Not a Very Nice Woman Page 15

In Cornelia Smith’s experience, it was often the husband who had the larger car, the wife the smaller. But not in her family, she needing the fast and also capacious modern estate in her civic role; while Brough Smith, ever the technological connoisseur, considered that it offered a certain cachet in his standing amongst those under his charge to see their boss arrive for work in the tiniest of European two-seaters. Were it not for the practicality that underlined even his most expressive impulses, he would have even gone for the convertible.

  ‘Why didn’t you park by the shops?’ Cori and the Inspector were asked by Stacie, as the group walked the short distance across the Hills estates to where Cori had parked. With the question left unanswered and the Kehoes piled into the back seat, they sped into the older part of town.

  ‘So, Stacie,’ asked Grey as they drove, ‘what were you studying for with Stella? What’s your dream?’

  ‘I want to stay in the Sixth Form and study English.’

  ‘And she’ll get there too,’ beamed her father, ‘with the results she’s getting.’

  ‘Then we wish you all the best.’

  The house in question was indeed distinct from its neighbours: a kind of ranch-style dwelling, possibly Spanish in inspiration, detached though smaller in scale than might be found on the set of a spaghetti western and hemmed in by the trees at either side of the garden. What was important though was that with its distinctive roof tiles and pale terracotta colouring it was memorable to Stacie, and she was certain when she picked it out.

  The Inspector got out alone and rang the bell. As soon as Cori saw a figure move behind the frosted glass and open the porch door, he waved back at her, this being her cue to drop the Kehoes at the station to have someone take Stacie’s statement, before coming back to collect her colleague.

  ‘Mr Night?’ asked Grey as the porch door opened.

  ‘Wheelwright.’ answered the man who had a cordless phone in his hand and seemed all of a dither.

  ‘Inspector Rase, Southney Police. You haven’t been answering your phone.’

  ‘Sorry, it’s been a hectic couple of days. I’ve only just got back myself.’

  ‘Where from?’

  He stared at the Inspector like he didn’t know that asking questions was his job.

  ‘Work, if you must know, before they forget what I look like.’

  ‘Does Esther Night live here?’

  ‘My wife and I are Esther’s foster parents.’

  ‘Is Esther here, Mr Wheelwright?’

  ‘No, she’s with her mother in Leicester. It’s Esther you want to talk about?’

  ‘We do, and really rather urgently.’

  The man paused before resigning himself to the inevitable, ‘Then perhaps my wife is the best person to speak to. She’s been visiting the family this morning. She’ll be back any minute. Will you come in? Can I get you a drink?’

  Even letting Wheelwright lead him through the several interlinking rooms that led to the lounge meant they didn’t get properly started for another minute, Grey asking as they walked,

  ‘Then until your wife arrives perhaps you could fill me in on a bit of the background?’

  But it was his host who made sure he said his piece first upon reaching the room,

  ‘Well, if you could hold on for fifteen minutes. The call I was making when you arrived,’ he said gesturing with the phone still in his hand, ‘was to Esther’s social worker. She’s on her way over here too, and I would prefer any discussion about Esther to be in their presence.’

  Grey held his temper, ‘Mr Wheelwright, this isn’t a case of truant or whatever other trouble you think Esther might have gotten herself into.’

  ‘No,’ the man’s face turned to Grey’s, serious but without anger. ‘It’s about Stella Dunbar, isn’t it. We’d read that she’d died.’

  ‘And did you know that Esther could have been one of the last people to see her alive?’

  ‘She had her lesson that evening, yes.’

  ‘We believe that Esther was back there at nearly ten o’clock.’ Grey could see he hadn’t known this.

  ‘And when was Stella killed?’

  ‘Not very long after. Mr Wheelwright, why did Esther leave town?’

  ‘Perhaps my wife can tell us that when she arrives.’

  ‘You didn’t know she was going?’

  ‘No, we didn’t know Esther had gone till she didn’t come home on Monday night.’

  ‘You didn’t raise the alarm?’

  ‘Her mother called us before midnight, otherwise we would have.’

  ‘How did she get to Leicester?’

  ‘By pure luck it seems: she jumped the last bus.’

  ‘And how did she..?’

  ‘She has twenty pounds on her for emergencies. If she asks us to replenish it we don’t ask why. It’s a trust thing, Inspector: building up her confidence in other people by showing we have confidence in her; the same reason why we don’t question her too harshly if she’s ever out later than expected.’

  ‘A teenager could take advantage of such a set up.’

  ‘Esther doesn’t, she’s a good girl. I only hope all this won’t…’

  There was a sound of cars pulling up as if in convoy, and then a clatter of bodies and luggage coming through doors. From the hallway Grey heard:

  ‘Ah, hello Catherine.’

  ‘Hello Louise.’

  ‘And, who are you?’

  ‘Sergeant Smith. My Inspector is already talking to your husband.’

  ‘And why wasn’t I called about this? You know we recommend being present for any discussion with the police.’

  The men were then descended on by a flock of women.

  ‘Jeff, what are you doing talking with the police without Catherine here?’

