78

‘ALICE FOSTERED THIRTY-TWO CHILDREN IN TWENTY years. She never got tired of telling people.’

Myfanwy Thomas, who at one time had been next-door neighbour to the Llewellyn girls and their foster parents, was in her early fifties, but still vain enough to wear clothes that were too tight and use shop-bought hair dye to cover up the grey. She’d given me a quick once-over when we’d arrived. ‘My goodness, love, you have been in the wars,’ she’d announced, before turning her attention to Joesbury.

‘Do you remember the Llewellyn sisters?’ I asked.

She frowned at me, before concentrating on Joesbury again. ‘Biscuit, love?’

Joesbury helped himself to a HobNob and smiled at her. I swear the woman practically simpered at him.

‘In trouble, are they?’ she asked him. ‘I’m not surprised, not with Vicky anyway. The problems Alice had with that girl.’

‘So Vicky was a bit of a handful?’ asked Joesbury.

‘You wouldn’t know the half of it, love. If she went to school one day in three it was going well. Pleased herself when she came back for meals. Stayed out till all hours.’

‘Sounds a fairly typical teenager to me,’ I said, raising my eyes above Myfanwy’s head to the small, walled backyard.

‘There was something not right about that one,’ said Myfanwy, giving me the briefest of glares. ‘Her bedroom was full of nasty books, used to give Alice the creeps. Stephen King, James Herbert, you know the sort.’

‘So she read a lot?’ I asked.

The woman shook her head. ‘Nothing nice,’ she said. ‘She’d get true-crime books out of the library. Serial killers and mass murderers and the like. She wasn’t normal.’

I could sense DI Joesbury taking just a little bit more notice.

‘And that dye she used on her hair.’ Myfanwy was on a roll now. ‘Black as soot, it was. The mess she made on Alice’s bathroom carpet.’

‘Sounds a real delinquent,’ I muttered, sitting back in my chair and looking round the not-very-clean kitchen.

‘She took up with a boyfriend shortly after they came to live here,’ said Myfanwy. ‘Proper waster, he was. Used to steal cars and race round the docks in them.’

‘We’re struggling to find photographs of Victoria,’ said Joesbury. ‘Can I ask you to describe her for me? We’re trying to get an artist’s impression produced. As you lived next door to her for two years, you’d be a big help.’

‘She wasn’t pretty, not like her sister,’ said Myfanwy. ‘She used to cake her face in that horrible white make-up. Like a ghoul. How she got away with it at school, I don’t know.’

‘Actually, we know about her hair and make-up,’ said Joesbury. ‘I’m more concerned with bone structure. You know, I sometimes think it helps to have a reference point. Why don’t you look at my colleague here and tell me how Victoria was different?’

Oh, nice one, DI Joesbury. Very slick.

‘Sit still, Flint,’ instructed Joesbury, although I already was. ‘How do the eyes compare?’ he asked Myfanwy.

‘Victoria was all eyes,’ she replied after a moment. ‘This lady’s are much smaller. And Victoria didn’t need glasses.’

‘Neither does DC Flint,’ said Joesbury, with something like impatience creeping into his voice. ‘Hand them over.’

Without taking my eyes off Myfanwy Thomas, I removed my glasses and put them on the table in front of me.

‘What about my mouth?’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘Thicker lips. More pouty somehow. And she wasn’t as thin as you.’

‘Nose?’ I said.

‘No offence, love, but yours is so swollen I can’t tell what it’s like normally. And I never saw Victoria with two black eyes or a split lip. I won’t lie to you, she did get into fights, but she knew how to handle herself. The other girls always used to come off worst.’

‘I think they still do,’ said Joesbury under his breath.