Fell Purpose

THREE

Ride, Reading Hood

Mrs Wilding was breathing hard by the time they reached the bedroom, and it wasn’t all the effect of the stairs. She was congested with anger as she stalked ahead, leading the way to Zellah’s room.

Through the open doors, Connolly could see the upstairs rooms: a double bedroom, with old-fashioned wooden furniture and a silk quilted eiderdown on the bed; a cramped bathroom with a pale-blue suite, crystal tiles, cheap blue carpet, and matching drip-mat and toilet seat cover in shag-pile cotton; a small spare bedroom set up as a sewing-room, with material and part-made garments spread over a bulky armchair that probably turned into a single bed. It reminded her painfully of her parents’ interwar semi in Clontarf: same layout, same taste, just a bit smaller.

The third bedroom, in size falling between the double and the sewing-room – which at home Connolly had shared with her sister Catriona – was Zellah’s, and there was nothing remarkable about it at first glance, except that it was unusually tidy for a teenager, and rather young for a sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old. There was no computer or television, no sound system except for a portable radio on the bedside cabinet, and a CD walkman on the windowsill. There was a single bed up against the wall under the window, with a menagerie of stuffed toys lined up along it with their backs to the bricks. Cheap, worn carpet partly covered by a home-made rug. Shelves of books and an MFI desk with what looked like homework and school books spread across it. Cheap wardrobe with a door that wouldn’t close properly. Cheap dressing table with ornaments and an elderly Barbie mingling with the hairbrushes and a modest array of make-up. Ancient floral wallpaper partly obscured by framed family photographs and two cheap reproduction paintings, one of a cantering horse and one, very faded, of the Margaret Tarrant picture of Jesus with the sheep and the collie dog and the curly-headed children. In the circumstances it was horribly touching.

Mrs Wilding was not looking. She hardly waited to get in there before turning on Connolly to vent her spleen.

‘Can you believe he’d talk to me like that, at a time like this? But he’s always been the same. He thinks he’s the only person that feels things. Him and his education, and his “superior understanding”! What good has it done us, you tell me that! Here we are stuck in a place like this, hardly big enough to swing a cat, and neighbours you wouldn’t pass the time of day with. And everyone knows these were council houses. I can’t hold my head up. But that’s men for you. Promise you the earth, but you end up stuck in a council house, scratching about to make ends meet!’

‘Mr Wilding’d be a bit older than you?’ Connolly suggested, to keep her going. Not that she needed much encouragement – she was plainly ready to spill everything to another woman.

‘A bit? Try a lot! That’s half the trouble. He treats me like a child, or an idiot. I’m just as bright as him, let me tell you that! Where do you think Zellah gets her brains? He thinks it’s all him, but I used to write poetry when I was a girl. Always got top marks at school for my essays and things. I could have gone to university if I’d wanted to. But I couldn’t be bothered with it. Waste all that time getting a piece of paper that’s no use to man nor beast as far as I can see? Did you go to university? No, of course not – you’ve got more sense. I wanted to get on with life, get out and have a bit of fun. So I left school at sixteen, did a secretarial course, and got a job. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

‘Nothing at all.’

‘I’ve never regretted it for a minute. But he looks down on me for it now. Didn’t mind it at the time, though, did he? Oh no. Couldn’t wait to employ me, soon as he set eyes on me.’

‘You worked for him, then?’

‘That was my first job. Shorthand and general office work at Wildings, Telford Way. A friend of mine’s dad worked there, that’s how I heard of it, but the employment agency sent me there for a vacancy. It was his own firm, making metal address plates. Not very big, but successful, mind,’ she added sharply. ‘It was – what do you call that, when you make something no one else does?’

‘A niche, you mean?’ Connolly suggested, after a moment’s thought.

