That was the day before she had been killed, Annie realised. ‘Did you talk about anything in particular?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know where she’d been, where she stayed when she wasn’t here?’
‘No. There was a mate called Jade. They hung out a lot together.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’
‘But no one she talked about?’
‘No.’
‘How long had things been like this?’
‘About six months.’
‘And you weren’t worried?’
‘Of course I was. I’d been there, myself. Teenage girls are secretive. You must remember that yourselves? But I knew there was no point goading her or nagging her. If there was something bothering her, she’d tell me when she was good and ready.’
‘Did she seem worried or upset by anything?’
‘No, she was as cheeky as ever.’
‘What were you doing on Tuesday evening?’
‘Me. You don’t think—’
‘We need to know where everybody was,’ Annie said.
‘We were here, all of us. Just a normal evening in.’
‘All of you being you, Lenny, Johnny and Albert?’
‘Not Albert.’
‘Where was he?’
‘You’ll have to ask him. Probably in the pub with his mates. Paul and the others. But he wouldn’t hurt Mimosa.’
‘We’re not saying he did, Sinead. We just need to know these things. Didn’t he come home that night?’
‘He rarely comes home. So rarely you could hardly call it his home.’
‘Where does he stay? Girlfriend?’
‘He may have one, but he’s more one for the lads, is Albert. I don’t mean he’s gay or anything. Heaven forbid. He just likes his ale and a bit of pushing and shoving, you know, like lads are. He often stays at Paul’s. That’s Paul Warner. They more or less share a flat on the edge of the estate.’
‘Would you say that you and Mimsy were close?’ Annie began.
‘Mimosa. I always called her Mimosa. Everyone else called her Mimsy, but I called her Mimosa. Some people thought it was a silly name, but I’ve always thought it’s beautiful.’
‘Sorry. Mimosa. Would you say you were close?’
‘I always liked to think so, but not recently, no. Not especially. Maybe when she was little, but times have been hard over the past few years, since she’s been more grown up. Things happened. I’ve let my family down. Made mistakes. I couldn’t control her lately. I never knew where she was or what she was up to.’
‘You said she was secretive?’
‘More so these past few months than she used to be. Yes.’
‘Her father left several years ago, right?’
‘That was one of the good things that happened.’
‘Any idea where he is now?’
‘Australia wouldn’t be far enough.’
‘Is that where he is?’
‘No. I’ve no idea. Haven’t seen or heard from him in more than ten years.’
‘And after he left?’
‘There were others. Men. I wasn’t a good mother. I made some bad choices.’
‘Did any of the men bother Mimosa?’
Sinead turned away, but Annie could tell she was nodding, even with her head buried in the pillow. She touched her shoulder. ‘Sinead. Did anyone interfere with her?’
‘One of them. Just one. I walked in on them one night, right there in her room. He was making her toss him off, the filthy bastard. She was only eight. She didn’t know what was going on, it was supposed to be a game for her, but she wasn’t happy about it. I went ballistic, threatened to call the police and everything.’
‘Did you? Call the police?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because things were bad enough already.’ She faced Annie. Her light brown eyes were flecked with amber. ‘I’m sorry, love, but nothing good’s ever come of calling the police around here. There was other stuff. Stolen goods in the house. Drugs. If I’d got the police involved they’d have given us more grief than they’d have given him.’
‘What did you do, then?’
‘I shoved all his stuff in a case and chucked it out of the window. He ran off and never came back.’
‘We’ll need his name.’
‘Mallard. Eddie Mallard. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on your books.’
‘And what about Lenny?’
She managed a half smile. ‘Lenny’s all right. A bit rough and ready, but his heart’s in the right place. He never hurt Mimosa and he takes good care of me.’
‘When do you think you and your daughter started drifting apart?’
‘When she was about thirteen. She was sullen and depressed. It was just a difficult time for her. Self-image and everything. I suppose I should consider myself lucky she didn’t suffer from anorexia or bulimia.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘Not that I could fathom. Hormones, I suppose. She got very moody, started stopping out. Just till late at first, then all night.’
