Unnatural Wastage (25 page)

‘What day was this?' asked Vicky.

‘It was . . . let me think . . . yes of course, it was Wednesday of last week. She was helping out at Holmwood that morning – two of the residents had left and their rooms had to be thoroughly cleaned ready for the next people to move in so I was extra busy. The report in the
Echo
was on the front page of the midday edition – it's delivered to the home every day. She must have picked it up off the hall table; she came rushing to the room where I was working with it in her hand. She was shaking and looking quite shocked.

‘And that's really all you can tell us?'

Minnie shook her head in evident regret at her inability to help further. ‘I'm afraid so.'

‘We understand she did her regular cleaning job last Wednesday, presumably after she left Holmwood. Do you remember what time that was?'

‘It must have been about a quarter to twelve. She said she had to catch the bus that stops just by the gate. Now I come to think of it, I had a feeling she wasn't all that keen to go to her next job.'

‘Do you know where the next job was?'

‘I'm afraid not – Mrs Shilling at the agency will tell you.'

‘Could you give us a description of her?'

Minnie half closed her eyes and thought for a moment. ‘I think she may be either Indian or from one of the Arab countries because of her colouring. Straight black hair, sort of coffee-coloured skin. Rather pretty in fact. Slight build, about my height.'

‘Age?'

‘Somewhere in the late teens, at a guess. Does that mean . . .?'

‘All we can say at the moment is that your description fits that of the dead woman in some respects,' said Sukey. ‘We shall of course do our best to trace her next of kin, but if we are unable to do so and her priest can't help, would you be willing to come with us to the morgue to see if you can identify her?'

‘Oh dear . . . I'm not sure if I could . . .' Minnie faltered, clearly shocked at the suggestion.

‘You don't have to answer right away,' said Vicky. ‘We just want to know how you feel about it if we can't trace anyone close to her.'

‘Of course she will,' her husband said firmly. ‘It's your duty,' he told his wife, seeing her look of horror at the prospect. ‘I hope it won't be necessary, but if it is I'll come with you. We owe it to the poor woman to do whatever we can. And I'm sure,' he added, turning back to the detectives, ‘we both hope you'll find the person who killed her.'

‘We will,' Sukey assured him.

‘W
hatever the Jacksons were having for supper sure smelt good,' said Sukey with feeling as she and Vicky returned to their car. ‘It seems like forever since we had anything to eat – I'm starving!'

‘Me too,' Vicky agreed. ‘I wonder if there's a pub anywhere near the church where we could pop in for a snack before calling on the priest.'

Sukey glanced at her watch. ‘It's ten past seven. We'd better locate the church first and then decide. I've got a feeling we drove past it on our way to Aggie's flat.'

They found the church without difficulty. There was only one car in the parking area and she pulled in beside it. ‘It doesn't look as if there's a service on,' she said. ‘Perhaps that's the priest's car. He may be inside; let's try the door.'

The door was unlocked and they cautiously pushed it open and stepped inside. The scent of incense hung in the air and the sanctuary lamp glowed red in a side chapel. Slanting rays of the late evening sun through the stained glass window above the west door laid a multicoloured mosaic of light on the aisle. ‘It's beautiful, isn't it?' Sukey said softly.

‘Sure is,' Vicky agreed. There appeared to be no one about, but after a moment they heard the murmur of voices. ‘There's obviously someone here. Shall we go and investigate?'

Sukey put a finger to her lips and ushered her to the door. ‘We'd better wait outside,' she whispered. ‘I don't think we should interrupt.'

‘Interrupt what?' Vicky asked as Sukey closed the door carefully behind them.

‘I'm not exactly sure, but something's just occurred to me. Let's go and have a look at the notice board.' They studied the information on the board; below the name of the priest in charge and the list of services was the time for hearing ­confessions. ‘From six to seven on Saturdays,' Sukey read aloud. ‘I thought that might be what those murmurings were about.'

‘In that case it's a good job we didn't go barging in,' said Vicky. ‘The presbytery's next door – I saw the notice on the gate as you drove in. There's sure to be a housekeeper; why don't we find out what time Father –' she glanced back at the board – ‘Father Burke is likely to be finished. He's running late as it is,' she added. ‘It's almost half past seven.'

