A Wreath for my Sister (18 page)

‘You can speak to her here,' Richard Barratt said. ‘She works in the canteen at lunchtimes, then comes back for the evenings.'

‘Are any of the other employees still here in the evenings?'

Richard Barratt thought for a moment. ‘Well, I suppose some of the reps – if they're late back. The engineers, if they're in the middle of something.' He stopped. ‘There's no law against them working a little over their normal hours.' Again they were treated to a wolfish smile.

‘What hours did Sharon Priest work?'

‘Five till seven thirty, Monday to Friday. The work force finish at five, you see?'

They both nodded.

‘And where were you last Tuesday night?'

‘Here, I'm afraid,' Barratt said ruefully. ‘There's an awful lot of paperwork these days, especially with VAT and the export business so competitive.' He glanced quickly from one to the other. ‘It's the only way I can survive in business, by working virtually all the hours God sends.'

Mike spoke. ‘You often work late, Mr Barratt?'

‘Oh, yes,' he said innocently.

‘While the cleaners are here?'

At this Barratt picked up the message and began to splutter. ‘If you're implying ...' he said.

‘We're not implying anything, Mr Barratt,' Joanna said sharply. ‘We're trying to find out who raped then murdered one of your employees.'

Barratt went pale. ‘Quite, quite.' He swallowed. ‘What I was trying to say was that I always worked here, in my office. The cleaners only came in if the office was empty.' He recovered enough to give another of his unpleasant smiles.

‘At what time did you leave last Tuesday?'

Barratt frowned, rubbed the centre of his forehead. ‘Eleven,' he said, ‘eleven thirty. I'm not too sure.'

‘You're married, Mr Barratt?'

‘Yes,' he said resignedly. ‘Long-suffering wife.' He gave a hollow laugh and Joanna and Mike glanced at one another.

Joanna decided to tackle the subject head on. ‘Rumour has it Sharon was having an affair with a married man, Mr Barratt,' she said. ‘I don't suppose you have any ideas?'

He looked blank. ‘I'm sorry, I miss out on all the factory-floor gossip. I never hear any of it.' He smiled apologetically. ‘Being the MD, they all shut up like clams the minute I walk in.'

‘So you know nothing more?' Mike sounded sceptical.

Barratt was still unembarrassed. ‘I'm sorry,' he said again. ‘I don't.'

‘OK.' Joanna smiled. ‘Thanks.'

She glanced at Mike and he spoke casually. ‘What do you make here at Blyton's?'

For the first time during the interview Barratt looked at ease. ‘We're a small engineering company,' he said. ‘We make anything to order.'

‘Is that so?' Mike produced the cable. ‘You don't make stuff like this?'

Barratt picked it up, gave it a full and considered study before handing it back, shaking his head. ‘No', he said. ‘Nothing like this. Sorry.'

There was no trace of recognition in his voice.

Joanna stood up. ‘Would you mind if we interviewed the other employees?' she asked.

‘Not at all,' he said genially. ‘Use my office. I can work out there with Sarah.'

There were more than thirty employees at Blyton's and from twenty-seven of them they learned nothing.

The reps were out on the road and two full-time engineers were at a conference for the day.

It wasn't until Andrea Farr bounced in that the visit to Blyton's became worthwhile.

She was a pretty, lively chestnut-haired girl with liquid dark eyes. She smiled at Joanna sadly.

‘I still can't believe it about Sharon,' she said, her eyes threatening to fill with tears. ‘I can't believe someone would kill her. Why?' She looked beseechingly at Joanna. ‘Why did they?' She hesitated for a moment, glanced knowingly at Mike. ‘Sex?'

Joanna nodded. ‘It looks like it.'

Andrea Farr sat down heavily. ‘Do you think it was the bloke from the advert?'

‘We think so,' Joanna said quietly.

‘I helped her write that,' she said in a small, shocked voice. ‘Me and her. We did it together. And then she showed her friend Christine ...'

‘Andrea,' she said softly, ‘tell me about the advert.'

‘She had absolutely loads of replies,' she said fiercely. ‘Loads.' Then she looked at Mike with puzzlement in her face. ‘Why did she have to choose that one?'

