Wexford 19 - The Babes In The Woods Read Online Free Page B

boys’ school stories, old-fashioned even when he read them. Dade looked from one police officer to the other. ‘I’ll take over,’ he said. ‘I’d better if we’re to get anywhere.’
       She shouted at him, ‘I want to do the talking! I can’t help crying. Isn’t it natural for a woman whose children have drowned to be crying? What do you expect?’
       ‘Your children haven’t drowned, Katrina. You’re being hysterical as usual. If you want to tell them what happened, just do it. Get on with it.’
       ‘Where was I? Oh, yes, in Paris.’ Her voice had steadied a little. She pulled down the blue garment and sat up straight. ‘We phoned them from Paris, from the hotel. It was eight thirty. I mean, it was eight thirty French time, seven thirty for them. I just don’t under stand why Europe has to be a whole hour ahead of us. Why do they have to be different?’ No one supplied her with an answer. ‘I mean we’re all in the Common Market or the Union or whatever they call it, the name’s always changing. We’re supposed to be all the same.’ She caught her husband’s eye. ‘Yes, all right, all right. We phoned them, like I said, and Giles answered. He said everything was fine, he and Sophie had been doing their homework. Joanna was there and they were going to have their supper and watch TV. I wasn’t worried - why should I be?’
       This too was obviously a rhetorical question. To Wexford, although he had been in her company only half an hour, it seemed inconceivable that she would ever be free from worry. She was one of those people who manufacture anxieties if none naturally occur. Her face puckered once more and he was afraid she was going to begin crying but she went on with her account.
       ‘I phoned again next day at the same sort of time but nobody answered. I mean not a real person. The answering machine did. I thought maybe they were all watching something on television or that Giles had gone out and Joanna and Sophie weren’t expecting me to call. I hadn’t said I’d call. I left the number of the hotel - not that they didn’t have that already - and I thought they might have called me back but they never did.’
       Vine intervened. ‘You said you thought your son might have gone out, Mrs Dade. Where would he go? Somewhere with his mates? Cinema? Too young for clubbing, I expect.’
       A glance passed between husband and wife. Wexford couldn’t interpret it. Katrina Dade said, as if she were skirting round the subject, avoiding a direct reply, ‘He wouldn’t go to the cinema or a club. He isn’t that sort of boy. Besides, my husband wouldn’t allow it. Absolutely not.’
       Dade put in swiftly, ‘Children have too much freedom these days. They’ve had too much for years now. I did myself and I know it had an adverse effect on me for a long time. Until I dealt with it, that is, until I disciplined myself. If Giles went out he’d have gone to church. They sometimes have a service on Saturday evening. But in fact, last weekend it was on the Sunday morning. I checked before we left.’
       Most parents in these degenerate times, thought Wexford, who was an atheist, would be gratified to know that their fifteen-year-old son had been to a church service rather than to some kind of popular entertainment. Never mind the religious aspect. No drugs in church, no AIDS, no predatory girls. But Dade was looking unhappy, his expression at best resigned.
       ‘What church would that be?’ Wexford asked. ‘St Peter’s? The Roman Catholics?’
       ‘They call themselves the Church of the Good Gospel,’ said Dade. ‘They use the old hall in York Street, the one the Catholics used to have before their new church was built. God knows, I’d rather he went to the C of E but any church is better than none.’ He hesitated, said almost aggressively, ‘Why do you want to know?’
       Vine spoke in an equable calming tone. ‘It might be a good idea to find out if