‘The night patrol would have clocked off in the small hours.’ Markham’s lips tightened. ‘Somehow the static unit must have missed it.’
‘I spoke to your lads across the road there . . . They didn’t notice anything amiss.’ He grinned. ‘Just as well Miss Marple was on the scene. You’d better come and have a word.’
The mystery woman turned out to be Thelma Macdonald. When she climbed out of the front cab, Markham knew in his core that she was badly afraid for her brother.
The sudden rush of dread was like ice water down the back of his neck. But he remained outwardly calm.
‘Thelma.’ He spoke as reassuringly as possible, forcing any treacherous tremor from his voice. ‘Good to see you and what a godsend that you happened to be on the spot.’
Gently, he took the woman’s pudgy hands in both his own before relinquishing them.
It was almost as though some unspoken pledge had passed between them. I will find him.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’
Her breath came stertorously in ragged spasms, but she brought herself under control. ‘I went over to Chris’s flat. I’d brought him a hotpot, you see. What with everything that’s happened . . . finding Tariq . . . he didn’t seem himself . . .’
‘You’re a good sister.’ The hotpot sealed it for Noakes.
A shaky smile. ‘He didn’t answer, even though I kept ringing and ringing the doorbell, and calling his mobile.’
Imperceptibly, Markham nodded to Burton. ‘Might he have gone out — to the shops perhaps . . . or into town?’ she asked.
‘Never at the weekend,’ she replied firmly. ‘He doesn’t like crowds . . . I usually keep him well stocked up.’
Under the cosh alright, thought Noakes, but his gaze was compassionate. She’d probably spent her life looking out for little bruv.
Burton smiled and nodded. ‘I’m the same,’ she said. ‘Can’t stand too many people. Always make my other half do the weekly shop.’ They might have been neighbours chatting across the fence.
Well done, Kate. That’s it, keep things nice and easy.
‘D’you have a spare key to the flat, Thelma?’ asked Burton.
She looked embarrassed. ‘There’s a loose brick in the front porch. We keep the spare under that. It must sound very careless . . .’
‘Not at all. Horses for courses.’
‘It’s not as if he’s got anything worth stealing.’ An awkward laugh. ‘And who’d want to hurt him?’
Tears were not far away.
‘So, you came round to the community centre then, Thelma. Is that right?’ Burton kept her on track.
‘I just thought he might have wandered over here. When he’s troubled in his mind, he likes to potter round the place.’ Her voice held a plea. ‘He doesn’t do any harm. It just seems to soothe him . . . makes him feel useful.’
‘Nowt wrong wi’ a bit of pottering.’ Noakes gave her arm a clumsy pat. ‘Clears the mind.’ He himself didn’t know where he’d be without his garden shed.
‘But there was no sign of Chris?’ Burton prompted.
‘No.’ She found her voice with difficulty.
‘What did you do?’
‘I walked round to the back . . . That’s when I saw a lot of smoke coming from one of the bins. I opened it . . . the rubbish was on fire.’ Her breath caught. ‘I thought I’d better call 999 rather than try to put it out myself.’
‘Did you see anyone — hear anything . . . ?’
‘I assumed it was prowlers . . . not quite myself . . . the stress . . .’
‘No shame in it,’ Noakes said stoutly. ‘Four murders’d do anyone’s head in.’
‘I suppose I could have checked inside,’ she said apologetically. ‘We know the alarm code and still have our keys.’
Another mistake, thought Markham grimly. But with the police in situ and the centre more or less closed to ordinary traffic, there had seemed no reason to cause unnecessary hassle.
He brought his attention back to woebegone Thelma Macdonald. ‘You were quite right not to go in, Thelma. As it is, by calling the emergency services so promptly, you prevented a major fire.’
A flush of pleasure that, as it subsided, left her ashy pale.
‘What do you think’s happened to Chris, Inspector?’ Her voice thick with emotion, she told them, ‘He’s a good man . . . but people don’t always understand . . . don’t make allowances.’
People like DCI Sidney.
Markham beckoned to McLeish who was hovering awkwardly nearby. ‘Mr McLeish, would you mind checking inside with Doyle and Noakes . . . Just give the place a once-over in case Chris is . . . in some sort of difficulty . . .’
The trio headed off towards the building.
‘In the meantime, Thelma, we’ll do a circuit round the back,’ he said.
* * *
The little garden was dank and forlorn, but the walk seemed to revive Thelma. There was no sign of her usual officious bombast, and the DI realized that beneath the magisterial exterior lay a shy and vulnerable woman. Perhaps the surgery reception represented the one thing she could actually control. In some ways, she reminded him of Muriel Noakes.
Markham noticed her sidelong glances at the water feature — snatched, horrified peeps. He knew what she was picturing.
He took her arm. Kate was on the other side.
‘It’s alright, Thelma. Tariq’s in a better place. No one can hurt him now.’
She gulped. ‘Everyone liked him, Inspector. And he was always so good with Chris . . . gave him his dignity, you know.’ It was a poignant tribute.
The other three rejoined them.
‘Nothing to report, Inspector.’ McLeish was brusque as ever, but his voice softened when he turned to Thelma. ‘Try not to fret . . . folk generally turn up safe and sound.’
But the DI felt increasingly anxious.
