Jack and Sara did not talk on their way back to the station. Both of them were mulling over what they’d learned during the interviews, and Sara intuitively sensed that Jack did not want to talk.
Eventually Jack spoke. ‘I want you to see what you can find out about Karen . . . any relatives I can talk to. I think Anthony Middleton said something about being contacted by an aunt?’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not sure who Karen is?’
‘Middleton’s second wife, who died of a heroin overdose. She was Rodney’s stepmother.’
‘Oh, right, sorry.’
‘I’ll make out a report on today’s interviews, just so that our anally retentive DCI knows what we were doing and where . . . and I need to grab a bite to eat in the canteen.’
By the time they had parked and gone up to the CID office it was almost two o’clock. Jack decided to miss lunch in order to make out a report, and then go out to talk to Amanda Dunn.
There were a few messages on his desk from Clarke regarding other cases, which Jack had to deal with before he did anything else. Leon came over to his desk, carrying Jack’s laptop. ‘I just spoke to Sara. She said you were planning to visit Amanda Dunn at the hostel this afternoon. I called to make sure she was available and was told that she checked out before lunch.’
‘Shit . . . did she leave a forwarding address?’
‘No. Mrs Thornton said that they had no reason to hold her there and it was her decision to leave. She thought she might have gone to Liverpool to see her parents.’
‘Go back to Mrs Thornton, see if you can get a phone number for them. If not, call Mrs Delaney, the landlady at Middleton’s basement flat, to see if she’s turned up there.’
‘Yes, sarge. Also, I’ve had no luck in tracing anyone by the name of Sandra Raynor just on her age and description. I added a few years just in case, but can’t find any relevant births or deaths registered in that name. I also checked with the DVLA and there’s no licence in her name. I earmarked some women with that name in the London area, but they don’t fit the description. I’ve listed them here anyway.’
Leon handed Jack a single sheet of typed paper. He glanced down at it. Several were married with children and two were over sixty years old.
‘OK, these don’t fit so I think we can assume she was using a false name. I’ll take this back, but thanks anyway.’ Jack took his laptop and placed it on his desk.
‘Is this connected to the Rodney Middleton enquiry?’ Leon asked.
Jack briefly nodded just as Sara walked up. ‘Thought you might be hungry . . . and I’ve put extra sugars in your coffee. I noticed how many you heaped in your tea.’
‘Very observant of you, Sara, thank you.’
‘Do you want me to accompany you to talk to Amanda Dunn?’
‘I would if she were there, but she checked out of the hostel. Leon is trying to track her down.’
Jack waited until Sara had gone back to her desk before he took a bite of his ham sandwich.
He then unlocked his desk drawer and took out the small envelope, and the note. He removed one of his burner phones from his pocket and dialled the mobile number. It rang for at least a minute before it was answered.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that Sammy Taylor?’
‘Who is this?’
Jack took a quick look around the room and lowered his voice.
‘I’m Jack Warr. Simon Ridley gave me your contact number. I need to see you urgently.’
‘Do you? Did he give you anything else?’
‘Well, your address.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘Your name obviously. Are you Sammy?’
‘I could be.’
Jack suddenly remembered. ‘Badger.’
There was a short throaty laugh. ‘Can you make it in an hour?’
‘That might be a bit difficult.’
‘You said it was urgent, so make up your mind. I’m not available tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be there, thank you.’
Jack quickly stuffed the phone in his pocket. He put the old laptop in his briefcase, finished his sandwich, drained the coffee and then stood up with a loud yelp. Everyone looked over as he rubbed at his cheek.
‘I’ve just broken a crown . . . shit, that hurts.’
He gave a good performance, saying he was going to the emergency dental practice and asking Sara to give the details if anyone wanted to know where he was. Then he was out and running into the car park, carrying his briefcase.
Sara went over to Leon who was still trying to track down Amanda Dunn.
‘Funny . . . he was only eating a cheese and ham sandwich. Any update on Amanda?’
‘Not yet, that hostel lets the phone ring for bloody ages. And then when it does connect you get a shed-load of messages about their opening and closing times, and it still has all the checks you have to do for Covid. I’m trying to get Mrs Delaney on the line, but she never picks up.’
