Towers of Silence - страница 9

Connie Johnstone’s home was one of these. The windows weren’t new uPVC but had recently been painted, and a winter window box with conifers, pansies and heathers provided a splash of colour at the bay window.

Patrick let me in. I left my coat on the pegs in the hallway and then went on through to the back room with him. They were all there. Martina and Roland sat on a large russet-coloured sofa opposite the television, Connie at a beech dining table in the first part of the room. I could smell coffee and a sweeter smell – fabric conditioner from a blanket drying on a rack by the radiator. The walls were painted pale terracotta with cream above the picture rail and on the ceiling. Thick curtains in a darker terracotta covered the window at the rear. Pale wood shelves beside the television held large church candles, a large piece of driftwood, some pebbles. A painting hung opposite the door, blocks of cream, gold and apricot, abstract but it made me think of buildings on a hillside. There was an air of tension in the atmosphere and I wondered whether I had interrupted a family row.

I put the folder down along with my own file and took a chair next to Connie.

“You can go do your homework,” she said to the other two. “We’ll call you if we need you.” They seemed glad to escape and the atmosphere certainly lightened once they’d gone.

Over the next hour I worked through all the known facts about Miriam Johnstone: her friends, routines, contacts, the places she visited, where she shopped and worshipped, her doctor, hairdresser and dentist. Connie gave me her mother’s address and phone book and her small appointments diary. I confirmed that the photo of Miriam was dated correctly and that she hadn’t changed her appearance substantially since it was taken. I would need to make copies of it to show to people.

I wrote down a potted history of her life and made a sketch of the known and close family tree; it was quite a small family. Miriam had no brothers or sisters though there were cousins still in Jamaica. She was fifty years old when she died. Mr Johnstone had left them while Miriam was carrying Roland.

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.”