The name Craufurd Gaskell was the first on the list. He was the man she had come to see, the landlord. She pressed the button. The speaker crackled momentarily and a voice was heard like someone clearing their throat.
‘Mr Gaskell, It’s DC Lucy Teraoka. We have an appointment.’
The lock mechanism clicked and the door sprung open an inch or two.
‘Come up. Top floor.’
Lucy was amazed at the length of the passageway. There were no doors to either side, only the stairs situated at the far end. At each floor level the flight turned through one hundred and eighty degrees after staging at a landing. A numbered door was to the right and a patterned Victorian leaded window ran from the ceiling to a metre from the floor. On the upper landing Gaskell was waiting.
‘One gets used to the climb, DC Teraoka. Lovely name by the way.’
‘And yours. Never come across that Christian name before. It’s unusual.’
‘It was the middle name of a famous racing driver my father was fond of and saw race on one occasion. The greatest driver never to be a world champion. Sir Stirling Moss, sadly now no longer with us but remembered by many and how will I ever be able to forget him? My father, as you can guess, was a petrolhead.’ He pointed to the open door. ‘It’s worth the climb to be away from street level, particularly on a Friday and Saturday night, especially in the summer months. We have a number of boy racers who treat the street as a track. Come in. How may I help?’
The room was elegant. The ceilings were high and edged by a cornice made up of an intricate plaster frieze. The room could be classed as minimalist. Dark leather chairs were carefully positioned giving a casual yet precise order. Even the wooden floorboards were painted a delicate shade of light grey. Colour was added to the white walls by the large unframed abstract canvases hanging on each. There were no curtains nor blinds covering the windows. It was stunning.
‘I do hope it’s not too rude to mention but you have a fabulous room,’ Lucy offered.
‘Not at all, it’s what I do, it’s my job. I’ve always enjoyed designing interiors. I worked on all of these four apartments. Each is very different. May I offer you coffee?’ He moved towards the door to the far side of the room.
‘Thank you, but no. Carla Sharpe and Callum Smith. They rented one of these for quite some time?’
He returned and sat opposite.
‘Indeed. They took a three-year lease on number two but unfortunately things didn’t work out. They were nice enough people and I had few issues during their tenancy. However, we had to cut short the contract owing to their personal circumstances.’
‘Splitting up?’
Craufurd Gaskell smiled, the sort of smile that was a cross between trying to convey the circumstances were acceptable, and anger. The facial expression appeared quickly but took a little longer to dissipate.
‘You mentioned the word “few”. Anything we should know about?’
Standing, he went over to the windows that seemed to fill the wall. He looked out along Southport’s main thoroughfare. ‘I had a number of complaints from another tenant, regarding noise. Their parties could get a little, to put it diplomatically, on the loud side, and although they didn’t break their agreement, let’s say they sailed very close to the wind. The consolation with apartments of this age is that they were built well and it takes a lot for sound to travel from one apartment to another. When my father converted them, he used the best sound deadening materials available at that time and so they have additional insulation. But, they were very contrite, and sent flowers and an apology to the neighbour. The problems that came later were the rows.’ He turned back to look directly at Lucy. ‘He would kick her out, hide her key and refuse her entry. It wasn’t frequent but often enough. If it were my partner, they’d only do it the once.’
He moved away from the window and stood facing her.
‘Were you aware of any violence from either?’ Lucy felt a little uncomfortable as he now stood over her.
‘One could never be sure. From up here I have a direct view of the area around the entry. Come.’
Lucy moved to the window. Her discomfort returned as he moved closer.
‘See? I’ve seen her standing there in the rain or in the cold looking extremely dejected. She was a lovely girl. When things were going well, they were a lovely couple.’
‘Did you help?’ She moved away from the window to put space between them. She could see the immediate dilemma on his face as he appeared to bite his lower lip.
‘I did, yes, I did. I went down to check if she was ok. On one occasion she appeared to have a swelling, above her right eye I think it was. She told me she’d walked into one of the street’s canopy supports. Happens a lot, especially to tourists too busy looking at the shops’ windows, and bang! Now, with many of the shops gone it’s people staring into their mobile phones!’
‘And?’
‘I brought her here. She assured me that she wouldn’t go directly to her flat; we’d pass it on the way up, you see. I suggested Callum might just need time. She listened to reason and so she can’t have been too drunk then.’
‘Did she stay long and did she give a reason for the problem?’
‘An hour or so until things calmed down. On a couple of occasions, she stayed longer, but as to the length of time I couldn’t be sure. It seemed little things caused the major issues, clothes left on the floor, and drink.’
‘His or her drinking issue?’
‘She told me it was her but then she could have been covering for him.’
‘What was the
