The Lady in the Street

by Emmy Ellis

  “Right, thanks.” Helena sighed. “We’ll be off then.”

  Upstairs, she walked into the incident room and stood by the large whiteboard. Andy slumped onto his desk chair, spreading his legs out in front of him and linking his hands over his belly. Ol and Phil twisted in their seats to face her.

  Helena told them about the crime scene, their visit with Jean Salter, and also with Becky Jermaine. “It’s all a bit crap really. We have a woman who could have done this—well, I’m sure we do. She wouldn’t be trying the front door handle to get in otherwise, would she?”

  “Unless she was a friend nipping round,” Phil suggested.

  “At that time of night, though? Becky said Felicity didn’t have any mates bar her, not these days. It seems Felicity withdrew into herself since supposedly being in Lime Street.” Christ, it sounded as if Helena didn’t believe the Uthway tale either, but with no proof Felicity was ever in that house or anywhere near Uthway and his men, she couldn’t treat it as fact, just supposition. “Okay, what about that phone call Louise got. Anything on that, Ol?”

  “Yes, but nothing that will help us. It was sent from the manufacturer to Phone City in town and paid for with cash last week—I rang them to check. They have no cameras inside the shop, and Phil contacted CCTV, and the cameras in the side street where Phone City is aren’t bloody working at the moment. Haven’t been for a fortnight.”

  “For fuck’s sake.” Helena sighed. “Is it me, or does this kind of thing always happen to us? It’s like the universe conspires against us every time we get a case.”

  Ol smiled sadly, and Phil scratched his head. Andy added a grunt and rubbed his belly for good measure.

  “What about the diary?”

  “Nothing we can use,” Phil said. “I’m only halfway through it, but it just goes on about ‘them’, whoever they are.”

  “Well, plod on. We’re going to the Talk Today office. Where the hell is that, d’you know?” Helena turned to put info on the whiteboard. The marker pen squeaked with every letter she wrote.

  Someone clacked on a keyboard behind her.

  “Above Chargrill Kebabs,” Phil said. “The high street.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She scribbled a few more notes, annoyed with herself for not asking Becky if she had a recent photo of Felicity so they could pin it up to remind them who they were fighting for. “Ol, can you get a phone number for Becky Jermaine and give her a ring for me. Ask her to send you a picture of Felicity if she has one. Print it out and stick it up here.” She tapped the board.

  “Okay, guv.”

  Helena put the marker down and faced them all. “Then do your usual checks while me and Andy go into town.”

  She gestured to him with her head, and he hauled himself from his seat and followed her to the car. The journey to town didn’t take long, and she managed to nab a parking space right in front of the kebab place. She got out, and a traffic warden was writing a ticket for someone a few cars up. Hoping for the best, Helena approached him, showed her badge, and explained their need to park for a few minutes. She expected him to be a jobsworth and tell her to pay anyway, but he wrote in a notebook and signed the bottom of the page, then ripped it off and handed it to her.

  “Just pop that on the dash,” he said. “I’m off elsewhere in a minute, but that’ll do just in case another warden comes by before you leave. They shouldn’t, because this is my patch, but you never know.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “You’re a star.”

  He beamed at that, the skin beside his eyes crinkling, and she left him to get on. Outside Chargrill, she was about to go inside when Andy pointed at a second door, grey with a plaque on it.

  “Looks like it’s here,” he said and knocked.

  “Let’s hope we get some vital info then, eh?”

  Chapter Five

  Den filled some shelves out of boredom. He may as well shut up shop in a bit. The cold weather kept tourists away and the town’s kids from venturing out for rock or toffees after school. With the predicted hurricane on the way, he reckoned people were staying indoors. Best thing to do, that. Saved you getting swept off your feet, didn’t it.

  While he stacked chocolate, he thought about the man who’d come in and bought that Mars and a magazine. Den had known him right from the lad being a kid, and he’d always put the shits up Den. He had weird eyes that seemed to see right into Den’s soul and seek out his secrets. All right, Den had a few, but they weren’t for the lad to know. Saying that, he wasn’t exactly a lad now, was he. Blimey, he must be in his thirties by now. Had time really flown by so fast? Of course it had.