Andrea blinked back tears. ‘She was so bored, she said. Bored and fed up. I think that's why –' She pulled herself up.

‘Why what?'

‘She did all sorts of things.'

‘You mean the advert?'

‘Not just that.' Andrea looked troubled. ‘There was Ryan too.'

‘Ryan?'

‘Well, she was hard up. She needed money. It was a good way to make money. Lots of it.'

It was Joanna who had to put it into words. ‘Do you mean that she gave birth to Ryan for this man?'

‘Well, he wasn't never going to marry her, was he?' Andrea's answer was unexpectedly fierce. ‘Men like that don't marry women like us. They use us.' More of the fighter spilled out then. ‘But she was going to get plenty of money out of him.'

Then Joanna understood.

Andrea continued. ‘The trouble came after Ryan was born. She couldn't bear to give him up, you see. That's what she fell out with her mum about. Her mum knew she could have done with the money. But Sharon was on to a winner because he gave her the money and she still got to keep Ryan.' She smiled and wiped the corner of her mouth. ‘She just strung him along. So he never got anything out of her at all.'

‘I expect he was angry about that,' Mike prompted, but Andrea merely shrugged. ‘Dunno,' she said. ‘Sharon never told me.'

Joanna drew in a deep sigh. This whole case was full of Sharon's friends who all sang the same chorus.
Sharon never told me.

‘So who was this bloke?' Mike asked casually.

The question again provoked the same blank look, the same chorus.

‘Dunno.'

‘Oh, come on ...' Mike sounded angry.

But Andrea faced him bravely. ‘I don't know,' she said. ‘I really don't. It's no use your bullying me. I can't tell what I don't know.'

‘But he worked here.' Mike's voice was tense.

‘I thought he did. I wasn't absolutely sure.' She frowned. ‘Sharon never said. She just let me think he worked here. I might have been barking up the wrong tree.'

‘You must have had some idea who he was.'

‘You wouldn't understand,' she said, smiling. ‘That was half the fun, not knowing. I'd look at everyone and wonder. Was it him? Was it him?'

‘But there aren't that many people working here,' Joanna objected.

‘There's enough,' Andrea said grimly. ‘There's Barratt. Mr Barratt,' she said. ‘Sometimes I'd look at him and wonder. But,' she giggled nervously, ‘I couldn't imagine the two of them together. And there's two supervisors and the engineers.'

She suddenly looked shrewd. ‘Doesn't Christine know who he was?'

Joanna shook her head.

‘Or Sharon's mum?'

Andrea looked at them both. ‘Sharon was a very loyal person. She was good to him. She kept his secret. Because if I don't know, nor Christine, nor her mum, then no one knows.' She stopped. ‘Except him.'

Joanna decided to move the subject on. ‘Tell me about the advert,' she said. ‘About the one date she decided to go on. Why him?'

Andrea thought for a moment before speaking. ‘Well, she said there was something about his letters.' She paused, then looked at Joanna. ‘She seemed drawn, like a moth to a flame. That was how she put it. She was sort of – fascinated by him. Said he was clever. And besides, she was a bit curious really. I mean, he knew her name, and she hadn't put it in the ad.'

‘Are you sure she hadn't?'

Andrea looked slightly irritated. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘She didn t give her name. So how could he have known? She always used the box number. He wrote back “Dear Sharon”.'

‘She must have known she was taking a risk,' Mike said curiously.

Andrea turned to him. ‘Well,' she said. ‘Sharon thought she could turn up at the pub ... you know ... in her new dress, looking nice. And when he came, if she felt safe, she could stay. But if she didn't she could drive herself straight home.' She gave Mike a flirtatious glance and Joanna smirked as Mike flushed right to the roots of his black hair. ‘She was dying to know who he was.' She looked animated and both Mike and Joanna had a sudden, vivid picture of Sharon with this girl, giggling and puzzling over the answer to her call for a Prince Charming. ‘It was a real mystery. Wild horses wouldn't have kept her away from the Quiet Woman that night. We'd spent ages deciding what to put in that advert,' she said. ‘Laughed like anything we did.'

Mike leaned closer. ‘Could anyone have heard you talking about it?' he asked.

‘I suppose so,' she said. ‘We weren't really hiding anything.'

