by Frank Smith
Molly had intended to concentrate on whether or not Tilly had seen Justine last Sunday morning, but perhaps she would learn more if she allowed the woman to talk about the missing girl. ‘Funny you should say that,’ she said cautiously, ‘but young Sylvia Lamb said much the same thing. Are you saying that Justine has literally taken his mother’s place?’
Tilly dipped a biscuit in her tea. ‘Bound to happen when your mother pays you no attention, and someone else does,’ she said.
‘I don’t understand how any mother could do that,’ said Molly, shaking her head.
‘Well, now, don’t be too quick to judge,’ Tilly cautioned. ‘It hasn’t been easy for Julia. She started having morning sickness within three weeks of getting pregnant, and I don’t mean just a little bit. It’s called hyperemesis something or other. Like the duchess had, if you remember?’
‘Gravidarum,’ Molly supplied, ‘and, yes, I do remember. It can be quite deadly, I understand.’
‘And it nearly was in Julia’s case,’ said Tilly. ‘That poor woman was as sick as a dog for eight long months, and then everything went wrong at the birth. They nearly lost her, and she was so ill she never so much as saw her baby until he was more than a month old. And when they told her he was partly blind, and had something wrong with his throat, she couldn’t take it. She insisted he wasn’t hers; said they’d made a mistake. She told the nurse to take him back to the nursery.’ Tilly shook her head sadly. ‘She was seeing a psychiatrist for months after she left hospital, but it didn’t help. There was nothing there between her and the boy – no bond, no love. Nothing! Mind you, she’ll deal with him if she must. I mean she’d never let him go hungry or anything, but she avoids contact with him if she can.’ She sighed again. ‘It’s not the boy’s fault, but there you are.’
‘Where is Michael now?’ asked Molly. ‘I thought he might be here with you.’
Tilly used her spoon to fish a piece of soggy biscuit from her tea. ‘He’s gone out in the car with his dad,’ she said. ‘Michael loves riding in the car. At least the boy has one parent who loves him very much. Pity Stephen is away so much. Still—’ Tilly stopped short. ‘But here’s me going on about things that are none of my business,’ she said, ‘and that’s not what you came to talk about, is it?’
‘We never know what might help in a case like this,’ Molly told her. ‘You seem to know Justine pretty well. How would you describe her?’
Tilly cocked her head on one side. ‘She’s bright, clever, very serious about her work, and completely dedicated to working with Michael. She enjoys her work. She told me that it’s the best job she’s ever had.’ Tilly’s face clouded. ‘But she’s not happy – at least, she hasn’t been recently. I don’t know if it’s because she’s worried about her grandfather in Manila, or what it is. She used to stop and chat and have a cup of tea, like we’re doing now, but she hasn’t been the same this past while. Preoccupied, as if there’s something preying on her mind. Only last week, I told her she should spend some time over here with me in the garden and the greenhouse. It’s a great way to relax. And I told her she should get out more, meet more people. She’s too young to be cooped up in that old house all day, every day. She promised me she would, but …’ Tilly wrinkled her nose and shook her head, ‘I don’t think she was really listening to what I said.’
‘You say Justine used to stop and chat and have a cup of tea,’ said Molly. ‘Do you remember when that changed?’
‘Yes, I do, as a matter of fact,’ Tilly said slowly. ‘It was around New Year when I first noticed it. I remember her bringing Michael over here the day after New Year, and she barely spoke two words. Just left the boy and scooted back next door as if someone was after her. I never did find out why.’
‘How does Justine get along with Mrs Lorrimer?’ asked Molly. ‘It must be a bit difficult under the circumstances.’
Tilly took a few moments to answer. ‘Now, isn’t that strange?’ she said. ‘I’ve never given it much thought before, but they get along very well. Surprising, that, when you think about it.’
Maybe not so surprising, thought Molly, considering that Justine had relieved Julia of any responsibility for Michael.
‘We know that Justine has one friend – Maria Navarro,’ Molly said, ‘but do you know of any others? Has she ever mentioned a boyfriend, for example?’
‘She wouldn’t have time for one,’ Tilly said dismissively, ‘and she certainly never mentioned one to me.’