‘That’s it. Well, like I say, it was very successful, but because it was a small firm he liked to interview everyone himself, to make sure they’d fit in. Oh, he was very grand, you know. The big boss!’ She curled her lip. ‘But he couldn’t keep his eyes off me, right from the beginning. I know the signs, believe you me. Well, long story short, he wasn’t getting on with his wife at the time, and before you could say knife he was asking me to work late. Then he started driving me home after. Then it was stopping for a drink on the way, then it was taking me out to dinner. One thing led to another, and – well, you know.’

‘Yes,’ Connolly assented.

‘Of course you do, dear,’ Mrs Wilding said, in generous acknowledgement of Connolly’s not-bad looks. Then she put herself into a different league. ‘I was gorgeous then, believe me.’

‘I can see that.’

‘Thank you, dear.’ She simpered a little. ‘I could have had anyone, you know. I was seventeen, with my whole life ahead of me. And the next thing I know, I’m pregnant.’

Connolly did a quick bit of maths and tried not to sound surprised when she said, ‘And would that be . . .?’

Mrs Wilding waved an impatient hand. ‘No, no. Zellah came later. Well, anyway, he’d been talking for ages about leaving Valerie – that was her name, the cow – and finally he had to put his money where his mouth was. He divorced her and we got married, but it was never the bed of roses he promised me. She’s been bleeding him white ever since.’

‘Valerie?’

‘The bitch,’ she spat. ‘Nothing was too good for her, was it? Lap of luxury, every comfort for her and the boys. She got the family house, this gorgeous detached house in Acton. While him and I had to start our married life living in his mother’s house. With his mother! I couldn’t believe it when he told me that’s where we’d have to go. It’s no wonder I lost the baby.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I wasn’t. Not really. I was too young to be saddled with a baby then. I wanted to have a bit of fun – and I did after that, believe you me. Dancing, shows, night clubs – I still had too much life in me to settle down to nappies and bottles and all the rest of it. I don’t think Derek minded all that much about the baby, either, though he pretended to, because it would have been extra expense, and he was having to work like a dog anyway, with Lady Muck to support, not to mention school fees for the boys – though why they had to go to private school I don’t know. Like leeches they were, the three of them, sucking the life out of us. No, I was twenty-five when I fell for Zellah, and that wasn’t planned, but at least I’d had a bit of pleasure by then. Though it’s goodbye to all that when you’ve had a baby. Your figure goes, and you’re tied hand and foot. But I never resented it. She was a gorgeous baby from day one, and she just got more gorgeous as she grew up.’ Her eyes filled with tears as reality struck another blow. ‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it. Who would do such a thing? This’ll kill him, I’m not kidding you. He thought the sun shone out of her eyes. He’ll never get over this.’

She stared at Connolly, her large eyes swimming, tears slipping over in an almost theatrical way; but it was not theatrical. There was a world of genuine pain, the real, gritty, unbearable sort that only happens in real life, not on the screen. ‘She wasn’t raped?’ she asked pathetically. ‘You promise me she wasn’t raped?’

‘The doctor said not.’

‘And he didn’t cut her? This maniac? He didn’t – disfigure her?’

Connolly shook her head. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘But – the other thing,’ she went on. ‘The thing he did. You know.’ She didn’t want to say the words. ‘Strangling. Does it hurt? Did she suffer?’

Connolly made a helpless gesture. How do you answer a question like that? ‘Mrs Wilding . . .’

‘I want to see her,’ she said. ‘I’ll know if I see her. I have to know.’

‘You can see her, of course. And somebody will have to identify her – you know, formally. Either you or your husband could—’

‘It had better be me,’ she said, suddenly sounding strangely calm and capable. ‘He’d go to pieces. Him and his superior education! He’s never been able to cope. The divorce, Valerie – he never stood up to her, just gave her anything she asked for. It was me that was short-changed – having to settle for second best, while she got the big house and everything. And then when she died, it turns out she owned half his company, more than half. She left it all to the boys. They didn’t want it, of course – just wanted the money. So he had to sell. She’d poisoned their minds against him, of course. They took the money and ran. Alan’s in Canada and Ray’s in New Zealand. Good riddance, as far as I’m concerned. But he practically killed himself building up that firm and putting them through school and everything, and when he had to sell it – well . . .’ She shook her head. ‘It knocked the stuffing out of him. He’s never really been the same since. After that, the only thing he cared about was Zellah.’