  ‘Love, we’ve barely gotten past introductions. Now everyone sit down, and I’ll make a pot of tea.’

  Jeff Wheelwright returned with the tea things to join a group sat in plush leather armchairs and two-seat sofas around a low glass coffee table. The group comprised the Wheelwrights Jeff and Louise, their social worker Catherine (whose surname they would later learn was Roper) and the two detectives.

  ‘Shall I be mother?’ As the one standing to serve Jeff naturally took charge of conversation,

  ‘Now the police are here as they think Esther may have been at the Cedars later than we thought on the night her tutor died.’

  ‘We read of the death in the paper yesterday, Inspector,’ said Catherine. ‘Today’s issue says you believe it’s murder now?’

  ‘We know it was; and there was a second resident murdered last night, though some way away from the building.’

  ‘Oh my.’

  ‘It gets worse.’ Jeff was sitting down with his own cup, finally. ‘From what you were saying as you came in, you think Esther may have been there near the time the died?’

  This bought glances from the other women as if to say, so you two had been talking about the case before we got here… However Louise Wheelwright, calmer now she was sat down after her journey, though none the less stressed for that, eventually conceded,

  ‘They might be right.’

  ‘Oh?’ uttered Catherine.

  ‘Well we can’t be sure of that,’ started Cori in response to Jeff, but let his wife speak,

  ‘I take it there are no confidences left around this table?’

  It wasn’t the police Louise Wheelwright looked to for confirmation of this but rather Catherine, the social worker, who shook her head.

  ‘Then I can tell you that I’ve just come back from seeing Esther and Maisie – that’s Esther’s mother,’ she added for the detective’s benefit. ‘I can confirm to you first of all that Esther is fine and perfectly safe.’

  There was a general sigh of relief around the coffee table.

  ‘However, I’m not sure the Inspector’s theories are too far fetched. I spoke with Maisie in private, and she confirms the girl arrived, entirely unexpectedly, late on Monday evening – it’s a good
job there was somebody in. She was in floods of tears until the early hours, when they could finally put her to bed. She must have been exhausted, as she slept till nearly noon; after which they were able to speak more calmly.’

  ‘And what did they say?’ asked Catherine for the group.

  ‘Well, Maisie said that after they’d gotten over Esther’s apologies to her, and to us, and to her teachers for missing her lessons, and that all that was out of her system, then Esther turned to Maisie and asked her quietly, “Do you know Stella Dunbar?”’

  ‘And how did Maisie answer?’

  ‘Well, Maisie told me that she didn’t, except to ask Esther the same question back? Obviously she’d never heard of this woman, except in passing if Esther ever mentioned something that she learnt in one of her after-school lessons.

  ‘Anyway, we were on the phone to Maisie off and on all that day, and so she asked me in turn, “Who is Stella Dunbar?” And I told her she was Esther’s tutor, no more and no less; and that no, I’d no idea why Esther would be asking about her. By the next time I spoke to Maisie though we’d read that Stella was dead – and from that moment we’ve feared the worst.’

  ‘This was the conversation Esther overheard,’ added Jeff.

  ‘Sorry?’ asked Grey, lost now.

  His wife continued, ‘Well, I learnt this morning speaking to Maisie, that when we had the conversation where I told her that Stella was dead, that Esther must have come down and had overheard us talking. Maisie hadn’t seen Esther in the hall, but when she next went up to check on her she found she was in hysterics again, and remained so for the next hour.’

  ‘Well, that’s good news, if nothing else is.’ Cori had, somewhat uncharacteristically, engaged her mouth before putting her brain in gear.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant. I don’t follow?’ said Catherine self-righteously, as though entertaining the mere notion of ‘good news’ in the presence of a child’s misery was evidence of the grossest insensitivity.

  Grey clarified, ‘It means that Esther left town not knowing that Stella was dead. It means she wasn’t involved in the murder, nor a witness to it, hadn’t even seen the body. That, to us, is “good news”.’

  ‘Yes, I see what you mean. Yes, yes, quite right.’ Catherine paused before continuing. When she did so she spoke with quiet authority, ‘Of course, Esther’s upset could have been delayed shock, or the unwelcome intrusion of a fact she was denying knowledge of?’

  But Louise Wheelwright was adamant, ‘No, Maisie spoke to Esther about it afterwards: the girl had been taken totally unawares by what she’d overheard.’

  ‘Well, I think the Sergeant’s right. Clearing that up is indeed a huge relief.’ This was Jeff Wheelwright, who as the fact of Esther’s non-involvement sank in himself sank further into his armchair. ‘The way you’d spoken earlier, Inspector, I thought you were suggesting that Esther might have been a witness to the murder.’

  Grey answered, ‘We feared she might; are glad she’s not.’

  But Catherine counselled caution, ‘I still don’t think we can rule out the possibility that Esther saw or heard something: children, even teenagers – even adults – can deny all sorts of things to themselves; sometimes for just long enough to deal with the trauma they cause, sometimes for a lifetime. There are people out there walking the streets who’ve seen all sorts of things and will never tell.’

