Without a Trace Page 6

  Molly frowned. ‘Yes, I suppose she could’ve been, but she always looked awfully weary when she got back. Besides, if there had been a man, I think she’d have told me about him. She told me about the other men in her life.’

  DI Girling looked long and hard at Molly, as if weighing up whether she was telling the truth. ‘Getting back to the diary, it’s very strange that it’s gone,’ he said, pulling cushions and the gaily coloured crocheted blanket from the sofa to look underneath them. ‘It suggests to me that the person who took Petal thought there might be something in it to incriminate them. A family member, perhaps. Petal’s father?’

  ‘But I don’t think Cassie had any family,’ Molly said. ‘As for Petal’s father, she said it had been a brief fling, over long before she knew she was going to have a baby, and she never saw him again. She added that she didn’t regret it, though, as Petal was the best thing that ever happened to her. And, really, if a black man had come to the village, someone would’ve seen him, wouldn’t they?’

  DI Girling was silent for a moment, just standing there staring into space. Simon winked at Molly encouragingly.

  ‘You said it was a five-year diary?’ DI Girling said after a little while. ‘People who keep diaries on a regular basis tend to have a stack of old ones, too. Did she?’

  Molly shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. She never said she did.’

  ‘No, nor to me,’ Simon said. ‘But tell us, Detective Inspector, was Cassie’s death definitely murder?’

  DI Girling sighed deeply. ‘We’re not absolutely sure – it could be manslaughter, a fight that got out of hand. But I heard this morning from the pathologist that there are indications of a fierce struggle, bruising on her arms, face and to her neck, and he didn’t think falling back on to the hearth would result in death, only if her head had been banged hard against it, perhaps more than once. Then, of course, the daughter’s disappearance and the fact that some of her clothing has been taken adds another perspective. Someone intending to kill a child wouldn’t bother to take clothes or a toy. So it looks to me as if the target was Petal.’

  ‘You mean that this person wanted to take Petal away? But Cassie tried to stop them and got killed trying?’ Molly asked.

  ‘That may be the case, but I shouldn’t be talking to you about any of this so I’d be obliged if you’d keep my opinions to yourselves.’

  Molly told DI Girling about the man Cassie said she had met in the library, and then Simon told him a little more about how he had got to know her. ‘What about fingerprints?’ Simon asked. ‘Did you find any here?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to divulge that,’ DI Girling said. ‘But on that note I’d like you both to come to the police station now to give me yours, so they can be compared with any others we might have found. After that, I trust neither of you will leave the village, in case we need you to answer further questions.’

  Simon and Molly turned down the offer of a lift back to the village, both saying they’d walk. Molly wanted to delay going back to work and seeing her father. Simon gave no reason.

  ‘I don’t get the impression the police are going to try very hard to solve this,’ Simon said thoughtfully as they made their way up the muddy track. ‘For a start, he never asked me where I was at the time of Cassie’s death.’

  ‘No, he didn’t, did he?’ Molly said. ‘How odd! In fact, he ought to have taken you in for questioning, not just chatted with us both in the woods.’

  ‘Exactly! Hardly first-class detective work. But, as it happens, I have a cast-iron alibi. I was staying with some friends – a doctor and his wife – for two days before Coronation Day. I watched the ceremony on their television, along with some of their family. I only left there at five in the evening, and heard about Cassie in the Pied Horse last night.’

  ‘Well, that puts you in the clear then,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, but isn’t it awful to think that the prejudice there was about Cassie when she was alive is still there now she’s dead, and that any investigation will only be half-hearted?’

  Molly hadn’t thought of that. She had always believed that the police would take the same care with every case they were trying to solve.

  ‘Maybe we can whip up a bit more concern, if not for Cassie, for Petal,’ Molly suggested. ‘I mean, most people thought she was a very cute little girl. I’m sure they’d want to know where she’s gone.’

