The Merchant's House Part 20

'If she'd had an abortion she might never have known.'

'Mmmm. I'd still like to speak to her again. I didn't like her, did you?'

'No, not particularly. But we can't go round arresting people we don't like cells'd be full.' Rachel smiled. 'All the same, I don't think she was telling us the whole truth. And why lie about the furniture?'

'Is the inspector in yet?'

'No sign. Bet he's slept in again. When it's Christmas we should all club together and buy him an alarm clock.'

'Don't suppose it's easy getting up on time when you're on your own. Pam always wakes up first.'

'I don't think it's been easy for him full stop since his wife died. He wanders round like a lost soul in that scruffy old anorak of his. He needs someone to take him in hand.'

The door opened and Heffernan trudged in. The subject of the conversation swiftly changed.

'Morning, everyone. No excuse. Can't blame seagulls on the line at Queenswear Junction. I overslept, all right? What's new? Anyone confessed?'

'I've been going through the address book, sir. Tracked down one of her friends. I was just telling Wesley, it seems she lost touch with everyone when she took up with this Chris. Her grandmother's dead so I don't know if there are any relatives. I've only done a few pages though, sir.'

'Keep at it, Rach. What about you, Wes? You look full of the joys of spring. Anything to report?'

Wesley explained his misgivings about Mrs Hughes.

'You reckon she was in when you searched the bottom flat but she didn't answer the door?'

'Rachel heard a noise upstairs, sir.'

'And then the lie about the furniture ... I think we ought to drop in on Mrs Hughes for a cup of tea, Wes.' Heffernan began to put his anorak back on. 'If we're lucky we might get chocolate biccies.'

They left Rachel dialling another number from the address book.

Stan Jenkins looked around for something to put his cup of tea down on. He didn't want to damage the polished surface of the coffee table. He pulled a glossy magazine towards him and used that. Nice coffee table; nice place for a holiday cottage. There must be plenty of money in wine.

Elaine Berrisford reappeared from the kitchen. She was dressed in dark trousers and a patterned shirt and looked calmer than he had seen her before, but still pale and drawn.

'Just called to see how you were, Elaine. Nice tea ... Earl Grey?'

She nodded.

'I had an aunt who always gave us Earl Grey. Never have it at home, though. Wife's not keen.' He was aware he was rambling on but he felt he had to fill the silence.

She spoke; well spoken but with a slight Northern intonation. 'I don't suppose you've ...'

'No, er, sorry, nothing to report. You'd be the first to know.'

'You said yesterday there'd been sightings. Where?'

'Well, we always get lots of calls in cases like these. From all over the place. They're all looked into, I can a.s.sure-'

'Have you had many round here?'

'None that have come to anything. If we thought we'd found him, you'd be the first...'

'Tell me about them.'

'Well, I don't see that it'd do any good. They've all been ...' Stan was starting to feel fl.u.s.tered. The woman was leaning towards him, her eyes desperate. He didn't want to get her hopes up, nor did he want her to think he was keeping something from her.

'Please, Stan. Tell me about the sightings round here. I've got to know ... please.'

Stan felt awkward. He knew he was about to do the inadvisable. 'It was just this old woman bit of a nutter. She said she'd seen Jonathon in Morbay. She's been let out of somewhere, if you see what I mean. Totally unreliable, I'm afraid. You mustn't get your hopes up.'

'Jonathon... Did she say he was on his own?'

'Well, she saw him with a man. Turned out to be his dad.'

'Did you see him, talk to him?'

'No, we didn't, actually. They'd moved out by the time we tracked them down. But the neighbours said they were father and son said the lad looked the image of his dad. And the hair was the wrong colour darker than Jonathon's. I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have told you, should I. It's upset you...'

She sat back and took a sip of her tea. 'No, no, it's quite all right. I'll be okay now.'

Stan thought he saw hope return to her eyes.

Gerry Heffernan looked at Wesley. 'Doesn't look like she's in.'

'My guess is that she's not answering the door.' Wesley rang again; three loud, long rings. He wanted to show her that they weren't prepared to go away. His persistence was rewarded. The approaching footsteps were slow and reluctant.

Wesley smiled when Mrs Hughes opened the door, hoping it would put her at her ease. 'I wonder if we could have another word with you, Mrs Hughes. Do you remember me? Detective Sergeant Peterson. And this is my colleague, Detective Inspector Heffernan. May we come in?'

Mrs Hughes was dressed as immaculately as before. She held the front door open disdainfully and let them pa.s.s. Tea wasn't mentioned.

'Just a couple of things I want to clear up, Mrs Hughes. May we sit down?' She nodded, unwelcoming.

Heffernan spoke. 'Nice flat you've got here, Mrs Hughes. You own the one downstairs, I believe.' She nodded again. 'My daughter rents a flat in Manchester she's a student at the music college. Furnished, it is. Pretty grotty, but then I don't suppose they notice their surroundings at that age, do they? Too busy having a good time. I told her to get one unfurnished it'd be cheaper, and she could always cadge some sticks of furniture.'

Mrs Hughes was staring at the inspector, wondering where this was all leading. She hadn't got all day to listen to the housing problems of some scruffy middle-aged Liverpudlian's daughter. She looked away impatiently.

'I suppose the one downstairs is furnished?'

So this is where it had been leading. Mrs Hughes swallowed hard and hoped the policemen wouldn't notice her unease. 'Er, yes. It is.'

'The thing is, you told my colleagues that Sharon Carteret rented the flat unfurnished. Is there a reason for that?'

The woman shifted in her chair and thought quickly. 'Yes. It was let unfurnished then.'

'So where did the furniture come from? Did you decide to let it furnished, buy the stuff after she'd gone, or what?'

