Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“Have you checked the contents?”

“Not all of it. I’ve seen enough to know everything belongs to the woman killed on Friday night, Nicola Stapleton.”

“What’s in the box?” Reilly asked, having demolished one half of a scone.

“Well I haven’t had a good look through, but it’s all personal stuff. Diaries, and lots of papers. Some of ’em look like legal papers to me. She’d also left me a letter.”

Brenda Killen passed it to Gardener. He took the single sheet of paper from the envelope and read it before passing it to Reilly. It thanked Brenda for being the kindest person Nicola had met in a long time, and that if anything happened to Nicola, Brenda was to keep and read the diaries, and then she would know what to do with them. Had they struck gold at last? Gardener wondered.

“How well did you know Nicola Stapleton?”

“I wouldn’t say I did. She’s not been coming long, poor lass.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You can tell, can’t you? I’ve been at this a long time, and I know a real charity case when I see one. She was clean enough. Her clothes and everything were always clean, but they were old. Not fashionable like girls her age would normally wear if they had the money, which she clearly didn’t.”

“Did she tell you anything about herself?”

“Not really. I didn’t think she was homeless, because she wasn’t here for food. No. She came to help. She let slip now and again about where she lived being terrible. I think she had a boyfriend and he was a bit of a pig, by the sound of things. Very controlling. Wouldn’t let her out very much, and always wanted to know where she was going and where she’d been.”

Still, Gardener could not understand the situation Nicola Stapleton had been in. How had Barry Morrison managed to control her so well? It had to be fear. But why was she so frightened of him? Knowing the means of domination Morrison employed would go a long way to easing Gardener’s frustration regarding who the man was and how he operated.

To have that kind of control, he would have to have shadowed her, been with her twenty-four hours a day and never let her out of his sight. According to witnesses he clearly wasn’t.

The mystery deepened.

“Did she ever mention her boyfriend’s name?”

“Not from what I recall.”

“Did she ever tell you she lived in Hume Crescent?”

Brenda Killen shook her head. “No.”

“When did she first turn up?” Bob Anderson asked.

“About a week before she was killed, maybe ten days.” She put her hands to her mouth. “Do you know I still can’t believe it’s happened? I never got to know her all that well, but I thought I might in time. I’m usually good like that with people. Have to be in my position.”

“And you’d not seen her before that?” Thornton asked.

“No, not even around the town. And let’s face it, Batley isn’t that big, is it?”

Reilly had finished the scone and was now doing his best to bankrupt the homeless shelter by depleting the supply of biscuits.

“When did you last see her alive?”

“The night before she was killed.”

“How did she seem?”

“No different. She turned up around lunchtime, helped out with the afternoon tea and biscuits. In fact, she even helped me prepare the breakfasts for the next morning.”

“Did she talk much? Was she preoccupied by anything?”

“Not that I could tell. She disappeared for about ten minutes. When she came back, she said she’d been to the toilet, and then outside for some fresh air. More likely she’d been hiding this.” Brenda Killen pointed to the box.

“I reckon her life was that bad that she wanted to reach out to someone, but maybe she was too frightened to tell them everything… whatever that was. Anyway, when Jenny found this, she brought it to me. I didn’t open it straight away. I waited till Jenny had gone to make a drink.”