Contents
Chapters
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
By the same author
Copyright
ONE
223 Canal Road, Bromersley, South Yorkshire, June 2007
Lydia Tinker loved men. And men adored Lydia. From a baby she had cooed and giggled and squealed with delight much more when in her father’s arms than when in her mother’s. When she was five, her father bought her a beautiful rocking horse that she treasured and she was always on its red plastic saddle rocking away.
At six she had always been eager to play postman’s knock, so that she could kiss the boys. At ten, she had set her sights on teenage boys, but they had tended to ignore her. Her age and her size were not in her favour, even though, so young, she did have golden curly hair and a dimple in her cheek.
At fifteen – she had looked nearer twenty – she had caught the eye of a boy of fourteen called Cedric, a podgy, lonely, awkward lad who had minimal knowledge of algebra, knew nothing of the wives of Henry VIII and thought that Pythagoras’s theorem had something to do with a hippopotamus. Cedric made up for his ignorance of academic subjects by his experience and knowledge of more worldly and mature subjects. Encouraged by Lydia, they forged an enthusiastic relationship, eager to learn, explore and experiment.
So by the time Lydia was eighteen, she had fallen in and out of promiscuous relationships with boys, and then men, almost as often as a police camera caught a speeding young driver on the Barnsley ring road. Cedric was history. And Lydia’s collection of gold rings rivalled that of H. Samuel.
She adored jewellery; rings with big shiny diamonds, antique gold pendants with delicate seed pearls, peridots and garnets, pearls of all sizes and colours, emeralds, rubies, gold earrings of absolutely every style, gold chains – the more they glittered, the heavier they were and the more they rattled, the more she adored them. At police functions, she always looked stunning and wore the most beautiful dresses and jewellery, easily outshining the Chief Constable’s wife on all fronts.
Lydia lived with her mother and younger sister, Nadine, in a tiny two up and two down terrace house on Canal Street, a less than salubrious district of Bromersley.
Nadine was a bit plumper than her streamlined sister, Lydia. She had the pitted remains of acne on her face. Also Nadine won no prizes academically. Her schoolwork reports upset her mother; her reading was bad and her writing worse. She could identify coins and paper money, but was hopeless at shopping. Her mother was so embarrassed at times that she told people that Nadine was dyslexic.
That June night, while Nadine, 17, was in the tiny kitchen on the sofa playing ‘Find the Dragon’ on her laptop, and their mother, Maureen, was washing up the tea pots at the sink, Lydia came down the stairs wearing a new yellow dress which was very striking.
‘Do you like this, Mum?’ she said, running a hand down her stomach to straighten any creases there might have been.
Her mother had a cigarette in the corner of her mouth. She stopped pushing the pots around in the sink and turned round. She looked admiringly at the dress. Then her face changed. She was not pleased.
Lydia looked into her mother’s eyes and giggled.
‘I know what I’m doing, Mum, honestly,’ Lydia said. ‘Anyway, what do you think to the dress?’
Nadine looked up from the sofa. ‘I think it’s fab. Can I borrow it next Saturday?’
‘Won’t fit you,’ Lydia said. ‘Besides you’d pull the catches.’
Nadine pulled a face and called out, ‘Meanie!’
‘I just want you to find a decent man and be happy,’ Maureen Tinker said.
‘What about me?’ Nadine said.
‘You as well. You know that. Bringing you two up proper is damned hard work.’
‘Who’s complaining?’ Lydia said.
‘Yeah,’ Nadine said. ‘Who’s complaining?’
‘Well … I suppose I am. It’s not been easy, you know. Your father gone, Nadine’s father is still in Armley. It worries me, on my own, trying to keep you two on the straight and narrow.’
‘You don’t regret having me and Nadine, do you?’ Lydia said.
‘What’s brought all this on?’ Nadine said.
‘I didn’t expect to have to bring you both up on my own,’ Maureen said. Then her face changed. A small smile changed into a big smile. ‘You daft cat,’ she said. She turned away from the sink, wiped her hands on a tea towel, grabbed Lydia’s arms tightly, looked into her eyes and said, ‘I just don’t want you to finish up like me. You’ve got the most beautiful face in the world, and what’s more important, a lovely nature. Whatever man gets you will be the luckiest man in the world.’
Lydia pulled away. ‘Don’t worry about me, Mum. You want me to enjoy myself, don’t you?’
‘ ’Course I do,’ Maureen said as she turned back to the sink, picked up the dishcloth, and putting her hands into the water, pulled out a plate.
‘You could go out, you know,’ Lydia said. ‘You could soon get a bloke. Just about every man on this street looks at you … in that way … when you go out.’
Nadine looked up.
Maureen blinked. ‘Huh! In what way?’ she said and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s you they’re looking at.’
‘You’re not past it yet, Mum. I’ve seen them from the front-room window … looking after you.’
‘They’re just a street full of old lechers. Don’t fancy any of them. Can’t go out, anyway. Not while I’ve got this … this chest.’
She coughed. She made the low note of a foghorn.
She had been smoking since she was twelve. Smoking cheap cigarettes for forty years was beginning to take its toll on her.