  His son, Mark, was the same age. They’d gone to school together, had been best friends once upon a time. Not now, though. Not since the lad had shown signs of wanting to take a dark path, and nowadays he was always drinking in The Villager’s Inn and going to the nightclub, rat-arsed even during the day sometimes.

  People liked to come in and gossip.

  Den’s mind wandered, as it was prone to do lately, a downside of getting on in years. He recalled taking over this shop from his old man, and the pride he’d felt in continuing the family business had been like nothing he’d ever felt since. Sadly, his son didn’t want it after Den popped his clogs, and the idea of it going to someone else, being sold off or even closed down, had Den’s heart aching. Still, he’d rather that than force his boy to do something he didn’t want to do.

  Den had been so intent on running the shop, Mark hadn’t arrived until Den was considered an ‘old parent’. Despite that, Mark had done all right for himself, what with being a manager in the Nationwide just down the road. Den was made up for him and no mistake. No, Den wouldn’t want him giving up his career to man a shop that was, if he were honest, on the verge of giving up the ghost. Summertime was all right, but in winter it became an abandoned relic, washed up and a far cry from its heyday where the paint had been fresher, the sign out the front brighter. The weather had got to it, as had all that salt in the air, and Den didn’t have the energy or the money to get it sorted.

  Someone appeared at the window, and Den glanced across. The lad stared inside, those fucking strange eyes of his boring into Den. The wind had really picked up, and it sifted through the kid’s hair, pushing it to one side. Shuffling over to the door in his slippers, Den clicked the lock down and pulled at the blind so it hid the glass. Then he did the same with the window, shutting the creep out there, leaving the wind to buffet him every which way and hopefully send him home. Den shivered and, leaving the job of chocolate stacking for tomorrow, he put the float from the till in the safe then closed everything down.

  With a Heineken can in hand, cold from the fridge, he went upstairs to put some dinner on. A bit of fish and chips wouldn’t go amiss, and he popped them in the oven. There was no harm in having an early tea, was there. No, sometimes it was just the thing on a cold day like this. Shame his wife was no longer there to share it with him.

  In the living room, he sat in his favourite chair and cracked open the beer, the job of lifting the tab more difficult now with his fingers being arthritic. Pain shot into his knuckles, and he closed his eyes until it passed, then had a good sip or two, contemplating whether he’d read tonight or watch a bit of telly instead.

  Can clutched in both hands, he tipped his head back and dozed.

  * * * *

  The lad was coming round for tea. Mark was excited, jumping here, there, and every-bloody-where, making a nuisance of himself on the shop floor. If Den didn’t know any better, he’d say his boy had been scoffing some rock on the sly, had maybe sneaked a can of Coke while he was at it, too.

  “Calm down,” Den said. “You’ve not long seen him at school.”

  Mark zoomed between the racks in the shop, knocking off a bag of Golden Wonder.

  “Pack it in now.” Den walked over and picked the crisps up, putting them back in place. “Look, here he is.”

  Mark ran to the door and swung it open, and the lad stood there, no mum
, no dad with him, and Den wondered what sort of parent would let a five-year-old kid go to someone’s house by himself. Didn’t everyone drop their children off? Mind you, everyone knew Den, so he supposed it wasn’t so bad. The lad’s mum, Regina, was a nice enough woman, if a bit harried since her husband had walked out. Maybe her new fella had put his foot down and said her son could walk there by himself.

  “Come on in,” Den said, holding the door open, seeing as Mark was struggling with the weight of it. “Upstairs with you. Mrs Simons has the food almost ready, so best you go now. You don’t want it to go cold, do you?”

  The lad came in and stared at the sweets, his eyes wide. “Can I have one of them?” He pointed a skinny finger at the pink sticks of rock.

  “No,” Den said. “Mrs Simons will have a treat for after tea. Ice cream or some such. She went next door to the parlour earlier, so I’m guessing I’m right. That’ll be nice, won’t it?”

