‘In Dorset. With that Veronica Hodges. At one of the Jerusalem Holiday Homes.’
‘But that’s the point, Mrs Pritchard. She wasn’t.’
Pritchard and his wife exchanged a puzzled glance.
‘Veronica was ill, and couldn’t go to Dorset. Therefore Charity couldn’t go, either. Because of the rule about young girls not travelling alone.’
‘Quite right, too,’ put in Jethro. ‘But doesn’t Veronica know where Charity was over the weekend?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Perhaps she was at home?’
‘She wasn’t.’
They were both silent, staring at him with identical expressions of blank incomprehension.
‘She must have stayed with a friend,’ said Mrs Pritchard.
‘Do you happen to know the names of any of her friends?’
They shook their heads.
Thanet looked at Jethro. ‘What about the Bible class?’
‘What do you mean?’
For a moment Thanet could have sworn he’d seen a hint of panic there. Had he been mistaken?
‘Well, I understand that you lead a Bible class on Friday evenings, and that Charity was a member. Was there anyone in it with whom she was particularly friendly?’
‘Only Veronica.’
Thanet was beginning to feel that all roads led to Veronica.
‘Are there any boys in the class?’
Jethro said stiffly, ‘Two.’
‘How old?’
‘Ten and eleven.’
‘I see.’ Much too young to be of interest to a girl of fifteen. ‘Did Charity ever speak of a boy friend, to either of you?’ He knew it was a pointless question, but it had to be asked.
‘Charity didn’t have any boy friends.’ Mrs Pritchard had sucked her lips in disapprovingly.
‘Maybe not in the accepted sense of the word. But did you ever hear her refer to a boy, even in passing?’
More headshaking.
‘She knew no young men at all?’
Again, negative—though there had been a flicker of some indefinable emotion in Mrs Pritchard’s eyes.
‘You’re sure?’ Thanet pressed.
They were sure.
‘We know that Charity left Veronica Hodges’ house at around 9.35 last night, and she wasn’t found until 10.40. We were wondering if by any chance she called in here on her way home?’
Jethro turned to his wife, eyebrows raised interrogatively.
So, thought Thanet. Jethro had been out last night.
Mrs Pritchard frowned. ‘Why should she have wanted to call here?’
Thanet shrugged. ‘If she was like a daughter to you …’ It was difficult not to let a hint of sarcasm creep into his voice.
Mrs Pritchard’s shoulders twitched impatiently. ‘Well, she didn’t.’
‘You were here?’
‘Of course I was here,’ she snapped. ‘Where else d’you think I’d be at that time of night? Anyway, I can’t leave my mother-in-law by herself.’
‘I’d have thought an old lady like that would be tucked up in bed pretty early.’
‘If you knew anything at all about old people, you’d know they need very little sleep. My mother-in-law may go to bed early, but she’s often still awake when we go up. There’s always the danger she might start wandering around and fall down the stairs or something.’
‘And you were out, I gather, Mr Pritchard?’
‘There was a meeting at the school—I’m caretaker at Holly Road Primary.’
‘On Bank Holiday Monday?’
Jethro flushed. ‘It was a special occasion. They’re supposed to be closing the school down, and the parents have been up in arms about it. They’ve been trying for months to get Peter Hannaway to come and hear their case and in the end he said the only date he could manage was Bank Holiday Monday.’ Peter Hannaway was the local MP. Jethro gave a cynical little jerk of the head. ‘Some of the parents thought he only suggested that date because he hoped most of them would be too busy off enjoying themselves to turn up, but if so he was disappointed. The hall was packed.’
‘What time did the meeting end?’
Jethro hesitated fractionally. ‘About 9.30.’
‘And you got home at …?’
‘Quarter past ten,’ said Mrs Pritchard, with a long-suffering glance at her husband.
‘I didn’t get away till after ten,’ said Jethro defensively. ‘There’s always a lot to do after a meeting—tidy up, switch all the lights off, lock up … And there’re always a few people who don’t seem to have homes to go to.’
