The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat

by Jennifer Jones

  ‘And can you tell me the dates and times of these occasions?’

  ‘Of course I can’t!’

  ‘And you’ve never spoken to her?’

  ‘Why must I keep on repeating myself? I’ll say it slowly for you. No – I – have – not.’

  Neil smiled. ‘And she’s never spoken to you?’

  Andrew Bryson’s face flushed a deep red. ‘Only that last time I saw her – must be just over five weeks ago I suppose. She was going out, carrying a small suitcase, and when she saw me she started babbling about how she was going down to Brighton for the weekend with some bloke she’d just met – well, I just gave her a filthy look, went into my flat, and slammed the door. Like I needed to know! I heard her leave a few seconds after.’

  Finally they were getting somewhere. ‘Did she mention where she was staying? The name of a hotel?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t ask me to remember. I mean, who goes off with a practical stranger like that? If something’s happened to her, it’s her own bloody fault!’

  Neil gritted his teeth. ‘What was she wearing?’

  ‘Well – that coat.’

  ‘You mentioned a suitcase – what did that look like?’

  ‘It looked like a suitcase – the sort with wheels.’

  ‘I meant – what colour was it?’

  ‘I don’t know – green, I think.’

  ‘All right. And you definitely haven’t seen her since that weekend?’

  ‘I definitely haven’t seen her since that weekend.’

  ‘Very well. Would you happen to know the letting agency in charge of the flat?’

  ‘No, but if it’s the same as mine it’s Cranford’s in Piggott Street.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Bryson. We may need to speak to you again. Here’s my card. If you should remember the name of that hotel, or any of the dates on which you saw Miss Campbell, the information would be of tremendous assistance.’

  Andrew Bryson snatched the card from him and thrust it into his pocket, then walked out on to the pavement without another word. Neil and Steve watched him go.

  ‘What do you make of all that, Steve?’

  ‘That was clever of you, Sir, asking if she’d spoken to him. He wasn’t going to volunteer that by himself, was he?’

  ‘It would seem not. But I wasn’t fishing for compliments, DC Kendall, I meant he seemed rather too vehement in his denials. And what was he going to say about knowing whether Katie was home or not? What isn’t he telling us?’

  ‘You think he’s a suspect, Sir?’

  ‘I’m keeping an open mind. Let’s see if anyone else is in.’

  The door to flat twelve was opened by a man in his early to mid-thirties, wearing a dressing gown and pyjamas. He looked very unwell. Once again Neil explained the purpose of their visit.

  ‘Yes. Her sister was here asking about her a couple of nights ago. My wife spoke to her. She’s gone missing, hasn’t she?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to establish. Can you tell me how well you know Katie Campbell, Mr …?’

  ‘It’s Josh. Josh Martin. I … well … look, would you mind coming inside? I’ve got a bad case of the flu and I really don’t feel up to standing.’

  In the lounge, Neil took in the black leather sofa and armchairs brightened by red silk cushions, the chrome and black glass coffee table, the state of the art sound system with tower speakers. On a teak sideboard were a few framed photographs and some small red and black ornaments, a large bunch of freesias in a crystal vase.

  ‘You own this flat, Mr Martin?’ he asked.

  ‘No, but we rented it unfurnished.’ Josh smiled. ‘As you can probably see.’

  ‘Yes. Who is the letting agency?’

  ‘A crowd called Hopgood’s in Wandsworth High Street.’

  Josh sat on the sofa. Despite the greyish pallor of his skin Neil could see he was a very good-looking man, with wavy chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes. He had broad shoulders and muscular arms and Neil felt that here was a man who prided himself on keeping fit. He handed him the photo.

  ‘This is the woman we are trying to locate.’

  ‘Yes, that’s her.’ Josh held the photo in both hands as he studied it intently. His face took on a faraway look. After a few moments, Neil cleared his throat, and he jumped, colouring slightly.

  ‘Sorry. It’s just – this doesn’t really do her justice, you know? She’s a lot prettier in real life. And, well, her coat buttoned all the way up like that.’

