Aftermath. Part 15

in which a retired lady gives information and a decision is made.

*That's not the reason, darling.' Furlong Freda smiled at the suggestion. She sat in a small chair in the corner of the cluttered living room in her council house in Chapel Fields. Outside, the garden was overgrown, as were the gardens of many of the neighbouring houses. The streets were lined with old, very old, motor cars. Unpleasant odours lingered in the air as though a gas main had been fractured, or a main drain had burst somewhere beneath the road surface, and all exacerbated by the heat. Freda Queen was dressed only in a tee s.h.i.+rt and shorts and inhaled deeply on an inexpensive cigarette. The *gaol house tatt' described by Kenneth Lismore, *Freda', was as he described, prominent upon the back of her left hand. *No, they wouldn't allow working girls anywhere near the racecourse, and the punters who go to the races are not the sort of punters who are looking for a girl. A lot of them have their wives and children with them. I mean, it's a family day out, isn't it? And when the races are on the working girls are sleeping, getting ready for night and the trade in the night.' She inhaled and held the smoke in her lungs before exhaling slowly through her nostrils. *First f.a.g of the day,' she smiled, *a lifesaver.' She flicked the ash into the fire grate, which, like the fire grate in James Post's house, had become a gathering place for any small inflammable item. *No . . . that stems from when I got lifted for soliciting, years ago, darling, and the cop asked me why I was called "Furlong Freda", so I told him it was because I worked the racecourse, but I was put out at being arrested, that's why I said it, but the real reason is that I always gave value for money. I charged the same as the other girls but gave more . . . gave better . . . got a good reputation and had enough regulars not to have to take risks with strangers. I went the extra furlong . . . so I was "Furlong Freda McQueen". I called myself McQueen but my name is really just "Queen", plain old Freda Queen.'

*That we know,' Ventnor smiled.

*Never made no secret of it, darling.' Freda McQueen had a drawn, haggard-looking face and spoke with a harsh, rasping voice. She was in her fifties but could, thought both Ventnor and Webster, be taken for a woman in her seventies; Borstal training followed by a life on the streets does that to a woman.

From the room above came the sound of springs creaking, followed by footfall across the landing to the bathroom and the *click' of the lock on the bathroom door.

*Punter?' Webster asked.

*Boyfriend,' Freda McQueen replied proudly. *I'm retired, darling. I have boyfriends these days. They help me out financially but it's part of the relations.h.i.+p, not business. They don't hang around very long, just a few weeks at a time, but they're boyfriends.'

*I see.'

*So . . . Jim Post got iced did he? Little, no good, waste of s.p.a.ce that he was. He won't be missed.'

*We hope you can help us?'

*Anyway I can, darlin', anyway I can.'

*You have a helpful att.i.tude,' Webster smiled. *You've changed your att.i.tude to the police?'

*It was like this, love, I was what I was and the coppers who collared me was what they was, we was both of us just doing our jobs. It's the way the ball bounced in those days, dare say it still is, darling, dare say it still is.'

*Reckon it is,' Ventnor growled, *and I reckon it always will be.'

*Oldest profession, darling, that's what they say and it's nothing about exploiting women. The game is the oldest two-way street in the world. The girls exploit the men just the same. Anyway the law helped me. I was being stalked and the cops put a stop to it . . . a real creepy guy, phoning me . . . the lot, so I called in at Micklegate Bar.'

*That's where we are based.'

*Yeah? Well they helped me; this is twenty, thirty years ago now. I didn't think they'd help a working girl but they did . . . sort of unofficial. The stalking stopped, just stopped. I found out later they . . . the police, had bundled this creepy guy into a car one rainy night and driven him ten miles out of York, dragged him into a field and gave him a slap, left him to walk home with a sore face and the suggestion that he worked a little bit on his att.i.tude.'

Webster and Ventnor glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows.

*That wouldn't happen nowadays.' Ventnor turned his gaze back to Freda McQueen.

*It's the best way, if you ask me, it benefits everyone. I didn't get stalked no more, the police were not bogged down with paperwork and court appearances, and the felon avoided a criminal record. I've always said that a slap from a copper on a dark night up some snickelway is better than having to stand at the charge bar getting your record adding to, and your prints and DNA on file. I'd prefer a slap to a criminal record any day.'

*Which is why that sort of thing doesn't happen any more,' Ventnor explained. *These days we like fingerprints and DNA on file. All right, it means paperwork but in the long run it makes our job a lot easier.'

*I can see how that can make sense.' Freda McQueen grappled for another cigarette and lit it with a flourish of a dull gold-plated lighter.

*So, you've retired from all that anyway?'

*Yes, old and past it and on the sc.r.a.p heap with one or two boyfriends, like him upstairs,' she pointed to the ceiling just as the toilet was heard to flush, the bathroom door unlock and a heavy footfall return to the bedroom. *He's stamping his feet because he doesn't like visitors, but it's not his house is it and he's not paying. Last Christmas Day my dinner was beans on toast. Well . . . it was just another day wasn't it, darling?'