‘And you,’ Connolly suggested.

Her eyes became bleak, and she said, in a different voice from any she’d yet used, a plain, sad, matter-of-fact voice, ‘No, I don’t think he ever really cared about me. He thought I’d trapped him into marriage, you see. Well, we both lost out. I don’t know which of us lost more. Until now.’ Her lips trembled. ‘My Zellah. You’ve got to find who did this. And then let me have ten minutes alone with him.’

Wilding had to take a few turns about the room to deal with his emotions before he could speak with a semblance of calmness.

‘I had two other children,’ he said at last. ‘Two boys. I don’t see them – haven’t seen them for years. The divorce was acrimonious, you see. Pam is my second wife.’ He stopped pacing and looked at Atherton, who nodded receptively. ‘You probably noticed she’s a lot younger than me.’ He gave a snort of non-laughter. ‘Well, I suppose I wasn’t the first fool to go that way and I won’t be the last. I threw away everything. I had my own engineering company, with a combined office and factory on the Brunel Estate.’

This was a small industrial park at the back side of East Acton, about half a mile from the Scrubs, in an otherwise unlovely area defined on all sides by railway lines and bisected by the Grand Union Canal. The Wildings’ lives had certainly been local, Atherton thought.

‘Pam came to work there,’ he went on. ‘She was young, beautiful – you’ve only got to look at Zellah to see how beautiful – and I . . . well, I don’t need to spell it out for you. It’s a common-enough story. There was a divorce, I lost my boys, my house; ultimately I lost my business, everything. You see me here with all I have left. How are the mighty fallen. I don’t blame anyone but myself. But it was a disappointment to Pam. She feels I let her down. She’s always cared more for the . . . the outward signs of success. If she spoke harshly just now – well, I wanted you to understand.’

‘Of course,’ Atherton said.

‘I think that’s why she wants Zellah to have those things – why she’s always trying to get her into a more exalted social set. Don’t mistake me; I want Zellah to have everything, too. She deserves it. But Zellah’s not just a beauty. She got Pam’s looks, but she inherited my brains. She could do anything, be anything. I don’t want her to think that marriage to some rich idiot is her only goal.’

‘What school does she go to?’ Atherton slipped it in.

‘St Margaret’s. You know it?’

It was the all-girls school at the far end of the Scrubs – next to where the fairground was presently set up. ‘I know it,’ Atherton said. ‘It has a good academic reputation.’

‘One of the best in the country,’ Wilding said. ‘It used to be a grammar school, but when the government abolished them it went private. But it’s also a church school – Anglo-Catholic. Fortunately we’re in the church’s catchment area. It’s one of the reasons I bought this house.’

‘You’re Anglo-Catholic?’

‘I am, and Pam was willing to be, in a good cause. We’ve brought Zellah up as one. I always had my eye on St Margaret’s for her because of the academic excellence, but you had to be regular communicants. We couldn’t have afforded the fees, but Zellah won a bursary, and it’s been wonderful for her. The standard of scholarship is as high as in any public school. The downside,’ his expression soured, ‘is the kind of girls she’s had to mix with. Empty-headed rich kids like Sophy Cooper-Hutchinson and Chloë Paulson, who poison her mind with trash and trivia – boys and make-up and pop music and all that rubbish.’

‘What school did Zellah go to?’ Connolly was asking upstairs.

