The Widow

Chapter 13

Saturday, 7 April 2007

The Detective

SPARKES’ HEART WAS going like a steam hammer as he walked up the Taylors’ path, all senses heightened. He’d done this walk a hundred times but his reactions never seemed blunted by repetition.

The house was a semi, painted and well cared for, with double-glazed windows and clean net curtains.

Are you here, Bella? he repeated in his head as he raised a hand to knock on the door. Softly, softly, he reminded himself. Let’s not panic anyone.

And then, there he was. Glen Taylor.

He looks like the bloke next door, was Sparkes’ first thought. But then monsters rarely look the part. You hope you’ll be able to see the evil shining out of them – it would make police work a damned sight easier, he often said. But evil was a slippery substance, only glimpsed occasionally and all the more horrifying for that, he knew.

The detective made a quick visual sweep behind Taylor for any signs of a child, but the hall and stairs were spotless, nothing out of place.

‘Normal to the point of abnormal,’ he told Eileen later. ‘Looked like a show house.’ Eileen had taken offence, seeing the remark as a judgement on her own housekeeping skills, and hissed her discontent at him.

‘Bloody hell, Eileen, what’s the matter with you? No one is talking about you, about our house. I’m talking about a suspect. I thought you’d be interested.’ But the damage was done. Eileen retreated to the kitchen and some loud cleaning. Another quiet week, he thought and turned the telly up.

‘Mr Glen Taylor?’ Sparkes asked quietly and courteously.

‘Yes, that’s me,’ Taylor replied. ‘What can I do for you? Are you selling something?’

The officer stepped closer, Ian Matthews at his heels.

‘Mr Taylor, I’m Detective Inspector Bob Sparkes from the Hampshire Police Force. Can I come in?’

‘Police? What is this about?’ Taylor asked.

‘I would like to talk to you about the case of a missing child I’m investigating. It’s about the disappearance of Bella Elliott,’ he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. The colour drained from Glen Taylor’s face and he stepped back as if recoiling from a punch.

Taylor’s wife came out of the kitchen and was wiping her hands on a tea towel when the words ‘Bella Elliott’ were spoken. A nice, decent-looking woman, Sparkes thought. She gasped and her hands flew up to her face. Strange how people react. That gesture, to cover your face, must be hardwired into people. Is it shame? Or an unwillingness to look at something? he wondered, waiting to be shown through to the sitting room.

Odd really, he thought. He hasn’t looked at his wife once the whole time. It’s as if she isn’t there. Poor woman, she looks like she’s going to collapse.

Taylor quickly pulled himself together and answered their questions.

‘We understand you were making a delivery in the area where Bella was taken, Mr Taylor.’

‘Well, I think so.’

‘Your friend, Mr Doonan, said you were.’

‘Doonan?’ Glen Taylor’s mouth tightened. ‘Not a friend of mine, but – hang on a minute. Yes, I think I was.’

‘Try to be sure, Mr Taylor. It was the day Bella Elliott was abducted,’ Sparkes insisted.

‘Right, yes. Of course. I think I had one drop early afternoon and then came home. About four, as I remember.’

‘Home at four, Mr Taylor? You made very good time. Are you sure it was four?’

Taylor nodded, forehead creased as if miming thinking hard. ‘Yes, definitely four. Jean will bear me out.’

Jean Taylor said nothing. It was as if she hadn’t heard and Sparkes had to repeat the question before she made eye contact with him and nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said, as if on automatic pilot.

Sparkes turned back to Glen Taylor. ‘The thing is, Mr Taylor, your van matches the description of a vehicle that was noticed by a neighbour just before Bella vanished. You probably read about it – it was in all the papers – and we’re checking all blue vans.’

‘I thought you were looking for a man with a ponytail. I’ve got short hair, and anyway, I wasn’t in Southampton. It was Winchester,’ Taylor said.

‘Yes, but are you sure you didn’t take a little drive after the delivery?’

Taylor laughed off the suggestion.

‘I don’t do any more driving than I have to – not my idea of relaxation. Look, this is all a terrible mistake.’

Sparkes nodded to himself thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure you understand how serious this matter is, Mr Taylor, and won’t mind if we have a look around.’

An immediate search of the house began with the officers moving quickly through the rooms, calling Bella’s name and looking in cupboards, under beds, behind sofas. There was nothing.

But there was something about the way Taylor had told his story. Something rehearsed about it. Sparkes decided to take him in for further questioning, to go over the details once more. He owed it to Bella.

Jean Taylor was left weeping on the stairs, while the officers finished their work.