So Jethro had been out and about for part of the relevant time … Thanet had already familiarised himself with the geography of the area and was aware that at one point, just before Charity entered the footpath, Jethro’s route would have touched on hers. ‘On your way home, did you see Charity?’
Jethro shook his head vehemently. ‘If I had, I’d have told you, wouldn’t I?’
That depends, thought Thanet.
‘Not even a glimpse in the distance?’
‘No! And it was dark by then, remember.’
‘And you’re both absolutely certain that you can’t think of anyone with whom she might have spent the weekend?’
They couldn’t. No point in wasting any more time here at present. Thanet left.
All the same, he thought as he set off briskly for Lantern Street, the interview had been interesting, if not particularly informative. Mrs Pritchard’s hostility to himself, for example. Was it because she had taken an instant dislike to him? Because that was how she treated everyone? Or—much more interestingly—because she had been on the defensive in this particular situation?
One thing was certain. Whatever Jethro had felt about his niece, Mrs Pritchard had disliked her intensely. Thanet remembered that hint of satisfaction in Mrs Hodges’ voice last night, when she had said that Charity would be in trouble at home after her weekend’s absence, and he began to wonder: what was it about the girl, which had provoked dislike? It could be very important to find out. Dislike, magnified over and over, can become hatred, and in hatred may lie the seeds of murder.
Perhaps Veronica would be able to enlighten him.
7
‘What a terrible thing, Inspector!’ burst out Mrs Hodges as soon as she saw who was on the doorstep. She gestured to him to come in.
‘Your constable called to tell me just before I heard it on Radio Medway. Veronica doesn’t know yet, she left very early on a trip to Boulogne. She’ll be ever so upset, when she hears. I can’t bear to think about it. I mean, it must have happened when Charity was on her way home from here … Oh, do sit down.’
By daylight, Mrs Hodges was revealed as short and plump, her ample curves inadequately corseted into a tight, pink crimplene dress. Her frizzy blonde hair haloed a round, pleasant face, a face which somehow lacked definition, like a jelly which has been poured into one mould and then, when it was almost set, transferred to a different one. She was wearing fluffy pink bedroom slippers and exuded a faint odour of fresh perspiration overlaid with cheap talcum powder.
‘Would you like a cup of tea? Or coffee? I was just going to have one, the kettle’s already boiled. Oh dear, it seems awful to be talking about cups of tea, when …’
Thanet smiled. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’d love a cup of coffee.’
‘Won’t be a minute.’
One glance at this room had told Thanet that, whatever Veronica’s religious convictions, Mrs Hodges did not belong to the Children. The morning sun, streaming through the gap between the frilly net curtains, reflected off the row of brass ornaments on the mantelpiece, gleamed upon the surface of small, highly-polished tables and glowed through vases of coloured glass filled with garish plastic flowers. A vivid print of a Spanish dancer with a rose between her teeth took pride of place above the fireplace.
Thanet looked thoughtfully at Mrs Hodges as she returned with the coffee. Owner and room were strangely at variance. He would have expected the c
reator of all this exuberance to have a natural gaiety, but now that he looked at her more closely he could see in her face a settled sadness which he felt had nothing to do with the shock of Charity’s death.
‘Here we are, then,’ she said.
She had exchanged the slippers for high-heeled shoes which gave her a jerky, stiff-legged gait reminiscent of the pigeons in Trafalgar Square. Thanet was touched to see that she had taken trouble with the tray. There was a starched linen cloth of dazzling whiteness and a plate of homemade biscuits. He took one.
‘Mmm. Delicious,’ he said.
She looked gratified. ‘Veronica’s favourites.’
‘She’s gone on a day trip to Boulogne, you said?’
‘Yes. With some friends from school. Four of them. Of course, as I said, she hadn’t heard the news or I don’t suppose she’d have gone.’
‘What time will she be back?’
‘I’m not sure. They’re catching the four o’clock boat, that’s all I know.’
‘Did she happen to mention which friend Charity had been staying with, over the weekend?’
Mrs Hodges shook her head.
‘Or where the friend lived?’
