by Frank Smith
Molly had heard any number of stories about foreign nannies and au pairs being exploited and underpaid, but that wasn’t the case here. According to her bank statements, Justine was paid on the first of every month, but roughly half of the amount was transferred out again a few days later.
‘Sending money home to support the family, or, in this case, her grandfather, I expect,’ Tregalles said when Molly showed him the book. ‘That’s why these girls leave home in the first place. They can earn more money abroad than they can at home.’ He poked through the rest of the papers, then shook his head. ‘Bag the lot,’ he told her. ‘You can go through them properly back at the office. And let’s not forget her toothbrush and samples from her hairbrush for her DNA, in case we need them later. I hope we don’t,’ he added quickly when he saw the look on Molly’s face, ‘but best to be prepared.’
The next drawer down was a catch-all: cosmetics, creams, lotions and lipsticks, together with sunglasses, a wrapped bar of Pears’ soap, a box of tissues, eye drops and a first-aid kit. The sort of things one might expect to see in a bathroom, except in this case the bathroom was very small, consisting of a washbasin, toilet and shower, but no cabinet or shelf. Obviously, there had been limitations to what could be done when renovating.
Molly opened a box containing a muddle of cheap jewellery: necklaces, brooches, bracelets and earrings, together with a sewing kit, safety pins, a silver hair comb and clips, and several foreign coins. Moving on, she dug through underclothes, a swimsuit and bathing cap, sweaters, more wool and knitting needles, and a music box that proved to be broken. All very ordinary, all very normal. Nothing to give them a clue as to why Justine had gone missing. She came to the bottom drawer. Towels, and tampons in a paper bag. The paper caught and tore when she pushed the drawer in. She pulled it out again and was pressing the bag down when a plastic packet slid out.
‘Nothing,’ Tregalles declared as he shoved a suitcase back under the bed. ‘I think we’re wasting our time here. Have you found anything of interest, Molly?’
‘Yasmin,’ Molly said quietly. ‘It looks as if Justine is on the pill. Didn’t Mrs Lorrimer tell Mr Paget that Justine didn’t have a boyfriend?’
‘Which could mean that Mrs Lorrimer may not know everything about her son’s nanny,’ Tregalles said. ‘And maybe Justine is simply playing it safe in case.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Can’t have been much of a life for her, cooped up here with a disabled kid, even if she did like her work. All work and no play, as they say. Anyway, have you found anything else of interest?’
‘Not really,’ Molly said slowly. ‘It’s more a case of what I haven’t found.’
‘Like what?’
‘Letters, correspondence of any kind. In fact, nothing – at least nothing on paper to suggest that she is keeping in touch with anyone, and I find that hard to believe of a young woman far from home. No laptop, no handheld device, and I find that very strange. Here is a well-educated young woman who has all kinds of reference books to do with her job, yet she doesn’t have access to the internet where so much information is available. I know she sends money home, but she is well paid, so she could certainly afford a laptop. They’re not all that expensive.’
‘Perhaps it’s in the classroom down the hall,’ Tregalles suggested. ‘Mrs Lorrimer did say that her son uses a computer to communicate, so, if she does have a laptop, perhaps it’s in there. Let’s take a look.’
‘Oh, it’s you,’ the girl who opened the door whispered. ‘I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon.’ She stepped back, but instead of standing aside to let them in, she placed a finger against her lips and stepped into the corridor and closed the door behind her.
Sylvia Lamb looked to be little more than a schoolgirl. Long blonde hair framed a small face which would have been pretty if it hadn’t been for the red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Thin as a rake, she was wearing a blue-and-white striped T-shirt beneath a loose-fitting white cardigan, tight-fitting jeans and Nike high-top trainers that looked more than a bit incongruous against her spindly legs. Sylvia Lamb looked as if she’d been crying her heart out, but when Molly asked if there was anything wrong, the girl shook her head. ‘It’s these new contact lenses,’ she said. ‘I’ve only had them a few days, and I’m still trying to get used to them.’ She dabbed at her cheeks with a handful of tissues.
‘Trying a bit too hard, by the look of it,’ Tregalles said, not unkindly. ‘It might be a good idea to give your eyes a bit of a rest. Do you still have your glasses?’