‘St Margaret’s,’ Mrs Wilding said, and pulled a face. ‘All he cares about is exam results. He doesn’t give a damn about her getting on and meeting the right people. With her looks she could be anything – a model, an actress, anything. The sky’s the limit, but these days it all depends on having the right contacts. He just wants her to be a bookworm and ruin her eyes with reading and have no social life and end up a sour spinster with four cats. Fortunately, a lot of very nice girls go to St Margaret’s, so it’s sucks to him. Girls from well-off families, whose fathers can afford the fees,’ she added acidly. ‘Zellah’s clever, but she’s also got a bit of common sense. She wants to have fun, same as anyone else. She wants to be a normal girl, not a freak of nature.’

‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

‘He won’t allow it,’ she said, making another face. ‘Says she’s too young. Well, it’s hard for her when she can’t go out whenever she wants to, like the others. Never on a school night, and at weekends it’s questions, questions, questions, and where are you going and what time will you be back? I mean, the poor girl’s watched like a criminal. And she couldn’t bring a boy back here. There was one boy, Mike Carmichael, brought her home on his motorbike once, very good-looking lad, and the ructions! Derek caught them kissing in the porch. Made them come in and – well, talk about the Spanish inquisition! Poor Zellah was mortified. And nothing the boy could say would satisfy Derek. They ended up having a row, and Zellah was forbidden to see him any more. She was in floods. Well, so was I. I mean, how’s she ever going to get married if he chases off every boy that looks at her?’

‘I suppose he’d be being protective,’ Connolly said.

‘Protective? He’s a . . .’ Her voice cut off as she remembered again.

Connolly felt a pang of sympathy. It must be one of the worst things, the way you kept forgetting, and then remembering again. Every remembering must be like having it happen all over again for the first time.

‘It didn’t do her any good, did it?’ Mrs Wilding resumed bitterly. ‘Maybe if he’d let her go out more, she’d have been a bit more streetwise, known a bit more how to protect herself. What was she doing out there at that time of night? That’s what I want to know. She’d have known better than to go there with a strange man if only he’d treated her like a normal teenager.’

‘Did Zellah have a boyfriend?’ Atherton was asking.

‘No,’ Wilding said. ‘I didn’t allow it. She was too young, and I didn’t want her distracted. She had her whole life for that sort of nonsense, but you only get one chance at schooling.’

‘It must have been hard, though. I mean, girls of sixteen and seventeen naturally want to go out with boys.’

‘She understood. Despite her mother trying to fill her head with rubbish, she knew what her own best interests were.’ His face hardened. ‘There was a boy who came sniffing round her. I sent him away with a flea in his ear. I told you I know who you should be talking to: a yob by the name of Michael Carmichael. A greasy Lothario with a motorbike. A boy from a sink estate in Reading, whose father’s a jailbird! And he thought he was good enough to lay his dirty paws on my daughter! He brought her home once on his damn motorbike, and I caught him fumbling with her outside the front door. I brought him in and read him the riot act. Of course, Pam took his side against me, and there was a row. Poor Zellah ended up in tears. He stormed off, uttering threats against me. The only reason I didn’t report him to the police at the time was because I didn’t want to embarrass her any further.’

‘What sort of threats?’

‘Oh, nothing specific. Just that he’d get his own back on me and that I’d be sorry, that sort of thing. And two days later someone broke our front window in the middle of the night. I’ve no doubt at all that it was him.’

‘Did you see him?’ Atherton asked.

‘No. I told you, it was the middle of the night. I was asleep until the noise woke me up. By the time I looked out, there was no one there. And a couple of weeks later both the wing mirrors were ripped off my car. Pam said it could have been anyone, but I knew who did it. Bad blood will out.’

‘How did you know his father was in jail?’

‘He told me so himself, that night he brought her home. Practically boasted about it.’

‘It’s an odd way to introduce yourself to a girl’s father.’

‘He said he didn’t want me to find out and think he’d kept it from him. I asked why he should think I was interested, because he was never getting within a mile of Zellah ever again. Then he started calling me names; Pam started shouting and Zellah burst into tears.’ He stared morosely at the carpet.

