‘Lisa hasn’t been out by herself since the incident,’ Mrs Bartlett said. ‘We’ve had to talk to the school and put off her GCSEs until next year. Even poor Jason’s having a difficult time concentrating on his A-levels. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?’
Gerry sensed that Mrs Bartlett was reluctant to leave her daughter’s side, though she still felt the need to be hospitable. ‘No, thanks,’ she said. ‘Nothing for me.’
‘I can’t imagine what you want to ask her. We’ve been over it all time and time again.’
‘It’s not specifically about Lisa’s case,’ said Gerry. ‘Though that still remains my main concern. We were just wondering if what happened to your daughter might be related to other events around the neighbourhood in the past month or so.’
Mrs Bartlett frowned. ‘Other events? What on earth can you mean?’
‘I’m sure you’re aware of the two suspicious deaths we’ve had in Eastvale recently?’
‘Yes, but one was a drug overdose, and the other was that poor Arab boy. A stabbing, I understand? While it’s not something we’re used to having around here, I gather it’s not exactly unknown. I can’t see what any of it has to do with our Lisa.’
‘Do you know anything about either of these deaths, Lisa?’ Gerry asked.
Lisa just shook her head.
‘Howard Stokes lived on Hollyfield Lane, across Cardigan Drive, just beyond the park. He used to go around in a mobility scooter. He was in his sixties, with long hair and a beard. Did you ever see him?’
‘I don’t understand why you’re asking Lisa all these questions,’ Mrs Bartlett interrupted. ‘This man can hardly have had anything to do with what happened, can he? I mean, if he was on a mobility scooter.’
‘Of course not,’ said Gerry. ‘We very much doubt that he was capable of a physical assault. But Mr Stokes mixed with some rather unsavoury characters, had some dodgy visitors to his house on Hollyfield Lane. I just wondered if Lisa had seen him around the area. More specifically, seen him with anyone.’
‘No,’ said Lisa. ‘I mean, I saw him in the park sometimes, if it was a nice day. He’d just sit on a bench there reading a book. I mean, he wasn’t weird or talking to himself or anything. He never bothered anyone.’
Gerry nodded. ‘Did you ever notice anyone coming in or out of his house?’
‘No. I don’t know which house was his. I was never near that estate. I mean, it’s across the park. You can see it over the trees from up the hill, but not from here.’
‘You never walked through the estate?’
‘I never needed to. I’d come back from school on Cardigan Drive and then cut up through the pub car park.’ She gave a little shudder and wrapped her arms around herself.
Gerry remembered that Lisa Bartlett went to Eastvale Comprehensive, while her brother Jason was a day boy at St Botolph’s. ‘Like you did on the night it... of the attack?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ Lisa looked at her mother. ‘But I haven’t been there since.’
‘It’s OK, Lisa. Had you walked through there after dark before?’
‘Oh, yes. I used to do it all the time. I never worried about it. Nothing ever happened there before, not until...’
Mrs Bartlett grasped her daughter’s wool-covered hand in her own. Lisa snatched it back. Gerry became aware of the loud ticking of the mantelpiece clock, its works exposed under a glass dome. She took out her photo of Samir. ‘Did you ever see this boy around the neighbourhood? Anywhere?’
‘Is he the one... you know...’
‘That’s him,’ said Gerry. ‘He was called Samir. He came here all the way from Syria, by himself.’
‘Where were his mum and dad?’
‘They stayed behind. The family couldn’t all afford to go. They were killed in a bomb attack a few weeks ago. He never knew.’
‘I suppose he was lucky in a way, then,’ said Lisa.
Gerry frowned. ‘Lucky? He was stabbed to death.’
‘I mean he died before he knew his whole family had been killed by a bomb.’
‘I suppose so,’ Gerry agreed. ‘When you look at it that way. Did you ever see him at all?’
‘No. I think I would remember. We don’t get many Syrians around here.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said Mrs Bartlett. ‘If this is the boy you found in a wheelie bin on the East Side Estate, what could he possibly have been doing near here?’
Gerry took a breath and went on. ‘We think he may have been killed elsewhere, then dumped on the East Side Estate.’
‘And you think... the same...?’
‘No,’ said Gerry. ‘I’m not saying we think it was the same person who attacked Lisa who killed Samir. They’re very different crimes. There are just too many coincidences, that’s all.’ She looked at Lisa again. ‘The man on the mobility scooter, the one you saw in the park sometimes. His name was Howard Stokes and he died around the same time as Samir. At least we think he did.’
‘So you think the two are connected?’ Mrs Bartlett asked.
‘We know they are,’ said Gerry. ‘We just don’t know how or why.’
‘And Lisa?’
‘We’re talking to a lot of people in this area, people who might have noticed something. Lisa was a victim of crime in the same neighbourhood where we think two people later died. It would be a pretty sloppy detective who didn’t follow up on that.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Mrs Bartlett. ‘But I still don’t see how Lisa can help you.’
The door opened, and a gangly teenage boy, whom Gerry assumed to be Jason Bartlett, came in.
His mother immediately jumped to her feet. ‘Jason. How’s the revision going?’
Jason shrugged. ‘OK, I guess.’ He smiled at Lisa and touched her chin. ‘How you doing, little sister?’
‘Gerroff, Jason,’ Lisa complained, moving away from her brother’s touch.
‘Now, children...’ said Mrs Bartlett.
Jason flopped down in the free armchair. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ said Gerry. ‘You might remember me from before, when—’
‘I remember you,’ said Jason. ‘Have you lot caught him yet?’
‘No, we haven’t,’ Gerry admitted. ‘Not yet.’
‘So what’s it all about, then?’
‘Jason, mind your manners.’
‘It’s all right, Mrs Bartlett.’ Gerry showed Jason the photograph of Samir.
‘Is that him?’ he asked. ‘You think he’s the one who did it?’ He passed the photo back. ‘He hardly looks old enough.’
‘Idiot,’ said Lisa. ‘He’s not the one.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a darkie, mind you,’ said Jason.
‘Jason!’ Mrs Bartlett reddened. ‘What have I told you? I won’t have talk like that in my house.’
‘It’s our house, Mum. And I was only expressing an opinion. Can’t I do that?’
‘Based on what?’ Gerry asked. ‘Your opinion.’
Jason looked flustered and glanced at his sister. ‘I thought that’s what you said, Lisa. That it was a coloured chap.’
‘I said no such thing! You’re just trying to put words in my mouth.’