Rather to Be Pitied

by Jan Newton

  The neighbours to the front and back of the house tried their best to be helpful. They gave her as many details as they could. It soon became obvious that Quigley wasn’t exactly a model neighbour, and they were appreciating the opportunity to make sure Julie knew just how awful he was. Every one of them was far less scathing though, when it came to Rosa. She was under his influence, they said. He treated her like a slave. The poor girl was terrified of him.

  Nobody had any idea what Quigley did for a living or where he got his money from. Suggestions ranged from benefit scrounger to drug dealer and worse, but there was nothing that amounted to hard evidence. There was nothing concrete at all. Even so, Quigley now had to be the prime suspect in Sean’s disappearance.

  Finally, Julie returned to Quigley’s semi, chose the right hand front door this time and let the brass knocker drop hard. A deep voice from behind her made her jump.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Julie turned. The man was maybe late thirties and slim, immaculate in a charcoal suit, white shirt and purple tie. He carried a black leather pilot’s bag, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked as though he’d forgotten how to sleep.

  ‘I wonder if I could have a private word with you?’ Julie flashed her warrant card. ‘Sergeant Kite.’

  ‘And might I ask what this is about?’

  ‘Would you mind if we went indoors?’

  The man gave her a long and weary stare. ‘Come on in.’ He bent down to pick up the post, threw it and his keys onto a shelf by the door, dumped his bag and loosened his tie. ‘This is the perfect end to a perfect week. Now, what can I help you with, Sergeant?’

  ‘I just wanted to ask you about the woman who lives next door.’

  ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘She’s not done anything. What would you imagine she’d have done?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Could I just have your name for my notes?’

  The man sighed. ‘John Slaithwaite. I’m a solicitor. Put my reaction down to me having a suspicious mind.’

  ‘That goes with the territory, I think. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. What can you tell me about her?’

  ‘I think, Sergeant Kite, that I need a rather large whisky. Can I get you one?’

  ‘Much as I’m tempted, I need to drive back to mid Wales.’

  ‘That’s not an easy one from here.’

  ‘It’s not an easy one from anywhere, to be honest.’

  John Slaithwaite poured himself a large Glen Garioch and sank into a chair. ‘I knew this would happen. Originally I was sure she’d come back, but then when she’d been gone for over a week, I realised something must have happened to her.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  Slaithwaite considered his words. ‘It wasn’t a happy household next door. There was a time when Rosa and my wife were great friends, but Quigley was very controlling. He didn’t like her to even talk over the fence with Lizzie.’

  ‘Lizzie’s your wife?’

  A shrug and a slug of whisky. ‘On paper we’re still man and wife.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very definite, Mr Slaithwaite, could you elaborate at all?’

  ‘She left me.’ He drained his glass and got up for a refill. ‘Last autumn. I came home from work one sunny Thursday afternoon and she’d gone. Left a note telling me not to worry, that it was for the best and she’d be in touch when she could.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen her since?’

  Slaithwaite shook his head. ‘Not even a text or a phone call.’

  ‘Did you report it to the local police?’

  ‘She said it would be better if I didn’t try to find her. If somebody says that to you, then you don’t rush off and tell the police, do you?’

  ‘And you had no idea that she was planning to go?’

  ‘None at all.’

  Julie nodded slowly. ‘That must be difficult for you.’

  ‘I just wish I knew what I’d done. I miss her so much.’ Slaithwaite sat down again. ‘I don’t suppose you can help me find her?’

  ‘You’d have to get in touch with Lancashire Constabulary. As the case started here, it would be better to make contact with them first. I’m here because I need to gather some background information on Rosa, who is very much within our jurisdiction.’

  ‘What’s she done?’

  ‘We found a body on moorland in Powys. We believe it is Rosa, but it has still to be confirmed. I was given the house next door as her address.’

  ‘Dear God.’ Slaithwaite put the glass down on the coffee table with a shaking hand. ‘She wasn’t exactly your average girl next door, but she wasn’t really a bad kid.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘You don’t think there’s any connection with Lizzie, do you?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I don’t know. They had nothing in common, apart from Sean, Rosa’s little boy. Lizzie would look after him when things got heated next door.’ He stood up and walked to the window. ‘They went to the park a couple of times a week, Lizzie took charge of the pushchair and she looked as though she had two kids.’ He smiled. ‘There’s only about eight or nine years between them, Lizzie and Rosa, but you’d have thought Rosa was Sean’s teenage sister if you saw them together.’

  ‘Did Rosa and Lizzie disappear at the same time?’

  ‘No. Lizzie left in the autumn. October. Rosa was definitely still in the house until probably two or three weeks ago. The last time I saw both her and Quigley together was on New Year’s Eve. He was off his face and Rosa looked straight through me.’ He turned back to her then, realising the additional, unspoken question. ‘You have got to be joking, Sergeant. You can’t think there’s a link between Lizzie leaving and what may have happened to Rosa.’