‘So when did all this happen?’

‘A couple of months ago.’ He looked up, remembering the point they had reached, and his face hardened again. ‘You go and interview Mr Michael Carmichael of the Woodley South Estate.’

‘We’ll certainly do that,’ Atherton said, his interest quickening. Everyone had heard of Woodley South, the bane of the Thames Valley Police: one of those bare and ugly estates, cheaply run up in the sixties to get families out of central London, which had degenerated into far worse slums than the evacuees had come from, a place of blowing rubbish, burned-out cars, unemployment, boarded-up windows, late night joy-riders, and hooded drug dealers.

Lately the Reading police had undertaken a ‘clampdown’ to try to make a dent in the crime figures in advance of an application for central funds for a regeneration project. Their methods and results had been widely written up for, and discussed in, the Job, which was why the name resonated with him.

It always amazed Atherton that anyone managed to live even a near-normal life in such circumstances, and yet from his own experience there were always some decent families among the low-lifers in these places, desperately clinging on to standards, doing their best and getting precious little help from the authorities. It was possible young Mr Carmichael was one of the good guys, and his outburst in the Wildings’ front parlour was from frustration at being judged on his appearance and postcode. On the other hand, there was a better than even chance he was one of the bad hats, and there was nothing more attractive at this stage of an investigation than a bad hat. It gave you something to follow up, a mote in the otherwise clear eye of all the unknowns.

‘Reading’s a long way,’ Connolly said. ‘What was Mike Carmichael doing over this way?’

‘Well, he had this motorbike,’ Mrs Wilding said, drying her eyes again. ‘He could get about on that all right.’

‘What I meant was, how did Zellah come to meet him?’

‘Oh, I see. Well, he had some friends who shared a house in Notting Hill, and one of them was Chloë Paulson’s brother. That time he brought Zellah home, they’d all been out together, a whole crowd of boys and girls. You know how they do. It wasn’t that way when I was young,’ she added in a complaining voice. ‘You went out in couples, or maybe a foursome, none of this all hanging around together in a gang. It just makes it harder to know what’s going on, to my mind. I mean, it isn’t natural for boys and girls to be friends like that, is it? They’re supposed to date and fall in love. You don’t marry someone you’re friendly with. But I suppose it was better for Zellah, in a way, because her father would only let her go out in a crowd, so she wouldn’t have met any boys at all otherwise.’

‘Did she see this boy more than once?’

‘No, Daddy forbade it. But she seemed to go off him anyway. She didn’t mention him ever again.’

If it was me, Connolly thought, I wouldn’t have mentioned him, even if I was seeing him. A girl had to learn to manipulate in order to get her way. Anyway, from what the doc said it was obvious that Miss Zellah had been getting the ride off some fella or other, whatever her parents thought. ‘Do you think you could find me that photograph now?’ she said. She would have a quick look round the bedroom while the oul’ one was getting it; see if there was a diary or any letters.

‘What a life,’ Atherton said, when they had given Slider their various accounts. ‘I wouldn’t blame her for cutting a rip with biker boy.’

‘It’s the devil when parents try to relive their lives through their children,’ Slider mused. ‘There’s father wanting her to be an academic success and probably end up with her own business, while mother just wants to relive her youth and beauty vicariously, and probably hopes her daughter will be a model and marry a film star. Impossible expectations.’

‘And what about being forbidden to go out with boys?’ Connolly said indignantly. ‘Janey Mac, she was seventeen.’

‘Right,’ Atherton said. ‘You can’t keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Paree. What would you have done?’ he asked Connolly.

‘Pretend to go along with it and run mad behind their backs,’ Connolly answered. ‘If they want to carry on like Ignatius Loyola, what can they expect?’

‘Tyrants make liars,’ Atherton said.

‘Well, that’s one way to look at it,’ Slider said, from the point of view of a father. ‘But was that what Zellah was doing?’

