Out of the Dark

by Natasha Cooper

  So far that was the closest he’d let her get to him after that first meeting on the estate. Considering she had no real routine that was a miracle. He’d followed her for long enough to know who her friends were and what sort of work she did and where she bought her food and parked her Audi, and how she lived. But he still couldn’t work out why she was so interested in Jeannie Nest. Nor why she’d come to the estate for information in the first place.

  Everything else was going so well, what with his nan almost ready to retire and his hopeless uncle making such a fool of himself that he was no rival any more. Mikey couldn’t let this nagging worry about what Trish Maguire wanted and how much she knew spoil everything.

  There’d been one bad day when he’d seen her rush out to work without putting on her burglar alarm. It wasn’t the day her cleaner came, so he’d thought he’d get a chance at last to go through her place and find out who she really was and what was driving her. He’d followed her across the river to make sure she was going to stay at work for once, then he’d come back here. But just as he was about to try to force the locks, he’d heard someone else on the iron stairs behind him. Turning, casual as you please, he’d seen a tall fat man, whose face was all over suspicion.

  ‘Mr Rogers?’ Mikey had said, cool as cool. The big bloke had looked surprised. ‘There’s a mini-cab been ordered for Rogers. That you?’

  The bloke had said there was no one called Rogers at that address, so Mikey had just said, ‘Cheers, mate.’ Then he’d left without running. He’d got back in his car and pretended to be calling control on the radio so he had time to see the fat man take out a key and let himself in. Up till then, Mikey had thought Trish Maguire lived on her own. It’d been a nasty shock to find she had a bloke.

  Trish stepped across the post on the doormat and shut the door. It had always been one of George’s bugbears that she’d bend down to pick up her letters in full view of everyone, a target for any nutter in the street, with her door open and her flat exposed. These days she shut and double-locked the door every time she came home.

  Most of today’s envelopes were bills or circulars, but there was a card from her mother with a wonderful Dot cartoon that made her laugh out loud. She read the note inside as she walked to the kitchen. Her hand was already on the kettle lid when she read: Don’t be afraid, Trish. I know that some of Paddy’s past can seem worryingly high-coloured, but he’s not a bad man. Whatever the circumstances may suggest, or the police try to insinuate, he couldn’t have killed this woman. I lived with him for ten years. I know that.

  So the police had been questioning his ex-wife as well as everyone else, Trish thought.

  She should have felt reassured, but she didn’t. There had been plenty of women who’d lived with killers and trusted them, having no idea what they did when they left the house. And there’d been mothers, too, who’d been emotionally destroyed when they discovered that their apparently charming, normal sons had cellars-full of body parts. No one could be certain that her husband or lover or child was innocent, never really know for sure, however much she might long to believe.

  Needing to talk to someone else who would understand all that, Trish rang Caro.

  ‘Trish, I’ve told you, I cannot—’

  ‘I’m not asking you to. It’s not that, Caro. I’m worried about the boy, David. Lakeshaw let me see him today, but he suggested … no, he threatened that I wouldn’t get to see him again unless I cooperated. But I’ve nothing to cooperate with. It’s like being tortured for information you don’t have. Please help. I know you could, if you chose.’

  ‘Talk to Lakeshaw, Trish, it’s not my case. I’m really sympathetic. Really. But I can’t do anything.’ Caro’s voice was strained rather than angry, so Trish took a chance.

  ‘Then just tell me this: why doesn’t Lakeshaw trust me?’

  There was a sigh, then Caro began to speak very fast. ‘He doesn’t believe your story of why you went looking for Jeannie Nest. And he doesn’t believe that you didn’t know anything about David before. He hasn’t confided in me, but my guess is he thinks you knew them both already. What did he want you to ask David today?’

  ‘More of the same. Who, why, or what so frightened his mother that she …’ Trish broke off, wondering why she’d been so slow. ‘You mean he only wanted to see me and David together again to assess how familiar we were with each other?’

  ‘Probably, but I could be wrong.’

