‘Yes, that’s right. They’re in India for a month… another holiday.’ A roll of the eyes before she continued, ‘Those two are never here since Barry came into some money. They’ve gone a bit flash since then. So, why do you want to speak to them? Is it to do with what’s happened to those two women, Frankie’s old school friends? Everyone’s talking about it.’
Barnes was expecting this. ‘I’m trying to get in touch with their daughter Francesca… and I didn’t get your name Mrs…?’
‘Henderson.’ The woman hitched her shopping bag onto the fence post, clearly going nowhere fast.
‘So, Mrs Henderson, would you have a number for the Hoopers by any chance?’
At this the neighbour bridled slightly. ‘Of course I do, I’m the guardian of their house while they’re away but Sylvia said only to contact her if it was an emergency because they were hoping to get away from it all. Is it an emergency, then? Why you want to speak to them and Frankie? That’s what we all call her by the way, not Francesca.’
Barnes sucked in his impatience. ‘No, it’s not an emergency, Mrs Henderson, but nevertheless I’d be grateful if you could give me their mobile numbers so I can perhaps track Frankie down. That’d be most helpful.’
Mrs Henderson regarded him suspiciously for a minute and then went to pull out her phone, talking as she scrolled. ‘Like I said, you probably won’t be able to reach Sylvia. I’ve only got her number by the way, not Barry’s, but he never has it switched on even when he’s here. Drives Sylvia mad he does… but I suppose you could just call round to Frankie’s if you can’t get her number.’
At this Barnes’ ears pricked up. ‘Do you know where Frankie lives, Mrs Henderson?’ He attempted not to show his irritation tinged with eagerness, but heard it in his own voice. The stupid woman could have said so at the beginning.
‘Yes, but only by accident really. I was round at Sylvia’s having a coffee and I saw a pile of Christmas cards on the kitchen table and the top one was addressed to Frankie.’
‘So you remember the address?’
‘Oh yes.’ Mrs Henderson looked smug. ‘Flat four, Nightingale House, Chorlton. Number four is the same as mine, see,’ she pointed to her own front door, ‘and Nightingale was my house at school, never forgot that, and my old granddad worked at the bus depot in Chorlton. My Jeff says I’m a mine of information, there’s all sorts stored in here, I can tell you.’ She tapped the side of her head and winked.
Barnes was scribbling it down in his notebook, then looked up and prompted Mrs Henderson. ‘And the mobile… for Mrs Hooper, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Oh yes, here, you read it because I can’t see properly without my specs.’ She held up the phone and waited until Barnes had taken the details.
‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Henderson, you’ve been extremely helpful.’ Barnes turned to leave but was halted by a question.
‘Will you be telling them about the two women? Frankie rarely comes back but I’m sure she must know about Scarlet Jones at least. It’s been all over the local news but the other one, her friend Bea, maybe not. I dithered over sending Sylvia a message but thought better of it. Not the most pleasant thing to hear when you’re on holiday, is it?’
Barnes was somewhat surprised by Mrs Henderson’s tact but suspected there’d been a battle of the wills not to pass on some gossip, regardless of the circumstances. That said, he wasn’t going to divulge anything that she could spread around the village so did his best to curtail the conversation. ‘As I said, thank you for your co-operation, I’ll let you go on your way.’
Mrs Henderson persisted. ‘Well, if you do get hold of Sylvia will you let her know that her alarm went off twice last week, in the early hours. Me and my Jeff went in to check but couldn’t find anything wrong. He reckons it could have been a spider, or a mouse. Anyway we re-set it and locked up after ourselves and then about three hours later it went off again. Jeff wasn’t best pleased, I can tell you. So when you speak to Sylvia I’d be grateful if you could let her know we’re taking care of things.’
Barnes halted and the hairs on his arms stood on end. ‘Their alarm went off, you say. Can you remember what night exactly? Just for my records.’
‘Yes, it was Wednesday, bin day, like I said, about four in the morning, then again around seven. Why, is that important?’
‘No, like I said, best to make a note. If it goes off again would you let me know? Here’s my card.’ Barnes took one out of his inside suit pocket and Mrs Henderson examined it through squinted eyes. Meantime his paranoia was through the roof, the notion of coincidences rapidly diminishing. Could someone have been in the Hooper residence on the same day that Bea Butler mysteriously fell down her own stairs? Something wasn’t right and he knew his next question would only fuel Mrs Henderson’s curiosity but it had to be asked.
‘You haven’t told anyone else where Miss Hooper lives, have you?’
The reply was instant and forthright, accompanied by a worried look. ‘No, nobody, not even my Jeff. Why would I?’
A nod preceded Barnes’ answer. ‘Good, and no reason, but I would ask you to keep our conversation today to yourself and please do not repeat the whereabouts of Miss Hooper to anyone, do I make myself understood?’
Mrs Henderson paled slightly and swallowed. ‘Perfectly. And if you see Frankie please give her my love and tell her to take care. I’ve known her since she was little. She’s a good girl and I never agreed with the things people said about her, you know.’
It was clear from the look on Mrs Henderson’s face and the watery eyes that the seriousness of the situation wasn’t lost on her and as he walked away, Barnes felt he may have judged her harshly so gave her a short wave. He was behind the wheel, watching Mrs Henderson, when his phone began to vibrate inside his pocket. The screen said it was DC Langley, one of his colleagues and a good mate who worked on the same team. When he answered, it became immediately clear that he hadn’t called for a social reason and that the investigation had taken a sinister turn.
Barnes listened carefully as Pete updated him on the Bea Butler situation. The victim had finally emerged from her coma and managed a few words, enough to raise concerns when she whispered to her husband that there was a ghost in their house, with blue hands and it had pushed her down the stairs. At first Mr Butler thought she was delirious and confused, then realised the significance and passed it on to the detectives in charge of the case. It seemed highly likely that there had been someone else in the house with Bea Butler and this put a whole new slant on the investigations. In a lowered voice Pete said that things had gone a bit mental at the police station and it was all hands on deck so he’d better get back there, pronto.
Heart pounding, Barnes turned the key, started the car and put it into gear. With a last look at the retreating body of Mrs Henderson, he pulled away and headed off, not towards the station, but Chorlton and Frankie Hooper’s flat.
28
The atmosphere in the van as they trundled along the busy autoroute was flat to say the least. Spud had plugged in his earbuds the second his bottom hit the middle seat, and Ken volunteered to drive up to the ferry port at Caen leaving Jed to stare out of the window, his heart getting heavier with every passing kilometre. They’d been on the road an hour when the first petrol station came into sight and Ken pulled in so they could fill up for the journey home.
There were two vehicles in front of them waiting to refuel so giving Spud a nudge, Ken handed him a twenty-euro note and told him to go inside and get some cold drinks in. ‘Not beer, obviously,’ he added because you couldn’t be too sure with the gormless turtle.