The girl responded with a grudging nod. ‘I do,’ she said, ‘but they make me look like an owl, which is why I bought these.’
‘Better to look like an owl than damage your eyes,’ Tregalles told her. ‘You’ll get used to them faster if you put them in for short periods of time.’
Sylvia Lamb sighed. ‘You sound just like my dad,’ she said, dabbing at her wet cheeks. ‘But you’re probably right. I’ll take them out when we get downstairs. Which reminds me: Mr Lorrimer sent me a text message a few minutes ago to say he’ll be tied up for’ – she glanced at her watch – ‘about another fifteen minutes. So …?’ She looked uncertainly from Tregalles to Molly and back again.
‘In that case, perhaps we can ask you a few questions while we wait,’ said Tregalles, ‘and we can take a look around the classroom as well.’ He made a move towards the door, but the girl stepped in front of him and shook her head.
‘No, please don’t go in there,’ she begged. ‘I’ve spent half the morning getting Michael to settle down. He’s very upset about Justine not being here. She’s never been away for this long before, so he knows something is wrong. He’s listening to one of his favourite talking books right now, so he’ll be all right for a short while. But if you go in there, he’ll really know something is wrong, and I’m not sure I’m up to dealing with that. So, if you could leave it until after you’ve seen Mr Lorrimer, Mrs Lorrimer will have gone out by then, and I can take Michael down to the kitchen and make him some toast. He loves toast and blackcurrant jam.’
Tregalles hesitated. He didn’t want to push the girl, but they needed to take a look at the room. He shot a questioning glance at Molly, who responded by saying, ‘Michael is what … five years old?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And I understand he is visually impaired and has trouble talking, but does he have any other problems – mentally, perhaps?’
‘Not in the way you mean,’ Sylvia replied. ‘He’s actually pretty normal in other ways, and he’s bright. But he gets frustrated easily, and he can be hard to handle then.’
‘Does he become violent?’
‘Oh, no, he’s never been violent. He gets upset when he can’t make himself understood, but it’s more like a tantrum. He sort of huddles up and beats his fists on his knees. Justine knows how to handle him, but he’s not the same with me. Actually, I’ve only seen it happen a couple of times, and one of them was this morning. We don’t see much of him over there in the office. Mrs Lorrimer is very strict about that. I suppose she’s right; it is a business office, and we do have all sorts of people coming in, and not everyone appreciates a small boy running around.’ She sighed. ‘Still, it’s a pity they have to spend so much time up here.’ She waved a hand to encompass the heavily panelled walls and even darker floor of the corridor. Narrow windows, set in alcoves some fifteen feet apart, spread pallid pools of light across the boards, but there was no warmth to the place.
‘Odd sort of place, though, isn’t it?’ Tregalles observed. ‘This house, I mean. Does that door lead to the stairs we saw outside?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, but walked over to take a closer look. The door was made of metal. It certainly wasn’t part of the original structure, and the glass in the small window looked as if might be unbreakable. He grasped the handle and opened it, then stepped out on to a platform at the top of solid wooden steps. A cool breeze swept into the corridor, prompting Sylvia to shiver and draw the cardigan tighter around her shoulders.
‘Would Justine use that door to come and go, rather than go down the main stairs?’ Molly asked.
‘I suppose she might,’ the girl said, ‘but I really don’t know. I’ve never been out that way myself. In fact, this is only about the fourth or fifth time I’ve been up here since I started last year. I work in the office, not here in the house.’
‘Can’t say I’d like to spend much time up here,’ Tregalles said with a mock shiver as he rejoined them. ‘I think Mrs Lorrimer was right: this house has had its day.’
‘The office downstairs is a lot brighter than this,’ the girl said. ‘They had to knock a few walls down, and it’s a bit of a maze, but at least we have some daylight. The house was modelled on some sort of army barracks in India where an ancestor of Mr Lorrimer’s was stationed. There’s a picture of it downstairs on the office wall.’
