‘I don’t think I talked to Irene for more than five minutes. Ten at most. Just the usual things, what she was up to, her family.’ She pinched her lips together. ‘I don’t see how this affects…’
‘Just questions we need to ask,’ Cathy said, taking her eyes from the clothes. ‘Do you often see Irene around when you’re out?’
‘Here and there, I suppose,’ the woman admitted after a few seconds. ‘Leeds isn’t that big. People tend to go to the same places.’
‘Is she with anyone special? Or part of a group?’
‘I really don’t know; I never paid attention.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing.’ Lottie smiled. ‘We have to check things.’ They weren’t going to get more without giving something in return or letting an important word slip. Better to stop now. At least they were coming away with Barbara Tyler’s story, very different from Irene’s record of a long evening of food, drink and talk. The question was, which one was telling the truth?
‘Is that a Doucet?’ Cathy asked as they stood, tilting her head towards a frock half-hidden behind a woman’s fitted suit.
‘No,’ Tyler answered wistfully. ‘No one’s going to send me a real Doucet. A friend of mine who’s a dressmaker ran it up from a photograph. Lovely, isn’t it? Just rayon, not silk, unfortunately.’
Out on Albion Street Lottie breathed deeply. After the ink and the perfume, the smell of exhaust and soot was like fresh country air.
Cathy glanced over her shoulder at the building as they strolled away. ‘She wasn’t expecting us, but she was very cagey, wasn’t she?’ She paused. ‘I’m not certain, but I think I believe her. Did you see her eyes? She didn’t look guilty or if she was hiding something.’
That was true enough. But telling a lie was easy enough; Lottie had just proved that herself.
‘We still need to find this girl Olivia and talk to her.’
‘Do you think Barbara Tyler was telling the truth?’ Cathy asked.
A few more paces before Lottie answered. ‘I don’t know.’
Irene could have built a whole castle on a few minutes’ quick chat. Girls did that, especially if they had crushes. She remembered what it was like. Still, she’d sensed as grain of truth when she read the diary. Something wasn’t quite right. For now she didn’t know quite what.
At the station Lottie sat at a desk, pen in hand, trying to write her report for the inspector. The summary of the interview was there, everything Tyler had said about meeting Irene Walker.
But so far she hadn’t managed to add a conclusion. Finally she sighed and dipped the nib in the inkwell.
Miss Tyler told her story straightforwardly. But she wasn’t able to add any details – not where they ran into each other, or when. Not even what they talked about. That’s plausible, but according to Irene they were discussing details of their personal lives. Honestly, I can’t tell yet which account is true.
It would have to do. It was true. Still, she felt she’d failed. No definite answer, simply doubts.
As she began to climb the stairs to Inspector Carter’s office, McMillan came down.
‘Have you found her?’ Lottie asked, but he simply shook his head.
‘Nothing.’ He took her by the elbow, leading her towards an alcove. ‘No one’s heard a word. I was talking to the parents all morning. They’re frantic.’
‘Of course they are.’ For God’s sake, how else would they feel? A son just murdered, and now a daughter who’d vanished.
‘They don’t understand why anyone would want to go after her.’
‘They didn’t go after her, though, did they? This is about something else, isn’t it?’
‘It looks that way,’ he agreed soberly. ‘This changes everything. About Ronnie’s murder, too. We were looking at people he knew. That’s why we were getting nowhere. Now we’re digging into the family.’ He gave her a wry smile and nodded at the paper. ‘Is that the report on the women from Irene’s diary?’
‘One of them. We haven’t talked to Olivia Mortimer yet. Cathy’s finding an address for her.’
He took the report from her hand. ‘It’s just like the men she’s supposed to have gone out with. They both say it was innocent, just ran into her in a club or at a party. Seems like she made it all up.’
‘She’s young. That happens.’
‘Let’s just hope she’s still alive,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’
‘I need to go,’ McMillan told her. ‘You give this to the inspector then get out and see that last girl. I bet it’ll be the same story, but…’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
He was already moving away. ‘Sorry. Too much to do.’
