‘So you wish to know what lays ahead for your future, my dear?’ Esmeralda said dryly. ‘It is what you make it. You have it in your own hands to do what you will with your life. I see you have a young man. Two men are close to you...’
‘Is the young man the right one for me?’
Esmeralda’s voice was caustic. ‘Don’t you know already? But which one do you prefer? Here is the Emperor. He represents the strong influence of wealth in your life. He is a rich man with much experience.’ She frowned. ‘But I now see more than two men here with you.’
Yvette’s black brows knitted together tightly. And her hand fidgeted with the slender gold watch on the bare honey brown arm held in her lap.
‘There is a third man here.’ Esmeralda looked for her reaction to this. ‘His intentions towards you are veiled from me.’ Her dark brows frowned. ‘But I feel that the portents are not so good, my dear. So beware - you must be careful how you handle your love life. You understand what I am saying to you, ma petite? You are so young. I must warn you that none of these suitors are right for you.’
‘You lie, Madame! How do you know this?’
‘You picked them out, my dear. You are in sole command of your own fate.’
‘What you say... It-it cannot be true.’
‘The cards tell me this and they do not lie. I advise you to take great care during the next few hours. It could be vital for your safety.’ Esmeralda hesitated and touched the Tower card. She saw it as a symbol of trouble, and closed her eyes for a second or so. What else could she say to this girl? Should she say, ‘Beware of the companion you choose for the weekend? He could be so wrong for you. Dangerous even.’
Instead she said softly; ‘Your choice should not be a married man. He is wrong for you. And this other younger man he is only thinking of prospering from you. He takes and never gives willingly. He leads you here into making a mess and chaos of your young life.’
‘How do you know this? Have you been told bad things by the old ladies who gossip at the hotel and you listen to them? Is that not so?’
‘No, child.’ Esmeralda shook her head, loosening a frond of bright hennaed hair from her turban as she firmly declared: ‘I knew nothing about your personal life before you walked through this door.’
‘I cannot believe what you say! You are a-a nosy old bitch,’ Yvette declared loudly and other sharp words followed in gutter French which Esmeralda was thankful she couldn’t interpret quickly off the cuff.
The girl stood up abruptly, shaking the light table and her purse fell open on the green rush matting floor, where its contents mixed with the fallen cards. She bent over and retrieved her possessions hastily and threw some coins down on the table. ‘Here - -here is your money. And I - I hope you choke on it, Madame!’
She walked out of the door and slammed it shut after her. Sending the long strands of glittering crystal beads on the ceiling mobile tinkling like crazy for a minute or so. Esmeralda sat still for a moment, thinking quietly. Then she picked up the angry voices filtering in from outside. Accompanied by the sound of the noisy traffic along the sea front it didn’t make pleasant hearing. The girl was arguing loudly with a man.
One of the men that she had warned her about. Esmeralda gathered up the cards slowly and those that had fallen and scattered onto the floor. She shook her head and sighed sadly. She had failed and it was entirely up to the girl now what she did with her life.
7
‘Raymond Perkins, Turner. What do we know about this lad?’ Kent said, as he took his seat in the car next to Turner, outside the police station prior to moving off. He took the top off of his carton of coffee cautiously. He hadn’t put the canteen to the test much before. ‘He’d be working at the funeral parlour today, I suppose.
‘It’s possible that Maureen led him up the garden path like she did her parents. He’d have some idea perhaps of what that young madam was up to last evening. If she felt like telling him.’
‘Carey’s has a funeral this morning. He might still be out,’ Turner said taking a large bite appreciatively out of his thick ham and pickle sandwich. It wasn’t bad as canteen food went but he’d much rather he lunched at home. Kent was working him, and the rest of the team, hard as befitted a new broom. Let’s hope he’d get good support from those that mattered in the Town Hall, Turner thought smiling. If Kent stepped on any of their toes it spelt big trouble.
The town was beneficially crowded, hotels, guesthouses and local traders were doing well and, for once, the weather was on their side. They didn’t need any nasty business like this murder of a young girl, and a local one, at that to spoil the holiday trade.
