even. Hard to tell with all this makeup they wear these days, Hislop thought. This woman’s makeup was quite thick. She must scrape it off with a knife, it was certainly well applied. She was dressed in a brown slack suit that was well worn and definitely not from the chic boutiques of today’s fashion houses. From the ’70s, Marty reckoned. An orange and white scarf adorned her neck. The woman’s lips were painted a vivid red and she wore gold bangles on her thin left arm. The face was pale, but the skin had been tended to. Not unattractive, even for advanced years, Marty mused. Her eyes were sunken and puffy bags were thinly disguised by makeup. The hands were shaking a little, Marty observed. An odour of perfume lingered about her, along with the smell of liquor.
Before the woman could speak, Marty got in first and introduced himself and asked if she was Mrs Marjorie Femmer.
“Yes, I am Mrs Marjorie Femmer.” came the croaky and suspicious reply. The voice was quivering a little and she seemed on edge, almost frightened.
Strange, thought Marty. Perhaps she did live on her own.
Showing no sign of observing anything amiss, Marty explained the reason for his visit and requested if he might come in to go over the events of that day she saw Billy Parsons.
Mrs Femmer was now unwilling to open the door, and with almost hysteria in her voice replied, “I gave the police a statement about what I saw years ago, and I don’t know anything else! I cannot help you, I’m sorry.” Mrs Femmer attempted to close the door in Marty’s face but he was too quick and placed his foot between the doorframe and the wood door. Mrs Femmer’s body was slightly shaken and she seemed to become unbalanced. Hislop grabbed her by the right hand and steadied her. She was visibly shaking and teary.
“I think it may be better if I helped you inside Mrs Femmer, to sit down. I know this has probably come as a shock to you, but I just need to ask a few questions and then I will be on my way.” said Marty gently. He was using his skills of diplomacy to gain access to the house and then he would strike.
Carefully, he guided the clearly distressed Mrs Femmer inside. Into a large lounge they slowly walked. The room was bright and airy and had a large window overlooking the front cacti garden. Mrs Femmer slumped down into a well worn sofa and just seemed to stare ahead into space. Her body was trembling and Hislop could detect that a sweat had broken out on the woman’s forehead.
So, thought Marty. Something to hide have we, be sure I shall get it out of you my dear, by any means.
Marty’s eyes were fixed on this woman who was trembling.
“Can I get you a drink Mrs Femmer?” was Marty’s first draw card to get into this woman’s mind and unlock the dark secrets that lurked there. Water was what Marty had in mind – but not Mrs Femmer.
“Yes, over there by the window. The drop down cabinet has whiskey.” she managed to quiver out of the depths of her silent reverie. She pointed to the cabinet with an unsteady arthritic finger.
Marty noticed that she wore no wedding band but had rings on the right hand only. The jewellery appeared to be good quality with one ring having a large brilliant cut green stone, possibly an emerald Marty surmised.
Hastily, Marty walked to the old cabinet and poured Mrs Femmer a stiff whiskey. He walked back to the anxious looking woman and handed the glass to her. Mrs Femmer grabbed the drink and gulped the liquid down as though it was just water.
“Another, please,” she blurted out with an audible burp.
Marty raised his eyebrows, without the woman seeing him and went back to the cabinet to pour another drink. This time he noticed that the cabinet was well stocked with mostly whiskey and some crème de menthe. There was also an opened bottle of sherry.
Well, well, thought Marty. Mrs Marjorie Femmer likes a tipple, if ever anyone does! Pacing back over to the hapless creature, who just seemed to be languishing amongst the many cushions, Marty handed the second drink to Mrs Femmer. She was fiddling with a thick gold chain around her scrawny neck. Once again, the fluid was washed down with a flourish. The effects of the whiskey had settled Mrs Femmer and Marty purposed to go ahead with his questions.
“There, is that better Mrs Femmer?” asked the inquisitive Marty
“Yes, thank you, much better. It was just the heat, it will pass.” the woman gasped in reply. The head was lolling around a little bit but the hands were now settled.
Poor bitch, thought Marty.
The day was actually on the cool side, so Marty knew that the answer was just a lame cover up.
CHAPTER three
Marty sat down next to Mrs Femmer. With all the tact he could muster, which was difficult for him, he began to go over the statement that Mrs Femmer had given to the police on the day Billy Parsons had gone missing.
“Now, is there anything, any small detail, you can tell me about that day? We want to cover all aspects of the day, just in case we left some vital detail out. Did you see anyone else loitering around, a car or someone else on the street? Who knows, it may just help us find what actually happened to the boy.” said Marty with a spreading of his arms. Marty made his voice sound very plausible and caring. He looked at the woman next to him, she was thinking a lot, Marty knew that.
Still starring ahead, Mrs Femmer started to unravel herself and commenced to talk like a person possessed. All the words came rolling out, perhaps this was a release of tension over many years. Or was it just the effect the drink had on Mrs Femmer? The voice was more composed and the woman was in control of her emotions now.
“I did not see anyone else that day, no car, or anything out of the ordinary.” Mrs Femmer’s high pitched voice continued on, “I knew Billy Parsons well Inspector. He came here often to play. I had bought some toys for him to play with. A toy car to ride around the yard on and a model plane to throw into the sky and a large red ball that we played with Billy, Max and I. There were some other things too, but he liked the little car. He raced around the place and pretended that he was driving on the freeway. Billy was lonely, Inspector. The couple he was billeted with were older and I don’t think they had a real interest in Billy. I found him one day out the front, just wandering along the road. He was upset, so I brought him inside; gave him cookies and a soda. He wanted to stay the night with us, but my husband Max took him back to where Billy was staying. Over time, Billy was a regular visitor here. You see Inspector, Max and I could not have a family. Max had a rare blood type and having a family was out of the question. I begged Max to adopt but he wouldn’t have it, so we just had to be satisfied being alone, until Billy came along. He was such a vivacious child, full of life. He missed his family but I think he was just too young to take it all in. The glamour of being made a fuss of at the studio and everyone telling him he was a handsome boy, which he was. The time Billy spent here was one of the happiest times of our lives. Perhaps more so for me, as Max was at work during the day. Of course, Billy had his contractual obligations with Universal Studios, but when he was not on set, Billy quite often came here. On weekends, we would take Billy out into the country. He loved going out with us, a picnic or a day at the beach. Naturally, I grew to love him but in my heart I knew I could never actually have Billy as my own. He was someone else’s boy and besides, Max would not allow us to get involved. After all, he was really the responsibility of the couple who Billy was staying with. I don’t understand why they were chosen to look after him, they were an older couple and foreign. Billy must have felt very alone and cut off from any love. That is why he must have got out and started walking down the road and the rest is history, but it’s just as though it was yesterday, Inspector.
