As soon as he saw the woman, Tim doubted she was a blackmailer. She had a long, sallow face and black cork-screw curls which hung around her face and were escaping from the untidy bun on top of her head. Her eyes were dark and sad and when his own green eyes met them she returned his gaze unflinchingly, but her stare was not bold. He judged her reluctant to look away because she was willing him, beseeching him, even, to give her good news about the missing child, or at the very least a firm promise of help.
She was seated at a table in the interview room into which Michael Robinson had led Tim as soon as he had arrived. She made no move to stand up, but locked eyes with Tim as soon as he took the chair opposite her. Robinson had moved to the back of the room, where he remained standing, shifting from one foot to the other and fidgeting with the string on the window blind. Tim found his behaviour exasperating, at once hostile and nervous. Maybe Robinson’s craven behaviour indicated a fear of something worse than a dressing-down for neglecting to station a guard at the murder scene; alternatively, perhaps he was heading for a breakdown. He was obviously having a bad effect on the witness. Noticing the woman’s frightened glances in his direction, Tim was about to suggest to her that she might feel more comfortable if he asked a policewoman to sit in on the interview when she started talking.
‘You will help us to find her, won’t you?’ she said. She spoke with a Geordie twang.
‘The girl you were looking after? That’s why I’m here.’ He realised Robinson had omitted to tell him who the woman was. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘Penelope. Penny.’
‘And the girl’s name?’
‘Selina.’
‘What is your relationship with Selina?’
‘I’m not related to her. She’s one of the kids I look after sometimes when their mums are working.’
‘You’re Romany?’ She nodded.
‘What’s your other name?’
‘Green. We’re staying in Appleby.’
‘The horse fair’s over, isn’t it?’
‘There’s an Appleby in Lincolnshire as well.’ Michael Robinson’s voice, from the back of the room, was impatient.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise,’ said Tim. He turned back to the woman. ‘Tell me about Selina.’
‘She’s one of the Petts. They’ve got three girls. Selina’s the oldest. I’ve been minding the other two this week and thought nowt of it when she didn’t turn up. She’s fourteen now. But the others tell me she hasn’t been home for three nights.’
‘Why haven’t her parents reported her missing?’
Penny shrugged. For the first time Tim thought she looked shifty. She chewed over the question before she answered him, choosing her words with care.
‘They’re away… on business. I said I’d keep an eye on the girls.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘What it says.’ She was more defiant now, but Tim sensed it was a defiance born of fear. ‘I see them off to school, they drop in on me when they get back to tell me they’re all right, I help them with shopping, that kind of thing.’
‘I see,’ said Tim, wondering for how long the parents’ business kept them ‘away’. ‘So they don’t stay with you? Or you with them?’
‘No. There’s no need. Annie, the youngest, is ten and Janice is twelve. They’re grown up, really.’ She didn’t sound very convincing. Tim knew his face would show that he certainly wasn’t convinced. He didn’t want to needle the woman, however. He could detect in her a deeper-than-average mistrust of the police, something he’d encountered before when questioning Romanies and travellers. He didn’t want to frighten her into silence.
‘Where do the girls go to school?’
‘North Kesteven – Selina and Janice, that is. Littl’un’s still at first school.’
‘Which first school?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Penny looked uncomfortable.
‘You’re not sure? As the youngest, isn’t she the one that needs most looking after?’
‘Yes, but the other two does that. They drop her off of a morning. Anyway, she’s not the one who’s gone missing.’
Tim might have lost his temper at this irresponsible piece of logic had the woman not looked so wretched. She had put her hands to her forehead and was squeezing it, as if to exorcise some terrible pain.
‘Okay,’ he said more gently, ‘tell me about the last time you saw Selina.’
‘It was on Sunday. She didn’t come with the others on Monday to tell me they were on their way to school.’
‘Did you ask them where she was?’
‘Yes. They said she’d gone on ahead, didn’t need to see me.’
‘Didn’t you find that worrying? Considering she’s the eldest and supposed to look after her sisters?’
‘Janice is old enough to see to Annie,’ said Penny defensively. ‘Besides, I didn’t like to pry. I thought Selina might’ve…’
‘Go on,’ said Tim. ‘What did you think Selina might have done?’
Penny looked down at her hands, now twitching uneasily in her lap.
‘Ms Green, what did you think Selina might have done? It’s important that you tell us. Her life could be at risk.’
Penny was close to tears.
‘I thought she might have decided to bunk off, go and earn herself a bit of cash somewhere. She isn’t all that sold on school and I can’t say as I blame her. Nothing there for her, really, is there?’
Tim didn’t answer the question.
‘When you saw her on Sunday, did she seem all right?’
‘Yes. They all did. I think they like it when their ma and da go off. Gives them a bit of freedom.’
‘Can you remember what she was wearing?’
‘Not really. Jeans, probably. That’s what all the kids wear, isn’t it? Nothing as stood out, anyway.’
‘And when you say you thought she might have gone to earn “a bit of cash” somewhere, exactly what do you mean by that?’
Penny suddenly jerked her head up and looked Tim in the eye again.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean – what I think you might mean. She wouldn’t go with men.’
‘Why did you think I might mean that?’ said Tim, although it was precisely what he had been thinking.
She dropped her eyes.
‘Anyway, what I meant was that she might have gone to earn herself a few quid on the land somewhere. Still a few casual jobs at this time of year.’
Tim nodded.
‘When are her parents coming back?’
‘Next week, sometime.’
‘Can you get in touch with them?’
‘That wouldn’t be easy.’ Penny was getting agitated again.
‘Why wouldn’t it be easy? Don’t they tell you how to get hold of them? If one of the girls is ill, say?’
Penny’s face twisted into an ugly grimace of misery.
‘Yes but… they’ll blame me if Selina’s missing.’
‘Their daughter’s their responsibility, not yours,’ said Tim.
Penny stared at him blankly. He understood: what difference would the law make to their attitude to her?
‘Can you give us the address they’re staying at? Or better still, a number to call?’
‘I ain’t got no address. They’ll be moving around, probably. Bill left a mobile with me. Said to call it in emergencies.’
‘Where is this mobile?’
‘Back in my van. Do you want me to fetch it?’ Penny was already standing up. Tim motioned to her to keep her seat.
‘One of us will take you to get it. I just want to ask you a couple more questions first.’
She slumped down in the chair again, as if exhausted. ‘DI Robinson tells me that you went to the Fossdyke Canal to look for Selina. Why did you go there, in particular?’
‘It’s where I found her a few weeks ago when she didn’t come back. Littl’uns told me that was where she’d be. She was hanging out with some other kids.’
‘But you went there at night, long after dark. Surely you didn’t expect to find kids playing there at that time.’
‘I was worried. I’d watched the news: that the woman was dragged from the canal.’
‘Did you think that might have been Selina?’
‘No. They said the woman was older – in her twenties or older than that, even. But trouble often strikes more than once in the same spot, don’t it?’
Tim sighed. A self-declared hater of coincidences, he was about to contradict her when he realised that, on this point at least, she’d been absolutely right.
‘Let’s go and get that phone,’ he said kindly. ‘Selina’s mum and dad need to come home straight away.’
Penny seemed to shrink into herself. She was mumbling almost incoherently, not directing her words at either of the two policemen.
‘They’ll blame me for it,’ she said. ‘Jesus God, they’re sure to blame me.’