t want your friends all ringing you up to find out how you were, would you?” She gave a dry cackle.

Joanna put her phone away. “When did you last see her?”

“Last Sunday.”

“She didn’t come cycling with us that day.”

“No.” Jewel scratched at a point on the back of her head. “She seemed a weeny bit down, to be honest. We sat in the garden and cracked open a bottle of wine. Cheered us both up.”

“You don’t know what she was ‘down’ about?”

Jewel shook her head. “She didn’t say and I didn’t probe.”

“You had no ideas?”

“Not really. I wondered if she was fed up with Arthur. You know – she’d wanted to go abroad again. Back to Italy. They’d been there, camping, a couple of years ago and she’d been hankering to go back but Arthur was having none of it. He hadn’t liked it. Quite a stick-in-the-mud, you know, our Arthur.”

The two women regarded each other. Jewel broke the silence to voice Joanna’s thoughts. “I suppose she was plucking up the courage to finally go. And it’s a big step, isn’t it?”

Joanna nodded.

“You didn’t question her?”

“No. I decided that if she wanted to tell me something she would. I’ve never been one to pry.”

It was patently the truth. For all her sophistication Jewel Pirtel struck Joanna as an honest woman. Now it was Joanna who hesitated. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Not at all.”

“Unconnected with the case.”

“Go ahead,” Jewel said archly. “I can only say no, can’t I?”

“What was your name before you changed it?”

“How did you know I’d changed it?” She was quick, indignant and rapier-sharp.

“Arthur Pennington told me.”

She chuckled. “Disapproved, didn’t he? Well – he wasn’t christened Eartha.”

“You’re joking.”

“Aye. Me dad was an Eartha Kitt fan – big-time. And no matter what my mother said he would have his way.
He
registered my birth, you see, my mother being laid up like. The minute I could I changed it to something I really fancied.” She crossed her skinny legs encased in tight black trousers and asked archly,

“Answer your question, Inspector?”

“Yes. Thanks.” But she didn’t move. “Jewel,” she said slowly, “who is the man? Beattie lived an isolated sort of life, didn’t she? She didn’t know many people. If she was having an affair you must have some idea who it was with. Was it someone from the Readers’ Group?”

“Oh, you know about that already, do you? Work fast, don’t you? I’m sorry, Inspector, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

It seemed a dead end.

Jewel’s eyes were the colour of wood bark. A nice, warm, toasty brown. But they were very shrewd too. “Don’t worry. And don’t spend too much police time looking for her. She’ll be back. I know it. With her tail between her legs. She’ll have gone off somewhere for a little bit of drama. Have you tried the kids? Maybe they know something.”