‘If so,’ she said, ‘it probably went with her. She’ll have taken her basic make-up as well. I noticed you check the dressing-table drawer.’
‘Did I?’
‘No lipstick, eye-liner, mascara.’
‘So you think she packed for some time away?’
‘I didn’t say that. If you want my opinion, it’s unlikely. She isn’t a heavy buyer of clothes and there’s still quite a stack of underwear in the drawers.’
‘So?’
‘Women always pack more knickers than they need.’
‘The things you learn in this job.’
‘That’s why I tag along, isn’t it?’ She’d scored a nice point and she allowed herself a smile, the first in hours. ‘I could be totally wrong. She must possess some luggage and I haven’t come across any yet.’
‘It ought to be obvious.’
‘Unless it’s stored somewhere else in the house. Should we check with Mr Singh?’
He pondered the matter. ‘But would you pack a suitcase if you were going to Tormarton to murder your father?’
She didn’t attempt an answer.
Diamond wrestled with his own question. ‘Even if she did, and took a travelling bag with her, what happened to it? She wasn’t carrying one when she was found.’
‘She wasn’t even carrying a handbag.’
He looked at her with approval. ‘Good point. Why hasn’t the handbag turned up?’
Julie shook her head.
Almost without thinking, Diamond stepped into the bathroom and made a telling discovery. He came out holding up a toothbrush. ‘I think she was planning to come back the same day.’
But Julie had already moved into the small kitchen. She called out, ‘I’m sure you’re right. She left out a loaf and – ugh!’
‘What’s up?’
‘A portion of uncooked chicken in the fridge. That’s what’s up. Well past its sell-by date.’
The smell travelled fast. He tugged open a sash-window in the living-room. Julie joined him there. The petrol fumes from the street were primrose-sweet at that moment.
‘That’s put me off chicken for a week.’
‘Did you shut the fridge?’
‘Yes, but you wouldn’t believe I did.’
When the air was clearer they began a more thorough sweep of the shelves, cupboards and drawers in each room. Rose was unusually tidy and well organised, but things still came to light in unexpected places. Two tickets (under a candlestick on the chest of drawers) for a symphony concert at the Barbican in mid-October. A chocolate box containing opera programmes from La Scala, Milan, and Rome. A copy of a typed letter to Mr Singh complaining about a damp patch in the ceiling. A couple of gushing love-letters from someone called James; they were tucked into one end of the bookcase.
‘I wonder why James hasn’t been round to see her in all this time?’
‘Take a look at the dates,’ said Julie. ‘September and October, 1993. He’s history.’
‘Why didn’t she bin them, then?’
‘Women don’t get love letters all that often. She may want to keep them.’
‘Or she forgot they were there.’
‘Cynic.’
He didn’t challenge her. He was taking one more look at the manila folder containing the will and death certificate. Diligence was rewarded. Trapped inside, out of sight along the inner fold of the pocket, was an extra piece of paper. He pulled it out. An envelope, torn open. On it was written:
‘Frustrating,’ he said. ‘This is her mother’s handwriting. It matches the writing on that photo.’
‘Isn’t the letter in the folder?’
‘No.’
‘Then she must have it with her.’
‘Unless she destroyed it.’
‘The last letter she ever received from her mother?’ said Julie on a high note of disbelief. ‘Besides, if she kept the envelope, she means to keep the letter.’
He conceded the sense of this with a nod.
Julie added, ‘Do you think the letter could have a direct bearing on the case? If it was only to be read after Meg Gladstone’s death, it may have revealed some information Rose wasn’t aware of, a family secret. Some reference to the old man’s shabby treatment of them?’
‘I don’t know about that,’ he commented after a moment’s thought. ‘It would be too negative. It’s more likely to be a last request, some service the mother wanted Rose to perform for her.’
‘A bit of unfinished business. Like visiting her father?’
‘Possibly. You see, she delayed several months before going to see him. No doubt she was busy sorting things out for some time after her mother’s death in – when was it? – January. She probably wanted to get down to Tormarton before the end of the year. That’s my feeling about it – but of course it’s all speculation without the damned letter.’
They spent another half-hour in the flat before he called time. On their way out, downstairs in the hall, they were treated to the sight of Mr Singh’s scarlet turban behind a door that was drawn shut as they approached.
‘Good day to you, landlord,’ Diamond called out.
The door opened again and he looked out. ‘All satisfactory, is it?’
‘Thanks, yes.’
‘She is in trouble, Miss Gladstone?’
‘We hope not. If she comes back, you’ll inform us, I expect.’
‘Indeed, yes, sir, I will.’
‘You live downstairs, do you, Mr Singh?’
‘No, no.’ He emerged fully from behind the door and held it open. ‘This is store cupboard. I live across river. Detached house. Putney Hill. Five bedroom. I show you if you like.’
The store cupboard held more interest for them than Mr 274 Singh’s detached house. ‘This is where the tenants keep their luggage?’
‘Just so.’ He flicked on a light and they saw a stack of suitcases. One uncertainty, at least, had been cleared up.
Travel Ease, where Rose was employed, was crowded with people booking winter sunshine. It was not easy attracting the attention of the manager, and even when they got to his desk he assumed they were planning a holiday together. Diamond disillusioned him with a few pithy words and asked about Miss Gladstone.
‘Yes,’ the young man said, ‘I have been concerned about Christine. She hasn’t been in for weeks. I wrote letters and tried phoning with no result. It’s so out of character. She’s always been reliable up to now.’
‘Did she say if she was going away?’
‘She said nothing. You can ask any of my staff. She simply didn’t turn up after one weekend. You don’t think something dreadful has happened to her?’
They got back to Bath soon after four. Diamond commented to Julie that the incident room had all the fevered activity of a town museum on a hot day in August. One civilian computer operator was on duty. she said she thought Inspector Halliwell might have slipped out to the canteen. Only just, she added loyally.
They spotted Halliwell taking a shot at the snooker table. Someone alerted him and he put down the cue and snatched up a cup and came to meet Diamond and Julie midway across the canteen floor. ‘I missed my lunch,’ he said in mitigation. ‘We’ve been overstretched. Most of them are out at Tormarton on the house-to-house. How did it go?’
‘Has anything new come in?’
‘A couple more sightings, but I wouldn’t pin any hopes on them. Oh, and we’ve got a list of the treasure-