She left the report on Carter’s desk and found Cathy reading the diary again.
‘Anything new?’
‘Not that I can see.’ She closed the book. ‘Olivia is at home. I telephoned and a servant answered. Very snippy.’
‘Did you tell her who we were?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘We’ll take her by surprise.’
No car to take them there, just a journey to Hyde Park on the tram as far as Leeds Girls’ High School, then a walk back to North Grange Road. Big, solid houses with long drives and cultivated front gardens. Plenty of money.
There was a Crosley parked in front of the Mortimers’ house, the paintwork and chrome gleaming in the light. A beautiful motor car, Lottie thought as she brought the brass knocker down on the door.
The servant eyed them warily. She was in her fifties, boss-eyed, with a large nose and a mouth that curled down at the corners.
‘We’d like to see Miss Mortimer,’ Lottie told her. ‘Olivia.’
The woman snorted, then grudgingly moved aside to let them enter. ‘In there,’ she said, pointing at a door. ‘I’ll tell her.’
The room smelt of wax. Afternoon sun through the window caught the dust motes in the air. An empty grate, old furniture made of dark wood, well used. A pair of hunting scenes on the wall. Everything looked as if it had been moved from elsewhere in the house, Lottie decided; a high-class, tidy junk room.
The door opened and she turned her head. Another thin girl, this one no wider than a rail, with pale skin and short, fair hair. How did they get this way, she wondered? They were all like sticks these days. She was about twenty-two or -three, tall, standing straight. A dress that was real, shimmering silk, and a challenging look in her eyes.
‘Betty said there were a pair of policewomen here to see me. I didn’t believe her.’ She cocked her head, looking confused. ‘I can’t imagine what you want here.’
‘Just a few questions,’ Lottie explained. ‘But they’re quite important.’
‘That sounds… intriguing.’ She picked up a cigarette from a box on the table and lit it. ‘Go on.’
‘Do you know Irene Walker?’
‘Poor Ronnie’s sister? Of course I do.’ Her eyes widened. ‘What’s she done?’
‘She hasn’t done anything, Miss,’ Cathy said quietly. ‘We just need some information, that’s all.’
‘Of course.’ The girl sobered. ‘Yes, I know Irene.’
‘Have the two of you ever gone out anywhere together?’ Lottie asked. ‘A nightclub, maybe?’
‘Two or three times.’ Olivia Mortimer smiled. She had young, white teeth. ‘She’s rather sweet. Very eager for life.’
‘In what way?’
‘Oh… experiences. She wants it all and as soon as possible. She’s fun, is Irene.’
‘What kind of places have you gone to with her?’
‘I remember I took her to the cocktail bar at the Majestic.’ A hint of a smile at the memory. ‘It was the first time she’d been in one. A couple of nightclubs once. Oh,’ she added, ‘and slumming, of course.’
‘Slumming?’ Lottie stared at her curiously.
‘A group of us would go in some of the worst places we could find. We started in the Market Tavern—’
‘Was Ronnie Walker with you?’ Lottie interrupted
.
‘I don’t think he was. Not that night. We knew he went there, wanted to see what it was like.’
Frosty, she imagined, once a rich crowd entered.
‘Anywhere else?’ She was taking down the details in her notebook. At least this report would have something in it.
‘Irene and I went to a place I’d heard about from a chum.’ Olivia lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Do you know about the Royal?’
‘Yes. You took her in there?’
‘It was just a quick drink and then we left. It scared me, if you really want to know. Those people…’ She mimed a shudder.
‘What about Irene?’
‘She was looking around. Eyes wide but very interested. I’ve never been anywhere like it. God knows what it did for her. She wanted to learn, but really she didn’t know anything. A babe in the woods.’
‘Did you go anywhere else?’ Lottie didn’t let anything show on her face, even when Cathy looked sharply at her.
