The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat

by Jennifer Jones

‘A-all right.’

  He told her a bit about what he had on that day, some of the cases he was working on, as he heard the door to the flat close, the echo of her footsteps in the stairwell, sounds from the street.

  ‘Tell me what you can see.’

  ‘W-well … Mrs Partridge is out picking flowers from her garden – ooh, she’s just reached across the hedge and helped herself to some of her neighbour’s lilies! A-and across the road there’s a woman pushing a pram, with a little girl holding on to the edge of her coat. And there’s a man walking five huge dogs – oh no! One of them’s seen a cat …’

  He “walked” her to the station then hung up with a smile. But he couldn’t do this every day, not even on her return journey that afternoon, when he had an important meeting scheduled with the Superintendent and Borough Commander. The phone on his desk rang, simultaneously there was a knock on the door, and with a sigh, he returned his attention to his work.

  DI Garry Stamford sat alone at a table in the staff canteen, reading a review of the concert he and his wife had been to the night before. He had quite enjoyed it, but the reviewer was of a different opinion, calling the performance “old hat” and “uninspired”. That was a bit unfair, Garry thought. OK, the band hadn’t put out an album in almost five years, but it was good to hear the old favourites played well, in a live venue.

  His attention was drawn to the animated conversation being carried on at a table behind him. He heard Steve Kendall’s voice.

  ‘That Sheila Campbell is a bit of all right. Tall and leggy. OK her face wasn’t much what with everything but in better circumstances she’d be quite the looker.’

  ‘And she’s probably got some bronzed Aussie hunk waiting for her back home. Reckon you stand a chance, Steve, with your pasty English complexion?’

  ‘Ta, mate. You can talk. Anyway, the Guv’nor was straight in there, wasn’t he? Whisked her off before the rest of us could get a look in.’ He dropped his voice but Garry could still hear every word. ‘Not surprising though, is it? Have you seen his missus?’

  ‘No,’ said Angela, with a sudden spark of interest in her voice. ‘Tell us.’

  ‘Well … her dress … like something your grandma would wear. Scurrying along the pavement like she wouldn’t say boo to a mouse. And short … really short.’

  ‘Not the sort of woman you’d imagine for a DCI, is it?’ Angela said dreamily. ‘Not a tall, dark, gorgeous man like him. With those …’

  ‘Settle down Angela,’ someone laughed. ‘Sounds like you should take a cold shower.’

  ‘Lovely dark blue eyes,’ she finished.

  Garry pushed his plate away and went over to the table. A sudden silence fell.

  ‘DC Kendall, a word in my office. Five minutes.’ He turned on his heel and walked out.

  ‘The Guv’nor’s faithful hound.’ Tony sniggered. ‘You’re in for it now, Steve.’

  After giving Steve a severe reprimand and consigning him to filing for the rest of the shift, Garry sat back in his chair, frowning. The Janey he had heard described was not the Janey he knew, when she and Neil would join him and Felicity for dinner once a week or so. She was a bit quiet maybe, but always seemed relaxed in their company, with interesting stories to tell. She was short, yes – he preferred the term petite – but she was attractive, with a nice figure, lovely brown eyes. And she was always dressed prettily, favouring short dresses and skirts. Could Steve Kendall have made a mistake? Still puzzling over it, he went to Neil’s office and knocked on the door.

  Neil was on the phone but waved him inside. ‘Thank you,’ he was saying, ‘you’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Well, Garry,’ he said as he hung up, ‘it seems Miss Katie Campbell left the Royal Bank of Scotland under a bit of a cloud. That was the Branch Manager. Things were going missing from people’s bags and then one of the items turned up in her locker. She claimed she’d been set up, but with nothing to back up her story, they felt they had no option but to let her go. That was last November, a month before she moved down to London. That might explain why she’s been having trouble finding permanent work down here – they’d be hardly likely to give her a glowing reference, would they?’

  ‘No. Neil …’

  ‘He was also able to identify one of the friends that Sheila mentioned – a Kirsty Douglas who worked there but left a couple of months ago. He’s going to get someone to email through her details. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us something.’