  Simon grimaced. ‘I’ve got a feeling, Molly, that you and I are the only people who give a jot about either of them. I’d love to be proved wrong, of course, but I don’t think I will be.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Two weeks on from Coronation Day Molly and her mother were stacking a delivery of canned goods in the stock room behind the shop and talking about the investigation into Cassie’s death and Petal’s disappearance, which appeared to have ground to a halt.

  ‘Maybe something new will be revealed at the inquest,’ Molly said.

  ‘Perhaps, and I hope they can release Cassie’s body for burial after that,’ Mary replied. ‘Thank goodness the vicar stepped in and agreed the cost of the funeral would be met by the church, as she had no known family.’

  The first week after the tragedy, it had been the main subject of conversation in the village; even the Coronation, the wonder of television or Sir Edmund Hillary conquering Everest took second place. Most people had cast Petal’s father into the role of murderer. Without knowing anything about him, where he came from, or what he did for a living, suddenly he was the murdering child-snatcher and possibly responsible for every unsolved crime in the country.

  That first week there were police everywhere. Door-to-door inquiries were made across a ten-mile radius of the village, and dozens of people with only the most tenuous link to Cassie were questioned. It seemed to Molly that Simon had been wrong in saying he didn’t think the police would make much of an effort to solve the crime.

  The national newspapers had all taken up the story, and published pictures, urging people to come forward if they had seen Petal or knew anything at all about Cassie.

  Then, suddenly, like a light being turned off, everyone lost interest.

  The journalists who had been knocking on doors to try to get extra titbits of information, disappeared, and so did all the extra police brought in from Bristol.

  To Molly, who was still grieving at the loss of her friend, this was an outrage. She couldn’t sleep at night for worrying about Petal, and she couldn’t understand how anyone could just forget a small child in danger.

  She was particularly incensed by the indifferent attitude of the parents of children who were at school with Petal. She felt they should all be scared for the safety of their children, if nothing else.

  ‘Even the local police don’t seem to care much any more,’ she said bitterly. ‘George does, of course, but he’s far too junior to influence anyone higher up. He told me they didn’t get one lead about Cassie’s background from the pictures of her in the papers. As for Petal, all the sightings reported turned out to be false. But someone, somewhere must have seen her, she’s a distinctive-looking child. They should be putting up posters of her face everywhere and running the story again in the newspapers to keep it fresh in people’s minds.’

  All at once her father appeared in the doorway through to the shop, his face flushed with anger. ‘If I hear another word about that dead tart and her darkie kid, I’ll throttle you!’ he yelled out.

  Molly quaked. Normally, she would’ve said nothing; anything to keep the peace. But this time she had to speak out.

  ‘She was my friend, and I was very fond of Petal,’ she said, trying not to show her father how scared she was of him. ‘Besides, I was talking to Mum, not you.’

  ‘How dare you!’ he roared, stepping forward and striking her hard across her face. ‘You’ve been hanging around with that uppity tart so long you’re becoming just like her.’

  Molly reeled, but did what she always did when he hit her: curled her arms over her head
to protect herself and looked for the best way to run to escape him, because she was terrified. But when she looked towards the door at the end of the stock room which led to the outer side door, she saw her mother cowering against the shelves, shaking with fright.

  Molly’s cheek stung from the blow. She knew there would be more unless she got out, but she couldn’t leave her mother to take the brunt of her father’s violence.

  ‘No father should hit their daughter for voicing her opinion,’ she said, biting back tears and aware her voice was shaking. ‘If you don’t apologize right now, I’ll leave. And it will be for good, too.’

  ‘You’ll never leave home,’ he sneered at her. ‘You wouldn’t last a day without your mother fussing over you. You’re pathetic and weak, like her.’

  Something snapped inside Molly. All her life she’d lived with his sarcasm, violence and sheer nastiness. She’d had more slaps from him than she could count, but enough was enough. He had no right to treat her and her mother this way.

  ‘The only pathetic thing about Mum is that she’s stayed with you all these years,’ she said, standing up straight to face up to her father. ‘Not through weakness, but because she truly believes that marriage is for better or worse. And she did get worse, didn’t she? You are a lazy, whining bully with no joy in you at all, and I’m ashamed to be your daughter.’

