“Twenty-nine... and she likes fairs, you say?”
“I’m afraid she’s... well, she’s a little backward, Ted. An accident as a child...”
Ted raised a hand. “Say no more, Mr. Elder. Understood. Well, I can certainly put the word about. You’d better give me a description.”
“Of course. She’s slim, five foot ten inches.”
“Tall, then?”
“Tall, yes.”
“Go on.”
“Well, the problem is... she may have disguised herself. You know, dyed her hair, bought a wig. Her hair’s usually short, dark brown.”
“Doesn’t matter really. A woman her age, hanging around the rides, someone’ll have clocked her. Are you sticking around Brighton, Mr. Elder? Only, there’s a few more fairs on the go — Eastbourne, Guildford, Newbury — I could give you the names of some people to talk with...”
“That’s very kind of you, Ted.”
“Hold on, I’ll get a bit of paper.”
He went through to another room, probably his office. Elder thought about getting to his feet but decided that his best bet was to stay seated, that way he could be fairly sure of maintaining the sympathy vote. The standing/sitting psychology only worked if, when you were standing, the person who was seated was trying to be your equal. But Elder, in confessing to having a “backward” daughter, had relinquished such a role, placing the burden of responsibility on the “stronger” Ted.
It was the sort of stuff you learned early on in Elder’s profession. Another trick of the trade.
The door to the caravan opened and a woman clambered aboard. She seemed surprised to see Elder. He took her for Ted’s wife until she spoke.
“Sorry, is Ted about?”
“Here, Rosa,” called Ted, emerging from his office. He pointed a pen at Elder. “This is Mr. Elder. His daughter’s run away. Last seen in Cliftonville. He was wondering if we’d come across her.”
“Oh dear,” said the woman. She perched herself on the edge of an armchair. “What’s her name, lovey?”
“Diana,” said Elder.
Ted laughed. “Trust Rosa to get down to nuts and bolts. I clean forgot to ask you what she was called. Mr. Elder, this is Gypsy Rose Pellengro, mistress of the crystal ball.”
Elder nodded his greeting towards Gypsy Rose, and she smiled back.
“Diana,” she said. “It’s a lovely name, sir. Your wife’s choice or yours?”
Elder laughed. “I can’t honestly remember. It was a long time ago.”
“Mr. Elder’s daughter is twenty-nine,” Ted informed Gypsy Rose. He had settled at a table, slipped on a pair of half-moon glasses, and was scratching on a piece of notepaper with his pen.
“Twenty-nine?” said Gypsy Rose. “I thought she was —”
“Me, too,” said Ted. “Preconceptions, Rosa. You see, Mr. Elder, we get a lot of parents coming to us. Oh, yes, a lot. Their kiddies have gone missing and they’re desperate to find them. One woman... up in Watford, I think it is... she’s been coming to see me for six or seven years. Very sad, clinging to hope like that.”
“Sad,” echoed Gypsy Rose.
“Diana’s tall and slim,” Ted informed Gypsy Rose, “and she’s maybe got short dark hair. I don’t suppose she came to you for a consultation while we were in Cliftonville?”
“No.” Gypsy Rose shook her head. “No, I’d have remembered someone like that.”
Like what? thought Elder. The description was vague to the point of uselessness.
“Well, ask around the other stalls, will you, Rosa?” Ted had taken off his glasses and risen from his chair. He handed Elder the slip of paper, which Elder read. Four different fairs in four locations, with dates and a contact name for each.
“Thank you very much,” Elder said, pocketing the note.
“They’re not as big as this, mind. We all join up for the bigger events. Tell them Ted sent you, they should see you right.”
“Thanks again,” Elder said. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small notebook and a pen. “I’m staying at a hotel in Cliftonville. I may have to move on, but they can forward any messages to me.” He wrote down the telephone number, tore out the page, and handed it to Ted.
“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” said Ted.
“I’d be very grateful.” Elder rose to his feet. “It’s been nice to meet you,” he said to Gypsy Rose.
“Likewise.”
Ted saw him to the door. The two men shook hands.
“Mind how you go, Mr. Elder,” said Ted. “And good luck.”
“Thanks,” said Elder. “Good-bye.”
He walked with care across the snaking lengths of power cable, squeezed between two closed stalls, and was back on the road again. He wandered the length of the fair, and stopped beside the caravan belonging to Gypsy Rose Pellengro, reading the citations pinned to the board beside her door. He peered in through the window. The interior looked neat and plain.
“She’ll be back in five minutes!” someone yelled from farther along. Elder walked towards the voice. A middle-aged man was unhooking chains from in front of the ghost train. Already, two young children, brother and sister, stood waiting for the ride to open. Elder nodded a greeting at the man. “Thanks,” he said, “maybe I’ll come by later.”
“Please yourself.” The man looked at the children and jerked his head towards the carriages. “On you go, then, hop in.” They fairly sprinted for the train’s front carriage. The man smiled, watching them go. Then he headed for his booth, leaning into it. “Hold tight,” he warned. “Or the goblins’ll grab you.” He grinned towards Elder. “And being grabbed by the goblins,” he said, “is no laughing matter.”
Elder obliged with a laugh, then watched as the train jolted forwards, hit the doors, and rattled its way through them into darkness. The doors swung shut again, showing a picture of a leering demon.
“Your two, are they?” the man asked.
“No,” said Elder, listening for shrieks from the interior.
“No?” The man sounded surprised. “I thought they were. If I’d known, I’d have had the money off them first.”
Elder brought out some coins from his pocket. “They can have this ride on me anyway,” he said, handing over the money. Then he moved off again, passing rides and booths and Barnaby’s Gun Stall. Outside the Gun Stall, which was locked shut, there was a wooden figure, its sex indeterminate. Pinned to the center of its chest was what remained of a small paper target, only the four right-angled edges left. Above this, taped to the figure’s head, was a crudely written message: “A young lady did this. Can YOU do better?” Elder smiled.
A voice came from behind him. “Well, could you?”
He turned. A young man was standing there, head cocked to one side, hands in the greasy pockets of his denims. Elder looked at the target.
“Probably not,” he said.
“Come back in an hour, guv, and you can see if you’re right. Only two quid a go.”
“The young woman... she must have been quite something.”
The man winked. “Maybe I’m lying, eh? Maybe I just tore the middle out myself.” And he snorted a short-lived laugh. “Open in an hour,” he repeated, moving away. Elder watched him go.
A traveling fair. What connection could Witch possibly have with a traveling fair? None that he could think of. I’d have remembered someone like that. Rosa Pellengro had sounded very sure of herself. Very sure. But then she was supposed to be a clairvoyant. He wondered if it was worthwhile keeping a watch on the fair. Maybe Witch had been here. If so, she might come back or she might not.
He was in a thoughtful mood as he reached Doyle’s car. Two gulls cackled somewhere in the distance. They had left generous gifts on the windscreen and bonnet. Elder sighed. Time to find a car wash.