Kent sipped his plastic cup of scalding hot coffee carefully. If he guessed what his colleague was thinking he showed no signs of it. ‘So tell me what you know about Raymond Perkins if anything? You recognized his name when it was first mentioned.’
‘He’s not a bad lad, guv. He’s a bit simple but hard working. His grandmother’s brought him up from the age of three and made a pretty good job of it.’
‘So - what’s he like? I’d hardly expect him to be the average teenager working in that place.’ Kent chuckled. ‘Still it’s respectable enough and someone has to do it.’
Turner finished his sandwich and opened up his carton of strong saffron coloured tea and grinned appreciatively. Just how he liked it; Carole, his wife, often scolded him about it. ‘Your stomach lining must be like old leather, Stan.’
‘Raymond - on the whole is a quiet lad. He’s surprised me behaving like he has with young Maureen. But you’ll have to make your own judgment when you meet him, guv.’
He made a face now tasting the tea. ‘Bugger! Forgot the sugar!’
*
At the Carey Funeral Parlour they were met with a; ‘Sorry, Inspector Kent, Raymond Perkins is not in today. He’s at home sick. He has a bad migraine according to his grandmother who phoned in first thing.’
Frances Leach, a quiet, brown-haired woman in her mid-forties, smiled apologetically at them over her office desk. ‘Mr. Carey naturally is not here. Mr. Sharman had to take over. Maureen’s death has affected everyone.’ Her own distress was visible in her troubled blue-grey eyes. ‘Poor Mrs Carey. She is in bed; the doctor has sedated her. But you want to see Raymond?’
‘Yes, as soon as possible, we need to question everyone who knew the girl personally.’
‘I can give you his home address. But I expect Sergeant Turner knows it.’ She smiled. ‘He used to be the community policeman. He’s the man to ask about most local affairs.’
‘Thank you, Miss Leach.’
Back in the car Kent said, ‘So - let’s go see the Perkins, Turner. How much do we know about the lad? Anything at all?’
‘He’s lived with his gran ,Mrs June Perkins, guv, since he was a small kid. Mrs P. is a cleaner for the Carey’s, the Welbecks, the Chapel and the White Rock Hotel on the sea front. A nice hard working woman, a bit of a character and a gossip,’ Turner said with a smile as they drove to the Perkins house on the council estate. ‘And a devout chapelgoer. She takes her religion most seriously. And attends the same chapel as the Carey’s.’
June Perkins looked startled to see the law standing on her doorstep. ‘Mr. Turner! What brings you here?’
‘Mrs Perkins may we come in? I’m Detective Inspector Kent and it appears that you know Sergeant Turner already. We would like to speak to your grandson, Raymond please? We were told at Carey’s Funeral Parlour that Raymond is home on sick leave.’
‘That’s right, he is.’
Letting them in, she said, ‘What do you want with him? He’s not well. He has a migraine. I get it bad myself, at times.’ She opened the door to her front room, partly shaded by dusty window blinds, and smelt strongly of lavender furniture polish. ‘Would you like to wait in here? Is it police business, Mr. Turner?’ she inquired looking anxious.
‘Yes, Mrs Perkins, I’m afraid it is.’
‘I’ll see if I can get him up.’ She shook her
head doubtfully. ‘He looked really poorly when I called him for work this morning. Had to phone in for him.’
‘Just tell him we’re here, please. The sooner he speaks to us the quicker he’ll get it over with. We need to ask him some questions about his whereabouts last night.’
A plump hand flew to her mouth. ‘It’s about that dreadful murder, isn’t it? Raymond is a good boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he wouldn’t,’ she said with trembling lips. ‘Mr. Turner can tell you that, Inspector.’
‘Just fetch him down, please.’
Ten minutes later Raymond Perkins appeared in the doorway of the room. A thin lanky youngster in a white sweatshirt and frayed blue jeans, he did look pretty sick, Turner had to admit. If he knew about it already, he was taking the girl’s death hard. Not bad looking, his skin looked grey and his brown eyes, red rimmed and strained blinked back at them as the afternoon sun streamed in bravely through cracks in the slightly crooked French window blinds. He collapsed and slumped into the nearest easy chair like a skinny beanie toy and scratched a spot on his chin with a long clean nail.