Tregalles looked pointedly at his watch. ‘We’ll take a look at it when we go down,’ he said, ‘but I’d like to get back to why we’re here. What can you tell us about Justine Delgado? I’m sure Mrs Lorrimer has asked you this already, but do you have any idea where she might have gone? Were you friends? You work here in the same house, so if you can think of anything Justine said that might help us find her, now is the time to tell us.’
The girl was shaking her head. ‘We weren’t friends,’ she said, ‘at least, not in the way you mean. Justine’s a lot older than me for a start, and she works full-time here in the house. I work for Mrs Lorrimer in the office – she’s the office manager – so I don’t see much of Justine at all in the normal way.’
Molly looked puzzled. ‘But surely there were times when the two of you would have a coffee together, or lunch, perhaps?’
Once again, the girl shook her head. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘As I said, Justine works in the house and I work in the office. I bring my lunch with me and eat it in the office or outside on the veranda when the weather’s nice, and she and Michael eat up here in the classroom. They have everything they need in there: stove, fridge, microwave; it’s set up really well, so there’s no need for them to come downstairs for meals, except when Mr Lorrimer’s home, of course, but that’s not very often. Michael loves that; he gets so excited when his dad comes home.’
Molly looked puzzled. ‘Am I missing something here, Sylvia?’ she asked. ‘Where is Michael’s mother in all this? A few moments ago, you said we could come back up here later, because Mrs Lorrimer would be out, and you could take Michael downstairs. Why does she have to be out before you can take her son downstairs? Does he live up here all the time with Justine?’
‘Oh, no. They do go downstairs sometimes. Like when Justine is doing some washing or ironing and things like that, Michael has the run of the house while she’s down there.’
‘But not while his mother is there. Right?’ Molly waited, but Sylvia took refuge in wiping her eyes and rubbing her cheeks. ‘So let me get this straight,’ Molly persisted. ‘Michael loves his dad, who is away most of the time, but he seldom sees his mother, who is here all the time. Isn’t that just a little bit odd?’
The girl avoided Molly’s eyes. ‘It’s just that …’ She took a deep breath, then leaned closer and dropped her voice to little more than a whisper. ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,’ she said, ‘and don’t take it for gospel because I wasn’t even here back then, but they say Mrs Lorrimer nearly died when she had Michael. They say she had a breakdown and wasn’t even allowed to see her new baby for ever such a long time, and when they told her he couldn’t see and couldn’t talk, it did something to her mind, and she’s had trouble dealing with the boy ever since. Which is why Justine is here.’
Molly frowned. ‘Trouble dealing with the boy in what way, exactly?’
Sylvia Lamb wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s not that she doesn’t care,’ she said carefully. ‘I think she does, but she can’t stand the funny sort of growling noises Michael makes. I’ll admit it’s not very nice to listen to, but it does something to her nerves. Same with the cane. Michael uses a folding cane to find his way around the place, and Mrs Lorrimer can’t stand the sound of it on the tiles and the wooden floors. In fact, she had a rubber tip put on it to deaden the sound.’
A muffled burst of chimes, sounding like the arrival of an ice-cream van, prompted Sylvia to thrust her hand into the pocket of her cardigan. She took out her phone and scanned the screen, then put it back in her pocket. ‘That was Mr Lorrimer,’ she said with obvious relief. ‘He’s ready for you now, so if you would like to come with me …?’ Without waiting for a reply, she set off briskly down the corridor, pausing only briefly at the head of the stairs to make sure that they were following.
FOUR
‘Sorry to have kept you waiting,’ Stephen Lorrimer said when Sylvia Lamb ushered Tregalles and Forsythe into his office, and they introduced themselves. He pushed some papers aside, took off his glasses and came out from behind his desk to greet them both with a handshake. ‘Julia said you were in Justine’s room. Did you find anything?’ He searched their faces anxiously for an answer.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Tregalles said, ‘but we’ll be taking some of Miss Delgado’s things back to the office for further examination.’ He indicated the evidence bag Molly was carrying. ‘However, we still have to look in the classroom before we go, so we may be luckier there. Do you know if Miss Delgado has a computer? We didn’t see one in her room.’
‘She has a laptop,’ Lorrimer said. ‘Have you seen it, Sylvia?’
