Aberman’s house, better than expected, sat on the edge of the village. Larry got out of the car and opened the gate for Isaac to drive in. An old lady appeared from one side of the house. ‘What are you doing here? I’ll call the police.’
‘We are the police,’ Larry said. ‘We’re following up on Mr Aberman’s disappearance.’
‘I’ll need to see your identification.’
‘No problems. And you are?’
‘I live next door. I keep a watch on the house for Mr Aberman.’
‘He’s been missing for a long time.’
‘A woman comes here sometimes. She gives me some money for my trouble.’
‘How often?’ Isaac said, having joined Larry and the old lady outside the front door of the house.
‘Sometimes she phones, but every month some money, not that I need it.’
‘When was the last time you saw Mr Aberman?’
‘It’s a few years. He’s overseas.’
‘What can you tell us about him?’
‘He used to come here most weekends. He was always pleasant to me, always brought some flowers or chocolates. He worked in London.’
‘Do you know what sort of business?’
‘He said he was in the entertainment business. That explained some of the people I saw here.’
‘What sort of people?’
‘Show business types, expensive cars, fur coats, parties on the lawn at the back.’
‘And then he left?’
‘One day he’s here, the next he’s gone. I thought it strange at the time as he always came over to my house to say goodbye. He was a gentleman. And then a woman turns up, tells me he’s travelling, and would I look after the house. Not that there’s much to do. A man comes once a month to mow the lawn, and I dust inside the best I can, but that’s about it.’
‘Can you describe the woman?’
‘Laura. An attractive woman, younger than him.’
‘Was she here most weekends?’
‘Not always, and then she disappeared for a few years, but the money still came through.’
Isaac looked at Larry, knew what he was thinking.
‘It’s important,’ Isaac said. ‘Can you describe this woman in detail?’
‘She looked no older than my granddaughter, and she’s not yet thirty. She spoke nicely, always very polite.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘Two weeks ago.’
‘Her car?’
‘She didn’t drive. There’s a railway station here, and it’s not far to walk.’
‘I’ve a photo. Can you tell me if it is her?’ Isaac said as he handed the woman the picture.
The old woman took out her glasses from the pocket of the coat she was wearing, Isaac and Larry were champing at the bit, waiting for an answer. The woman took her time.
‘Yes, that’s her. That’s Laura, such a nice person. Or I think it is. She dresses differently when she comes here, more sombre. She always has dark sunglasses on, never takes them off, not even when she comes in my house for a cup of tea. A lovely person, and so was Mr Aberman. I hope he’ll be back soon.’
Chapter 9
Wendy arrived outside Daisy’s flat at nine in the morning. If the woman had been working at night, she would be asleep, not that it would discourage Wendy from knocking. The flat, three floors up and with no lift, proved difficult for the police sergeant.
Where Daisy lived was not affluent, not for someone who could make five hundred pounds in one night, but then, Daisy, like a lot of the other women selling their wares on a street corner or in a club, had a problem. It had been clear when the woman was at Challis Street Police Station that she was a drug addict, the worst kind.
Wendy knocked on the door, more firmly the second time. A woman poked her head out from a door opposite. ‘There’s a key under the mat,’ she said. Wendy could see the block of flats catered to the ladies of the night.
‘Thank you.’ Wendy bent down, steadying herself on the wall in front of her. She picked up the key and inserted it into the lock. Inside the flat were signs of neglect: unwashed dishes, a cat that looked as if it was in need of a feed, a discarded syringe. Wendy moved through the flat, opening the first bedroom door. A woman, semi-comatose, briefly stirred. ‘Close the door, I’m trying to sleep.’
‘Sorry,’ Wendy said. She moved on through the flat, stepping over a pile of discarded clothes. She opened one door to find out it was the bathroom, its condition the same as the rest of the flat. The third door, where she gently knocked before entering, was slightly ajar.
On the bed, Wendy could see the form of a woman under the blankets. ‘Daisy, it’s Sergeant Gladstone,’ she said.
With no sign of movement, Wendy moved closer to the bed. She pulled back the blanket, then picked up her phone and dialled Isaac. ‘There’s another one,’ she said.
‘Daisy?’
‘Not long by the looks of it.’
You know the procedure. We’ll be there as soon as we can.’
Wendy phoned Gordon Windsor, the CSE. ‘One hour, secure the location,’ he said.
With the crime scene investigation team on their way, Wendy phoned for two uniforms to come to the flat and establish a crime scene. She then went into the other room where Daisy’s flatmate was asleep and nudged her to wake up.
‘Go away. Can’t you see I’m asleep?’
‘Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, Challis Street Police Station. Your sleep will need to wait.’
The woman stirred after Wendy had
