Three Little Maids(3)

‘No-o she can’t be!’ Paula Carey collapsed into the nearest easy chair and, sobbing bitterly, buried her face in her hands. Joseph Carey joined her quickly, standing close by, his hand resting heavily on her shaking shoulder as he stared blankly for a moment or so out of the front bay window at the view overlooking the park.

‘There must be some terrible mistake, Sergeant Turner,’ he said in a monotone. ‘You have identified the wrong girl. Angela is staying at her friend’s house. She promised us never to go out on her own. We do not allow our daughter to go out with so many strangers about on her own. Not here at night. We have so many of these immigrants and wrongdoers out on the streets.’

‘I’m sorry, there is no mistake. With your permission, sir; Constable Sherwood find the kitchen and make some tea for Mr and Mrs Carey.’

‘Yes, serge.’

The young policewoman hurried out of the room and Turner took out his notebook and biro. ‘Can you tell me what time your daughter left the house last evening, Mr Carey?’

‘After the evening meal, about seven, I think, Sergeant. Mrs Carey can tell you, she gave her the bus fare into the Old town. Can you not leave all this till later? As you can see my wife is distressed.’

‘Sorry, sir. I shall have to ask you to identify your daughter. You understand it has to be done?’

‘I’m well aware of that, Sergeant Turner.’

‘And we will need to ask you both some questions later, sir. When it is convenient.’

The young policewoman came back into the room with the tea. ‘Tea, Mrs Carey? Milk and sugar?’

Paula Carey lifted her tear stained face and took a cup from the policewoman with a shaking hand, helped herself to the sugar and murmured; ‘Thank you.’

‘Can you tell us the name and address of the friend Angela that intended to spend the night with, please, sir?’

Carey took a cup of tea from the policewoman. It rattled slightly in his grasp, and sat down heavily on the long sofa. ‘She said… she was staying over with Stacey Flitch, a school friend. She disobeyed our wishes.’ Carey shook his head and groaned heavily. ‘I’m afraid that her mother has always been much too easy on the girl.’

‘Joseph!’ Paula Carey upset her cup in the saucer, spilling the tea onto the thick rush green carpet. ‘Please... don’t say that!’

‘Thank you, Mrs Carey, Mr Carey. We would like you, Mr Carey, to formally identify your daughter as soon as possible. Constable Sherwood will stay here with your wife until you return.’

Carey stood up. ‘I can come along with you now, Sergeant Turner.’

It hadn’t begun to sink in yet that he might be arranging his daughter’s funeral before long. But when it did his grief would be terrible, Turner thought as Carey accompanied him out to the car.

*

The girl lay in the small quiet room beside the mortuary. Her long hair shining silver under the bright ceiling light smelt faintly of perfume. Turner wondered how he would feel if he were put into that position as Carey came slowly through the door into the room to look down on the bruised, battered face of his daughter. Well used he might be to dealing with death daily. This was different. A more discerning eye could read the bluish skin tones and red spots as tell-tale signs marking strangulation as a cause of her death.

Silent for a second or so, he studied his daughter’s face. Carey nodded, cleared his throat and said; ‘Yes - Sergeant. This is Angela Carey, my daughter.’

He allowed himself to be led out of the room and to be taken back home to his wife in the police car. The trauma of his child’s death making him oblivious of the events to come.

He remained silent throughout the return journey.

When he came back into the living-room to re-join his wife and young son, he shook his head slowly. ‘I will have to delegate full responsibility for the Baines’ funeral, I think, to Philip Sharman, my dear.’

His wife nodded slowly, the tears welling up again in her eyes and the woman officer handed her another tissue. Gordon, their eleven-year old son in pants and sweatshirt sat next to his mother, looking bewildered. His face anxious and tear stained, he twisted the damp handkerchief between his hands into a tight knot.

‘Phone in to the station, Sherwood. Do all you can to help Mr and Mrs Carey,’ Turner said when she followed him to the door. ‘It’s not easy but do the best you can.’

‘Okay, will do. Good luck. I hope the team can get onto some good leads today.’

‘I hope so too. We’re going to need it.’

She looked over her shoulder. ‘It seems to me that Angela was not as innocent as they thought, serge. I think her brother knows more than he’s telling.’