She shook her head and said, ‘I haven’t, Mr Lorrimer, but it might be in one of the drawers.’
Lorrimer nodded. ‘Take a look when you go back and call me.’
‘I’d prefer that everything be left as it is,’ Tregalles cut in quickly as Sylvia turned to leave. ‘We’ll be up there in a few minutes ourselves,’ he added as a reminder to Sylvia that they wanted the room to be clear. ‘In the meantime, Mr Lorrimer, we would like to ask you a few questions about events leading up to Miss Delgado’s disappearance.’
‘Then please sit down.’ Lorrimer waved a hand in the direction of a couple of well-worn leather chairs facing the desk. ‘And I’ll let you get back upstairs,’ he told Sylvia. ‘Michael’s behaving himself, is he? Not making any fuss?’
‘He’s listening to one of his books at the moment,’ Sylvia replied, avoiding a direct answer, ‘but we’ll be coming downstairs for toast and jam in a few minutes. So, if you need me back in the office, I’m sure Betty could keep an eye on him.’
‘I think Michael would be more comfortable with you, under the circumstances,’ Lorrimer said firmly. ‘And I rang Carole to ask her to come in to cover for you; in fact, she should be here any minute now, so there’s no need to worry about things down here.’ He put his hand on Sylvia’s shoulder and steered her gently toward the door. ‘But before you do anything else,’ he said sternly, ‘for God’s sake, get rid of those contact lenses before you go blind!’
He closed the door, then stood there for a moment, shaking his head. ‘Stubborn girl!’ he muttered as he walked over to take his seat behind the desk. ‘I shouldn’t go on at her like that, but somebody needs to. Sylvia’s a good girl and a good worker, and she’s worn glasses for most of her life … until last week, when my stepson came down from university and Julia put him to work in the office. Sebastian’s a handsome young man and suddenly the glasses disappeared and contacts were in, and you can see the result. However’ – he paused to rub his face vigorously with both hands as if trying to stir up the blood and bring some colour to his pallid features – ‘that’s not why you’re here, is it? I’m not sure I can add anything to what my wife told Chief Inspector Paget, so what do you want, exactly?’
Molly had never met Stephen Lorrimer before – at least not face to face. She had seen him on television, and his picture appeared quite regularly in the local papers. Invariably smartly dressed – dark suit, white shirt and tie – Molly had always thought he looked young for his age, which had to be close to fifty.
Lorrimer was not a big man, nor was he a particularly handsome man, but there was something about the broad forehead, set of the eyes and determined line of the jaw that had appealed to Molly. Call it charm, charisma – she wasn’t sure herself what the attraction was – but she had voted for Stephen Lorrimer in the last two general elections.
But the man facing them across the desk looked his age and more. The lines around the eyes and mouth were deeper; his eyes lacked lustre, and the dark patches beneath them suggested a lack of sleep. He was making a valiant attempt to hide it, but, to Molly’s eyes at least, Stephen Lorrimer appeared to be a very worried man.
Tregalles began with the usual questions. Had Lorrimer noticed any changes in Justine’s behaviour? Did she appear to be worried about anything? Had she been in an argument with anyone recently? Had his son, Michael, behaved any differently towards his nanny? And were he and Mrs Lorrimer satisfied with Justine’s work? All questions that had been put to Julia Lorrimer by Paget, but there was always a chance that Lorrimer would add something new.
As expected, the answer was no to everything except the last question. ‘We’ve been more than satisfied,’ Lorrimer said earnestly. ‘Michael adores Justine, and she has quite literally become one of the family.’
‘When did you last see Miss Delgado?’ Tregalles asked.
‘The last time I saw Justine,’ Lorrimer said, with emphasis on her first name, ‘was last Saturday lunchtime. It was just before Terry and I left for Worcester. Terry Baxter is a young intern who works for me in London,’ he explained. ‘As you probably know, we are on our Easter break from our parliamentary duties, and I invited Terry to spend a few days down here before going on to see friends in Penzance. I took him into Worcester just after lunch on Saturday, and we stayed there overnight. I came home the next morning, and Terry caught the noon train to Exeter and Penzance.’