‘One or two places, I don’t remember.’
‘Would you say the two of you were close?’
‘Close?’ She repeated the word, considering it. ‘I can’t say we were, no. I enjoyed her at times, but that’s all. It was a bit of a laugh introducing her to the wicked world, but that passes, doesn’t it?’ It wasn’t a question that needed an answer. ‘Does that help you find who killed poor Ronnie?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t see how it connects, though.’
‘It’s all part of our investigation, Miss Mortimer.’ Lottie smiled. ‘Tell me, do you know where else Irene liked to go? Her friends?’
‘I think she mentioned a couple of friends she’d made at school.’ Olivia frowned. ‘I don’t know, really. She came out with our set when she could. Her parents weren’t too keen.’
‘Thank you.’ Lottie began to rise, sensing Cathy standing beside her. What she’d given them could be important. Or it could be nothing at all.
They’d just missed the tram. Lottie set the pace, walking fast, her face set, arms swinging, as Cathy kept pace.
‘God, I feel like I need a bath after a few minutes with her.’
‘She just has too much time and money,’ Lottie said. ‘No purpose in life.’
‘She and Irene Walker sound like a pair.’
‘Possibly.’ She thought of the shameless way the girl had flirted with Sergeant McMillan. ‘Or the student might have passed the teacher.’
‘What?’ Cathy paused and turned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s just an idea. If Irene was that taken with the Royal she might have gone back on her own.’
‘At her age? She’d probably be too scared.’
‘It’s only a thought, like I said. But it looks as if one of the things in the diary was true.’
‘Makes you wonder about all the others?’ Cathy asked slowly.
‘I don’t know. I’m probably a terrible detective. But people wouldn’t be likely to admit they’d do those things with an underage girl, would they? I can’t even decide if Barbara Tyler was telling the truth.’
‘You’ve done very well so far. They talk to you.’
Lottie blushed. ‘Let’s see what Inspector Carter says when he sees the report. He’ll probably have an apoplexy.’
He scanned it quickly, then in more detail, asking a couple of questions before sitting back and playing with his empty pipe.
As soon as they walked into the station Lottie had felt the atmosphere: hushed, concentrated. One of the men on the beat had found a coat in a bin by the canal. Irene Walker’s parents had identified it from a small, mended tear in the lining. Now they were searching the water and everyone expected the worst.
‘Did this Mortimer girl tell you the full truth?’ Carter asked.
‘I believe so, sir.’ Lottie stood at attention, Cathy by her side.
He nodded, let the report flutter to the desk and tapped it with a stained fingernail. ‘The Royal.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘McMillan says you know someone there.’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Filthy place. I keep telling the magistrates to take away the licence but they won’t do it.’ Lottie stayed silent. ‘It’s not too far from the river,’ Carter said thoughtfully after a few moments.
From Lower Briggate to the water? It was no more than a couple of hundred yards.
‘True, sir.’
‘Go and talk to this… person you know. Find out if Miss Walker visited at other times.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And for God’s sake be discreet. We don’t want this all over the papers. We’re trying to keep a lid on everything for now. We’ll release the news of the girl’s disappearance this evening.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘See what answers you can find before then.’
‘Looks as if we’re going to see Auntie Betty,’ Cathy said once they were outside Millgarth. ‘She’s not going to be happy.’
There was no other way. No McMillan around to go in and pass the word. They had to march straight into the Royal Hotel.
‘Ready?’ Lottie asked. She took a breath and adjusted her uniform.
‘I suppose so.’
The conversation stopped as they entered the women’s bar. Heads turned to watch them. Betty scowled as they approached.
‘This had better be important,’ she warned. ‘Business is going to fall off for a week now.’
Lottie heard the scraping of chairs and the soft footsteps as people left.
‘Do you think we’d be here if it wasn’t, Auntie?’
The woman was wearing a check suit, shirt and a tie with a broad Windsor knot in a pattern of vivid reds and blues.
