She reached out and took his hand. 'We came through it together, didn't we, Treasure? We helped each other and trusted in the Lord.'
In the far corner of the room was a big Mitsubishi television. Stuck on the side of it was a holder for the channel changer. 'Only 2.99 and you'll never again have to search for that elusive remote control.'
'Hey! That's a good idea,' I said, glad to change the subject. I strolled across the room and lifted the controller from its holster. It occurred to me that I could just as easily have turned the telly on while I was there. 'I could do with one of these,' I declared. 'Where did you find it?'
'Oh, we bought it,' he replied.
'From a shop?'
'No. It's someone who comes round.'
'You mean, like the Magic Plastic man?'
'Yes. Them.'
'Magic Plastic?'
'Yes.'
'Right. I'll have to look out for him. I'm told they do some useful stuff.'
'Yes, they do.'
I glanced around the room. It was still filled with all the clutter I'd seen before: commemorative plates, porcelain shepherdesses, cut glass vases. Everything pristine, standing on crocheted doilies to protect the polished surfaces of the furniture. No photographs.
'You don't seem to have a photograph of Susan,' I said.
They glanced at each other. 'No,' he replied, awkwardly. 'We, er, have different ideas about that. I try to forget, most of the time, put her out of my mind. It's my way of coping. Mother's just the opposite. She likes to remember Susan as much as possible, don't you, Mother? We have photographs. They're upstairs. I go in every night, before I go to bed, for a few minutes, but Mother spends most of her time up there.' He was close to tears.
'Would you like to see Susan's room, Inspector?' Mrs. Crabtree asked, leaning forward.
'Yes,' I replied. 'I'd like that very much.'
I followed her upstairs, to a room at the back of the house with a crucifix on the door. She pushed the door open and ushered me in.
The hairs on my neck were bristling as if I'd moved into a powerful magnetic field. The only illumination came from electric candles on the walls and at either side of what I can only call a shrine. It had probably been a Welsh dresser, but now it was a repository for religious artifacts and memorabilia of their daughter. There was a big picture of her as the focal point, underneath one representing Jesus Christ as a Scandinavian pop star rather than a Middle Eastern artisan.
Susan looked intelligent but you'd never call her pretty. Her hair was hacked and she wore what I believe is called a twin set. Maybe I'd have liked her values. Rosary beads hung across a small photograph of the Pope.
'Are you a Catholic?' I asked, lamely.
'No,' she replied. 'There is but one God, and He is Jesus Christ, our Lord.'
There was an easy chair positioned in front of the shrine. 'Is this where you come, Mrs. Crabtree?' I asked. 'Is this where you find your comfort?'
'Yes,' she whispered. 'I spend many hours here. William doesn't seem to understand.'
'I'm sure he does,' I told her. I walked to the door and turned the dimmer switch, brightening the room, and took in the scene. There was a square of clear plastic around the light switch, to prevent a stray fingertip soiling the wallpaper. 'What was the baby called?' I asked.
'Davey,' she replied, so quietly I hardly heard. Davey, of course. I'd almost forgotten.
'Davey. Was that the father's name?'
'No.'
'Do you know the father's name?'
'No.'
'You never met him?'
'No.'
There was no photograph of the baby, and I wondered why.
'There doesn't seem to be a picture of Davey, Mrs. Crabtree?' I commented.
She moved towards the shrine. 'Just a small one,' she said, and unhooked a gold locket that was hanging by its chain alongside the picture of Susan. Inside was a little round photo of a baby' sface, looking like every other bonny baby I'd seen. 'He was a handsome fellow,' I said.
'Yes, he was beautiful. He weighed seven pounds five ounces, in spite of being five weeks premature.'
'I didn't know that,' I told her. The PM hadn't said anything about him being premature.
'These,' she said, opening the other side of the locket with a fingernail, 'are his hair and his toe-nail clippings. Would you believe, his nails needed cutting when he was born?'
I looked at the wisp of hair and the tiny slivers of protein that were all that remained of little Davey. 'Don't lose them,' I whispered.
Mrs. Crabtree clicked the locket shut and replaced it next to Susan.
There were other photographs of her, tracing the development of popular photography as well as the girl and young woman depicted in them.
Fading black and whites of a little girl in National Health spectacles that she hated, right up to full colour seven-by-fives of her with friends, somewhere at the seaside. She changed over the years, blossomed even, but the glasses singled her out, every time. I saw a little bronze trophy, with crossed squash rackets on it, and my stomach bubbled like a sulphur pool. I picked it up. 'Mixed doubles,' it said, 'Losing semi-finalist.'
'Mrs. Crabtree,' I began. 'Did you ever…' I replaced the trophy, looked at it and adjusted its position. 'Did you, or Susan… ever consider an abortion?'
'No!' she declared, defiantly. 'Never. Life is not ours to take away. By the fruits of your sins shall you be judged.'
'Did Susan think about having one?'
'No.'
'Did she investigate the possibility? Maybe take advice, or counselling?'
'He wanted her to,' she said. 'But he would, wouldn't he? He didn't want the responsibilities of a child.'
'What did he say?'
'He took her somewhere. When she came back she was confused. They poisoned her brain with the devil's works. She soon changed her mind when she was back with her family. The word of the Lord prevailed, but the price of salvation is eternal vigilance.'
I only know one quotation from the Bible. I learned it from my dad.
When I was little and he was a struggling PC he drove a motorbike and sidecar. It was his pride and joy. He took great delight in telling people that Moses rode a motorbike. It said so in the Bible. It said:
'And the sound of his Triumph was heard throughout the land.' He'd have loved talking to Mrs. Crabtree.
'This boyfriend,' I said. 'He took her somewhere, for advice about an abortion?'
'Yes, but she was too strong for him, for she was filled with the Holy Spirit.'
'But he knew all about abortions?'
'Yes. He was a disciple of Satan. He did the devil's work, here on Earth. The devil finds work for idle hands.'
'What was he called?'
'I don't know.'
'I think you do.'
'I don't know.'
I dimmed the lights and held the door open for her. Outside, after I'd pulled the door closed, I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. I could feel her bones, and her face was crisscrossed with fine lines.
'Thank you for showing me Susan's room,' I said.
Downstairs, William was standing close up to the gas fire, warming his legs, even though it must have been
