“Presumably it was the gutter press looking for a juicy headline. i HELD THE HAND OF A MONSTER or something equally tasteless. Only publicity seekers or idiots allow themselves to be used by Wapping to boost their grubby profits.”
“And your book won’t make a profit?” There was a dry inflexion in his voice.
She smiled.
“A very modest one by newspaper standards.”
She pushed her dark glasses to the top of her head, revealing her eyes and the yellow rings around them.
“I’ll be honest with you. I was dragooned into this research by an irritable agent demanding copy. I found the subject distasteful and was prepared to abandon it after a token meeting with Olive.” She looked at him, turning her pencil between her fingers.
“Then I discovered that Olive was human and very likeable, so I kept going. And almost everyone I’ve spoken to has given a similar answer to you. They hardly knew her, they never talked to her, she was just the fat girl down the corridor. Now, I could write my book on that theme alone, how social ostracism led a lonely, unloved girl to turn in a fit of frenzied anger on her teasing family. But I’m not going to because I don’t think it’s true. I believe there’s been a miscarriage of justice. I believe Olive is innocent.”
Surprised, he reassessed her.
“It shocked us rigid when we heard what she’d done,” he admitted.
“Because you thought it out of character?”
“Totally out of character.” He thought back.
“She was a good worker, brighter than most, and she didn’t clock-watch like some of them. OK, she was never going to set the world alight, but she was reliable and willing and she didn’t make waves or get involved in office politics. She was here about eighteen months and while no one would have claimed her as a bosom friend she made no enemies either. She was one of those people you only think about when you want something done and then you remember them with relief because you know they’ll do it. You know the type?”
She nodded.
“Boring but dependable.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
“Did she tell you anything about her private life?”
He shook his head again.
“It was true what I said at the beginning. Our paths rarely crossed.
Any contact we had was work related and even that was minimal. Most of what I’ve just told you was synthesised from the amazed reactions of the few who did know her.”
“Can you give me their names?”
“I’m not sure I can remember.” He looked doubtful.
“Olive would know them better than I do. Why don’t you ask her?”
Because she won’t tell me. She won’t tell me anything.
“Because,” she said instead, “I don’t want to hurt her.” She saw his look of puzzlement and sighed.
“Supposing doors get slammed in my face and I’m given the cold shoulder by Olive’s so-called friends. She’s bound to ask me how I got on, and how would I answer her? Sorry, Olive, as far as they’re concerned you’re dead and buried. I couldn’t do that.”
He accepted this.
“All right, there is someone who might be willing to help you but I’m not prepared to give you her name without her permission. She’s elderly, retired now, and she may not want to be involved. If you give me five minutes, I’ll telephone and see how she feels about talking to you.”
“Was she fond of Olive?”
“As much as anyone was.”
“Then will you tell her that I don’t believe Olive murdered her mother and sister and that’s why I’m writing the book.” She stood up.
“And please impress on her that it’s desperately important I talk to someone who knew her at the time. So far I’ve only managed to trace one old school friend and a teacher.”
She walked to the door.
“I’ll wait outside.”
True to his word, he was five minutes. He joined her in the corridor and gave her a piece of paper with a name and address on it.
“Her name’s Lily Gainsborough. She was the cleaner cum-tea-lady in the good old days before privatised cleaning and automatic coffee machines.
She retired three years ago at the age of seventy, lives in sheltered accommodation in Pryde Street.” He gave her directions.
“She’s expecting you.” Roz thanked him.
“Give my regards to Olive when you see her,” he said, shaking her hand.
“I had more hair and less flab six years ago, so a description won’t be much use, but she might remember my
