Wendy had known one thing when she entered the office of the ABC Cleaning Company, Christine Devon’s last known employer: they weren’t as clean as she would have expected. Inside the main door were some brooms, a bucket of dirty water. The place also smelt of bleach. ‘What can I do for you, luv?’ a red-faced woman asked. Wendy guessed her age as close to hers, and whereas she would admit to not being in the best physical shape, she was certainly better than the woman who sat behind the computer monitor, a haze of smoke rising into the air. Wendy could only look longingly at the cigarette in the woman’s mouth. She had not smoked for nearly a year, but even now she could take one with ease.
Not so long ago, she had weakened, put one in her mouth, only to spit it out. Not because she didn’t want to continue, but because she knew it was not good for her. The woman behind the computer looked as though she’d never realised that it was affecting her health, not that she seemed to be the sort of person to care.
‘Detective Sergeant Gladstone,’ Wendy said. ‘I’m from Homicide. I’ve a few questions.’
‘Christine Devon?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s not much I can tell you. She only worked here a few weeks. No complaints, though.’
‘Do you get complaints?’
‘Some of my employees regard stealing as acceptable.’
‘And you pay the minimum wage?’
‘I need cleaners. Someone who’s cheap and reliable, nothing more.’
‘And the alternative to the low pay is the thieving?’
‘I get those I employ to sign that they are responsible for damages and theft.’
‘Waste of time?’
‘What do you think? At some of the houses, the cash is left on display, the mobile phone is lying on the table, they can’t help themselves. Not that I can blame them, but I’m the one dealing with the owner.’
‘Christine Devon, any problems with her?’
‘No, but she’d only been here for a few weeks. They’re normally okay for a few months until the owners start to trust them.’
‘How do you deal with it?’
‘Most of those working for me don’t last that long.’
‘You sack them?’
‘If they’re not up to scratch.’
Wendy saw no reason to discuss the woman’s approach to her staff. She was there investigating two murders. ‘What do you remember about Christine Devon?’
The woman behind the desk shifted uncomfortably in her seat; she leaned forward and took another cigarette from a packet. ‘Do you want one?’ she asked.
‘Not for me,’ Wendy replied. ‘Christine Devon?’
‘There’s a steady stream of women like her in this office. She did her job, I paid her. Apart from that, we didn’t talk.’
‘And you sent her to the Brices’ house?’
‘Their regular cleaner was ill. They needed someone for a few days. I sent Christine. There were no complaints from anyone else that I sent her to.’
‘Which means you’d keep her until she asked for more money?’
‘She’d ask eventually, they always do.’
Wendy realised that the owner was a mean-spirited woman who was willing to take advantage of those less fortunate. ‘Did you meet Amelia Brice?’ she asked.
‘I met the father once when we negotiated the contract to clean the house. Apart from that, I never saw the daughter, not at the house anyway.’
‘Elsewhere?’
‘She used to get around. I’d see her sometimes, high as a kite or drunk. Attractive, though.’
‘Anyone in particular that she was with?’
‘She liked her men to be dark.’
‘You mean those from the Caribbean.’
‘That’s it, not that I’d fancy them.’
‘Where did you see her?’
‘She used to go to the Westbourne pub in Bayswater.’
Wendy thanked the woman and left. The Westbourne had already been visited by Larry, and some of the men that Amelia Brice had gone around with had been noted.
Chapter 6
Bridget studied the diary that Larry had given her. As usual, it was shaping up to be a late night.
Isaac had brought back a couple of pizzas with him, and judging by Larry’s exuberance, he wasn’t going to lose weight that night. Isaac kept to one slice, however.
Bridget and Wendy had no such problems, and they finished off the pizzas.
‘Q is mentioned on three separate occasions in the diary,’ Bridget said. ‘You know about the February 2nd entry, which correlates with one of the woman’s suicide attempts. There’s another in January, similar, in that Q was being difficult. No mention that she was contemplating suicide. And the final entry, May 3rd. Yet again, Q was difficult.’
‘On the one hand she complains, attempts suicide, and then, on the other, she’s up at the pub with the men. What is it with this woman?’ Isaac said.
‘Maybe the father was correct,’ Larry said.
‘He knew who Q was.’
‘You noticed his reaction when we mentioned it?’
‘We need to know who it refers to. We’ll assume it’s a person’s initial, first or last. Anyone that fits the bill, Bridget?’
‘I’ve got you a name.’
‘You have? You kept that quiet,’ Isaac said.
‘I needed to go through what the diary had to say first.’
‘Who is it?’
‘I can’t be one hundred per cent certain on this, but Amelia Brice was involved with a man by the name of Quentin Waverley some years ago. I looked through the social pages, found a picture for you.’ Bridget handed each of those present a folder containing, amongst other things, several photos of the man, one with his arm around the dead woman.
‘Was this a long-term relationship?’
‘Apparently, they were living together.’
‘Where?’
‘The same place she was murdered.’
‘Her father told us that Q meant nothing,’ Larry said.
‘The man lied,’ Isaac said.
‘Where can we find Quentin