  ‘Yes …’

  ‘And now I’m due in the Super’s office in …’ he looked at his watch. ‘Shit – two minutes. Sorry, Garry, was it something urgent?’

  ‘Actually, it’s probably best discussed over a drink. “The Cat’s Whiskers” at six o’clock?’

  Neil’s mind flew to Janey, waiting for him at home. But Garry had such a worried look on his face …

  ‘All right. Is everything OK?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Garry, cryptically.

  It was a fairly upmarket bar, so not frequented by the rest of the team. Garry and Neil took their seats at one of the tables. For a while they talked about the events of the day, the imminent referendum, England’s chances in the European Cup. Suddenly a woman appeared at their table, holding a glass of wine.

  ‘Hi! I’m Natalie.’ She beamed at Neil. ‘I was sitting by myself over there, feeling lonely, and wondered if I might join you?’

  ‘Well, Natalie,’ Neil smiled politely back at her, ‘it’s very nice to meet you, but the two of us are very happily married.’

  ‘Oh!’ She blushed. ‘I didn’t realise you were … I mean you don’t look … well, what a stupid thing to say … why would you … excuse me.’ She walked off in a hurry.

  Garry was trying not to laugh.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You might have phrased that a bit differently. She thought you meant we were married to each other.’

  ‘Oh!’ Neil thought of Garry’s immaculately tidy office and grinned. ‘Sorry, Garry, it would never work. You’d be following me around all the time, cleaning up after me. It would only end in tears.’

  Garry nodded sagely, picturing Neil’s hopelessly messy desk. ‘Anyway, “happily married”? Doesn’t your divorce come through in a couple of weeks?’

  ‘Don’t be disingenuous. You know Janey and I are living together as husband and wife. And that’s how I think of her. The ceremony, when it happens, will just be a formality. In fact,’ he looked a little sheepish, ‘I referred to her as my wife only yesterday.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Neil looked at him sharply. ‘Yes. What does that mean? Don’t tell me – Steve Kendall.’

  ‘Mmm hmm.’

  ‘What’s he been saying?’ He saw Garry’s discomfort and continued, ‘It doesn’t matter. He said it all to me before he knew who Janey was. And now he’s spreading it around the station …’

  ‘Don’t worry about Steve Kendall, I’ve dealt with him. But …’

  ‘You didn’t tell him, did you? That Janey was raped?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t! It’s none of his, or anyone else’s business. No-one at the table with him was here when it happened, and of course she was Dan’s wife then …’

  ‘I don’t think many people know that Janey and I are together now – I mean, that knew her as his wife. The Super insisted on caution, even though we’d done nothing wrong … is this what you wanted to talk about – that Steve Kendall’s gossip might lead to people putting two and two together? So what? They’re going to find out sooner or later.’

  ‘No. I wanted to find out what Steve meant, what the matter is … is that it? Is Janey … not coping … with what happened to her?’

  Neil hesitated for a moment, then nodded. ‘I believe the correct medical terminology is agoraphobia. And there was I, in my imbecility, not realising anything was wrong. Well, there you go. I thought a few sessions of counselling, plus all the love and devotion I could give her, would be enough to “make it all better”. How vain and foolish can
a man be?’

  ‘Hey – I would think that your love and devotion is being a tremendous help to her. And certainly far better than Dan Griffiths’s version of it would be.’

  ‘Yes, well that goes without saying. But Garry, she needs help. And I was going to look into it – today – but work – there was always one thing or another. I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have taken this DCI’s position.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Though that would have done you out of your promotion, too. When the Super offered it to me … well, I was flattered that he had that much faith in me, that he thought I could handle it at just thirty-six. And I thought it would give me more authority, for my campaign …’

  ‘Look, setting self-interest aside for a moment, I think it was the best possible move. Between you and the Super you’ve really turned this station around, it’s running far more efficiently. And your campaign against domestic violence – look at what you’ve achieved …’

  ‘Yes, and there’s a lot of satisfaction to be had from all that, but the downside, Garry – often I don’t get home until eight-nine-ten o’clock at night. How can I “be there” for Janey, when I’m not there?’ He stood up. ‘I should be there now. I’m sorry, Garry. She’s very fragile right now.’