Sara rolled her eyes. Sometimes you could ask Leon a simple question and you got a lengthy diatribe, so she returned to her desk to continue the search for missing girls that might be connected to the Middleton case. Jack clearly thought Rodney could have committed arson, and then murder, which had unsettled her. She was intelligent enough to realise that Jack was holding something important back, and decided that when he returned from the dentist, she would ask him to explain.
Jack was held up in traffic, and Waze seemed to be taking him on a very circuitous route to NW3, but he eventually found himself on Platts Lane. 87B was a ground floor flat in a semi-detached, four-storey building. A sign with an arrow pointed to Flat B down a path beside the main front entrance. There was a slight slope, and there was a handrail along the entire length of the path.
Outside the brown-painted front door was an electric mobility scooter with a weatherproof cover partly draped over it, and a thick plastic covered chain and padlock. Jack noticed the CCTV cameras positioned around and above the entrance with a floodlight above the door. There was a spy hole at his level and one lower down, indicating not only a concern with security, but that the occupant could be physically challenged. Jack pressed a discreet doorbell and waited. He heard numerous locks being drawn back before the door opened.
He heard a voice say, ‘Come in, first door on your right.’
The door closed automatically behind him. He walked down a dark, rather narrow hallway to the first door on the right. It was partly open.
‘Hello, it’s Jack Warr,’ he said.
The room was dimly lit, the blinds on the window drawn. Sitting in a wing-backed chair with a footrest up, was a figure wearing a padded red velvet dressing gown with satin cuffs and collar. Beneath a bouffant blonde wig he was made up like a drag queen.
‘I’m Sammy. Excuse the costume but I do a podcast a couple of days a week . . . a bit unsure about the wig, though. As you can see, I have quite a collection.’
She gestured with long red false nails to an array of wigs on stands, next to a rack of sequinned gowns and feather boas. There was also a mirror with light bulbs surrounding the frame above a small table with pots of makeup. Jack couldn’t help being taken aback, wondering if this was really the contact Ridley thought could help him in his present predicament.
‘So, Jack is it, darling? You said it was urgent . . . so talk to me.’
‘I’m not sure where to begin . . .’ Jack faltered.
‘Listen, dear, if you were sent to me by the only person in this world I would lie down and die for, just talk to me, and don’t leave anything out.’
With difficulty, Sammy drew the footrest closer to the chair by a button, then slowly got to his feet. He shuffled to the chair in front of the mirror, grimacing in pain when he sat down. He placed paper tissues around his satin collar before opening a large pot of cleansing cream.
Jack did his best to explain everything as Sammy removed his false eyelashes and then spread the cream over his face before wiping off the thick makeup.
By the time he had dabbed his face with cologne, it was clear he had a slight six o’clock shadow. The last thing he removed was the wig, holding it up in one hand to inspect the weave before placing it onto the wood-based dummy head.
Jack kept going, as Sammy revealed his almost completely shaved head. The velvet dressing gown was removed and beneath it was a collarless man’s shirt and grey tracksuit trousers.
‘. . . and I can’t use the station’s computers because, as I said, the Essex team’s investigation will pick up on anyone trying to get information and trace it,’ Jack was saying.
‘Yes, dear, I picked that up. I think we need a bit more information about dating agency, RP . . . so I’d like you to make me a nice cup of tea, with a Blue Riband biscuit, whilst I have a little troll around for you.’
Sammy picked up a walking frame, and instructed Jack to follow, pointing out the kitchen at the far end of the hall. The door next to the kitchen had a coded entry and Sammy pressed various buttons before it opened inwards.
Jack stood in the small but well-equipped kitchen as he filled an electric kettle. He couldn’t quite believe he was searching for teabags in this person’s kitchen; having recounted the entire Ridley situation, it felt as if he had walked into some sort of weird dream. He doubted anyone would believe him; even Maggie would find it hard to accept that he was making tea in a transvestite’s flat, not knowing a thing about who they were.
