[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.There was carpet on the stairs and it had been hoovered so recently that there were still stripes in the pile.Had Shirley cleaned because she was expecting guests? Or was she always so house-proud? Holly suspected the latter and wondered briefly how Hewarth could have worked for the charity in the mucky office in Bebington.And her work would have taken her to even more scuzzy houses, when she was interviewing her clients.But my work takes me into places that make me feel filthy just stepping in through the door.Perhaps that’s why we both kept our homes so clean.At the top of the stairs there was a hall with four doors leading off.A coat-stand and shoe-rack.Everything orderly, everything in its place.The first door led to the bathroom.Holly found only women’s toiletries in the wall cupboard and only one toothbrush in the glass mug by the sink.So it seemed Shirley had lived here alone.Like Holly and Vera, she’d been a single woman.There were two bedrooms, one looking out over the street, with a double bed, and a smaller room with a futon that could be let down for visitors.Holly already had the impression that this wasn’t the home of a lonely woman, even if she had lived alone.Surely Shirley would have friends.Her room had a bay window that would give her a glimpse of the sea.The furniture was old, without being special or antique, inherited perhaps from relatives.On one wall a series of watercolours.Holly opened the dark-wood wardrobe.It contained work clothes – smart but sober skirts, shirts and jackets, a couple of dresses that might have been worn to weddings or functions.A row of shoes on the floor underneath.Nothing expensive or unusual.In the chest of drawers chain-store underwear and jeans, T-shirts and jerseys.All neatly folded.This was a woman of a certain age with a limited budget, who didn’t want to stand out from the crowd and took care of what she had.The room with the futon had a built-in cupboard.It was empty apart from a man’s denim jacket and a suit.Holly tried to work out from the style if they might belong to a son, or if they’d been left behind by a former husband or boyfriend.In the end she gave up.By now someone would have found out about Shirley’s next of kin and they should have the family details.They would know about an ex-partner or children.The final door led to a living room and then to a tiny kitchen, which had been built as an extension to the back of the building.The living room was small and square.There was an original grate surrounded by shiny green tiles, and the walls had been painted a paler shade of the same colour.It looked as if Shirley had lit fires here in the winter – a copper bucket of smokeless fuel still stood next to the hearth Bookshelves in the alcoves each side of the chimney.A lot of work-related non-fiction: criminology, sociology, child-development.The rest contemporary paperback novels.Still nothing unexpected or out of the ordinary.Nothing to allow Holly to explain to Vera why the woman had been killed.A pine table was folded against one wall and a sofa stood against another.Four Ikea chairs were stacked.Again Holly imagined friends, pictured them sitting round the table for supper.Other women sharing gossip and food.People with whom Shirley had worked in the probation service perhaps.Holly felt a moment of regret.Perhaps she should make more effort with her friends, invite them to a meal in her home.But her flat was her refuge and she couldn’t imagine it rowdy with laughter, wine spilt on the table or scraps of food on the floor.A single step led down to the kitchen.This space was so narrow that Holly could almost touch both walls by stretching out her arms.The sink and cooker stood on one side and a workbench on the other.At the far end was another door that led to stone steps and down to the back yard.A street lamp lit up a paved area with more pots of herbs and flowers, a small wooden garden table and chairs, a rotary washing line and, tucked into one corner, a wheelie-bin.No moth trap.Beyond a brick wall an alley.Most of the adjoining yards would be identical.Holly tried to recapture her response to the living Shirley Hewarth, but the woman seemed to slide away from her.Wandering around her home had brought her no closer.Standing at the top of the step between the kitchen and the living room, Holly looked around both spaces.There was no television.Unusual surely, for a single woman of Shirley’s age.How did she spend the time when she wasn’t at work? Her friends wouldn’t visit every evening.Or did work take up most of her time? On the back of the door that led to the steps down to the yard there was a cork noticeboard.For the first time Holly caught a sense of the victim.There was a recent photo of the woman with a young man who looked so like Shirley that it must be a son.Shirley with a group of women in anoraks and walking boots, grinning outside a country pub.An invitation to a sixtieth birthday party, and another to a retirement bash.Holly made a note of the names and addresses.A couple of scribbled recipes.The programme for Sage Gateshead, the music venue.Ticks beside the classical concerts.A ticket for a drama at the Live Theatre a couple of days later.So Shirley liked her culture.Perhaps she was snobby about her entertainment and that explained the absence of a television.Remembering what they’d learned about Patrick Randle’s movements from the food he’d bought, Holly opened the fridge.No meat or fish.A tub of hummus and some cheese.Milk, eggs, salad.A packet of supermarket raspberries [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]