  Oh shit, Trish thought. Why didn’t I work it out in time to stop myself kissing the poor child? ‘Are you busy tonight, or would you like to come and have some supper? George is back.’ Trish could hear the smile in her own voice. She was beginning to get used to the depth of her need for him. And she didn’t mind it nearly so much now that she’d seen the gaps in his emotional armour. ‘So you’d get something much better than with only me.’

  There was a pause, during which Trish heard only Caro’s breathing and her own. ‘Oh Trish, I’d love it, but I can’t. Not till this case is over. But I’m glad you’ve got George back with you now.’

  Putting down the phone, Trish wondered what more doubts – or suspicions – could be making Caro so hesitant. She had to know, so she rang Lakeshaw, but he wouldn’t speak to her.

  Lil had had a good day. Her Essex solicitor had taken her to see the cottage, explaining that he’d already told the tenants they’d have to go at the end of the month. Luckily they weren’t making difficulties about it. They and the ones before them had only ever been allowed to rent it by the month. Then she’d gone back to the solicitor’s office and he’d taken her through the accounts. It seemed she’d have about three hundred pounds a week to live on after tax, the solicitor’s bill, and the outgoings on the cottage, which would be plenty on top of her pension and whatever Mikey paid her.

  She’d told the solicitor that all things being equal, she’d move into the cottage in two months’ time and that she’d like him to go on working for her without telling anyone who she was or where she came from. The story would be just that she was the new tenant of the cottage. He’d agreed and as usual asked no questions, which was why she’d always been happy to pay his bill.

  By the time she got back to the estate that night she was so tired she felt like a rag that’s been caught in the mangle. It was years since she’d walked through the place alone in the dusk and she didn’t like it at all. Passing the spot where her husband had beaten a man to death, she saw three boys with hoods over their heads, shadowing their faces so much she couldn’t even see if they were blackies or not. But they didn’t come after her and nor did anyone else. She got to her block safely, then she saw Mikey’s little girl, kicking pebbles into a puddle.

  ‘I told you Mikey said I could have a pound,’ she said when she saw Lil.

  ‘I know. He told me, too. Has he given it to you?’

  ‘Course he has,’ the child said, proudly digging in the pocket of her draggled dress. When she opened her fist, Lil saw three pound coins lying in the damp palm.

  ‘Three? What else did you do for him?’ she said, worried to death all over again.

  The gap teeth showed again as the child grinned. ‘I told you – every time I see the lady, Mikey gives me a pound. He said to save the money, so I haven’t spent it. You tell him I haven’t spent none of it. See? There’s still three pounds here.’

  ‘Yes. That’s good. I’ll tell him. What’s your name?’

  ‘Kelly.’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Kelly, but you shouldn’t be out on your own late like this.’

  ‘My mum sent me. She’s busy. She’ll call when I can come in again.’ Kelly kicked more pebbles into the muddy water, deliberately slopping it over the edge of her shoes.

  Lil was furious with the child’s mother, but it wasn’t her responsibility and she needed to sit down. The lift wouldn’t work, so she had to climb all those flights up to her flat. In the end, she was pulling herself up with her hands, clawing three steps higher than her feet. The bag over h
er wrist bumped at every step, and her knees were killing her.

  There was no light on in the flat, so Mikey must be out again. She wished he was there. She didn’t think she’d have the strength to find her keys. Leaning against the wall by her door, she waited till her breathing was more normal again. Then she tried to get at the keys, but it was hard to see, and her hands hurt.

  Hard-edged metal dug into one finger and she forced the rest of the stuff out of the way and got the bunch out. Her hands were shaking though and she couldn’t fit the right key into the lock. Men were coming up the stairs, several of them, not talking. She thought of Ron’s threats, pushed the key into the lock at last and turned it, leaning against the door to open it.

  ‘Mrs Handsome?’

  She was inside and pushing the chain into its socket, but she wasn’t quick enough. He pushed the door further open.

  ‘Mrs Handsome? Nothing to be afraid of. It’s me – Chief Inspector Smith.’

  She’d never thought she’d be that pleased to see the police. A minute later, she was on the settee with her head between her knees, his hand on her back and his voice saying, ‘There now. You’ll be all right in a minute. My WPC’s making you a cup of tea. Come over all faint, didn’t you?’

