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“Can we come back to the scene inside the house? I know you didn’t perhaps know her that well, but did you know the house well enough to notice if there were any differences?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was there anything missing?”
“No. I don’t think so. Well, you’ve seen the place. Poor dear didn’t have anything, did she? Didn’t have anything worth pinching, anyway.”
“You didn’t see anything out of place? Or, in fact, anything there that shouldn’t have been?”
“No.”
“How long has she lived next door?”
“About five years. Just after my husband died, God rest his soul.”
A long time to have a neighbour and not know more about them, thought Gardener, but he understood enough about people to know that some were like that. They kept to themselves. Beryl Potts was apparently one of them. Her husband dying around the time the girl moved in would certainly make it even more uncomfortable for her to want to learn more.
“Where was she before that? Did you ever find out?”
“No, but she wasn’t local. Her accent was southern. London maybe.”
Gardener nodded to Edwards; that was a comment he definitely wanted investigating. “Any regular visitors that you know about?”
“Only in the business sense.”
“Any family?”
“None that I ever saw.”
“Did she have a car?”
“No, but there was someone who came to the house almost on a weekly basis. He had a car.”
“Someone you recognize?”
She nodded, before adding. “Only because I saw him every week. Couldn’t tell you his name.”
“Can you give me a description?”
“I’m not very good at things like that. He was overweight, very heavy: short hair, going grey. Double chin, and not always that well-dressed. Looked a bit scruffy.”
For someone who wasn’t very good at descriptions, she hadn’t made a bad job. He’d had a lot less to go on in the past.
“What about the car?”
“Not really. I’ve never had a car, never learned to drive. My late husband had one, but I sold it when he passed away.”
“Would you know the make, or how old it was?”
“I know it was black, maybe four years old. And I think it was a Ford, but don’t ask me what model.”
“Registration?”
Beryl Potts shook her head. “No, sorry. Like I said, not very good with that sort of stuff.”
Gardener nodded. “Is this your own house, Mrs Potts?”
“Yes. Bought it from the council about thirty-five years ago.”
