Grace Smith Investigates

by Liz Evans

  The reception area was manned by a guard from Mackenzie’s. Whilst he unlocked the glass doors for us, I casually asked Suzie how Kristen had got the job.

  ‘She applied on spec. Read the newspaper reports. Slightly gruesome. But I suppose jobs are hard to obtain these days. Why do you ask?’

  I invented an unemployed cousin.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s a moratorium on recruitment at present.’

  Suzie slid into a Mini parked in a Reserved space and was backing out before I could follow up on the reference to ‘gruesome’.

  She braked and wound down the window, calling across to ask if I wanted a lift.

  ‘That’s very kind. But my car’s just ...’ I waved vaguely at the boundary fence.

  ‘It’s not yet six o’clock,’ Suzie shouted angrily.

  Was the woman a part-time traffic warden as well?

  I was composing excuses for sloppy parking when it dawned on me she wasn’t speaking to me. The cleaners were dismounting from their motor-scooter by the front entrance.

  ‘The agency knows you aren’t supposed to start until six thirty.’

  Both women had kept their crash helmets on. The driver raised her shoulders.

  It is very difficult to argue with a blank, featureless visor. It’s a bit like having a conversation with a microwave oven. Suzie contented herself with vague threats to contact the agency, plus an instruction not to disturb Mr Bridgeman.

  Sitting in my own car, I waited until her tail-lights were just two glowing red dots weaving up amongst the country lane that led away from the town, and then quickly got rid of the wig and glasses.

  Since I had a few more hours to waste, I changed out of Dolly the Dork’s outfit back in the office and made free with Vetch’s hot water again.

  There was no one else in the building. Whilst in theory there were six agents working out of the agency, only Annie, Vetch and I seemed to be here on anything like a permanent basis.

  I checked my desk to see if there were any messages. Neither of my clients had called for a progress report apparently. The only note was a scrawled sticker from Janice:

  Annie rang - 3.15 p.m. Says it was just for a chat. She’s at Leeds Holiday Inn.

  Janice.

  No other messages all day.

  P.S. There never are. Don’t have many clients, do you?

  I rang Annie but there was no answer from her room, so I wandered down to the front intending to visit my favourite greasy spoon, and then remembered they closed on Mondays.

  In the end I settled for a double cheeseburger with extra onions eaten in a shelter, watching the waves, before driving back up to keep my appointment with Donna Skerries.

  She seemed even more nervous than earlier. For a moment I thought I wasn’t even going to get inside the flat. But eventually she shuffled back and allowed me inside the hall. Through a left-hand door I caught a glimpse of a living room strewn with toys.

  ‘Where are the kids?’

  ‘Me mate’s got ’em.’

  I’d turned towards the living room. She blocked my way, banging the door shut quickly. ‘We gotta talk in the kitchen.’

  She led the way to the end of the hall. The grey tracksuit had been replaced by a sleeveless fuchsia top which showed the outline of her bra, and blue jeans that clung to her bottom with the tenacity of a non-stick coating.

  ‘In here.’

  The kitchen blinds were drawn, leaving the room in semidarkness. I just had time to register this fact when something hit me hard and fast in the stomach. With a gasp I doubled over and saw the knee heading straight for my nose.

  CHAPTER 14

  I fell sideways. The power behind the up thrust had to go somewhere. And since it couldn’t go into my face, it reacted against her, sending her swaying backwards.

  Taking advantage of the fact she was off-balance, I locked both my hands round the heel of her static leg and heaved hard.

  She went over, landing heavily on her back. A kitchen chair caught by her flailing hand went with her. I managed to stand, using the table as a lever, but the trainer she’d planted in my stomach had had one hell of a leg behind it.

  Whilst my bowel muscles were still protesting, she’d got to her feet and drawn back her right arm. I fended the fist on my forearm and lashed out with my own trainers, aiming for the kneecap.

  With a muttered ‘Bitch!’ ground out through gritted teeth, she swayed and came back at me again. This time both fists were jabbing with short boxer’s punches.

  I retreated. The only thing to hand was the flip-top rubbish bin. I scooped it up two-handed and held it out, elbows slightly bent and ready to absorb the force.

