Disordered Minds

Roy flicked him a withering glance. 'Couldn't have been, could it, as I never met her. It was in the newpapers, mate. It was given to me secondhand, like everything else, till a halfway decent screw decided I needed an education.'

George intervened. 'If David Trevelyan killed her, then when and how did he get rid of the body?' she asked matter-of-factly. 'According to Miss Brett, he reported her missing as soon as he reached home on the Saturday morning, which means he had to kill her and bury her between the time she was sent home on the Friday afternoon and before he started his night shift. That's a tall order. The body would have to be deep enough-and far enough away from his house-to prevent it ever being found ... or, if it was, to make it feasible that she'd been killed by an abductor.' Neither man said anything.

'The only Trevelyan who had all night was Jean,' George went on slowly, 'and a woman would have to be Myra Hindley to dispose of her daughter and appear normal afterward.'

'It happens,' said Roy.

'Except the psychology's wrong,' George protested. 'I should have thought this through before. Look-' she tapped her pencil on the newspaper clippings-'first Mrs. Trevelyan told the police that there were difficulties at home and that her husband had had a row with Cill, then she gave an interview to the press about her regret and anguish that they'd both been so strict with her.' She turned a perplexed face to Jonathan. 'But she'd have said the opposite if she knew the child was dead. She'd have stressed what good relationship she and her husband had had with their daughter.'

'Perhaps she was being clever.'

'The kid was always in trouble with her dad, and everyone knew it,' said Roy. 'If her mum had pretended different, there'd've been even more eyebrows raised.'

'A person would have to be psychopathic to work that out after a night's digging and no sleep,' said George sarcastically. 'Not to mention cleaning the house of every shred of evidence that a murder had been committed.'

'All I know is what people said at the time,' Roy countered stubbornly. 'He killed the kid and she was protecting him. It forced them out in the end.'

*18*

9 GALWAY ROAD, BOSCOMBE, BOURNEMOUTH

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 23, 2003, 8:00 P.M.

Robert Burton picked up the receiver after a single ring and Billy pictured him in the cramped hallway of his bungalow, standing, waiting for the call to come, then pouncing on the telephone before it disturbed his wife. Billy had always had an easy, if distant, relationship with his father, but suspicion corroded trust and he didn't bother with pleasantries. 'I want to talk to Mum,' he said.

'She's not here.'

'You said she'd be back by seven.'

'She's on one of her parish visits. It's obviously taking longer than she expected.' There was a ten-second hiatus as his hand muffled the receiver, but not before Billy had heard his mother's voice in the background. 'Sorry, son, the cat was after the wire. Why don't I ask Mum to call you when she comes in?'

'No thanks,' Billy responded curtly. 'I'd rather you put her on now. I know she's there. I heard her.'

'She doesn't want to talk to you.'

'Then tell her I'll drive down tomorrow.'

Another brief pause. 'Why aren't you at work?' his father asked. 'You know what I think about these twenty- four-hour strikes. You're letting the country down, expecting the army to cover for you while they're trying to fight a war in Iraq. It's unpatriotic, son.'

Billy stared irritably at the wall. It was the sort of diversionary tactic his father always used. 'Give it a rest, Dad, I'm not in the mood. I'm between shifts ... back on days from Friday. Now, put Mum on, please. I really do need to talk to her.'

I'll try, but I don't think she'll come.'

The receiver was placed beside the telephone and Billy heard his father walk into the sitting room. He couldn't make out what was being said because his parents spoke in whispers, but his mother's lighter tread returned. 'Hello, dear,' she said in her usual inexpressive tone. 'Dad says you've found Louise again. How is she?'

'Hasn't Dad told you? I sent him an email.'

'He said she was back to her old tricks.' His mother sighed with what sounded like a genuine regret. 'There's nothing to be done about it, Billy. I pray every day that she'll be given back to us but Jesus can only work miracles with people who have faith.'

Billy wasn't interested in metaphysical solutions. 'There's a woman asking questions about Grace Jefferies's murder,' he said baldly. 'According to her, Howard Stamp didn't do it, and I remember you lying to the police about knowing Mrs. Jefferies. You said you didn't know where she lived and had never talked to her ... but you did and you had. So why did you lie, Mum?'

He expected her to deny it, or say she didn't remember, but she surprised him with honesty. 'Because I was worried for the family,' she said. 'We were already connected with one scandal and I didn't want us dragged into another. You were so young you've forgotten how awful it was-everyone was terrified-we thought it was going to happen again until Howard Stamp was arrested.'

Billy refused to be diverted from the lie. 'You were worried even before the police came to the house,' he said. 'I was watching you. Your hands were shaking.'