Having found a tray, Jack arranged two mugs of tea, a sugar bowl and a chocolate biscuit that he found in the fridge when he got the milk. He carried the tray out into the hall, and gently tapped on the door with the toe of his shoe. When it opened, he almost dropped the tray.
The room was like some kind of high-tech security bubble. There were banks of screens scrolling out data at a blinding rate. Printing machines lined one wall, and the desk – which had to have been specially made – ran the entire length of the room.
There were three keyboards, with the keys lit up in red, green and orange.
Sammy was sitting in a large office chair which had big, rubber-rimmed wheels. There was a wide strip of plastic over the fitted carpet to make it easy to scoot along the length of desk.
Jack placed the tray down, taking a deep breath.
‘Two sugars for me, dear, then go and sit in my dressing room and wait.’
‘But . . .’
‘No buts, dear . . . the less you see and know, the better. I have to work fast to avoid any detection or connection . . . in out, in out, shake it all about.’
Jack left one mug of tea and the biscuit with Sammy, taking the tray and his own mug back into the kitchen. He finished his tea and washed his mug, placing it on the draining board, shaken from what he had just seen – because in the few seconds he’d been looking at one of the screens, he knew Sammy was using the Holmes database. Feeling the ground unsteady beneath his feet, he walked back to the dressing room, where Sammy had first greeted him.
Not knowing what else to do, he had a look through all the glamorous evening gowns, the numerous pairs of gold and silver strappy high heels and the dazzling array of different-styled wigs. He physically jumped when a cat slithered into the room. It was some kind of Persian, with huge blue-grey eyes, long silky fur and a bushy tail. The cat kept its distance as it weaved in and out of the sequinned gowns before jumping onto the big armchair. It had a tiny gold bell hanging from a black ribbon round its neck.
Jack hesitated before he tentatively approached the cat, sitting comfortably in the centre of the chair. He reached out to stroke it, pulling his hand away as it snarled and clawed at him. He stepped back quickly and knocked over one of the wig stands.
As he put the wig back on the stand, and the cat glowered at him, he muttered to himself, ‘What the hell am I doing here?’
*
Leon Elba was once more calling Mrs Thornton at the hostel. He had been put on hold yet again and looked over to Sara with a pained expression.
‘I get through and I’m told that someone will try and find her. How hard can it be? I’ve been on hold for five minutes.’
‘Probably teatime?’ Sara said, pulling out her chair and opening her laptop. ‘I’m not having much luck tracing any relatives of Karen Middleton, either. I’m hoping to get something from a rehab clinic.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘Rodney Middleton’s stepmother, deceased, but Jack wants to find anyone who knew the family.’
‘It’s Jack now, is it?’ he said with a grin.
‘Oh shut up!’
‘Well, I didn’t have any luck tracing Sandra Raynor . . .’
Sara frowned. ‘Who’s she? I’ve not heard her name before’
‘I have no idea, just that she’s connected to the enquiry. But it’s as though she doesn’t exist.’ Just then the phone was answered. ‘Mrs Thornton? This is DC Leon Elba. I called earlier to enquire about Amanda Dunn. You mentioned that she’d left the hostel . . . yes . . . yes . . .’
Sara turned back to her desk and dialled the rehab centre.
While Mrs Thornton went to find the contact details for Amanda’s parents, Sara was put through to two different departments. She remained calm and polite, saying she understood Karen Middleton’s stay at the clinic had been some years ago . . . and was transferred yet again.
‘I hope Jack is alright,’ she said to herself. ‘He’s been gone a long time. God, I hate dentists.’
*
Jack was just about to call it quits when Sammy walked in, using a walking frame.
‘Right, my dear, got a few things for you. I see we’ve been favoured with Edie’s presence. Very good pedigree but a very nasty temperament.’
‘I gathered that,’ Jack said.
Sammy swiped at the armchair with the walking frame and Edie leapt off and ran out. As he sat down in the big chair, Jack took the walking frame, placing it to one side.