  He stood still, staring at her open-mouthed while she made her impassioned speech, and she thought when he turned from her that he was going to skulk away with his tail between his legs.

  But he didn’t. He picked up the long, metal pincher-like gadget they used for reaching packets on high shelves and, before she could move away, he brought it crashing down on her head.

  ‘You dare to oppose and insult me!’ he snarled, while raining blows down on her. ‘I am the head of this household and you will do as I say.’

  The first blow had felt like she was being branded with a red-hot poker, and was quickly followed by more, and Molly screamed at the top of her lungs. Mary yelled at him to stop and tried to catch hold of his arm, but he pushed her away, sending her crashing into a shelf unit and sliding down to the floor.

  ‘Stop this, Mr Heywood!’

  The deep male voice took them all by surprise, and they turned to see PC George Walsh standing in the small passageway which led to the shop. He was in civilian clothes, had clearly come into the shop to buy something and, hearing a commotion coming from beyond the door which led to the stock room, had decided to investigate. To Molly and Mary’s good fortune, he was in the nick of time, and before Jack could move or speak George lunged forward, caught hold of the older man’s arm and shook it till he dropped his weapon. ‘By rights I ought to give you a taste of your own medicine,’ he growled, pushing Jack away from Molly and towards the wall at the back of the store room. ‘Men who hit women disgust me.’

  ‘You don’t know what she said to me,’ Jack said plaintively, but he was already shrinking under the look of revulsion on the face of the young policeman. And Walsh had manhandled him as if he was capable of doing him serious damage.

  ‘I wouldn’t care if you told me she’d stolen a week’s takings or burned your shop down; there is no justification for any man hitting a woman.’ George went over to Mary, who was still on the floor, and helped her to her feet, then he turned to Molly and put his arm around her protectively. ‘You come home with me,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk about pressing charges while I see to your injuries.’

  Molly wanted to go with him. She couldn’t think of anywhere safer than being with George, and she hurt all over, but she couldn’t leave her mother alone with her father.

  ‘Thank you for the offer, George, but I can’t leave my mum,’ she said, as tears of shock began to run down her cheeks. ‘But I promise you, if Dad takes one further step towards either of us, I’ll ring the police station immediately.’

  They all looked towards Jack. He had slumped down on to a chair in the corner and was holding his head in his hands as if he was very aware he’d gone far too far.

  ‘He might be sorry now, but I’m still going to report what I’ve just witnessed,’ George said forcefully. He went over to Jack and prodded his shoulder. ‘You lay just one finger on either of them ever again and I’ll see you get locked up. Like I said, I’m off to report you now.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hit her, but she got my goat,’ Jack whined. ‘You don’t know what I have to put up with.’

  ‘You should be down on your knees thanking God for such a devoted wife, and a daughter who has made your business so successful.’ George’s lips curled back in scorn. ‘If Molly had any sense at all, she’d leave home right now. She deserves so much better than this.’

  George left, then, slamming the shop door so hard the bell jangled furiously. Jack scuttled into the shop, not even glancing at his wife or daughter.

  Mary and Molly looked at one another fearfully. ‘He’ll put the “CLOSED” sign on the door now and probably go off to the pub,’ Mary whispered. ‘I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when he comes back. Maybe you should’ve gone with George.’

  Molly was shaky and nauseous with shock and hurting from the beating her father had given her, but George’s intervention had dispelled her fear. ‘I meant what I said, Mum: I’ll ring the police if he does anything more to either of us, and I’ll press charges. He’s got away with stuff for far too long. We have to stand up to him. Now, let’s go upstairs. He can go and hang himself for all I care.’

  Upstairs, Mary got Molly to sit down while she put a cold compress on to the red weals on her head and neck. One had caught her on the side of her face and drawn blood, and the skin around her eye was already swelling up.

