“There was never any young person good as my Kate. She was a gem, that girl. Come all the way from Crouch End every week, rain or shine-sometimes more than once-and did my bit of shopping for me. Never a cross word, always wanting to help, like ‘Myra, let me Hoover that old rug for you.’
“Well, you wouldn’t think I’m the luckiest person in the world, but I was lucky in Kate. Sometimes I don’t think it’s sickness nor being penniless that’s hardest; it’s being forgot. The worst thing about getting old is people don’t look in.”
It was one of the saddest testaments to age Jury had ever heard. And a heartfelt epitaph. She was thinking, he supposed, that no one would be looking in now, but she kept that thought to herself. There was little self-pity in her talk.
Wiggins, jacket off, in shirtsleeves, had done himself proud with the tea tray, which he was putting down on a small coffee table. “Here you go, Mrs. B. Done and dusted.”
Mrs. B. Jury plucked a Choc-o-lot from a plate.
“Did some bread and butter, too. That’s a nice loaf of granary bread.” Wiggins separated teacups and saucers and poured a measure of milk into each, then raised the sugar bowl in question. Myra took two spoons, Jury one, Wiggins four.
“Thank you, Mr. Wiggins. Thank you very much,” she said, bringing her cup to her mouth and drinking a bit noisily.
Jury set down his cup. “Now, Mrs. Brewer, you said Kate was a friend’s daughter?”
“That’s right,” said Wiggins.
Jury gave him a look, but he knew it failed to temper Wiggins’s apparent conviction that he was now one of the Brewers.
“Eugenie,” said Myra Brewer, “Eugenie Muldar.”
“Kate Muldar, then. What about Kate’s husband? Is he in the picture?”
“Oh, my, no, they’ve been divorced for over a decade. Johnny Banks was his name.”
“And with the divorce, was there ill will on his part?”
Myra Brewer shook her head. “No. They’d gotten married so young, they both seemed relieved to be out of it.”
“I see.” Jury paused, wondering how to ask the question. “Did Kate do any other work you knew of?”
She looked puzzled. “You mean besides her steno job? No. Why?”
“Moonlighting, maybe. You know, lots of women with that sort of job do private work-”
Wiggins carried on: “Like typing up manuscripts, or for businessmen who want documents typed, or letters, things like that. A hotel often offers stenographic services to businessmen. Your Kate might have taken on extra work for the extra money. Reason we’d be interested in this is to look at anyone she might have worked for to see if there’s anyone who might have wanted to harm her.”
“Oh. But you don’t think it was someone she knew? I expect I was assuming what happened to Kate was a-what do you call it?-a mugging?”
Jury said, “She wasn’t robbed. She had money on her. Tell me, would she have been bringing it to you? Do you need money?”
That was a bit of a twist in the account. Myra gave a short laugh. “I always need money.”
“Any particular amount? I mean for a scumbag landlord or British Telecom raising its rates? Something generally making your life hell?”
Again, she gave a sharp, joyless laugh. “I should say so. The property manager-that’s what they call themselves, these greedy landlords-he’d been trying to get two months’ back rent that I don’t owe him. I’ve been to the counsel about it. He says I must pay up or I’ll be tossed out with the rubbish. Nice way of putting it, isn’t it?”
“That must be extremely worrisome. How much does he claim you owe him?”
“Seven hundred pounds.”
Jury nodded. “Had Kate told you she’d bring you the money?”
Genuinely shocked by this, Myra said, “Kate? Kate hadn’t that kind of money.” She thought for a minute. “Though she was certainly generous with what money she did have. She’d do my shopping for me, like I said, and refuse to take a penny. Kate was a good girl.”
“Sounds like it,” said Wiggins, pouring himself another cup of tea, adding milk, thoughtfully stirring sugar into it. “We found-”
Jury gave him a kick under the coffee table.
“Found… only she appeared to dress quite well.”
“Yes, she did. Kate was always nicely turned out. She got those designer clothes at Oxfam.”
Wiggins couldn’t help himself. “Those shoes? Christian Louboutin? Oh, I shouldn’t think Oxfam would have those.”
Jury shot Wiggins another warning look. “Maybe they were knockdowns.”
This talk of dress bewildered Myra Brewer.
Jury said, “You knew Kate all her life, did you?”
She nodded. “Though I wouldn’t see her for long periods. They were here and there. Her mum, Eugenie, never stayed put for long. Restless, poor thing. She’d just go off sometimes, take the kids, sometimes not. She’d leave them with me, usually. We were still best friends even though I thought she didn’t do right by the kids. Well, I was Kate’s godmother and I should act the part.”
“What about Kate’s siblings?”
“There was just the one, a brother. They called him Boss, for some reason. He had an unusual name, anyway: Brent. I never did know where that came from. I don’t think it was a family name.”
Wiggins had his notebook out, which necessitated putting down his cup. “And where might we find them, your friend Eugenie and her son?”
“No joy there, Mr. Wiggins. They’re both gone. Eugenie to lung cancer, and the boy, Brent, was in a car crash. Probably joyriding with his friends. His mum had warned him about that.”
The voice faded out, as if that had been more than she wanted to say and she was looking through a mist that had collected over tea. She said, “You know, I felt shocking little when they went. It’s as if I had just let go?” She was posing the question to the room, not expecting an answer. “Carelessness, I mean. It’s like I should’ve held on to the string tighter. It would be nice to see them again. I expect a lot of us only come to that when it’s too late.”
There was a silence. Then Jury said, “Probably all of us find the feelings we’ve misplaced when it’s too late. It’s not you; it’s inevitable; it’s the human condition.” He was silent for a moment. “That’s the whole of her family, then?”
She nodded. “Now there’s just me. Maybe that’s one of the reasons Kate came round so much.” She brought her hand to her forehead. “Well.”
Jury gave her a moment, then asked, “What about men? Was there anyone in particular?”
“Not that she ever said. No, she didn’t talk about any men friends. I told her, ‘Katie, you should be going out, having a bit offun.’ She’d just laugh. She said, ‘I haven’t yet found a man who could sit alone with a book for half an hour without getting jumpy.’ Well, I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. I do know Kate was a great reader; she loved books. Her favorite place in London was that big Waterstone’s bookshop in Piccadilly.”
Myra took the handkerchief from her face and looked anxiously from the one to the other. “But you’re suggesting… what are you saying? That it was some man she knew? She was all dressed up, you said. Like she was on a date? But then why would she be coming round here?”
“It could be,” said Wiggins, “that she’d left someone-her date-and then come round.”
“Then it wasn’t just some stranger. He must’ve been here with her. That’s shocking, shocking. It’s as if it happened right on my doorstep.”
“It could have been someone who knew where she was going. That’s why we need to know about her friends.”
Jury thought they were finished here, at least for now. He took a card from an inside pocket and passed it over to her. “Call me anytime at all if you think of something that might be relevant.”