‘When was the last time you saw Justine?’
‘Thursday. Last Thursday afternoon. She left Michael with me while she went off to the shops to buy Easter eggs for the children’s hunt on Sunday afternoon. She said Stephen’s brother and his wife – that’s Richard and Eloise Lorrimer – and their two girls were coming back to the house after church on Sunday to have dinner with them, and they were going to have the Easter egg hunt in the afternoon.’
‘Was Michael to be included?’
‘Oh, yes. Michael gets on very well with Richard and Eloise’s children. Chelsea’s eight and Loren is six, and they don’t seem a bit bothered by the sounds Michael makes, or the fact that he’s blind … well, he has a little vision. He can see some things if he holds his head in a certain way, and he knows his colours.’
‘But Justine wouldn’t be there,’ said Molly.
‘I must say I am surprised she wasn’t there,’ Tilly said. ‘She didn’t actually say she would be, but it’s not like her to miss something like that when Michael’s involved.’
‘So she didn’t say anything to you about being away on Sunday?’
‘Not a word. That’s why I was so surprised when Julia brought Michael over before they went to church that morning.’
‘Do you remember what time that was?’ asked Molly, pen poised over her notebook.
Tilly thought. ‘Half past eight – maybe quarter to nine,’ she said. ‘Julia said he’d had his breakfast, but the poor lad was still half asleep. That’s when she told me that Justine was spending the day with her friend, the nurse, and she thought Justine had arranged for me to have the boy for the day. I told her Justine hadn’t mentioned it when she was here last Thursday, which was a bit odd, because she was usually very good about that sort of thing, so something must have come up after that. Not that I minded having Michael, of course, but I’d planned to spend the day with my granddaughter, so I told Julia she would have to pick Michael up as soon as they got back from church.’
‘Did she?’ asked Molly.
‘Actually, it was Stephen who came over,’ Tilly said. ‘Julia must have said something, because he apologized for dropping Michael off at short notice.’ She lifted troubled eyes to meet Molly’s own. ‘Then, Monday afternoon, when Julia telephoned to ask if I had seen Justine or heard from her, I couldn’t believe it when she told me Justine hadn’t returned on Sunday night. It was so … so unlike her.’
So unlike her. How many times had Molly heard that before?
‘I know you said the last time you saw Justine was last Thursday, when she brought Michael over, but I’m wondering if you might have caught sight of her going off to church on Sunday. Around twenty minutes to eight?’
‘I’d be here having breakfast,’ Tilly said, ‘and you can’t see anything of the house and the road from here. Why? Is it important?’
‘It’s just that we can’t find anyone who saw her that morning, including people who know her at St Joseph’s. Someone mentioned a path leading down to the river. Could Justine have gone into town that way?’
Tilly all but snorted. ‘Have you seen the path?’ she asked. ‘It’s steep and it’s overgrown. I doubt if anyone’s been down it for years, so I can’t see Justine trying it in her Sunday clothes. No, I think you can forget that, Molly.’
‘Do you know of any reason why Justine might have gone down Edge Hill Crescent instead of going uptown to church?’
Tilly’s mouth turned down. ‘There’s nothing down there except those big houses above the road,
so no, I don’t know why she would go that way. Doesn’t make sense to me.’ She picked up her cup and put it down again, frowning as she did so. ‘You asked me when I last saw Justine,’ she said slowly, ‘and I told you Thursday, but the last time I spoke to her was Saturday evening just before eight. See, I happened to mention some time back that I liked to watch Midsomer Murders, but I keep falling asleep in front of the telly before it comes on, so she phoned me just before eight to see if I was awake.’ Tilly grimaced guiltily. ‘Good job she did, because I was fast asleep when she rang, but I made a point of staying awake since she’d gone to the trouble to remind me. Not that it would have mattered; they’re all reruns now, aren’t they?’
‘Did she say anything else?’ Molly asked, suddenly hopeful, but Tilly was shaking her head. ‘She just said, “Wake up, Tilly. Time for your show.” So I thanked her and we both laughed and she rang off.’ Tilly shrugged her narrow shoulders apologetically, ‘Sorry, Molly, I know it doesn’t help, but I thought I should mention it.’