  Despite Catherine’s best efforts, Grey was reassured by what he’d heard here this afternoon. There was still though so much ground still to cover,

  ‘We’re still missing a lot of the background here: who is Esther and who is her mother?’

  Catherine answered, ‘Esther is the product of a broken home. Her father didn’t want her, and her mother couldn’t look after her. Sorry to be so blunt, but there we are.’

  ‘Hence why she lives here?’

  ‘The Wheelwrights have helped with many children. They’re unsung heroes of this town.’

  At last something approaching a positive emotion from the social worker, thought Grey, though he could understand now a little of her earlier angst.

  ‘But she’s also allowed to stay with Maisie?’

  ‘For short spells, and with Jeff and Louise here for Esther to come back to. In Maisie’s case what helped was taking away any parental responsibility, allowing her and Esther to meet as friends. Otherwise she is a perfectly capable woman, and I’m sure a capable mother again some day.’

  ‘But why move Esther here? Wouldn’t moving towns unsettle her even more?’

  ‘No, Esther is a Southneyite, it’s her mother who moved towns when she married, going back to stay with her own mother back in Leicester after the marriage broke down.’

  ‘So Esther has other family in Southney?’

  ‘None that she’s in contact with.’

  ‘And who is her father?’

  Catherine looked downcast, ‘I’ve never met him. Maisie will have nothing to do with him, won’t even have his name mentioned. They don’t use his name or accept any support from him – not that any has ever been offered. Strictly speaking she should have registered with the Child Support Agency, but the mere suggestion brings her out in boils. And on that note, I think any further questions of Maisie’s marriage should be answered by her; though please be mindful of the trauma that woman suffered: her husband abandoned her; and by extension Esther. The girl grew up in a battlefield, Inspector.’

  ‘But do you remember her father’s name?’

  ‘Not off the top of my head, sorry. My caseload alas is not a light one. There are just too many names.’

  ‘But you’ll have it on file?’

  ‘I’ll find it for you as soon as I’m back in the office.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  She nodded. ‘Now I should make plans to go and see them right away.’ Catherine moved as if she were getting up to leave that minute.

  ‘I don’t think that’s the best idea,’ counselled Louise Wheelwright. ‘She’s with her mother and we’ve spoken before of their need for quality time together.’

  ‘That is true,’ conceded Catherine, ‘especially as they get on so much better now. Of course children often do, when they begin to see visiting their parents as a rare treat and not an everyday, and oftentimes aggravational, experience.’

  Cori and Grey shared a look, he saying,

  ‘Well, whoever else is going to Leicester tomorrow, we certainly need to speak to her.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about…’

  ‘All procedures will be followed, it goes without saying.’ Even if that involves your presence, thought Grey of the woman who seemed to view him on no evidence as nothing less than the Childcatcher.

  ‘Anyway, you’ve no need to worry.’ This was Louise Wheelwright again, who had earlier seemed to drop out of the conversation, perhaps weary after her journey and a couple of nights without much sleep. ‘Maisie’s brother’s bringing them both back this evening.’

  Grey moved forward in the chair, ‘Do you think Esther’s mother would be happy to let her speak to the police?’

  ‘That’s why they’re coming back – Esther wants to speak to you.’

  ‘Wait, this has to be done properly.’ Catherine was insistent now. ‘We’ll need one of the family rooms at our office, a specially trained police officer.’

  ‘We’ve all done the course,’ confirmed Cori.

  ‘And I’ll need to speak to Esther beforehand to ensure she’s fit to be subjected to interrogation. This won’t be before tomorrow morning, Inspector.’

  He nodded his assent.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s been a very busy day.’

  As their hostess also rose to excuse herself, so their host showed the three guests to the door; Grey asking,

  ‘So, is it usual for Esther to decide things for herself, like when she visits her mother?’

  ‘She’s an unusually determined girl when she wants to be,’ answered Catherine with what Grey sensed might be a hint of past exasp
eration.

  ‘We encourage her to follow through on her convictions,’ reiterated her foster-father.

  Catherine continued on her earlier theme, ‘Technically speaking, it’s our decision whether we allow a child to speak to the police or not; but in my experience, however we try to protect them, it does little good for our children not to face up to whatever trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’s in an trouble.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m speaking more generally; though this case does feel rather different.’

  At the door Jeff Wheelwright made arrangements for Catherine to call them in the morning, then wished his guests good afternoon. Grey checked his watch: it was just after three.

  Alone with the detectives, Catherine apologised, adding,

  ‘You know, I really don’t recall the father’s name without the file in front of me.’

  ‘And how much of the file will we be allowed to see?’

  ‘How much will you need? Well, it will be easiest to do so when you come over for the interview tomorrow. You know, he treated Maisie very badly. Psychologically more then physically. She hardly went out for years. It isn’t going to be easy for her coming back to town, even with her brother.’

  Catherine allowed herself a small smile before they left for their respective cars, she off and away in her pastel-shaded hatchback before Cori and Grey even had their seatbelts on.

  Chapter 16 – The Man from the Ministry