‘Right, here we go, dear. Your dating agency. They’ve been operating for five years. It’s jointly owned by Selina Da Costa and Eva Shay. Mrs Da Costa is fifty-five years old, previously married to a wealthy estate agent who agreed to a substantial divorce settlement. She has one son, aged thirty-two, living in California. Eva Shay is sixty and is quite a different kind of woman . . . married and divorced three times but reverted to her maiden name when she started the dating agency.’
Sammy gave Jack a coy look, as he continued.
‘I have naughty access to the Police National Computer and found one criminal report, dating back twelve years. She was sentenced to four years in Holloway for fraud, under her first married name of Eva Barras. She was released after two years. Her husband was an Italian importer and as far as I can tell he returned to live in Brazil. Ms Shay qualified as an accountant after being released from Holloway, although I haven’t been able to trace any of the companies she said she’s worked for. I only went through all the legitimate avenues, you see.’
‘What exactly do you mean by the legitimate avenues?’ Jack asked.
‘Well, most things are easily accessible from the Holmes database, and RP have quite a presence on the internet. However, to gain more details about their company I would need to . . .’
Jack was already shocked that Sammy had been able to use the database never mind access the PNC, the Police National Computer. ‘Need to what?’
‘Well, go a slightly more irregular route.’
‘By irregular, do you mean illegal?’
Sammy smiled. ‘Yes, it would mean hacking their computers and gaining access to their clients’ details.’
‘Can you do that without it being traced back here to you?’
‘Oh, yes. You know, dear, lots of students go into one of those internet cafes and pay for a period of time, then disconnect. I used to do it at my local library – not for anything illegal, mind you – but now I’m all set up here. It’ll take a bit of time which I don’t have right now.’
Jack rubbed his temples nervously. ‘You do understand how crucial it is that this remains just between us? Anything you find, contact me directly or I can come back.’
Sammy frowned. ‘Who do you think I would impart any of this to, dear? You’re making me a tad pissed off. I don’t allow anyone into my inner sanctum. You’re very privileged. I’m not doing this for you, anyway. Sometimes one gets to repay a favour one owes big time.’
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything about you, or how much risk you’re taking, if anything is traced back to you.’
‘Trust me, dear, it can’t. Like I said, I’m doing this to repay a favour, and the situation is not as simple as perhaps you have been led to believe. The outcome will eventually provide the answers. Now run along, I’m tired.’
Jack made an apologetic exit, still confused and still with no further insight into Sammy Taylor. Heading up the path to the gate, he looked back down to where the electric mobility scooter was parked. He glanced upwards and could see an array of satellite dishes, and the further he walked the more he counted, high up on the roof of the house.
‘Ridley, what have you got me into?’ he said, shaking his head.
*
It was coming up to six by the time Jack arrived back at the station. Sara greeted him with a sympathetic expression.
‘How are you? Was it agony?’
‘Erm, no . . . not as bad as I thought.’
‘Break a crown, did you?’
‘Yep, one at the back. All fixed now, though.’
She shook her head. ‘You look really awful. I broke a tooth once. It was excruciating.’
Leon walked up.
‘Did you have to have it replaced?’
Jack winced. ‘No, but they kept me waiting . . . it’s hard to get an appointment these days.’
‘But it was an emergency!’ Sara said.
‘For Christ’s sake, it’s all fixed!’ he burst out. He took a breath and spoke in a quieter tone. ‘What’s the update here?’
Leon went first. ‘Sarge, Mrs Thornton from the hostel gave me Amanda’s parents’ phone number. I spoke to her mother. She told me Amanda wasn’t there and they weren’t expecting her home. I then called Mrs Delaney and she was certain that no one had returned to the basement flat.’
‘OK, thanks. Let’s try again on Monday . . . it’s very important we find her. What about you, Sara?’
‘Karen Middleton had one regular visitor when she was at the rehab centre, her husband’s sister, Joyce Miller. Like I say, she was a regular visitor, but they said she was wheelchair-bound and eventually became too ill to –’
‘Where does she live?’ Jack asked impatiently.
‘Surbiton. I have her phone number but couldn’t get through. I reported it and was told there was a fault on the line and had been for some time.’
Jack sighed. ‘Let’s go and interview her now, then. And I’d like you to come along.’
