Towers of Silence

Chapter Twenty-one

“Does Adam know anyone in York?” I asked Susan Reeve the following morning.

“York? No.”

“No family or friends there?”

“No. Why?”

“Adam went into town yesterday. He spent most of the time just hanging around the Arndale Centre. But he went to the coach station and asked for information on services to York.”

“How peculiar,” she frowned. “Do you think I should ask him about it?”

“Not yet, not unless you want to tell him you’ve hired me. I haven’t put in two days yet and we don’t know if this is a pattern – if he always goes into town when he skips college. I’d like to give it another go.”

“Oh, yes.” She was quick to agree. “And he just hung round the shops?”

“Yes, didn’t look like he was waiting for anyone either. Just filling in time.”

She sighed. “I wish I knew what was going on. I’d like him to see the doctor but the last time I suggested it he was anti the idea. Said there was nothing wrong with him. It’s so hard to weigh up when to intervene and when to let them get on with it.”

“What does your husband think?”

“Says I’m overreacting. Says Adam will settle again, that we need to give him time. Have you got children?”

“One.”

“How old?”

“Six.”

“You’ve got all this to come then.”

I grimaced. “I hope not. Do you think your husband might have any ideas about York?”

“I doubt it.”

“Can you ask him?”

“Yes, I’ll let you know.”

“I better go then. You’ll get all this in my written report as well.”

The hall was bitterly cold and I realised that the kitchen was the only room that had any heating on.

I zipped my coat up as Susan Reeve opened the door. She shivered.

“Cold,” I said. Not sure whether I meant the conditions or how she felt.

“Economy measures,” she said ruefully. She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. It must have been a struggle keeping six people on one wage. They’d be scrimping to make ends meet, countless tiny economies; putting off buying shoes, cancelling the window cleaner, being careful with the phone, only shopping at the cheapest supermarkets. I’d been there, done that, still had the t-shirt. The last few months I had brought in more money than in any previous year and I was able to relax slightly, reduce my credit card debts and treat myself and Maddie to things that were usually out of bounds. But I could only relax slightly. I was only slightly better off, after all. Plus it was a precarious existence; a drop in income or an unexpected outlay and I’d be catapulted back to the tedious strain of trying to make ends meet.

I got a resoundingly warm welcome from the members of the Craft Club and a cup of tea and a biscuit too. There were eight people there and Eddie told me when I arrived that seven of them had been coming some time and knew Miriam Johnstone. He introduced everybody.

I recognised the two women who had been helping to decorate the hall. Tracey, the slim, dark haired woman and Sandy, the overweight teenager, who barely spoke. Then there were two women wearing the same purple sweatshirts and shared similar husky smoker’s voices, though one, Carla, had a Manchester accent and the other, Dolly, had a thick Glaswegian brogue.

A young black woman with lurid green-framed spectacles was introduced as Pauline. She said little but scowled a lot. Joe, shaky, shy and stammering and thin as a whippet, looked to be in his fifties and beside him sat Charlie, a heavy-set man with brown teeth and badly cut hair.

Then there was Jane. Jane talked all the time, oblivious as to whether anyone was listening or whether anyone else was trying to speak. She had bubbly blonde hair and a heart-shaped face with small features and virulent eczema. Periodically Carla leaned across the table and told her to shut up. It worked for a few seconds then she’d start again. No one else bothered and I soon adapted to two streams of conversation.

“Jane,” Eddie said, “Sal’s come here today to ask us all about Miriam.”

“Oh,” Jane said flatly and shut up.

“Yes,” I said, “you remember back in October, the last session Miriam came to?”

“We were starting the batik,” Eddie said.

“Burnt my fingers,” said Jane. “It’s very hot, the wax gets very hot. That’s so it melts but you’ve got to be very careful. It’s got to be hot, smoking hot and then when…”

I realised I’d have to talk across her. I raised my voice a little and addressed the others.

“I want to find out which way Miriam went after the session. Did anyone go out with her?”

A chorus of no and shaking heads.

“She cleared up,” Jane said.

“That’s right,” said Eddie.

“I should’ve cleared up but I burnt my fingers. I was going to do it. Me and Melody.”

