“I don’t know whether the whole story will ever come out, Ms Harding,” said Neil. “Many people who attended those parties have died in the past forty years. You told us earlier you and Tom stopped going fifteen years ago. Will there be a party somewhere this weekend?”
“Where there’s a demand, there’s always someone willing to supply, DS Davis,” said Genevieve. “After Dave Francis went to prison and Graham Street dropped off the scene, everything fizzled out, as I understand it. I’ve no way of checking.”
Neil and Blessing drove back from Redlynch to Salisbury and parked in the Bourne Hill police station car park. Neil called Alex Hardy for a catch-up on their meeting with Serena Campbell.
“This is like the old days,” said Lydia as Alex drove them towards Devizes. “Gus keeps us apart, doesn’t he?”
“The Trudi Villers case, you mean?” said Alex. “Yes, we did several interviews together back then. Gus wants to make sure the top brass at London Road doesn’t think one of us should get moved out of the CRT. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“No way,” said Lydia. “I enjoy it too much.”
Alex soon found Serena Campbell’s tiny cottage on the Heath, and he and Lydia walked along the cinder path to the door. The doorbell gave a half-hearted ring when Lydia pressed it. The bell sounded as tired as the decorative order of the house it belonged to.
“We keep meeting, DS Hardy,” said Serena. “Who have you got with you this time?”
“Lydia Logan Barre,” said Lydia. “We’re colleagues serving on the Crime Review Team with Mr Freeman.”
“Of course you are, dear,” said Serena. “I never smiled at my colleagues as you did as you walked from the car.”
“When we spoke with you the other afternoon,” said Alex, ignoring Serena’s comment, “you said a senior police officer attended parties when you and Marion were young women. We can’t trace anyone on the Wiltshire force matching your description. Why is that?”
“He lived in the county,” said Serena. “Perhaps he worked over the border in Hampshire. I didn’t ask; I just knew he was a high-ranking officer. Dave Francis encouraged me to ask the man what he wanted me to do for him, not find out what he did for a living.”
“Have you thought any more about revealing names of people involved in these parties?” asked Lydia.
“Not a chance, dear,” said Serena. “Since Mr Freeman started poking around, more attention has focussed on me than I would prefer. I’ve kept a low profile for years, and nobody here knew anything of my past. Marion and I were careful when we met not to get tongues wagging. Yesterday evening I had a call from Ralph Tucker. He wanted to know if I remembered his mother, Sonya. Of course, I didn’t. Graham Street started fathering kids before he dreamed up the idea of the parties. Then Tucker mentioned the police arrested a builder called Derek Preston. He asked whether I knew his father. What could I say? I denied knowledge of having heard the name. Was it Preston who killed Marion? As soon as Tucker said the name, it fell into place. John Preston took his young wife Kathy to parties. He got off seeing her with other men. John always had a camera with him. Derek wasn’t his son, though. I remember Kathy Mellor with Graham when she was fifteen or sixteen. Tucker wanted to check Derek was another of Graham’s kids. I didn’t give him the satisfaction. If you’ve got your man, why do you need to ask me about that senior police officer?”
“We like to corroborate evidence we gather from various sources,” said Alex. “We can’t rely on people telling us the whole truth.”
“I must get ready for work now,” said Serena. “Have you got what you need from me?”
“If we think of something else, we’ll drop into the café this afternoon,” said Lydia.
Serena closed the door firmly behind them as they left her cottage.
“We’ve got lots to tell Gus,” said Lydia. “He’s going to get a surprise.”
“We won’t know until we catch up with him later whether we’re one step ahead of him or two steps behind,” said Alex.
“Spoilsport,” said Lydia.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at Bourne Hill police station.
“It’s barely eleven o’clock,” said Alex. “Neil won’t be here yet, and Warren Baker isn’t expecting anyone until twelve. We shouldn’t have any problem getting through Reception. I gave our names to the desk sergeant when I called to tell him Neil and Blessing would be in later.”
“We could get a coffee,” said Lydia. “I promise not to look at you too affectionately. In case word gets back to London Road that we’re an item.”
“I’d rather call Warren Baker to see if he’s here. If so, we’ll crack on with the interview and wrap it up before Neil and Blessing arrive.”
Alex was right about the desk sergeant. There was no problem getting signed in and issued with a Visitor’s badge. It took longer for Lydia; of course, the desk sergeant was only human.
“Can you tell me whether Warren Baker is in the building?” Alex asked as Lydia donned her visitor’s badge.
“He’s in the forensic department, DS Hardy. The map on the wall will guide you where you want to go. I’ll phone Mr Baker to tell him you’re on your way.”
“Don’t,” said Lydia, “we’d like to surprise him.”
“Yes, miss. Whatever you say.”
The five-minute drive from Bourne Hill to Churchfields had hardly given Luke’s car time to warm up. As he entered Stephenson Road at a quarter past ten, he wondered where Gus wanted to stop.
“Shall I park where Marion Reeves did, guv?” he asked.
“No,” said Gus. “We’re visiting the light-engineering firm on the left. No job too small. That’s our first port
