Free Wings over the Watcher by Priscilla Masters Page B

railings outside the library she passed a couple of uniformed lads struggling with a green bike and a pair of stout wire cutters. As she watched they freed the bike and, wearing gloves, she was glad to see, loaded it into the back of a police van.
    She carried on in to the Nicholson Institute.
    Two women were working in the office, a young, slim woman with poker-straight hair, no make-up and large, lugubrious dark eyes. The other was in her forties, a plump, motherly type, very like Beatrice herself. At a guess she would have been the one Beatrice would have confided in.
    Joanna flashed her ID card for the second time today. “We’re making enquiries about Beatrice Pennington,” she began.
    The two women looked at each other. She could sense their speculations. They looked enquiringly at her, waiting for her to speak first.
    “Do you have any idea where she might be?”
    “She hasn’t been at work yesterday or today.” It was the younger one who was trying to be helpful.
    The older one nodded. “That’s right. It really isn’t like Beattie. She’s normally reliable. Doesn’t take time off at all. She didn’t phone in sick either.” The younger woman agreed vigorously. “We’ve had her husband on the phone. It seems she’s left home.”
    They exchanged swift glances so Joanna knew they had come to the same conclusion as she.
    “It’s really odd though,” the younger one said. “She must have
meant
to come to work. She’s come right to the door. Her bike’s locked to the railings. It’s still there.”
    Not any more.
    “What time does she normally arrive at work?”
    “Well – we open at half-past nine. She generally gets here a few minutes earlier.”
    “Did you see her on Wednesday morning?”
    “No.” Again the younger one. “No – I didn’t. I was a bit late myself.”
    “What time did you arrive?”
    “Round about twenty-five to ten.”
    The older librarian turned to her. “It was later than that, Lisa. More like a quarter to.”
    Lisa didn’t argue. Joanna turned to the older librarian. “And you?”
    “I got here early on Wednesday – at quarter past nine. Her bike wasn’t there then or I’d have seen it.”
    So between the two sightings the precise time of Beatrice’s disappearance was narrowed down to between nine fifteen and nine thirty-five.
    “Have either of you any idea where she could be?”
    Both women shook their heads.
    Joanna drew in a deep breath, thinking quickly. She needed names, a lead, some direction from these two women. Here and the Readers’ Group was the best possibility for finding Beatrice’s secret Romeo. Once she had confirmed his identity she was still confident that she could satisfy herself the wretched woman was safe and move on to more important things. But this could so easily turn intoa difficult and protracted investigation if people stonewalled them. And she didn’t know how discreet Beattie and her lover had been. Her colleagues might know nothing. Delicacy, she thought and planned her approach with devious care.
    She tried the same sentences which had been so unsuccessful with Jewel Pirtek: that anything they said would be in confidence, that this would turn into a full-scale police investigation were Beatrice Pennington not found, that anything, however seemingly insignificant, could be of relevance.
    She drew a blank. The two women gaped at her and said nothing.
    She tried a different tack. “Mrs Pennington had recently changed her lifestyle,” she commented.
    “Oh yes. Into dieting and exercise,” the senior librarian said comfortably. “It quite altered her. She’d been so
down
before Christmas.
Something
must have happened and whatever it was it did her the power of good. It seemed to change her into someone else almost. She seemed brighter, more optimistic. Almost as though…”
    The two women looked guiltily at each other.
    So they did know something.
    Joanna waited, knowing what was about to be said.
    But they needed