‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
Wendy could only answer in the affirmative if she wanted the woman to open up, although she couldn’t see any clean cups.
The woman reluctantly moved over to the sink and pulled out a cup from the filthy water in the basin. She gave it a quick shake and a wipe with a cloth that a cat had been sitting on. Wendy shuddered at the lack of hygiene, although she knew that a cup of tea invariably loosened most tongues, and she needed this woman to talk.
‘What can you tell me about Bellevue Street?’
‘Not much.’
‘It’s part of a police investigation.’
‘Nothing to do with me, is it?’
‘I don’t know. What can you tell me about it?’
‘I sold it.’
‘You’ve already said that.’
‘What else do you want me to say?’
Wendy could see that the conversation was going nowhere. ‘Why did you sell it?’ she asked.
‘Needed the money.’
‘This must be worth more than the house you sold.’
‘Can’t sell this one.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘You ask too many questions.’
‘It’s my job.’
‘That’s maybe, but I don’t like people sticking their noses into my business. Every month, the council is around here complaining about the cats. Even gave me a clean-up order.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Same as I’m about to do with you. I told them to bugger off and leave me alone.’
‘I could make it official, take you down the police station.’
‘Just you try it.’
‘This is going nowhere,’ Wendy said.
‘Then you’d better leave.’
‘Before I go, let me clarify a couple of points.’
‘Hurry up, I’ve got the cats to feed.’
‘Your name is Gertrude Richardson?’
‘What if it is?’
‘Do you have a married name?’
‘Never bothered to get married. I shacked up with a few, slept with a few more.’
‘You have a sister by the name of Mavis O’Loughlin.’
‘I don’t have a sister.’
‘The records clearly state that you do. She’s two years younger than you.’
‘If you mean that thieving bitch!’
‘That’s who I mean.’
‘Haven’t seen her in forty years, don’t want to.’
‘Any reason?’
‘You’re sticking your nose in where it’s not wanted again.’
‘We know that the two of you had joint ownership of the house in Bellevue Street.’
‘Maybe we did. What’s that got to do with it?’
‘The sale of the house would have required both of you as signatories.’
‘Not me. I gave a proxy to my lawyer.’
‘Can I have his name?’
‘Why?’
‘We found a body at the house.’
‘What’s my lawyer got to do with it?’
‘You don’t seem very concerned about what I just told you.’
‘Should I be? Seen plenty of dead people in my time. One more won’t make any difference.’
‘The body has been there for up to thirty years.’
‘Don’t look at me. I haven’t set foot in that house for over forty years, maybe longer.’
‘Any reason?’
‘My business. If you’re finished sticking your nose in, you’d better leave. The cats are hungry, and I’m tired. Come here talking about dead bodies, upsetting the cats. You’re also upsetting me, an old woman of eighty-seven, going on eighty-eight.’
Wendy, sensing that her time had come to a conclusion, rose from the old wooden chair she had been sitting on. ‘Just one question before I leave.’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Your sister?’
‘Don’t have a sister.’
‘The one that used to share your surname.’
‘I’ve not seen her since Bellevue Street. Dead as far as I’m concerned.’
‘But she signed the sale documents for the house.’
‘Somebody did. May have been her, I suppose.’
***
Isaac found Gordon Windsor down at Pathology. The body, now revealed, was clearly male. It was lying flat on a table, or at least in an approximation of flat; years of being bent over had tightened it rigid. The clothing was with Forensics who were conducting fibre analysis, attempting to find any clues that would assist. According to Windsor, a positive ID was proving difficult.
‘Too many years wrapped in blankets being shat on by pigeons. Add in the water and the coal dust, and the body and the clothing have almost been mummified. That explains the unusually good condition of the skin.’ Isaac, used to dead bodies – not as old as this one, though – could only agree.
‘The newspaper? Placed there at the time of death?’ Isaac asked.
‘It looks to be that way, but why would someone bother to place a newspaper first unless they saw it as a time capsule? Instead of a few artefacts, they thought a dead body was more appropriate. Macabre, if that was the case.’
‘The cause of death?’
‘We’ll need to wait for the autopsy. No visible signs of trauma, although that would be hard to ascertain given the condition of the body.’
‘How long before they get back to us?’
‘Hard to say,’ Gordon Windsor said. ‘No point rushing a pathologist. They take their time, afraid to get it wrong in case they have to stand up in court and defend their findings.’
‘Give me a call,’ Isaac said. He had seen enough, and watching the pathologist slice a body with a scalpel from up near the shoulders down to below the navel was not agreeable, even at the best of times. He had seen a pathology examination during police training; he did not want to see another.
***
Larry Hill, once he had settled in and Bridget had sorted out his IT problems, was anxious to be out on