I recalled the pretty young woman I’d met at the sewing circle, the one who trembled like a leaf. She didn’t come anymore, preferred sewing.

“We were on the rota. I had to put some cream on. Thought I’d have to go to Casualty.”

“It was a small burn,” Eddie smiled.

“Hurt a lot, hurt more than you think. If you’d…”

“Shut up,” said Carla.

“So Miriam was one of the last to leave?” I checked.

“Melody was crying,” said Jane.

“She wasn’t,” Carla said scornfully.

“She was, in the toilets,” said Jane.

“Melody was upset,” Eddie intervened, “I think there’d been a bit of a row at home.”

“No one told me,” Carla said defensively.

“What are we doing today?” Charlie asked.

“The presents,” said Eddie. A ripple of excitement ran round the group. His eyes twinkled. “But we’ll finish talking to Sal first. She wants to know if anyone saw Miriam after the session.” He glanced at me to see if that was right.

I nodded. “Yes, that afternoon, or perhaps on her way home?”

“I go in the minibus,” Jane began. “So I couldn’t see her. She never gets the minibus. She walks doesn’t she. Me and Pauline we go back to the centre. Everyone else…”

“We made a lovely wreath for her,” said Dolly.

Jane fell quiet. There was a pause. Sandy began to rock in her chair ever so slightly.

“No one saw her?” Eddie tried again.

Shaking heads.

“Did she talk to anyone about her plans that afternoon?”

More shakes.

“I burnt my finger. It’s that hot,” said Jane.

“Thank you,” I said and made to leave.

I could feel the relief and people shuffled in their seats.

Eddie took me through to the foyer. “It makes some of them anxious,” he said. “Suicide. A couple of them will have already attempted it.”

I must have looked shocked.

He shrugged. “Comes with the territory. Not with Jane and Pauline, they have learning difficulties. But those with a history of mental health problems, depression, well…”

“So not everybody’s been ill?”

“No. We’re open access. Anyone’s welcome, literally. We do get referrals, other professionals ring up and ask if their clients can come and give it a go but I wanted it to be about breaking down the labels and the barriers not reinforcing them. You don’t have to be mad to come here,” he grinned. “Take Charlie. He’s lonely. His wife died last year, world fell apart. All he’s looking for is some friendship, some focus. And that’s what we offer.”

“Not therapy?”

He laughed. “Only with a small ‘t’. I’m not qualified to do that sort of thing. I wouldn’t want to. I’m much more interested in making things, using arts and crafts as a way of people building up their self-esteem.”

“They’ve made some great stuff.” I gestured to the huge banner on the wall.

“Oh, yeah. Miriam did a lot of that, the figures.”

I waited a moment. “When she was clearing up with you, she didn’t say what her plans were.”

“Nope. I didn’t see her go either, or I could tell you which way she went. I assumed she was going home, she usually did. I was pretty occupied, we’d a visit from the Central Grants people, they were due at half twelve so Sharon and I were busy getting everything ready for that.”

“Did anyone call here asking for Miriam? A black man, middle-aged maybe older, with grey hair?”

“No.” He looked curious.

“No one ever met her after the sessions?”

“Not as far as I know. You think there might have been someone?”

“I’m not sure.” And the information I was gathering was confidential for Connie’s family only.

“I’m sorry it’s been a wasted journey,” he said as we reached the outside door.

“Not at all. Nothing’s ever wasted; even if it just confirms what I’ve heard, it’s still progress. All part of the job.”

I had followed in the footsteps of the police; talking to Miriam’s family, her neighbours and to Eddie Cliff. I’d found that the police had not been particularly thorough in their actions immediately after Miriam’s death – at a time when it was deemed suspicious and before it became obvious it was suicide.

I had visited the scene of her death and talked to her friends from church. I’d discovered that she’d had a mystery caller but had no way of knowing whether that contributed to her decision to take her own life. I’d a funny feeling about Roland but nowhere to go with it. Any progress I was making to fill in Miriam’s missing hours was painfully slow. But investigations are like that – you can’t hurry things along. There were still several names on my list of contacts, people I would speak to before giving up. But I was aware I might have nothing to tell Connie at the end of the day. Just a big don’t know.