*For some . . . sadly, it's like that.' Ventnor spoke with some finality. He wanted to get the interview back on track. *So, James Post?'

*Yes . . . what about him?'

*What do you know about him?'

*Pretty well everything there is to know . . . and that isn't much . . . little man in every way. I tell you, even if they cremate him and put his ashes in an urn he'll occupy a bigger s.p.a.ce than he ever carved out for himself in this world. We kept each other company and yes, we knew each other in the biblical sense, didn't mean anything to either of us. Then I realized just how low I had sunk when I woke up to the fact that I'd taken him for a partner. He lived at the bottom of the pit, right at the end of the line . . . five feet nothing of me . . . me . . . me . . . all about him and full of resentment, burning up with it and wanting victims, not just one, but more than one. It was then I thought I can't do this, I can do better, even I can do better. I didn't want to be seen with him. Who you are seen with is who you are, that's why I used to work in Hull and Leeds in the main.'

*We noticed from your arrest record.'

*Well, York's a small city; there are people I don't want to know what I was. A lot of girls go out of York to work for that reason.'

*Yes, so we believe.'

*Jim Post,' Ventnor growled. *How did you meet him?'

Furlong Freda nodded to the television set in the far corner of the room, on top of which was a half-full bottle of vodka. *I'm on top of it now.' She flicked the ash from her cigarette into the fire grate. *Half a bottle between the two of us last night, just half a bottle, time was when I could sink two bottles a day by myself. Time was when that half-bottle would have been my breakfast. Time was, if it was booze it went down my neck. Never got as far as drinking bra.s.s polish but I was on my way there. I can't . . . I don't want to think what my insides are like,' she shook her head vigorously. *I carry a kidney donor card but when they lift my kidneys they'll take one look at them and then show them to medical students as an example of what an alcoholic's kidneys get to look like. Mind you, I suppose that is still some use, not the use I intended, but still use. Anyway, I woke up in the gutter once too often and thought that's it, AA for me, darling girl.'

*I thought you might say that,' Webster spoke softly. *It's a theme in this inquiry.'

*About Jim Post?'

*That and a wider inquiry. So you went to AA?'

*Yes, and that's where we met. We helped each other get dry and then he introduced me to a couple he knew, and I joined their breakaway group.'

*Breakaway group?'

*Jim Post introduced me. He took me along one night to a cafe in York and I met this really nice couple, Ronald and Sylvia . . . really charming. They just were able to make me feel good about myself. They said that they had been part of AA and got tired of it . . . same old same old . . . folk talking about how much they used to drink, and clearly exaggerating, and meeting the same people who were just addicts. Once addicted to booze they had become addicted to AA and lived just to attend the meetings. I was beginning to feel the same about AA. They got me off the booze . . . but those meetings . . . and Ronald explained that his group was just an alternative, but instead of listening to guest speaker's talk about their battle, we'd just sit in a cafe and chat, drinking coffee and killing the evening. So, I began to go along to that, met a few people.'

*Remember any names?'

*Helena and Roslyn . . . just two names . . . no surnames, sorry.'

*It's OK.'

*Once, twice a week, different people, men as well as women, but then I fell out with little Jimmy Post and never went again. I also found out that they were not friends with Jim Post, they used him, he was their gofer. I didn't want a boyfriend who was somebody's gofer.'

*I see.'

*But there was something going on. Jim used to have me photograph him in remote places.'

*How did you get there?'

*He was Ronald and Sylvia's gofer, he used their car. He'd got a driving licence when he was sober and never lost it. He just never drove; he never could afford a car, so never got done for drunken driving. So when he dried out he had a clean licence, very useful for someone who just runs errands.'

*All right, that explains something we wondered about.'

*Oh?'

*Yes, we have acquired some photographs showing Post standing in rural locations, sometimes he is looking at the ground. Someone had to have taken them or he used a timer device, or both.'

*Well probably both because I took some photographs of him. He was very insistent about the place, the place seemed more important than the photograph of himself somehow.'

*Can you remember any of the locations?'

*Just one with any certainty.'

*One out of how many?'

Freda McQueen shrugged, *Twenty? He took me all over the Vale from here to the coast, up into North Yorks.h.i.+re and down into Lincolns.h.i.+re.'

*We have some photographs of him but not that many.'

*He took a lot. He did his own developing.'

*Yes, we found his dark room.'

*He will have stashed his negatives somewhere,' she paused. *You know he said something once. We were driving back in their Lord and Ladys.h.i.+p's car and he said, "This is my insurance" . . . or-'

*Insurance?'

*Or protection . . . he might have said protection. In fact I think he did say protection. Then he said, "If I go down, they come with me".'

*If I go down they come with me?' Webster repeated.

*Yes, word for word that's what he said. I asked him what he meant and he said "nothing" or "never mind" or something like that.'

*And you can only remember one of the twenty or so locations?'