Lydia waved her arms in the air impatiently. ‘Anyway, you still haven’t said what you think to the dress, Mum. It’s out of the catalogue. Four pounds a week.’
Maureen turned back to the sink. ‘If you can afford it. What you do with your money is nothing to do with me. I’ve got these pots to do.’
Lydia’s eyes flashed. ‘Look at it, Mum. What do you think?’
Maureen banged down a cup on the draining board, turned and said, ‘If you must know, Lydia, it’s a tart’s dress. It’s too short, too tight, frames your backside and shows too much cleavage.’
Lydia forced a smile. ‘I knew you’d like it.’
Nadine looked up from the sofa and said, ‘I think it’s really lovely, Lydia. I want one just like it.’
Maureen glared at Nadine and said, ‘You’re not wearing anything as vulgar as that.’
Nadine pulled a disagreeable face and turned back to the laptop.
Maureen threw the dishcloth into the bowl, put her hands on her hips and slowly shook her head. Eventually she said, ‘You know, love, you really will have to be careful. You’ve fooled around with men and got your own way with them all your life. One day, you will push your luck once too often, and you will get hurt, or up the duff, or both.’
‘Don’t worry. All the men I meet are gentlemen, real gentlemen, Mum.’ She giggled again.
Maureen lifted her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Huh. Different bloke every night.’ She turned back to the sink.
Maureen wrinkled up her nose. The muscles in her lips tightened.
‘Have a nice time,’ she said, then in a hard, stern voice she added, ‘but be in by 10.30.’
Lydia’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t wait up,’ she snapped.
Maureen was furious. ‘I don’t want any lip from you!’ she called and she threw the first thing to hand, which was a pan that had been drying on the draining board.
But Lydia was too quick. She was already outside. She quickly slammed the door.
‘You tart!’ Maureen yelled. ‘You bloody tart!’ Her heart was pounding, and she began to cough. She coughed and coughed for more than five minutes. Nadine came rushing up to her with a box of tissues.
Two years later, in February 2009, Maureen Tinker died unexpectedly. Lydia and Nadine were distraught for some months, especially Nadine, who was also particularly low because she had left school and had been unable to get a job. After a few false starts, Lydia managed to get her a rather lowly job as a nursing assistant at a care home on the outskirts of town. Nadine was very nervous at the beginning, but after a few weeks, as she got to know the other staff and the patients, she began to look forward to it. She particularly liked the white coat and white hat she had to wear, which she thought made her look important.
Meanwhile, Lydia drifted in and out of a relationship with a new boyfriend, Stewart Twelvetrees, a handsome young man who was a newly qualified solicitor in the town. He was the only son of the barrister, Marcus Twelvetrees, who was head of chambers at the Crown Prosecution Service in Bromersley. Then one day, after a tempestuous courtship, Stewart Twelvetrees put the question to Lydia, who eventually agreed and they were married in June 2009. They set up home in a small old country house on the outskirts of Bromersley. It was known as The Brambles, Old Horse Lane, Bromersley. Nadine came to live with them.
Lydia settled down to married life very quickly and soon began to buy small antiques and paintings. She and Stewart were very happy. Regrettably, apart from clothes, the only other item good enough to be brought from the old house on Canal Road was the rocking horse she had played with as a child. She said it was her greatest treasure and the only happy remembrance from her childhood. Stewart said that it would be a useful toy when they had children of their own. It took pride of place halfway up the old stairs, where there was space on a step at the turn.
Muick Castle, Bromersley, South Yorkshire,
Saturday, June 1st 2013
Four years later, Lydia and Stewart Twelvetrees and Nadine Tinker were invited to a very posh ball in aid of cancer research, sponsored by Mrs Nancy Mackenzie. It was held in Muick Castle by kind permission of Lady Muick. The castle was not very old and was a fake really, built around 1850 at the whim of the late Lord Muick’s great-great-grandfather, to his own specification.
The ball was a black-tie occasion and anybody who was anybody in Bromersley was there, dressed in their finery.
Detective Inspector Michael Angel and his wife were there, the serene Mary looking ravishing and extremely fashionable, her husband looking less composed. He may have been one of the handsome men there, but smiles from him were limited. He kept running his hand round the inside rim of his collar, pulling at it and muttering.
‘Leave it alone,’ Mary kept saying out of the side of her mouth.
‘What time do we eat?’ he said.
Angel was totally against dressing up for dinner-suit events like this, and was only persuaded by Mary to accompany her as she was on this particular charity committee.
In the big, oval-shaped hall, there were lots of small tables and chairs arranged near the walls, to leave the centre of the hall for dancing. At the bottom of the grand staircase on a raised dais sat Mrs Nancy Mackenzie. She was the leading light in Bromersley, seemingly in charge of all charities and all good works. She had sponsored the evening and organized everything and everybody. Next to her was Lady Muick, a pleasant looking lady wearing a most striking diamond and emerald necklace. On her right was Sir Rodney Stamp, a stiff looking man with a fierce face and tiny black eyes. He was holding a glass of claret. A young man in tails appeared from time to time with a fresh glass, which was quickly exchanged without comment. Next to Sir Rodney Stamp was a pretty young woman half his age, with a big bosom, long legs, and wearing a glittering gold dress the length of a T-shirt.