Mrs Hughes looked distinctly uncomfortable. 'Er, she left it. I presume she moved to somewhere furnished or ...'

'She left everything?'

Mrs Hughes nodded, looking for the first time at a disadvantage. 'Yes. It wasn't very good furniture. She might have bought new or ...'

'Can you tell us what happened when Sharon Carteret left, Mrs Hughes?' Wesley became formal.

'I... she just left, didn't give me any notice. I was rather annoyed.'

'Were you here when she moved out? Did her boyfriend help her to move her things?'

'I wasn't here. I went away to stay with friends for a few days. When I got back she'd gone. She'd posted the key through my letterbox.'

'She left no forwarding address, no hint of where she'd gone? Never mentioned a new flat?'

'No.'

Gerry Heffernan stood up to leave. Wesley watched the woman's face and saw relief. 'Thank you, Mrs Hughes, you've been very helpful.'

Wesley stood up to follow his boss. Surely he'd missed out the most important question of all. But Heffernan turned to Mrs Hughes as she was about to open the front door.

'How did you get on when Sharon was pregnant? You don't allow kids here, do you? What happened to her baby? Did she have it adopted or what?'

Neat, thought Wesley. The woman had been caught completely off guard.

'I ... I ...'

'She was pregnant, wasn't she, Mrs Hughes? What happened to the baby?'

'I don't know. I just told her she couldn't keep it here. I never asked what arrangements she made.'

'Were you here when she went into labour? What hospital did she go to?'

'She led her own life, Inspector. I didn't know and I didn't want to know. If these girls mess up their lives, I'm not responsible. Ours was purely a business relationship landlord and tenant. I was the last person she'd confide in. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an important appointment.'

Once outside, Heffernan spoke first. 'Hardly a product of the caring, sharing nineties, is she?'

'Hardly, sir. We didn't even get a cup of tea.'

Rachel picked up the heap of files and saw the yellow rectangle of paper she had fixed to her desk after she had returned from seeing Mrs Willis in Morbay. 'Get in touch with landlord.'

She had the address and number from Mrs Willis; she picked up the phone and dialled. A Liz answered. When Rachel introduced herself, Liz sounded vexed but grudgingly granted Rachel permission to call into the office, saying pointedly that she'd been bothered by the police before. Rachel thought she'd better take Steve, but she would do the driving.

When they drew up outside the office, with its flashy logo and vertical blinds, Steve announced he'd been there before with Wesley, on the trail of Karen Giordino. The firm had been her landlord too; but that was hardly surprising as the company owned over half the private rented property in Morbay. Steve got out of the car, squaring up for another encounter with the a.s.sertive Liz.

Liz kept them waiting; she was with a client. When she eventually emerged, she gave Steve her best scowl and looked Rachel up and down with suspicion. She led them into her office and reluctantly delved into her pale wood filing cabinets for the appropriate records.

The flat had been rented in the name of a Ms Sharon Carteret. She had paid by cheque, a deposit and a month's rent in advance. She didn't know the names of the other occupants, although she heard from the tenant upstairs that there was a child not against the rules in this particular property. The tenant only stayed a month, moved out some time in late September.

Rachel felt disappointed. Liz had told her nothing they didn't know already. She thought of one more question. 'Does it say in your file when she rented the flat, what date?'

Liz pursed her lips and opened the folder again. 'Yes. August fifteenth. Let furnished.'

'Thank you very much for your help.' Rachel gave Liz her most ingratiating smile and left. August 15 that must mean something. What had made Sharon Carteret leave her flat and her job at the end of August? The renting of the flat a couple of weeks earlier suggested a plan of action, hardly a spur-of-the-moment decision. What change had occurred in Sharon's routine life? Rachel pondered the question all the way back to Tradmouth.

Elaine Berrisford parked her VW Golf by the promenade. Morbay was a big place. It was a question of where to begin looking.

The day was sunny for late September an Indian summer. Mothers with young children wandered up and down the promenade enjoying the bonus of sunshine. Some ventured onto the beach. Elaine's eyes watched them all, hoping to see one child. Jonathon had been here she knew he had. A mother always knew.

Chapter 21.

I have had little time to keep this journal as Oliver hath been ill again of the sweating fever and the shop hath been most busy. Yet I am glad of the occupation as I do not have much dealing with my wife whose sickness hath abated and who rules the household once more.

Jennet's condition doth not yet show. I continue to go to her each night and have the sweetest pleasure in her bed. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s do grow larger. I find her more comely now than ever. What shall become of this?

Extract from the journal of John Banized,

15 July 1623

Sitting at her desk in a first-floor office of Tradmouth police station, Rachel, using a telephone, fax and computer, was gradually building up a picture of Sharon Carteret's life. When it comes down to it, she thought in a rare fit of philosophising, our lives these days can all be reduced to a series of electronic impulses.

She was on to the back page of the address book and had just spoken to an old friend of Sharon's with the surname Williams. The friend had been at school with her in Morbay but had lost touch about four years ago when Sharon had taken up with Chris a story now familiar to Rachel. The friend thought Chris might be in the building trade, didn't know for certain. Rachel made a note. It was worth following up.

There was one other entry on the page. No name, just a number. She picked up the phone and dialled.

'Good morning. Morbay Clinic. How may I help you?' said a female voice on the other end of the phone. Rachel hadn't expected this. She introduced herself. The voice became wary. 'I'll put you through to our Clinical Director, Dr Downey.'

The line went dead for a while then a smooth male voice broke the silence. 'Good morning, Constable. Dr Downey, Clinical Director. What may I do for you?'

Rachel explained.

'I'm very sorry, Constable, but I can't help you. I've never heard of this young woman. I'm sorry not to be of more a.s.sistance. But she's not been a patient at this clinic, of that I'm sure.'

'Perhaps your records ...'