  Her right jab put a dent in the side. But at least the pain disrupted her rhythm for a second. Taking advantage of it, I hurled myself forward with the bin still held at shoulder height and jammed it into her face.

  Surprised, she stepped back, tripped over the upturned chair and sprawled back again. Several mugs jumped off their hooks and rolled across the Formica before smashing on the floor.

  I grabbed the chair and forced the legs down across her black T-shirt. It was a tight fit; she was a well-developed girl. But at least she wasn’t too athletic. Whilst I was straddling her and keeping her top half pinned down, the short, thick legs under the black leggings couldn’t get a big enough swing to kick me in the kidneys.

  Donna finally decided to join in the fun.

  ‘Let her up!’

  She rushed over and pitter-patted open-handed blows against my nearest shoulder. After the last round, it was about as painful as being assaulted by a flock of rabid butterflies.

  ‘Pack it in, Donna, or I’ll have to demonstrate my famous right elbow in the gob technique. And put the blind up, for heaven’s sake.’

  At least she stopped slapping. ‘Let ’er up. Nola, Nola, you OK?’

  ‘Course I’m not. This tart’s suffocating me.’

  I could feel the effort her chest was making to expand. The words were wheezing out.

  ‘OK, I’ll let you up. But try anything like that again and I’ll stick it across your throat, understand? And will you please put the blind up, Donna.’

  She turned the light on instead.

  Nola struggled up to a sitting position, glaring at me from a round face framed by black hair cropped to within a millimetre of its life. I was reminded of a drawing of a fat hedgehog in a picture book I’d had as a child. The thought made me smile.

  ‘You needn’t think you’ve won, tart. You won’t be laughing once I’ve kicked yer teeth in.’

  ‘Stop it, Nola, just shut up, will yer ... Look what you’ve done to me kitchen, you stupid cow!’ Donna made an attempt to clear up the shattered mugs, winced and stuck a bleeding finger in her mouth.

  Nola levered herself against the sink cupboard. ‘If you’re just gonna slag me off for trying to help, I’m going.’

  ‘Well go then! I never asked yer to interfere, did I? I can handle it. I already told ’em I don’t know where Tom is, ain’t I? And they can see I ain’t got no nicked bricks or nothing here.’

  ‘Is it possible,’ I asked, ‘you’re under the impression I’m Larry Payne’s messenger service? Because if so, not guilty.’ The stomach muscles were beginning to recover from the protective numbness they’d entered after Nola’s foot arrived in their midst, and they were now starting to hurt like hell. I straddled the chair, keeping the back between me and Nola, and massaged my lower bowel area cautiously.

  ‘So what you want then? If you ain’t from that builder?’

  ‘I’m a detective.’

  ‘See what you’ve done. You’ve gone and hit a copper now, Nola. She never meant nothing by it, honest.’

  ‘She meant to knock my teeth in,’ I pointed out. ‘However, I’m a private detective now. I’ve left the police. But I still know plenty of people in the force.’

  And most of them crossed the road rather than share pavement with me. But there was no need for this pair to know that.r />
  ‘So what you want?’ Nola demanded.

  She’d stayed on the floor, leaning against the cupboard, her legs bent and hugged to her chest with those short, muscular arms. I had the same feeling of deja vu I’d had when watching Marina Payne. This was another face who reminded me of someone else, but once again I couldn’t for the life of me think who.

  ‘I’ve been hired to find Tom. By one of his fans. She’s just a kid. I was hoping to persuade him to spin her some story. Let her down gently, you know?’

  ‘And you come here to ask Donna for help. You’ve got a flaming cheek!’

  ‘Actually I came here to find Tom. But I gather I’m out of luck. Keeping out of Payne’s way, is he?’

  Donna shrugged. She was still sucking the cut finger and it made her look about ten. ‘Might be.’

  I looked to Nola, who said: ‘He’s just scarpered again, ain’t he. He always takes off when he gets fed up playing daddy. Took off for three months after Liam was born.’

  ‘He says all that screaming does his head in,’ Donna said, still defending her man.

  ‘I suppose the rest of us just love it, do we?’ Nola levered herself up and cautiously placed her weight on the knee I’d kicked.

  I was pleased to see it seemed to be hurting her as much as my stomach was paining me.