‘Don’t apologize,’ Molly told her. ‘We never know what might help, so thanks for telling me.’
The expression on Tilly’s lined face changed. Her mouth tightened into a thin line, and her eyes were bleak as she said, ‘It’s bad, isn’t it, Molly? I mean, being gone this long without a word?’
‘It doesn’t look good, I’m afraid,’ Molly conceded as she got to her feet, ‘but we’ll do our very best to find her. And thank you very much for your help, and for the tea and biscuits.’
Tilly rose and walked with Molly to the door. They stepped outside into the sun, and the fresh smell of bark mulch rose to meet them. Rhododendrons and azaleas, some in full bloom, lined the short walk to the greenhouse and the garden beyond, and for the first time that year Molly heard the soft sound of bees going about their business.
Impulsively, she turned to Tilly. ‘You said you invited Justine to come here to relax, and I can see why. Would you think me cheeky if I asked if I could come and visit you sometime? It’s so peaceful here.’
Tilly smiled. ‘Any time,’ she said. ‘I’ll put you to work, mind, but you’ll enjoy it. Just don’t forget once you leave here.’ Her expression changed as she reached out to put a hand on Molly’s arm. ‘But find Justine first,’ she said earnestly. ‘Please.’ She turned abruptly and walked away, but not before Molly caught the gleam of tears on Tilly’s weathered cheeks.
Molly returned to where she’d left her car in the parking area below Simla House. But instead of getting in, she walked to the far end of the hardstanding to the break in the wall where the path began its zigzag descent to the river below. Began and ended, Molly thought, because the path soon disappeared into a tangle of spiky shrubs that would tear clothes to ribbons within a few feet of the descent.
So we can forget that, she told herself as she turned away. She checked the time. No excuses; she might as well get on with it. There was more than enough time to find Sebastian Mills and take a look at his car.
It was mid-afternoon when Tregalles came into the office, shrugged off his coat and flopped into a chair to face Molly across the desk.
‘Bad as that, is it?’ asked Molly, not unkindly.
‘Dead end,’ he said wearily. ‘As you said on the phone, Justine must have gone down Edge Hill Crescent, probably to be met by someone with a car, but God knows where they went from there.’
‘Sophie is already checking out cars that show up on the Edge Hill Road camera around the time Justine left the house,’ Molly told him, ‘but maybe we should be talking to the people in the houses above the crescent as well. It’s a bit of a long shot, but someone might have seen Justine, or noticed a car parked there.’
‘Already thought of that,’ said Tregalles, ‘but that can wait till morning. How did you get on with Mrs Tillman? And did you manage to get a look at Sebastian’s car?’
‘Tilly, as she calls herself, said she noticed a change in Justine just after New Year, but other than that … .’ Molly shook her head. ‘As for Sebastian’s car, I’d be very surprised if Justine left that way. For one thing, Sebastian has long legs, so both his and the passenger’s seat sit well back, leaving very little room behind the seats. I suppose it’s possible that Justine was hidden on the back seat, but it would have been extremely uncomfortable.’
‘Assuming she was alive.’
Molly grimaced. ‘That’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it?’
Tregalles shrugged. ‘Can’t rule it out,’ he said, ‘but you’re probably right. Did you look in the boot?’
‘Of course I looked in the boot,’ Molly shot back, annoyed that he should feel it necessary to ask the question. ‘It was full of junk that didn’t look as if it had been shifted for ages. There was even a box of empty beer cans in there, along with one of those bikes that comes apart in three pieces. It seems Sebastian is a bit of a health nut. He made a point of telling me he works out in the gym every day.’
‘But he likes his beer,’ Tregalles said. ‘How did he react when you asked to look at his car?’
Molly smiled. ‘He offered to take me for a spin, and he invited me out to dinner, not just once but twice during our conversation.’
