I glanced at the clock. There was just time to make a note of the areas I wanted to cover with Mrs Clerkenwell and pop home for a sandwich before our appointment. I was looking forward to finding out some more about Jennifer Pickering. I didn’t expect any hot tips as to where she was now but I hoped to learn a little about how she had been back then; a young girl about to fly the nest. What had she been expecting when she’d left for university? Was she anxious about it or eager? Had the Pickerings ever confided in Mrs Clerkenwell about what Jennifer had done or whether she had been in touch? I had no shortage of questions. I hoped that she would be able to answer at least some of them.
Heaton Mersey, the district where the Pickerings lived, isn’t far from Withington so I made the journey on my bicycle. That and swimming are the only regular exercise I get. Now and again I practise sprinting as a very useful skill for a private investigator to possess but I’m afraid I don’t do it as often as I should. Still I guess I could do a reasonable dash in the Mum’s 100 metres at school’s sports day – if they had a sports day.
The houses were good sized Edwardian semis, brick built, with tall, bay windows and sizable front gardens. Each had a driveway and garage. The gardens were well-tended. The neighbourhood looked settled, comfortable. Several windows sported Home Watch stickers.
I rang the bell for Mrs Clerkenwell and there was a burst of barking from inside. While I waited I looked at the adjoining house hoping to catch a glimpse of Mrs Pickering. There were no signs of life.
Mrs Clerkenwell opened her door. I introduced myself.
“Come in, I’ve shut the dogs in the garden, they get delirious over new people. Bring your bike in.”
“I can leave it in the back if you’d rather…”
“No problem. Can you manage?”
I wheeled the bike up the two steps to the front door and into the hall. There was plenty of space. I leant it against the wall, taking care not to scuff the wallpaper. We went along the hall to the back room and sat at a table by the window looking out onto the back garden. The rooms had high ceilings with moulded plaster edges and picture rails around the walls. It was decorated in creamy yellow with a mossy green for the woodwork. The colours lightened the room which could easily have been gloomy.
“Would you like a drink? Tea, coffee?”
“Coffee please, no sugar.”
