And None Shall Sleep by Priscilla Masters

shot her a sharp, enquiring look and for once Joanna met his eyes and didn’t even try concealing her feelings.
    Sheila Selkirk started. She looked at them both. ‘Funny,’ she said drily. ‘Isn’t it? His own flesh and blood and they just hated each other. In fact, inspector,’ she said calmly now and without emotion, ‘if one walked into the room the other would walk straight out. They skirted round each other, avoided one another. The school holidays were sheer misery for poor old Justin. Absolute misery. And Jonathan did everything he possibly could to avoid coming home.’
    â€˜Where does your son live now?’
    â€˜Here, in Leek.’ Sheila Selkirk stared boldly at Mike. ‘He’s a teacher in the so-called Special School, the one for the children we would once have called retarded or mental defectives. They have some silly name for them now – severe learning disabilities or some such nonsense. ’ She grimaced. ‘All that expensive education, Sergeant. Public schools cost a fortune. And my son ends up teaching a bunch of morons! Her dark eyes fixed on Mike. ‘No justice, is there?’
    â€˜Is he married?’ Mike chipped in.
    Sheila nodded. ‘Oh yes.’ And then unexpectedly her face softened and again her strange beauty shone through. ‘He has a daughter,’ she said. ‘A lovely, lovely little thing.’ She flushed. ‘Oh dear, here I am, boastful grandma ... But she really is a dear little thing.’ She gave a short, self-conscious laugh. ‘Three years old. Wait, here ...’ She crossed the room to a small, mahogany chest of drawers. It was so packed with photographs that she had difficulty opening it. She leafed through them until her hands touched one and she handed it to Joanna. It was a picture of a Shirley Temple lookalike ... a laughing, curly-haired, beautiful child, plump cheeks and dimples.
    Sheila Selkirk gloated over it, her mouth quivering and moist. ‘Lovely, isn’t she? Look at those eyes, her mouth, her beautiful little curls – exactly like Justin’s at the same age.’
    She took the photograph from Joanna’s fingers and stared straight at her. Unhappiness tightened her face into spasm. ‘I suppose you’re wondering why the pictures are stuffed into an already over-full drawer! She closed her eyes in sudden, tight pain. ‘Unfortunately, Jonathan’s dislike of his son extends even to our granddaughter.’ She gave the picture a fierce stare. ‘He wouldn’t have a photograph of little Lucy in the house at all.’ She gave a sideways glance at the chest of drawers and laughed. ‘Had he been a slightly more curious man’, she said, ‘he probably would have found these pictures.’ She stopped and the look of anguish was blended into one of fury. ‘And then he would have burnt them,’ she said lightly.
    Joanna and Mike looked at one another. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Selkirk,’ Joanna said gently, steering the conversation back on course, ‘do you have a photograph of your husband?’
    The woman looked up sharply. ‘What for?’
    â€˜Identification,’ Mike said. ‘Someone might have seen him.’
    â€˜Sergeant,’ Sheila Selkirk said coquettishly. ‘When my husband disappeared last night he was wearing a pair of brown and cream striped pyjamas and bugger all else. I should think if he’s wandering up and down Leek High Street someone would have called in a couple of your strong-arm colleagues.’ The idea seemed to amuse her thoroughly.
    â€˜A photograph, please, Mrs Selkirk.’
    She recovered herself quickly. ‘Somewhere,’ she said.
    Joanna and Mike both gave an involuntary glance at the drawer.
    â€˜Not here,’ she said. ‘I don’t put their photographs together.’ She smiled and disappeared from the room, returning a few minutes later with a studio