‘Did you accept?’ Tregalles grinned wolfishly. ‘I mean, a free dinner and a chance to do a little discreet questioning, perhaps? You could learn something.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I would,’ said Molly, rolling her eyes, ‘but I doubt if it would have anything to do with the disappearance of Justine Delgado. Anyway, that’s enough about Sebastian Mills; let’s talk about something positive.’
‘Such as?’ Tregalles looked sceptical.
‘Well, thanks to Sophie, I think we may be a bit closer to identifying the man I told you about on the phone. The one in the white Ford Transit. We don’t know who he is, but I think we’re close to tracking down the van.’
‘A white Ford Transit with no markings?’ Tregalles eyed Molly suspiciously. ‘Get a tip, did you?’
‘No tip,’ Molly told him. ‘Just some good work by Sophie when she realized that the van isn’t entirely without markings.’ She pulled out one of the stills taken from the tape. ‘As you can see, there’s a line of what looks like rust along the bottom of the rear doors, and some damage around one of the lights, so she started with that, and got a printout from the DVLA of all the Ford Transits registered to owners in this area. Once she had that, she eliminated all those owned by bakeries, florists, plumbers, contractors and other businesses, because they would have logos or lettering of some sort on them. Then she eliminated anything less than four years old, because of the rust beneath the doors, which left her with a grand total of eight, and I think there’s a good chance that one of those eight will match the one on the tape.’ Molly pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. ‘That’s a list of the owners and their addresses,’ she said, ‘and I intend to start on them first thing tomorrow morning.’
Tregalles picked up the list. ‘How’d she get DVLA to react so fast?’ he asked as he scanned the names. ‘They’ve never done that for me.’
‘Maybe it’s because you’re not Sophie, and you don’t have that lovely Welsh accent,’ said Molly, grinning. ‘She can be very persuasive when there’s a young man on the other end of the line.’
‘None of the names ring a bell,’ Tregalles said as he started to hand the list back, then paused to look at it again and sat up straight. ‘I don’t recognize the name – Mullen,’ he said softly, ‘but his address in Cogshill Lane is interesting. Very interesting.’ He took out his own notebook and flipped the pages until he found what he was looking for. ‘Yes, here it is. Maria Navarro, The Larches, Cogshill Lane. It’s the same address!’
He snapped the notebook shut and looked at the time. ‘I know it’s late in the day, but I don’t think we should wait till morning; I think we should go out there now. Maria told me that everyone in that house works at the hospital, so I think there’s a better chance of finding this man, Gary Mullen, at home now, rather than tomorrow
. Before we go, though, I’d better have a word with the boss and bring him up to speed, so I’ll see you in fifteen minutes at the car. And give Audrey a ring for me, will you? Tell her I’ll be a bit late home. Don’t suppose you’ve got anything special on tonight, have you?’ he asked belatedly.
No, nothing special on tonight, thought Molly bleakly as she watched him leave the room. Tonight or any other night for that matter, apart from her visits to the gym, and even they were becoming less frequent. Even so, the fact that Tregalles had assumed so casually that she would be free really irked her. He hadn’t even waited for an answer.
Muttering beneath her breath, Molly took out her phone and scrolled to Tregalles Home.
TEN
There were only four houses in Cogshill Lane; all were on one side of the dead-end lane, all large, rambling old places, each with its own half acre of land. On the other side of the lane was a high brick wall, the rear boundary of a small industrial park.
The Larches was the third house down, half hidden behind a hedge that looked as if it hadn’t been trimmed for years. Tregalles turned in and followed the short, once gravelled, rutted driveway to a grassy patch in front of the house on which three vehicles were parked – two cars and a white Ford Transit van.
‘Just take a look at that little beauty!’ Tregalles said as he got out of the car. ‘That’s a Porsche Carrera 911 convertible,’ he continued almost reverently. ‘Take a good look, Molly, because I guarantee you won’t see many of those around here.’ He glanced up at the house. ‘I wonder who it belongs to. I got the impression from Maria that these people were all trainees like herself, and they’d joined forces to keep their costs down. But somebody’s doing all right by the look of it. Whoever owns this car isn’t some poor struggling student.’
‘Could be struggling to make the payments, though,’ said Molly. ‘But it’s the van we came to see,’ she reminded him.