Nothing but Trouble

by Roberta Kray

  ‘Anyone could have one of these printed,’ she said, frowning hard at it.

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said. ‘But who’d bother?’

  Kirsten gave him another nasty glare before turning on her heel and heading back inside the flat. She left him to close the door behind him. It wasn’t the most effusive welcome he’d ever received, but at least he’d managed to get over the threshold.

  The living room was airy and spacious, an open-plan area with a well-equipped kitchen to the rear. It was painted in one of those rose-tinted shades of white. Long pink drapes framed the windows and dropped to the polished-wood floor in swirling pools. There was a large pink rug, two white sofas with pastel scatter cushions and a glass coffee table covered with the latest gossip magazines and a cluster of Sunday tabloids. Harry absorbed the decor in a matter of seconds. It was no more to his taste than the outside of the building.

  Kirsten Cope stood waiting in the middle of the room with her arms folded firmly across her chest. If she had been out on the razz last night, there was no visible sign of it. The girl looked wide awake and ready for battle. She was small, no more than five two, and was wearing a pair of very short denim cut-offs and a baby-pink shirt tied under her breasts. Her navel was pierced and studded with what might have been a diamond. Closer examination, he thought, would have settled the matter one way or another, but it would hardly have been gentlemanly. He wondered vaguely whether she coordinated her clothes to match the room.

  ‘What did you mean about the cops?’ she said crossly.

  As she hadn’t offered him a seat, Harry remained standing too. ‘Death threats, criminal damage. It’s serious stuff. If I can’t get to the bottom of it, the police will have to be involved.’

  ‘It’s got nothing to do with me.’

  ‘It appears to be connected to the Minnie Bright case.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you were one of the girls who were there that day.’

  Kirsten flicked back her long fair hair and gave a shrug. ‘Maybe someone’s just got it in for Sam.’

  ‘So you do know it’s Sam Kendall that I’m talking about?’

  Kirsten’s body stiffened, as if she’d inadvertently let something slip. He could almost see her brain ticking over while she thought about it. Then she gradually relaxed again. ‘It’s no big secret, is it?’

  ‘I’m just curious as to who told you.’

  Her mouth took on a sulky expression. ‘It was Paige as it happens, Paige Fielding.’

  ‘So you two are still friends?’

  She gave another of her lazy shrugs. ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly. We haven’t got much in common any more, but we stay in touch. She gives me a bell from time to time.’

  He noted the way she stressed that Paige was always the caller. ‘You’ve moved on.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Harry glanced around the living room. ‘It’s a far cry from the Mansfield Estate.’

  ‘So? No law against trying to better yourself, is there?’

  ‘No law at all,’ he agreed.

  ‘I still don’t see what you’re doing here. What do you want exactly?’

  ‘I want to know why someone is trying to intimidate Sam. I want to know what they’re afraid of.’ He left a short pause before adding, ‘And when people are reluctant to talk to me about it, I have to wonder why.’

  ‘Maybe they just value their privacy.’

  Harry recalled the press cuttings he’d just been leafing through. Not much sign of an overwhelming desire for privacy there. ‘Maybe,’ he echoed.

  A sly look passed over her face. A second later it was gone again. She dropped the frosty attitude and broke out a smile. ‘Well, I suppose as you’re here you’d better sit down. Would you like a coffee? It won’t take a minute.’

  Harry was in little doubt about the reason for the sudden change of attitude. She’d tried the cool approach and that had got her nowhere, so now she was embarking on a charm offensive. Plenty of men, he was sure, would be more than happy to be twisted round her little finger, but he wasn’t one of them. That, however, was something she had yet to learn. ‘Thanks,’ he said amiably. ‘That’s very kind of you. Milk, no sugar.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’ She flashed him that smile again. ‘Make yourself comfortable.’

  Harry lowered himself carefully on to the white sofa closest to the coffee table. Why anyone chose to have white sofas was beyond him. They seemed an almost masochistic purchase. How much time was spent worrying over whether visitors might spill a drop of red wine or leave their mucky paw prints on the pristine upholstery?

  While Kirsten bustled about in the kitchen, he made another quick survey of the room. Yeah, it was just as pink as when he’d last looked at it. There was even a pink vase on the window ledge containing a flashy display of pink and white roses. He wondered if the flat was rented or owned. Either way, she must be earning a decent wage.