  Neil raised an eyebrow. Josh leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Look – man to man, you know – I saw her once, coming out of her flat, she was wearing this coat, but it wasn’t done up, she had on this black, tight fitting dress … well, she just looked gorgeous, you know?’

  ‘I see. So you and Miss Campbell – there’s a friendship?’

  ‘What? Oh, no … no. God, I can’t say that I’ve even seen her more than a few times, you know? We’ve barely even spoken to each other, just a few pleasantries maybe – “How are you? Isn’t it a nice day?”, that sort of thing. My wife and I, we both work in the city, we leave by six every morning and don’t get back until after six each night. It’s quite exhausting, really. But Steph’s Mum lives in Wandsworth, and she’s not in good health. Steph wants to be close by, or we’d probably move closer to our work, you know?’

  ‘Mmm hmm …’

  ‘In fact, you’ll probably find that most of the other people in these flats are the same. Out at work all day, I mean. It’s like a mass exodus in the mornings, everyone hurrying off to the bus stop or the Tube.’

  ‘Right. So you’re not likely to see very much of anyone who has a different routine?’

  ‘No. It’s a pretty quiet place, really. Everyone keeps themselves pretty much to themselves, you know?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what your neighbour in flat seven said, too.’

  A sudden stillness came over Josh Martin. ‘Him,’ he said in a strained voice. ‘I have as little to do with him as possible.’

  Neil waited, interested, but nothing more was forthcoming. Josh changed the subject. ‘I suppose I should offer you a cup of tea or something?’

  ‘No, we’re fine, thank you. OK, so I understand why you wouldn’t see Miss Campbell during the week. What about on weekends?’

  ‘Well, Steph and I are at her mother’s most weekends. But yes, sometimes I’ve seen her on a Saturday morning, heading off down the street. You know who you should ask? A few houses down, there’s an old woman who sits by her window all day – well, she’s there every time I walk past, anyway. She might be able to give you some more information. You can’t miss the house, it’s got dozens of rose bushes out the front.’

  ‘Thank you, we’ll follow that up. Have you ever seen Miss Campbell with anyone, man or woman? Heard any visitors at her door?’

  ‘No. And that’s rather surprising, when you come to think of it. A pretty young woman like that, you’d think she would have lots of friends, you know?’

  ‘OK. And can you think when was the last time you saw her? Have you seen her since May the thirteenth?’

  ‘May the thirteenth …’ Josh drew in his breath. ‘Oh, God … May the thirteenth …’ He looked into Neil’s eyes, seemed about to say something, then glanced across at Steve and gave a slight shake of his head. ‘You know, I can’t say that I have … I’ve had a bit on my mind these past few weeks … But no, I think the last time I saw her was earlier that month – the week before, maybe.’

  ‘Mr Martin, if you’re keeping something from us …’

  ‘No! I’m not. It’s just … that night … I had rather an unpleasant experience, it’s not a date I’m likely to forget. But Katie Campbell – I wish I could help you more, that I had more to tell you. But when I said that we’d exchange pleasantries – you know how when you say “Hi!” to someone, and they say “Hi!” back, you can sort of tell if they’re interested in continuing a conversation or not? Well I could tell that she wasn’t, like she just wanted to be
left alone, you know?’

  ‘You mean she seemed a bit reserved? Shy?’

  ‘Yes … maybe. Her sister said she’s gone off with some guy – they’re probably just together somewhere, you know? People don’t always tell their family everything they’re doing.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope that’s the case.’ Neil stood up. ‘Thank you, Mr Martin, you’ve been very helpful. We’ll leave you to recuperate. But if anything else should come to mind, any tiny detail, please let us know.’

  Out in the stairwell, Neil said, ‘Well it would seem that Miss Katie Campbell has turned a few heads …’ he paused, grinned, ‘you know? Anyway, I think we’ll leave the rest to uniform, they can come back tonight when people are more likely to be in.’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Steve, feeling relieved. Door-to-door was one of the worst parts of the job, as far as he was concerned, asking the same questions over and over, often for very little return, sometimes encountering outright hostility. Let uniform handle it, it was more in their line, anyway.

