Three Little Maids(26)

Marie wiped the top of the nearest vacant table with a damp cloth she had in her hand.

‘So he dropped her off there at the chapel. He worried about her a lot afterwards and wished he’d stayed awhile longer to see if she was okay. Said she was just a kid. Wondered what she was doing there so late. She was foreign, he said. And spoke with a French accent. Could have been one of those foreign students.’

‘A French girl?’

‘Yes. We’ve got these students everywhere. Only he remembered this one. Said she was such a pretty girl. Much too attractive to be out so late at night in one of those skimpy, short dresses. He likes a good pair of legs. He waited till he saw her go in. Then he drove off. The main door wasn’t locked so she must have arranged to meet someone in there. Funny, wasn’t it?’

‘Very - thanks, Marie.’

The two police officers looked at one another as they chewed their bacon sandwiches slowly. ‘Could be,’ Turner said, ‘It’s a lead to start with if it’s the same girl, guv. Certainly seems like it might be.’

‘Is it the chapel we visited yesterday to speak to Welbeck?’

‘Sounds like it.’

Marie chipped in over the counter. ‘Eric knows that chapel well as he takes the two old Wilberforce ladies there every Sunday evening. They stay at the White Rock Hotel and he does special rates for them, Inspector.’





18




‘My girl’s gone missing.’ A young man, with a quiff made of stiff jelled spikes of sun-bleached fair hair, which reminded Police Constable Bennett of a lavatory brush, hunched his muscular brown arms over the front office desk. ‘You’ve got to find her for me.’

‘And your name, sir?’

‘Jones. Cliff Jones.’

‘And her name, sir?’

‘Yvette Marceau, she’s a student.’

‘Would she be French, sir?’

‘Yeah, she is. She’s a student at the Language College. So what are you going to do about it, man?’

Constable Bennett picked up the phone. ‘If you’d like to wait over there, Mr. Jones.’ He indicated the bench with a nod of his balding head. ‘I’ll get someone to speak to you.’ Jones sat down and leant forward, his hands clenched together and rocked his lean frame impatiently on his seat. His dark eyes fixed intently on the adjoining door.

‘Turner? Bennett here, front desk. There’s a young chap out here. He wants to see someone about his girlfriend, Yvette Marceau. She’s gone missing. Okay. Mr. Jones.’ He beckoned him over. ‘Shall I send him along to your office? Righto. Inspector Kent would like to speak to you, sir.’

‘Well it’s about time. Anything could have happened to her by now.’

‘Take it easy, son. You can see Inspector Kent. He’ll listen to what you have to say.’

‘Mr. Jones, to see Inspector Kent.’ Constable Townsend opened the door and the young man followed the police officer through the door like a greyhound out of a trap, leaving it banging hard behind him. Bennett scratched his head thoughtfully with the tip of his biro. She had to belong to someone, the girl they’d found this morning in the woods. Could it be his young lady?

‘Mr. Jones, sir.’

Kent was talking to Turner at his desk. ‘Thank you, Townsend.’ He stood up to greet him as Cliff Jones came in. Turner said, ‘Good morning, sir.’ And went over to the filing cabinet to open up the top drawer.

‘Good morning, Mr. Jones. I’m DI. Kent so how can I help you? Take a seat.’

Jones sat down and fixed his eyes on the police officer. ‘I understand you’re worried about your girlfriend, Yvette Marceau.’

‘I want you to find her, see. She wasn’t in her place this morning.’

‘How long has she been missing?’

‘All night, I think. She wasn’t at home when I called an hour ago.’

‘Could she be staying with a friend perhaps?’

‘Her bed hasn’t been slept in, and she was going out with me today.’

Kent leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head and studied the young man. ‘How old is she, Mr. Jones?’

‘Eighteen. She’s French and she works part-time as a barmaid at the Nag’s Head in the town centre.’

‘So where do her parents live?’

‘Yvette comes from Nimmes. Her family owns a hotel and restaurant there. What is all this? Do you know where she is?’

‘Bear with me a moment, please. Would you have a photo of her on you, sir?’

‘I have.’ Jones felt in his blue linen jacket pocket and brought out his wallet. ‘Here’s one she had taken last week at a dance on the pier.’ He took out a picture and handed it over to Kent.