He re-ran the empty palms routine. “Search me.” Her eyes narrowed, as his blank look turned into a fake frown. The voice was mock-concern. “That can’t be right. She’s a friend of yours. She’d have sent you a card.” There was menace in the pause; she felt it even more when he spoke again. “Surely you’d have heard from her by now? Beverley?”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Ozzie. “Slow down, Sarge. That was a red light.”
Bev glared at him.
“D’you want me to drive?” he asked.
She tightened her grip on the wheel, left her foot where it was. “Do I look as if I want you to drive?”
“You look gutted to me.”
Ozzie had borne the brunt of Bev’s anti-Hawes tirade. The guv had eventually assigned half a dozen officers to crack the man’s alibi. Checks so far suggested that only a Trident sub would be more watertight.
She hit the horn, till a two-mile-a-fortnight banger pulled over to let them pass. “He’s fireproof, bombproof and bloody waterproof.”
“Have you ever thought he might not have done it?”
Never. Not once. And it was too late to start now. “He’s as guilty as sin. He’s just never been caught.”
She heard a sigh, was aware he’d turned to look through the window. Not that he’d see much. It was beans-on-toast-in front-of-the-telly time where Annie Flinn lived; more Neighbours than Neighbourhood Watch. The Robin Hood estate was all single mothers and double buggies. Family values were Australian and about as remote. Ozzie was doing her a favour tagging along.
“Sorry, Oz. But if we don’t come up with something rock hard, he’s gonna get away with it. He’s got witnesses sewn up like patchwork. How the hell does he do it?”
“Threats, I suppose,” he answered, but the voice had little interest.
“Yes, but what with? It’s not just the girls. He’s got all sorts of people backing him up. Councillors, a vicar, a couple of footballers. They’re queuing to throw him a line.”
“What road’s this woman’s place on?”
“Sherwood Street.”
“You just passed it.”
“Shit.”
She jammed the anchors on and a woman cyclist very nearly went into the back bumper. Bev mouthed an apology but the woman gave her the finger and a mouthful.
Ozzie’s face was set in disapproval. He waited till she was halfway through a three-point turn. “You’re letting the bloke get to you.”
It was lucky she had to keep her hands on the wheel. “What are you saying? Exactly?”
He scratched his head, regretted saying anything. “Look. I can see you’re upset…”
“You don’t see anything. He’s not getting to me. He’s getting to them. His girls. His goons. A sudden shedload of character witnesses. The man thinks he can walk on water.”
They were outside Annie’s pebble-dash semi. Bev turned to face him. “The thing is –”
“Sarge.” He tapped his watch. “It’s nearly six. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with. I’ve got something on tonight.”
She said nothing, released the seat belt, got out, knew her face would be flushed. He’d as good as told her to shut it. Was he right, did he have a point? Byford had as good as told her she was fixated on Hawes; now this. Coming from Ozzie, it was somehow more of a slight.
“Sorry, Sarge, it’s just – ” He had to lengthen his stride.
“Forget it.”
Annie must have seen the car pull up; she was leaning against the door, arms folded across her scrawny chest. “I was just on me way out.”
“Nice one, Annie.” Bev lifted a foot. “Now try this. It’s got bells on.”
“I’m goin’– ”
“It’s February, it’s brass monkeys and you’re wearing slippers and a T-shirt.”
“Smart arse.”
Bev smiled, bowed her head. “Got a few questions for you, Annie.”
“Know it all anyroad, don’t you?”
“Gonna ask us in then?” Bev said. The woman seemed to notice Ozzie for the first time. “This is DC Khan. He’s with me.” As superfluous remarks go, it was a cracker.
Annie clearly liked what she saw. “Lucky you.”
“Much as I’d like to stand here engaged in intellectual banter, we’ve got work to do.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not a good time.”
“It’s never a good time, Annie…”
The rest of the exchange was lost in a bellow from within. “You gonna stand there gassin’ all night, woman? Shut the bloody door.”
Annie hunched her shoulders in mute apology. Bev took it as an invitation and slipped past. “Quite right too. It’s Arctic out here.”
