Part One: VI. Neil

One morning, at around eleven o’clock, the doorbel rang. A slim, young man, dressed much older than he looked, held out some form of identification.

“Good morning, madam, my name is Yard, Neil Yard. I’m, erm, from the police. I was hoping I might talk to you about your daughter, Alicia. Would that be possible?”

He chose his words with care, as if he had been rehearsing them on the way. He sounded as he was dressed: much older than what would match his boyish, spotty face.

My god, Jennifer thought, they’re actually sending someone, hallelujah! He may be just a schoolboy, but at least they’re sending someone!

“Well, how can I help you, erm, detective?” She did not try to hide a slightly contemptuous tone.

“Well, madam, I was hoping, I mean, could I have a word regarding, you know, if I could just, if it’s convenient, of course…” His confidence was obviously dented.

“Oh, do come in,” she said, trying to sound as motherly as possible.

When he followed her through the hall, she asked: “Mr Lewis sent you?”

“Well, yes, DCI Lewis asked me to see you.”

“Please sit down, Mr Yard. I reckon you were briefed on what a pain in the neck I am…”

“DCI Lewis has done considerable research and he feels sorry there is no, well, outcome. He sent me to get some more information and keep the investigations going,” he lied.

“How long have you been working for the police, Mr Yard?”

“I graduated from the academy some ten years ago. But it’s my first day in Crawlack.”

“I see,” Jennifer said. She was surprised. He must be older than he looks, she thought, unless he left the academy when he was twelve…

“Coffee, tea?” she asked.

“Coffee, please.”

“There was never a Mr Musgrave?” Neil asked after Jennifer had returned with his coffee. She glanced at him with an almost offended look. “My husband died eight years ago,” she said.

“Oh, no, I am sorry,” he stammered, “no, I was just wondering, no, I didn’t mean that really, I was just wondering, you know, because Alicia’s last name was Musgrave, just like yours, if she had ever been married…but then it wouldn’t have been a Mr Musgrave, of course. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, I see what you mean now,” she answered. “Well, Alicia did have boyfriends I imagine. She didn’t tell me much about those things. I think in her circle relationships were a little loose.”

She told him that she had Alicia cremated, just like her husband, the same undertaker, the same contact person. Some of Alicia's acquaintances or friends had attended the service, people Jennifer didn’t know. A tall man, Bradley something, and a blonde lady called Ida, she remembered. That was it. Alicia never had many friends.

No one of the police showed up.

She had left the urn with the crematory. To have it on the mantlepiece was not her thing, and scatter her ashes, where? Over that stupid pond?

She had a memorial spot in the backyard. Nothing with flowers, just a spot. That's where she remembered her husband and Alicia.

Her voice had become milder, calmer, and less unfriendly, and Neil began to feel a little more confident.

“That’s nice,” he said, and inadvertently glanced at the window.

A few minutes later they found themselves in the small garden, near some shrubbery in a corner. With a shawl loosely draped around her shoulders, she stood next to him with her head down.

“About here.” They just stood there, in silence. She looked fragile and small.