Free Through a Narrow Door by Faith Martin Page A

Richardson?’
    ‘Well, Billy was one of life’s boasters, I’m afraid,’ Ms Richardson began. She was a washed-out blonde, with a thin face and very narrow hands, but her pale blue eyes looked shrewd. She was neither too young to be fooled or surprised by kids, but not so old that she’d become jaded. For the first time, Hillary began to hope that she was going to get a clear and unbiased opinion of their victim.
    ‘Sometimes – and it’s usually the boys – children tend to see themselves as a hero in their own private Hollywood production, and Billy was one such. Even at ten, he was convinced the world owed him a living, I’m afraid. I didn’t see much of him after he left school, but I heard things about him from time to time, sometimes from Celia, sometimes from the parents of other children. I’m afraid Billy became something of an arrogant young man as he grew older.’
    ‘You say Celia shows some talent as an artist. Would it surprise you to hear that Billy had become rather a good photographer?’
    Phyllis Richardson thought about that for a moment, then slowly shook her head. ‘No. No, can’t say as it would. He was always technically minded. Very practical. Some kids are like that, so a camera would suit him very well. I’ll bet he didn’t have any pretensions about using his talent in any artistic way though,’ she added flatly.
    Hillary had to smile. ‘No. He wanted to be a paparazzi.’
    Phyllis Richardson sighed and nodded. ‘Ah yes, that makes sense. That’s our Billy all right. Probably saw himself taking a picture of a VIP in the nude, and making millions from it. It was the kind of way his mind worked, I’m afraid. He was always very avaricious. Once or twice I’m sure he bullied some of the younger children out of their pocketmoney. He liked his chocolate bars, and such. Of course, I kept a sharp eye out, but Billy was crafty.’
    Hillary sighed. And going to a big, new comprehensive school that already had a reputation would have presented a lad like that with many more opportunities to get up to mischief.
    The kind of mischief that led to his being killed, perhaps.
    By the time the interview was over, Hillary was beginning to feel vaguely depressed. Something told her that the Davies family were in for even more heartaches in the months ahead.

chapter five
    Hillary woke up when a passing craft rocked her boat, a sensation that would, at one time, have jerked her awake with a pounding heart, but which now felt oddly comforting. She lay still and waited a moment, letting her tiny cabin settle on to an even keel, then sat up on the narrow bed and put her feet to the floor. She could open her sliding-door wardrobe door just by reaching out her hand and, selecting a pair of lightweight beige slacks and a matching jacket with a navy blue trim, she tossed them on to her unmade bed and then headed for the shower.
    She’d got a two-minute shower down to a fine art after three years of living on her narrowboat, the Mollern, and within ten minutes she was heading along the towpath, HQ-bound.
    Even at eight in the morning, the sun was shining hot and strong and, just past her mooring, a row of red hawthorns were beginning to bloom. A pair of moorhens, nesting in the reeds opposite, had produced three fluffy black chicks, and in the farmer’s fields skirting the canal, dark green wheat shone with health. A chiff-chaff was calling his monotonous but cheerful song, and Hillary heard gruff male laughter from her neighbour’s boat, ‘Willowsands’, as she passed. It made her wonder who Nancy Walker had lured into her web this time. The forty-something divorcee had told her a few days ago that she feared her trawl of Oxford students was coming to an end,and that she might chug off to Stratford-upon-Avon to see what the pickings of impoverished actors was like.
    Hillary rather hoped she wouldn’t go. Although she had no sex life of her own, she’d always been able to live vicariously through