Mrs Elton slid open a service hatch and pushed through it a tea-tray. Then she re-entered the room. She poured the tea, splashing it noisily. She handed Gently his cup, took her own, sat down on the settee.
‘It’s Maureen,’ she said, jabbing a thumb towards the ceiling. ‘Don’t know what she’s coming to. Worse than the other one, Maureen is.’
‘Maureen’s Elton’s sister,’ Setters explained.
‘Yes, twins they are,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘Blitz babies the pair of them. Born to trouble, were them two. Now what do you want to ask me what I haven’t told you already? I haven’t seen no more of Laurie. Nor I ain’t heard from him neither.’
‘The superintendent,’ said Setters, ‘is from Scotland Yard.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Mrs Elton. She looked at Gently with satisfaction. ‘Me, I’m from Bethnal,’ she said. ‘Harmer’s Buildings, we lived at. My old man was a porter when we was down in Bethnal, but now he’s in the building lark. Doing all right for himself, he is.’
‘And you’ve just two in your family?’ Gently asked.
‘Just two,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘And that’s enough, I can tell you. Two’s enough in these days.’
‘Have you relatives in London?’ Gently asked.
‘Dozens and dozens,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘There’s my two sisters and our old mother and aunts and uncles and nephews and cousins. And I know you’ve been to look them up cause they’ve writ and told me so. And Laurie ain’t gone to them. Though maybe he’s with his pals in Bethnal.’
‘What pals?’ Gently asked.
‘Kids,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘Chums. He ran around like the rest of them, he knows the backsides of Bethnal. But I don’t say you’ll find him there. It’s just a guess, that’s all. There’s nowhere much to hide there, and where there is you must have looked. So I keep thinking of Bethnal. Bethnal’s where I’d look myself.’
Gently nodded. ‘What about his pals round here?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Elton, ‘they’re like they are, that’s all I can say. They’re a quieter lot, in some ways. You don’t get none of that fighting in gangs. Maybe there’s only one gang here, I dunno. But they’re quieter.’
‘And his girlfriends?’ Gently asked.
‘Same with them,’ said Mrs Elton.
‘Was he very friendly with Betty Turner?’
‘Was he,’ she said. ‘He was stuck on that one.’
She hoisted herself off the settee and refilled the cups. The jazz upstairs had stopped, instead one heard a mournful wailing.
‘Maureen,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘Gives me the pip that girl does. You should see her room, a proper pickle. And that lazy. Never works for long.’
She sat again, smoothed her skirt.
‘Proper stuck on her,’ she added. ‘I liked her too, she was a decent girl. It’s a shame what’s happened, that’s what I say.’
‘How long were they friends?’ Gently asked.
‘Oh, quite a time,’ said Mrs Elton.
‘When did they stop being friends?’
‘About last Whitsun,’ Mrs Elton said. ‘He’d just got his new motorbike, on the never-never, that is. He was going to take her to Yarmouth, then for some reason she wouldn’t go.’
‘Was he upset?’ Gently asked.
‘Nearly howled,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘Went off somewhere on his own and didn’t come back till early morning. Did him a world of good no doubt, it doesn’t harm them to get the brush-off. I reckon a brush-off is educative. When you’re young, that is.’
Gently drank and put down his cup. ‘And after that?’ he said.
‘He soon cheered up,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘Laurie isn’t the boy to brood.’
‘Did he mention Lister?’ Gently asked.
‘Not that I remember,’ said Mrs Elton.
‘Did he have a new girlfriend?’ Gently asked.
‘Not particularly he didn’t,’ said Mrs Elton.
She looked squarely at Gently. She had surprising blue eyes. Her face was puffy and her cheeks pallid. She would never have been good-looking.
‘Are you married?’ she asked him.
Gently shook his head.
‘You should be, a man like you,’ she said. ‘And my son isn’t a murderer.’
Gently stirred. ‘We’re not saying he is…’
‘No,’ she said, ‘you haven’t said it.’
Her eyes brimmed over. She felt for a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes for a moment. She put it away.
‘It’s like this,’ she said firmly, ‘there ain’t no harm in Laurie, really. He’s a good boy, he always has been, he’s always kind to his old mum.’
She used the handkerchief again.
‘And he’s never been in trouble, really. Just the games they all get up to. He pinched a bike when he was a nipper. And he’s steady he is, he holds a job. There’s never been no complaint there. He’d grow out of it. He’s a good boy. There’s no harm in him. Not none.’
‘He’s been in fights, I’m told,’ Gently said.
She nodded. ‘Fights, yes. He’s been in them.’
‘He was put on a year’s probation,’ Gently said.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Not a year’s probation.’
‘And a traffic offence. A speeding fine.’
She shrugged, looked at him. She twisted her mouth.
‘But he ain’t wicked,’ she said, ‘he wouldn’t kill no one. Not my son wouldn’t. Not Laurie.’
‘Would he smoke reefers?’ Gently asked.
She looked away. She said nothing.
Upstairs the jazz was going again and feet were slouching on the floor. A trumpet moaned, the saxes blared, drums thumped out a naive rhythm. They all glanced upwards.
‘I think I’d like to talk to Maureen,’ Gently said.
‘You’re welcome, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Elton.
Her lips tightened. She rose.
Maureen came in. She was a hefty girl with a tangled mop of honey-coloured hair. She wore a black shapeless sweater which came below her hips and had a sagging turtle-neck, calf-length jeans, and ballerina sandals. She was not made up. She had dirty nails. Her hands looked grubby and the fingers were nicotine-stained. Her expression was sulky and she didn’t look at the visitors. She sat down languidly on a pouffe, spreading her legs.
‘So you are Maureen,’ Gently said.
Maureen didn’t contradict him. She looked boredly out of the window, shaking her hair back from her eyes.
‘I’d like you to tell me about Laurie,’ Gently said. ‘About his friends and the things he did. And about Johnny Lister. And Betty Turner, about her.’
Maureen gave her hair a flick.
‘You answer him, my girl,’ said Mrs Elton.
‘Like why should I?’ said Maureen.
‘Because I tell you to,’ said Mrs Elton.
‘And give Laurie away?’ said Maureen.
‘Never you mind about that,’ said Mrs Elton. ‘Just you tell him what he wants to know. And none of that stupid talking, neither.’
‘These squares,’ Maureen said.