‘That's not a bad idea,' Sukey agreed.

The housekeeper was a plump woman with short, straight grey hair and a bloom on her rosy complexion that owed nothing to make-up. ‘You'd better come in and wait; he should be back any minute,' she said after they had explained the reason for their call. ‘I hope your business won't take too long; the poor man had to go without a proper lunch because . . . ah, here he is,' she added, her face lighting up with pleasure at the sound of a key in the lock. ‘These two ladies are from the police, and they think you might be able to help them,' she explained in response to his inquiring glance at Sukey and Vicky. ‘Just ring the bell when you're ready for your supper, Father.'

‘Thank you, Mavis,' he said with a smile and she hurried away.

Father Burke, a tall, striking figure with strong features, ushered them into a book-lined study and pulled up a couple of chairs for them before sitting down behind his desk. ‘How may I help you?'

‘We're enquiring into the disappearance of a woman known as Aggie – which we believe is short for Aghami – but we don't know her surname,' Sukey began. ‘We have been told she worships at your church.' Reading from their notes, the two detectives gave Father Burke all the information they had about Aggie and their reasons for believing she might be the woman found dead on Fiddler's Patch. He listened at first with careful attention, then with dawning recognition and finally with concern.

‘This is very distressing news. Poor woman.' He made the sign of the cross. ‘May she rest in peace, whoever she is.' He reflected for a moment before saying, ‘Your description could certainly apply to a young woman who comes to hear Mass in this church from time to time, although I'm afraid I don't know her name or anything about her. She seems very shy and retiring . . . almost, I would say, withdrawn. She sits at the back of the church and leaves as soon as the service is over. She doesn't come to confession so I have never had an opportunity to speak to her. I'm afraid I know nothing of her family or where she comes from.'

‘We're doing our best to trace them,' said Vicky, ‘but we haven't much to go on at present except that, as we explained, for some reason she is afraid of the police. Her handbag – if she had one – is missing, but we hope it will turn up, in which case it may contain some clues to her identity.'

‘I certainly hope so,' said Father Burke, ‘and if there's anything at all that I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask.'

‘If all else fails, we may ask if you would be willing to come to the morgue to see if you can identify her,' said Sukey, and he gave a grave nod.

‘Of course.'

‘I guess we'd better update the Sarge,' said Sukey as the door of the presbytery closed behind them.

‘OK, you do that,' said Vicky. ‘I'm going to update Chris; he's been sending me texts for the past hour wanting to know when I'm going to be home.' She spoke on her mobile. ‘Hi, we've had one hell of a day with no time to eat and we're both famished. Sukey's just checking with the Sarge and I know we're hoping we can sign off. Looks like it,' she added as Sukey gave her a thumbs-up, ‘yes, glory be, we're on our way home. See you soon. And rustle up something special, there's a love . . . What? Hang on a minute, I'll ask her.' She turned to Sukey. ‘He wants to know if you'd like to join us for a meal.'

Sukey shook her head. ‘That's very kind, but I've sent Harry a text to say I'm on my way home and to get something out of the freezer. The Sarge says Tim's been trying to contact Ellerman but he's not answering his phone,' she went on. ‘He's checked with the SIO, who says we might as well go home and try again tomorrow. And seeing as we can't get much further until we talk to him, with any luck he's away for the weekend and we can all have tomorrow off.'

‘In our dreams!' said Vicky as they headed for home.

‘Harry and I had planned a romantic evening together,' Sukey sighed. ‘I'm beginning to wonder what possessed me to join the CID.'

Vicky laughed. ‘I guess we all have moments like that – especially when there's nothing really interesting to get our teeth into.'

When Sukey reached home, Harry was waiting for her. He gave her a quick hug and then held her at arm's length for a moment, studying her face with concern. ‘Darling, you look exhausted,' he said. He ran his fingers through her hair and gently kissed her on the brow. ‘Come and relax with a snifter.'

‘That's exactly what I need,' she said, sinking gratefully on to the sofa.

