Lydia dozed in the threadbare armchair. She spent most afternoons like this, slipping in and out of consciousness, since her retirement. A shrill knock at the door woke her. Who could that be? Visitors were rare, these days.
Padding down the hallway almost on tip toe, the diminutive old lady fastened the chain and meekly opened the door.
“Mrs Evans ?” She didn’t recognise the man standing before her, but noted an ill-fitting suit and a strong smell of cigarettes. “I’m Terry McFarlane, from the Bureau of Criminal Investigation at Ferne Rise. Are you Mrs Lydia Evans?”
“Yes, officer”. She seemed taken aback. “How can I help?”
“It’s about Colin Dermott Evans.” Her husband.
Without hesitation she replied, “yes, officer, please come in.”
Lydia led him into the parlour. Seated, she asked “What do you want with Colin? We split up, you know, some time ago now.” She added for good measure, “so I’m not sure how much I can help you”.
“It’s a strange one, Mrs Evans. It comes via New South Wales State Police, a Mr Terence Evans is worried about the whereabouts of his brother, Mr Colin Evans.”
“Terry?” She replied, aghast. “But Terry’s been over there, it must have been thirty years since. But Terry? They hadn’t seen each other for god-knows-how-long, and even when he was here, there was no love lost between them.”
“Apparently, Terence has been trying to contact Colin for the last six months. He’s been unable to trace him and contacted his local police, who in turn got in touch with us.”
“So, how can I help?”
“Well, we wondered if you might have any idea of your husband’s whereabouts?”
“I’m sorry, officer. I threw him out for the last time, five years ago.” With some acidity, she added, “he always had a string of women – you could try finding one of them…”.
“So, can you tell us anything that might help us?”
“Well, I bumped into one of his betting shop ‘friends’ about three years ago, he said Colin had flown out to Thailand at the start of that winter.”
The detective noted this down. “And can you tell me the name of this friend? And the shop?”
Within a few minutes, Lydia had exhausted her helpfullness. McFarlane proffered his thanks, and departed.
Returning, Lydia walked to the sideboard and gently patted the skull, which formed the centrepiece. She pondered her next move.
“I think you need to lie low for a while, Colin, don’t you?”
