Chapter 57

Mrs Sims picked through the sodden garments that had been spread out on a table in the interview room.

“These look like Margie’s,” she said. “And I’m pretty certain the trainers are hers, with those silver stars. She’s got such small feet; there can’t be many pairs of trainers like that in Spalding. And she always wore white underwear. I asked her about it once, when her bra straps were showing: it seemed odd in a girl who nearly always dressed in black. She said she thought black underwear was tarty.” She met Juliet’s eye, her lip trembling slightly. “Does this mean she’s drowned?”

“Not necessarily,” said Juliet. “I can’t pretend it’s looking good – there has to be a reason why these clothes have been dumped – but it could be because someone wants us to think she’s drowned.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know. If someone’s holding her, perhaps to throw us off the trail, so that we think she’s killed herself.”

“That doesn’t make much sense to me,” said Mrs Sims. “I’m going to have to go back to the nursery. My friend can only help out for an hour. But you’ll let me know if anything happens?”

“Yes, of course I will.”

“What’s that?” said Nancy Chappell suddenly, moving forward from the other side of the table.

Juliet followed her gaze. One of the items from the bag had slipped from the table and was hooked up on a chair, dripping pungent water on to the ground. Juliet retrieved it and laid it on the table, smoothing it out as much as possible.

“It looks like a long scarf,” she said. “It’s black as well, or dark blue. There’s a fine metallic thread woven through it. Have you seen Margie wearing this?”

“No, never. I don’t think it’s hers. She isn’t the floaty scarf type. She’s always very neat and quite – I suppose conservative’s the word. She dresses plainly. I don’t think that’s her type of thing.”

“It could be hers, though?”

“I suppose so,” said Mrs Sims doubtfully. “But I don’t think so. I do need to get back now. You’ll let me know if you make any progress?”

“Of course.”

“I need to check what Ayesha Verma was wearing when she went missing,” said Juliet after Mrs Sims had gone and they’d moved back to the office area. She started to boot up her computer. “I’m pretty certain her mother said there was a scarf.”

“If you’re right, it looks as if we can scrap the idea of an honour killing.”

“If I’m right, we’re looking for someone who is kidnapping young girls. It may be a serial killer. We’ll have to tell Superintendent Thornton straight away.”

“Check the mother’s statement first.”

“I’m going to . . .here it is. Ayesha was wearing a blue and white top and dark blue trousers. And a scarf. A dark blue scarf with a silver thread.”

Nancy whistled.

“We’ll still need to show the scarf to Mrs Verma, ask her to identify it.”

“You’re right. But I don’t fink there can be much doubt about it, do you?”

“No. And I’ve just remembered something else.”

“Go on.”

“Last night, when I was driving to the hospital to try to talk to Liz Pocklington, I saw a man behaving strangely on the river bank. He was on the other side of the bridge from where Verity found the clothes. He definitely threw something into the water. I’d say that I saw the person who dumped them.”

“So you fink it’s a local crime? That the girls haven’t travelled anywhere, but are being ’eld somewhere round ’ere?”

“It’s possible, but I’m not convinced. Whoever dumped those clothes wanted someone to find them. Otherwise, why put them in the bag to keep them all together and why the polystyrene? They may be being held round here, but it’s just as possible they’re somewhere else altogether and the clothes are meant to put us off looking further away. There’s something else bothering me, too. Somehow the man looked familiar – there was something about him that made me think I’d seen him before, although it was too dark to make out much more than his shape. He was limping slightly. And his arm movement, when he threw whatever it was, was awkward, as if the arm had been injured.”

“Keep on finking about it. Do you want me to take the scarf to show Mrs Verma?”

“Thanks, but I’d better do it myself. She’s going to be very upset. And we ought to see Superintendent Thornton first. He won’t want to waste any time getting out a description of Margie Pocklington now.”