at the bus stop.’
‘Vivid. Closemy eyes, she’s there.’
‘Describe it.’
Marshall cut across a triangular piece of balsa, then laid down the knife. But he did not move from the table.
‘I used to drive for Reynard’s Wholesale Greengrocer. Drove for them, what, twelve years? It was a Friday. I was in Parkside Drive … there was a traffic hold-up, not sure why … that’s one thing I’m not so clear about. Bit blurry. I mean, I droveall day, every day. But I was held up. And she was at the bus stop, by herself. I can see her now.’
‘You noticed young girls a lot then?’
Serrailler shot Ben a look.
Marshall bent over the model and with a pair of tweezers, laid the triangular piece of balsa onto the roof. ‘Haven’t you been through my record with a nit comb, then?’ He stood upright. ‘Because if not, maybe you should.’
‘Whatare you trying to say, Mr Marshall?’
‘Back to the bus stop.’ Serrailler interrupted quickly. ‘Can you describe her?’
‘Oh yes. Clear as clear. About fourteen, fifteen – young teenage. Fair hair, really fair, like Scandinavian, you know, and tied back. She was carrying a tennis racket in one of those covers. She might have had another bag, I’m not sure. It was her face I remember. She had thislook.’
‘Look?’
‘Listen, this’ll sound – well, after the event, you know? I mean, when I saw the photos of her in the papers. But I don’t think it is. She had – an expression. Happy. You don’t see people look happy, just plain happy, do you? They look worried, they look worn down, they’re frowning, or maybe laughing out loud … but this was – just happy. I remember it.’
‘Did she catch the bus?’
‘Not that I saw. Next thing, road was clear and I was on my way.’
‘Thought no more about it?’ Vanek said.
Marshall shook his head. ‘You’re wrong there. I thought about it. I had her happy face in my mind on and off all day. Just this blonde-haired girl with a happy face. Kept me going, you know? And not in the way you’re thinking. Not in that way at all.’
‘And you didn’t see anyone with her,approaching her, talking to her?’
‘No. She was on her own.’
‘Did you see the bus draw up?’
‘No.’
‘Is there anything else at all you remember?’
‘No. Just her. I wished I bloody well had. When I read about her. Wished I’d seen her get on the bus or not get on the bus – wished I’d seen anything. But I didn’t. What happened to her?’ he asked Serrailler. ‘What the hell happened to the poor kid?’
‘It’s my job to find out.’
‘Wish I’d seen something else.’
‘You didn’t stop and talk to her?’ Vanek asked.
Marshall turned. ‘No. I did not.’
‘Give her a lift, maybe? Pretty young girl who caught your eye, couldn’t get her out of your mind. Didn’t maybe go back and pick her up?’
‘No. I did not.’
Serrailler put his card on the table beside the model. ‘If you remember anything else – even somethingvery small and you think of no significance – please ring me.’ He bent again to look closely at the model. ‘It’s good,’ he said. ‘From just a photograph.’
‘Yes, well, I have a lot of time on my hands, don’t I? Started doing it inside. It got to me.’
‘Keep them all in the attic, do you?’ Vanek asked.
‘I don’t. They get auctioned. Raise money.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Children in Need. Nine thousand poundsin six years, if you want to know.’
‘That’s sick,’ the sergeant said getting into the car. ‘Children in Need!’
‘So what would you rather he did? Stuff them in the attic like you said?’
‘Might choose a different good cause. You know, cancer or something.’
‘Maybe he thinks he’s still paying. Still trying to make it good.’
Vanek sniffed. ‘I shouldn’t say it, but I hate paedophiles.’
‘That much,’Simon said, putting his foot down, ‘is obvious. Don’t let it cloud your judgement.’
‘So you reckon he’s in the
‘Vivid. Closemy eyes, she’s there.’
‘Describe it.’
Marshall cut across a triangular piece of balsa, then laid down the knife. But he did not move from the table.
‘I used to drive for Reynard’s Wholesale Greengrocer. Drove for them, what, twelve years? It was a Friday. I was in Parkside Drive … there was a traffic hold-up, not sure why … that’s one thing I’m not so clear about. Bit blurry. I mean, I droveall day, every day. But I was held up. And she was at the bus stop, by herself. I can see her now.’
‘You noticed young girls a lot then?’
Serrailler shot Ben a look.
Marshall bent over the model and with a pair of tweezers, laid the triangular piece of balsa onto the roof. ‘Haven’t you been through my record with a nit comb, then?’ He stood upright. ‘Because if not, maybe you should.’
‘Whatare you trying to say, Mr Marshall?’
‘Back to the bus stop.’ Serrailler interrupted quickly. ‘Can you describe her?’
‘Oh yes. Clear as clear. About fourteen, fifteen – young teenage. Fair hair, really fair, like Scandinavian, you know, and tied back. She was carrying a tennis racket in one of those covers. She might have had another bag, I’m not sure. It was her face I remember. She had thislook.’
‘Look?’
‘Listen, this’ll sound – well, after the event, you know? I mean, when I saw the photos of her in the papers. But I don’t think it is. She had – an expression. Happy. You don’t see people look happy, just plain happy, do you? They look worried, they look worn down, they’re frowning, or maybe laughing out loud … but this was – just happy. I remember it.’
‘Did she catch the bus?’
‘Not that I saw. Next thing, road was clear and I was on my way.’
‘Thought no more about it?’ Vanek said.
Marshall shook his head. ‘You’re wrong there. I thought about it. I had her happy face in my mind on and off all day. Just this blonde-haired girl with a happy face. Kept me going, you know? And not in the way you’re thinking. Not in that way at all.’
‘And you didn’t see anyone with her,approaching her, talking to her?’
‘No. She was on her own.’
‘Did you see the bus draw up?’
‘No.’
‘Is there anything else at all you remember?’
‘No. Just her. I wished I bloody well had. When I read about her. Wished I’d seen her get on the bus or not get on the bus – wished I’d seen anything. But I didn’t. What happened to her?’ he asked Serrailler. ‘What the hell happened to the poor kid?’
‘It’s my job to find out.’
‘Wish I’d seen something else.’
‘You didn’t stop and talk to her?’ Vanek asked.
Marshall turned. ‘No. I did not.’
‘Give her a lift, maybe? Pretty young girl who caught your eye, couldn’t get her out of your mind. Didn’t maybe go back and pick her up?’
‘No. I did not.’
Serrailler put his card on the table beside the model. ‘If you remember anything else – even somethingvery small and you think of no significance – please ring me.’ He bent again to look closely at the model. ‘It’s good,’ he said. ‘From just a photograph.’
‘Yes, well, I have a lot of time on my hands, don’t I? Started doing it inside. It got to me.’
‘Keep them all in the attic, do you?’ Vanek asked.
‘I don’t. They get auctioned. Raise money.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Children in Need. Nine thousand poundsin six years, if you want to know.’
‘That’s sick,’ the sergeant said getting into the car. ‘Children in Need!’
‘So what would you rather he did? Stuff them in the attic like you said?’
‘Might choose a different good cause. You know, cancer or something.’
‘Maybe he thinks he’s still paying. Still trying to make it good.’
Vanek sniffed. ‘I shouldn’t say it, but I hate paedophiles.’
‘That much,’Simon said, putting his foot down, ‘is obvious. Don’t let it cloud your judgement.’
‘So you reckon he’s in the
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