“Especially if it was Steven Paynton,” interjected Grace.
“Great minds think alike. The problem is Mrs Gardner’s respectable status now. What she probably did in her thirties is well behind her now and one thing she won’t want is some hairy-arsed cop stirring up her past. Besides that it’s going to go down like a lead balloon if the Police Authority gets whiff of this.”
“What about a hairy-arsed female cop having a word with her?”
“Grace, one thing I don’t want to do is get anyone else involved in this mess, especially you.”
“Listen Hunter, no one is any the wiser yet about Paul’s and Mrs. Gardner’s indiscretions all those years ago, and at this stage we don’t even know if they are relevant to this enquiry. If I’m seen going to visit her by a neighbour or a friend it will just look as though I’m seeing her for coffee, or one of her charities she’s probably involved with. I’ll plan it when her hubby is out and also it will be a lot easier coming from another woman.”
“I have to admit I was worried how I was going to approach this, I’m not exactly renowned for being subtle.”
“Well then, you’ve answered the question yourself. And if it looks like we’re on to something, then we’ll worry how we can feed it into the enquiry system after.”
“It would be a help Grace. Thanks. And I promise if this blows up in our faces, I’ll just say this was on my orders.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“By the way Grace.”
“Yes?”
“Have you really got a hairy arse?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
* * * * *
“What a beautiful house. Victorian by the looks,” Grace Marshall commented as she and Hunter strode up the black and white decorative tiled path towards the wide open porch of the semi-detached house. They had already tried two other addresses amongst the terraced rows close to the town centre before being directed to this house on the outskirts of Retford. As they got nearer to the stained glass front door Grace snapped open the folder she was carrying and took a quick look at the photograph pinned inside. It was a dog-eared, discoloured, and dated picture of the woman they were seeking, and she hoped she would be able to recognize her from it. They could hear the sound of a woman singing from within, and Hunter tried to steal a glance through the front bay window only to find that thick curtains prevented his view. Grace pressed the original brass buttoned bell set in the door frame and the singing immediately stopped, quickly followed by a shout of “Just a minute.” from somewhere at the back of the house. The clop of footsteps resounded along the hallway before the front door swung open.
Though there were now crows-feet around the hazel eyes, and a slight greying around the temples of her chestnut brown hair, which was dragged back and tied in a ponytail, Margaret Brown, as she now called herself, had changed very little. She was still the fresh-faced, attractive woman, depicted in the photograph, despite now being in her early forties. Switching her gaze quickly from one to the other she snapped off her yellow marigold gloves. “Sorry, I only just heard the bell. It’s my cleaning day. Can I help you?”
Grace flashed her police warrant card. She introduced herself and Hunter and smiled reassuringly. “Are you Margaret Brown, used to be Mary Bennett?” she continued.
Hunter saw the colour visibly drain from Margaret’s face.
Her eyes glazed over and she went rigid as if paralysed. Then she said, “This is about Steve isn’t it?”
“Steve. You mean Steve Paynton?” returned Grace.
She shook, then clasped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God. He’s found me hasn’t he?” She shot her gaze past them, searching over their shoulders, staring up and down the street.
“Not that we know of. Look this is about Steve Paynton, but it’s to do with his past. That’s why we’ve tracked you down after all this time. Please can we come in? We really need to speak with you,” said Hunter
She hesitated, took another nervous glance along the road, and then stepped aside to allow them entrance. Then she pushed the front door shut, turned the key and snapped on the safety chain before pointing to the front room.
Hunter and Grace went in first and seated themselves down on a leather settee without waiting to be asked.
“Sorry I reacted like I did,” Margaret said picking up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of a side unit. She shuffled one out quickly and put it to her mouth and then offered the packet to the two detectives. They declined and she lit it, taking in a long drag, holding her breath for a several seconds before exhaling the smoke from one corner of her mouth.
“If I appear nervous that’s because I am. To be frank I’m shit scared. I’ve looked over my shoulder for so many years because of that man, and I was just beginning to think I had got him out of my life before you two showed up.”
“Please calm yourself down, he hasn’t found you. You’ve covered your tracks well. In fact if it weren’t for Social Services we would never have found you. And before you go complaining about them, it’s us who forced their hands because of a murder enquiry we’re involved in,” replied Hunter
“Steve’s killed someone,” she said so matter-of-fact. “That doesn’t surprise me. I always knew it was only a matter of time before he killed someone.” Margaret dropped heavily into the only armchair in the room, crossing one slender leg over the other.
“We don’t exactly know if he has killed anyone, but he is a suspect.”
“Who’s been murdered?”
“It’s actually two murders we’re investigating, both teenage girls, but they’re years apart. In fact fourteen years apart. Steve Paynton was in a relationship with the mother of one of them — a Carol Siddons. Carol disappeared all those years ago but we’ve only just discovered her body and as a result of our enquiries we tracked down her mum. She’s told us that at the time Carol disappeared Steve was living with her and was violent to both of them. Then yesterday we found out he was with you prior to being with this woman, and that you’d reported to Social Services that he’d also assaulted you on a number of occasions. That’s why we felt it necessary to speak with you.”
Margaret drew anxiously on the cigarette again. She blew out the smoke. “Assault is an understatement. He was a real evil bastard.” There were nervous inflections in her words.
Hunter could sense the tenseness shackling her and sought to dispel her fears by recounting Susan Siddons story and explaining the measures, which were being put in place to protect her from reprisals, now that she had given a statement against Steve Paynton.
“You don’t know what he’s like. I had to live with him for two years. I’ve been in constant fear since that night I ran away. He always said he would track me down and kill me if I ever told the police.”
“Things have changed in the last fifteen years,” Grace said reassuringly. “We’ve moved on with how we deal with victims, particularly of domestic violence. The magistrates also have a different approach as well when it comes to punishing offenders. If he’s not caught up with you after all these years, then he’s not going to do that now. We can protect you and will protect you, but we do need your help to put him away. Susan Siddons has already made a statement and if you also give us a statement about his abuse towards you, it’ll give us a real lever and will help us to get him remanded so we can investigate him properly over the murders of the two girls, without him interfering or hindering the enquiry.”
Margaret finished the cigarette she had been smoking and stubbed it out in an ashtray beside her. Then she took another and lit it. All this time she said nothing, just stared towards a photograph, which was on the wall above the fireplace. It was an arranged shot of herself flanked by two smiling elderly teenagers — a boy and a girl. Hunter guessed they were her children.