Sara went to collect her briefcase and mobile phone and hurried to catch Jack, who had already left the incident room.
He was sitting in his car with the engine running. Sara climbed in beside him and gave him the address to enter into the satnav.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive?’
Jack was fiddling with the directions, ignoring her.
‘I mean, did they give you Procaine?’
‘Sara, I’m fine,’ he said firmly, hoping to put an end to the conversation.
Sara pursed her lips and remained silent as they drove to the large housing estate in Surbiton. When the satnav said they had arrived at their destination, she curtly pointed out that the flat numbers were on the side of the building, and they were on the wrong side for flat 324.
Jack did a U-turn and followed the narrow lane round the huge estate to the other side. He was able to park almost in front of the relevant block. Glass double doors led into a reception area and number 324 was conveniently located just inside.
‘Now we’ve got here, she’s probably not at home,’ Jack said moodily.
Sara rang the bell, waited a minute, then rang it again. They stood side by side, listening.
‘The lights are on,’ Sara said quietly.
Jack leant forwards and pressed the bell again, keeping his finger on it until the main front door to the building opened. A small, wizened man with a black beret walked in carrying a large box of groceries.
‘She can’t get to the door, you know. Are you from Social Services?’
Jack showed his ID and introduced himself and Sara. The small man balanced the box on his knee and took out a set of keys to open the flat door.
‘I’m her husband. My name’s Harold. What are you here for?’
Jack explained that he wanted to talk to Joyce about her nephew. Harold shrugged and Jack quickly took the groceries from his knee as he looked as if he was about to drop them. The door opened and Harold ushered them inside.
‘I’ll go and see if she can talk to you, but she’s not been up for much recently. At weekends the carers only come in twice, to get her dressed and put her to bed, so, I’m at her beck and call.’
They stood in the hallway, which had a hideously garish orange floral carpet. There was no furniture, and Harold took off his coat and beret and hung them on a single hook on the back of the front door.
‘Do you need us to wear masks?’ Sara asked.
‘No, don’t bother. We both had all the vacs,’ Harold said.
‘Go straight ahead into the kitchen while I go and check on her.’
They made their way into a large, tiled kitchen, with a bright lino floor and numerous new-looking appliances. Jack put the box of groceries down on a small table with a plastic tablecloth and two matching chairs. They could hear muffled voices. Sara began to unload the groceries from the box. There was lettuce, tomatoes, bags of different vegetables, a sliced seeded loaf, and a sealed bag containing fresh salmon.
‘They certainly eat very healthily.’ She placed everything out on the table, not knowing where to store everything.
Jack moved closer to the door and could hear Harold saying that she ‘should sit up’. There was a soft moaning sound before Harold came out of the bedroom. He was sweating.
‘Sorry, I had to use the hydraulics to get the bed moving for her to sit up. It’s a new machine and cost a fortune, but it can be problematic. Give her ten minutes to settle herself, then you can go in.’
‘I’m sorry for any inconvenience,’ Jack said. ‘We tried to call, but your phone’s out of order.’
‘Tell me about it. We’ve had one problem after another ever since we got an extension put into the bedroom. BT have been back and forth trying to fix it. Now, can I get you a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you.’
Harold noticed the groceries laid out on the table and thanked Sara. He began putting them into the large fridge.
‘Did you order my dinner?’ a loud voice called out.
Harold sighed and went to the kitchen door. ‘Yes, I did, they’re delivering in about half an hour. Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘No, I don’t. They can come in now.’
Jack and Sara walked past Harold and into the bedroom. As soon as they saw her, they struggled to hide their reactions. Joyce was enormous, swathed in a satin kimono that ballooned around her vast bulk. She was propped up against the padded headboard of a huge bed that took up most of the space in the room. There were various levers and wires attached to it, and the mattress was about four feet off the ground. Positioned next to the bed was a table on wheels, as well as a cabinet on wheels holding an array of pills, medicines, and cosmetics, along with a makeup mirror. The wall opposite Joyce had numerous framed photographs on it, and a very impressive flat screen TV. There was a DVD player and stacks of DVDs on a small bookstand underneath it.