  ‘I thought you was after my pension. Leave me be and I’ll be all right.’

  He let her sit up. ‘And I thought you weren’t scared of anything now that your old man’s safely locked away, and you’ve got your grandson with you. Where is he?’

  ‘Out with his cab, I should think. Ouf. Thanks.’ She smiled at him, remembering to make her chin wobble and therefore her voice. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Smith?’

  ‘It’s Gary again.’

  ‘Oh, my God. What’s he done now?’

  ‘You know how he’s always telling his mates in the pub that he’ll give Jeannie Nest a right seeing-to?’

  ‘That’s just his talk. He’s always been all mouth and no trousers.’ She bit her lip as she thought of the bloody trousers in their hiding place. Was it time to use them yet? No. Not until she knew more. ‘You know that. Has something happened to her, then?’

  ‘You know it has. Don’t you remember when my boys came to talk to you and Mikey and after that you went along to see your Gary?’

  Lil couldn’t bear it. Not now. Not tonight when she was so tired. She didn’t want to have to think and plan and work out what he knew and what he wanted and how to protect herself and her business and her grandson.

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Why d’you ask that, Lil? Why when? Why not, what’s happened? Or how bad is it?’

  ‘All right, then. How bad is it?’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘Jeannie? Oh my God. Why? Why now? It’s been years since …’

  ‘That’s what we want to know.’

  ‘Well, I can’t help you, Mr Smith. I would if I could, you know that.’ She grabbed his arm, clinging. ‘I liked her. And I owe her. She had my old man put away and I got a chance to stop living in fear all the time.’

  ‘OK, Lil. Steady on.’

  ‘But why hasn’t it been in the papers, Mr Smith? I’ve been looking every day, in case I could see why you were all so keen to talk to my Gary.’

  ‘There was a para or two with a report of a woman found dead in a flat in Hoxton, but there weren’t any details as far as I know.’

  So that was Jeannie, she thought. But why Tuesday night? Why not Sunday? What had Gary been doing on Tuesday?

  ‘Now, Lil, come on and tell me what your Gary was doing up here last Sunday night.’ His voice was quite kind, but it changed when he snapped out: ‘Not now.’

  Lil couldn’t think what he meant, barking at her like an angry dog, then she saw his uniformed girl with a tea tray in her hands. ‘What’s she doing in my kitchen?’

  ‘Making tea, like I said.’

  Careful, Lil, she told herself. Or they’ll start searching. And there’s the books and the money as well as the trousers. ‘Then get her back. I could do with a cup. Just what I need after that dizzy spell.’

  He called for the girl. She came back all right, but her tea was washy, so it didn’t give Lil back any of her strength. She lit a fag instead.

  ‘OK. Now tell me: what was Gary doing here on Sunday night?’

  ‘It wasn’t Sunday you wanted to know about last time, was it?’ she said, making herself feel vague.

  ‘He was seen, Lil. Coming out of your flat at four in the morning last Sunday – or Monday it would’ve been by then – muttering to himself. Looking dangerous, they say.’

  ‘Some people can’t keep themselves to themselves, can they? What d’you think he was doing? He came for money.’

  ‘D’you give him any?’

  ‘Yes. Everything I had left of my pension, and the last bit of my last lot of holiday money I never changed back into pounds.’ They might have found the pesetas when they searched his place, so it was just as well to have a story to account for them. ‘Mikey wasn’t here, so I had to give him money. I didn’t dare not, Mr Smith. Gal’s a big lad – you know it as well as I do.’

  ‘That why you keep Mikey living here, is it, Lil? Like a bodyguard, kind of?’

  ‘Mikey makes me feel safer when Gal’s drunk.’ She wasn’t going to let them get away with putting that word ‘bodyguard’ into her mouth like that. Concentrating on everything Smith was saying behind his words was making her feel dizzy again. Or maybe that was the fag. She stubbed it out and drank some more washy tea. It was still filthy. ‘How did Jeannie die? And when? Was it that Sunday?’

  ‘Was Gary drunk that night?’

