章 3: IDENTIFIED
Many detectives grumbled about conducting house-to-house inquiries, much preferring to spend their time with low-life informants in seedy bars where they felt they could get a true sense of the job. However, Vivian Gates had always relished a good house party. It was a good exercise in patience, at the very least.
Naturally, there were the indiscreet individuals, the haughty ones, and the promiscuous one with his Hound of the Baskervilles yanking at its leash. Vivian's new shoes were completely soiled by a child who had come outside in her undies to investigate what was going on. It seemed funny to the mother.
Then there were the countless hours spent outside in the wind, rain, and snow, knocking on doors while your feet hurt and the cold, damp air quickly seeped into your bones. You thought that a different career would be preferable, perhaps even one that included marriage and children.
Needless to say, from time to time, some sly ass would tell her that she was too beautiful to be a police officer or that she could put her handcuffs on him whenever she pleased, ha-ha-ha.
However, that was all part of the fun, and she was not as bothered by it as she occasionally pretended to be, in order to irritate Lieutenant Corey.
Regardless of one's opinion, Vivian believed that there would always be a significant proportion of smart-assholes in the human race. And from her experience, the majority of them were probably men.
However, on a lovely morning such as this, with the valley sides beyond the western boundary of the town intertwined with limestone walls, the slopes remaining verdant following the late summer showers, and the purple heather blossoming at the highest point where the wild moorland started, it was an excellent method to earn your daily bread.
Furthermore, nothing was better than going from house to house to get to know your patch.
Vivian estimated that Eastvale might reach seventy before the day ended, as the morning chill had swiftly given way to warmth. Indeed, an Indian summer. She pulled off her jacket and threw it over her shoulder.
Any good day was a bonus that should not be thrown away in the Dales at that time of year. Seize the moment because rain, floods, and famine could arrive tomorrow.
Kids rode their bikes and skateboards, or played football in the streets. Men with their shirt sleeves rolled up threw buckets of soapy water over their cars, then waxed them to perfection.
Teenagers stood in groups around street corners, smoking and trying to look sultry and menacing, but failing miserably on both counts. Windows and doors were left open, and some people even sat on their doorsteps drinking tea and reading the Sunday papers.
Vivian could smell cakes baking and meat roasting as she strolled.
In addition, she heard brief snippets of nearly every genre of music, ranging from Crispian St Peters' rendition of "You Were on My Mind" to Elgar's cello concerto's opening movement, which she only knew was the same as the one on the CD she received complimentary with her classical music magazine last month.
Shortly following the conflict, the Leaview Estate was constructed. The homes, which were a blend of semis, terraces, and bungalows, were sturdy and harmonious in both style and material with the surrounding gritstone and lime-stone architecture of Swainsdale.
The skyline was not marred by unsightly maisonettes or apartment buildings like it was on the more recent East Side Estate across town. Additionally, many of the streets on the Leaview Estate bore flower names.
Vivian had already scoured the roses, laburnums, and primroses without success by nearly noon. She was going to move on to the buttercups and daffodils now.
Using a clipboard, she meticulously checked off every home she went to, noting any suspicious responses with question marks and making notes next to them. She also kept a close eye out for any signs of recent pugilism, such as bruised knuckles. She would circle the number of the house if someone was not home.
She used her own radio to report back to the station after every street. Corey or any of the uniformed officers would be notified by the communications centre if they received results ahead of her.
Vivian just barely avoided getting in the way of a boy who was speeding around Daffodil Rise on rollerblades. He did not give up.
As her heartbeat returned to normal, she held her hand to her chest and considered arresting him for a traffic violation. After that, the adrenaline subsided and she was able to breathe again. She pressed the button for number two.
Vivian surmised that the woman who responded was most likely in her late fifties. Beautifully styled: freshly permed hair, sparingly applied lipstick, and face powder. Perhaps right after church. It was hot, but she was wearing a beige cardigan. She held it closed over her light pink blouse as she spoke.
Yes, dear?" she questioned.
Vivian held up the sketch made by the mortuary attendant and displayed her warrant card. She remarked,
"We are trying to figure out who this boy is." Since we believe he may be local, we are reaching out to see if anyone is familiar with him.
The woman gazed at the drawing for a while, then cocked her head and gave her chin a scratch.
"All right," she uttered. "Ivan Lewis might be it."
"Ivan Lewis? To Vivian, it sounded like the name of a pop star.
Indeed. The young boy of Mr. and Mrs. Lewis."
That is insightful, Vivian thought as she tapped her pen against her clipboard. "Are they locals?"
"Yes." just across the road. She gestured. "The seventh number. However, all I said was "may be." Love, it is not a very good likeness. You should hire a professional artist to work for you. Much like Jake, my boy. You have an artist right now. You know, he sells his prints at the town craft centre. Undoubtedly, he—
"Yes, Mrs.... ?"
"Styles the name. Julian Styles."
"Mrs. Styles, I will keep him in mind. Do you know anything at all about Ivan Lewis now?
The nose seems off. It is what matters most. My son is very skilled with noses. Meticulously captured the character of Curly Watts from "Coronation Street," which is no small feat. Have you heard that he did Curly Watts? My son is quite popular among the celebrities. Oh, yes, very-"
Vivian took a deep breath, then went on. "Mrs. Styles, do you know if you have recently seen Ivan Lewis around?"
"Not since yesterday. However, he is rarely seen. He resides in Leeds, I believe."
"How old is he?"
"I am not able to say for sure. But he is no longer in school. I know that."
"Any trouble?"
"Ivan? No. Calm as a mouse. You hardly ever see him around, as I mentioned. But it does look like him except for the nose. And it's easy to get noses wrong, as my Julian says."
"Mrs. Styles, thank you," Vivian said, glancing at the seventh place. "Thank you so much." She walked quickly along the path.
"Hold on," called Mrs. Styles after her. "Are you not going to explain the situation to me? Following all of my assistance to you. Has something happened to young Ivan ? Has he engaged in any illicit activities?
You will find out soon enough, Vivian thought, if Ivan is the one we are looking for.
He was just a "possible" at this point, but she knew she had to let Banks know before going in alone. She turned around and returned to the street corner, where she talked into her handheld radio.
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