  ‘I’m just exploring possibilities, Mr Slaithwaite, you know how it goes.’

  ‘My Lizzie is the kindest, sweetest person on the face of the planet. She wouldn’t do anything to harm anyone. Just the opposite, in fact.’ He smiled to himself. ‘Which is probably just as well, given that she’s extremely fond of the martial arts.’

  Julie’s eyebrows disappeared into her fringe. That was unexpected. ‘So she can take care of herself?’Slaithwaite pondered for a moment before shaking his head. He frowned. ‘She’s very strong physically, but she can be quite fragile.’

  ‘Fragile?’

  Slaithwaite frowned again and looked more than a little uncomfortable. ‘She had a little bout of depression,’ he offered, grudgingly.

  ‘Have Lizzie’s parents heard from her since she left?’ Julie’s stare was as expressionless as she could manage. Slaithwaite shook his head.

  ‘There’s nobody left, now. She only had her mother, and to be honest, they didn’t really get on. She died well over a year ago, but there wasn’t much love lost between the two of them.’

  ‘What about friends?’

  ‘She hasn’t got any really close friends, apart from Rosa. I asked a couple of people who worked for her in the shop, but nobody knows where she is. They’ve been brilliant. They kept the shop going for her, but they phoned just after the New Year and said they were struggling to drum up business and could they take on someone to replace her, to do the marketing.’ Slaithwaite gazed past Julie, out of the window. ‘I should have said yes. Then at least Lizzie would have something to come back to.’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘It closed in March. One of the girls got a job somewhere else and then it wasn’t really viable to keep it open any longer.’

  ‘Have you still got the shop?’

  ‘It’s all in Lizzie’s name and I can’t do anything with it. It’s just standing empty.’

  ‘And what about the boy, Sean. When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’m not what you’d call the neighbourly type.’ Slaithwaite frowned. ‘He wasn’t with them when I saw them both on New Year’s Eve, thank God, but I didn’t see him very often to be honest. I usually work ridiculously long hours.’ Slaithwaite gave her a
rueful smile. ‘I’m sure you know all about that, Sergeant.’ He shrugged. ‘I can only assume Rosa finally came to her senses and got the child away out of Quigley’s grasp.’

  ‘And Quigley, is he still here?’

  ‘Most of the time, unfortunately, but to be honest, I’ve not seen him for a week or so either.’

  Julie stood up and held out her hand. ‘I’m sorry about Lizzie, Mr Slaithwaite. I’m sure my colleagues from Lancashire Constabulary would do all they could, if you ever changed your mind about wanting to formally report her missing.’ Slaithwaite opened and closed his mouth, before giving her a curt nod. ‘If you can remember any more about next door, any of them, will you phone me?’ She handed Slaithwaite her card, which he took and studied carefully.

  ‘I will, Sergeant. And I’m sorry to be so…’

  ‘I can understand why I’m not exactly the person you’d want to see on your doorstep.’ Julie smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you have a business card I could have?’

  Slaithwaite walked out into the hall and rummaged in his briefcase. He passed a card to Julie.

  ‘Could I just ask you, Mr Slaithwaite, do you remember talking to a man, this man, about Rosa, maybe six months ago?’ She held up Mick’s drawing of Ardal. John Slaithwaite nodded.

  ‘He was concerned about Sean. You don’t think he’s involved in what happened to Rosa?’

  ‘What did you make of him?’

  Slaithwaite shrugged. ‘He seemed sound enough. Said he was Rosa’s brother, although he called her by another name. Karen maybe, or Cara?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Slaithwaite, you’ve been incredibly helpful.’

  The door closed behind her. Julie glanced at her watch and walked slowly back to her car. She had dallied long enough. It was time to head for home.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Day Five

  The Friday night motorway traffic was horrendous – nose to tail for miles – and Julie was relieved to get back to the single carriageway A-road which led her into Wales. She grinned to herself. She was turning into a bumpkin. The further south she drove, the more the traffic petered out. She phoned Swift and gave him the bare details of what she’d discovered. He seemed happy enough and it relieved the boredom for a few minutes. It didn’t feel like driving when all you had to do was point your car between the white lines and the grass verge.

  By the time she was south of Welshpool it was as though she had gone back in time to one of those old tinted photographs that Adam loved so much, of Morris Minors and Wolseleys and barely any traffic on the roads. Maybe that was what made mid Wales different. What was that quote Adam liked? The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there. He used it to explain his love of history, not just a series of hard facts, but how it had actually felt to live in those days. Julie thought it would apply just as well to mid Wales, definitely a foreign country, different and clinging on to decent values her mum and dad would recognise from their childhoods.

