Property of a Lady(24)

‘But there are such things as copycat crimes,’ said Lisa at once, and Nell was grateful for her quick understanding. ‘And there are weird people in the world nowadays. I’ll call the DI and let him know.’ She reached in a pocket for her phone. ‘There probably won’t be a connection, but let’s not ignore anything. How on earth did you know about it?’

‘It was in some old diaries I found,’ said Nell.

When the voice on the phone announced itself as being Detective Inspector Brent from Marston Lacy CID, Michael assumed it was something to do with Charect House. Perhaps the builders had blown the place up, or maybe there had been a breakin.

But it was nothing to do with Charect House at all. DI Brent wanted to talk to him about Mrs Nell West and her daughter.

‘Beth?’ said Michael, puzzled. ‘Is anything wrong?’ He listened with mounting horror as the inspector explained that Beth West had apparently vanished that morning.

‘That being so, sir, we’re just checking on recent visitors to the antique shop.’

‘Well, I was there at the weekend,’ said Michael. ‘I called in to introduce myself to Nell West. She’s helping some American friends of mine find furniture for a house they’ve just acquired in the area. Charect House. I expect you know it.’

‘I do indeed, Dr Flint. What time would that be? When you called in?’

‘Late afternoon on Friday. I can’t remember the exact time. Oh, and I was there next morning, on the way back to Oxford. Just very briefly, though. About eleven-ish, that was.’

‘Any particular reason for that second call, sir?’

‘Not specially. There was an idea that Beth might become friendly with the daughter of my American friends – they’re the same age – so I thought I’d take the acquaintanceship a bit further. Inspector, what d’you think’s happened to Beth?’

‘We don’t know yet, but I’m sure we’ll find her,’ said the inspector in what Michael thought was an automatically reassuring voice. ‘Tell me, Dr Flint, is there anyone who can vouch for your movements from around eight thirty this morning?’

‘What?’ said Michael, stunned. ‘Are you wondering if I’ve got anything to do with—’ He broke off, fighting the sudden anger. ‘I’m sorry. It’s understandable that you should ask. A stranger befriending Nell West and her daughter – a single man. And two days later the daughter disappears.’


‘I’m grateful you see it that way, sir. It’s purely for elimination, you know.’

‘I had breakfast in my rooms here at seven thirty,’ said Michael. ‘I can’t back that up – oh wait, though, the porter brought up the milk, he’d remember. After that I had a meeting with my faculty head – eight forty-five. That’s a regular Monday morning event. There were four others there – you can have their names, but they’re all senior members of the college. At ten I had a tutorial with four of my second-year students – we had a cup of coffee together at eleven. Any more?’

‘That’s absolutely fine, Dr Flint,’ said Inspector Brent warmly. ‘If there’s anything that occurs to you that might help us, I’d be glad if you’d give me a call. Here’s the number.’ Michael foraged on his desk for a pen and scribbled the number down. ‘Anything at all that you might have noticed while you were in the shop.’

‘I do remember Beth having a vicious nightmare,’ said Michael. ‘I’m no psychologist, but I suppose that might indicate some deep-seated fear. I wouldn’t have thought it would cause her to run away, though.’

‘We know about the nightmares,’ said the inspector. ‘Thank you, Dr Flint.’

Clearly, he was preparing to ring off. Michael said quickly, ‘Inspector – is there anything I could do to help? Is Nell – Mrs West – coping?’

‘Just about,’ said Inspector Brent. ‘The parents usually manage to stay in control until there’s a – well, some definite news.’

‘I see. Thank you.’ This time he did ring off. Michael sat wrapped in thought for a few moments, then hunted out the card Nell had given him and, before he could think too much about it, dialled her number.

She answered at once, with a breathless eagerness that brought home to him how she must be sitting next to the phone, willing it to ring, willing there to be good news.

He said, quickly, ‘Nell, it’s Michael Flint. I’ve just had a call from Inspector Brent. This is dreadful. Is there any news?’

‘Oh, Michael— No, nothing yet. It’s nice of you to phone, though.’

‘Would you let me know when she’s found?’ he said.

‘Yes, of course. Thank you for saying “when”.’

‘No clues as to what happened? Where she might be?’

‘No, except—’

‘The nightmares?’ said Michael.

‘Yes.’ He heard the relief in her voice, as if she was grateful to him for identifying the nightmares as a possible clue. ‘And there’s one other thing – it’s only very small, but I discovered that another seven-year-old girl vanished in Marston Lacy in the nineteen sixties. I know it’s too far back to have any real connection, but still.’