‘Did she?’
Mrs Barrett was short-circuited for a moment, and then resumed indignantly. ‘Well, if you don’t call getting murdered by a sex-fiend “getting into trouble”, I don’t know what is! I wouldn’t have liked one of my nieces to be seen in public dressed like that. Ida Sharp on the corner said she spoke to someone who knows someone who was there when she was found. That Zellah Wilding was dressed like a tramp, she said, with a skirt so short it left nothing to the imagination. And what was she doing there at that time of night, that’s what I want to know? So the Wildings have got nothing to be snooty about. My nieces would have known better than that, wouldn’t they, Gordon?’
‘Now, dear,’ Mr Barrett began in mild reproof.
But she was off again. ‘And what does he do in that shed of his all night, night after night? Charity work my foot! There’s something suspicious going on in there, you mark my words. Night after night I see the light on, and his shadow moving about, two in the morning sometimes. Built it right down the bottom of the garden, so no one could see in – and he’d no right to that land. Calls himself a Christian but he’s not above breaking the law when it suits him. I had a word with him about it when he took down the fence – or Gordon did, didn’t you, Gordon? And he said he had to do it because the weeds were invading his garden. As if his garden’s any better than anyone else’s! And complaining about our poor Lucky every time he sets foot in it. Chased him with a garden hose, he did once. I’d a good mind to report him to the RSPCA. Mrs Delancey on the other side lost her cat, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he hadn’t killed it and buried it somewhere. Always digging in his vegetable patch. I said as much to Mrs Delancey, and she agreed with me. She never liked him either. He shouted at her once about her Sooty – a poor old lady like her! You could hear him right across the garden. He had a temper on him all right, despite claiming to be a Christian.’
‘Was he violent towards his wife and daughter?’
‘Well,’ she hesitated. ‘I can’t say for sure if he was violent, but I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve heard him shout at them many a time. And the life he made that poor girl lead, with no friends and no fun, that was tantamount to abuse, wasn’t it? No, there’s something queer about him, that’s for sure.’
‘Now, dear—’
She turned on him. ‘What about his night wanderings, then? What’s a decent man got to do with roaming around the streets at night? If he wasn’t in his shed, he was out in his car. Picking up prostitutes, as like as not. It’s always those churchy sorts that are the worst.’
She had gone too far for her husband. He must have tensed, for the cat shot off his lap as he said with surprising sternness, ‘Now, Ruby, that’s enough!’
Not as far as Atherton was concerned. ‘What’s that about roaming the streets?’
She turned to him with relief, glad to have the chance to justify herself. ‘He goes out in his car at night. Sneaks out straight from his shed – I’ll swear his wife doesn’t know he’s gone, because she never stirs once she’s in front of the telly. He goes down the shed of an evening, and then as like as not he creeps out and down the path to the side gate, and when I look out of the front window the car’s gone.’
‘Perhaps he has evening engagements,’ Atherton said mildly. ‘Social engagements.’
‘Not him. Refuses everything he’s invited to. Besides, when it’s one of his committee meetings or whatever, he goes out the front door like a Christian. No, this sneaking out he does is something shady, you mark my words.’
‘Now, Ruby—’
‘You don’t see it,’ she turned on him. ‘You wouldn’t notice anything if it was right in front of your face! But I’ve been watching him. Sneaked out on Sunday night, didn’t he? Down to the shed he went, but he wasn’t in there more than ten minutes when he sneaked out again, got in his car and drove off.’
‘Did he?’ Atherton said with interest. This was good – this was gold! ‘You wouldn’t know what time that was, would you?’
‘I don’t know,’ she frowned. ‘I suppose it might have been about half past five, that sort of time.’
‘And did you see what time he came back?’
‘No,’ she said with reluctance. ‘I was watching television in here – wasn’t I, Gordon? I looked out at about ten o’clock when I went to make a cup of tea, and his car wasn’t there then. And it wasn’t there when we went up to bed, which would be about half-past eleven. I said as much to you, didn’t I, Gordon? I said he was out again, on the prowl, didn’t I?’
‘Did you, dear?’
‘The car was back the next morning, but he could have been out all night for all I know, and it wouldn’t be the first time. Up to no good, you mark my words. Well, now they’ve gone, and good riddance to them, that’s what I say.’
‘Gone?’ Atherton said, trying to sit up and failing entirely.
‘Yes, left this morning, early. With bags. Gone to stay with her sister in Basingtoke, I wouldn’t wonder. That’s the only family I’ve ever heard her talk about. But it’s good riddance to bad rubbish as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care if they never come back.’
Outside, he realized the Wildings’ dark-blue Focus was not in its accustomed place and cursed himself for not having noticed that when he arrived. It was the unfortunately named PC Organ on duty on the door. It was a muggy day, and sweat was rolling round his neck under his chin, and a trickle was easing down his cheek from under his helmet. Atherton stood in front of him, to mask any possible reaction from the press – their interest in each other still seemed to be greater than in the possibility of a story, but you could never depend on the press to remain indifferent when you wanted them to.
‘What’s this about the Wildings leaving this morning?’ he asked, low but urgent.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Organ. ‘Went off about eight o’clock. I’ve got the key, though, if you want to go in. Mrs Wilding left it with me in case.’
‘In case of what?’
‘She didn’t say, sir. Just in case.’
‘And when are they coming back?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘And where have they gone?’
‘She didn’t say. But they had overnight bags with them.’
Atherton rolled his eyes. ‘It didn’t occur to you to stop them, then?’
‘No, sir.’ He looked wounded. ‘I was here to keep the press from bothering
‘And it didn’t occur to you to let anyone know they’d gone?’
He looked even more wounded. ‘No, sir. Why should it? They’re the victim’s parents, not suspects.’
Atherton turned away.
‘Sir,’ Organ called after him. ‘Do I still have to stay on the door, now they’re gone? No one’s said anything.’
‘I think you might be on duty here a while longer, Constable,’ Atherton said.
TWELVE
What a Difference a Dray Makes
Slider would have liked to round things off by talking to Oliver Paulson – whose flat was only a hop, skip and jump from Bravington Road – but of course Paulson would be at work in the City, and would have to be an evening