  Julie frowned. She should have been there when they were burgled. They were too far away for her to be able to dash back to see how they were doing. What would happen if it were a matter of life and death? What if one of them had an accident or a heart attack and she got there too late? She shook her head. ‘Come on, Jules, switch off that over-active imagination.’ It went with the job, imagining, thinking about what people could do to each other and then some. Her phone rang and she glanced at the screen. It was Helen.

  ‘Hiya, how are things in the back of beyond?’

  ‘I’ve just been up there in the shitty city.’

  ‘Woo you’ve changed your tune. Why didn’t you say? We could have met for lunch or something.’

  ‘It was a flying visit, sorry. Mum and Dad had their house burgled and I had to go and make sure they were OK.’

  ‘Oh God, Jules, I’m so sorry. Are they OK, was much taken?’

  ‘They’re fine. There wasn’t a huge amount taken, but Dad ended up with a million stitches in his arm. He tackled the little sod and was clobbered with a picture frame.’

  ‘That’s awful. And you’re worrying now about them being up here and you being down there.’

  ‘You know me too well. It’s nearly three and a half hours door to door.’

  ‘Ah, the joys of being an only child, eh, Julie? But they do have a pretty good police force up here you know.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘How are things in Wales then? Have you found out what happened to your body on the moors?’

  ‘I wish. But we have found out it was a woman, which was a bit moot for a while.’

  Helen snorted with laughter. ‘Not very up to date with pathology techniques over there then?’

  ‘Actually, our Dr Greenhalgh has a mind like a steel trap. You’d like her. But the poor lass was so emaciated, she looked like a young lad.’

  ‘Dear God. Was she anorexic, poor bugger?’

  ‘No, we don’t think so. She did do drugs, which can’t have helped on the nutritional front, but they think it was coeliac disease that caused most of it.’

  ‘I had no idea it could do that.’

  ‘Well you’re not likely to be an undiagnosed case, are you? Adam was asking what you were eating for breakfast these days.’

  ‘Cheeky mare. I’ll have you know I had porridge and fruit this morning.’

  It was Julie’s turn to laugh. ‘So that was all he had in the cupboard, was it?’

  Helen was uncharacteristically silent, for a second or two. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Actually it was.’

  ‘No way. Go on then, tell me all about him. Who is he, where does he live, what does he do, is it serious? Does he really eat porridge for breakfast?’

  ‘Steady, I can tell you’ve not had much excitement lately. His name is Damian Cartwright. He lives in Didsbury, he’s an architect, I hope to God it’s serious and yes, the huge downside is that he’s a healthy eater.’

  ‘What are the chances of that, both of us being lumbered with lentil addicts?’

  ‘Adam’s getting worse then?’

  ‘He is. How old is your Damian? Is he from Manchester?’

  ‘He’s forty, and yes, he’s a Manc.’

  ‘I’m going to have to meet him. Give him the once over.’

  ‘You can stay right away from him, Sergeant Kite. I know all about your interrogation techniques. I’m doing the ignorance is bliss thing and not asking too many questions.’

  ‘Helen Cartwright. It’s got a very distinguished ring to it. You could hyphenate it, too, Mitchell-Cartwright sounds very Alderley Edge. You’d better get down to Boodles in the morning, lady and earmark a diamond.’

  ‘I’m not counting chickens, not with my track record. Speaking of which, how’s that husband of yours?’

  ‘You are hilarious. He’s decided he’s vegan.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake. He’s pushing his luck. I thought he was on his best behaviour.’

  ‘He is, but not because we had to move away from the temptation of the umpteenth other woman. This time, it’s only a would-be other woman, or rather a not convinced it’s over but goes back a while other woman.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Jules. Are you sure?

  ‘Am I sure of what?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s just a would-be and not an actual, still ongoing type of scenario?’

  ‘Am I sure? That’s a leading question. He says nothing ever happened between them and that he’s the innocent victim. She’s still in Manchester, a supply teacher at his old school, one Tiffany bloody Sanderson. He says she’s stalking him by phone.’

  Helen made a sound between a snort and the trumpeting of a small elephant as she tried to contain herself. ‘Who’s doing the stalking?’ she managed, at last.

  ‘Do I get the feeling you don’t rate the explanation?’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I think so. He’s very plausible.’ Julie waited for Helen to answer. She didn’t. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yep, I’m here. So what’s she
been doing?’

  ‘Phoning his mobile, sending texts. And someone slashed his bike tyres.’

  ‘She’s not going to traipse all the way from Manchester to Llanwotsit just to have a go at his bike tyres, surely?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been obsessed with anyone.’

  ‘Do you think she is, really?’

  ‘He got a blank piece of paper through the post in a jiffy bag, addressed to where he works.’

  ‘You can’t know that was her then?’

  ‘But what if…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘This burglary at Mum and Dad’s. Dad said he thought it was a bloke, but what if that was her too?’