'You appear to have a civilised relationship with him.'
'Yes, we try to have.'
'It must be difficult, arranging your lives around Dilly.'
'It is, but we manage.'
'She's a lovely little girl,' I said, smiling. 'It's easy to see who she takes after.'
It was a stupid thing to say. Janet coloured slightly and asked: 'What did you come for?'
Shelter from the storm? 'I'm sorry,' I told her. 'I shouldn't have said that. Maggie is busy, otherwise I wouldn't have come alone. Maybe I should have waited.'
We sat in silence for a few seconds. 'Maggie has told you all about Buxton?' I said.
She nodded.
'He's done it before,' I continued. 'More than once.'
'I know. Maggie told me.'
'Right. I need to break his story, Janet. He says that on that night Christmas Eve you did it the first time in the shower.'
She gave a sigh that came from right down in her cheap trainers. 'No.
I'd just come out of the shower. He dragged me into the bedroom and..
and… and did it to me on the bed.'
'He says you consented.'
'He's a liar.'
'He says you were a willing participant.'
'He had a knife at my throat.'
'But you didn't have sex in the shower?'
'No! For what it's worth, I've never had sex in a shower, either here or anywhere else.'
'OK. I needed to know. I'd like you to make a statement to that effect in the next few days. Maggie can take it, if that's all right.'
She nodded. Her hands were in her lap, engaged in a subconscious wrestling match, and her feet were shuffling about as if the floor was too hot to bear.
There was an uneven clomping on the stairs as Dilly came down, leading with the same foot on every step. She dashed to her mother and posed for inspection and approval. She was wearing fluorescent tights and a blue dress.
'Have you got them on the right way round?' Mummy asked.
Dilly nodded.
'Good girl.'
'She's, er, colourful,' I observed.
'You're a little rainbow, aren't you?' her mother said, swinging her up into a cuddle. Dilly giggled.
'Is it all right if I have a look in your bathroom?' I asked.
'Yes, of course it is. It's at the top of the stairs, facing you.'
The stair carpet was threadbare. The welfare state considers rent and food bills when calculating its allowances, but carpets and repairs to washing machines and a host of other expenses are considered non- essential. I closed the bathroom door behind me and slid the bolt across.
There was no radiator in there, just an electric heater high on the wall. The element was covered with dust, showing that it hadn't been used all winter. Those things eat electricity. I took my jacket off and hung it behind the door, next to a white to welling dressing gown and a tiny pair of pink pyjies with yellow teddy bears on them.
The shower worked straight off the taps, which isn't the best way to do it, and fingers of mildew were eating their way along the grouting between the tiles. I pulled the curtain out of the bath and turned the shower on for a few seconds. It didn't take me long to decide that Buxton and Janet almost certainly had not had sex in there. Problem was, could we convey that certainty to a jury? I had a pee. Down the side of the toilet was a plastic seat, designed to reduce the size to that of a child's bottom. I smiled, acknowledging that although I would have liked kids, having none has plenty of compensations. I was flushing the toilet when I noticed something on the windowsill that caused a jolt of recognition.
It was a miniature swing bin, just like the one that Dr. Jordan kept his tea bags in. I picked it up and flipped the lid open. It was half filled with remnants of soap tablets; that final flake that breaks in half and tells you that trying to use it any longer is not worth the effort. Janet saved them for recycling. Thrifty girl. I washed my hands and went back downstairs, taking it with me.
Dilly had gone outside, and Janet had her coat on.
'I, er, saw this,' I said, waving the bin at her. 'I've been looking for one, all over.'
'That,' she said with a shrug. 'It's called a mini-bin. I just keep bits of soap in it. You can have it, if you want.'
'No, I wouldn't dream of taking it. I'd like to know where you got it, though.'
'It came from Magic Plastic' 'Magic Plastic? Never heard of them. Where are they?'
'They don't have a shop. Well, they might, somewhere, but a man comes round. He leaves a catalogue and comes back a week later to collect it and take your order, if you want anything.'
'I see. And how often does he come round?'
'I'm not sure. Once a month, I imagine, but most of them don't last that long. I ordered something because I felt sorry for him, but the next time I didn't buy anything it's all a bit expensive and he didn't come any more. An empty coffee jar would have been just as effective.'
'I don't suppose you still have the catalogue?'
'No, sorry. I left it hanging on the door handle that's what you do and it vanished. I suppose he collected it.'
'Right, thanks,' I said, placing the mini-bin on the table. Gilbert would have to wait for his used-tea bag receptacle. 'Thanks for your help, Janet,' I said. 'It's been most useful. If you're going into town I can give you a lift.'
'No thanks,' she replied. 'The bus stop's just outside.'
'But I'm going that way.'
'It's all right, thanks.'
Have it your way, lady, I thought. I was driving past the mall while they were probably still waiting for a bus. They're not exactly as numerous as the daisies in the fields in that neighbourhood. Recently they've gone back to two-man crews driver and shotgun.
On an impulse I hung a right at the traffic lights, completely wrong-footing a woman pushing a pram across the road, and parked outside Heckley Squash Club. I made a mental note to paint a little silhouette of a baby carriage on my door, next to the hedgehogs, cats and traffic wardens.
A young woman with that healthy outdoor look you used to see on Syrup of Figs posters was standing behind the desk, drinking an isotonic concoction from the neck of the bottle. Orange juice with a pinch of salt is just as good and a fraction of the price, but it doesn't have that certain cachet. Magic Johnson drinks the real stuff, whoever he is. She was wearing green jogging bottoms and a polo shirt with akangaroo embroidered on the left pocket and sweat spots in delightful places. I averted my gaze.
'Hello,' I began.
'Hi,' she replied.
'Your manager,' I went on, 'tells me that as well as being highly proficient with bat, ball and dumb ells you are also a whizz kid on this.' I tapped the top of the computer VDU.
'Yer what?' she demanded.
I flashed her my ID and crossed her off my list of possibilities.
'Charlie Priest, Heckley CID,' I said. 'He promised me a printout of all your members' names; said he'd ask you to run it off for me.'
'Aw, gee, the printout!' she exclaimed. 'Completely slipped my mind.'
'I'd be very grateful for it.'
'OK, but it'll take ages. Tell yer what, are you at the police station here in town?'
'Uh uh.'
'Right.' She delved under the counter and came up with a large manilla envelope that had been used. 'Why
