The Garden Party by Peter Turnbull

Author:Peter Turnbull [Turnbull, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Severn House Publishers Ltd
Published: 2012-03-31T13:00:00+00:00

FOUR

‘It really wasn’t so very difficult.’ Penny Yewdall sipped the very welcome cup of tea which had been warmly pressed into her hand by Sandra Barnes. ‘Not very difficult; quite easy in fact. We just had to follow procedure and be . . . well, a bit persuasive, but I must say the Department of Education of Tower Hamlets, London Borough of, were most fiercely protective of you and of your forwarding address. We had to go right up the top of the management mountain, encountering obstacles as we progressed. It was like climbing Mount Everest by the most difficult route, and when we did get to the top they insisted on phoning us back with the information to ensure that they really were talking to the Metropolitan Police. If they had still refused to let us have your address we would have had to obtain a court order and that would have been quite time-consuming. Even then they could only provide us with your parents’ address and phone number.’

‘Yes.’ Sandra Barnes showed herself to be the raven-haired woman who had been described, accurately so, thought Penny Yewdall, by Charlie Magg in the agent’s room at Brixton Prison. Sandra Barnes had aged little and was still a slender-figured woman of pleasing appearance whose South African accent had not completely vanished. ‘Yes, my mother phoned me this morning and I phoned you immediately. I must say that you have made good time.’

‘I jumped straight on a train; underground to St Pancras, then to Chesterfield . . . taxi here, to your door. I don’t think the taxi driver was particularly impressed; it wasn’t a long journey.’

‘I can imagine. My husband was a taxi driver before he joined the fire service . . . it was one among the many jobs he had before he settled, and he told me that taxi owners make the good money only on the long journeys. Your driver must have been an owner-operator. An employed driver wouldn’t be bothered about the length of any journey; he lifts the same money at the end of the week, no matter what.’

‘Dare say that’s true.’ Penny Yewdall glanced round Sandra Barnes’ home. It was, she noted, a new-build detached house, with three bedrooms overlooking Eastwood Park in Chesterfield, Derbyshire. Within, the house was kept in a neat and tidy and clean manner, though children’s toys were heaped in a corner and children’s drawings had been attached to the wall. Light was allowed into the living room courtesy of a large front window, and the sense of airiness was heightened by the Barneses clearly favouring light colours for their wallpaper and furnishings. A compact hi-fi system stood on a low table beside the fireplace, upon which stood a small, bronze carriage clock. On the other side of the fireplace stood a modestly sized television set. The room itself smelled of air freshener.

‘So, tell me, I am burning up with curiosity.’ Sandra Barnes raised her eyebrows. ‘Why me? What can I do to help the Metropolitan Police?’

‘Well .

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