  Neil read the young man’s thoughts clearly in his face. He smiled. ‘But we will go and visit the old lady with the roses.’

  They found the place easily. As Josh Martin had said, the garden was one huge mass of rose bushes, a veritable riot of colour, heady with scent on this still, warm day. Neil took a moment to stand and gaze, to appreciate its beauty. He knew that each rose would have its own name, but that was as much as he knew. On the ground he could see circles of pebbles which once would have defined the limits of each bush, but now they had all grown together, sometimes so entangled that it seemed as if one bush produced blooms of several different colours. On an impulse he got out his phone and took a photo and as he did, he saw the lace curtains in the front window move slightly. Feeling a bit guilty, he put his phone away.

  ‘Come on,’ he said to Steve and went and knocked at the door.

  It was opened by a tall, shapely woman dressed in a knee-length crimson skirt and a cream blouse. Large red hoops adorned her ears, while round her neck was a string of red and purple glass beads. Her hair was a mass of white, shoulder-length curls. Neil guessed her to be in her mid-seventies. Before he could say anything, she said,

  ‘I saw you admiring my late husband’s garden. It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. I hope you don’t mind me taking a photo but, well, my wife is an artist and I know she would love to paint this, she’ll produce something quite amazing.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all. Of course, I can’t manage it quite as well as Johnathan used to, it was really something to look at then.’

  ‘I’m sure it was.’ Neil made the introductions.

  The woman looked pleased. ‘Well, well. Come in, come in. It’s not every day I have two handsome young police officers come to visit.’

  ‘Not so young,’ Neil demurred as they followed her inside.

  ‘Oh, come on. You can’t be older than thirty-five, surely?’

  ‘I’m thirty-six,’ Neil admitted.

  ‘And you look about nineteen.’

  Steve scowled. ‘I’m twenty-two.’

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ she chuckled. ‘Well, I’m eighty-six.’ She saw Neil’s face and laughed again. ‘That’s why I tell people. I love to see their reaction. You thought I was ten years younger, didn’t you?’

  ‘Try twenty,’ Neil said, playing along.

  She looked delighted. ‘Well, that’s very flattering, I’m sure, but I don’t believe you.’

  They had reached the front room. Neil’s eyes were immediately drawn to the small table that had been placed near the window. A laptop and modem sat on top.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, following his gaze. ‘That’s where I sit and watch the world go by, while I work on my novels. I write romances. My grand-daughter helped me set up a website and I sell the books online – E-books, they’re called. I do quite well, actually, though it’s not about the money. It’s just something I enjoy. It keeps me young at heart.’

  ‘Yes. To be able to make money from something you love doing, that’s really lucky.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Very lucky. Anyway, how can I help you two officers? My name’s Ruth Harrison, by the way, but I insist on you calling me Ruth.’

  ‘Well, Ruth, we’re investigating a report of a missing person, a young woman who lives in the flats just up the road – this young woman.’ Neil produced the photograph.

  ‘Oh, yes. I’ve seen her. A few times, walking along the pavement, always in that coat. Well, I probably shouldn’t say that. I mightn’t recognise her without the coat, people’s faces aren’t very clear through those curtains.’

  ‘Do you remember if she was ever with anyone?’

  ‘The times I’ve seen her, she was always alone.’

  ‘And do you remember when was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘Let me think … it was a few weeks ago. She was walking that way,’ she pointed away from the flats, ‘and she was pulling a suitcase.’

  ‘Can you describe the suitcase?’

  ‘No, sorry, it was hidden by the fence. But I could hear the wheels on the pavement, that’s how I knew.’

  ‘OK. And do you have any idea what day this was?’

  ‘Let me check my calendar.’ She went to the computer and tapped at the keys for a few seconds. ‘Yes. It was Friday the thirteenth of May. I had just sold the thousandth copy of my latest book and my daughter was taking me out to dinner to celebrate. She arrived just as this young woman walked past, and I saw them say hello or some such to each other at the gate. It was just after five.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Because, young man, my daughter is Miss Punctuality herself whereas I hadn’t even begun to get ready.’

