The Garden Party by Peter Turnbull Page B

Unit,’ he said in a calm voice.
    â€˜Lady on the phone for you, sir; lady member of the public.’ The voice of the switchboard operator had a nervous tone to it, and Vicary thought he was probably newly appointed. ‘She is responding to the E-fits printed in today’s
Standard
. She says that she thinks she knows the two men.’
    â€˜I see.’ Vicary reached instinctively for his notepad and pen. ‘Put her through, please.’
    The line clicked and a querulous female voice said, ‘Hello?’
    â€˜DI Vicary.’
    â€˜I may know the men in today’s paper, in the
Standard
.’
    â€˜Oh, yes?’
    â€˜Yes. Would one of them have a scar on his cheek? He said he was attacked when he was in prison, you see.’
    Vicary smiled to himself. ‘Well, madam, the prints, the images in the paper, are E-fits; they are only an impression of what they might have looked like. So one may indeed have had a scar but we don’t know that, not for sure.’
    â€˜Well, if it is the one I think it is he had a scar on his cheek . . . he did . . . on his right cheek.’ The voice seemed to grow in confidence as Vicary identified an East London accent. ‘And it said one was short and the other was tall?’
    â€˜Yes, there is a distinct height difference.’
    â€˜That’s what the paper said, and they went missing five years ago?’
    â€˜More than five,’ Vicary corrected her, ‘we don’t know how much more than five though.’
    â€˜Sounds like those two . . . only they left a lot of their stuff behind you see.’
    â€˜I understand,’ Vicary replied. ‘They were lodgers?’
    â€˜Lodgers, yes, they were lodgers in the basement. I let out rooms, do you see? I’ve been letting out rooms since my old man went before; he’s in a better place anyway, God rest his old soul. He was an awkward old geezer but God rest him just the same . . . but he was an awkward old man at the end.’
    â€˜Yes, madam.’
    â€˜But I don’t like doing it, renting out. I don’t like having strangers in my house but I can’t make ends meet no other way.’
    â€˜Yes, madam. So, madam, you are where?’
    â€˜Stepney, darling. I’m in Stepney, good old, sunny Stepney.’
    â€˜Can I please take your name, madam?’ Vicary asked.
    â€˜Me, darling, I am old Violet . . . old Violet they call me. Violet Mayfield is my name.’
    â€˜Violet Mayfield.’ Vicary wrote the name on his notepad. ‘What’s your address in Stepney, Mrs Mayfield?’
    â€˜Ninety-four Matlock Street, darling,’ the woman replied, ‘top end, near White Horse Road. If you’re coming by tube you need to get off at Stepney East.’
    â€˜Stepney East,’ Vicary echoed, though he knew his officers would be making the journey by car.
    â€˜Yes, darling, short walk after that.’
    â€˜Yes. Will you be at home for the rest of the morning, Mrs Mayfield?’ Vicary asked.
    â€˜Rest of the old day, more like it,’ Violet Mayfield replied, ‘I have no need to go out anywhere until bingo at seven o’clock this evening, darling.’
    â€˜Good, good.’ Vicary ran his hands through his hair. ‘I will send two of my officers round to see you,’ he advised. ‘They will be with you later this morning.’
    â€˜Two?’ Violet Mayfield allowed a note of surprise to enter her voice. ‘You need two?’
    Vicary smiled. ‘Oh, yes. We like to go in pairs in case we get lost.’
    â€˜Oh . . . really?’ Violet Mayfield sounded surprised. ‘Well I never. That’s a good idea. What happens if you do get lost?’
    â€˜We ask a policeman.’ Vicary grinned, though he spoke without a trace of humour in his voice. ‘But thank you for phoning us, Mrs Mayfield, we do appreciate it.’ He replaced the telephone handset, gently so.
    Harry Vicary