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Harper An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain in 1970 by Collins Crime
Copyright © Emma Page 1970
Emma Page asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008175849
Ebook Edition © MARCH 2016 ISBN: 9780008175856
Version [2016-02-18]
FOR DUKE
with love, as always
CONTENTS
She came blowing into the Railway Tavern in a flurry of wind and rain on a wild, squally Sunday evening at the end of February; a short, slight girl, seventeen or eighteen. The hood of her green anorak was drawn tight round her face, her black trousers were tucked into wellingtons; she had a duffel-bag slung across one shoulder. She came to a halt inside the doorway, gasping and laughing. She undid the drawstring of her hood and thrust it back, releasing a shower of raindrops. She ran a hand round the back of her neck and her long black hair swung out free of the hood. She had a sharp, resolute face, a pale skin, very dark eyes.
The tavern was a quiet, sober inn; it stood on the outskirts of Cannonbridge, in a grey, downtrodden area. Not many folk in this evening, still on the early side. She went up to the bar and swung the duffel-bag off her shoulder, resting it against the counter. She loosened the cord and took a large white envelope from the top of the bag.
A little way along the bar Detective Sergeant Lambert stood idly watching as she opened the envelope and drew out a number of photographs, snapshots mostly, one or two with the formal, stiff-backed look of studio portraits. She didn’t order a drink, she offered no preamble, she simply held out the photographs to the barman and asked him, ‘Do you know this girl? She’s about the same height and build as me.’
The barman glanced casually at the top snapshot. He shook his head slowly, in silence.
She jerked the bundle at him impatiently. ‘You haven’t looked at them.’
He took the photos from her without enthusiasm and flicked through them. He shook his head again.
‘It could have been a year or two back,’ the girl persisted. ‘Even three or four years. She might have a different hairstyle from the photographs.’
He shook his head again, with finality. ‘No use asking me. I haven’t been here twelve months.’ He handed her the photographs and she took them reluctantly. He moved away to serve a customer.
She turned her head and glanced along the counter at Lambert. She picked up her duffel-bag and moved towards him. Before she had a chance to speak he said, ‘This isn’t my usual pub, I hardly ever come in here.’ This evening he’d had half an hour to kill; he’d come in out of the wind and rain only a few minutes earlier.
She thrust the photos at him, undeterred. ‘There’s no special connection with this pub. You might have seen her somewhere else in Cannonbridge, I’m just trying to trace her. I’m going to ask everywhere: pubs, shops, cafés, offices, works. I’ve just come over from Martleigh on the train, that’s the only reason I picked this pub to start with.’
He looked through the photographs, which appeared to have been taken over a period of two or three years. The girl they showed bore a strong resemblance to the girl in front