‘So young ladies, who’s going to give me the gen on Yvette? Were you on good terms with her generally speaking? Both of you? But don’t rush to speak at once.’ And they relaxed back in their chairs.
‘Yvette - ’ Ilse shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘She was okay. A bit spoilt. But we got on during class time. Afterwards.’ She glanced at her friend. ‘She didn’t hang around here. She had extra funds. And she rented a room up town. On the hill.’
‘We are already aware that she worked part-time for a couple of days in a local pub. And that she had a boyfriend, Cliff Jones. Is that correct?’
The girls exchanged covert glances. Kent thought he was right. They are not sure whether to spill the beans or cover up to protect their friend. Well if they could persuade these two to talk they might be worth listening to, and it seemed Turner thought so too.
Ilse brought out a packet of cigarette paper and some tobacco. She wanted to roll her own. She was feeling uncomfortable. Kent felt sorry for her. ‘May I, bitte?’ He nodded. She rolled a cigarette expertly and offered it to Marie who shook her head.
Turner felt instinctively in his jacket pocket. He hadn’t got a peppermint lump on him. He ought to have checked before coming out. Perhaps Carole was right. He should try a patch.
‘Come on now,’ Kent said. ‘Don’t be afraid to speak out girls. If you know anything at all that we should know, let’s be having it. If you cover up something because you don’t like talking about Yvette’s private life, you could be helping the man who killed your friend. She was the victim of an especially brutal murder. As was Maureen Carey. I cannot go into the full details, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear them.’
Marie drew in her breath sharply. Ilse choked and spluttered on her aromatic smelling cigarette then took a large gulp of her fizzy drink and heaved again. Marie patted her gently on the back. Kent waited patiently till she’d fully recovered.
‘Miss Weisbaum, Miss Vallette? What can you tell us? There was someone else she was involved with that you knew about, perhaps? Other than Mr. Jones. You can speak now in complete confidence. It won’t go any further than this table. Right, Turner?’
‘Yes, guv.’
Marie looked at Ilse. She nodded and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. ‘If it can help she was seeing an older man. Much older than Yvette. It would be thirty years or more…’
‘And can you tell me his name?’
Again the slight hesitancy. ‘Difficult it is to explain. He is a well revered man in the town. You must know of him, Inspector.’
‘Well known?’ Turner intervened.
‘He is in the public eye a great deal?’
‘Yes, indeed. I think so very much. He is the Mayor. M’sieur Berkley.’
‘Phew!’ Turner looked at Kent whose face was kept well under control. Perhaps he had been expecting something like this. Hence their problem in speaking out. It was like trying to get winkles out of their shells. Still they didn’t wish to speak ill of the dead. Which was commendable. Would Yvette have behaved the same if put in their position? Kent wondered.
‘Mr. Berkley, you say. And how do I know if you are telling the truth? Did she tell you this?’
Marie shrugged. ‘Mais oui! She knew we’d seen them together. She laughed about it.’
‘So how did they come to meet? Do you know that too?’
‘M’sieur Berkley, he comes to present some prizes here and she was one of the students who were given special awards for first year work. Yvette, she came onto him from the start. And we saw him pick her up in his car one day. It was a red Porsche. A beautiful car. And she didn’t deny it, did she, Ilse?’ Her friend shook her head. ‘You spoke about it. She seemed quite proud of what she’d done. She was like how you would say collecting wigs?’
‘Scalps - you mean, miss,’ Turner said with a chuckle.
‘Yes that is right. And money he gave her too. Lots of it. And presents. Perfume and some lovely lingerie. She showed it to us. He owns the big store in town. He is wealthy, is he not, Inspector?’
‘Yes he is.’ And a bloody fool by the sound of it, Kent thought. ‘And how long would you say she had known him, girls?’
‘Since January.’
‘ No. Later than that, Ilse. February it must be.’
‘And how did Cliff Jones take this? Any idea? Did he know about Berkley? Did she mention this at all?’
‘Cliff, he is mad. She tells us this. Like she was pleased. Crazy at first. But she sees him too. Often. We think she was stringing them both along. Or - Cliff was helping her to take money from that stupid old man.’