Disordered Minds

'You're hooked on the ginger-haired rapist, but what color hair did Louise have?'

From: George Gardener [[email protected]]

Sent: Thurs. 4/17/03 15:07

To: [email protected]

Cc: Andrew Spicer

Subject: Louise Burton

Dear Jonathan and Andrew,

The Bristol agency was very unhelpful, refusing to share any details of their investigation or divulge the Trevelyans' address. They cited issues of confidentiality, but they refused to phone the Trevelyans for permission. I'm afraid they thought I was a journalist. In the circumstances I decided against making them a free gift of Priscilla Fletcher, and re: Louise they simply referred me back to William Burton.

Our friend Fred Lovatt has had no success with the archives, nor has he found any colleagues who were involved in Howard's case or Cill's disappearance. PC Prentice, who was mentioned in the newspaper clippings, retired in 1982 and is believed to have died of a stroke some time in the 1990s.

As I am reluctant to 'scare' William Burton away, I have decided to approach this from a different angle. The school the girls attended prior to Cill's disappearance was almost certainly Highdown Secondary Modern, situated in Wellingborough Road. It was reinvented during the 1970s as Highdown Community School and subsequently moved to new, larger premises in Glazeborough Road (coincidentally utilizing the site of the demolished Brackham & Wright factory where Wynne Stamp worked!) They only keep records of past staff and pupils who sign up for the OH (Old Highdowners) Register. However, I have the name and address of the headmistress who was in charge from 1968 to 73. It is: Miss Hilda Brett, 12 Hardy Mansions, Poundbury, Dorchester, Dorset.

I have made some inquiries and I understand that Hardy Mansions is sheltered accommodation for 'active' elderly-i.e., people who still have their marbles. This is very good news as Miss Brett must be the one who suspended Cill and should remember both girls. I am willing to talk to her on my own, though I would prefer Jonathan to come with me, not only because his status of research fellow and author will lend the questions academic authority-and may persuade her to be more forthcoming-but also because I am unsure how to structure the interview.

Do we say we're looking for Cill Trevelyan? For Louise? Do we mention Howard? None of them ... just say we're researching Highdown of 1970 and were given her name by her old school? Help, please!

Best, George

PS. If Jonathan can come I shall need some dates when he's free. On balance, I think we should just turn up, rather than attempt to book a meeting with her, as if she says 'no' we will lose this opportunity.

*12*

DORCHESTER, DORSET

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 2003, MORNING

This time Jonathan had opted for smartness, and he was relieved to see George had done the same when she met him at Dorchester South Station. 'What happened to the mobile filing cabinet?' he asked as he climbed into the car. 'I hope you didn't move it on my account.'

'I had a spring-cleaning,' she told him, starting the engine. 'Everything's in its proper place at home.' She flashed him a smile. 'I decided Andrew's ex-wife is right: 'Fine feathers make fine birds.' '

Jonathan grinned. 'Except Andrew doesn't agree. He prefers, 'Don't judge a book by its cover.' '

'Me, too,' she said cheerfully, pulling away from the curb, 'but we're in a minority, so I'm going for the two- second sound bite-smart car ... smart home ... smart clothes ... smart mind.'

Jonathan laughed. 'How long will it last?'

'It depends how determined I am.' She turned right onto Weymouth Avenue before filtering left to head toward the western outskirts of Dorchester. She drove hunched over her steering wheel as if she couldn't see where she was going, and Jonathan closed his eyes to avoid flinching at every near miss.

'To do what?'

'Strike the right impression from the off. I realize I've only myself to blame that I'm never taken seriously.'

Jonathan had known it was a conversation that would come eventually. Unresolved issues never vanished of their own accord. 'If it's any consolation,' he said lamely, 'I said far worse things to Sergeant Lovatt. According to Andrew I called him a fascist ... although I honestly don't remember it.'

'Oh, for goodness sake! I'm not doing this for you.'

'Who then?'

'Roy. He's been running rings around me because he thinks I'm a woolly headed spinster.' There was a hiatus while she maneuvered between oncoming traffic and parked cars on her left. 'I've tucked a map of Poundbury behind your sunblind,' she told him, negotiating a five-way junction. 'We're looking for Bridport Road and then Western Crescent. I'm fairly sure of the way but it's two years since I was here and, what with all the new building, the layout of the roads has probably changed.'

He pulled out the map and spread it on his knee. 'What sort of rings?'

She sighed and took her eyes off the road to look at him. 'I didn't bring enough rigor to the information he's been giving me. Instead, I've wasted two years talking to people who were even more ignorant than I was about Howard.'

'Names supplied by Roy?'

'Mm. Mrs. So-and-so who worked at Brackham & Wright in the 1960s and might have known what happened to Wynne. Mr. So-and-so who used to buy newspapers from Roy's dad and might have known Grace. Ms.