“Did you notice anything about her?”
“I noticed everything about her. You'll have to be more specific.” “Was she agitated or upset in any way?”
“Agitated? That’s a curious word. After her wrangling and when she left without the cooking pot she was. Does that have a bearing?” “What about when she arrived?”
“Ah, I see. You didn’t say that. But no, I don’t think so. On the other hand, with a woman like that it is difficult to gauge a mood. I imagine that to most people she would appear to be agitated all of the time.”
“What time was that?”
“Well, I'm not sure really. Before lunch, certainly.”
“How long was she in the shop?”
“Ten minutes, no more. I was serving another customer so she had to wait. She was rather impatient. No, even more than that, I'd say. She wasn't happy about being kept waiting. I thought she was an abrasive woman. I remember thinking that. I took an instant dislike to her.” “Do you have the name of this other customer?”
“Afraid not. Cash sale, I think. A print. Ducks flying from water. Ducks are a best seller.” He shook a sad head. “While other men dream of Doris Day, I dream of shooting ducks.”
Butler shook his head. Doris Day? Was she still alive? Were the men who fancied her still alive? He asked, “Did anyone see Mrs Domey leave your shop?”
“I’ve no idea. The pavement outside is always busy, particularly at this time of year. Someone must have seen her. Maybe we can appeal for witnesses. On the television.” His eyes widened at the thought and he added, “Or maybe one of your CCTV cameras picked her up. With the number of times we’re caught on CCTV – what is it, two hundred times a day? – it is surprising that anyone could go missing. It is astonishing, really, that with all the controls the government puts in, all the checks and the listening and the spying – gosh, they even spy on our dustbins – it is surprising that a crime can still be committed.” Butler tried to ignore him. “What else did you notice?”
Lawrence offered a sly little smile. “That she was pregnant, you mean?”
Butler said stonily, “I didn't think it was that noticeable.”
“Didn’t you? You have to know what to look for, of course, and it's more than just the rounded belly. The skin takes on a radiance. The eyes take on a secret sparkle as though no one else is suppose to know. It is a woman thing, a thrill that we can only guess at. One needs to play around with colour and oil to bring out the lustre.”
“Let's talk about Mrs Harrison.”
“Fine. I'd like that. I liked Mrs Harrison.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“She came in to pick up the painting about a week after the last sitting. The paint needs time to dry. Do you know anything about art?” “No.”
“I insist on a week, more if possible. But Mrs Harrison could be very persuasive. Did you know her?”
“No.”
“She was a very beautiful woman. Stunning, I'd say. Not that I’m anything of a judge. The date of her last sitting will be in one of my diaries. I have two. They’re kept in the shop under the counter. Perhaps one of your officers can collect them, unless, that is, you have already confiscated them as evidence. It was about a month ago, no more than that. But time is an oddity. A day is a week and a week is a day. But it was about a week after her last sitting.”
“And has she been back since?”
“Mrs Domey hasn't. I don't think I'll see her again.”
“Mrs Harrison?”
“Oh, Mrs Harrison. I haven't seen her. I've taken on an assistant. He might have seen her.”
“Paul Knight.”
“Yes, that's his name. He might have seen her. He has an eye for the girls. Particularly the pretty ones.”
“Paul has a little form, as well, doesn't he?”
“Indeed he does. He will tell you it was a miscarriage of justice, that it was down to corrupt policemen. I had no truck with that. I told him that our policemen were the best. That in Britain we simply don't have corrupt policemen. I don’t think he believed me.”
Butler looked for the sneer but if it was there he missed it. He turned to his notes. “You were released on parole in 1984.” “That's true. I had to attend a clinic. It will be in your records. It seems a long time ago. My goodness, it is a long time ago.” “Things have a way of coming round.”
“I think I know what you're suggesting, Mr Butler. But you're quite wrong. I did have a problem. I was diagnosed schizophrenic but in those days that covered a multitude of sins.”
“It’s the legal loophole, isn't it?”
“I see, the Hare Test, the accepted scientific proof of a psychopathic personality disorder and that only people with treatable disorders can be kept in hospital? For fifteen years I've been running my shop. I spend my time either there or in the British. You can find me in the British most lunchtimes and evenings and, if I'm not there, I'll be at the shop. Everyone will tell you. That is my routine and it hasn't changed in all that time. I was ill and I attacked those women on the underground. But now everything is fine and I’m no more a danger to the general public than you are.”
Butler’s smile was forced. He said, “That’s good, but unfortunately we have some missing women and the thing they have in common is that they're all pregnant.”
“All of them? I didn't know that. Goodness me. That is a coincidence. But the women, before, they never went missing. I always left them on the underground platforms. I agree that they weren't in, you know, tiptop condition, but I always left them there. They were never…missing. But I do get your point and I suppose that is why I am here. I suppose your computer has thrown me up, as they do. I don't understand them, myself, but perhaps that’s an age thing. They sound absolutely marvellous.”
“The missing women visited your shop.”
“Did the computer throw that up too?”
“Forget the computer.”
“I'd like to but, unfortunately, they won’t allow us that luxury. They put us on to a spreadsheet, they give us credit or they don’t, and what is more, when you speak to them on the phone, they speak in Indian accents. But, yes, you’re right, two of the women did visit my shop.” “I think you've got them somewhere. Not on your premises, but somewhere else.”
“Do you really think so? I hope you’re not going to fit me up like those other policemen did to young Paul.”
“I'm not going to charge you at the moment, Mr Lawrence, but I will get the proof and you will be back.”
“Does that mean I can go? Will I get a lift back to the shop? I do so enjoy being taken for a ride. Do you?”
“He's as mad as a fucking hatter,” Butler said down the line. He was angry with himself. He had let Lawrence get to him.
Cole answered, “Bailed?”
“Could have kept him overnight but what's the point? He isn’t going anywhere. He's enjoying himself too much.”
“Is he the one, Sam?”
“I've never been so certain of anything.”
“That's good enough for me. What now?”
“We’ll continue to dig. I want to know about everything since his release. I’ve asked for a search of the warehouses and garages at the back of his gaff even though I’ll guarantee they’ll be as clean as the shop. All we’ll find over there are smackheads and their cooking equipment.”
“The plods are going to love you.”
“One way or another we'll get him.” Butler’s sigh carried down the line. He said, 'Unfortunately we still haven't got a crime. You said it yourself. If it wasn't for Margaret we wouldn't have got the warrant to search the shop. And we certainly haven't got enough to take it to pieces. Not that it matters. The prelims suggest it’s hopeless. They had the dogs in there. Apparently, in the cellar they got so excited they were performing back flips. It turned out to be decomposing rats and a couple of dead cats.”
