Disordered Minds

'Sorry,' he said again, stepping back to end the conversation.

She kept her hand on the door. 'What was the name of her husband?'

He smiled rather cynically. 'No idea. We weren't invited to the wedding. As far as I remember, she referred to him as Mike when I managed to track her down for the folks, but he was in jail so I didn't meet him.' He shook his head at her expression. 'It happens,' he said. 'I was luckier. I married a gem.'

George nodded. 'I know it's a terribly personal question, but did she have a baby when she was fourteen or fifteen?'

He hesitated. 'Not that I'm aware of.'

It was a strangely evasive answer. 'Surely you'd have noticed,' said George with a smile.

'I was a lot younger than she was, so I probably wouldn't have understood what was going on. Put it this way: I don't recall a baby suddenly arriving in the family.'

'Was she ever married to a man called Roy Trent who runs the Crown and Feathers pub in Highdown?'

His eyes held hers for a moment and she thought she saw a flicker of indecision. 'Not that I'm aware of,' he repeated, 'but, like I say, we lost track of her.'

Perhaps it was his hesitations, or the fact that he didn't give a firm negative, that prompted George to pose her next question. 'Was Louise raped at the same time as Cill?' she asked bluntly. 'Is that why the family was rehoused?'

'No.' He was back on firm ground. 'She saw it happen but she wasn't involved. Look, there's no mystery about it. We were moved because she was frightened out of her wits-first the rape, then Cill running away, then the police questions. My parents put her in a different school so she wouldn't keep being reminded about it.'

'Would she have told your parents if she'd been raped? Cill didn't tell hers.'

'It was a different time. Mini-teens today wear crop tops, but if they did it then they were accused of being tarts. Cill's dad went ape-shit every time she put on a miniskirt.'

'And your parents?'

'The same.' Another shrug. 'Me, too, if it comes to that. I'm shotgun Dad. I hate it when my kids prance around half naked ... it's an open invitation to the first predator to have a go.'

'Then Louise may have been raped as well, but never admitted to it,' George said reasonably.

'She wasn't raped,' he said bluntly, 'and she didn't get pregnant as a result ... which I assume is the point you're trying to make.' His eyes hardened suddenly. 'Look, there was enough damn gossip at the time. None of us needs it resurrected.'

George dropped her hand. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that-' She broke off on a sigh. 'Does the name Priscilla Fletcher mean anything to you?'

'No.'

She thought he was going to slam the door in her face, but he didn't. He waited, as if he expected her to go on. 'Priscilla lives in Sandbanks,' she said. 'She's in her mid-forties and looks like an older version of Cill Trevelyan. She used to be married to Roy Trent and had a son by him when she was in her early teens. At that time, she was calling herself Cill. Do you know if your sister named Roy Trent to the police as one of the rapists?'

Billy avoided the question. 'Half a minute ago you were making out this woman was Lou, now you're saying she's Cill Trevelyan. Who is she?'

'I don't know, Mr. Burton. That's what I'm trying to find out.' She flipped over the top page on the clipboard and turned the pad toward him. 'This photograph was taken five years ago. Do you recognize her?'

His expression was unreadable. 'No.'

'Does it remind you of Cill Trevelyan?'

He shook his head. 'I barely remember her. I was ten years old when she left.'

George flipped to the next page. 'This is the picture of her that was in the newspapers.'

Billy stared at it for several seconds and his expression was genuinely appalled. 'Christ! She's so young!'

'She was only thirteen, Mr. Burton, just a child still.'

'Yes, but ... I've always had it in my head she was quite grown-up. Christ!' he said again, taking the board and staring at the image. 'She still has her baby fat. My two looked older than this at thirteen.' With an abrupt movement he flipped back to the photograph of Priscilla Fletcher. 'Maybe you should tell the Trevelyans ... give 'em a chance to talk to this woman. Far as I know, they've never come close to finding a match.'

'Do you have an address or a phone number for them?'

He shook his head. 'No, but I think I kept the card of the last agency that came looking. They'd know.' He glanced at his watch. 'I can't look for it now-I'm on shift in an hour-but if you give me a contact number I'll see what I can do tomorrow.'

George took back the clipboard and wrote her name and number on the back of the electoral register duplicate. 'Why do you remember Cill as quite grown-up?' she asked curiously as she handed the page to him.

'She was a bit of a tart ... liked talking sexy. It's what got her raped.'

'How do you know?'

Billy's expression blanked immediately. 'Guesswork,' he said, before nodding a curt farewell and closing the door.

George would have put money on him trying to avoid any future contact so she was surprised to receive a call the following morning. He was briskly matter of fact, quoting the name and details of a Bristol-based detective agency. 'You need to be careful how you go about it,' he warned. 'I talked it over with my