‘Just fetch him down, please.’
Ten minutes later Raymond Perkins appeared in the doorway of the room. A thin lanky youngster in a white sweatshirt and frayed blue jeans, he did look pretty sick, Turner had to admit. If he knew about it already, he was taking the girl’s death hard. Not bad looking, his skin looked grey and his brown eyes, red rimmed and strained blinked back at them as the afternoon sun streamed in bravely through cracks in the slightly crooked French window blinds. He collapsed and slumped into the nearest easy chair like a skinny beanie toy and scratched a spot on his chin with a long clean nail.
Kent introduced himself pleasantly. ‘Inspector Kent, lad. We shan’t keep you long, Raymond. Can you tell me where you went last night and if you met anyone who could verify your movements?’
An interruption came as Mrs Perkins brought in a tea tray and a plentiful helping of chocolate wafer biscuits on her best gold-rimmed china tea service. She put it down on a small linen topped table and sat down in a chair with a loud, breathy sigh. ‘Help yourself, to milk and sugar, Inspector Kent, Mr. Turner.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Perkins.’
Kent tried again. ‘So from the beginning, Raymond...’
‘Tell them where you went and what you did, there’s a good boy - -’ His grandmother beamed encouragingly.
‘I went down the old town. About seven, I think,’ he said, rubbing the knees of his worn jeans nervously with the palm of his hands.
‘And - how did you pass the evening, son? Did you have company? It wasn’t with Maureen Carey according to her friend Susan Flitch, was it?’
He pushed back the thick flaxen hair that fell in a heavy lock in a Byronic fashion over his high forehead with his hand. Anger sparked his eyes into life and a crimson flush charged the pale cheeks. ‘She told me she was seeing someone else.’
‘Did she tell you his name? I take it that it was a man and not a girlfriend?’
He looked down at his scuffed white trainers and mumbled; ‘She wouldn’t tell me who it was.’ He sniffed and rubbed a balled fist into his eyes. ‘She-she laughed at me. The silly cow!’ His face twisted into a painful grimace. ‘She said, `wouldn’t you like to know?` She likes playing games with me she does.’ He sniffed again.
‘Did she say what time her date was and where?’
‘She told me she’d see that I was kicked out of my job if I said anything to her Dad or asked her anymore questions.’
‘So - what did you do to pass the evening? Did you meet up with friends or what?’
He shrugged his thin shoulders. ‘This and that - what do you want to know all this for?’
He looked over apprehensively at his grandmother. The kid’s a scared bunny, Kent thought and with that the answer came abruptly from her.
‘Have you been playing on those fruit machines again? What have I told you about wasting your money on gambling?’
‘No, Gran. Honest. I-I went into the bowling alley. Yeah... That’s right. That’s what I did.’
‘And what time was that?’
Again the frightened look flung at Mrs Perkins. ‘Half seven or thereabouts, can’t remember exactly.’
‘And how long did you spend in there? Was there anyone there that knows you?’
He thought carefully for a moment. Rubbed the knees of his jeans again. ‘Can’t say offhand. Stayed there for an hour or so till about ten. Then I took a stroll along the sea front and tried to get myself together. I thought I might meet up with Maureen - see.’
‘And did you?’
‘No!’ He shook his head. ‘So... So I went on the pier.’ Raymond glanced over at his grandmother again. ‘I didn’t come home right away. I played on a bingo stall for a bit and won a box of chocs for Gran, didn’t I?’
‘That’s right. He did. It’s a lovely big one too. He gave it to me first thing.’
‘So about what time was it when you got home?’
A bony hand tugged at the loose neck of his sweatshirt. ‘About twelve, I reckon. The church clock was chiming as I walked back up the hill by the Havelock pub. I missed the last bus home from the town centre - see. And Gran was asleep when I looked in on her.’
‘He likes walking does our Raymond. He was always taking off on trek into the countryside when he was small. You know that yourself, Mr. Turner. The times I’ve had to call you when I’ve been worried about him.’
The Sergeant nodded. ‘That’s right, Mrs Perkins.’ He took a sip of his tea it was how he liked it strong and sweet. Best to let the old girl get it off her chest.
‘They found him on the top of a double-decker bus in Tonbridge Wells of all places when he was only six, Inspector Kent.’ She reached forward to pat Raymond’s hand fondly. He withdrew it quickly. ‘It was lucky he had his name printed in his school blazer jacket. Said he wanted to go to London like Dick Whittington. I took him to see the pantomime Puss in Boots only the week before. Sorry, Inspector. I must let you get on, mustn’t I?’