At the other end of the room was a six-piece orchestra, playing ‘Blue Danube’, and a few bold couples over fifty were dancing on the big space in the centre of the hall.
The hall was filling up and the dance floor was becoming busier.
Mary Angel turned to her husband and said, ‘Well, are you going to ask me to dance or not?’
Angel’s face creased. Then he listened to the music.
Mary said, ‘It’s all right. It’s a waltz. You can do a waltz.’
‘I know. I know.’
After a few moments, he stood up, bowed slightly and said, ‘Would you care to have this dance with me, madam?’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she replied and they sailed off into the middle of the room.
Angel concentrated on the steps carefully. He could manage the waltz but that was all. He directed Mary and himself to the far side of the dance floor and then made a course around the edge of the dancing area to see who was there that he knew. When he got used to the footwork, he said, by way of making conversation, ‘Did Nancy Mackenzie sell all the tickets?’
‘She could have sold more, but she decided that 600 was as many as the place would hold.’
He nodded. ‘That seems a tall order. Mind you, the place is pretty big.’ They reached the far side and he started their journey round the perimeter.
‘Let’s hope that not everybody wants to dance at the same time,’ Mary said. ‘Nice orchestra, if it’s not pretentious to call a sextet an orchestra,’ she added.
Angel suddenly smiled at somebody and mouthed, ‘Good evening.’
Mary said, ‘Who was that?’
‘Young Twelvetrees and his wife. Lydia and Stewart. They make a beautiful couple.’
He swung Mary round so that she was facing them.
‘Which are they?’ she said.
‘Sitting. Against the wall. She’s wearing a fluffy white dress and a big pendant of pearls and some other stones.’
‘Sapphires,’ Mary said. ‘Oh yes, she’s very attractive. So is he. Handsome like his father. Who is the girl standing next to Lydia Twelvetrees?’
‘Lydia’s sister, Nadine.’
‘Her sister? They don’t look like sisters.’
‘No. I think Nadine is handicapped, mentally.’
‘I didn’t know. Poor lass ... that necklace is a bit vulgar, though.’
‘What necklace? Oh the one Lydia’s wearing? It’s not vulgar. You always say that if a piece of jewellery is big.’
‘Jewellery should be discreet … delicate.’
‘You mean cheap … have you seen what Lady Muick is wearing?’
‘Well, she can wear anything. She’s got the presence.’
‘You mean because she’s a big lump?’
They made a few more turns and finished up where they started.
Mary’s face straightened and she shook her head.
‘That emerald and diamond piece round her neck must be worth around a hundred thousand pounds,’ Angel said.
Mary’s eyebrows shot up. ‘As much as that?’
The ‘Blue Danube’ music came to an end. Mary and Michael Angel stopped dancing, as did all the others. They applauded the orchestra and took their seats.
Michael put his fingers down inside his collar again and began pulling it.
Mary saw him and looked round to see if he was being observed. ‘Don’t do that,’ she said.
‘It’s sticking in, Mary. It’s uncomfortable.’
‘You will insist on wearing your father’s old dress collars. If you would let me get some—’
‘There’s too much starch on the damned thing.’
‘There isn’t any starch on it at all. Starch went out in the Dark Ages. I’ll get you a couple of new collars. …’
Suddenly, there was a loud roll on the drums and a crash of cymbals. The lights went out and a spotlight showed up a young man in front of the sextet.
The Great Hall went silent and everybody stared in the direction of the stage.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the charity ball in the Great Hall here in Muick Castle, graciously permitted by Lady Muick and sponsored by Mrs Nancy Mackenzie. I am your MC for the evening.’
The MC was abruptly interrupted by a loud scream from the opposite end of the Great Hall.
In the dark, everybody turned towards the disturbance.
A voice called out, ‘Put the lights on.’ Several others repeated the suggestion.
The lights went up.
It was Lady Muick. She was on her feet, her face white, her eyes staring, her fingers feeling round her long, scraggy neck. ‘My necklace! My necklace! It’s gone. It’s gone.’
Sir Rodney Stamp leaned over to her and said, ‘Where did you have it last?’
Lady Muick eyed him with huge eyes and said, ‘Round my neck. It’s been taken in the dark.’
He blinked, took a gulp out of his glass. The young woman next to him grabbed him by the arm and whispered something.
The crowd began to mutter among themselves.
Mrs Nancy Mackenzie got to her feet and in a slow and confident voice said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’
The muttering stopped.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she continued, ‘would you please look around you and see if you can see an emerald and diamond necklace? It’s very beautiful … and unmistakable. It belongs to Lady Muick. If anybody knows anything about it, please come and tell me quickly. I’m sure it will turn up. Then we can return to having a most wonderfully enjoyable evening. Thank you. Thank you very much.’ Then she added, ‘Mr MC, would you please ask the gentlemen of the orchestra to play some music? Thank you.’
The Fruit Gum Murders Page 1