‘Is that when she cut herself?’
Sinead gave Annie a sharp glance. ‘You saw that?’
‘Hard to miss.’
‘Yes, it was around that time.’
‘Was it serious? I mean, did Mimosa really try to kill herself? Did it bleed a lot?’
‘No. It wasn’t deep. I talked to her. I’ve . . .’ Sinead held up her arm and pulled her sleeves up over her wrist. There were the same sort of criss-cross scars as they had seen on Mimsy. ‘It was a long time ago. But I told her I understood. I knew she was unhappy, miserable. She thought everybody hated her, and she’d never have a boyfriend or anyone to love her. Some of the other kids at school made fun of her.’
‘Why?’
‘Do they need a reason? Her name? Her family? I wasn’t a good mother. I didn’t know what to tell her except everything would be all right. But it wasn’t enough.’ She gave a little shiver. ‘I wasn’t always there for her. And Lenny and Johnny are harmless, like I said, but they were no use to Mimosa. No use at all. She was thirteen. She needed a mother, and I failed her.’
‘Did talking help?’
‘I don’t think so. Not by then. I couldn’t get through to her. They grow up so quickly these days. Then they’re gone.’
‘Sinead, Mimosa didn’t have to be gone. Someone took her. That’s why we’re here. We want to find out who it was and make sure they don’t do it to anyone else and that they pay for what they’ve done.’
‘How can they pay? What’s the price of my daughter’s life?’
‘It’s the only price the law allows. I can’t change that.’
‘No, love. No, you can’t. Oh, what does it matter who did it? She’s gone. It was my fault. I’ve been trying, honest I have, but it hasn’t done any good, has it? Sometimes I think she was born under a bad sign.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I know what her problem was, where it came from. There were older men sniffing around, even when she was thirteen.’
‘They took advantage of her?’
‘What do you think? She had that sort of sexy innocent thing going. She couldn’t see it herself. That’s why it’s so powerful, because it’s unconscious. Believe it or not, I used to have some of it myself, back in the day. It’s good for nothing but trouble.’
‘Was there anyone in particular?’
Sinead chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then said, ‘Once. Yes.’
‘Was it before or after the self-harm?’
‘After. He was supposed to be her counsellor or something. I found them in his office one day when I made an unexpected visit. I’m not proud of it, but I went ballistic on both of them. I told her to get out. We had a terrible fight. We said things you can’t ever take back.’
‘She was underage,’ Annie said. ‘He was committing a crime. Did you call the police?’
‘You don’t get it, do you? We never call the police. They’re the last bloody people we’d call. Sorry. But I did tell the social and I’m sure his bosses fired him.’
‘Do you remember his name?’
‘Sorry. They’ll know down the social.’
‘OK,’ said Annie. ‘She kept on living here after that?’
‘Where else could she go? She was only a kid. We don’t have any family up here. But she used the place like a hotel, came and went as she pleased with hardly a word to anyone when she was here. The social came round and tried to make things work, but . . . well, they’ve got a lot on their hands, too.’
‘How did you get on after that?’
‘Not too bad, I suppose. She calmed down a bit for a while.’
‘What about Lenny? Couldn’t he do anything?’
‘The big soft lunk? Nay. He wasn’t her father, and Mimosa never tired of letting him know it. He loved her, in his way – and I don’t mean owt dirty by that – but he couldn’t tell her what to do. And our Johnny . . . well, you’ve seen him, poor beggar. His brain’s addled with booze and pills from way back, when he was in that motorbike gang. There was the accident, too. Hurt his head. He’s not been the same since. As if I’ve got any room to talk. I spent most of my time on the nod when our Mimosa was out gallivanting till all hours. Now it’s too late.’
‘And more recently? Do you think she was doing drugs?’
