Three Little Maids(7)

‘Anything else useful?’

‘Her last meal was fish and chips eaten about nine,’ Henry Matthews continued sanguinely while sucking a morsel of breakfast bacon out of a back tooth. ‘That more than likely would have been bought and eaten before the meeting.’

‘Turner! Get ready to hand out Angela’s pictures.’

The sergeant who had been listening with growing unease to the summary said, ‘Yes, guv.’ And swallowed the remains of the peppermint lump in his mouth hurriedly.

‘Give ‘em out to all the officers available to tout round the local fish bars and to make enquiries if she was either seen on her own or accompanied by anyone around ten or just before. Got that?’

Turner nodded and took another peppermint lump out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth.

‘And we’ll interview Angela’s girlfriend, Stacey Flitch, next. Find out if she knows who Angela was meeting and what boyfriend, or boyfriends, she’s been seeing lately. And for God’s sake, try to avoid upsetting the Carey’s. They obviously haven’t a clue about what young Angela got up to on the quiet.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Twelve thirty. Might catch the girl in. She must know about her pal’s death by now. The Carey’s would have been in touch. Stacey had obviously been covering up for her frequently. And no doubt those in the Flitch household have been made aware of the tragedy. I wonder just how long those girls have been stringing along Angela’s parents?’

In the small terraced cottage, the borders of its tiny front square of sun burnt grass decorated by cockleshells, Stacey Flitch wasn’t keen on talking; not at first. Her mother, a single parent, Kathie Flitch, who answered the door to the officers, was an attractive barmaid at the Nag’s Head pub, in the town centre.

‘DI. Kent and DS. Turner. We would like to talk to Stacey please, Mrs Flitch? We need to know Angela’s plans for the last evening. She confided in Stacey obviously more than she did her parents.’

‘I work most nights, Inspector. It’s the holiday season. So I welcomed Angela coming to spend an occasional night or two in with my girl. But she kept it from me what Angela was up to.’ She opened the door wide. ‘You’d better come in if you want to see Stacey. If you can get anything sensible out of her. I’ve not managed to get a word out of her since she heard. Would you like a cup of tea while you’re here? I’ve just made a fresh pot,’ she added conversationally.

Kent looked at Turner. ‘If it’s no trouble, thanks.’

They followed her through into the kitchen and sat down. She called out up the stairs, ‘Stacey come down, now, my girl. Sergeant Turner wants to speak to you.’

Kent exchanged a glance with Turner, who grinned. He was obviously known to the family already. More than likely had been in the kitchen at some time before.

‘It’s made me good and mad, I can tell you. When I think what she was up to - the crafty little tart,’ Kath Flitch said bringing over the pot of tea. ‘Sorry, Inspector,’ she said handing him his cup.’ But I think Angela asked for it, you know. She made a fool out of my Stacey. The sly little bitch. She gave Stacey presents so she wouldn’t tell me what she was getting into. She’ll be down in a minute. I told her to wash her face. She’s cried buckets since she heard.’

‘Did Stacey know who Angela was meeting?’

‘Mind if I smoke, officers? It’s not banned in here.’ she asked with a smile. ‘This has been a hell of day so far.’

She sat down took a cigarette out of the packet on the table, lit it up with a gas lighter. Turner sniffed the smoke appreciatively and felt for a peppermint chew in his blazer pocket. ‘I honestly don’t know. You’ll have to ask her. She’s not made much sense since she heard about Angela. Mr Carey came storming over here an hour ago. Sorry, but I sent him off with a flea in his ear. He wanted to know why I hadn’t stopped Angela. For a man of the church, he’s a bloody fool. He wouldn’t believe that it was his daughter’s fault. He thought Stacey had encouraged her. I felt sorry afterwards though for the poor old bugger.’

She shrugged her dress off of her bare shoulders and hitched it up again with a rose pink tipped hand. ‘He brought it all on himself, you know. If you ask me he’s much too bloody strict. All that church going. Twice on Sundays. No wonder his kid went off the rails.’

Kathie flicked her cigarette ash into a nearby saucer on the kitchen table with an angry gesture, and folded her bare tanned arms, the gold bangles clinking on them, tightly across the front of her low cut, pink flowered-print dress. They heard some slow laboured footfalls outside. ‘Here comes Stacey now.’