Kent introduced himself pleasantly. ‘Inspector Kent, lad. We shan’t keep you long, Raymond. Can you tell me where you went last night and if you met anyone who could verify your movements?’
An interruption came as Mrs Perkins brought in a tea tray and a plentiful helping of chocolate wafer biscuits on her best gold-rimmed china tea service. She put it down on a small linen topped table and sat down in a chair with a loud, breathy sigh. ‘Help yourself, to milk and sugar, Inspector Kent, Mr. Turner.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Perkins.’
Kent tried again. ‘So from the beginning, Raymond...’
‘Tell them where you went and what you did, there’s a good boy - -’ His grandmother beamed encouragingly.
‘I went down the old town. About seven, I think,’ he said, rubbing the knees of his worn jeans nervously with the palm of his hands.
‘And - how did you pass the evening, son? Did you have company? It wasn’t with Maureen Carey according to her friend Susan Flitch, was it?’
He pushed back the thick flaxen hair that fell in a heavy lock in a Byronic fashion over his high forehead with his hand. Anger sparked his eyes into life and a crimson flush charged the pale cheeks. ‘She told me she was seeing someone else.’
‘Did she tell you his name? I take it that it was a man and not a girlfriend?’
He looked down at his scuffed white trainers and mumbled; ‘She wouldn’t tell me who it was.’ He sniffed and rubbed a balled fist into his eyes. ‘She-she laughed at me. The silly cow!’ His face twisted into a painful grimace. ‘She said, `wouldn’t you like to know?` She likes playing games with me she does.’ He sniffed again.
‘Did she say what time her date was and where?’
‘She told me she’d see that I was kicked out of my job if I said anything to her Dad or asked her anymore questions.’
‘So - what did you do to pass the evening? Did you meet up with friends or what?’
He shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘This and that - what do you want to know all this for?’
He looked over apprehensively at his grandmother. The kid’s a scared bunny, Kent thought and with that the answer came abruptly from her.
‘Have you been playing on those fruit machines again? What have I told you about wasting your money on gambling?’
‘No, Gran. Honest. I-I went into the bowling alley. Yeah... That’s right. That’s what I did.’
‘And what time was that?’
Again the frightened look flung at Mrs Perkins. ‘Half seven or thereabouts, can’t remember exactly.’
‘And how long did you spend in there? Was there anyone there that knows you?’
He thought carefully for a moment. Rubbed the knees of his jeans again. ‘Can’t say offhand. Stayed there for an hour or so till about ten. Then I took a stroll along the sea front and tried to get myself together. I thought I might meet up with Maureen - see.’
‘And did you?’
‘No!’ He shook his head. ‘So... So I went on the pier.’ Raymond glanced over at his grandmother again. ‘I didn’t come home right away. I played on a bingo stall for a bit and won a box of chocs for Gran, didn’t I?’
‘That’s right. He did. It’s a lovely big one too. He gave it to me first thing.’
‘So about what time was it when you got home?’
A bony hand tugged at the loose neck of his sweatshirt. ‘About twelve, I reckon. The church clock was chiming as I walked back up the hill by the Havelock pub. I missed the last bus home from the town centre - see. And Gran was asleep when I looked in on her.’
‘He likes walking does our Raymond. He was always taking off on trek into the countryside when he was small. You know that yourself, Mr. Turner. The times I’ve had to call you when I’ve been worried about him.’
The Sergeant nodded. ‘That’s right, Mrs Perkins.’ He took a sip of his tea it was how he liked it strong and sweet. Best to let the old girl get it off her chest.
‘They found him on the top of a double-decker bus in Tonbridge Wells of all places when he was only six, Inspector Kent.’ She reached forward to pat Raymond’s hand fondly. He withdrew it quickly. ‘It was lucky he had his name printed in his school blazer jacket. Said he wanted to go to London like Dick Whittington. I took him to see the pantomime Puss in Boots only the week before. Sorry, Inspector. I must let you get on, mustn’t I?’