‘No.’
‘I’d very much like a word with her. Would you mind if I came back this evening? You can stay with us while we talk, of course.’
‘If you think it’ll be any help …’
‘Thank you … Was Charity supposed to be going on this trip?’
‘Oh no. Her father would never have let her. Anyway, I don’t suppose she’d have wanted to. She never was one for a crowd.’
‘Veronica was her only friend?’
Mrs Hodges shrugged. ‘So far as I know. And …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, to be honest, I’ve never really been able to understand why Veronica took up with her in the first place. Mind, they’ve known each other for years, ever since they were kids. They went to Dene Road Primary together.’
‘But they weren’t particularly friendly at that time?’
‘No. That wasn’t till after …’ She shook her head, looked away from him.
‘After what?’
She compressed her lips. ‘After Veronica’s dad died.’
Thanet knew the value of silence. He waited.
Mrs Hodges sighed, shook her head again, sadly. ‘I suppose it was all down to me—Veronica taking up with Charity, I mean. When Jim—my husband—was killed in a road accident two years ago … It was such a shock. I just couldn’t take it in. He went off to work one day and … never came back.’
Lineham’s father had died in similar circumstances. Thanet vividly remembered the sergeant speaking of the experience in just these tones.
Mrs Hodges gave Thanet a shame-faced glance and then looked away again, out of the window, eyes glazed with memory. ‘It hit me so hard I just went to pieces. And Veronica … poor kid, she just used to shut herself up in her room, for hours at a time. And I was so busy feeling sorry for myself I just didn’t see she needed comforting just as much as I did.’
She fell silent.
‘And that was when she became friendly with Charity?’
‘Yes.’ Mrs Hodges gave a rueful grin. ‘And, would you believe it, at the time I was grateful to her for taking Veronica off my back!’
‘You mean, you later regretted encouraging the friendship?’
‘Did I just!’
‘Why?’ said Thanet softly.
She looked full at him then, a fierce, assessing stare. He could almost hear her thinking, Will he use anything I tell him to hurt Veronica? He held her eyes steadily with what he hoped was benign reassurance and after a moment he saw her shoulders relax as she sat back a little in her chair.
‘Because she had far too much influence over Veronica, that’s why. You wouldn’t believe how much Veronica’s changed since she started going around with Charity.’
‘In what way?’
‘She used to be full of fun, always laughing. But now, well, you’re lucky even to get a smile out of her.’
‘Adolescents are often moody, I believe.’
‘I know that! I’m not just talking about moods, this is all the time. Veronica used to have loads of friends, this place used to be full of kids in and out all day long, but now … today’s the first time she’s done anything with anybody but Charity for ages, and she took an awful lot of persuading before she said she’d go, I can tell you.’ Mrs Hodges was really launched now. ‘Then there’s that Jubilee Road lot …’
‘The Children of Jerusalem, you mean?’
‘That’s right. Downright peculiar they are, I can tell you. And once they get hold of you … I’m not saying anything against religion, mind. I go to church regular myself, at Christmas and Easter, and people are entitled to their own opinions, but that lot … No telly, no boyfriends, no make-up, no dancing, no pictures, Bible classes once a week and church all day on Sundays … It’s not natural and Veronica’s heart wasn’t in it, no one can tell me otherwise.’
‘Then why did she go along with it, do you think?’
‘Beats me. To please Charity, I suppose. And yet …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, you might think this sounds stupid, when they used to spend so much time together, but I never really felt Veronica liked Charity.’
‘She must have, to a certain extent, surely. They’ve even been away on holiday together, haven’ they?’
‘Just a weekend at Easter, to the Jerusalem Holiday place in Dorset. And that’s another thing. I didn’t think Veronica had enjoyed it that much at Easter but there she was, begging to go again. Went on and on about it till I said yes …’
‘As it turned out, she couldn’t go because she was ill. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Had a temperature of 103 on Friday morning. I took one look at her and said, “That’s it, my girl. You’re not going anywhere today and that’s that.” And d’you know, after all that nagging to allow her to go, I could have sworn she was relieved! I ask you! It’s beyond me, I can tell you.’
