Thompson, too, was an early riser, but arrived at Kerry Macklin’s house a fraction after Keene and Moore. He parked a little way up the road, pulled his cap down over his eyes, and dozed, content to let them have their time with Kerry first.

Three

KERRY MACKLIN

Kerry opened the front door slowly, cautiously. She had seen the two men get out of the car and did not like the look of them. She pulled the dressing-gown across her chest and held it tight against her throat with her left hand, keeping her right hand on the door handle, ready to slam it shut.

Briefly she cursed her father for not having fitted the security chain he had so often promised. One of them was tall and slim, and wore a smart grey suit. He had dark hair, and his hands were thrust deep into his trouser pockets. The other was shorter with fair hair that looked as though it was dyed. He wore a leather jacket and jeans. Definitely not double glazing salesmen, Kerry thought. She had watched them walk up the drive, peering out from behind the net curtains. The shorter, younger man had rung the doorbell.

Before either of the two men could speak, she said,

'What do you want? There's no one here but me.'

'We're Police officers. Detective Sergeant Keene and Detective Constable Moore.'

One of them held up a warrant card.

'What do you want?'

'Are you Kerry Macklin?'

'Yes.'

'We're investigating the murder of one of your friends, Kim Catchpole.'

Kerry's face drained. She started to keel over, and Keene caught her under the arms.

Together they carried her into the living room and deposited her gently on the sofa.

'I'm sorry - I've had the 'flu.'

'Get her some water,' Keene said. Moore quickly found the kitchen.

'Must have been a shock?' Keene observed.

Kerry started to revive and swung her legs onto the floor so that she could sit up. She carefully arranged her dressing-gown so that only her ankles and wrists were showing. For a sixteen-year-old she was remarkably attractive and perfectly well aware of it. She was fully developed with long, auburn hair and a perfectly-proportioned figure.

'Was she staying with you?' Keene asked.

'She was supposed to be, but she never turned up. I couldn't phone, it's not working.'

'Check the phone,' Keene ordered. Moore lifted the old red receiver and put it briefly to his ear. The telephone looked like something you might pick up at a boot sale. Kerry’s father had a saying: ‘If it works, leave it alone.’ He had seen no reason to replace the telephone. Except, it had not been working earlier in the week. She would have telephoned Kim Catchpole, wouldn’t she?

'It's working.'

'They must have fixed it,' Kerry muttered.

'Must have,' Keene agreed.

'And I had the 'flu. Still have,' she continued.

'When was the last time you spoke to Kim?'

'At school on Monday.'

'And when was she supposed to come and stay with you?'

'After school on Tuesday.'

'And when she didn't turn up you tried the phone and it wasn't working?'

'We didn't specify a time.'

'What?'

'We never said a time for her to be here. I just assumed she'd changed her mind.'

'She didn't turn up?'

'No!'

'And you didn't do anything about it?'

'I told you, the telephone was on the blink, and I had the 'flu. I hadn't been feeling well all day, and I even thought about telling her not to come.'

'But you didn't.'

'No.'

'So when she didn't turn up you decided to telephone and that was when you found out it wasn't working?'

'No.'

Keene and Moore exchanged glances.

'I'm missing something here, I think,’ Keene said. ‘Who did you telephone to find out it wasn't working? You must have used it to find out it wasn't working!'

'No-one. I didn't. Dad tried it early in the evening. He said it wasn't working. He said he'd use the car 'phone to report it.'

'They were still here Monday evening? Your parents?'

Kerry nodded.

'Early evening. They left about five-thirty.'

'And where are they now?'

'On their way back from London, I hope.'

'Today?'

'Should be.'

Keene sighed.

'Right. Let's get this straight. You last spoke to Kim Monday afternoon and made arrangements for her to spend a few days with you while your parents were away in London. Kim didn't turn up. You knew you couldn't telephone her because your dad told you the telephone wasn’t working. In the meantime you went down with the 'flu. And all this time you assumed that Kim was with the Robertsons?'

'That's right.'

'And you never bothered to check?'

'I told you, I've had the 'flu. I spent most of the last four days in bed. I got up to make tea and toast but I've been really ill!'

Keene raised his hands to calm her down.

'All right, all right. We're just trying to establish what happened. For all we know you might have been the last person to see Kim alive. It's important you tell us everything you know.'

'Not much to tell.'

Kerry stood up suddenly and pulled the dressing-gown around her, but not before Keene was able to see that she was entirely naked underneath.

'I'm going to have some coffee. Want some?'

'Please. No sugar.'

'We should have a WPC here, Sarge,' Moore observed quietly, after she had gone into the kitchen and out of earshot.

'Maybe.'

'Shall I call for one?'

'Not now. Nearly finished here. Call the operator and check if daddy really did report a fault.'

Moore nodded and went to the telephone. Keene followed Kerry into the kitchen.

'You weren't afraid, being here on your own?' he asked.

'I was too ill to be afraid.'

She picked up the kettle and poured boiling water into the three mugs, taking care to hold the dressing-gown around her.

