Stone Cold Red Hot (3 page)

Roger had added the number of Jennifer’s old school. Had the girls been at school together?

“Not Frances, she went to the Catholic school - St Anne’s.”

He’d brought a photograph of Jennifer as well. All dressed up to go out by the look of it; purple maxi skirt, black skinny rib sweater. She had long brown hair, parted in the centre, it gave her a sleek look. She was smiling. I studied her face; it was quite delicate, thin nose, small mouth, her eyes seemed large but that could have been the effect of the dark make-up. I tried to imagine how she would look now she’d aged twenty odd years. Difficult. So much would depend on how she dressed, how she wore her hair, if she wore glasses, jewellery, make-up.

Roger cleared his throat, “Could you get this copied? There aren’t many decent photos of her.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed, “well, this is the only one I’ve got.”

“Yes, I can get some photocopies done, give you it back next time we meet.”

I told him I would be in touch after talking to some of the people on the list and let him know what progress I’d made.

After I’d seen him out I made myself a cup of coffee and then got busy on the phone. Mrs Clerkenwell could see me that same afternoon.

There was an answer machine on at Lisa MacNeice’s. I asked her to return my call without going into any details.

Roger hadn’t given me a number for the other neighbours; the Shuttles. However I did find a number for them - when I’d set up the business I’d invested in phone directories for the main northern cities as I expected at times my cases would take me to Leeds or Liverpool and they’d be useful resources. I checked the phone book for Bradford and found just one Shuttle. Felt like my lucky day (though I couldn’t be dead certain it was the same couple). I wrote the number and address in my notebook for future reference. As they were no longer in the area and had moved away years ago I decided to wait before following them up. Jennifer’s friends were much more likely to have heard from her.

I got a call then from Mandy Bellows at the Neighbour Nuisance Unit at Manchester City Council. I’d done a bit of surveillance work for them the previous year, helping to gather evidence that they could use to take an anti-social tenant to court.

“Sal, how are you?”

“Fine, and you?”

“Too busy, half the team’s off ill with some nasty little virus and the rest of us are holding the fort. The reason I rang you,” she continued, “I’ve some clients suffering harassment, general unpleasantness from the neighbours. I want to see if we can gather enough firm evidence to go to court. Can you pop in on Thursday to talk about it?”

“Yes, morning?”

“Good, ten o’clock?”

“Yes, see you then.”

More work, more money. It was rare that I was only working on one case at a time and when I did there were gaps in my working day while I waited to interview people or receive replies to enquiries I made. It was much better when I’d a few things on the go at once and it also meant I was nearer to making a decent living out of the job. (Not good, just decent as in free of debts). It was a state I aspired to and achieved now and again, but never for long.

I glanced at the clock. There was just time to make a note of the areas I wanted to cover with Mrs Clerkenwell and pop home for a sandwich before our appointment. I was looking forward to finding out some more about Jennifer Pickering. I didn’t expect any hot tips as to where she was now but I hoped to learn a little about how she had been back then; a young girl about to fly the nest. What had she been expecting when she’d left for university? Was she anxious about it or eager? Had the Pickerings ever confided in Mrs Clerkenwell about what Jennifer had done or whether she had been in touch? I had no shortage of questions. I hoped that she would be able to answer at least some of them.

Heaton Mersey, the district where the Pickerings lived, isn’t far from Withington so I made the journey on my bicycle. That and swimming are the only regular exercise I get. Now and again I practise sprinting as a very useful skill for a private investigator to possess but I’m afraid I don’t do it as often as I should. Still I guess I could do a reasonable dash in the Mum’s 100 metres at school’s sports day - if they had a sports day.

The houses were good sized Edwardian semis, brick built, with tall, bay windows and sizable front gardens. Each had a driveway and garage. The gardens were well-tended. The neighbourhood looked settled, comfortable. Several windows sported Home Watch stickers.

I rang the bell for Mrs Clerkenwell and there was a burst of barking from inside. While I waited I looked at the adjoining house hoping to catch a glimpse of Mrs Pickering. There were no signs of life.

