you.”
She smiled as if in some bleak way it amused her. “Course I could. Ain’t many around ’ere as looks like you.” There was approval in her voice and he saw a glimpse of the young woman she must have been half a century ago.
“So tell me,” he prompted.
She gave a deep, weary sigh. “I s’pose I better ’ad. I dunno, mind, but I reckon as she were one o’ them tarts that ’as just one customer, like, an’ either ’e got tired of ’er, or ’e died.” She nodded toward the window. “I saw ’er goin’ up and down ’ere a few times since, an’ I thought, yer poor cow, yer ain’t going ter find much lookin’ like that. Only them as is desperate. An’ a man only gets ter pick up ’er age o’ tart if ’e in’t got the money fer a younger one.” She shook her head slowly, the sadness so deep in her, Monk had no doubt now that she saw herself as she could have been.
“Can you describe him?” he asked again.
She returned her attention to the present and looked him up and down, thinking. “Almost your height, I should think, but bonier. Kind o’ more awkward. Gray ’air, goin’ thin across the top. Clean shaven. Well dressed, like a gentleman, but ordinary. I lay odds ’e didn’t pay ’is tailor like you pay yours.”
“Thank you,” Monk said drily. “Anything else? A coat? An umbrella, perhaps?”
“No. Coat in the winter, not in October, when he last come. Never saw ’im with a brolly. Saw ’im close, too, once. Nice face ’e ’ad. Sort of … gentle. He looked kind of sad, an’ ’e smiled at ’er.”
“He went to her house?”
“Course ’e did. What d’yer expect? They was going to do whatever they did in the street?”
“Might have gone to some other place,” Monk pointed out.
“No, ’e went inter ’er ’ouse.”
“For how long?”
“ ’Alf hour, mebbe more.”
“But you saw him?”
“Course I saw him. Couldn’t tell yer if I ’adn’t, could I? You suddenly gone soft, or summink? You find ’im! She don’t deserve to be cut up like that.” She swallowed with difficulty, struggling to overcome her anger.
“What I mean, Mrs. Scalford, is did he come when it was clear daylight, when you could see clearly who came and went to the house?”
“In’t nothin’ wrong wi’ me eyes.” She thought for a moment. “Afternoon, it were, usually. Funny, come to think of it. Why wouldn’t ’e come when it were dark?”
“I don’t know,” Monk replied. “But I shall find out.”
There was little more to be learned from the old woman. He thanked her, left, and went on along the street.
Almost opposite number fourteen he spoke to Mr. Clawson, who kept a general hardware store.
“Not that I know of,” Clawson said indignantly when Monk asked him if he had seen Zenia Gadney with anyone other than the one man he already knew had visited her. “We may be a bit shabby around ’ere, but we’re perfectly respectable,” he added, sniffing hard and wiping his hands on the sides of his apron.
Monk wondered if it was worthwhile trying to persuade Mr. Clawson that he had not meant to imply otherwise, but decided it was not worth the effort. Everyone around seemed concerned with keeping up appearances.
“So if she were on the streets, then she went somewhere else to do it?” Monk asked a trifle abruptly.
“I dunno wot she did!” Clawson was angry now. “I took it as she were a widow. Always looked a bit … sort o’ … sad. Put a good face on it, poor soul, but I think things were ’ard for ’er.”
“Did she ever come in here, Mr. Clawson?” Monk looked up and down the shelves of sewing articles, kitchenware, patent cleaning liquids, and boxes of nails, screws, and tin tacks. There were also neat wooden drawers for snuff and various potent remedies for one ache or another. He noticed one marked CLOVES for toothache, another with PEPPERMINT for indigestion. Several were unmarked except with lettersrepresenting longer words not
She smiled as if in some bleak way it amused her. “Course I could. Ain’t many around ’ere as looks like you.” There was approval in her voice and he saw a glimpse of the young woman she must have been half a century ago.
“So tell me,” he prompted.
She gave a deep, weary sigh. “I s’pose I better ’ad. I dunno, mind, but I reckon as she were one o’ them tarts that ’as just one customer, like, an’ either ’e got tired of ’er, or ’e died.” She nodded toward the window. “I saw ’er goin’ up and down ’ere a few times since, an’ I thought, yer poor cow, yer ain’t going ter find much lookin’ like that. Only them as is desperate. An’ a man only gets ter pick up ’er age o’ tart if ’e in’t got the money fer a younger one.” She shook her head slowly, the sadness so deep in her, Monk had no doubt now that she saw herself as she could have been.
“Can you describe him?” he asked again.
She returned her attention to the present and looked him up and down, thinking. “Almost your height, I should think, but bonier. Kind o’ more awkward. Gray ’air, goin’ thin across the top. Clean shaven. Well dressed, like a gentleman, but ordinary. I lay odds ’e didn’t pay ’is tailor like you pay yours.”
“Thank you,” Monk said drily. “Anything else? A coat? An umbrella, perhaps?”
“No. Coat in the winter, not in October, when he last come. Never saw ’im with a brolly. Saw ’im close, too, once. Nice face ’e ’ad. Sort of … gentle. He looked kind of sad, an’ ’e smiled at ’er.”
“He went to her house?”
“Course ’e did. What d’yer expect? They was going to do whatever they did in the street?”
“Might have gone to some other place,” Monk pointed out.
“No, ’e went inter ’er ’ouse.”
“For how long?”
“ ’Alf hour, mebbe more.”
“But you saw him?”
“Course I saw him. Couldn’t tell yer if I ’adn’t, could I? You suddenly gone soft, or summink? You find ’im! She don’t deserve to be cut up like that.” She swallowed with difficulty, struggling to overcome her anger.
“What I mean, Mrs. Scalford, is did he come when it was clear daylight, when you could see clearly who came and went to the house?”
“In’t nothin’ wrong wi’ me eyes.” She thought for a moment. “Afternoon, it were, usually. Funny, come to think of it. Why wouldn’t ’e come when it were dark?”
“I don’t know,” Monk replied. “But I shall find out.”
There was little more to be learned from the old woman. He thanked her, left, and went on along the street.
Almost opposite number fourteen he spoke to Mr. Clawson, who kept a general hardware store.
“Not that I know of,” Clawson said indignantly when Monk asked him if he had seen Zenia Gadney with anyone other than the one man he already knew had visited her. “We may be a bit shabby around ’ere, but we’re perfectly respectable,” he added, sniffing hard and wiping his hands on the sides of his apron.
Monk wondered if it was worthwhile trying to persuade Mr. Clawson that he had not meant to imply otherwise, but decided it was not worth the effort. Everyone around seemed concerned with keeping up appearances.
“So if she were on the streets, then she went somewhere else to do it?” Monk asked a trifle abruptly.
“I dunno wot she did!” Clawson was angry now. “I took it as she were a widow. Always looked a bit … sort o’ … sad. Put a good face on it, poor soul, but I think things were ’ard for ’er.”
“Did she ever come in here, Mr. Clawson?” Monk looked up and down the shelves of sewing articles, kitchenware, patent cleaning liquids, and boxes of nails, screws, and tin tacks. There were also neat wooden drawers for snuff and various potent remedies for one ache or another. He noticed one marked CLOVES for toothache, another with PEPPERMINT for indigestion. Several were unmarked except with lettersrepresenting longer words not
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