The narrow hall was more of an obstacle than ever; a clothes-horse and a bike had joined the general clutter since Bev’s last visit. In the gloom, a shin made contact with a pedal and the subsequent trip sent her flying into a load of boxer shorts and babygros. “Remind me to fix you up with a couple of light bulbs, Annie.”
“She don’t need nothin’ from you, cop.” The Boy Wonder, all mouth and muscles, had come to the kitchen door.
“Evening, Steve. Dash of milk and two sugars for me.” He moved aside, incredulous not chivalrous. “Close your mouth, son. I can see your tonsils.”
He was so intent on Bev he hadn’t noticed Ozzie. Then he did. “’ere.” He grabbed Ozzie’s arm. “We don’t want your sort in ’ere.”
“My sort?” Ozzie asked softly, barely above a whisper. “Now, what exactly do we mean by that?”
Bev was watching like a hawk. Steve Bell’s brain wasn’t on the same planet as his brawn. If he was going to lash out, it wouldn’t be verbally. Can’t be right all the time.
“Coons. Coloureds.” He sniffed loudly. “Specially Pakicops.”
A tap dripped in the silence. No one moved, then Ozzie looked down at the man’s hand, black fingernails still clutching the sleeve of his jacket. He didn’t speak, but slowly lifted his glance to Steve Bell’s face. Bev felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. There was a glint in Ozzie’s eyes she’d never seen before. She didn’t like it. Neither did Bell. He released his grip and strutted back to the table and a half-eaten meal.
Annie was in the doorway, wringing her hands. “Let him have his tea in peace, we can talk out here.”
Bev pulled out a chair. “Let’s not.” She nodded to Oz; they both sat. “I’m sure Steve’ll be only too happy to help.”
A mouth full of sausage and chips prevented a reply, but judging by the scowl her confidence was misplaced. “Had any more postcards recently?” Bev asked casually.
Annie strode to the sink, filled the kettle. “If that’s all you’re here for, you’ve had a wasted journey.”
“That’s okay. I enjoy the stimulating company.” Aiming for casual, she continued, “Anyway, you’ll be pleased to hear Vicki’s fine.” She waited while Annie absorbed that little snippet then threw out something for her to chew on. “Got it from the horse’s mouth so to speak: Charlie Hawes told me.” The woman’s face gave nothing away. Steve’s fork was more forthcoming. Bev was sure it had momentarily stopped shovelling food. “Heard of him, have you, Steve?”
He took a swig of lager, swilled it and swallowed before executing a slow shake of the head.
“Shit!” Annie’s hands were trembling, which could explain the half a ton of sugar she’d spilled on a surface that already had enough stains for a poor man’s Jackson Pollock. Clumsy or calculated? Bev was undecided.
Lover Boy had no doubt. “Clumsy cow.”
“Shut it,” Ozzie snapped. Bev couldn’t have put it better herself. If looks could kill, they’d both be fertiliser. She went to Annie, took the cloth and started clearing the mess. Annie sank into the empty chair, stroking her cheek, which was still red and presumably painful. “I know Vick’s fine. I told you that. I don’t need no one comin’ round here tellin’ me what I already know.”
“Charlie tell you, did he, Annie?”
“I don’t know any Charlies. How many times I got to tell you?”
“Bright idea of his. Getting you to tell me she was in Brighton.”
“For fuck’s sake. She sent me a soddin’ card.”
Bev draped the cloth over a tap, looked through the window. Annie wasn’t going to budge. She’d lie through her gums to protect herself from Hawes. Going by the state of her face, who could blame her? But who was protecting Vicki? Bev sighed; she was going to keep quiet about the phone call. Telling Annie wouldn’t do any good and it could do a bunch of harm.
It was dark outside. Bev could see the tableau behind her reflected in the curtainless window. Steve was mopping up egg yolk with a slice of Mother’s Pride. Ozzie was looking on in disbelief if not disgust. Annie had her head in her hands. Bev puzzled, whirled it round in her mind. Something was different but she couldn’t place it. She turned round, it was time to get the show on the road. “Tell me about Michelle.”