  The lad glared at him, his eyes going black, and a shiver spread from Den’s spine to all over his skin, goosebumps sprouting. He rubbed his arms and shut the door, turning his back on him. Mark looked up, and Den smiled, hoping his face didn’t betray how a young boy could unsettle him so much.

  Something smashed behind him, and Den whipped round. A snow globe had fallen off the shelf. Water had splashed on the grey tiles, and the white spots of fake snow were scattered.

  Den moved his attention to the lad, who smiled a creepy little smile.

  “What happened there then?” Den asked, keeping his distance, unable to move forward to clear up the mess. It was stupid that the kid had him on edge like that, but there it was. He couldn’t help how he felt.

  “Dunno.” The boy shrugged and grinned wider. “Why did you say no?”

  Den blinked at the child’s boldness. “Because I did.”

  “You shouldn’t say no. Bad things happen when you do that.”

  Fucking hell. Den wasn’t sure what to do. “Just go upstairs,” he said, voice gruff. “The pair of you.” He waved a hand for emphasis, wanting the lad gone and out of his sight.

  Mark scooted from behind Den and legged it. The lad stayed where he was for a speck of time, still grinning, his eyes still black and weird. Then he ran to the back of the shop, to the door marked PRIVATE, and disappeared along with Mark.

  Den had a feeling he’d regret having the lad here, but he brushed that idea away. It was daft to be afraid of a small boy.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Six

  Helena and Andy waited at the Talk Today door, and a woman opened up, smiling, her hair an outrageous red mop, her tortoiseshell-framed glasses round and taking up half of her elfin face. Blue eyes shone from behind them, and freckles stippled her nose, those on one cheek spotted like the Big Dipper constellation.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, tilting her head. Her voice was the type to stop anyone stepping off the ledge—soft, kind, soothing.

  Helena showed her ID. “I’m Helena Stratton, and this is my partner, Andy Mald. We’re here to talk about Miss Greaves. I believe she works here.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She appeared perplexed, a frown lasting only a few seconds, then she smiled. “Come away in then.” She stepped back to allow them entry. “Just go up the stairs there, then turn left at the top. My office is right in front of you.”

  Helena climbed the steps, creeped out by the gloom and the smell of old furniture, kind of like the scent of a church. The walls were a grubby magnolia, a line of dirt from years of filthy hands touching them going up the middle where a handrail should be. She turned and entered the office, a cubbyhole really, one that wasn’t big enough for all three of them without claustrophobia coming for an unwelcome visit.

  Andy remained on the landing, then the woman joined him.

  “Ah, it’ll be cramped,” she said, glancing at Andy as though it was his size that would create the problem. “Let’s go into the other room. That’s where the girls sit to answer the phones. There’s only Val in there at the moment. Is that all right?”

  “We’d rather speak to you alone,” Helena said. “Then we can speak to Val.”

  “I wouldn’t bother. She doesn’t know Felicity.”

  “Sorry,” Helena said. “I didn’t ask what your name was.”

  “Janice. I’ll just check whether Val is on a call.” She popped her head into the next room and whispered, then opened the door wide. “Val will go into my office. It’s been a quiet day.”

  I wish we’d had one of those.

  Val, a timid-looking woman of about forty, brushed past with her head down, blonde hair fanning over her shoulders. She disappeared into Janice’s office and shut the door. Janice held her arm out for Helena and Andy to go into the other, and they sat on black plastic chairs around a table with a computer and a phone on it. Another one the same was pushed against the far window.

  “Now then, what do you need to know?” Janice asked, draping one leg over the other.

  Keeping things in the present for now so she didn’t tip Janice off, Helena asked, “When does Felicity work here?”

  “Just Monday nights, six until midnight.” Janice smiled. “She’s a good sort, has a gentle manner about her, and that’s what people need in times of distress, someone to keep them calm and help them through.”

  “How long has she worked here?”

  “Oh, about two years. She had a traumatic experience herself, although she never has said what it was, so she wanted to give back, to help others. That’s the sort of people we need here. Folks with empathy.”