  Garry stood too. He placed his hand gently on Neil’s shoulder. ‘Neil … situations like these … they can put a lot of strain on a relationship. If you ever need to talk – vent even – well, I’m here.’

  ‘Thank you, Garry.’

  Chapter 4

  Katie Campbell’s flat had been immaculately clean and tidy – so the forensics report said, and so Neil had seen for himself – benches wiped down, floors scrubbed, carpets vacuumed, fresh linen on the bed. This could suggest somebody removing evidence, but then it wasn’t unusual for someone to clean their place before going away – even he, who never really noticed mess, had made an effort before going up to Wales, not wanting Janey’s first impression of his flat to be that of some squalid bachelor pad. The Forensics team had been able to lift a few useful prints – from just inside the front door, the bathroom cabinet, and the windowsill in the lounge – not, Neil thought, that they had anything to compare them to. Katie’s DNA was on the razor, but not the menstrual cup, which was sterile. Two blonde hairs had been found on the back of the couch, another caught on the bedroom door handle. There was no trace of blood, nor any other sign of foul play whatsoever.

  His phone rang.

  ‘Sheila Campbell is waiting in reception for you, Sir.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be right down.’

  He took her into a small interview room just off the main foyer.

  ‘Thank you for coming in.’ The shadows under her eyes had deepened and he thought, this would be hard enough for anyone, but she’s struggling with this on her own. ‘There’s been a bit of a response to our media appeal, we’re following up every lead. But, Ms Campbell, I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of … solid information. There’s a pub not far from Katie’s flat – the “Sacred Swan” – where the landlord has seen her a few times. Some of the regulars too. But while they all remember her as being friendly – sociable – no-one can recall her talking to any one man in particular. And no-one knows of anyone called Shaun. Of course, that might not be where she met him.

  ‘You said your sister has been doing some casual work but we can’t find her listed with any of the agencies.’

  ‘She … she might have responded to those ads you see in the local paper, shop windows, that sort of thing.’

  ‘That’s a possibility, of course. Ms Campbell, the suggestion has been made that your sister might be working as … well, as a prostitute.’

  Sheila recoiled. ‘No … no … Katie would never do anything like that. She wouldn’t!’

  ‘All right. You know that at her job in Glasgow, she was accused of stealing, they had to fire her?’

  ‘Fire her? No, she didn’t tell me that. She never said anything like that. Stealing … is it true?’

  ‘It would appear so. OK, her bank account hasn’t been touched since the weekend of the thirteenth. This could be taken as a bad sign, but … if she and this man decided to go away together somewhere, and he’s supporting her …’

  ‘No!’ She was adamant. ‘I’ve told you already. Katie would never … she would never forget the date of our parents’ death!’

  ‘No. What date is that?’

  ‘June the third.’ Suddenly she pushed back her chair and stood up, started pacing the room. ‘I know you’re checking up on me. I’ve already had one of your officers in contact, asking about my job back home. You can’t seriously think …’

  ‘Ms Campbell, if … if, this becomes a murder inquiry, then the police need to know everything. I’m sorry if you find our questions intrusive.’

  She subsided back into her chair, buried her face in her hands. ‘No. I’m sorry.’ She gave him an anguished look. ‘It’s this uncertainty … this not knowing … I want to believe she’s still alive, of course I do, but it seems so unlikely …’

  ‘It’s still early days.’ He patted her comfortingly on the arm. ‘Ms Campbell …’

  ‘Sheila. Please.’

  ‘Sheila. We’ve finished our work at your sister’s flat and so I’d like you to come there with me, see if you notice anything. Will you do that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She went from room to room, examining Katie’s belongings. ‘There isn’t much is there?’