Annie looked up. “Who?”
“Michelle Lucas.”
Steve let out a loud burp. “That bird in the paper, you soft cow.”
“Oh yeah. The one that got murdered. On the game or somethin’.”
“That’s right. Tell me about her.”
“Look, what is this?” Annie folded her arms. “I seen it in the paper same as everyone else.”
“You sure about that? You sure there isn’t anything I ought to know?”
She was talking to them both but all she could see of Bell was the back of his head. He’d had it shaved again; it was all pink, like a baby’s bum with nappy rash. Did he really think it made him look hard? Or was he getting that from page three of The Sun which was now covering his empty plate.
“I seen it in the Star,” Annie said. “End of story.”
“I don’t think so.” Bev reached into an inside pocket. “Anyway, this story’s got pictures.” She covered the bimbo’s boobs with the photograph: Vicki and Michelle. “Now think again, Annie. What is it you’re not sharing with me?”
Bev gave the woman credit for thinking on her feet. “That don’t prove nothin’. Vicki’s got loads of mates. Don’t mean I know ’em. She never brings nobody back here.”
She also awarded Annie marks for major porkies. “That’s not true, though, is it? Vicki didn’t have to bring her back here. Michelle was living here when that was taken.”
“You’re mad, you are. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”
Bad move. Hyperbole.
“How about that then, Annie? Ever seen that before?” She was pointing to the tree and she didn’t wait for an answer. “Only every time you look out of the bloody kitchen window.”
“Shove those in, Oz.”
Ozzie curled his lip, lifted a pound of Lincolnshire pork sausages and dropped them in Bev’s trolley. They joined half a dozen deep-pan pizzas, a mega pack of frozen chips and enough burgers to stock a chest freezer.
“Your food’s not fast. It’s supersonic,” he said.
She shrugged. “Unlike some, I don’t have a doting mother and a million adoring sisters catering to my every whim.”
“I do my share,” he protested.
“Yeah, well, I do it all. And when I get home late, the last thing I want is to go prancing round in a pinny, rustling up a bit of haute cuisine.”
“Please yourself.”
She took a Black Forest gâteau from the freezer cabinet and gave him a sweet smile. “I do.”
He shook his head. “You’ll get fat.”
“Not me, mate. Run it off, I do. I’m like a streak of lightning in the mornings. People stare in awe as I flash past all of a blur.”
He wasn’t impressed. Not surprising really. It didn’t convince her. Tomorrow’s run would be her first for weeks. Even now she was half hoping Frankie would cry off.
“Told you this’d be a good time to come, didn’t I?” She reached across for a family pack of Neapolitan.
“There’s never a good time for Tesco.”
He was wrong there, even a couple of check-outs were empty. She made for the nearest.
“Yeah, well, my bread bin thinks I’ve emigrated. Still, it was good of you to keep me company. You’re off out tonight, aren’t you?” She was fishing but he wasn’t biting.
He nodded, started unloading. “We hadn’t finished, had we?”
She was puzzled for a moment, then remembered. “Ah! The Annie Flinn book of fairy tales.”
“Our Annie wouldn’t have it, would she? Not till you caught her out.” He gestured for her to explain. “It was pitch black when we got there. How did you know there was a tree out back?”
She winked. “Lucky guess. Worked, though, didn’t it?” Faced with the irrefutable, Annie had no option but to come clean. Michelle had stayed with them for about three months. It had slipped her mind, she claimed. The girl was hardly ever there, always out or in her room. And anyway, it was ages ago. Couldn’t remember why she left; some business over a bloke. Good riddance to bad rubbish as far as Annie was concerned. As for the figure in the background, looked more like a dab of grease to her.
Ozzie gave a low whistle. “You’ve got a nerve.”
“Yeah. Not sure how far it takes us, though.”
“Well, we now know truth is a difficult concept for Annie and that animal.” Ozzie was holding the sausages: somewhat apt in the thought-association stakes.
“Bell was out of order. I thought you were gonna land one on him.”