‘Spit it out, then. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner things can get back to normal.’
‘A girl called Irene Walker. Does the name mean anything?’
She pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. ‘No. But I don’t know every customer by name.’
‘She’s young, Auntie. Tries to look older.’ She thought back to the time she’d seen the girl and imagined how she’d look with proper make-up. ‘Very stylish. Good clothes. Brown hair, bobbed. Probably five feet three. Very slim.’
‘She’s not my type, but there are some who’d love her.’ Betty ran a hand over her chin. ‘We get one or two young ones in here. Mostly they’re just curious. They’d run a mile if someone talked to them.’
‘I think this one might have been more serious.’
‘There was someone. Sat over there, watching.’ She nodded towards a table in the corner. ‘Ended up talking to Hannah for a long time.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘A week? I don’t know, I lose track.’ She sounded exasperated. ‘Why does it matter, anyway?’
‘We need to find her.’ Betty stared but Lottie wasn’t going to give her more than that. ‘Who’s Hannah and how do I find her? It really is important. Urgent.’
‘I don’t know how to get hold of her.’ Before Lottie could protest, Betty held up a hand. ‘I’m not lying. I don’t. I’ve no idea how to get in touch with most of the people who come here. The one who could have helped you left right after you came in.’
She looked around anyway, only seeing a couple of faces, drinkers beyond caring.
‘What’s her name?’
‘Alice Sutherland. You’re in luck. She’s someone I can find.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALICE Sutherland had a room upstairs at the Royal. The place hadn’t been a hotel for years, just a bar, the remainder of it empty. The staircase was cluttered with junk, dust flying up under their feet as they climbed and making Cathy sneeze. Thick cobwebs clung to the corners, layer on layer.
They followed the corridor, shoes sounding sharp on the bare boards. Lottie knocked on the door of number three hundred and sixteen, and waited as it opened an inch and a surprised eye peered out.
‘Hello, Alice,’ she said with a smile. ‘Auntie Betty sent us up. I’m hoping you can help me
.’
The room was clean, old and weary but surprisingly neat, free of the mustiness that filled the rest of the building. The window sparkled, looking out over the courts and yards off Lower Briggate.
Alice Sutherland was a tall, trim woman, with intelligent, curious dark eyes in a small face, surrounded by long, wild hair. Perhaps she was forty, Lottie decided, maybe even a little older; it was impossible to be certain. She had a slightly remote air, as if she wasn’t quite of this world. But Auntie Betty had warned them she was strange.
‘Half the time it’s like she’s not here and you won’t get any sense from her,’ she said.
‘What about the rest of the time?’ Cathy asked.
‘Sharp as a tack. Just odd. Something you ought to know,’ Betty added as they turned away. ‘Alice owns this place.’ She waved a hand around. ‘Inherited it all. I pay her rent for the bar.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Lottie said.
‘I’m completely serious. She’s just, I don’t know, eccentric. Oh, and she likes women.’ She raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘Your friend is just her type.’
Cathy stayed close to the door of the room, quiet and wary.
‘Help?’ Alice said. ‘How?’ she cocked her head. ‘Are you the police?’
‘Yes,’ Lottie said. ‘We are. I believe you know Irene Walker.’
‘Irene?’ The woman’s eyes widened with fear. ‘What’s happened to her?’
Lottie felt the hair prickle at the back of her neck. There was something in the way Alice spoke.
‘Why would you think something had happened to her, Miss Sutherland?’
‘I talked to her.’
‘When?’
Alice’s eyes narrowed as she thought. ‘The day before yesterday,’ she answered hesitantly, then gave a nod. ‘Yes. Late in the afternoon. She came up here and we talked.’
‘Here?’ Lottie asked in surprise. ‘How did she know where to find you?’
‘She’d been here before, of course.’ She said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Twice.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘She seemed very scared. She tried to tell me, but it was all so garbled. She was so pale. Shaking.’
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