but she looked very shabby and pale, and her hair needed washing. I felt sorry for her, but there was nothing I could do.'
Mrs Hughes cupped her hand to draw the biscuit crumbs from the table then stood, listening, her head tilted to the ceiling.
'She's quiet; probably fallen asleep.'
Mrs Hughes crossed to the old-fashioned big square sink and brushed the crumbs from her hands. She turned on the tap, swilling around the sink and draining board.
'Are you sure Louise Pennel never came here before?'
Mrs Hughes returned to the table and picked up Anna's cup. 'I lost my husband; he committed suicide fourteen years ago.'
'I'm sorry.'
'He was a bankrupt; couldn't live with it. I have a daughter but she emigrated to Canada. I'll go over there one day and see her; she's got three children. I doubt if the old lady will last much longer. Her solicitors asked me to stay on caring for her, so that's why I'm here; I'm supposed to have Sundays off, but I never take them. I'm always here so if the girl had come by, I would have known about it. We hardly ever have any visitors, just her solicitor and sometimes Social Services to check on her health.' Mrs Hughes gave an embarrassed smile. 'Not a very exciting life, is it? But the old lady's solicitors said I'm mentioned in her will; she keeps telling me that after she's gone I'll be looked after, so here I am.'
'But she wouldn't see her granddaughter?'
Mrs Hughes shrugged and began washing the teacups.
'Did you give Louise a suitcase?'
Mrs Hughes kept her back to Anna and made no answer.
'The reason I contacted Mrs Pennel was because there was a label on a suitcase with this address; it was in Louise's flat.'
Mrs Hughes dried the cups, still with her back to Anna. 'It was mine.'
'I'm sorry?
'I said it was my case, one I used when I moved in here.'
Anna kept her voice very calm and steady. 'You gave it to Louise?'
'Yes.' Mrs Hughes seemed preoccupied as she put the crockery into a cabinet.
Anna persisted. 'Why did you give her your suitcase?'
Mrs Hughes closed the cabinet door. She had two pink spots high on her cheeks. 'I felt sorry for her; when the old lady wouldn't see her, she looked desolate. She kept on chewing her nails, saying she just needed a couple of hundred pounds and that she would pay it back as soon as she got this job. Well, I didn't have the money to give her and I knew if I asked Mrs Pennel for it, she'd go ballistic; her solicitors count every penny — God forbid if I overspend on the groceries. I didn't have any cash to give her.'
Anna smiled warmly. Mrs Hughes was obviously upset, constantly touching the roll of curl at the side of her head.
'So you gave her your suitcase?'
'Yes; there are wardrobes full of clothes that Mrs Pennel will never wear. I've taken armfuls to the local charity shop.'
'So you gave her some clothes?'
'Just a few dresses and coats and things, I mean they weren't suitable for a young girl but they were very good quality.' The pink spots on Mrs Hughes's cheeks deepened and she seemed flustered.
'Anything else?' Anna asked innocently, wondering why she seemed so nervous.
Mrs Hughes sat down and rested her head in her hands. She then explained how she had gone up the stairs to fetch the suitcase and clothes. When Louise had turned up, she had been polishing some silver in the kitchen. It was not until Louise had left that Mrs Hughes realised that two snuff boxes and a solid silver candlestick were missing.
Anna calmed Mrs Hughes by asking her to describe the clothing and shoes. The poor woman was so afraid she would lose her job or her place in Mrs Pennel's will that she had never mentioned it to anyone. Anna doubted if the items could have been worth more than a few hundred pounds and she saw no reason to contact Mrs Pennel's solicitors. She would nevertheless have to mention it in her report, so that the items could be traced in case Louise had sold them.
Checking her watch, Anna remembered she had asked the taxi to wait. She knew she'd get a ticking-off at the extra cost, but she had gained some worthwhile information. She had three quarters of an hour before her train was due and so decided to call in at the local station.
Bognor Regis police station was not exactly a hive of activity. The duty sergeant suggested she talk to a DS Len White, who had been at the station for thirty years and was now there on a semi-retired basis, giving talks to the local schools.
Anna outlined the reason for her visit to Mrs Pennel. DS White, a grey-haired thick-set officer, listened intently. He had a habit of breathing heavily through his nose, leaning his elbows on the desk.
'I know the old lady, quite a character. I was very wet behind the ears when I was called out to the place: big garden party going on, and the cars had blocked the through road down to the beach. She used to be quite the social queen. To be honest, I amazed she's still going strong; she must be, what?'
Anna smiled. 'She is ninety-four.'
'I reckon she must be, cos she was no spring chicken then. After the Major died, she took to her bed. He was a character: we'd picked him up a couple of times the worse for drink. He had an old Rolls-Royce and we'd find him sitting sleeping over the wheel; he'd wag his finger: 'Not drivin' officer, just sleeping it off.' So we'd take him home and often have a drink together. I was fond of the old boy, but he was an old soak really.'
Anna took out the photograph of Louise Pennel. 'Did you ever see the granddaughter, Louise Pennel?'
'No, never met her. I knew the son, Raymond; he was a sad case. Florence doted on him. We gave him a slap on the wrist when he was caught down by the sea front, cottaging by the gents' toilets. He was warned not to be seen there again; he was, quite a few times, but his mother always pulled strings. She worshipped the ground he walked on.'
'He was gay?'
'Yes; he knew from a very early age.'
'But he married a local girl, didn't he?'
DS White smiled. 'He did. I can't recall her name, but I knew she'd got a bit of a reputation for putting it about. Mrs Pennel called us in once: there was all hell let loose. She was screaming and smashing things up; she wanted us to help her talk sense into her son, wailing and throwing her arms around. Nothing we could do but try and calm her down. I'd got fond of the family, so would help out when I could. A few nights later, I got called out again: she claimed some of her jewellery had been stolen and a silver tea service had gone missing. Turned out Raymond had packed it into a suitcase and gone off with this girl.'
'Did she press charges?'
'No. I never saw her again until years later when Raymond was buried; died of a burst appendix. Apparently he was broke, living in some rented place, with the same drink problem as his father. Mrs Pennel got his body brought home and as far as I recall, his wife never came to the funeral.'
'Do you know what happened to the wife and to Mrs Pennel's granddaughter?'
He nodded. 'Again, I can't be exactly sure of the dates, but about four or five years later, I was told that Raymond's wife had died of cancer. One of her mother's relatives had contacted Mrs Pennel to see if she could take the little girl but apparently she refused, so she went into a children's home; must have been about eleven years old. Sad, isn't it? All that money and that big house and she wouldn't have anything to do with her, and now: tragic. What a waste.'
'Yes,' Anna said, declining to enlighten DS White as to just how tragic Louise's death had been.
Returning to London on the train, Anna felt depressed. Fitting Louise Pennel's background together had not exactly taken the enquiry a stage further. There was one thing that might bring a result: the advert that Louise had answered: they might get lucky and be able to trace a link to their suspect. It was imperative that they discover which paper or magazine Louise had read the advert in. All Anna knew was that Louise was to have a job interview sometime after 16 May. Was that when Louise had met her killer?