'Anyway, what is there to be afraid of?' she asked with a not too innocent smile, then remembered Kim Catchpole. Her eyes widened and she blushed fiercely.

'I'm sorry. Do her parents know?'

'Not yet. We haven't been able to trace them yet. We think they may be in London.'

'That's why she was staying at the Robertsons.'

'I'll help you with those.'

Keene picked up two of the mugs and their hands touched momentarily. She really was extraordinarily attractive for such a young girl.

Neither spoke.

They went back into the living room.

'There was a fault reported on this line at seven-thirty Monday evening,' Moore said.

'You didn't believe me!' she said accusingly, looking directly at Keene, her eyes blazing.

'We have to check everything. You understand.'

'Yeah.'

It was the stock reaction of youth to authority.

'Everything,' Keene said again.

'You can see I'm ill, what made you think I might be lying about the telephone?'

For the first time, hearing her voice raised, Keene thought he could detect a slight Liverpool accent.

'We didn't disbelieve you,' he said gently.

'Then why check? Am I a suspect or something? Do you have 'reason to believe' that I might know more than I'm letting on?'

'I told you, we have to check everything.'

'We're not from the local nick,' Moore said.

Keene drank some of the coffee, put the mug on the table and for the first time noticed the half-full ashtray partially covered by today's newspaper.

'Is there anything else you can tell us, Kerry?' he asked. His voice was soothing, gentle, but there was a steel edge to it that made her feel uncomfortable.

'Such as what?'

'Anything at all. Was she popular at school? Did she mix with the others or were you her only friend? Did she have a boyfriend? Have you seen anyone suspicious in the village lately, someone you didn't recognise? Let's start at the beginning, shall we? Tell us about Kim at school.'

'Some of us go round together. Nobody in the group disliked Kim.'

'But other girls did?'

'Some of the older girls.......disapproved, I suppose.'

'Did she mix? In class, out of class?'

'She was quite good at most things, better than me, but not in the top ten, like.'

'Was she a happy sort of girl?'

Kerry looked up.

'I suppose so. She had downs, like all of us. Periods and so on. You know how it is.'

'Yes. Go on. Were you her only real friend?'

'I suppose.'

'She didn't stay over with any of the other girls?'

'Not as far as I know.'

'Boyfriends?'

Kerry nodded. She knew that her colour was again heightening. She was uncomfortable giving such personal information to a couple of strangers.

'What about Kim?'

'I thought that's who we were talking about. No, I don’t think she had a regular boyfriend. Look, do I have to answer all these questions, I mean, do my Mum and Dad have to know anything about all this?'

'It's possible. Probable,' Moore said. 'Do you mind if I smoke?'

He got out a packet of cigarettes and lit one before Kerry could answer. Keene watched, displaying no emotion. He was himself violently anti-smoking but was interested to see if Kerry would herself indulge as she apparently had been during the last few days.

Nervously, she bit her lip and fidgeted her hands about her dressing-gown.

'Your parents will have to know that your friend died when she was supposed to be staying with you. Let's carry on, shall we? Have you seen anyone suspicious in the village?'

'I told you, I've been ill. I haven't been out. I've hardly opened the curtains for four days. Anyway, was she killed in the village?'

'Makes no difference where she was killed. She left the Robertsons intending to come here to stay with you. She must have been somewhere in the village Tuesday night.'

'When she was picked up,' finished Moore.

Keene stood up abruptly.

'I think that's enough for now, Kerry. Thanks for being so helpful. We may need to talk to you later. Hopefully your parents will be back soon.'

‘Do you know who did it?’ she asked.

‘Some geezer called Clitheroe,’ Keene replied. ‘He’s on the run, escaped from prison earlier in the week.’

‘Donald Clitheroe? Isn’t he Kim’s uncle or some cousin or other? I’ve heard her talk about him. I think she went to visit him in prison a couple of years ago.’

Keene and Moore exchanged glances. They did not know that the man was related to the dead girl in any way. Nobody had seen fit to tell them this important fact. Perhaps nobody knew.

‘You haven’t caught him yet?’

‘We’re closing in on him,’ Moore said.

‘That’s why you’re here, talking to me,’ Kerry observed, with a trace of sarcasm.

‘Time we were going,’ Keene said. ‘You’ll be all right, now?’

Kerry nodded.

'We'll leave you to get the house ready for their return,' he finished, his eyes travelling once more to the ashtray.

She nodded again. As they reached the front door, a thought occurred to her.

'Shouldn't there have been a policewoman here when I was interviewed?' she asked.

Moore looked anxiously at Keene.

'Strictly speaking, yes. But you didn't raise any objections to us coming in, did you? So it doesn't really matter, does it?'

'See you again,' said Moore, and they walked out to the car.

'You bet,' Kerry murmured. She shut the door quietly, went into the living room and sat down.

'Bastards!' she muttered. 'I'll get you, you see if I don't!'

A few moments later the doorbell rang, startling her.

'What do they want now?' she hissed, fighting back unexpected tears. She wrenched open the front door. Standing in the doorway, his coat collar turned up against the cold, was Thompson, whom she knew to be the father of one of the girls in her year.