‘Never mind,’ Kathy said. ‘I suppose Lisa is at work too, is she?’
‘Oh no. Lisa gave up her job at the mall. She won’t go back there now.’
‘Not as tough as our Naomi,’ Mr Tait put in with satisfaction.
‘Naomi isn’t insensitive,’ his wife said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think that. But she’s more mature than Lisa, better able to face up to reality. Well, she’s had to be, poor little soul. Whereas Lisa is a very sensitive girl. She’s really taken things to heart. Her mum’s quite concerned about her, I think.’
‘Well, I might call round there and check on her,’ Kathy said. ‘Thanks for your help.’
She set off again along the deck, stepping aside for two women with toddlers in pushchairs returning from the shops, and felt suddenly despondent. She’d told Leon that she had a life. What a joke. Everyone else was getting on with theirs, while she wandered round this bleak and sodden housing estate like a stubborn saleswoman peddling something that nobody wanted and in which she herself no longer believed. Yes, that was true, she thought, accusing herself coldly. She wasn’t doing this because she really believed that Kerri’s death was connected to North’s crime; she was doing it because she wanted to make a point to Bren and Leon.
Lisa seemed even more timorous and nervous than the last time. Her mother didn’t introduce Kathy to the man who shuffled away to a bedroom as she came in, clearly not interested in taking part in her conversation with the girl.
‘Sorry to bother you again, Lisa,’ Kathy said, noting the redness round the eyes against the pale complexion. ‘How’ve you been?’
The girl whispered, ‘Okay.’
‘Good. Look, I just wanted to show you a few pictures. See if you can remember seeing any of these people.’ She opened the envelope and took out the photographs once again. Definitely the last time, she told herself.
‘Why?’ Lisa said doubtfully, seeing the men’s faces. ‘Who are they?’
‘They’re just people we want to contact. You may have come across them. Take your time.’
Lisa went through the sheaf slowly, listlessly. ‘No,’ she said when she reached the last one. ‘I don’t know any of these men.’
‘Oh well, can’t be helped.’ Kathy shrugged and began to gather them up again.
‘I know her though,’ Lisa said tentatively, pointing to one of the enlargements from the security cameras in the mall. It showed North as he had been caught on film ten days before, holding the hand of a child.
‘You know the little girl?’
‘Yeah, she lives here, on the estate.’
‘Are you sure?’ Kathy said doubtfully. ‘The picture isn’t all that clear.’
‘Well it looks like her. Kerri…’ She hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Kerri used to baby-sit her.’
‘Kerri knew her? Have you any idea what her name is?’
‘Mandy, I think. Yes, Mandy. I don’t know her other name.’
‘Where did you see her?’
‘I went with Kerri one evening. We stayed there with Mandy till her mum came back from the movies.’
‘Did you meet the girl’s mother? What was she like?’
‘I don’t remember really. Like you, I think. Yes, fair hair, like Mandy.’
‘About my age?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Was that the only time you saw the girl?’
‘I’ve seen her around, with her mum. I do remember what she looked like.’
Kathy looked hard at her, becoming more convinced, aware of her heart thumping. ‘That’s good, Lisa. Very good. Did you ever see her with a man?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘And you say she lives on the estate?’
Lisa nodded. She was sounding reluctant now, and Kathy realised that she was leaning forward in her eagerness to hear the answers, making the girl anxious. She forced herself to sit back and appear relaxed.
‘Well, that’s interesting. Don’t suppose you remember where exactly?’
‘In one of the other courts. Tulip, I think.’
‘You still eating chocolate bars?’
The girl nodded.
‘How about if we went down to the corner shop and I bought you some as a reward for helping me?’
The girl glanced towards the kitchen where her mother was doing something, the radio on. ‘Okay.’
‘And on the way you could show me where Mandy lives, eh?’
From her car, Kathy called Brock’s home number. When he answered he sounded out of breath.
‘Kathy? What’s up?’ She could hear children’s laughter in the background.
‘Sorry to intrude, Brock.’
‘We’re just on our way out. What is it?’
‘I think… It’s possible that I’ve found the little girl North took with him to Silvermeadow two weeks ago.’
‘What!’
‘I showed Lisa some pictures. She identified the girl as someone that Kerri used to baby-sit. Someone who lives on the Herbert Morrison estate.’
‘ What!’ This time Brock’s voice was a bellow. ‘Kathy…’ He recovered himself. ‘You’re making a habit of this, aren’t you? Dropping bombshells.’
‘I hope this one’s more productive. I wouldn’t have bothered you until I’d checked this out, but then I thought, if there’s any chance that North is with them-’
‘Yes! Quite right. Where are you now?’
‘On the high street, parked outside the estate.’
‘I’ll meet you at the incident room in Hornchurch Street as soon as I can get there.’
As she made her way there Kathy reflected that if North was in Tulip Court then they had been coming and going within yards of him all this time. And, whether he had murdered her himself or not, he must surely be the reason that Kerri Vlasich had died.
It took several hours to secure Tulip Court without the residents realising what was happening. During this time the tenant of the flat was identified from council housing department records as Sophie Bryant, a single woman living with one child, a five-year-old girl. Once Brock was satisfied that the area was secure, a policeman in a postman’s uniform went up to the flat with a registered parcel marked for a Mr Brown at that address, and rang the bell. After getting no reply he rang the adjoining flats, and learned that nothing had been seen of the Bryants for several days. Their visitor, a middle-aged man known as Keith, hadn’t been noticed for a week.
Later that evening Brock, Kathy and two detectives entered the flat using keys supplied by the housing department on production of a search warrant. It was clear that Mrs Bryant and her daughter had taken most of their clothes and personal belongings with them. The whole apartment had been carefully wiped clean of fingerprints.
When he got home to Warren Lane that night, Brock found that Suzanne had a cooked dinner ready for him. The smell of it, beef bourguignon, percolated deliciously through the house and lifted his spirits as soon as he stepped through the front door. He opened a bottle of burgundy and they ate a companionable meal, telling each other about their day. The pantomime had been a great success, and further expeditions had been planned for the following day.
‘I’m really sorry I missed it, Suzanne,’ he said.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ She patted his hand.
‘Yes it does,’ he said, and meant it. The chance wouldn’t come again. He took hold of her fingers and gave them a squeeze. ‘I was really looking forward to it, the atmosphere, the children’s faces. Was Captain Hook good?’
‘Terrifying. And the crocodile. The kids were absolutely captivated. Do you know, it was the first time they’d seen live theatre? I’m just worried I might have got them stage-struck and blighted their little lives for ever.’
‘Would that be so bad? Miranda’s got stage presence, I reckon. Tragedy, though, not pantomime. Lady Macbeth rather than Cinderella.’
‘She can be rather intense, can’t she? Coming back on the train she asked if you were very lonely, living on your own.’
‘What did you say?’
‘I said she should ask you, if she could catch you in.’
Brock laughed. ‘Tomorrow, I promise. Where are we going?’