  Hobbling to a cupboard, she unearthed a plastic brush and dustpan and started sweeping up the shattered crockery.

  After an ineffectual attempt to help with the toe of her trainer, Donna stood watching. ‘You broke Liam’s Thomas the Tank Engine mug, he’ll be ever so upset. He won’t drink his chocolate milk from nothing else.’

  ‘Then don’t give him none.’ Nola shot the dustpan contents into the bin and dragged the liner out, twisting the top into a knot.

  ‘He’s gotta have his milk. It’s good for him. You don’t understand. You ain’t got kids.’

  ‘Ally-bloody-luyah ...’ Nola said with feeling. She was interrupted by a shriek from outside.

  ‘That’s my Liam!’ Donna pushed me aside and rushed down the hall.

  Nola followed her out on to the walkway at a slower pace. Two little boys of around three and six, with their dad’s gypsy looks, were rushing round with a little red-haired girl on the central green. Directly below us, Shannon’s pushchair was being wheeled back and forth by her minder.

  As soon as I saw the candy-striped hair, a memory clicked into place. I knew who Nola reminded me of. To paraphrase an old joke, she reminded me of her.

  ‘You’re the cleaner from Wexton’s Engineering.’

  ‘Yeah. What of it?’

  ‘I saw you up there Sunday night. Arguing with the bloke from Mackenzie’s.’

  ‘Yeah. Normally we do it Friday night, or Saturdays. That’s why the guard was giving us hassle, he ain’t used to letting us in Sundays. But Bonnie couldn’t do it till Sunday.’

  I took a few deep breaths and found it wasn’t too painful. ‘Fancy a drink?’

  ‘Yer what?’

  ‘A drink. Lager, draught bitter, orange juice ...’

  ‘Rum and Coke.’

  It would be. Still, at least it was going on Henry Summerstone’s expenses.

  Donna had to be persuaded. ‘I oughta get the kids to bed.’

  ‘They can stay up a bit late. It’s summer, ain’t it. You gotta get out,’ Nola scolded. ‘Just ’cos he’s gone off, ain’t no reason for you to mope in the flat. Now go fix yourself up.’

  ‘Does she really not know where her husband is?’ I asked as soon as Donna disappeared back into the flat.

  ‘Hasn’t a clue. He’ll come back. Next week, next month, when he’s ready. Just does as he likes. I told her she oughta stick up for herself more. Get some respect. But it’s always me has had to fight the battles for her, ever since we was the same ages as Pierce and Liam.’

  ‘You sisters?’

  ‘Yeah. Don’t look it, do we? She was always the pretty one, got all the blokes. Still, least I was spared being put up the stick by Tosser Tom.’

  There was something about her tone made me wonder if perhaps she hadn’t had hopes in that direction once, but I never found out because Donna reappeared.

  Fixing herself up had consisted of putting a brush through her hair and adding fuchsia lipstick and a gold-coloured necklace and hoop earrings.

  Getting out consisted of walking twenty yards across the green to the club building.

  ‘Visitor,’ Nola bawled in the general direction of the bar. The woman I’d met earlier in the day thrust a book across.

  ‘It’s fifty pee.’

  Once I’d been signed in, Nola announced they’d get a table. ‘Donna has lager and lime.’

  They pushed a way through the smoky, packed hall. The television was showing American basketball now, via a satellite channel.

  I’d just ordered their drinks, and my orange juice, when the older kids charged in followed by Candy-stripe with the pushchair. After a quick conference at the table, Donna’s oldest kid came running over.

  ‘Auntie Bonnie wants a gin and tonic. And please can Liam and me and Hannah have cherryades and cheese’n’onion crisps?’

  ‘You’ll get fat.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ Dragging up his Batman T-shirt he peered at his round white stomach whilst I gave the order.

  ‘Pierce Skerries,’ his mother scolded half-heartedly when she saw the load. ‘Did you ask this lady to buy yer things? Now what have I told you about that?’

  "Member to say thank you,’ her son said, wide-eyed and innocent, as he quickly took one of the pre-filled plastic beakers and put his thumb through the silver-foil top before he could be told to take it back.