‘Good afternoon, Joyce,’ said Jack. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Jack Warr and this is DC Sara Norton.’
‘I hope he gave you a cup of tea. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. You wasn’t expected and I always have to have time to get this contraption working. It helps me sit up, and it can also get me onto my feet, but to be honest it’s too painful. Did he tell you I’ve not left this room for over two years?’
‘I am very sorry to hear that. Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.’
‘You’re a nice-looking young man!’ she said, giving him a coy smile.
Joyce had so many chins that her features seemed to be tiny compared with the size of her head. Her arms were enormous rolls of fat hung from her shoulders, with tiny little hands and painted fingernails. Jack guessed she must have weighed at least thirty stone. There was nowhere for either of them to sit, so they just stood beside the gigantic bed.
‘We just want to ask a few questions about your nephew, Rodney.’
‘How did you find me?’ she asked, patting her chest.
‘Sara contacted the rehab centre where your sister-in-law, Karen, stayed. They kindly gave us your address.’
‘Which one? She went to so many, and none of them did her any good. She’d go in and clean herself up, then come out and go straight back on the drugs. Tragic, she was, absolutely tragic . . . but I got so bad I just couldn’t get in to see her. Anyway, she topped herself in the end . . . everyone expected it. She never recovered after her girls died . . . it broke her and broke my heart too. Those little girls were adorable, that’s them behind you on the wall . . . first thing I see in the morning . . . and the last thing at night.’
Jack turned to look at the framed photographs of the two pretty girls, at various ages from toddler to around the age they were when they died.
‘I have a young daughter, so I can understand how terrible it must have been,’ Jack said.
‘It was terrible. They used to come for weekends with me sometimes, and I took them to the park. I had an electric wheelchair then and they would sit on my knee and have such a laugh. They were cheeky little devils as well, just like any youngster, and Karen spoiled them. They both had iPads and would be on them whenever they could, playing games; the beeping and pinging used to drive Harold mad. Did he not give you a cup of tea?’
‘He offered, but we declined. Thank you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Joyce, but I just need to ask you about Rodney.’
Joyce’s body shuddered as she shook her head.
‘He had it hard, with his mother walking out on him. My brother never married his mum. She was from Ghana and was a really rough woman. I always thought she got herself pregnant just to move in with Anthony, but nobody could ever tell him what to do. I think Rodney got a lot of racial abuse at school. He also got it from Anthony as he was such a trouble-maker.’
Sara interrupted, asking if she could use the bathroom.
‘It’s the big wide door in the hallway, dear. Had it widened so I could get my wheelchair through, but I can’t use that anymore.’
Sara left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
‘What was his relationship with Karen like?’
‘Whose?’
‘Your brother.’
‘Oh, he worshipped her. She was a looker, and a lovely girl as well. She was only sixteen and they got married when she had her first baby girl, then it started to get too much for her and she started using. I looked after the baby here, but then she got herself back together. I think she had that depression you get after having a baby. Then she goes and has another one, and it was much worse the next time, but I couldn’t have them both here as my health wasn’t good. I only had them over when they got a bit bigger.’
Joyce shifted her bulk and winced with the pain.
‘I don’t use the toilet in there no more. My carers have a commode for me. It’s a sad life, isn’t it? They are such good women, having to wash me privates. I get very painful sores in the creases, and bedsores as well. They have very good ointments for it all. Then there’s a girl who comes in to wash and dry my hair, and gives me a manicure, and . . .’
Jack interrupted. ‘How did Rodney react to the girls?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, he was that much older.’
‘He was very good with them, especially when Karen was having her bad times, but she never liked having him at home. I think it was very difficult, him not being her own child. And Anthony was handy with his fists when things blew up. Rodney was getting into trouble and my brother didn’t like having the coppers turning up. Could you give me some water? There’s a plastic beaker on the table, and I need a straw.’
Jack passed her the green plastic mug, along with a thick straw to insert in the lid.
‘Thank you, dear.’ Joyce took several sips before holding it up for him to take it back. He replaced it on the table just as Sara returned and came to stand beside him again.
