old terraces to attract a new, moneyed type of dweller, pull the area up a bit. The locals had turned and it now had the highest rates of property and car crime in the whole town.
Envy to anger to desperation.
To crime.
He looked up and down the street. Most of the houses had been quite well maintained; rotted old sash windows and wooden front doors replaced with uPVC. But some had not been touched, their doors and frames rotted away, an outward manifestation of whatever decay was housed within.
Phil stood before one of the uPVC replacements.
‘Is this the right house?’ said Fiona Welch.
Phil hadn’t wanted her with him but she had insisted. She would just sit quietly, she had promised, say nothing. Observe. It would help with her report, honestly. All perky and smiling, eyes glittering. Phil gave in. Not because he wanted her there but because he thought her report would need all the help it could get.
‘It is,’ he said.
‘Bet you’ve been round these streets a few times,’ she said.
‘Most Colchester police have at one time or another.’
‘Not surprised,’ she said, giving a small laugh. ‘All crack dens and brothels round here…’
‘Not all,’ he said, irritated at her tourist attitude. ‘Lot of lettings round here. Students, immigrants, some belong to elderly people. Too old to keep up the maintenance.’
‘Move them into a home, then. Stop cluttering up the street.’ Her voice suddenly frosty.
He looked at her, frowned. She smiled at him. ‘Anyway,’ she said, perkiness back in her voice, ‘I do know what it’s like round here. Shared a house in my second year at uni.’ She pointed. ‘Two streets over.’
Phil couldn’t help himself. ‘Crack den or whorehouse?’
She looked up at him, eye to eye. A smile slowly uncoiled on her face, like a librarian’s approximation of sultry. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know…’
He turned away from her. Knocked on the door.
He waited, glancing round, watching life continue as normal. Eyes had been averted as he approached, pavements suddenly found to be interesting. If people didn’t know who he was they knew what he was. That kind of area.
The door was eventually opened. A young girl answered, about two or three, pyjamaed and messy haired. She stood before them, eyes wide and staring, as if she had just woken from a deep sleep. It was nearly lunchtime.
Phil found a smile. ‘Hello there. Is your mum in?’ He realised his mistake, corrected it before she could answer. ‘I mean your grandma?’
The girl kept looking between the two of them.
‘Please,’ said Phil. ‘It’s important.’
The girl slammed the door shut. Phil looked at Fiona. ‘Probably been told not to talk to strangers.’
Fiona laughed. ‘Or coppers.’
The door reopened. Paula Harrison stood there. She looked no better than the day before. If anything, she looked worse. She had both hands on the door, peering round it as if expecting to be attacked. She recognised Phil and the hope drained from her face.
‘Oh no…’ She backed away from him, legs crumpling but still clutching the door like it was the only thing keeping her upright. ‘Adele… oh no… oh no…’ The words came out in a breathless rush.
‘No, Paula,’ said Phil, stepping towards her, taking the door, ready to catch her if she fell, ‘it’s not that. We still haven’t found Adele.’
‘The news, that girl on the Maldon Road…’
‘Isn’t Adele. I promise you. Can we come in?’
She released a juddering breath, her strength leaving her body along with it. Phil took her hand. Guided her inside. She allowed him to do so.
The house was small, the door opening straight into the living room where large lumps of furniture made a small room seem smaller. A huge, off-white leather three-piece fought for space with a sub-cinema-screen-size TV. An elaborately patterned rug sat on the pale beige wall-to-wall carpet. Cupboards held figurines of big-eyed porcelain children and photogenic animals. Family photos were prominently displayed on the shelves and the walls. Most of them showed herself and Adele. And the little girl who had answered the door. There were also a couple of photos of a young man in army uniform. Children’s toys littered the floor, creating a primary coloured assault course to negotiate. Old, stained mugs sat on the floor, coats and other bits of clothing, dirty plates and cutlery. Paula Harrison seemed oblivious to the mess.
Phil led her to the sofa, sat her down.
From the huge TV came an oversized image of a cartoon dog running along a road with a cat and a hamster in a ball. The sound came from all round the room. Paula pointed the remote at it, silenced it. The tiny girl looked at her, uncomprehending.
‘Nana needs to talk to these people, sweetheart. Go on upstairs.’
The girl looked between them but, still with an uncomprehending expression on her face, made her way upstairs.
‘Is that Adele’s daughter, Mrs Harrison?’ said Phil, sitting on the opposite armchair.
She looked surprised for a moment, as if she didn’t know who he was talking about. ‘Yes, yes, she is…’
‘Seems a nice girl.’
She nodded. ‘Nadine? Yes, she’s… she’s lovely…’
Phil smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. ‘This is Fiona Welch, by the way,’ he said, gesturing to Fiona who was still standing. ‘She’s a… helping us with the investigation.’
Fiona Welch moved forward, hand outstretched, smiling as if being introduced to someone at a party. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
Paula dazedly shook hands.
Fiona pulled away, took out her BlackBerry, sat down, started making notes.
‘Why don’t you go and make some tea, Fiona, while I talk to Paula? Yes?’ The look on his face, for Fiona only, told her it wasn’t a question.
Fiona looked up, eyes alive with unasked questions. Clearly she wanted to stay. Expected to. Phil’s gaze didn’t waver. Fiona’s eyes dropped. She put her BlackBerry back in her bag, sloped off into the kitchen.
Phil turned his attention back to Paula. ‘Did DS Farrell come and talk to you yesterday?’
She nodded. ‘He did. Thank you.’
‘That’s OK. Family Liaison been round?’
Another nod, head down at the carpet. ‘She wanted to stay with me but I told her no. As long as she kept me informed, made me feel part of it, that would do.’ She looked up. ‘That’s all I wanted, Mr Brennan. Just to know what was happenin’.’
‘I know.’
‘Thank you.’
He managed another smile. Paula’s face darkened once more.
‘That girl, the one on the news… is she, are you the one dealing with that?’
He told her that was his investigation. ‘And that’s why I’m here. We think – and I must stress we don’t know for definite – but we think that the two may be connected. ’
‘And Adele?’
‘That’s what I want to talk to you about,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some questions. About Adele.’
Paula braced herself, knowing this wouldn’t be pleasant.
There came a clatter from the kitchen. Paula jumped.
The mood broken, Phil cursed inwardly, stood up. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’
44