  Neil smiled. ‘So you wouldn’t have noticed if anyone else was in the street, following behind her?’

  ‘No, I really couldn’t say. My daughter’s arrival distracted me and I wasn’t looking at the street any more.’

  ‘OK. Well, thank you, Ruth, you’ve been very helpful.’

  She beamed. ‘Thank you. You’ve really brightened up my day. Maybe I’ll write you into one of my books.’

  ‘Well, if you do, I’ll be sure to buy it.’

  They took their leave. ‘How was that helpful, Sir?’ Steve said petulantly once they were back on the pavement.

  ‘Are you still smarting at being taken for a teenager? It confirmed the time that Katie left her flat, it confirmed what direction she was heading, it confirmed that she was on foot, that she didn’t get into someone’s car, or a taxi. Tiny pieces of information, Steve, but the more tiny pieces we get, eventually we’ll have the whole picture.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘Right, well, we’ll try these rental agencies next.’

  The flat wasn’t on Hopgood’s books but the manager at Cranford’s Rentals recognised the address at once. He got out the file.

  ‘Yes – Katie Campbell started renting the flat on the sixteenth of December last year. I signed her up myself.’

  ‘And this is the woman you signed up?’ Yet again Neil took out the photograph.

  The manager studied it. ‘Well, it was six months ago, but yes, I’m pretty certain that’s her. That coat … the blonde hair …’

  ‘She’s apparently been missing for five weeks. Wouldn’t the rent be overdue by now?’

  ‘Well, she pays by direct debit. For the electricity too – I helped her set that up.’

  ‘What about water? The phone?’

  ‘Water is included with the rent. The phone … I remember her saying she wasn’t going to bother having the phone connected, she’d just use her mobile.’

  ‘So you have her mobile number?’

  He flicked through the file, frowning. ‘Well, here’s the thing … it’s coming back to me now … she said she was in the process of setting up a new account and she’d let me know the number. But it looks as though she never did.’

  Neil gave an exasperated sigh
. ‘So what you’re telling me is, you wouldn’t have known anything was amiss until her bank account ran out of money.’

  ‘Not at all. In fact, I was just about to organise the six-monthly inspection.’

  ‘Then why don’t the three of us do that right now? And before we go, can you give us her bank details, please?’

  The flat was clean and tidy, only a fine layer of dust and food spoiling in the fridge betraying the absence of the occupant. While the landlord checked the condition of the furniture and fittings, Neil and Steve looked over Katie’s personal belongings.

  There weren’t many. A row of books on a shelf, a few brightly coloured cushions on the sofa, some china ornaments, a framed photograph of Katie and her sister with Edinburgh Castle in the background. The wardrobe was half-filled with clothes, an array of dresses, blouses and jackets. Pushed to the back was a battered suitcase, bright green with pink polka dots – the same green as the one she had taken with her? In a set of drawers they found make-up, underwear, skirts and several pairs of jeans. A few garments were scattered on the bed.

  ‘That would make sense,’ said Neil. ‘Selecting out what she wanted to take away with her, what would fit in the suitcase.’

  In the bathroom they noted the absence of a toothbrush, a woman’s razor in the sink, the used bar of soap in the shower, a towel folded neatly over the rail. Opening the cabinet under the sink they found a supply of toilet rolls, some cotton wool balls, a clean towel, and a small, flexible, silicone cup.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ asked Steve, turning it over and over in his hands.

  Neil watched him with a sardonic smile. ‘It’s a menstrual cup.’

  Steve looked at him in horror. ‘You mean she puts it up her …?’

  ‘Mmm hmm.’

  ‘That’s gross!’ He dropped it into the sink in disgust.

  ‘I believe it’s considered to be environmentally sustainable. Now put it back where you found it, please.’

  They went into the kitchen. The kettle was plugged in and half full, and a mug and teaspoon sat in the dish drainer. Aside from the food going off in the fridge – milk, cheese, eggs, some carrots and tomatoes – a cupboard contained a few bare essentials – coffee, teabags, sugar, a packet of cornflakes, some tins of soup and baked beans.