  ‘Yeah, well ...’ Outmanoeuvred, Donna took charge of her daughter. ‘Come on, we’ll go in the children’s room. Say thanks, you two.’

  Bonnie’s little girl mumbled her thanks. Liam, however, insisted that I bend down so he could give me an enormous hug and an enthusiastic kissing.

  ‘Thank you ever so much!’ he beamed, fixing me with melting brown eyes framed by mile-long lashes beneath curls that were just crying out to be ruffled.

  Oh yes, I could definitely see how his dad had a string of panting girlfriends all beating a path to his cement mixer.

  Donna took them off to another room beyond the bar. I glimpsed brightly painted walls, a climbing frame and another telly playing cartoons before the door shut again. ‘Wouldn’t they prefer the beach?’

  ‘They go there weekends and holidays. Ain’t that right, Bonnie?’

  Candy-stripe nodded. She seemed a woman of few words. And none of those stretched beyond two syllables.

  ‘Thought it were better Bonnie stayed if you wanna ask about Wexton’s. You do, don’t yer?’

  Despite looking like a hedgehog who was into heavy metal, Nola seemed to be the shrewdest of the trio. I agreed my interest was in Wexton’s.

  ‘Thought it was. Bonnie’s worked there longer than me. ’Ow long is it? Four years?’

  ‘Five.’

  ‘She’s a detective. You never said your name.’

  ‘Grace Smith.’

  ‘Like Hannah,’ Bonnie said.

  ‘She nearly called her Hannah Grace,’ Nola translated.

  ‘Fascinating. So you’ve worked for Wexton’s for five years, have you, Bonnie?’

  ‘No.’

  Nola interpreted again. ‘We don’t work for Wexton’s. We work for the cleaning company.’

  ‘Are any of the regular staff there when you clean?’

  ‘Sometimes. If they’re on overtime, the production lot stay on. Work weekends too.’

  ‘Did you ever come across a woman called Kristen Keats? She was a test engineer.’

  I was about to describe Kristen, but the laugh Nola and Bonnie exchanged told me I didn’t need to.

  ‘Boss’s perk,’ Nola said succinctly.

  ‘Stephen Bridgeman, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He and Kristen were at it?’

&
nbsp; ‘Well, we never caught ‘em …you know… did we, Bonnie?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why do you think they’d become a hot item?’

  Nola explained. ‘They were always working overtime together the past few months.’

  ‘Didn’t Bridgeman work it before?’

  ‘Yeah, he did. But that was when the girls on production did it as well. Last few months it’s been just him and her, all huddled up round the computer screen. Never cosied up to Rob like that, did he, Bonnie?’

  ‘Who’s Rob?’

  ‘Rob Wingett. He used to do her job. Before he got killed. He was nice, Rob was. Always joking and laughing with us. Some of them don’t say nothing to you if you’re the cleaner. But Rob was nice.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Motorbike smash. He’d got that diabetics,’ Nola elaborated. ‘They reckon he passed out. Broke his neck.’

  At least that cleared up Ms Ayres odd remark about Kristen’s application being ‘gruesome’.

  ‘Why’d you wanna know about Kristen?’ Nola demanded.

  ‘I’ve just been hired to find her. My client’s worried about her.’

  ‘Ain’t she still working at Wexton’s then?’

  ‘No. Left a few weeks back.’

  Bonnie tossed her ponytail and lifted her empty glass. ‘Nuther?’

  To my surprise, Nola took up the tray. ‘My round’.’

  When she fought her way back again, I asked if she could get me into Wexton’s.

  “Well, I dunno. Why’d you wanna get in there?’

  ‘Fishing for straws,’ I admitted honestly. I just couldn’t get to grips with Kristen at all. Perhaps there was something in her personal file or her workdesk (assuming she’d had one) that might give me a new lead.

  ‘Can you let me in the back way?’

  Nola shook her head. ‘No chance. The doors have all got alarms on them. Anyhow, the security blokes are always prowling around, they’d see yer.’

  ‘Could cover,’ Bonnie contributed.

  ‘You could cover for one of our shifts,’ Nola translated. ‘We ain’t really supposed to, but our supervisor never comes round anyhow. Bonnie’s mum covers for her sometimes.’