“She locked him out?”
“Seems like it.”
“Why?”
“Well, that’s where it gets interesting. PC Evans talked to some of the neighbours. Most of them were a bit tight-lipped, but he found one chap who’d been watching it all from his bedroom window down the street. He said it looked like the others had turned into a mob and were about to attack Poole. That’s why he ran off.”
“Any idea why, apart from his sparkling personality?”
“While they were yelling at each other, Brenda apparently made some comment about Poole being responsible for Gemma’s disappearance.”
“What?”
“That’s all he heard, sir, the neighbour. Brenda kept asking Poole what he’d done with Gemma.”
Banks reached for a cigarette, his first of the day. “What do you think?” he asked.
“About Poole?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. I mean it could just have been something Brenda thought up on the spur of the moment to hit out at him, couldn’t it?”
“I know Poole’s been holding something back,” Banks said. “That’s just his nature. But I never really thought…” He stubbed out his unfinished cigarette and stood up. “Come on. First, let’s send some of the lads out looking for him. And then we’d better have another word with Brenda.” He picked up one of the newspapers. “We’ll see if she recognizes the artist’s impression, too.”
They drove in silence to East Side Estate. It was a blustery morning, with occasional shafts of sunlight piercing the clouds and illuminating a bridge, a clump of trees or a block of maisonettes for a few seconds then disappearing. There ought to be a shimmering dramatic soundtrack, Banks thought, something to harmonize with the odd sense of revelation the fleeting rays of light conveyed.
Banks knocked on the frosted pane of Brenda’s door, but no one answered. He knocked harder. Across the street, a curtain twitched. Discarded cellophane wrapping and newspaper blew across the road, scraping against the tarmac.
“They’ll be having the time of their lives,” Susan said, nodding towards the houses opposite. “Twice in two days. A real bonanza.”
Banks renewed his efforts. Eventually he was rewarded by the sight of a blurry figure walking down the stairs.
“Who is it?” Brenda asked.
“Police.”
She fiddled with the bolts and chain and let them in.
“Sorry,” she said, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes. “I was fast asleep. Must have been those pills the doctor gave me.”
She looked dreadful, Banks thought: knotted and straggly hair in need of a good wash, puffy complexion, mottled skin, red eyes. She wore a white terry-cloth robe, and when she sat down in the living-room under the gaze of Elvis, it was clear she wore nothing underneath. As she leaned forward to pick up a cigarette from the table, the bathrobe hung loose at the front, revealing her plump, round breasts. Unembarrassed, she pulled the lapels together and slouched back in the chair. Banks and Susan sat on the sofa opposite her.
“What is it?” Brenda asked after she had exhaled a lungful of smoke. “Have you found Gemma?”
“No,” said Banks. “It’s about Les.”
She snorted. “Oh, him. Well, he’s gone, and good riddance, too.”
“So I heard. Any idea where he’s gone?”
She shook her head.
“Why did you throw him out, Brenda?”
“You should know. It was you lot had him at the station last night, wasn’t it?”
“Did you know the neighbours nearly lynched him?”
“So what?”
“Brenda, it’s dangerous to make accusations like the one you did, especially in front of a crowd. You know from experience how people feel whenever children are involved. They can turn very nasty. There’s records of people being torn apart by angry mobs.”
“Yes, I know. I know all about what people do to child-molesters. They deserve it.”
“Did Les molest Gemma? Is that it?”
Brenda blew out more smoke and sighed. “No,” she said. “No, he never did anything like that.”
“Maybe when you weren’t around?”
“No. I’d have known. Gemma would have…” She paused and stared at the end of her cigarette.
“Perhaps Gemma wouldn’t have mentioned it to you,” Banks suggested. “You told us yourself she’s a quiet, secretive child. And children are almost always afraid to speak out when things like that happen.”
“No,” Brenda said again. “I would have known. Believe me.”
Whether he believed her or not, Banks felt that line of questioning had come to a dead end. “What reason do you have to think Les was involved in her disappearance, then?” he asked.
Brenda frowned. “You had him in for questioning, didn’t you?”
“What made you think that had anything to do with Gemma?”
“What else would it be about?”
“So you just assumed. Is that it?”
“Of course. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Brenda reddened, and Banks noticed her glance towards the television set.
“Did you think it was about the Fletcher’s warehouse job?”
Brenda shook her head. “I… I don’t know.”
“Did Les ever mention an acquaintance named Carl Johnson to you?”
“No. He never talked about his pub mates. If I ever asked him where he’d been or who he’d been with, he just told me to mind my own business.”
“Look, this is important,” Banks said slowly. “Think about it. When you accused Les out in the street, did you have any other basis for doing so other than the fact that we’d taken him in for questioning?”
“What?”
Banks explained. Brenda leaned forward to put out her cigarette. She held her robe closed this time. “That and the way he’s been acting,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to put into words. Ever since Gemma… well, things haven’t been the same between us. Do you know what I mean?”
Banks nodded.
“I don’t know why, but they haven’t. And he just looks so sheepish, the way he creeps around all the time, giving me guilty smiles. Mostly, though, he’s been keeping out of my way.”
“In what way could he have been involved, Brenda?” Susan asked.
Brenda looked sideways towards her, as if seeing her for the first time. “How should I know?” she said. “I’m not the detective, am I?” She spoke more harshly than she had to Banks. Woman to woman, he thought, Brenda Scupham was uncomfortable.
Banks gently took the focus away from Susan. “Brenda, have you any proof at all that Les had something to do with Gemma’s disappearance?”
“No. Just a feeling.”
“Okay. I’m not dismissing that. What you told us, about this Mr Brown and Miss Peterson, that was all true, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s how it happened.”
Banks showed her the newspaper pictures of Chivers and the blonde. “Do you recognize these people?”
She squinted at the pictures. “It could be him. The hair’s sort of the same, but a different colour. I don’t know about her, though. People look so different with their hair up. Him, though… I think… yes… I think it might be.”
Banks put the paper aside. “You told us Les wasn’t in when they came.”
“That’s right. He was at the pub.”
“How did he react when you told him?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did he seem shocked, upset, what?”
Tears came to Brenda’s eyes. “He said I was a stupid cow for letting them take her… but…”
“But what?”
She rubbed the backs of her hands across her eyes. “I need a cup of tea. I can’t really get started without my cup of tea in a morning. Do you want some?”