He could smell nothing beyond the usual odor of this house outside the confines of his own flat, a smell of dust and dead insects and aged never-cleaned fibers. The scent of an old person, but not a dead one. His next natural move was to the window that overlooked the garden. In spite of the lack ofrain, weeds were growing, green and vigorous, over the slight hump of Danila's grave. To everyone but him it would soon be undetectable.
Why not go away for a bit? Use up the time between nowand the day he'd fix on for seeing Nerissa again. He couldn'tremember when he'd last had a holiday. Of course, going toColchester to stay with one's sister wasn't what most peoplewould call a holiday, but this trip would have another purpose.He'd find out from Shannon where Javy was now. Not stillwith the woman who had succeeded their mother, he was sure.Javy would have moved on, to a new life, a new girlfriend, anew benefit office.
It was funny, what you'd call ironical, that the member of his family he got on with best, the only one really he got on with at all, was the sister Javy said he'd tried to kill. And it wasn't as if she didn't know about it. Javy had taken care to tell her. Mix could hear his words now.
"You wouldn't let him handle your dolls if you knew what he'd done. Tried to kill you, he did. Would have bashed your brains out if I hadn't got there in time."
They went to the police station in Ladbroke Grove together on Friday morning. Hazel said they didn't need her, she had to get home, but they were to tell her what the police said and everything that happened. A Middle Eastern man was coming out with a pretty young blond woman as they went in.
"I wonder what they were in there for," said Queenie. "Perhaps he's an asylum seeker and she's going to marry him to make him a British citizen."
"It doesn't work like that anymore." Olive stared after thecouple. "It's a much more complicated business."
They were given a Missing Persons form, which Olive filledi n as best she could. "Is that it?" she said to the young detective constable.
"What do you want 'it' to be?"
"You could look for her, for a start."
He went away, was away for ten minutes, then came backwith another officer, the one who had just seen Abbas and Kayleigh. The other officer said, "Is there a youngish guy called Michael Cellini, formerly of the Fiterama Gym EquipmentCompany, living on the premises?"
"I don't know about any gym equipment," said Olive in a voice full of scorn, "but his name's Cellini all right. Why?" If she had been less innocent or had watched more television she would have known better than to ask that question. Naturally, it remained unanswered.
"If we call at the address will there be anyone to let us in?"
"Cellini, I suppose," said Queenie, who had dropped the"Mr." after Mix's remark about the Women's Institute. "No, you can't rely on him. One of us will take care to be there."
"We would anyway." Olive spoke grimly. "Leave the place empty and he's capable of setting fire to it."
They returned to St. Blaise House in a taxi after Queenie had bought two slices of lemon cheesecake and two creamhorns at a patisserie in Holland Park Avenue.
"I wonder if he's up there," Queenie said at the foot of thestairs.
Mix was. He'd spent most of the day phoning those of his old clients he hadn't already targeted, but at the final countonly six had agreed to transfer their business to him and one of those was hesitant. In the early evening he phoned his sister to ask if he could come and stay for a few days. Shannon, whocouldn't understand why anyone who didn't have to would want to spend even a single day in a house on a council estate outside Colchester with an exhausted woman, her boyfriend, her three children and his two, asked him why.
"Do I have to have a reason? I reckoned it'd be nice to see you and Markie and the kids, that's all."
"It's not that I mind, Mix, only you'll have to bunk in with the boys. There's only three bedrooms."
"I haven't seen you for I don't know how long, Shan. Must be all of five years."
"More like seven," said Shannon. "Lee was just a baby. Look, I've got to go. When was you thinking of coming?"
Tomorrow, Mix said, some time tomorrow morning. He'd have to come on the train. "My car's in dock. Having a new sump fitted. I'll get a taxi from the station." He'd get the bus, but there was no need to tell her that.
Downstairs, Queenie and Olive waited for the police to come. Although they had asked if anyone would be in later no police had appeared, it was eight o'clock and beginning to get dark.
Queenie stood at the French windows, looking out into the twilit garden. She had watched Mr. Singh calling to his geese to shut them up for the night and now he had gone in and there was no one to be seen. The colored lights on the palm tree came on, went off, and came on again, twinkling brightly.
"He really is a very handsome man, you know, dear. Quite distinguished-looking. He has the backbone of a high-ranking army officer."
"Don't be absurd, Queenie." These days, listening to herself speak, Olive was conscious that the mantle of Gwendolen's mannerisms and speech patterns was descending onto her shoulders. She must watch herself. "It has occurred to me that perhaps one of us should stay the night."
"Well, don't look at me. I should be frightened out of my wits staying in this place. Have you noticed how dark it is? And it's not possible to make it any lighter. The wattage of the bulbs is too low. We should have bought some hundred-watt bulbs."
"Why don't you just pop home and fetch some. I'll stay here till you get back. I shan't mind," said Olive, who would mind very much but was putting a brave face on it. "I shall phone my niece and see if she can persuade her husband to come and stay. He's a lovely man but he's very big and he looks quite alarming."
Queenie went off to fetch the lightbulbs and Olive remainedwhere she was in the drawing room. They had cooked themselves scrambled eggs on toast for their supper and had tinned peaches afterward. The peaches came out of Gwendolen's cupboard and had a recent sell-by date on the can, so Queenie thought they couldn't do them much harm. After awhile Olive phoned the Akwaas, and Tom said he'd come over about nine-thirty. Staying in that crazy place would be a lark,he said.
Sleeping arrangements would have to be made for herself' and Tom. Olive hated the thought, but it was no good postponingit. She toiled upstairs to the first floor. Gwendolen's bedroom and dressing room and the bathroom occupied most of it but two other rooms had bedsteads and mattresses. Theys eemed rather less damp than the rest of the house and the curtains at the windows neither resisted drawing nor hung in rags. In a cupboard in one of these rooms she found sheets and pillowcases and blankets. The blankets were far from clean and the sheets, though washed, had never been ironed, but they would do. For one night they would do. Making up the bed inthe room nearer to the head of the stairs, Olive asked herself ifshe were mad, electing to stay overnight in this house. And then she heard Mix Cellini's footsteps overhead and she understoodthat she was right. In the morning she would phone the police and ask them if they meant to come.
Mix heard her too and wondered what was going on. Probably nothing. It was very likely no more than those two old vultures deciding to help themselves to whatever they could find before old Chawcer came back. That would be typical. She had probably possessed some valuable jewelry, those old girls always did. He congratulated himself. Most guys in his positionwould have been into her things once they'd found her deadand he felt quite smug because he hadn't touched a single one.
He heard the front door open and close, Ma Winthrop's voice calling out some rubbish about lightbulbs, and becauseall these comings and goings were making him nervous hecame out on to the landing. Ma Fordyce was going downstairs. As she reached the bottom the front doorbell rang. This happenedso seldom that it made Mix jump. Of course the light had gone out and tonight it was particularly dark, no moon,not so many lights showing in houses as usual. It was partly the fault of all those tall trees, concealing street lights behind greatdark branches. Someone had opened the front door. He heard a man's voice, rich and fruity, and for one moment he thoughtthe impossible: that this was the police. Then Ma Fordyce said, "Hallo, Tom. It is good of you to do this."