Mrs Clerkenwell opened her door. I introduced myself.

“Come in, I’ve shut the dogs in the garden, they get delirious over new people. Bring your bike in.”

“I can leave it in the back if you’d rather..”

“No problem. Can you manage?”

I wheeled the bike up the two steps to the front door and into the hall. There was plenty of space. I leant it against the wall, taking care not to scuff the wallpaper. We went along the hall to the back room and sat at a table by the window looking out onto the back garden. The rooms had high ceilings with moulded plaster edges and picture rails around the walls. It was decorated in creamy yellow with a mossy green for the woodwork. The colours lightened the room which could easily have been gloomy.

“Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee?”

“Coffee please, no sugar.”

She was a large-boned woman, in her fifties at a guess with grey shoulder length hair, a sallow complexion and chunky black-framed glasses. She wore dark slacks and a baggy woollen sweater, bottle green with flecks of colour in it, sprinkled with dog hairs.

From the chair I could see the garden, long and wide with a couple of apple trees at one side and a wall at the end. Flower borders ran the length of the lawn which had a wavy path down its centre. Two honey coloured Labradors were sniffing around the lawn and occasionally diving onto each other. An old larch-lap fence divided the garden from its neighbours on either side. I stood up to see what was visible of the Pickering’s garden to the left. I could make out the roof of a garden shed and a circular clothes dryer, the tips of a row of conifers at the far side, nothing more.

Mrs Clerkenwell returned with mugs of coffee.

“Roger has explained to you why I’m here? That he’s asked me to trace his sister, Jennifer?”

“Yes. Though I’m not sure what help I’ll be. I’ve often wondered what became of her.”

“What was she like?” I asked.

“Very lively, high spirits. Obviously got on well at school. Very bright, on the ball. She and Roger used to walk the dogs, he was not much more than a toddler when they first started. They’d take them down to the recreation ground or up to the park. Along the river sometimes. Once or twice she came along with me to a craft fair, I run a stall on a regular basis. She was a nice girl, I liked her.”

“And then she left home?”

“Yes, Keele wasn’t it? English degree. Couldn’t wait to get there. It was that terrifically hot summer, the drought. ‘76. You remember?”

I nodded. “And after that?”

“I never heard from her. Not that I expected to. I was only the next-door neighbour,” she laughed.

“Did you know that she’d not kept in touch with her family?”

“Not for some time, no. I think it was that Christmas, I saw Barbara and I asked her about Jennifer; how was she getting on, when would she be back - that sort of thing. She was quite abrupt. Told me that Jennifer had dropped out of university and that they’d no idea when they would hear from her again. I was surprised, I must admit. I never thought Jennifer would have given up her studies like that. Perhaps the course wasn’t what she’d expected. Anyway, Barbara obviously didn’t want to talk about it and we were never very chummy so that was it.” She wrinkled her nose and the heavy glasses bobbed up and down.

I took a swig of my coffee, it was cool enough to swallow.

“When Frank died I thought Jennifer might be back for the funeral but she wasn’t. It’s not the sort of thing you can ask about really, though people noticed. So, I knew she’d not been back to visit but I hadn’t realised that there had been no word at all until Roger called the other day.”

Mrs Clerkenwell had made no mention of a possible pregnancy, presumably Barbara Pickering had not referred to the disgrace her daughter had brought on the family as she had when talking to her son.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit extreme,” I asked her, “to sever all contact, just because she dropped out of university?”

“Well, yes,” she said hesitantly, “but then Barbara gave me the impression that it was Jennifer’s doing.” She frowned and thought for a minute. “Mind you, I don’t know what sort of reception she’d have got if she had come back and wasn’t making anything of her life.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, they were awfully strict. Some of it was to do with all their rules, from their church, the do’s and don’ts. They wouldn’t touch a drink and everything was either approved or denied. I could see Jennifer was rejecting all that even before she left home. They were very...intolerant I thought. We had a bit of a run-in years back. I was trying to organise some ecumenical services, different churches coming together and I knew Barbara and Frank were ‘Children of Christ’ but they were impossible; they’d no interest in building bridges, you’d have thought I’d made an improper suggestion the way they reacted. He started going on about undesirables and riff-raff and how could they vet the people involved.” She laughed. “I don’t know. I never knew them well but it didn’t strike me as a very happy household.”

