“No. Furniture banging around. A crash. Mable and I were outside the Carter woman’s door. We’d had an argument.”
“About what?”
“The flat next door to her. She was complaining about us moving boxes in and out, as usual.” Olive quickly turned to Mabel. “But she’s not bothered about the noise when she’s entertaining, is she, Mabel? No. She’s quick to complain when it suits her, that one. I’ll be glad to see the back of her, and no mistake.”
“What happened after you heard the banging?”
“I went up the stairs, and shouted to Herbert,” replied Olive Bradshaw. “Asked him if he was all right. He didn’t reply.”
For the first time, Gardener noticed an expression of guilt on the landlady’s face. He had never come across anyone who changed their moods so quickly. She was impossible to read.
“You heard a crash but no raised voices. He gave no reply to your inquiry. Did you shout again? Or try his door?”
“I tried the door, but it was locked.”
Gardener struggled to believe she would let such an incident go by uninvestigated. Especially with someone she was sleeping with. “That’s it? You weren’t concerned? A sixty-year-old man on his own? He could have had an accident, may have needed your assistance. We’re talking about a man you had a relationship with. You must have felt the impulse to do something, surely?”
She grew defensive. “As I’ve already said, Inspector, I wasn’t his keeper. He liked a drink. I thought he might have been drinking, knocked something over. We were late for bingo.”
“I see.” Gardener paused. “So, you just left? You were late for bingo, so you didn’t hang around to see if he eventually opened his door?”
“No.”
Gardener locked eyes with Olive. “Or, in fact, if someone else opened his door?”
Chapter Forty-four
Nicki Carter was hesitant with her answer. “I’ve seen him. Don’t know him, but I’ve seen him.”
“Where?” Gardener studied the girl. The bruise under her left eye had disappeared. Her clothes were cleaner than the last time they’d met. She was wearing a white T-shirt with blue denim jeans. The flat was cleaner. The fresh smell of lavender polish hung in the air. The baby was once again with Nicki’s mother. Gardener wondered what the reason was. “Come on, Nicki, I have to know.”
“Outside school.”
“Which one?” Gardener’s patience was wearing thin. Everywhere he went, people had half-stories to tell him. They only seemed to tell him what they wanted. No one took anything seriously. As if they were all playing games. “Was he with anyone?”
“Middle school, near Old Lane.” She didn’t answer his second question. It was obvious she was holding something back. Nicki Carter nervously lit a cigarette.
“Who was he with?”
After a pause, she replied. “The pervert, Plum.”
Frustrated, Gardener sighed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before?”
The girl was anxious, rubbing her hands together in circles. “You never asked.”
Gardener fumed. “The last time
we spoke, you said Plum was a pervert. The man in the photo-fit is wanted for questioning in connection with the missing schoolchildren. We know these two had an allegiance. You knew about it, but never mentioned it. Why?”
“He were dead, for God’s sake. I didn’t think it mattered. The bastard got what were coming to him anyway.”
“That’s not the point! You withheld important information from me. If you’d told me two weeks ago, we might have got to the bottom of this and had people charged. You’re damned lucky I don’t charge you with obstructing the course of justice.” Gardener was so pissed off, he felt like arresting all of them. Nicki Carter, Olive Bradshaw and her sister, and Summers. The whole fucking lot.
“I’m sorry.” Nicki Carter took a drag on her cigarette.
He didn’t really think she was.
“Why were you at the school?”