‘She was out on the Scrubs late at night when she should have been somewhere else,’ Connolly pointed out.

‘We know she was rebelling,’ Atherton said, ‘because of what Freddie Cameron said about her having had a lot of sex. And I must say she must have had considerable moxie to defy her dad like that. I wouldn’t like to try it.’

‘Moxie?’ Slider queried vaguely, out of a train of thought.

‘Balls. Spunk. Chutzpah.’

‘I know what it means. I just don’t know why you’re using it.’

‘I’m a Red Sox fan.’

‘You are not.’ Slider shook his head. ‘Try to be duller,’ he advised.

‘I can’t help it. I spent my formative years at the pictures.’

Connolly suppressed a grin. This was why she wanted to get into the CID. They were all pure mad in the Department. ‘Sir,’ she said to Slider, ‘I’ve been thinking about the clothes she was wearing.’

‘Yes, I’ve been wondering about that too,’ Slider said. ‘I wouldn’t have thought her parents – her father, anyway – would have let her go out showing that much flesh.’

‘No, sir. That’s what I thought. And I had a good oul’ look in her wardrobe while I was in her bedroom, and there’s nothing else like that in there. It’s all Sunday School stuff, skirts and ganzies your mammy would buy you. I’m wondering if she borrowed those clothes from her friend.’

‘Sophy Whatsit? It’s a thought. And if she did, then Sophy must have been in on the whole thing,’ Slider said. ‘Which would mean she’d know who it was Zellah was seeing that night.’

‘It’s obvious the Sophy thing was a front,’ Atherton said. ‘Either for some kind of group outing to a place the Wildings wouldn’t approve of, or for Zellah to go out with a person ditto ditto.’

‘That Mike Carmichael sounds the lad,’ Connolly said. ‘The Woodley South’s a total kip. Drugs, stolen cars, smuggled fags and booze. Unemployment about ninety-eight per cent. What’s a skanger from a place like that doing, hanging around the likes of Zellah Wilding?’

‘Yes,’ said Slider. ‘I do wonder what the connection with the smart girls is. How did he know Sophy Whatsit’s brother and his friends?’

‘Oh, I think we can all guess that,’ Atherton said wryly. ‘What do larging-it youngsters do with their money these days?’

‘We can all guess,’ Slider said, ‘but I’d prefer to know.’

‘I take it an early interview with biker boy is a priority,’ Atherton said. ‘The hood from the ’hood.’

‘First of all,’ Slider went on, ‘we need to speak to this Sophy girl. She may be the one person who knows where Zellah was going and with whom.’

‘Do you want me to do it?’ Atherton said.

‘No, I’ll go myself,’ Slider said, stretching his shoulders. ‘I need to move. I’ll take Hart with me. They’ll think she’s cool.’

‘I’m cool,’ Atherton protested. Connolly made a snorting noise, and he turned on her sharply to find her face rigidly controlled. ‘What?’

‘Nothing, sir,’ she said.

‘I think PC Connolly thinks you’re more hip than cool,’ Slider explained kindly. ‘Anyway, you two have got your notes to write up. Get the photograph copied and circulated. Oh, and you’d better arrange for the Wildings to identify the body. Get them to come in, and take their statements down, such as they are.’

‘We can send someone there for that,’ Atherton said.

‘It’ll do them good to get out of the house,’ Slider said, and Connolly gave him a pleased look for having thought of it. ‘What did you think of the father?’

‘Obsessive,’ Atherton said. ‘Transferred all his love to his little princess when he realized he’d married a pudding.’

‘Right,’ said Slider. ‘On the principle that it’s always the person nearest what dunnit, get him to write down where he was and what he was doing.’

‘That poor man?’ Connolly protested. ‘He was heartbroken!’

‘For elimination purposes,’ Slider said. ‘Always bread and butter first, before you can have any cake.’

Mad as bicycles, Connolly thought admiringly.