When there was a knock on the door, Carol didn’t go to open it, instead just willing whoever it was to go away.
‘Carol, it’s me,’ Amy called through the letterbox.
Despite telling Amy to leave her alone, to stay away, she had come back time and again, but Carol didn’t want to see her – to talk to Amy or anyone else. When the letterbox lifted again and Amy shouted through, Carol at last sat up and yelled, ‘Go away! I’m busy!’
There was silence then, and relieved, Carol once again put her head back onto the cushions. She closed her eyes, wanting only to escape into sleep again, and remained like that, dozing, until her father returned.
Mabel left the police station, satisfied that at last, after repeating her story to an officer in CID, she had finally been taken seriously. Though she felt it was her duty to report a murder, she’d also been frightened of the repercussions. After all, she was living next door to a killer – and who knows what Frank Cole would do to her if he found out that she’d been the one to dob him in.
However, assured that when they questioned Frank Cole they wouldn’t reveal the source of their information, Mabel walked home feeling happier, though she still scuttled past Frank Cole’s house and into the safety of her own home.
Jack was still at work, and unable to settle, Mabel paced nervously, wondering when the CID would knock on Frank Cole’s door. What she needed was someone to confide in, but how could she tell anyone that she’d been to the police to accuse Frank Cole of murdering his wife? Gossip was rife around here and it would soon get back to him, the thought of that making Mabel’s knees go weak. She’d be safe as long as Frank Cole was arrested, but what if he wasn’t? What if they couldn’t find any evidence?
Mabel would never know how she got through the rest of that day, and she was constantly looking out of her window to see if the CID had turned up yet to question Frank. So far there was no sign of them and Mabel began to wonder if she’d been mistaken, that instead of taking her seriously, she had just been patronised. She should have felt angry, but instead found herself relieved. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Daphne Cole really had gone to look after a sick aunt – yet even as this thought crossed her mind, Mabel still felt it was highly unlikely.
By the time Jack came home Mabel had managed to cook his dinner, and after greeting him they ate in virtual silence. When the meal was over Mabel carried their plates through to the kitchen, unaware that at that moment, a black, unmarked car had pulled up outside the Coles’ house.
Frank had tried Daphne’s mother again, but the old girl insisted that she hadn’t seen or heard from her.
He’d returned home and at dinner time done his best to get through a plate of burned sausages, lumpy mash, and equally lumpy gravy. Carol had barely touched hers, her head down as she toyed with the food on her plate. She looked terrible; drab and scruffy. It was hard to equate her to the vivid, beautiful and vibrant daughter he’d been so proud of just a short time ago.
‘Look at the state of you!’ he said. ‘When I get my hands on the man who did this to you he’ll be sorry he was born.’
As though his words had lit a fuse, Carol cried in anguish, ‘My baby wasn’t born. I killed it, Dad. I killed my baby.’
For a moment Frank was too surprised to react, but as Carol shook with sobs he quickly stood up to go to his daughter’s side. At first he just stroked her head, but then Carol surged up and into his arms. He felt helpless, unable to understand why his daughter was in this state. She must have been only about twelve weeks pregnant, maybe less. ‘Come on, girl. You didn’t kill a proper baby. It would’ve been little more than a blob.’
‘A blob!’ she cried, pulling away from him. ‘How can you say that?’
Frank had never been much good with words of comfort and it was with some relief that he heard a sharp knock on the door. He rose to open it and seeing two men he asked, ‘Yeah, what do you want?’
‘Mr Cole. I’m Colin Foreman, CID, and this is my colleague. Can we come in?’
‘What for?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘What’s this about? What sort of questions?’
‘They concern your wife.’
Frank paled and stood back, asking anxiously as the men walked in, ‘Has something happened to her?’
‘That’s what we’re here to find out, Mr Cole.’
Both men saw Carol, and seeing the state she was in, Frank wasn’t surprised that their eyes widened imperceptibly. He said quickly, ‘This is my daughter, Carol. She hasn’t been well, but what’s this about my wife?’
‘We’d like to see her. Is she here?’
‘No, she … she’s gone to look after a sick relative.’
‘What relative?’
‘A … an aunt.’
‘I see, and where does this aunt live?’ Foreman asked.
‘Err … in Kent.’
‘At what address?’
Frank swallowed and stalled by asking, ‘Why are you here asking me questions about my wife?’
‘All in good time, Mr Cole. Now as I said, I’d like this relative’s address.’
‘I haven’t got it.’
‘So you’re telling me that your wife has gone to look after a sick aunt, but you don’t know where this relative lives.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘Do you have any means of contacting your wife?’
‘Err … no.’
‘When do you expect her to return?’
‘I’m not sure. As soon as her aunt recovers I expect, but what’s with all these questions?’ Frank asked yet again.
‘We’re investigating certain allegations that have been made, Mr Cole, and as I’m not satisfied with your answers we’re going to have to take them seriously.’
‘Allegations! What allegations?’
‘They’re regarding the fact that your wife seems to have disappeared, and as I think this matter now needs further investigation I’d like you to accompany us to the station.’
‘What for? I haven’t done anything,’ Frank protested, but then he paled as the penny dropped. ‘Wait! Surely you don’t think I’ve done my wife in?’
‘Have you?’
‘No, no, of course not! If someone is accusing me of doing that they must want their head examined.’
‘Dad, tell them the truth. Show them the letter Mum left for you,’ Carol urged.
Frank’s mind was reeling. Yes, Daphne’s letter, but where had he put it? He hurried to the mantelpiece, searching, but there was no sign of it. ‘I can’t flaming well find it!’
‘What’s this about a letter, Mr Cole?’ Foreman asked.
‘It’s one my wife left when she walked out on me.’
‘So now you’re saying that she isn’t looking after a