Three Little Maids(13)

‘Carey’s has a funeral this morning. He might still be out,’ Turner said taking a large bite appreciatively out of his thick ham and pickle sandwich. It wasn’t bad as canteen food went but he’d much rather he lunched at home. Kent was working him, and the rest of the team, hard as befitted a new broom. Let’s hope he’d get good support from those that mattered in the Town Hall, Turner thought smiling. If Kent stepped on any of their toes it spelt big trouble.

The town was beneficially crowded, hotels, guesthouses and local traders were doing well and, for once, the weather was on their side. They didn’t need any nasty business like this murder of a young girl, and a local one, at that to spoil the holiday trade.

Kent sipped his plastic cup of scalding hot coffee carefully. If he guessed what his colleague was thinking he showed no signs of it. ‘So tell me what you know about Raymond Perkins if anything? You recognized his name when it was first mentioned.’

‘He’s not a bad lad, guv. He’s a bit simple but hard working. His grandmother’s brought him up from the age of three and made a pretty good job of it.’

‘So - what’s he like? I’d hardly expect him to be the average teenager working in that place.’ Kent chuckled. ‘Still it’s respectable enough and someone has to do it.’

Turner finished his sandwich and opened up his carton of strong saffron coloured tea and grinned appreciatively. Just how he liked it; Carole, his wife, often scolded him about it. ‘Your stomach lining must be like old leather, Stan.’

‘Raymond - on the whole is a quiet lad. He’s surprised me behaving like he has with young Maureen. But you’ll have to make your own judgment when you meet him, guv.’

He made a face now tasting the tea. ‘Bugger! Forgot the sugar!’

*

At the Carey Funeral Parlour they were met with a; ‘Sorry, Inspector Kent, Raymond Perkins is not in today. He’s at home sick. He has a bad migraine according to his grandmother who phoned in first thing.’

Frances Leach, a quiet, brown-haired woman in her mid-forties, smiled apologetically at them over her office desk. ‘Mr. Carey naturally is not here. Mr. Sharman had to take over. Maureen’s death has affected everyone.’ Her own distress was visible in her troubled blue-grey eyes. ‘Poor Mrs Carey. She is in bed; the doctor has sedated her. But you want to see Raymond?’

‘Yes, as soon as possible, we need to question everyone who knew the girl personally.’

‘I can give you his home address. But I expect Sergeant Turner knows it.’ She smiled. ‘He used to be the community policeman. He’s the man to ask about most local affairs.’

‘Thank you, Miss Leach.’

Back in the car Kent said, ‘So - let’s go see the Perkins, Turner. How much do we know about the lad? Anything at all?’

‘He’s lived with his gran ,Mrs June Perkins, guv, since he was a small kid. Mrs P. is a cleaner for the Carey’s, the Welbecks, the Chapel and the White Rock Hotel on the sea front. A nice hard working woman, a bit of a character and a gossip,’ Turner said with a smile as they drove to the Perkins house on the council estate. ‘And a devout chapelgoer. She takes her religion most seriously. And attends the same chapel as the Carey’s.’

June Perkins looked startled to see the law standing on her doorstep. ‘Mr. Turner! What brings you here?’

‘Mrs Perkins may we come in? I’m Detective Inspector Kent and it appears that you know Sergeant Turner already. We would like to speak to your grandson, Raymond please? We were told at Carey’s Funeral Parlour that Raymond is home on sick leave.’

‘That’s right, he is.’

Letting them in, she said, ‘What do you want with him? He’s not well. He has a migraine. I get it bad myself, at times.’ She opened the door to her front room, partly shaded by dusty window blinds, and smelt strongly of lavender furniture polish. ‘Would you like to wait in here? Is it police business, Mr. Turner?’ she inquired looking anxious.

‘Yes, Mrs Perkins, I’m afraid it is.’

‘I’ll see if I can get him up.’ She shook her head doubtfully. ‘He looked really poorly when I called him for work this morning. Had to phone in for him.’

‘Just tell him we’re here, please. The sooner he speaks to us the quicker he’ll get it over with. We need to ask him some questions about his whereabouts last night.’

A plump hand flew to her mouth. ‘It’s about that dreadful murder, isn’t it? Raymond is a good boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, he wouldn’t,’ she said with trembling lips. ‘Mr. Turner can tell you that, Inspector.’