'Just for the forms we have to fill in, love. You know how it is.'
'Mrs. Turner,' said Maggie, 'we'd like to have a look in Sharon's room. Do you mind? We could easily get a warrant, but I'm sure that's unnecessary.'
It was a brave try, Maggie, but futile. The Turners wouldn't let the rat catcher in without a warrant.
The third girl, Claire Clegg, lived in a different part of town. I threw the keys to Maggie and told her to drive while I used the radio.
Five minutes later I knew that Eric Turner had served time for burglary and handling, and his wife, Vera, was a convicted prostitute. They'd both been clean for the last ten years.
'Could be they're making an effort,' suggested Maggie.
'True,' I replied, 'let's give them credit for that. There's sod-all else we can give them credit for.'
'Did you see the two little ones?' she asked.
'Yes, they were bonny, weren't they.'
'They were beautiful. It makes you sad when you think of the life they'll have.'
'Well,' I declared, 'on the whole, I think I'm glad that I haven't any kids. I should hate to think I'd brought anyone into this world.'
'Oh, I don't know,' Maggie sighed, with a hint of sadness.
I felt I was close to rattling forgotten skeletons, so I changed the subject. 'C'mon,' I told her, 'let's see what Claire's mum has to say.'
Claire's mum was a single mum, but I didn't know what the circumstances were. She was attractive, but her face was becoming lined before its time, and there was a touch of neglect in her hairstyle. She needed someone to smooth the lines. Under different circumstances I might have volunteered to try, and not in a furtive way. She invited us in and offered tea. Maggie was surprised when I accepted. The news about Julie caused the furrows to deepen.
'You say she was injecting heroin?' Mrs. Clegg said.
'Mmm.'
'And you think Claire may be?'
'It's a likely possibility.'
'But… but wouldn't I know? Surely I'd be able to tell?'
'Not necessarily,' replied Maggie. 'The highs and lows would probably pass off as normal teenage swings of mood. People on heroin look just like the rest of us, most of the time.'
'Heaven knows, we've been getting plenty of moods, the last eighteen months…'
'Tell us about it, Mrs. Clegg,' encouraged Maggie.
'Oh, I don't know,' she sighed. 'It's easy to blame someone else, but they were all as bad. The trouble all started when the Turner girl started going to their school, but that's no excuse; she should know right from wrong.'
'It's not so clear-cut,' Maggie told her. 'Taking a few pills seems harmless enough at the start, and it doesn't hurt anyone else. Then things get out of control. Someone starts pushing them heavier stuff.
Your daughter's not bad, she's just come into contact with unscrupulous people, and she may be at risk.'
Mrs. Clegg's cup of tea remained untouched. 'It's such a disappointment,' she said. 'It's tough bringing up a child on your own, but we'd come through the bad years. Claire's father died in a road accident when she was five. We were just starting to enjoy ourselves. Claire was borrowing my clothes, and I even tried some of her outfits. I'd taken her out for meals, that sort of thing. One day, I knew, she'd bring a boyfriend home, and that would be me out in the cold, but before then I'd hoped we could be friends for a year or two. Like big sister and kid sister. Then, all of a sudden, she hated me; couldn't stand the sight of me; everything I said was rubbish. I don't know where I went wrong…'
She started to cry. I finished my tea and let Maggie do the Marje Proops bit. Each to his own. When the tissues were put away I said:
'Mrs. Clegg, would you mind if we took a look in Claire's room?'
'No, of course not,' she replied with a sniffle. She led the way upstairs and opened the door for us.
'It might be better if you left us to it,' I suggested. 'Claire will be annoyed with you if she knows you've been through her things. You can always say we had a warrant.'
Maggie gave me a sideways look. 'You're a fast learner, Charlie,' she said, when Mrs. Clegg had gone.
The room was more in the style I had expected. The ceiling was black, with luminous stars and zodiac symbols on it. Large posters, with swirling, circular patterns or images from the occult adorned the walls. Hieronymus Bosch would have liked it. Only the teddy bears gave a clue to the former life of the room's occupant. The drawers in the small bedside cabinet were locked. We searched around, without finding the key.
'What does the feminine intuition say?' I asked.
'It says the key is hanging round her neck,' Maggie replied.
I leaned over the cabinet and put my hand between it and the wall; it was open at the back. I placed the table lamp and the few other pieces on the bed, then wrapped my arms around the cabinet and lifted it bodily.
'Then let's try some male aggression,' I grunted, walking backwards away from the wall. I placed the drawers where Maggie could get behind them. She removed her jacket and squeezed her bare wrist through the narrow gap into the top one. It wasn't necessary to remove much, because she could tell by feel what most of the stuff was.
'Clothing, mainly,' she told me. 'Underwear… something silky… bra… suspender belt. Hey, Charlie, you ought to be doing this.'
I'd been thinking the same thing. After a few seconds' silence a puzzled expression flicked across her face. 'This feels more like it,' she mumbled to herself, and a moment later she extricated a small tin box with a hinged lid. It said Zubes on it. I remembered keeping a spider in a similar one when I was a kid. They don't make useful boxes like that any more.
Maggie prised the lid open and studied the contents. Then she turned the box so I could see. A wicked- looking syringe lay on a folded tissue, corner ways across. 'Fancy a pick-me-up, boss?' she said, without smiling.
Chapter Nineteen
'Jesus, Maggie, mind your fingers,' I said. She slid the box across to me and delved back into the drawers. Wrapped in a pair of tights she found a twist of cooking foil, as if wrapping a home-made sweet.
'That's what we're looking for,' I told her. After more groping she produced a cardboard packet. It was pale blue, and I noticed the Boots logo. 'What is it?' I asked.
Maggie held it so I could read the label. It said: 'Clear Blue', and underneath: 'Home pregnancy testing kit'.
'I've seen enough,' I said, adding: 'You'd better give me a lift back with the drawers; I think I did my back getting them out.'
We decided to take the wrap straight round to Drug Squad at city HQ. On the way there I asked: 'Do you think the girls were on the game.
Maggie?'
'Dunno,' she replied. 'Probably not. Just having it away with the boyfriend, most likely; or the bloke who supplied. Maybe it's the same person. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt.'
We'd forgotten about the Friday afternoon traffic. It's one of life's little mysteries why there are so many more vehicles on the road on a Friday afternoon. Waiting for the lights to change, Maggie asked: 'Charlie, why didn't you tell Mrs.
Clegg about the wrap and the syringe?'
'No idea,' I replied. 'Just a spur of the moment thing. She's enough on her plate.'
'Would you have given the Turners the same break?'
'No,' I replied, after some consideration, 'probably not.'