  ‘He seemed like it. Talking ever so wild, he was. Tell me what happened to Jeannie.’

  ‘I don’t have any details. What was Gary saying that night?’

  ‘I can’t remember as such. But he wanted tea, and I was afraid he was going to throw the kettle at me. I’ve still got the scars on my chest from when his dad did that, and I couldn’t think of anything else. I had to make the tea, but I put lots of milk in his mug and I threw away the rest of the boiling water so he couldn’t do me a mischief.’

  ‘That’s tough, Lil.’ Smith looked as if he meant it. ‘But I want you to try to remember what he said.’

  ‘It was just “gi’s some money, Ma.” I think. And then, you know, all that “hurry up or I’ll do you” kind of thing. What does he say about it?’ ‘Nothing. We can’t find him.’

  She kept her eyes down, afraid of letting him see her relief. Could it be that her stupid, brutish son had finally done something useful? Had they scared him enough when they questioned him to make him do what he was told and go to Spain?

  ‘He didn’t say nothing about going away when Mikey and I went round to his place. And I’d have thought there were enough of your boys hanging around to see everything he did after that.’

  He grinned at her. ‘They were only there for that one day.’

  ‘Why? Did they discover evidence to show he couldn’t have killed Jeannie?’

  ‘You’d like that, would you?’

  ‘Of course I would. He’s my son.’

  ‘You’re a good old thing. Mikey about?’

  ‘No. I told you. He’s prob’ly cabbing. It’s his shift in the evening.’

  ‘OK. Thanks, Lil. If you remember anything more, let me know, won’t you? Constable! We’re off.’

  The girl came out of the kitchen, looking smug. Lil wondered what she’d found.

  ‘You’ve got mice, you know, Mrs Handsome. You should get the council round. It’s not healthy having them in your kitchen like that. And you shouldn’t leave cake out; that’s what brings them. You get your grandson to buy you a tin for that cake.’

  So she hadn’t found the false cupboard back, the cheeky cow. Good. Lil wanted them gone, so she could check whether Mikey’d been at it while she was away with her solicitor.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Paddy enjoyed living on the edge – and making other people join him
there.’

  Trish looked at Sylvia Bantell’s still-handsome face and wondered quite what sort of edge she meant.

  ‘But he’d never have hurt anyone. Not seriously, I mean.’ Sylvia tucked her perfectly smooth silver hair behind her ear. The gesture revealed a large drop pearl earring, hanging from a discreet diamond stud. ‘What on earth has brought on all this panic, Trish?’

  ‘I’m not panicking.’ That wasn’t a word or a state of mind Trish allowed herself, but an insidious idea was crawling into her mind like some particularly revolting reptile: what if Paddy had met up again with Jeannie Nest after the conference two months ago, tried to persuade her on to whatever edge Sylvia had meant, and then been frustrated when Jeannie refused? Trish knew all about his temper, but could it ever have been bad enough to push him into the kind of violence that ended with a dead body?

  ‘Panic is the only thing that could possibly excuse such an aberration. He’s your father, for heaven’s sake.’

  ‘Oh, God, I know.’

  ‘Come on, Trish! This is idiotic. Are you sure you’re not making up the whole story as an excuse to come and see what kind of old bat Paddy once knew?’

  Amusement surfaced through Trish’s angst for a second, like a spring breaking through rock. ‘No, although it’s great to get such obvious confirmation of his good taste.’

  ‘So you’ve inherited his blarney, have you?’

  And his propensity for violence? Trish asked herself as the spring dried up abruptly. Aloud, she said, ‘I meant it. But what I really came for was the report you said you’d kept on Paddy’s visits to Jeannie Nest in Southwark.’

  ‘Now why would you want that?’ Sylvia asked, leaning against the softly padded back of the pale-yellow sofa and crossing her legs. Her pleated Prada skirt lifted over her knee cap as she moved, catching briefly on the clinging Lycra tights. A waft of cloying tuberose scent teased Trish’s nostrils. She’d always disliked that particular smell. ‘It was compiled nine years ago. Nothing in it could give you any clues to his activities now.’