‘I guess it's the Fiddler's Patch murder that's kept you so late,' he said as he handed her a glass of red wine and sat down beside her.

‘Right first time – and with the usual caveat.'

‘Don't worry, I know better than to try and pre-empt the official statement,' he assured her. ‘On the contrary, I might have a bit of info for you. Major Howes rang me this evening and it's possible what he was saying could be of interest to your people.'

‘I'm not sure my brain is capable of taking in any more stuff this evening,' she said wearily. ‘At least, not until I've had something to eat. What are we having, by the way?'

‘Lasagne, and it won't be ready for fifteen minutes so I'll tell you anyway. Major Howes saw the report in this evening's
Echo
and he couldn't wait to tell me he recalled overhearing a conversation between two women – a carer and a part-time cleaner. He's certain they mentioned Fiddler's Patch; he isn't sure, but he thinks they were talking about buses to Holmwood. He's wondering if by any chance one of them could be the murder victim.'

Sukey took a long pull at her wine before saying, ‘I don't suppose Major Howes gave a description of the . . . either of the women?'

‘Aha, so it rings a bell. And you nearly let drop which of the two you think might be of interest, didn't you?'

‘
Touché
,' she admitted. ‘Don't tease, Harry; this might be very important.'

‘All right. Howes went on to say that the cleaner wasn't one of the regulars but one who comes in as a relief from time to time. He's never spoken to her but from her accent and her colouring he thinks she might be Indian or Pakistani. This means something to you, doesn't it?'

Sukey nodded. ‘Yes, I'm afraid it does,' she said sadly.

‘You think you know the identity of the dead woman, don't you? All right,' he said hastily, seeing that she was about to protest, ‘I'm not going to ask you any more questions now . . . but if there's anything you think a dedicated news-hound can do to help I hope you'll bear me in mind.'

‘I will,' she promised. ‘Now, what about that lasagne?'

At about the time that DCs Sukey Reynolds and Vicky Armstrong were interviewing Father Burke, Patsy Godwin was relaxing in her sitting room with her feet up and Henry blissfully purring on her lap. She had been watching a quiz programme that had just ended and she reached for the remote and switched off the television. She put her feet on the floor, dislodging Henry, who ceased purring, sprang from her lap and turned on landing to give her a reproachful glare.

‘There's no need to look at me like that,' she teased him. ‘You know it's supper time so you'd have had to move anyway.' The cat immediately made for the kitchen; Patsy was about to follow him when the telephone rang. ‘Oh bother, who's that?' she muttered as she picked up the instrument. ‘Hullo? Oh Kate, lovely to hear from you. How are . . . hang on a minute, stop gabbling . . . what's that? Another murder? Good Heavens! Where?' She listened for a few seconds and then broke in. ‘Look, just try and calm down and tell me quietly . . . what? You mean now?' Patsy glanced at the clock. ‘I was just about to have my supper and I'm not sure if I . . . oh, I see, you've had yours. Well, all right then, for a couple of nights . . . how are you going to get here? . . . Oh, that's very good of him. See you in about an hour then. Bye.'

She turned off the phone and went into the kitchen where Henry was sitting expectantly beside his empty food bowl. ‘You'll never guess what's happened,' she informed him as she spooned food into the bowl. ‘Your Auntie Kate is having kittens – haha! – because a body's been found about a mile from where she lives and she's babbling on about a serial killer and she's afraid to stay another night in Sycamore Park so she wants to come and stay with us for a few days.' At the mention of Kate's name Henry briefly looked up from his food. ‘You like your Auntie Kate don't you? She's got a soft spot for you as well – you'll have a choice of laps.'

She ate her ham salad followed by fruit yogurt and then went upstairs to check that all was in order in her little guest room. She put out clean towels and was on her way downstairs when the front doorbell rang. Kate stood there, ashen faced and trembling. Behind her was John Yardley, carrying a small suitcase.

Kate flung her arms round her cousin. ‘Oh Patsy, it's so good of you to have me at such short notice,' she said breathlessly. ‘And dear John has been wonderful – he dropped everything to bring me.'