Ken scooped her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, kicking the door shut with his foot. The washing-up could wait.
Chapter Fourteen
Anna drove into the station car park at eight-thirty. She’d had to leave Ken’s flat at such an early hour that she’d had little or no sleep. Hurrying into the incident room, she booked on duty and, from Barbara, got the address of the Potts children’s foster parents. They were across London, in Brixton, so to make the appointment, she left virtually straightaway.
Joan passed her on the way out. She stared after Anna as she got a bright “Good morning.”
Joan dumped her briefcase on her desk. She said she’d just seen Travis hurtling out of the station like a teenager.
Barbara sidled up to her.
“What?” Joan asked.
“She’s engaged — got a ring on her wedding finger. I couldn’t help but notice it. She waved it in front of me enough times.”
“Engaged?”
“I presume so. She didn’t actually say she was, but—”
Joan interrupted her. “Who to? I’ve never seen her with anyone. You must have gotten it wrong.”
Barolli walked in. “Gotten what wrong?”
Barbara began to sort out the work on her desk. “Barbara says Travis is engaged.”
“She’s having you on. Is she here yet?”
Joan giggled. “Been and gone.” She switched on her computer and told Barbara she shouldn’t spread gossip.
Barbara returned to her desk, retorting, “Wait until you see it. Looked like a row of nice diamonds.”
Anna parked on a pleasant tree-lined street; the semi-detached houses had seen better days, but they were reasonably well kept, apart from a couple that looked as if they were divided into numerous flats. She rang the doorbell of number eleven and waited.
“Good morning. Are you Mrs. Walters?” Anna asked.
“Yes.”
Anna showed her ID and introduced herself. Mrs. Walters stepped back, and Anna followed her along a dingy hallway into a large sitting room. It was not well furnished, and it had worn carpets and old velvet curtains.
“Should I have my husband present?”
“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I have a few questions and want to make it clear to you that they are connected to an ongoing investigation into the children’s late mother, Margaret Potts. I am not from any Social Services or foster-care agency.”
When Mrs. Walters sat down, Anna realized that she was younger than she looked, though devoid of any makeup, and her hair was pinned back unflatteringly.
“Do you want a cup of tea or anything?”
“No, thanks. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I really appreciate you seeing me.”
“I did have concerns. I mean, I don’t know what it’s about. I’ve no problems with the children. They’re both at school.”
“I am sure you are taking great care of them.”
“To the best of my ability, I am. They’re good kids — well behaved and getting on better at their school.”
“Did you ever meet their mother, Margaret Potts?”
“Mother?” Mrs. Walters gave a derisive look at the ceiling. “Hard to describe her as one, and their father’s even worse. I know he’s out of prison, but there’s not been a single Christmas card or birthday card. How do you explain to them that he probably doesn’t give them a thought?”
“Did Margaret?”
“At first she would stand outside and not come in, just stand there looking up at their bedroom window. It’s at the front. I think once or twice they saw her, but that always caused trouble, because they’d want to talk to her but were scared they’d have to go back to that wretch of a father. It’s hard because we can never say anything bad about the parents, so we make up excuses — you know, they do love you, et cetera. More important is to make sure they don’t think it’s their fault.”
“Did she come and visit them?”
“Not for a long time to begin with, then she arranged to take them out on a Saturday. Three times she promised to come — never turned up once. In the end, I told her that if she couldn’t be here when she said she would, then it was better for her not to come at all.”
“Did she remember their birthdays?”
“That’s the only good thing I can think about her. She did sometimes send presents and cards, but she can’t have thought too much about what she chose. Her boy, Eric, is nine now, and into computers; the girl, Margie, is eleven. The things she sent were too babyish for Eric, and it was always dolls for Margie — you know, Barbies and My Little Pony, when she’s into pop stars and the like.” Mrs. Walters sat straight-backed in the chair opposite Anna.
“I suppose you are aware of what happened to her?” Anna asked gently.
“Yes, of course. I mean, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, it was a terrible thing and in a way sort of worse, because I think she’d been trying to straighten herself out.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The last time I heard from her, she rang here and told me that she was going to arrange to take the children to some fun fair, as she was looking for a permanent place to live.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh, must be nearly three years. I never spoke to her again, and next thing the Social Services came here to tell me she’d been murdered and I had to tell the children. By this time they didn’t react all that much, and we never heard from any of their relatives.”
“Did Margaret ever send the children money, specifically around the time before she was murdered?”
“Money?”
Anna saw the woman tense up, so she carefully explained that they believed Margaret might have been getting access to reasonable sums of money. “We are still investigating her murder, and this may be a possible link to discovering what happened to her or why she was killed.”
Mrs. Walters got up, went over to a dresser, and opened a drawer from which she took out a big envelope. “These are the cards and a couple of letters she sent.”
Anna smiled and took the envelope, aware that Mrs. Walters had not answered her question.
“I keep them for when they leave here — you know, so that they have something to remember her by or not. They can do what they like with them, but the Services encourage us to retain anything they get sent.”
“May I read them?”
“Yes, please go ahead.”
Anna opened birthday cards sent to Eric and Margie over a couple of years. Big scrawled writing was on the envelopes and inside the cards: To my lovely Margie from her mummy and For my big boy Eric, from his loving mummy. There were only three letters on cheap pink notepaper, and Anna found reading them moving.
Dear Eric and Margie,
I miss you and I think about you every day because I love you with all my heart. Sometimes things happen and I’ve done what I thought was best for you. I will come and see you regularly and send you presents.
There were rows of crosses as kisses. The first letter had been written six years ago. The second letter said virtually the same thing and was written six months later. The third letter was dated eighteen months before her death.
Dear Eric and Margie,
I will come and see you soon and we can spend a whole weekend together as things have got better for me.
I hope you are both working hard at school because it is important you get a good education. I am buying some nice treats for you both.