‘Was your brother abusive to Rodney?’
‘I don’t want to speak bad of him. He was doing his best, working a few jobs at once and with Karen having trouble with drugs. I know he did knock Rodney around. There had been a big row and I think Karen told Rodney he had to leave, then my brother got involved and it was him that put his foot down and told him he had to go and not come back.’
‘Would you have taken him in?’ Jack asked.
‘No, he couldn’t come here; Harold wouldn’t allow it.’
‘The night of the fire, Rodney was babysitting the girls, wasn’t he?’
Joyce nodded. For the first time she appeared to be uneasy, fiddling with her painted fingernails.
‘Your brother accused Rodney of having something to do with it.’
‘Bad things were said. It was all down to grief; nothing was ever proved and my brother, like poor Karen, never really recovered. He got into bad stuff, and now he’s banged up again, but what could I do?’
‘Has Rodney tried to contact you?’
‘No, he’s a loner. I read he got arrested again. What happened the night of the fire ruined everyone’s lives.’ She paused. ‘I’m feeling very tired now, and I need to have my dinner. I hope what I’ve said is helpful, but can you go now please?’
Jack had no legitimate reason to continue questioning her, and just then the doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be my dinner,’ she said. ‘It was nice meeting you.’
Jack and Sara made their way out as Harold was taking pizza boxes and other takeaway cartons from the delivery boy. He almost dropped one box as he fished in his pocket to pay for it all. Jack helped him with the pizza boxes and carried them back into the kitchen, with Sara following.
Harold hurried in to take out the warm plates from the oven.
‘I bet she never said a bad word about that brother of hers, but he’s a no-good thug. She thinks the sun shines out of his mean arse. She wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say about him – that poor girl Karen was sometimes black and blue, just like Rodney. And that poor lad didn’t stand a chance, trying to protect those girls. I told her that something bad was happening in their house. I would have called Social Services on him because those two little ones weren’t right. They had bruises on them, and sometimes they were filthy. But Joyce would get into a frenzy if I interfered.’
A bell rang and he pursed his lips. ‘I’ve said too much. It’s all over now anyway. But if it had carried on, I would have had to do something.’
Jack watched as Harold heaped a hamburger and chips onto one plate, then put garlic bread and a huge pizza onto a second plate. He took some tomato ketchup from the fridge and a large bottle of Coke, placing them all onto a tray with cutlery and a paper napkin.
Jack moved closer to him and spoke quietly. ‘Harold, did you think the children were being sexually abused?’
Harold could not look him in the face, turning away as he fussed with salt and pepper shakers.
‘I’ve spoken out of turn. You can show yourselves out. I need to give Joyce her dinner as it’s past her usual time, and she won’t like it if it gets cold.’
Sara held the door open as Harold carried the tray through, almost bow-legged from the weight of the food. She then opened the bedroom door for him.
As they closed the front door behind them, they heard Harold’s voice.
‘I have everything you ordered, Joyce dearest.’
*
Jack started the car as Sara pulled on her safety belt.
‘Was all that food really for her?’ she asked.
Jack shrugged. ‘There was only one knife and fork. I think Harold eats the healthy food, poor sod. What a life, with that beached whale of a wife.’
‘When I passed his room earlier, he was sitting in what I presume was his bedroom,’ Sara said. ‘It had a single bed and a desk with a computer and a laptop. He was eating a salad. I said I was on my way to the bathroom and he told me he was working on all the documentation to get the carers in for his wife, complaining that it was a full-time job sorting out the benefits she was entitled to. He had to give up work due to a back injury, apparently.’
‘No doubt from shifting his wife around,’ Jack said.
‘Why do you think she protects her brother?’ Sara asked.
‘Shame, guilt, who knows. But somebody certainly takes care of her very well. The house is spick and span, gets her nails and hair done every week, and all those carers . . . She didn’t provide much insight into Rodney, though. Harold gave us more just as we were leaving.’
Jack dropped Sara off at a Tube station as he was eager to get home. He offered to drive her, but she declined. He was relieved as he sometimes found her rather irritating, but more importantly, after the day’s interviews, he had a lot to think about.