“How many?”
“How many what?”
Hazel tried to simplify matters. “Once a month she’d have people call on her?”
“Yes. About half a dozen cars might turn up. Though one or two people would come on foot. I suppose they live nearby. I seem to think the girl was one of those.”
“Who came on foot?”
“Yes. I think so.”
Certainly not the most reliable witness Hazel had ever interviewed. She smiled in a friendly manner. “Do you know who these were? Any of them?”
He gave a slight shrug. “Friends and family. There was never any disturbance. No loud music or anything. They were all very sober and decent people. Mrs Kelsey said she liked to have a few friends over now and then.”
“Did she ever invite you over?”
“Of course, I’ve seen her many times. She was a really nice young lady. A very talented photographer as well. Have you seen her home?”
“Not yet.” Hazel said. She was still waiting for the necessary paperwork to allow her to enter and remove any items she deemed to be evidence.
“Well she’s the most wonderful collection of photographs. Very talented lady.”
“You were invited over to meet her friends?”
“What?”
“You said you were invited over.”
“Yes I was, but not when she was entertaining friends and family. That wouldn’t have been right, would it?”
“No, I suppose not.” Hazel said. “Did she have any of the neighbours over when she had her friends visit?”
“No, no I don’t think so. I don’t suppose she would.”
“When were all her friends last here?” Hazel said.
“Oh I don’t know. It wasn’t that long ago. A bit before she died. Three days, four days. I don’t really know. Why?”
“They might know something.” Hazel said. She was about finished with Mitchell. He’d had a chance to tell his story again, but Hazel didn’t believe him any more than, she supposed, the jury had. He just wasn’t a credible witness. “I won’t keep you any more, sir. You’ve been very helpful.”
“She isn’t going to come back is she? After revenge?”
Hazel doubted that very much. If Hannah McShane really had got away with murder she’d be insane to push her luck further with anything else. “We have police patrols looking the place over, Mr Mitchell. You’ll be very safe.”
Not to mention the security guard. Hazel wanted a serious word with him.
“I can see myself out.” She said pleasantly. She hoped Helen Trent proved to be a lot more reliable.
* *
“She’s out talking to the witnesses.” The Red Haired Woman said, taking her place at the head of the conference table. “Just let her get on with it. Keep back, keep quiet… Do nothing.”
The rest of the people there were, mostly, men. Middle aged to elderly. They all wore grey suits and looked, for the most part, uncomfortable.
“We could….” One of them began.
“No you couldn’t and I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” The Red Haired woman didn’t bother to look in his direction. “Sergeant Vernon is a very competent officer, isn’t she?” She looked at a similar man to her right. “You should know, you allowed her back in the CID.”
“She’s very…competent.” He said, looking at his hands. “Very competent indeed.” He cleared his throat. “I still think we should keep an eye on her.”
“I understood you did that on a regular basis.” The Red Haired Woman opened the business file in front of her. “You use your boat for that don’t you?”
He half shrugged and continued to look at his hands.
“I suppose it keeps her off balance a bit. According to this she has something of a small phobia about boats. Not as bad as she used to be, but enough for her to be very uncomfortable. Probably a bit susceptible also if you’re the man in charge of the boat.” She held a hand up, “I’m not interested in your private life.” She briefly looked at a photograph and pushed it under a printed sheet of text in the file. “However active it may be. Though the eye you should keep on Sergeant Vernon should be discreet.”
Someone snorted.
“Yes, I know it’s difficult to be discreet when you’re that intimate with someone. But you know the point I’m making.”
“About Hannah McShane.” Another voice said.
“What about her?”
“Do you believe she’s innocent?”
“I believe she didn’t kill Gloria Kelsey if that’s what you mean.” The Red Haired Woman closed the file. “I can’t see any reason for her to do that and there’s no evidence to say she did.”
“Chief Inspector Raeburn thinks differently.” The man she’d been speaking to earlier said.
“Yes but Raeburn is an idiot and his department, if not entirely crooked is at least, mostly, incompetent. The Elm Street CID is always looking for the easy way out. The path of least resistance. Wouldn’t you say ?”
“I think you’re being a little unkind.”
“I think I am being overly pleasant.” She said. “I have to deal with them most days and I’ve not seen much to impress me so far.”
“That’s mostly Victor Monk’s influence. Which you do have some control over, I believe.” The voice had become a little harder, more sure of itself.
“Don’t kid yourselves. I know Victor well but I have no influence over him. He might listen to my advice, if he thinks it’s in his best interest, but, in the end, he does what he pleases. Right now he knows it’s in his interest to keep a low profile and see how the investigation develops.”
“Does he think the McShane girl is innocent?”
“That is a very good question.” The Red Haired Woman said. “I’ve given him my opinion on the matter and he seems satisfied with it. If he wasn’t we probably would know by now. Contrary to popular belief there’s no point in punishing someone who isn’t guilty. The only message that sends is that you are weak and incompetent. We are neither.” She paused, “Are we?”
Heads shook. The Red Haired Woman said, “Keep me informed, I expect I shall have to see Sergeant Vernon soon. Hopefully things will have progressed by then. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
WOTR C5
CHAPTER FIVE
Helen Trent lived nearer the entrance to Keys Court. So far as Hazel could tell the house looked much the same as the others. This was a very uniform, ordered area.
She rang the bell, but hadn’t the lengthy wait ahead of her that she’d had for Mitchell. Helen Trent was younger and more active. Also, she’d probably been sitting watching Hazel.
Although about half Mitchell’s age Helen Trent was a few years older than Hazel, close on twenty centimetres shorter and a number of kilogrammes heavier. She was crammed into a thick blue sweater and the kind of elasticated waist pants that television shopping channels like to sell. “You’re the police are you?” She didn’t give Hazel’s warrant card more than a brief passing glance. “I wondered when they’d send someone who knows what they’re doing. All it