*Yes, he seemed to know where he was going, didn't mess about, always took us right there. The booze had left some of his brain without damage.'

*Can you show us?'

*Yes,' Freda McQueen smiled, *buy me a pub lunch and I'll show you exactly where.'

*You're on,' Ventnor replied. *It's a deal.'

Freda McQueen stood. *Just let me claw my kit on. I can't go out to a posh village dressed like this.'

Forty-five minutes later, Webster slowed to a stop in the car park of the Black Bull pub in the village of Temple Chitton, having followed Freda McQueen's directions. They stepped out of the car into fierce sunlight.

*See what I mean?' Freda McQueen announced, *About this being a posh village?'

The two officers looked about them. Near at hand, the car park of the Black Bull contained Range Rovers, a Bentley, two BMWs and a large, very large Mercedes. Further afield the houses of the village seemed to be mainly conjoined, each painted in bright blue and yellow pastel shades and each with a sound roof; clearly very well maintained properties. Further afield there stood larger houses in their own grounds, the land clearly marked by black painted metal railings or generously varnished wooden fencing.

*Yes,' Ventnor felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead, *there's money here all right. How do you know about this village, Freda?'

*You mean, the likes of me should come here?' Freda McQueen grinned. *You mean, I'm not posh enough, darling?'

She had changed into a long denim skirt with a red blouse and red shoes. Cheap clothing but she seemed to have done all she could to *look her best'.

*I didn't mean that, Freda. I didn't know this village existed, it's off the beaten track but it shouts of money.'

*Old money, darling, they like to keep themselves to themselves. I know it because I used to visit the colonel here; he was one of my regulars. He lived in that house over there.' Freda McQueen pointed to a well-appointed cottage painted in brilliant white, with the wooden beam and doors and window frames painted in equally bright gloss black paint. *He died some years ago.'

*You visited him here?' Webster could not hide his astonishment.

*Yes, during the day as well,' McQueen grinned then she tapped the side of her nose. *Didn't dress like a working girl, see, though I was discreet. I dressed in a tracksuit and carried a bag. Arrived on the morning bus and actually did housework, washed down the door and the ground floor windows in me pinafore, walked to the shop for cleaning stuff and furniture polish, then went inside so no one thought anything else but that Mrs Mop was calling to "do" for the colonel . . . once a week. Then I left on the afternoon bus back to York, but that's why I remember this being one of the places that Jim Post took me to take a photo of him. He never knew that I knew this village and I never told him. He paid well. The colonel I mean, not Jim Post.'

*So where is the place Jim Post had you photograph him standing?'

*Not yet, darling, I'm hungry, I haven't had a proper meal for two days. Hope you have a lovely thick wallet; food doesn't come cheap in the Bull. Not cheap at all, darling. Once I've eaten, then I'll take you there, where he had me photograph him.'

The man smiled at the woman and softly spoke, *It is time,' he said.

The woman returned the smile and replied, *Yes, if you say so, then it is time.'

Dr D'Acre emerged from the heat of the white tent which had been erected in a corner of a field, some half a mile from the village of Temple Chitton, and brushed a fly from her face. *Male,' she said, *comparatively recent burial . . . some clothing still intact, but definitely male. Some flesh still in evidence but almost skeletal. Strange place to dig a shallow grave,' she glanced around her. *Well tilled soil, not very remote. I would have thought someone would have noticed that some digging and burial had gone on . . . but . . . that's your neck of the woods Chief Inspector.'

*I was thinking much the same but that's for later discussion. Right now we have a deceased male in a shallow grave exactly where an informant said it would be.'

*You've got more than that.' Dr D'Acre smiled and allowed herself a brief and fleeting eye contact with Hennessey.

*Oh?'

*Yes . . . you've got a corpse with a present for you.'

*Really?'

*Yes, really, there's something in the mouth. It's a plastic bag. It could have been used for a gag, but it would be difficult to force into someone's mouth, and I can think of more convenient forms of gagging someone.'

*So can I.'

*So I felt it with my fingertips and there is something inside it . . . small and thin . . . difficult to tell what because of the layers of plastic, like a lump in a carpet which feels like it should be caused by a child's gla.s.s marble, but when you lift the carpet you find it's caused by something the size of a pea. So it's probably smaller than it feels to me but there is something in the mouth. I could take it out now but I'd prefer to do it in laboratory conditions.'

*Yes,' Hennessey spoke softly, *I think that would be better especially since there might be other "presents" for us.'

*Good point. Will you be observing for the police?'

*Yes, definitely.' Hennessey also looked about him, the field of wheat, the small stands of woodland, the green rolling hills beyond and the ridge of skyline which gave to a clear blue sky. *Yes,' he turned to Dr D'Acre, *yes, I will definitely be attending this one.'

Nigel Post, pale of face, drawn of expression, opened the door of his house to Carmen Pharoah. *Yes!' he said, with a mixture of curiosity and aggression borne out of a sense of being threatened.