Towers of Silence - [8]

Miriam had stopped working at St Mary’s after her last time in psychiatric hospital, two years previously. She led a frugal life. Connie could help out with unforseen expenses. Martina had a Saturday job at British Home Stores. Martina and Roland had moved in with Connie and Patrick the night of their mother’s death.

“It was awful,” Connie closed her eyes at the memory.

I asked them to tell me about their last visit to Miriam.

“There was nothing out of the ordinary,” said Patrick.

“She was fine,” said Connie. “She’d made a big meal and we cleared the plates. We all watched Coronation Street with her and then we left.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just stuff,” she said, “someone she knew, their son was auditioning for a part in Coronation Street, so she was full of that.”

“And her feet,” Patrick said.

Connie smiled. “In-growing toe nails. She would moan about them but she loved her fancy shoes. She hated flat shoes, anything wide and sensible, reminded her of working at the hospital, she always wanted to look smart and she had a pair of shoes for every outfit.”

“Anything else, any news, any worries?”

“Nothing,” she sighed and ran both hands over the rows in her hair, “we’ve gone over it so many times.”

I nodded. “Martina and Roland would have seen her the next day?”

“Yes, before school. Martina’s at sixth form college and Roland’s doing GCSEs. They both left around eight o’ clock.”

“And she was okay then?”

“Yes.”

“No upset, no signs of anxiety?”

Connie shook her head.

“Would she try to hide it from them?”

“Well, yes. If she was a bit down then yes she would. But if it was worse then she wouldn’t have the strength to do that. But she was managing it all fine. It had been two years since her last bad spell and she hadn’t needed tablets for the last six months.”

I made more notes. “So, we know she went to the community centre that morning.”

“Her craft club.”

“Tell me about that.”

“She loved it. They had a project, it was aimed at people who maybe needed a little support, people like Ma or people who were on their own. It was quite a mix, some unemployed, some pensioners. The worker there, Eddie, he’s built it up, got them some Lottery funding so they can do more things. He spoke at the service for her.”

“He was as shocked as we were,” Patrick said.

“Yes, talk to him. He’ll tell you she was perfectly all right.”

“Right. And she left there about midday?”

“Yes.”

“That was the last anyone saw of her?”

Connie nodded. One hand tightened over the other.

I gave them the contract and we agreed I’d do two days work and then prepare a report.

“Before I go, could I have a word with Martina and Roland?”

Connie went to fetch them and Patrick nodded at the mass of papers on the table. “Where will you start?”

“The obvious places, talk to people at the craft club, her neighbours, contact friends and people on the list and in her book. No one at the funeral said they’d seen her?”

“No, we weren’t going round asking people but I think they’d have said, don’t you?”

“We might want to try an advert in the paper; that can sometimes bring people forward.”

“Like Crimestoppers?”

“Yes,” I smiled, “without the crime.”

Martina and Roland came in and hovered by the table.

“I won’t keep you long, your sister’s told me all she can. Is there anything either of you’ve thought of, anything that might be useful for me to know?”

Roland shook his head, blinked at me, looked away, sad.

“No,” said Martina.

“What about the Thursday morning, you both saw her before school?”

They both nodded.

“And she seemed fine then?”

“Yeah,” Martina said, “she was.”

“That day or the days before, was there anything unusual, anything a bit off key?”

Roland shook his head.

“There wasn’t anything like that,” said Martina.

I turned back to Connie. “Your father left. Has there been any contact since?”

I knew he wasn’t on the list they’d given me.

Her face hardened, Patrick stiffened. Roland actually looked shocked as though I’d said something obscene. His eyes widened with alarm and his face blanched. Then he blinked and blanked his expression. I’d obviously put my foot right in it.

“He made her ill,” Connie said, “leaving when he did, leaving like that. We don’t talk about him.”

“And you don’t know where he is?”

“No.”

That was that then. Mr Johnstone was taboo. But their reaction was so hostile I wondered whether there was any more to it? Had he just abandoned them – or was there anything else?

“Okay. Thank you.” I began to gather my notes. Roland ducked out of the room followed by his sister.

Patrick and Connie saw me out. It was freezing, black ice glinted dangerously on the pavement. I walked as briskly as I dared to the car. I couldn’t guess whether I’d find anything or not but I’d do my best. Would anyone remember seeing Miriam? It’s easy to get lost in the city if you want to. Easy to move unnoticed through the crowds. Though I hadn’t said so to the Johnstones I would go there first, put myself at the scene where Miriam died. I’d try to figure out how she got there, imagine the final stages of her bleak journey, the last steps she took before her fall to oblivion. It wasn’t an attractive prospect and I might not learn anything from it but it was part of the job and I wouldn’t be behaving professionally if I only did the easy bits. Being thorough, checking and rechecking, attention to details – it’s often the mundane that brings illumination rather than the dramatic. Some trails start at the beginning and others begin at the end