She rang Matthew from her office. He sounded unaccountably relieved to hear her voice.

‘Joanna,' he said. ‘I've been trying to get hold of you.' She wished she didn't feel so glad.

‘I want to talk to you, Joanna – please.
Please
.' His voice had never sounded so desperate.

‘Oh, Matthew,' she said, exasperated. ‘What is the point?'

‘That's what I want to talk to you about.'

‘Can't you speak over the phone?'

‘Not for what I want to say. I must see you, Joanna.' She steeled herself to say nothing about the pot of paint.

‘Look, Matthew, you
know
I'm busy at the moment.'

‘But you don't understand.'

‘Oh, I do,' she said, ‘only too well. Now please tell me the results of the tests.'

He paused for a moment then said, ‘Your instincts were correct. The Macclesfield case matches your victim's.'

‘You're sure?'

‘Absolutely. There's no doubt about it.'

‘So it's the same guy?'

‘Yes. He's a double-rapist and killer.' He paused and when he spoke again she knew he was smiling. ‘I'm not trying to tell you your job, Jo, but if I were you I'd be looking at other rape cases in the area.'

‘Really?' She allowed herself a tight smile. ‘I've been doing just that for the last two days.'

‘I might have known.' He laughed.

‘Thank you, Matthew.'

‘Anything else I can do for you?'

She smiled. ‘Not at the moment. How's Eloise?' She didn't even know why she had asked it.

Matthew cleared his throat. ‘Going through a phase of trying to starve me back home.'

‘What?'

‘That's what I've been trying to tell you, Jo,' he said patiently. ‘I've left Jane. I've moved out.'

The room swam.

‘When?'

‘A week ago.' He paused. ‘I didn't want to tell you – not straight away. I had a lot of thinking to do. And I knew there would be problems with Jane and Eloise ... And there have been,' he added reluctantly.

‘I see.'

‘Look. I'm away from tomorrow on a forensic conference in Blackpool. Can I see you when I get back?'

‘Yes,' she said in a voice so quiet even she could hardly hear it.

Then the line went dead.

WPC Cheryl Smith popped her head round the door. ‘Colclough wants to see you,' she said. ‘And he looks like thunder.'

Arthur Colclough was standing staring out of the window when she walked in.

‘This is a small town, Piercy,' he said slowly. ‘People know their police force.'

‘Yes, sir.' And with a sinking heart she thought she knew where the conversation was going to go.

He turned round then, sat behind his desk and motioned her to the chair opposite.

‘How are your investigations getting on, Piercy?'

‘Steadily, sir.'

‘Anywhere near making an arrest?'

She shook her head. ‘Not really, sir. But I've had word from the lab. The Macclesfield case and our one were done by the same man. The DNA samples match.'

‘Mmm.' He looked up and she saw his eyes were tired. She waited.

‘Ahem.' He cleared his throat noisily and returned to his original topic. ‘This is a small town, Piercy. And it doesn't like scandal, especially amongst its police force.' He looked embarrassed. ‘I have to tell you that certain allegations have been made against you.' He cleared his throat again. ‘Immorality. Adultery.' His eyes bored straight into hers. ‘Ugly words, but not half as ugly as the poison I'm getting in unsigned letters nearly every morning in my postbag. Piercy, someone doesn't like you.'

‘Sir ...?'

Colclough met her eyes. ‘You know – more than anyone – just how much the force demands of its coppers, especially at Detective Inspector level. Be careful.' His bulldog chin wobbled. ‘Scandal could destroy your chances in the force.'

‘But, sir ...'

He glared at her. ‘What a man might get away with on that score would be enough to slide you back down the ranks again, Piercy. You're a woman. You may not like it, but women are judged
very differently.'

It had been waiting to happen.

The gratification he had derived from the shoe had made him a slave to its pleasures. Sometimes he didn't wait for Lizzie to go out, but waited until she was planted in front of her favourite TV programme. Then he would slip into the garage, fumble on top of the tin cupboard until he found the box.

Then he would fondle the shoe and dream ...

Lizzie opened the door ever so gently, tiptoed in the dark, passing the car.

She took two steps forward and stopped, her face a picture of revulsion. ‘Oh ...' she said. ‘Oh ...'