He found the administrative office, explained the situation to a pleasant rosy-faced woman in her fifties who broke down in tears after being told what had happened.
Larry waited in the office while the woman went off to find the two of them.
The first to arrive, Rose. She looked even younger in her school uniform than when he had first met her outside the cemetery. No wonder her father was upset with Brad Robinson. On the night of the first murder, with makeup on, lipstick applied, she could have passed for seventeen, but at the school she looked no more than fourteen.
‘Inspector Hill, you wanted to see me,’ Rose said. Larry found that he liked her; a credit to her parents, someone who would do well in life. What she saw in Brad, he wasn’t sure, other than he was a good-looking young man, but from the wrong side of the street.
‘Take a seat, Rose,’ Larry said.
She complied.
‘Did you ever meet Brad’s sister?’
‘No. Never. Brad told me that he and she were close, and he sometimes saw her.’
‘You know what she did?’
‘Yes.’
‘There’s no easy way to say this. She’s been murdered.’
The young woman said nothing. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. After what seemed an eternity, the door of the office opened, and Brad walked in.
Rose got up from her chair and flung her arms around his neck. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.
Brad looked bemused, not sure how to react.
‘It’s Janice,’ Larry said. ‘I’m afraid she’s dead.’
The colour drained from Brad’s face and he slumped, Rose holding him up. Larry took hold of them and sat them down on a couple of chairs.
‘I’ll get some tea,’ the rosy-faced admin lady said. The universal cure in England for all ailments, Larry thought. For him, a stiff brandy would have been better, but not in a school, and not for children. And that’s what they were, even if they believed they were on the cusp of adulthood.
‘How?’ Brad said.
‘I can’t lie to you, Brad,’ Larry said. ‘The bedsit where she lived. She was murdered.’
‘Mum always thought she’d come to no good.’
‘We need to go to your house. Rose, your parents?’
‘I’m going with Brad,’ Rose said. ‘He needs me.’
‘I can’t allow it, not without your parents’ permission.’
‘I’ll phone,’ the admin lady said. ‘Rose, your phone, the one that’s meant to be switched off in school hours.’
Rose put her hand in her pocket, took out the phone.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got the number,’ Larry said.
On the other end of the line, Maeve Winston listened as Larry told her the situation. The call ended.
‘Your mother will come over to Brad’s house,’ Larry said. ‘You two can come with me.’
‘We have counselling available,’ the admin lady said, wanting to be helpful.
Outside the office, Rose turned to Larry. ‘Mrs Montgomery, she’s always fussing about, but we all like her.’
The two youngsters sat in the back of Larry’s car. He had suggested that Brad sit up front, Rose in the back. It wasn’t going to be, and he hoped that they arrived at the Robinsons’ before Rose’s mother, as she could well be upset that the police were encouraging the inappropriate romance.
On arrival, Larry was pleased to see that his fears weren’t realised. Wendy’s car was parked outside the house, a uniform at the door.
***
‘Our Janice,’ Brad’s mother screamed as he entered.
Brad left Rose and went over to his mother, put his arms around her. ‘I’m still here,’ he said.
It was a touching scene, Wendy thought, as did Rose. Larry looked away, not sure what to think or how to react. He was always uncomfortable in intimate situations: an austere father, a mother who was not affectionate, although he had had a good upbringing, a decent education, a brother and sister who had not been in trouble with the law.
Rose, her first time in the house, looked around, not sure what to make of it. To her, it was an alien world, the decay, the smell of damp in the air. A cat lay curled up on the windowsill taking in what sun there was; a dog barked outside.
A knock on the door. Wendy opened it.
‘Rose?’
‘She’s here.’
‘Gladys?’
‘Mrs Robinson is fine, upset of course. To be expected under the circumstances.’
In the front room, the two women looked at each other – one who had lost a daughter, the other who had bettered herself and didn’t want to be reminded of where she had come from – rushed together and hugged, kissing each other on the cheek.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Maeve Winston said.
‘I’ve seen you sometimes, but you never waved.’
‘I couldn’t.’
No more was said by either woman. Brad sat with his mother; Rose with hers. It should have been touching, but wasn’t.
After a few minutes, Gladys Robinson spoke. ‘Jim needs to know.’
‘It’s been dealt with,’ Larry replied, not sure that it had, but he was confident that his DCI would have contacted the prison, asked someone skilled to tell the man.
‘I want to see her,’ Brad said.
‘It’s for your mother to confirm identity,’ Wendy said.
‘I still want to see her.’
It was irregular and would not be welcomed by the staff where Janice’s body was, but an exception would be made. Jim Robinson would be allowed to attend the funeral to say his goodbyes.
Wendy was sure what Maeve Winston was thinking, but she wasn’t interfering, not even when Rose left her and went over to Brad and put her arm around him, kissing him on the mouth.
‘Did Janice die because of what we saw in the cemetery?’ Brad asked. His voice was firm, a sign that he was starting to accept the situation, or a momentary need to ask questions that troubled Homicide.
