‘Your officer Murray likes his biscuits and ate a plateful himself,’ Helen remarked with a smile.
Jane carried the two teas as she followed Helen through to the living room at the end of the short hallway.
‘Excuse the mess, I haven’t had a chance to hoover and dust in here today.’
Helen opened the door to the living room, which in fact was just as neat and tidy as the kitchen. The room was bright, with white painted Anaglypta wallpaper, a light brown carpet and a cream-colored three-seater settee with matching armchair. The electric fire was on and the room was warm and cozy. On the mantelpiece above the fire there were pictures of Helen with a man, whom Jane assumed to be her husband. There was a family picture next to it with a couple in their thirties and a young boy and girl, as well as individual pictures of the children and a man in his early twenties.
‘What lovely pictures,’ Jane commented as she looked at them.
‘That’s my husband Ronald with me. The picture next to it is our daughter June, her husband and their eight-year-old twins.’ She picked up the picture of the young man. ‘This is our son Robert — he died some years ago after a motorcycle accident.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
Helen took a moment to compose herself.
‘Me and Ronald didn’t like him riding motorbikes, but he was headstrong and loved biking. He used to go out for long day trips with his friends — they were all safety conscious and wore the proper leather clothes and crash helmets, even though you didn’t have to back then. He was going to Brighton for the day when someone pulled out in front of him and he came off his bike. There was hardly a mark on him, but he suffered a bad brain injury and died two days later in the hospital.’
Jane could see how upset Helen was getting and tried to move the conversation forward.
‘Do you know if your husband kept the garage locked?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t, but I can ask him tomorrow morning when I visit him at the hospital.’
‘It would be helpful if you could, then I can ring you in the afternoon.’
‘I don’t have a phone, but my neighbors do and I’m sure they’d let me call you, or there’s a phone box down the road I can use.’
‘Whatever’s easiest for you.’
Jane wrote down the office number on a back page of her pocket notebook and handed it to Helen, who put it in her apron pocket. Jane looked at the house-to-house form for number 40.
‘My uniform colleague noted that you have lived here for six months and haven’t been using the garage as your husband can’t drive due to his eyesight problems.’
‘That’s right, Ronald suffers from cataracts, so he gave the car to our daughter to use until his eyesight’s better.’
‘Do you know who used the garage before you?’
‘I assume it was the lady who owned the flat before us. When we were buying the place the estate agent said there was a garage with it.’
‘Do you know her name or have a forwarding address for her?’
‘We never met her. As I recall, the estate agent said her name was Mrs. Smith. She’d been terminally ill in a hospice and after her death the flat was sold by one of her relatives.’
‘Do you know the name or address of the relative?’
‘No, but after we moved in we had some mail delivered for a Mrs. Elizabeth Smith. We didn’t have a forwarding address for any relatives and the neighbors couldn’t help, so I gave it to the postman and told him the previous resident had died. I doubt Mrs. Smith had much use for a garage if she was terminally ill... Do help yourself to a biscuit, dear.’
‘That’s a good point, though she might have rented it out. Do you know the details of the estate agents who dealt with the sale of the flat?’ Jane picked up a Bourbon and took a bite.
‘I think it was Petty something... I can’t remember the full details as my husband always dealt with them. Mind you, I’m sure he kept the sales brochure.’ Helen got up and rummaged around in the side cabinet drawer. ‘Ah, here it is,’ she said, waving it in the air.
She handed it to Jane, who noted that Petty, Son and Prestwich had their offices in Woodbine Place, Wanstead.
‘I was told the flats were owned by a housing association and most of the residents were tenants.’
‘Most of them are, but I expect Mrs. Smith bought hers under a “Right to Buy” scheme. We were very lucky that it was up for sale — but for her illness I doubt we’d be here now.’
Jane nodded. ‘How many keys for the garage did your husband have?’
Helen got up and walked over to the side cabinet, where she picked up a Winston Churchill Toby jug and tipped out two small keys onto the palm of her hand.
‘Just the two.’
She held them up for Jane to see.
‘May I have a quick look?’
Helen handed Jane the keys and she could see that although they were both silver, one looked more tarnished than the other.
‘Did the estate agents give you both these keys when you moved in?’
‘No, just one of them. Ronald said it’s always best to have a spare key and asked me to take it down the hardware shop and get a spare one cut — the shiny one’s the new one.’
Jane wondered if the previous owner of the flat had also had two garage keys and had given one to someone else.
‘Do you know if your neighbors were friendly with Mrs. Smith?’
‘I’ve never really spoken to them about her, but I got the impression she was quite frail and kept herself to herself.’
‘OK, that’s all for now, Mrs. Clarke. Thanks for your assistance and I hope your husband makes a speedy recovery.’
Jane finished her biscuit and took a last sip of her tea.
‘Thank you, dear. I’ll remember to ask Ronald your questions, and like I said I’ll ring you after I’ve visited him in hospital.’
After leaving Helen Clarke’s flat, Jane spoke briefly to both neighbors. One couple said they had moved in just after Mrs. Smith was admitted to the hospice, just over a year ago, and had never met her. The other couple said they had lived next to Elizabeth Smith for five years, had never been in her flat, and only occasionally spoke to her by way of saying hello, and she often ignored them or just nodded. As far as they knew Mrs. Smith was in her mid-seventies, a widow, though there was a man in his mid- to late forties who sometimes visited her, and it could well have been her son or other close relation. The neighbors didn’t even realize she had owned garage twenty-nine.
It seemed to Jane that Elizabeth Smith had been a bit of a loner and not very sociable. She hoped contacting the estate agents who dealt with the sale of her flat might reveal more about who she left the property to in her will and thereby help to trace her extended family. It was also possible they might know more about the garage, and if anyone was using it prior to the sale of the property.
Jane then went to 14 Edgar House to speak to Rita Brown, who shortly after the robbery had seen two men walking along Blake Hall Road towards Felstead Road, carrying a large black duffle bag. The door was opened by a short rotund man who must have been in the middle of his dinner, as he had traces of food in his grey beard. He looked to be in his early to mid-sixties and was dressed casually in a blue shirt, black trousers and white socks. Jane showed him her warrant card and explained why she wanted to talk to Mrs. Brown.
‘I’m Peter, her husband. Rita’s in the living room watching Nationwide.’
‘I’m on the team investigating the robbery in Leytonstone—’
‘Funnily enough, we’ve just been watching the news and the robbery was mentioned. Reporter said they shot an off-duty officer and at a police car, causing it to crash. Scum of the earth, these bank robbers!’