“I could tell he wanted to know what was going on, but he was very tactful.” Malcolm settled back, relaxed. He’d enjoyed his evening, and it was made all the better for not having to rush home.
“I phoned Jacqueline earlier. She was visiting me tomorrow anyway. I made an excuse and asked her to do a little shopping for me. She suspects nothing.” Anei sipped her coffee. “I’m pleased she has settled in the village and made new friends. Her life has not been easy.”
“You’ve never talked about her parents.”
It
was a while before Anei answered. Malcolm wondered if he had upset her with his remark.
“Her mother died of breast cancer when she was ten years old. She came to live with me when she was thirteen.” Anei sighed. “She no longer has a father, either.”
“I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on Anei’s, offering what little comfort he could. There had been genuine hardship in her life. He admired not only Anei’s spirit, but that of the whole family. Despite the difficulties, they supported each other, drew strength from their unity and God.
Anei broke the silence, tightening her grip on Malcolm’s hand. “We should not be sad. It is nearly Christmas, a time for celebration. In Romania, all families come together at Christmas.”
She suddenly fell silent again, staring at their clasped hands.
“Is something wrong?”
She turned to gaze into Malcolm’s eyes. “I have to go away for a little while. Don’t worry. I have to make a journey, to my patrie, my Romania. I left when I was so young, and I have never been back. I am old now. I want to go back and visit while I am strong enough to do so. I want to show Jacqueline where I was born, what it was like to be with people you could trust. I need to feel it once more before anything happens to prevent it.”
Malcolm smiled, relieved that it wasn’t a problem. “Is that all? I’m happy for you, Anei. I think you should go. You and Jacqueline will have a wonderful time.”
“Thank you.” Anei smiled, not only with her lips, but with her eyes as well.
“And I’ll be waiting for you when you return, you can tell me all about it.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“You are a kind man, Malcolm Gardener. I’m going to miss you.”
Malcolm laughed. He didn’t know what to say.
“But tonight, we will celebrate. Where’s the wine?”
Chapter Forty-three
Olive Bradshaw’s hardened expression reminded Gardener of a gargoyle. Her features then softened as she entered the denial stage. “Pornography? No. I’m sorry, Inspector, but I think you have the wrong man.”
Since Gardener’s last visit, the landlady’s living accommodation had been stripped bare. He’d been surprised to learn that contracts had been exchanged, and she and her sister had packed everything into boxes ready for moving. Gardener stood with his back to the window, amused by her indignant repudiation. “I have not got the wrong man. I’ve done my homework. I believe that Herbert Plum was a paedophile.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Inspector, but you’ve obviously made a mistake. Hasn’t he, Mabel?” She glanced at her sister. Mabel nodded, seemingly unsure what to say.
“No mistake. During the search of his flat, we discovered pornographic material.”
“How do you know it was his?” retorted the landlady, her arms folded defensively.
“Was it yours?” asked Reilly.
The landlady scowled. “It most certainly was not.”
“Then it must be his,” said Gardener. “We also found a sex drug called Papaverine, which could suggest he led a very active sex life. That would contradict your story of him having very little contact with the outside world. Have you any further comment to make?”
“Why should I? I’m not his keeper,” she retorted.
Gardener stepped over to the table and leaned in close. He’d given her every chance. “No, you were a little closer than that, weren’t you? You were his lover, isn’t that right, Olive?”
She almost jumped out of her chair. “Who told you that?”
“You’re not denying it, then?”