‘Oh?’
‘And he had no right to take a girl out and leave her kicking her heels in a rotten little public park in Gledge End while he went off to get the thing fixed. I did think a gentleman would have given a girl some lunch in a hotel and left me in the lounge with some magazines or something. Do you know he was gone for a good hour and a half! And it not being the time of year for a girl to sit out in a public park kicking her heels while a fellow gets a motorbike mended, well, I stayed there the hour and a half, like I said, it not being my way to stand a fellow up, but then I got cold and fed-up and went to the bus stop and got on the bus. I didn’t know how long it might take to get the bike mended, not knowing what had gone wrong with it, and I hadn’t had no proper lunch or me tea, so I reckoned I was justified not waiting about. I come in here last night and midday today thinking I’d see him, but nothing doing. Perhaps he thought I might give him a piece of my mind, keeping a girl hanging about like that, but I’m not that sort and I will say for him that he was good company and proper larky.’
‘So you haven’t seen him again,’ said Ribble. ‘Well, I’ve got to get back. Can I drop you anywhere?’
‘Oh, well, p’raps you can, then, but I’m a respectable girl, you know. Thanks for the drinks; but it’s one kiss on the doorstep and no admission to the old bedsitter.’
Ribble drove her home under her directions and, possibly to her disappointment, offered no kiss on the doorsteps. He now had her address if he needed it, although he did not think she could help him.
Chapter 9: ACRID LOBELIA
« ^ »
Ribble’s Saturday began with another visit to Mrs Beck’s cottage. So far the only address he had taken down was that of the dead woman, Judy Tyne. As his next port of call was to be the hairdresser visited (according to her account) by Peggy, he needed her surname too, and thought he had better check the rest of the addresses as well.
Mrs Beck went over to the hostel and returned with the cards which the troupe had previously handed in. Although they had not taken their departure, they were not staying another night. Ribble sat down and wrote busily, adding the home addresses to the names of Giles Tranmire, Willie Nicolson, Peter Hutton, Plum (Pelham) Redman, Mick (Michael) Mardon, Ronald Brawby, Peggy (Margaret) Raincliffe and Pippa (Philippa) Mardon, Mick’s sister.
At the hairdresser’s, as he had other calls to make and time was pressing, he produced the evidence of his official standing to an enquiring young person at the appointments desk and asked her to verify that ‘a Miss Raincliffe had booked a hair-do lasting about an hour on last Thursday morning, if you will be so good, miss.’
The girl said that she would have to ask. She went to a tall woman who was doing complicated things involving clips and rollers and murmured to her. Ribble heard her say: ‘He’ll have to wait until I get Mrs, Rollins under the drier.’
Ribble walked over to them.
‘I am investigating a serious accident,’ he said. ‘All I want to know is at what time this customer, Miss Raincliffe, came in here on Thursday and at what time she left. It only means looking her up in your book.’
‘Very well, if that’s all,’ said the tall woman. ‘Nothing to do with a complaint, I hope.’
‘Unless you call death a complaint,’ said Ribble, taking the receptionist back to the desk. ‘Now, miss, if you would kindly turn back to Thursday, Raincliffe is the name I’m looking for.’
‘I’ll check, but I don’t remember it. No, it’s not down in the bookings.’
‘What about Wednesday?’
‘No, not Wednesday neither.’
‘You haven’t turned back to Wednesday, miss.’
The girl flipped back a page in the ledger. A line was drawn diagonally across the sheet.
‘On account we’re closed Wednesday because we’re open all day Saturday,’ she explained.
‘Well, concerning Thursday, is it possible for ladies to get a hair-do without booking beforehand?’
‘If it was only a trim we might be able to fit a person in, or if there was a cancellation, not otherwise.’
‘Do you remember anybody dropping in like that on Thursday?’
‘I’m sure nobody did.’
‘Have you an assistant here named Marcelle?’
‘Marcia, not Marcelle.’
‘Point her out to me, please.’
‘She don’t do hair, she only washes it, not being full-trained. She’s at the far basin. You better wait till she’s done the second shampoo and rinse.’
Ribble had no time for these niceties. He walked over to the hair-washer and said, ‘No need to stop what you’re doing. Did you have a client named Raincliffe at about midday on Thursday?’
The girl suspended operations, but only for a second.
‘Nope,’ she said, and went on with her job.
‘Are you absolutely certain?’
‘Yup.’
‘Is there another assistant with a name something like yours?’
At this point the woman who appeared to be in charge came up to them and said briskly, ‘Mrs Rollins is under the drier. What can I do for you?’ She led the inspector back to the desk.
‘I am trying to trace the movements of a lady named Raincliffe,’ he said in official tones, ‘and the operative day is last Thursday, the time probably between twelve and one. This lady may have come without having made an appointment.’
‘Most unlikely and, last Thursday, quite impossible.’ She drew the appointments book towards her. ‘We were fully booked and there were no cancellations.’
‘You fitted in a trim, perhaps?’
‘We are seldom able to do that, and certainly did not on Thursday.’
‘Are there other ladies’ hairdressers in the town?’
‘There is an establishment in Dale Street, but the class of client who come here would hardly patronise it.’
Ribble thanked her, sought out the ‘establishment in Dale Street’ and drew another blank when he repeated his questions.
‘Only Antoine’s,’ said the receptionist. ‘Not that there is an Antoine, or ever will be. It belongs to the manageress. I suppose she thinks a man’s name, and Frenchified at that, sounds better, but she isn’t above pinching my best assistants when I’ve trained them. The tips are better there, you see, because of all the councillors’ wives. I suppose they get their hair done out of the rates. You never know how many fiddles go on when it’s rate-payers’ money they’re spending. A Miss Raincliffe? We have never had a client of that name.’
‘I always go there,’ quoted Ribble to himself, referring to Peggy’s statement regarding Antoine’s. It had been a stupid, witless lie. Obviously Antoine’s had never heard of Peggy Raincliffe and, in any case, the shop was miles and miles from Peggy’s home address. The girl must have had some reason for lying.
Besides, if she had not cycled to the hairdresser’s and back during what must have been the time of Judy Tyne’s death, where had she been, and why did it need to remain a secret?
He drove back to the hostel but, as he had anticipated, by the time he got there the troupe had collected their belongings and their cards and gone. Application to Mrs Beck resulted in the information that, so far as she knew, the dancers and musicians were over at Gledge End for a morning’s rehearsal in the church hall before they gave their afternoon performance at three.
There were other things he could do before he made contact with Peggy Raincliffe. There were the men’s movements to check. He thought at first that it would be of no use to go to the cinema at that time of day, but then he remembered that on Saturday mornings cinemas often opened to project a special programme for children. He expected little to come of his errand. It was most unlikely that the girl in the box-office would have any recollection of selling tickets to Willie and Mick, let alone having noted the times of their arrival and departure; nevertheless, as a conscientious police officer, he felt bound to make the enquiry.