‘Maybe. I warned her, of course, but she just sneered and said something about the pot calling the kettle black. Not heroin, though. I think I’d have been able to tell. Pot, most likely, maybe ecstasy?’
‘Ketamine?’
Sinead frowned. ‘I don’t know about that. I don’t even know what that is. I mean, I wouldn’t have known what to look for.’
‘Did Mimosa herself have a thing about older men?’ Annie asked. ‘You know, father figure, that sort of thing?’
‘She thought most boys her own age were shallow and only interested in one thing. I tried to tell her that all men were only interested in one thing, but I don’t think she listened. Yes, she’d usually go out with older boys, men sometimes. She felt more comfortable with them. Maybe she needed a father figure, I don’t know about all that psychological gobbledygook. Christ knows, Lenny’s not much use, and her real father was worse than useless.’
‘I was in her room earlier,’ Annie said, ‘and I saw a sketchbook with some pencil drawings in it. I know a bit about art, and they’re very good.’
‘She was mad about drawing. Yes, she was good. I once read somewhere that artistic talent skips a generation. Her granddad – my dad, Albert – was a bit of a hippie and a wonderful artist. He painted concert posters and album covers and stuff. But me and Johnny, forget it. And forget our Albert, even though he’s named after his granddad. But Mimosa. She had it, all right.’
‘My dad’s an artist,’ said Annie. ‘I grew up in a sort of artists’ colony near St Ives.’
‘Lucky you,’ said Sinead, flashing her a weak smile. ‘Did you inherit any of his talent or did it skip you?’
‘I can draw a bit, but not as good as Mimosa. Did she and her brother get along? Share stuff?’
‘They didn’t see much of each other, but when they did they were fine. He loved her, I’m sure of it. He’ll be gutted when he finds out.’
‘We’d appreciate it if you’d let us know when he turns up.’
‘I’ve tried to phone him, but his mobile’s dead or turned off. Albert’s got nothing to do with this, I can assure you.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. But maybe he knows something that might help us. Will you let us know?’
‘All right.’
‘We couldn’t find a mobile phone or a laptop computer or anything in Mimosa’s room.’
‘She always had her mobile with her. Not that she ever used it to call us. It was one of those cheap pay-as-you-go things.’
‘Do you know the provider?’
‘No idea.’
‘What about a laptop?’
‘No. She didn’t have one of those. We couldn’t afford one. All she had she carried in that pink canvas shoulder bag she always took with her. You know the sort of thing it had . . . I don’t know what you call them . . . like butterflies and stuff stuck on.’
‘Appliqué?’
‘If you say so, love.’
‘What else did she have in her bag besides the mobile?’
‘Oh, you know, the usual stuff. Her purse, what little money she had. Ciggies, of course. And her precious sketchbook and pencils. They had to be a certain kind, the pencils. And the sketchbook was smaller than the one in her room. More portable.’
‘Did you ever open it?’
‘Once. But she caught me at it and hit the roof.’
‘Why? What was in it?’
‘She said it was private. That’s the funny thing. It wasn’t like dirty pictures or anything. It was nothing really, just sketches of people she’d seen on a bus or in cafes, faces, and local street scenes, a market, drawings of buildings, someone’s garden, cats and dogs. That sort of thing. She drew whatever caught her eye.’
Damn, thought Annie. That sketchbook might be a useful aid to finding Mimosa’s abductors, and her killer. If she drew everything, there was a chance she had done a few portraits. She might even have sketched her killer. But there had been no sign of a pink shoulder bag at the scene. No doubt it had remained behind in the van with her clothes. The rapists would have destroyed it all by now, if they had any sense.
‘Nearly finished,’ she said, noticing Sinead’s eyelids start to become heavy.
‘It’s all right, love. I shouldn’t think I’ll get much sleep tonight.’
‘Did you ever see Mimosa with any Asians?’
‘What . . .?’
‘Did she hang around with Asians, specifically Pakistani?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know who her friends were. I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me. They’re everywhere now. But I never saw or heard anything. I don’t think she really liked them much. She got into a bit of trouble for calling them names. Why?’