  “What types of calls do you get?” Helena held a hand up to stop Janice answering. “Let me ask that again. Do you get any calls where the people ringing in would want to speak to the same person, and if they got someone else, they might get annoyed?”

  “I wouldn’t say annoyed.” Janice twirled some of her mad hair around a finger. “More like panicked or upset, but we get them through that. Once they realise we’re all nice and just want the best for them, they tend to calm down.”

  “So no one would have a grudge, say, if they couldn’t speak to Felicity every time?”

  “Has something happened? We’re very careful not to let anyone know who we really are. We’re just a voice at the end of the line. We actually use false names. This is a relatively small town, and anyone we know could be ringing. They could be embarrassed if they knew one of us recognised their voices.”

  “The same goes for the other way round, surely.”

  “Well, I suppose so…”

  “Do you know of anyone who would have a grudge against Felicity?”

  Janice laughed. “Good grief! No. She’s a lovely person. Why?”

  Helena was on the verge of telling her, what with her hypnotic, calming voice urging her to confess. Janice should have been a priest. Helena reckoned she could wheedle sins out of you in no time. “So you wouldn’t say she had any enemies then.”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Again, why?”

  Fuck it. “I’m afraid Felicity was murdered last night.”

  The words hung in the air, stark and blunt and shocking, and Janice’s mouth flapped.

  “P-pardon?”

  “She was murdered.” Helena hadn’t liked saying it the first time, let alone having to repeat it. “A female was seen at her address. So, do you know of a woman who might be upset with her enough to do that?”

  Janice wiped the tears that flowed down her cheeks, her hand shaking. “Absolutely not. She’s a mouse, wouldn’t hurt anyone. I don’t quite understand this.”

  “Did she ever confide in you about anything?”

  “No. Like I said, she had a bit of a traumatic time, but that was all she told me. I don’t know any details.”

  “Okay, who else works here apart from Val?”

  “A lady called Zoe Jacks. She does the night shift.”

  “I’ll need her address.”

  “Of course. Shall I call Val in here? Then I can get Zoe’s address for you from my o
ffice.”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  While Janice left the room, Andy leant across and tapped Helena’s arm.

  “Doesn’t seem like she’s lying,” he said.

  “No, but then people are clever at hiding things when they want to.” She ran her fingers through her hair. Having another murder case on their hands within days of the last one was likely to suck the strength out of her. They’d had no time to recover. She stifled a yawn.

  Val scuttled in, all willowy limbs and flowing skirt, a hippie deep down if Helena was any judge. She floated to the chair Janice had occupied and gave a twitch of a smile.

  “Hi, Val,” Helena said. “Janice said you don’t know Felicity, but we have to check these things.”

  “No,” Val said, her voice so soft it drifted away immediately. “I’ve only lived here for a month. I moved from Liverpool.”

  “Oh, no accent?”

  Val shook her head. “I’m an army brat. We didn’t stay anywhere long enough for me to pick up any dialects.”

  “I see. So have you ever spoken to Felicity, or do you literally not know her at all?”

  “I work days, and she works Monday nights.”

  “Have you ever had a call from anyone wanting to specifically speak to her?”

  “No.”

  They weren’t getting anywhere, and it was pointless continuing to ask questions.

  “Right, thanks for your time.”

  Helena and Andy walked out, and Janice was waiting on the landing.

  She handed over a slip of paper. “Here you go. Zoe knows Felicity. They were in the same class at school, so Zoe told me once.”

  “Great. Thanks for your time, and I’m sorry to have brought such bad news.”

  Janice nodded and led the way downstairs. She unlocked the door, and Helena slipped past her, Andy right behind. The whiff of kebabs wandered out of Chargrill as though wanting to entice them inside. Andy smiled and winked.

  “We’d better not,” she said. “One, they’re bad for you, and two, we’ll stink when we go to see Zoe.” She pointed down the street. “Sandwiches. They’re better, although that’s debateable these days, given how long a loaf of bread lasts before it goes mouldy. You ever noticed that? Bloody preservatives.”