“Morwenna?”
“You showed some girls a photograph of Wenna and said she was dead.” Her expression didn’t change. “Is she dead?”
Tozer dug out the photograph of the young girl standing in the doorway of the tree house; the place where her mother had killed herself.
The girl nodded. “Wenna, we called her. She really is dead then?”
“Yes. She is.”
The girl nodded. “I heard that.”
“I’m sorry,” said Breen.
The girl said, “I feel I ought to cry, but nothing’s coming out.”
“That’s fine,” said Breen. “I know that feeling. It’ll come out when it needs to.”
“Don’t think it will,” said Carol.
Breen sat on the wall. “What was she like?”
“Why?”
“I want to know.”
The girl nodded again, somberly. “She was all right,” she said. “She hated her dad. She was like the girl in ‘She’s Leaving Home.’”
“What?” said Breen.
“The song on Sergeant Pepper’s,” said Tozer.
“I was thinking of buying that,” said Breen.
“Really?” said Tozer.
“Maybe. What about the girl?”
“Her mum was OK, she said. But her dad was really strict. She hated him. He hated her too, she said.”
“She told you this?”
She nodded again. “Yes. A lot of us scruffs have had trouble with our parents. She went the whole way, though. She ran off.”
Tozer sat down on the wall and patted it. “To meet a man from the motor trade?”
The girl sat down beside them. “I don’t think so, no. I never saw her go out with any blokes.”
Breen must have looked puzzled because Tozer said, “It’s in the song. She runs off to have it off with a man from the motor trade. Detective Sergeant Breen here’s mother did much the same.”
“Did you like her?” asked Breen. “Morwenna?”
“Course. She was one of us. We’re all friends. OK, sometimes we get a little bitchy amongst ourselves, but we’re all the same really. We’re a gang.”
“Did she spend a lot of time here?”
“What do you mean by a lot? As much as me? No one spends as much time here as me.” She laughed, brushing hair away from her eyes. “But at the beginning she was down here loads.”
“When was that?”
“It was just when ‘Hello, Goodbye’ came out.”
“What?” said Breen.
“That would be November,” said Tozer. “A year ago.”
“She was here almost every day around then. Haven’t seen her for weeks. Months, really. Not since around the time Paul called it off with Jane Asher.”
“That was June,” said Tozer.
“Did you used to go to EMI Studios when they were recording the last disc?”
“Sometimes.”
“You never saw her there then?”
“That’s where I must have seen her last, I think. Outside of there. But then she drifted off.”
Tozer said, “You were there in October when they were finishing the record?”
“A few times, yes.”
“But you never saw her then?”
The girl shook her head. A flock of starlings swooped overhead. Simultaneously, the three looked up at the chattering bubble of birds. When they had gone, Breen asked, “How would you describe her?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, to someone who’d never met her before?”
“Don’t know.”
“Think of one word,” asked Breen. “One word that says who she was.”
“Fierce.”
“Fierce?”
“She was fierce, you know? She didn’t let anybody treat her like a child. She even had a go at George once.”
“What did he do wrong?” asked Tozer.
“See them roses?”
A line of rose bushes, neatly pruned after flowering.
“One of the girls picked one of them. You wouldn’t have thought there was much harm in it, only he saw her. Grabbed her arm and gave her a mouthful. He’s really proud of his roses, you know.”
“George Harrison?” said Tozer.
“Yes. He is. You’d be surprised.”
“I am.”
“Wenna went right up to him. She was quite tall, really. Put her face right up to his. She told him that men should never hurt women. You should have seen him apologizing. He was totally remorseful. It was amazing. We’re all in awe of them, you know. They’re our idols. But she wouldn’t have it, him being so angry with her. He told Wenna she was totally right. Know what he did? He cut a rose and gave it to the girl and then gave another one to Wenna.”
They heard a car coming down the driveway.
“That him?” A Mercedes drove past slowly, the driver eyeing them.
The girl shook her head. “No. He’s driving a mini right now. You’d know it if you saw it. It’s all painted up.”
“Like his house?” asked Breen.
“Kind of. I don’t think he’s coming today, though.”
“Why are you still waiting, then?”
“Just in case, I suppose. I like it here. I spend a lot of time here. It’s like home to me. Better than, as a matter of fact. She didn’t come back so much after that. After that row with George. I think it upset her.”
“For having a go at George?”
“No. Not that. We said she shouldn’t cry because he probably respected her even more now. But later, when she and her mate were staying over on my floor, they talked about how she always used to row with her dad. That’s why she left home. I just don’t think she liked it here so much after that.”
“Did she ever talk about her father using violence against her?”
“Maybe. I don’t remember. She said he had a right temper. I remember that. You think it was him that did it?”
Tozer looked like a teenager herself, in her plain sleeveless dress. “I do. He can’t make up his mind.”
Breen said, “We don’t think anything, right now.”
“We’ve got him in London the day before she dies,” said Tozer.
The girl put her arms round herself to keep warm.
“Know any good cafes around here? I’m starving,” said Tozer.
They walked silently back along the lane, through the low white gate to where the car was parked.
“I never been in a police car.”
“I should hope not,” said Tozer.
“Can you put on the siren?”
“No.”
“Go on, sir. Just for a second,” said Tozer.
“No.”
“Spoilsport,” said Tozer.
They found a tearoom open in Esher. Inside, Breen felt suddenly ravenous. Confronting Prosser had felt like a weight lifting from his shoulders.
He sat and looked at the menu and ordered chips, beans, double egg and toast. A budgie sulked in a golden cage. A trembling vicar slurped soup alone at a nearby table.
Breen said, “Who was the other girl?”
Carol-George said, “Who?”
“You said she and another girl came to stay on your floor. Her mate.”
“Oh, Izzie?”
“Was that her?”
“Izzie was her best mate. The darkie.”
“Darkie?”
“She and Izzie were a team. They’d share sleeping bags outside EMI. They’d turn up at George’s together, most days.”
“Izzie was a black girl?” Breen and Tozer glanced at each other.
“Yes.” In his mind’s eye, Breen was rapidly rearranging the piles of paper on his front-room floor.
“Where’s Izzie?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her for weeks neither.” She looked up from her sandwich suddenly. “Oh God. You think she’s OK?”
Breen looked up at Tozer. She was leaning across the table now, brow furrowed.
“Have you got a photo of her?”
The girl shook her head. “Someone’s bound to. Not me, though. I’m no good with cameras.”
“What’s her last name?”
The girl shook her head. “She never had one. We just called her Izzie.”
“Think hard. Who might know where she lives?”
The girl chewed her lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Think. Please.”
“We spend a lot of time together, us fans. Girls mostly. Just a few boys. We’re waiting for stuff to happen.” She looked away, then back at the detectives. “We’re the sort of people who never fitted in. And then along came these pop stars and we realized we never wanted to belong anyway. So we don’t always tell people about where we’re from.” The girl had left her bacon sandwich on the plate. “Do you think she’s dead too?”