  ‘We’ve taken a few things away for testing … but no, there’s not. Would you have expected more?’

  ‘Well, she’s never been one for clutter …’ She went to the shelf of books, flicked through them. ‘These are all from the same charity shop. Like she just bought them all in one go.’

  Neil looked through the books himself with a sense of irritation. That hadn’t been picked up in the report.

  She watched him. ‘She does love her trashy romances … But she used to have some lovely books from her childhood, beautifully illustrated – Alice in Wonderland, The Just So Stories, Peter Pan …’

  Neil noted this down. Sheila picked up a china figurine. ‘This was our grandmother’s, one of Katie’s favourites …’ She turned away suddenly, went into the kitchen, where she looked forlornly at the few items in the cupboard.

  ‘She never used to buy such cheap brands …’

  ‘But in her precarious job situation, she might have been scrimping …?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Would you say your sister is much of a cook?’

  ‘I don’t really know. I remember she used to eat quite simply – a steak or a steamed chicken breast with some fresh vegetables, a quick stir fry – nothing complicated, nothing that required a cupboard full of ingredients on hand.’

  ‘I see.’

  They went into the bathroom.

  ‘Like I said, we’ve taken a couple of things away – her razor, her menstrual cup.’

  Sheila smiled briefly. ‘I remember when she bought that. We had a bit of a giggle over it – well, by email, of course.’

  ‘Was that within the last six months?’

  ‘No, it was over a year ago. She told me, the first time she tried to put it in, it …’ She stopped abruptly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’ Neil was genuinely puzzled.

  ‘Well, for talking about … about things like that.’

  ‘No police officer’s going to get far in their job if they’re squeamish about things like normal bodily functions, are they?’

  ‘No. I guess not. I … I suppose there’s lots of things you see in your line of work that you wish you could unsee.’

  ‘Yes.’ And to his mind, unbidden, came the image of Janey lying unconscious on a bathroom floor, a pool of blood oozing from the slash on her wrist. He shook the memory away. ‘Come through to the bedroom.’

  She looked through the drawers, the wardrobe. ‘I remember this dress,’ she said, running her fingers along a floor-length yellow
chiffon gown. ‘She wore it to a friend’s wedding. And this jacket – I bought that for her.’

  ‘Is there anything you can say for certain is missing?’

  She went through the clothes again. ‘I know she had a red silk blouse, and … I think a leather skirt has gone.’

  ‘All right.’ He drew her attention to the green and pink suitcase. ‘She had a suitcase with her that Friday afternoon. You wouldn’t happen to know what it looks like, would you?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ She turned to him. ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘You’ve taken her document wallet, I suppose?’

  ‘Her document wallet …’

  ‘Yes – pink leather, with a zip? It’s where she keeps all her personal papers – her passport, birth certificate, all that …’

  ‘No. We haven’t found a document wallet.’

  ‘Oh. Well I expect she took it with her.’

  ‘Mmm hmm. Sheila, this has been very helpful. Thank you. Will you be staying on at the Strathmore Hotel? It could become quite expensive.’

  ‘Yes.’ She glanced around. ‘I was thinking – maybe I could move in here, now that you’ve finished your work. Would that be all right? Do you think the letting agency would agree?’

  Instinctively he felt this was a bad idea. But he couldn’t come up with anything procedurally against it.

  ‘You can only ask,’ he said.

  Back at his office there were two messages waiting for him. One was from the Royal Bank of Scotland with the contact details for Katie’s friend Kirsty Douglas, the other from the Glasgow Police saying they would be speaking to Gordon Renfrew the following day and would let him know the outcome. He was just about to call them back when his mobile phone rang. It was Janey.

  ‘Darling?’

  ‘Neil … Neil …’ She was crying. ‘Can you come …? Please come …?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At home. Oh, Neil, please …’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  He raced up the stairs, threw open the door. She was sitting on the couch, wearing paint-stained jeans and a smock, her eyes red-rimmed from crying and a clump of tissues clenched in her fist.