Chapter Sixteen

DRESSED IN SKINNY jeans and a shocking pink shirt tied at the waist to reveal her midriff, Mrs Painter lit a cigarette from the one she already held in her hand as she opened the door to Verity. Stringy orange hair with black roots fell to her shoulders. Her face was a mask of foundation and thick blue eye make-up, accentuated by a mass of harsh black eyeliner and mascara. Beneath the maquillage, her cheeks were hollow, her eye sockets ringed with bruise-like shadows that the cosmetics couldn’t quite conceal. Candelabra earrings hung from her ears. At first glance, she might have been mistaken for a woman in her mid-30s, but Verity thought she was probably much older. She was as skinny as her daughter was plump.

She’d agreed to see Verity that afternoon and said she would prefer it if the interview could take place before Leonora came home from school. She lived in a cottage on the Cowbit road. It was of a type quite common locally: clad in rough grey rendering, with windows in the eaves and a small porch at the front. It probably dated from the mid-nineteenth century. When Verity stepped inside she found herself in a narrow corridor that ran the length of the house.

“In here,” said Mrs Painter, leading the way to a kitchen that might once have been pleasantly bucolic but was now in need of some loving care, not to mention a good scrub. It was poky and dark and smelt of past cooking. Mrs Painter sat down at the table and continued her manoeuvres with the cigarettes while gesturing at a second chair. Lifting it out, Verity discovered it was piled high with an assorted jumble of mail.

“Just chuck that lot on the floor,” said Mrs Painter, her new smoke now clamped between her lips. She shifted her own position nervily. Verity caught a flash of glitter. Mrs Painter’s navel had been pierced and adorned with a crystal hanging from a silver ring.

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Mrs Painter,” said Verity. “Mr Lennard told me you have a job. I hope you haven’t taken time off specially.”

“My name’s Cindy,” the woman said, meeting her eye briefly before allowing her gaze to wander off towards the wall cabinets. “Makes me feel a hundred years old if you call me that.” She flicked ash into a tea-cup. “I work at Barker’s the Florists in Crowland, making up wreaths and commercial flower arrangements. It’s flexible: we don’t have much on at the moment. I can work longer hours when we’re busy.”

“Do you always take Leonora to school?”

“Not usually. She can get the bus. She missed it this morning.”

“So you don’t do the school run every day?”

“I’ve just said, haven’t I? I’m beginning to wonder if I should, though. If there’s strange men hanging about.”

“I’d like you to tell me about the incident this morning, in as much detail as you can remember. I’ve seen the three girls. They were quite vague about why you thought the man might be dangerous.”

Cindy Painter exhaled.

“Are you surprised? They don’t have the sense they was born with when they get to that age. Think everything’s funny and forget all the stuff we taught them when they was nippers. Especially when they get together.” She tapped the fingers of her left hand rhythmically on the top of the table.

Verity smiled encouragingly.

“So, you drove Leonora in your car down Stonegate and parked outside the school. Was it right outside the school, or some way up the road?”

“It was right outside, but on the opposite side of the street. Her name’s Leo, by the way. No-one uses Leonora.”

Verity didn’t want to introduce a complication by contradicting her. As it was, getting a coherent statement from the woman was like extracting hen’s teeth.

“And she was still in the car when you saw the man?”

“Yes. She was about to get out. Messing about collecting her stuff, she was. I told her to get a move on as she’d already made me late.”

“But even though you were having a conversation with her, you still saw the man?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing?”

“Nothing. Just looking over the school wall, watching the kids as they got off the buses and that.”

“That’s all?”

“No. Leo’s two friends came walking down the road and he turned round then and started staring at them.”

“Did he speak to them?”

“I don’t think so, no. But he was giving me the creeps and they didn’t look very happy, either. So I opened the car door and told them to get in for a few minutes.”

“That was nice of you, when you were already late.”

“Yes, well, anyone’d do what they could with a pervert about, wouldn’t they?” Cindy Painter fidgeted in her chair again, but Verity could tell the compliment had pleased her. “You want a cup of tea or something?”

“No, thanks. It’s kind of you to ask. Were the girls frightened when they got into the car?”

“Not that frightened. They didn’t like the look of him, though.”

“Did you see his face?”

“Not clearly. They may have done. They was closer than we was.”

“Could you describe his build?”

“He was very small, almost girlish. He was wearing a mac, so it was hard to see much else. And a cap.”

“Can you remember any more about his clothes?”

“The mac was grubby. Beige, but grubby. I don’t know about the cap. It was certainly darker than the mac.”

“And you didn’t know him?”

Cindy Painter rolled her eyes.

“I’d hardly have reported him if I had, would I?”

“I see. Well, I’ve written down what you’ve told me, Mrs . . . Cindy. I’d be grateful if you could read through the statement and sign it if you agree that it’s accurate.”

She took the sheet of paper from Verity and worked through it slowly, pointing at each word and repeating it to herself under her breath. Verity had the impression that she found reading difficult. After some time, she signed it and lit another cigarette.

“That’s all correct.”

“Thank you,” said Verity. “We’re going to make sure a police car regularly patrols the area around the school. Let me know if you see the man again. Here’s my card.”

“There’s one other thing,” said Cindy Painter, drawing fiercely on the cigarette.

“Yes?”

“That Mr Lennard. He didn’t believe me. He thought I’d just invented the whole thing.”

“I don’t think he thought you’d invented it, Cindy. He perhaps thought you’d attached more significance to the man’s being there than he would have done. But he wasn’t there.”

“No, he wasn’t,” she agreed vigorously. “So he shouldn’t cast aspersions.” She narrowed her eyes. “Do you think he’s up to the job?”

“I don’t have an opinion on that,” said Verity. “I’m sure he must be well-respected in the teaching profession. Otherwise he wouldn’t have the job.”

“Yes, well, I’ll show you out, then,” Cindy said, unconvinced.