  ‘You’re going to have a real bruiser in the morning,’ Mary murmured, and when Molly looked up she saw that her mother was crying silently.

  ‘Don’t, Mum. I can’t bear to see you cry,’ she said.

  Mary hugged her daughter close to her breast. ‘Oh, my darling. I think George was right – you should leave. This is no life for you, and I can’t even promise things will get better after today.’

  ‘I’d leave if you came with me,’ Molly said, moving her head slightly so her voice wasn’t muffled. ‘We could get a little flat in Bristol and I could work in one of the big shops, I’m sure you could get some part-time work, too.’

  Mary shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that. It would mean I’d be dependent on you, and that isn’t fair to you either. You couldn’t look after us both, and I wouldn’t let you try. I’d just ruin your life.’

  Molly thought that was the saddest thing she’d ever heard. How could her mother believe that she’d ruin her own daughter’s life?’

  ‘I can’t leave you here alone with Dad. You’re already a bag of nerves. Even if he doesn’t hit you, he’ll make you do all the work I do now, and he’ll be on at you constantly.’

  ‘I just won’t do all the work,’ she replied. ‘I’ll ignore him. He’ll have to get someone else to help, or the shop will go under. Maybe I can persuade him to sell it and retire.’

  Molly thought that retirement would be even worse for her mother: her father would have nothing at all to do, and he’d grumble, demand and find fault even more. But she couldn’t say that. Her poor mother had to be left with some hope for the future.

  Mary Heywood knew what her daughter was thinking as she hugged her to her breast. Molly was right in believing Jack wouldn’t change; he couldn’t, he was too set in his ways. But she had to find a way to make her daughter see that she wasn’t responsible for either of her parents and that she was entitled to choose her own path in life.

  Of course, Mary knew she was partly to blame for this state of affairs. She should’ve put her foot down with Jack long ago, at the first sign of violence and nastiness, instead of caving in and allowing him to do it. Maybe if she’d walked out years ago he would’ve come to heel when he realized what he stood to lose. But, instead, she’d just kept quiet, and that had added more f
uel to his fire.

  It might be too late now to change Jack, but it wasn’t too late for Molly to start out afresh. Emily had made the break and got away; Molly could, too. Mary knew she had to be a real mother now and protect her child, whatever the cost to herself.

  She moved back slightly from Molly and, putting one hand on each side of her daughter’s face, she lifted it to look at her. Such a sweet face, wistful blue eyes, a neat, up-tilted nose and a generous mouth. She would never be a beauty queen, but the warmth of her personality and the way she cared about people meant she would always be liked and admired. Mary hoped she’d find love soon with a man who really deserved her.

  ‘Listen to me,’ she said. ‘You are leaving home, Molly. Not today or tomorrow, but as soon as we can make the arrangements without your father finding out. I won’t sit back any longer and watch you working without being appreciated or being given a fair wage. I want you to have fun, to make new friends and be happy. So please don’t refuse.’

  ‘But I’ll need money –’

  Mary cut her short by putting a finger on her daughter’s lips. ‘I’ll get you the money, and in the next few days we’ll work out together where you’re going to go. Now, I suggest you go and have a lie down for a bit. You’ve had a nasty shock.’

  After two days of lying around nursing her wounds and trying hard to think of where she could go if she did leave home, on the afternoon of the third day Molly decided to go and see Simon. She might hardly know him, but he seemed to be a man of the world, he’d liked Cassie, too, and she thought he would give her good advice.

  She put make-up over her bruised eye, hoping he wouldn’t notice it, and, taking a pot of local honey and a few buns her mother had made as a little present, she walked down the high street to his flat, which she knew to be over Weston’s, the funeral directors.

  There was a concrete staircase up to his flat, reached from the back of the building. Molly remembered that when she and her friend Christine had been about seven they came round here to find out where Mr Weston kept the dead bodies. He had caught them trying to peer in a window of an outhouse, and he’d taken them back to Heywood’s grocery shop, holding each of them by the ear.