Gardener ignored her question. “So, we’ve established you didn’t like him. Why?” He replaced the photograph and strolled over to the window, his back to Nicki.
“He were a pervert.”
Gardener turned to face her. “Clarify that statement.”
“He flashed at me once.”
“Where?”
“Up there on the top landing. It were ages ago.” As she finished her cigarette, she lit another with the stub of the first. “He were drunk. Bloody fond of a drink, he were. Always comin’ home late, pissed, causing a racket, shoutin’ and bangin’ into things. Used to hammer on me friggin’ door as he went past, thought it were funny to wake the baby. Anyway, he did it this night. She were at bingo…”
“Who?” Gardener asked.
“Olive Bloody Bradshaw.” Nicki Carter leaned forward but remained seated, her expression angry. “You wanna ask her about him. There’s summat goin’ on between ’em, if you ask me. Well, this Friday night he comes home drunk, as usual. It were about midnight. Starts bangin’ on the door. I couldn’t hear what he were sayin’ because I had the telly on. Did it about three times. I got up in the end. When I opened the door, he were halfway upstairs. I asked him what the bloody hell he were playin’ at, and he just turned round, had his cock in his hand, said I could play with that if I wanted and just started laughin’. Bastard!”
“Did you report it?”
“What’s the point? What would you lot have done? It were my word against his. By the time you lot had got here he’d have been asleep. He’d have denied it anyway.”
“That’s not the point, Nicki. We can’t do anything if you don’t tell us.”
The girl stood up and walked into the kitchen. She came back with a can of lager. “Do you want one?”
“No, thank you. We’re on duty.”
Sitting back down, she took a long drink, and followed it with a guttural belch. “Nasty bastard as well; had a right temper. Cornered me on the stairs once, outside me flat. I were rushin’, gettin’ the baby ready to take to me mam’s. As I got outside, he were rushin’ by the door. We bumped into each other.”
Gardener noticed the expression on her face, a mixture of fear and disgust. He could tell she hated Plum but suspected it went deeper than one or two isolated incidents.
“He dropped a brown paper bag, and a load of porn mags fell out,” she continued. “I picked one up, see, to have a laugh. I could just imagine him, sat up there most nights playin’ with himself over these mags. Went bloody mad, he did. Pushed me up against the door. All he did were stare at me, didn’t say nothin’. Picked up his mags and pointed a finger at me, then carried on upstairs.”
Nicki fell silent again.
Gardener glanced over at Reilly busy taking notes.
“I don’t mean to be rude,” she spoke up, “but I’ve got to be somewhere.”
“So, last night, you were here all night?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you notice whether or not he had any visitors?”
“Can’t say as I did. But then, I spent half the night tryin’ to calm me son down.”
Gardener changed topics. “Who lives in the flat next door?”
“Not sure.”
“You’re not sure. What does that mean?”
“It means, I hear the door opening and closing every now and again, but I never see anyone. It happens at odd hours as well.”
“You’ve never seen anyone,” Gardener pressed.
“No. You’ll have to ask Olive Bloody Bradshaw about that as well. It’s her house.” Nicki glanced at her watch.
She seemed agitated. Gardener was surprised she’d been so forthright with her information. He still suspected her hatred of Plum went deeper than she was letting on, which may or may not have a bearing on the case.
“Okay, we’ll leave it at that for now. I may want to ask you some more questions later, though. If you do remember anything, give me a call.” He passed her a card. She jumped quickly to her feet, following them both out onto the landing.
“Oh, one more thing,” said Gardener. “Which pub did he drink in?”
“The Black Bull, I think, a couple of streets away.”
Gardener nodded. “Thank you for your time. If you do remember anything, no matter how trivial, give me a ring.”
He stopped her as she went to close the door. “I think you’re hiding something. I will be back.”
Nicki didn’t respond. She locked the door behind and leapt down the stairs two at a time, leaving them standing in front of her apartment.
Gardener turned to Reilly. “What do you think?”
“I think we need to speak to Olive Bradshaw.”
Chapter Fourteen
“You’d better come in.”
The eye-catching decor and level of hygiene in Olive Bradshaw’s flat pleasantly surprised Gardener as he entered. It created a remarkable contrast to the other flats, the building’s exterior, and the neighbourhood itself. He wondered what possessed her to live in a crumbling, derelict, plague-infested area like Rawston.
He noticed her residence was bigger. The living room was one large open space, into which she had crammed an eccentric number of personal belongings. Queen Anne chairs carefully coordinated around Wilton rugs. The woman was obsessed with trinkets.
“Would you like to join me and my sister Mabel for tea, Inspector?” She pointed to a chair at the table. Once seated, she picked up a brass jug and started polishing it.
Mabel had a petite frame and a relatively smooth complexion. She clasped her cup with arthritic fingers. She wore her blue rinse hair in a tightly packed bun, and wire-rimmed spectacles.
“Thank you, I’d love a cup.”
Reilly nodded his agreement.
To Gardener, not only was Olive Bradshaw’s flat a complete contrast, so was her attitude – giving him the impression