Ozzie sniffed. “Water off a duck’s back, that in-your-face stuff.”
He opened his mouth to go on, then thought better of it. She prompted. “As opposed to?”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
As opposed to the racist literature in your locker, Paki-gags in the canteen, shit through the letterbox and faceless taunts on the phone. A cocky little thug like Bell wasn’t the only sick git in need of treatment. Still, a few tests might help. “Run a check on him in the morning, Oz.”
It was near freezing outside. She looked up. The sky was like black velvet with a sprinkling of silver glitter. No tea-cosy effect tonight; it was going to be pretty parky.
“I’ll get a bus if you don’t mind, Sarge. I’m running a bit late.”
“Sure you don’t want a lift?”
“No, my sister’s just up the road from here. I’m babysitting.” He flung a Blues scarf over his shoulder. “You got anything on?”
She was joining the girls soon, so long johns and a thermal vest if she had any sense. The guv had wanted her to knock it on the head. He couldn’t see any mileage in it now they had Charlie – if not in custody – at least on tap. Bev had stood firm; this was about the girls now. If they had the goods on Charlie – she’d be doing her best to get them to share. More than that. She’d told them she’d keep an eye on them and she would. She smiled picturing Jules and Patty and the others. “Same as you, really, Oz. Spot of babyminding.”
29
“How’d you get into this lark, then, Jules?” Bev stamped her feet, puffed out a plume of white breath, wished it was smoke. She didn’t have any baccies but reckoned she was the only girl in town with a thermos of Earl Grey down her waistband. The tea was to ward off the cold and the flask to warn off the fruitcakes: whipped out fast it would turn into a mean blunt instrument. Not that anyone was about. She’d seen more life in a cemetery.
“Took exams, dint I?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bev rolled her eyes and snuggled into the knee length fun fur, courtesy of Frankie. The fuchsia clashed something awful with Jules’s aubergine pageboy.
“Well, don’t ask dumb questions. I walked out the front door, opened me legs and put me hand out.” She rubbed her thumb against her fingers and winked a kohl-rimmed eye. The girl made it sound natural, like a rite of passage.
Bev sighed to herself; from where she stood it was dehumanising, dangerous and could be deadly. “There’s got to be easier ways of making a few bob.”
“Who’s talki
n’ a few bob? Know how much I make on a good night?”
Bev turned her mouth down. “Couple a hundred? Three?”
“Yeah, and that’s for starters. Anythin’ a bit kinky and you’re talkin’ twice that.”
Bev recalled the grimy tenners stashed in Michelle’s shoe: definitely nothing good about that night. “Don’t you ever get scared?”
“Don’t you ever shut up?”
She lifted her hands. “I’m curious, that’s all.”
Neither spoke for a while. Jules perked up when a Range Rover turned into the road but it cruised past. Bev noted the number anyway. A scruffy Jack Russell cross trotted along the pavement and christened the nearest lamp post before disappearing through the park railings. “Busy here, isn’t it?” she mused.
“What you expect after the demos? Bloody do-gooders.” Jules sniffed. “Ain’t done me no naffin’ good.”
The protests had been suspended till the weekend but it looked as if the punters had been scared off anyway. So had Patty and co. Apart from Big Val, who was doing a bit of business, Jules was the only girl on the street.
“That geezer who picked up Val? Regular, is he?”
Jules nodded. “Yeah. Calls himself Sonny. He rings her up so’s she knows to wear her Cher gear. She has to stand by that gatepost in her fuck-me shoes and a couple a bin liners: white.”
Bev frowned. Jules shrugged. Silence reigned.
“I was scared once.” There was something in the girl’s voice that made Bev turn. Take away the slap and the silly hair, and Jules was just a skinny kid; sixteen at most. She should be at home watching the box, playing CDs or down the youth club having a giggle. “Not the first time.” Jules was staring straight ahead. “With the first one, I was so pissed, he could have had two heads. He was all right as it happens. Hands me the cash and says, ‘You shouldn’t be doing this, love.’ Give me a bit extra, so I’d go home.”
Working Girls Page 24