“Were there arguments?”

“Not between Frank and Barbara I don’t think, but sometimes I’d hear Jennifer shouting at her mother - teenage tantrums I suppose. And Frank would lay the law down every so often. I’d hear him shouting sometimes. He was very old-fashioned, all king and country. To be honest I think having Jennifer was probably completely bewildering for him.”

“So you think it was Jennifer who made the break?”

“From what I was told. And it didn’t sound as though they had done anything about finding her, I suppose they thought she was old enough to look after herself. And Frank was very ill, you know, that wasn’t long after.”

“What was it?”

I drained my cup and continued to make notes.

“Angina. He stopped doing the garden. That used to be his pride and joy. We’d have a word over the fence. He struggled so hard during that summer with it, we couldn’t use hosepipes, you know, everything was so dry but Frank was determined to make it work. Then suddenly he had to leave it all. I could see everything going to seed. Heartbreaking really. He got very low, depression. I never heard that from them, you understand, but word gets out. I don’t think he ever really got better. It can take people like that can’t it, sudden illness, they have to give up work and they never really find their way again.” She glanced out of the window and snorted. “Look at that daft dog,” there was nothing but affection in her voice, “excuse me a minute.”

She went out and into the garden where I watched her remove the hosepipe from the dogs’ mouths thus curtailing their tug of war. I took the chance to glance back at the list of questions I’d come with. When she returned I began again.

“There’s just a few more points.”

“Fine, it’s a break from work,” she tilted her head towards the front of the house, “there’s a pile of stuff waiting in there for me to finish. I’ve got a big fair in Mobberley at the weekend. I’ll show you before you go.”

“Yes. You were able to remember some of Jennifer’s friends - Lisa and Frances and Caroline.”

“Fluke, really, though I am good with names. I know Frances Delaney and her family from church - St Winifred’s. And it so happens that I used to give all four of the girls a lift up to the Bounty, it’s closed now but back then it had banqueting suites and they were waitresses. I was doing table decorations there for a while but I had to let it go. It didn’t really pay enough and it meant me missing some of the craft fairs. Anyway, the girls would come here and I’d give them a lift up on the Saturday morning, they’d share a taxi back or get a bus into town and another one out again.”

“Were you aware of any boyfriends at the time?”

“No, well nothing serious. Of course there was endless speculating and giggling but I was never privy to any secrets. I was just the next door neighbour with a car. Now I don’t know if Frances still hears from Jennifer, have you got her number?”

I shook my head.

“Right,” she stood up and crossed to the table by the sofa, picked up the phone. “She’s not far away,” she said as she pressed the buttons, “she’s in Burnage. Lovely girl, four kiddies. Mary?” she spoke into the phone, “its Norma Clerkenwell...I’m fine...you? Listen, I’ve someone with me who wants to get in touch with Jennifer Pickering, from next door to me, does your Frances ever hear from her now? No. She’s not said anything. Well, apparently they haven’t, not in all this time. I’d Roger here the other day and he says they’ve no address or anything. It is a shame, it is...yes, especially with Barbara so poorly. Look, can you give me Frances’ number and this lady might want to ask her a few questions - trying to trace Jennifer, you see. Great.” She wrote the number down on a pad by the phone. “Thank you Mary, bye for now...and you, bye bye.”

She tore off the paper and gave me it. “Mary says Frances has never mentioned Jennifer. That’s her number. She’s still Frances Delaney, married a boy with the same name.”

On the way out she opened the door to the front room to show me her wares. She’d put a large work table in the centre of the room and it was scattered with clumps of fabric, jam jars full of paint, trays with beads and coloured glass nuggets, small mirrors and assorted picture frames. Tools and brushes were stuck into a collection of vases in the centre. There was a smell of glue and varnish.

“Looks like chaos doesn’t it,” she joked, “you can see the finished results over there.”