‘She’s all right again now, I gather.’
‘Yes. I don’t know what it was, but by Saturday she was back to normal.’
‘How did Charity take it when she found that the holiday was off?’
‘Didn’t say much. But she wasn’t very pleased, I could tell. Well, I could understand that, when she was all packed up and on her way, it was bound to be a disappointment, wasn’t it? But there wasn’t much she could do about it, was there? And she didn’t say a word about her parents going away.’
‘She didn’t know herself, at that point, that they were going to.’
‘Ah. I see. Well anyway, when she did find out she could easily have come back here. I’d willingly have put her up for the weekend.’
‘Even though you didn’t like her?’ said Thanet softly.
‘I didn’t say that, did I?’ She caught Thanet’s eye, gave a rueful little smile. ‘No, well, I suppose it’s pretty obvious. I didn’t, and that’s the truth.’
‘Why not?’ Thanet was very gentle. This could be important.
Mrs Hodges wrinkled her nose. ‘I feel terrible, talking about her like this, with the poor girl barely cold …’
‘But …?’
‘But I can’t help the way I feel, can I?’
‘No one can.’
Again, he waited, and once more his patience was rewarded.
Mrs Hodges twisted her hands in her lap and said, ‘I don’t know why it was, really, I’ve never tried to put my finger on it before. She was always very quiet, polite, well-behaved …’ She stopped, looked surprised.
‘You’ve just remembered something?’
‘Yes. I’d forgotten. It was so long ago. When they were quite little—six or seven, perhaps—Charity was forever in hot water at school. I remember now, Veronica was always coming home with tales of what Charity’d been up to. Then, suddenly, it stopped.’
‘You don’t know why?’
/>
‘I never thought to ask, at the time. But now, looking back, it does seem a bit odd. I mean, knowing Charity as she is now—was, I mean—I just can’t imagine her as naughty as that. D’you see what I mean?’
‘Yes.’ Thanet was thoughtful. If true, this was interesting. But there was always the possibility that Veronica had been fantasising. At a certain age naughtiness has a fascination for many children.
‘You were trying to explain what it was you didn’t like about Charity.’
‘Yes … But it’s so difficult to pin down. She just made me feel … uncomfortable, that’s all.’
‘How do you mean, exactly?’
But try as he would, Thanet could not get her to be more specific. Finally, there was just one other question he wanted to ask. He should have put it to Charity’s parents, but he’d forgotten.
‘Just as a matter of interest, if the girls had gone to Dorset as planned, what time would they have got back last night?’
‘Same time as Charity got here. They were going to catch the 7.20 from Victoria.’
‘I see. Thank you.’ Thanet arranged to return at 9 pm to see Veronica.
Lineham was already waiting for him in the car park of the Hay Wain.
‘Looks as though it’s under new management,’ said the sergeant as they walked into the public bar.
‘Very nice, too.’ The place had been redecorated and recarpeted, but the old high-back oak settles had been retained and none of the atmosphere sacrificed on the altar of modernity.
The food looked good, too: homemade soups, pâtés, pies and quiches, interesting salads and even desserts. Thanet chose a wedge of cold game pie packed with a variety of meats, Lineham a slice of tuna and tomato quiche. Both added a baked potato, with butter.
‘I’m surprised the place isn’t packed out,’ said Lineham, chewing appreciatively.
‘I expect it soon will be, once the word gets around.’
They had found a corner table where they could talk without fear of being overheard.
‘How did you get on, then, Mike?’
Lineham pulled a face. ‘All right. Not exactly riveting stuff, though.’
‘Well?’
Lineham took out his notebook.
‘Children of Jerusalem: started in the mid-nineteenth century by one Jeremiah Jones. According to the books I found, many troubles—unspecified—were sent to test him and at the end of this time of trial he had a vision of God and the Holy City and started the Children of Jerusalem. His mission, and that of the sect after his death, was to carry the flame of Truth and pass it on to each succeeding generation.’
Close Her Eyes Page 6