Deliver Us from Evil by Peter Turnbull Page A

he wasn’t on holiday or on vacation as he might have said. The Canadian, he was a man with a mission. He liked his English beer, though, drove away well over the legal limit but he could handle it. He had to go back to Malton.’
    â€˜Malton?’
    â€˜Yes, he said that once at about nine thirty one evening and he sank his pint in a hurry, as though he was under time pressure. I thought then that it was a good thirty minutes drive . . . so he had to be home by ten, wherever “home” was, as though he was staying at a guest house which locked the doors at ten p.m. sharp.’
    â€˜All right. That’s interesting. Did he ever indicate to you or anyone that you know of, did he ever hint at his purpose? I mean did he indicate the nature of the agenda you mention?’
    â€˜No . . . not to me though he was apparently interested in the old house out of the village, the crumbling mess occupied by an old boy called Beattie. You can’t miss it.’
    â€˜Yes, we have visited Mr Beattie. He also mentioned the large, well built man looking at his house but he thought that the Canadian, being the man in question, was more interested in the occupants than he was interested in the house itself.’
    â€˜Occupants? Since his wife died the old boy is the sole occupant, the old boy who is rumoured not to feel the cold . . . they say he sleeps in his kitchen.’
    â€˜Oh, he feels it all right,’ Yellich replied, ‘he feels it, he just has a different attitude towards it than do the rest of us. We believe that when the Canadian was in the vicinity he, that is Mr Beattie, had a live-in help . . . a lady . . . as a domestic assistant. We believe that she was the object of the Canadian gentleman’s interest.’
    â€˜Ah . . . of that I know nothing. He said nothing about that when he was drinking his beer.’
    â€˜I see. Did he talk to any other customers in the pub?’
    â€˜Anybody who talked to him but he preferred his own company. He came in for a few beers, not idle chat. He was that sort of man.’
    â€˜Did you find out anything about him, anything at all?’
    â€˜Came from Barrie, he said. He did tell me that.’
    â€˜Barrie?’
    â€˜Confess I had never heard of the place, but it’s north of Toronto. I could name Ottawa, Toronto, Montreal and Vancouver as Canadian cities but never heard of Barrie . . . spelled with an “ie” at the end, not a “y”.’
    â€˜Well, you got closer than anyone, physically closer, that is to say, and so we’d like you to help us construct a photofit of the man, or rather a computer generated image. What time would suit you?’
    Selsey gave Yellich a sour look, ‘If you could manage to avoid weekend evenings I’d appreciate it.’
    â€˜Later today perhaps?’ Yellich suggested. ‘Would that be convenient?’
    Carmen Pharoah drove away from Stanley Hemmings’s house and then parked her car and walked back the 200 yards and knocked on his neighbour’s door. Her knock sounded loudly and hollowly within the house. As she waited for the knock to be answered she glanced at Hemmings’s house. She did not see him and thus was relieved that he clearly had not seen her. If he had noticed her it would not have mattered, but on balance, she preferred him not to have seen her. It made things easier somehow. The door was eventually opened by a late middle-aged woman, short, with a pinched face, who met Carmen Pharoah with a cold stare and clear dislike of Afro-Caribbeans.
    â€˜What?’ She demanded. ‘What is it? What do you want? Who are you?’
    â€˜Police.’ Carmen Pharoah showed the woman her ID.
    â€˜Oh?’ The woman seemed to relax her attitude a little, though she still demanded ‘What?’ for a fourth time.
    â€˜May I come inside? I’d like to ask you some