‘It probably doesn’t matter.’ Annie patted Sinead’s arm and stood up. ‘You get some rest if you can,’ she said. ‘We’ll see you in the morning. OK?’
‘OK.’
Downstairs, they said goodnight to Lenny and Johnny. Lenny murmured something back through his haze of smoke, but Johnny was still dead to the world, anaesthetised by booze and brain damage. Or golf.
Outside the Moffat house Annie and Gerry sat in the car to collect their thoughts for a few moments.
‘What’s the bet she’s back on heroin again tomorrow?’ said Gerry. ‘The real stuff.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Annie. ‘I think she really wants to give it a try this time. But this is a hell of a setback, that’s for certain. She’s just lost her daughter. Besides, if heroin gives her a bit of comfort and takes away some of the pain for a while, who are we to judge her?’
‘But it’s not a solution. It’s only a temporary escape.’
Annie regarded the innocent young DC for a while. In the shadows, Gerry seemed no more than a young girl herself. ‘You’re right, of course,’ Annie said tiredly. ‘But sometimes temporary relief is better than no relief at all. How do you expect someone like Sinead to deal with this sort of loss and grief? It’d be enough to turn me to heroin. God knows I came close with those painkillers I was on after I got shot.’
‘But can’t we do something for her? For all of them?’
‘Of course,’ said Annie. ‘And we can bring about world peace and put an end to hunger and child prostitution while we’re at it, too. Get real, Gerry.’ Annie started the car. ‘Come on, let’s have a ride down to Sunset Strip and see what’s shakin’, man. Who knows, there might even be a drink in it.’
While the shopping mall they had visited that afternoon had been shiny and new, and mostly empty, the Strip resembled a dilapidated badly lit movie set for a summer night
on the main drag in the deep south of America. It wasn’t so much the people, but the garish colours of the neons, streetlights and brightly lit shop windows all just a little distorted in a haze of pollution and humidity. Outside the Wytherton Arms an older crowd stood drinking pints and smoking and talking while a younger group weaved through the traffic and went into the balti restaurant across the street. People queued outside the chippie next door to the pub and stood around to eat out of their cardboard boxes when they’d been served.
Shops and businesses lined both sides of the half mile or so between the overpass to the east and the canal to the west, all with grilles that could be lowered after closing time, some with their plate-glass windows protected even while they were open for business. At the far end, near the overpass, Annie could make out the outline of a small mosque with its minaret. The various payday advance and cheque-cashing merchants were all closed and barred for the day, though their signs remained lit. Among the other businesses were a bookie’s, two charity shops – Oxfam and British Heart Foundation – a halal butcher’s, an off-licence, a nail bar, the balti restaurant and takeaway, an exotic greengrocer, a newsagent, a heel bar, Cash Generator, a hairdresser’s and a minicab office. Next door to the latter was a kebab, pizza and burger takeaway with a couple of tables out front where two youths in white shirts sat smoking and drinking Coke from the can, legs stretched out across the pavement so that anyone walking by had to step over them. Over the road was an old cinema festooned with garish Bollywood movie posters. There was no tattooist, as far as Annie could make out. Just by where they parked, it looked as if a couple of buildings had been demolished and replaced by a swatch of balding grass and a couple of benches. No one was sitting there. Mingled smells of cumin and coriander infused the air.
‘I’d put the Krook lock on, if I were you,’ Annie said.
Gerry put the clamp on her steering wheel. ‘See that?’ she said, as they got out of the car. ‘Sunny’s kebab and pizza takeaway.’
‘Burgers too,’ Annie added. ‘Hungry?’
Gerry pulled a face. ‘Not that hungry.’
‘Foodie snob.’
Just as they started to walk away from the car, a police patrol car pulled up by the side of the road and two burly uniformed officers got out, hitched up their overloaded belts and approached.
When the Music's Over: The 23rd DCI Banks Mystery Page 19