‘So where else did your long stroll take you last night? Was it along the cliff path near Lover Leap?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ June Perkins burst in. ‘That he has had something to do with that poor girl’s death?’
‘We have to establish his movements, Mrs Perkins,’ Turner said with a reassuring smile.
‘So where did you go other than the walk along the front and the bowling alley?’
‘On the pier and stayed awhile then walked back through the town centre home. Nowhere else.’
‘So if you did this can you remember meeting anyone on your travels who can verify that in the bowling alley for instance? What about the bingo stallholder on the pier? Would he remember you?’
‘Might do. Doubt it though.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t honestly say. There were lots of other people playing on it. And it was late.’
‘He might remember if you won a prize.’
‘Suppose so...’
‘Think hard now, son. We have to question everyone who knew the Carey girl personally.’
‘Maureen, you mean? Was she the girl found on the cliff top?’ June Perkins burst in again. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’
Raymond stared back blankly at them for a second or so. ‘She can’t be - not my Maureen,’ he said in a strangulated voice.
Kent nodded. ‘Afraid so, son, we have to find the person that Maureen was planning to meet last evening, Raymond, and if it was her killer; we have to catch him.’
‘I bloody well know that,’ he said tearfully.
‘Raymond! Watch your language! She was a silly little girl, Inspector,’ June Perkins said. ‘Fancy arranging to meet someone on the cliff tops so late at night. She was only fifteen. She was asking for trouble.’ She shook her head. ‘They won’t be told anything these young girls. They think they know what they’re doing till it’s too late.’
‘Gran!’
‘It’s her parents that I feel really feel sorry for. Mr. Carey is a good man. He lives by the good book. Her mother, poor soul, I daresay will never get over it. I clean for her two days a week. Even when my back plays me up something chronic. She simply idolised that girl.’
Raymond’s answer to this was to bury his face in his hands and sob loudly. Turner sighed, popped a sweet into his mouth, and closed up his notebook. The grandmother was at the boy’s side immediately. She put her arms round him to give him a hug and a kiss as he tried to push her away. ‘There, there, don’t take on so.’
‘So you can’t think of anyone who can give you
an alibi for last night? Answer me please.’
Raymond raised his tear stained face to mumble, ‘Not offhand, I can’t. I met up with n-no-one I knew - not last night.’
‘Can’t you see how my boy’s suffering? He’s taking it real bad. He wouldn’t harm a hair of that girl’s head. Even though the little tart played him up something cruel. I’ll send him along to the police station if he can remember anything useful later, Mr. Turner.’
Kent studied Raymond’s miserable face thoughtfully. There was angst there too. ‘Do that, son, if you can recall anything at all about what Maureen said about her date last night. Any tip offs she might have given you. Was it someone she might have known for some time or someone new? A blind date, maybe from the Internet? It could be almost anyone these days.’
‘I told you. I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. She was funny and kind of secretive about it. She enjoyed bloody teasing me. Wanted to see me get mad. It gave her a buzz. There’s no way she would tell me,’ he said scowling.
‘Okay. Come along to the station if you do remember anything at all. You want to help us catch her killer, don’t you?’ Raymond nodded; the fair hair flopped in Byronic fashion over his forehead again. ‘Ask for Sergeant Turner or myself. Thank you Raymond- Mrs Perkins- for your time.’
8
Viviane heard Kent come in at seven. She’d had her evening meal and, as usual, cooked for two. She would have to get used to cooking in smaller portions when Simon left home
She was about to settle down for the evening, her TV program picked out, when she heard Beazy utter a low throaty meow, his version of a growl when the knock came on her living room door.
‘Viviane?’
‘Come in, Jon. Quiet, Beazy!’
Jon put his head round the door and the rest of his spare, lean body followed. She was always amazed that with his cooking skills and the amount he ate, he never visibly put on weight. He had friendly hazel eyes, with attached laughter lines, a thin well - used face, neatly kept brown hair and the wide mobile mouth smiled back at her generously. As she saw him now he was the opposite in every way to her stolid, chunky built husband Bill.
Three Little Maids Page 4