a soft pearl shade, were on the delicate feet. This lady gave the aura of someone of some importance, oozing with grace and elegance.
Mrs Peggy Cavallaro spoke first, “Detective Chief Inspector Hislop, hello. How may I assist you? Please, do sit down.” She indicated for Marty to be seated in an expensive looking chair opposite where she sat, in regal state. Her voice was definitely refined, and Marty detected English grass roots in the pedigree of this lady.
“Thank you, Mrs Cavallaro. I won’t take too much of your time.” Marty gave the woman a flashing smile and seated himself in the large wingback armchair. Showing Mrs Cavallaro his police badge to confirm his identity, Marty sat back in the chair. Marty had already analysed Peggy Cavallaro as one who stood on social standards as the norm.
“Some tea or coffee, Chief Inspector?’
“Yes, thank you, that would be nice Mrs Cavallaro. Tea is fine with me.” Marty got the idea that this lady would be a tea drinker rather than a coffee connoisseur. So he chose tea for this reason.
Mrs Cavallaro turned her head and said in a pleasant voice to the maid, who was still in the room, obviously awaiting instructions from her mistress, “Matilda, can you please arrange some tea for the Chief Inspector and myself, thank you”.
“Very well Mrs Cavallaro”, replied Matilda meekly, and floated out of the room to complete her quest. “Well Chief Inspector, this is a surprise, having a visit from the police. I don’t often have such a pleasure,” came the very plastic response.
Her eyes were surveying Marty’s clothing, that were a bit dishevelled after playing ball with Pirate Pussy. He realised that his tie was not properly in place and his suit coat was rather crumpled. The tired looking white shirt had come out of his trousers and hung loosely in the front. Marty’s hair needed a comb that was standing up at the back of his head. At least he had not noticed that – but Peggy Cavallaro had.
Oh shit, thought Marty. To hell with it, she doesn’t know the circumstances. Marty ignored the “once over” look from Mrs Cavallaro and came straight to the point of his visit. Pleasantries annoyed Marty, they covered a multitude of sins, he always said.
“I am investigating the Billy Parsons case, you may remember the child who went missing in 1965? We want to recheck some details, and wondered if you can remember anything
from that day?” Without pausing, Marty spoke on, “Can you tell me anything about the day Billy went missing or the people he was staying with?” said Marty in a professional voice.
“You did give a statement at the time, saying that you did not see Billy Parsons, but a red Ford Mustang went past your home much later in the day. Can you elaborate on this please, Mrs Cavallaro?” Marty smiled sweetly at the shrewd woman opposite him. He could tell that this lady was not someone to be taken lightly. This proved to be a good opening question for Mrs Cavallaro.
“Oh yes, I do remember Billy Parsons, Chief Inspector.” came the gushing reply.
Interrupting Mrs Cavallaro, Marty asked her to call him “Marty”.
“Very well, um er Marty,” she stumbled, not used to first names for senior police officers.
“Not that I knew Billy personally, you realise ... Marty.” Mrs Cavallaro was having difficulty coming to terms with this first name bit.
Marty smiled within and looked expectantly at Mrs Cavallaro for more words to flow. A slight hesitation, so Marty took the plunge.
“No, of course not, Mrs Cavallaro”, was Marty’s glowing answer. This proved to be the catalyst Mrs Cavallaro was waiting for and she surged forward with a more relaxed disposition. Perhaps she did not fancy herself as “mixing with the riff raff” of everyday living, let alone a child.
“I knew Billy was living with that foreign couple, at number 1811. Occasionally, I saw the child out walking alone. It worried me dreadfully, Chief Inspector, oh I mean, Marty. That poor boy, wondering along the street, unaccompanied. Anything could have happened to him, and it did, poor little soul.” Mrs Cavallaro completed her sentence with a look of woe and clasped her thin hands together in mock remorse.
Marty didn’t fall for this crap. This dame couldn’t care one bit!
On she went, like a clock wound to capacity. “No, I did not see the child on the day he disappeared. Although, I did see the red car speed by my home, later in the day.”
Giving Marty an expectant look, Mrs Cavallaro halted and eyed Marty in a penetrating manner. Her eyes were conveying a message; what it was, Marty could not tell.
CHAPTER six
“Let me explain myself.” Mrs Cavallaro said in an air of supreme knowledge and authority. “As you are already aware, no doubt, um, Marty, someone did see Billy on that day, Mrs Marjorie Femmer. Lives at number 1768, but you would already know that. She apparently saw Billy walking along North Beaumont, and said that ‘he was walking in the direction of the pathway that led down to Roy Rogers Avenue’. What intrigues me Chief Inspector is, how did she know this, it is only an assumption Chief Inspector? Heavens know why she did not stop and take Billy home or take him to her own home. It was a tragedy just waiting to happen, I say. We all knew that Mrs Femmer had a soft spot for Billy, it was common knowledge.” She shot a very direct look at Marty. Mrs Cavallaro was waiting for Marty to make a comment but Marty chose not to and played dumb. So Mrs Cavallaro went on with her “la de da” voice.
“Billy spent considerable time at the Femmer residence and went on various outings with them, I understand.” Mrs Cavallaro looked up as there was a knock at the door. “Enter,” came the authoritative response from Mrs Cavallaro.
The door opened to reveal Matilda coming in with the tea. The grand dame stopped any further speech and waited patiently for Matilda to set the china tea pot, cups and saucers in their correct place. A plate of small decorated cup cakes and petite biscuits had also been provided. Once completed, Matilda asked Mrs Cavallaro if there was anything else.
“No, thank you Matilda. That will be all.” replied the efficient Mrs Cavallaro.
Matilda departed from the room as silently as she had arrived.
“Shall I play mother, Inspector?” asked Mrs Cavallaro with a grin of very white false teeth. Nothing natural about those dentures, thought Marty. Hell, even this lady’s teeth are the most expensive in Hollywood!
Pouring the tea into the gold and white, egg shell china cups, she leant over and passed the tea to Marty. Offering Marty the plate of delicacies, Marty chose to have a biscuit, to keep the pace going with Mrs Cavallaro’s outpouring of vital information.
Truth be said, Marty was ravenous.
***
It was now late morning and Marty had an eventful day, so far.
Breakfast had been on the run, as Charlie Solomon wanted to meet with him early. The biscuit was not too sweet, Better not reach for anything else to eat, it might put her off talking. She might think I’m a pig, Marty reasoned to himself.
There was a faint, yet pleasant aroma, wafting into the room through an open window. Must be from those Hydrangea bushes outside the windows, thought Marty. His mother adored Hydrangeas, especially the Oakleaf variety, which Marty suspected were the species
