Three Little Maids(15)

‘So where else did your long stroll take you last night? Was it along the cliff path near Lover Leap?’

‘What are you suggesting?’ June Perkins burst in. ‘That he has had something to do with that poor girl’s death?’

‘We have to establish his movements, Mrs Perkins,’ Turner said with a reassuring smile.

‘So where did you go other than the walk along the front and the bowling alley?’

‘On the pier and stayed awhile then walked back through the town centre home. Nowhere else.’

‘So if you did this can you remember meeting anyone on your travels who can verify that in the bowling alley for instance? What about the bingo stallholder on the pier? Would he remember you?’

‘Might do. Doubt it though.’ He shrugged. ‘Can’t honestly say. There were lots of other people playing on it. And it was late.’

‘He might remember if you won a prize.’

‘Suppose so...’

‘Think hard now, son. We have to question everyone who knew the Carey girl personally.’

‘Maureen, you mean? Was she the girl found on the cliff top?’ June Perkins burst in again. ‘Why didn’t you say so before?’

Raymond stared back blankly at them for a second or so. ‘She can’t be - not my Maureen,’ he said in a strangulated voice.

Kent nodded. ‘Afraid so, son, we have to find the person that Maureen was planning to meet last evening, Raymond, and if it was her killer; we have to catch him.’

‘I bloody well know that,’ he said tearfully.

‘Raymond! Watch your language! She was a silly little girl, Inspector,’ June Perkins said. ‘Fancy arranging to meet someone on the cliff tops so late at night. She was only fifteen. She was asking for trouble.’ She shook her head. ‘They won’t be told anything these young girls. They think they know what they’re doing till it’s too late.’

‘Gran!’

‘It’s her parents that I feel really feel sorry for. Mr. Carey is a good man. He lives by the good book. Her mother, poor soul, I daresay will never get over it. I clean for her two days a week. Even when my back plays me up something chronic. She simply idolised that girl.’

Raymond’s answer to this was to bury his face in his hands and sob loudly. Turner sighed, popped a sweet into his mouth, and closed up his notebook. The grandmother was at the boy’s side immediately. She put her arms round him to give him a hug and a kiss as he tried to push her away. ‘There, there, don’t take on so.’

‘So you can’t think of anyone who can give you an alibi for last night? Answer me please.’

Raymond raised his tear stained face to mumble, ‘Not offhand, I can’t. I met up with n-no-one I knew - not last night.’

‘Can’t you see how my boy’s suffering? He’s taking it real bad. He wouldn’t harm a hair of that girl’s head. Even though the little tart played him up something cruel. I’ll send him along to the police station if he can remember anything useful later, Mr. Turner.’

Kent studied Raymond’s miserable face thoughtfully. There was angst there too. ‘Do that, son, if you can recall anything at all about what Maureen said about her date last night. Any tip offs she might have given you. Was it someone she might have known for some time or someone new? A blind date, maybe from the Internet? It could be almost anyone these days.’

‘I told you. I don’t know. She didn’t tell me. She was funny and kind of secretive about it. She enjoyed bloody teasing me. Wanted to see me get mad. It gave her a buzz. There’s no way she would tell me,’ he said scowling.

‘Okay. Come along to the station if you do remember anything at all. You want to help us catch her killer, don’t you?’ Raymond nodded; the fair hair flopped in Byronic fashion over his forehead again. ‘Ask for Sergeant Turner or myself. Thank you Raymond- Mrs Perkins- for your time.’





8




Viviane heard Kent come in at seven. She’d had her evening meal and, as usual, cooked for two. She would have to get used to cooking in smaller portions when Simon left home

She was about to settle down for the evening, her TV program picked out, when she heard Beazy utter a low throaty meow, his version of a growl when the knock came on her living room door.

‘Viviane?’

‘Come in, Jon. Quiet, Beazy!’

Jon put his head round the door and the rest of his spare, lean body followed. She was always amazed that with his cooking skills and the amount he ate, he never visibly put on weight. He had friendly hazel eyes, with attached laughter lines, a thin well - used face, neatly kept brown hair and the wide mobile mouth smiled back at her generously. As she saw him now he was the opposite in every way to her stolid, chunky built husband Bill.