children did work strikingly more colourful, confident and technically proficient than Haley’s best efforts.
“It’s the seaside.”
“Isn’t it lovely?” Miss Medlicott said with a warm smile at Olga. She was a sweet young woman and the children adored her. “I’d like a word, if you can spare a minute.”
“Of course.” Olga turned to Haley, “Why don’t you have a ride on the swing while I talk to Miss Medlicott?”
“I’ll take care of your picture,” Miss Medlicott offered.
Haley ran across to the play area.
“Is there a problem?”
“Not really. At least, I don’t think there is,” Miss Medlicott said. “As you see, we were doing some art work this afternoon. I think this is one of her best efforts this term.” She held out the painting. There were several horizontal stripes in blue and yellow across the width of the paper. Some of Haley’s characteristic stick figures were there, probably done with a marker pen.
“Is that the right way up?” Olga asked.
“Yes, I’m certain it is. The people are supposed to be lying down. They’re sunbathers or swimmers, depending which bit of the picture they’re drawn in, so Haley informed me. It’s got its own logic. Her work usually has. She’s a good observer.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“The reason I wanted to speak to you is that she insists one of these figures is a dead lady.”
Olga felt her flesh prickle.
“This one, I think,” Miss Medlicott said, with her finger on one of them, “though they’re all rather similar. I tried to persuade her that it couldn’t be so-that she must have seen someone asleep who was lying very still. But she won’t be budged. She’s adamant that she saw a dead lady when you took her to the beach a few days ago. When would that have been?”
“Sunday,” Olga said. “It was Sunday.”
“Yes. Obviously something made an impact. If certain of the children talked like this, I’d think nothing of it. The boys, in particular, have lurid imaginations. Dracula, dinosaurs, zombies, all the horrors you could name. But Haley isn’t like that. She’s in the real world, very practical, very truthful. That’s why I’m just a bit concerned about this. It’s real to her, and I think it troubles her.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“She said you were sitting just behind this woman, whoever she was.”
Olga wrestled with her loyalties. This young teacher was wholly sincere, concerned only with Haley’s mental well-being. “There was an incident,” she said. “It was in the papers. Wightview Sands. A woman found dead. I expect Haley overheard us talking about it and linked it to someone she noticed lying near us.”
“Do you think so? That would explain it, then.”
“It may have been on the television as well. You can’t always stop them seeing unpleasant things.”
“You’ll talk to her, then?”
“I’ll do my best. Thanks.” Ashamed of herself, she handed back the picture and went to collect Haley.
Miss Medlicott strolled back across the playground. The head teacher, Mrs Anderson, was at the school door. “Was that the child’s mother?”
“Yes. The mother is very sensible. She’ll be supportive. She looked rather stressed herself, so I’m afraid I ducked telling her the most disturbing part of the child’s story.”
“What was that?”
“Well, that her daddy was with this woman who died on the beach.”
6
Nine days after the body was found, Hen Mallin said to Stella, “What is it with this case? Have we hit a brick wall, or what?”
With a touch of annoyance, Stella informed her boss that she had checked the Missing Persons Index regularly. “Do you know how many we’ve followed up?”
“Don’t take it personally. I’m not knocking your efforts, Stell. I’m trying to think of a reason why nobody misses this woman in all this time-a smart dame apparently not short of money-who doesn’t come home, doesn’t report for work, visit her friends or answer the phone.”
“Phones answer themselves.”
“Only for as long as you’re satisfied talking to a machine.”
“There isn’t much you can do about it.”
“Eventually you do. You ask yourself why the bloody thing is in answer mode all day and every day.”
“How long is it now?”
“Over a week. It looks more and more as if someone is covering up.”
“How, exactly?”
Hen spread her hands as if it were obvious. “Making it appear she’s away on holiday, or too ill to speak to her friends.”
“You’re assuming he was the man in her life? The old truth that the vast majority of murders are domestic?”
“It looks that way. We accounted for all the cars in the beach car park, so how did she get to the beach?”
“Someone drove her.”
Hen agreed. “That’s got to be the best bet. They find a place on the beach and put up their windbreak and he waits for her to relax. She turns on her front to sunbathe. He chooses his moment to strangle her and then goes back to his car and drives off. Because he’s regarded as the boyfriend, he’s able to reassure her friends and work colleagues that she’s still alive. He can keep that going for some time.”
“While we’re going spare.”
“But there’s always a point when the smokescreen isn’t enough. People get suspicious.”
“If you’re right,” Stella said, “it’s going to be simple when we reach that point because someone is going to say she’s missing and point the finger at the same time.”
“We collar the guy.”
“Case solved,” Stella said with an ironic smile.
When the breakthrough came, on day twelve, it was not as either of them had foreseen. The MPI churned out a new batch of names and Stella found one that matched better than most, a thirty-two-year-old unmarried woman from the city of Bath. She was the right height and build and age and, crucially, her hair colour was described as “auburn/copper”. No tattoos, scars or other identifying marks.
Hen Mallin was intrigued by the missing woman’s profession. Emma Tysoe was listed as a “psych. o.p.”.
“What’s that when it’s at home?”
“I guess it’s shortened to fit the space. Psychiatric outpatient?”
“That’s hardly a profession, guv.”
“What’s your theory, then?”
Stella pressed some keys and switched to a glossary of abbreviations and found the answer: psychological offender profiler. “She’s not a patient. She’s a shrink. I’ve seen them on TV telling us how to do our job.”
Stella’s reaction was understandable. Television drama had eagerly embraced profiling as a fresh slant on the well-tried and ever-popular police series.
Hen was more positive. “Profilers have their uses. The best of them are worth listening to. Check her out, Stella. Is there a photo? See if you can get one on screen.”
This took some organising with Bath police and when it appeared on the monitor it was in black and white and not the sharpest of images. It must have been taken in bright sunshine that picked out the features sharply but