  He turned his attention to the coffee table, pushed the tabloids aside and checked out the magazines. In amongst the weekly gossip rags was a lads’ mag with Kirsten’s name emblazoned on the front. He picked it up, went to the list of contents and flicked to the relevant pages. His eyebrows shifted up a notch as he gazed down on the glossy double-page spread – Kirsten Cope, in all her glory, lying face down on a shaggy white rug. The only thing she was wearing was a come-hither smile and a bucketful of slap. He let his gaze roam the length of her spine until it came to rest on her peach of a backside.

  It was at that point that she came back with two mugs in her hands and saw what he was viewing. ‘Oh,’ she said, feigning a coyness that didn’t say much for her acting ability. ‘I didn’t realise I’d left that out.’

  Harry closed the magazine and placed it back on the coffee table. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to make a comment. Nice arse didn’t seem entirely professional. He considered several options, but settled for the uncontroversial. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘So,’ Kirsten said, settling herself down on the other end of the sofa. Her perfume, a scent that was too heavy and too musky for the morning, mingled with the more aromatic smell of the coffee. She smiled again, displaying a row of very white, very even teeth. ‘What did you want to ask me?’

  Harry smiled back. ‘Well, as I said earlier I’m here about the threats that have been made against Sam Kendall. It strikes me that someone’s got upset, scared even, in regard to what she might reveal about the Minnie Bright case. And the thing is, I can’t figure out why that should be.’

  He waited for a response, but Kirsten stared blankly back at him.

  Harry gave her a prompt. ‘You got any ideas?’

  ‘Me?’ she said, raising a hand to her chest in sham astonishment. ‘Why on earth would I know anything?’

  ‘I didn’t ask if you knew anything, only if you had any ideas. Could you hazard a guess as to why she’s the only one of you who’s been targeted? I mean, there were five of you with Minnie that day. Lynda, of course, is no longer with us, but that still leaves four. Why pick on Sam and nobody else?’

  As if she was thinking hard, Kirsten frowned. Her forehead puckered briefly before quickly clearing again. ‘I suppose it’s to do with that article. She was the only one who agreed to be interviewed, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Well, that’s not strictly true. Paige and Becky agreed too, but then they pulled out. Do you know why that was?’

  ‘You’d have to ask them that.’

  ‘You haven’t discussed it with either of them? With Paige, for instance?’

  ‘No,’ she said. It was snapped out so sharply that he was sure she was lying.

  Harry allowed a short silence to settle. Eventually, as he’d known she would, Kirsten felt obliged to fill it.

  ‘It’s not right, is it, poking around in all that old stuff again. It’s history, or it should be. The poor kid’s dead and buried. Why can’t they leave her in peace?’

  Harry suspected that it was m
ore her own peace she was bothered about, but he gave a sympathetic nod. ‘Go on.’

  ‘That’s all, really. But it’s why I didn’t want to talk to that reporter woman. I haven’t got a clue why the others pulled out, honestly I haven’t. Perhaps they thought about it some more and realised that … that it just wasn’t the right thing to do.’ Her eyes dropped briefly to the floor, and when she raised them again, there was a glistening hint of tears. ‘Jesus, when I think about what happened to Minnie … It was awful, just terrible. I still have nightmares about it.’ Leaning forward, she plucked a lemon-coloured tissue from a square box on the table and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘I understand,’ he said, noting that he’d been right about her eyes. They were blue, a very pale shade of cornflower blue.

  ‘Do you?’ she murmured. Her lower lip quivered a little. She reached out and touched him lightly on the arm. ‘People don’t always get how hard it is, how painful, how it never goes away. But I think you do. I think you really do understand.’

  Harry had seen the performance a thousand times before – a pretty girl who thought a display of vulnerability, of wide-eyed innocence, would enable her to wriggle out of any tight corner – and this particular version wasn’t going to win any Oscars.

  ‘I try my best.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said softly. Her hand continued to rest on his sleeve. Her fingernails were long and pink, and she was wearing several silver rings. ‘You come over all tough, Mr Lind, but I reckon you’re the sensitive sort at heart.’

  Harry gave her his most sensitive smile before subtly moving his arm. He picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee. It was good and strong, with a faint aftertaste of vanilla. ‘Don’t be fooled,’ he said. ‘I really am as tough as I look.’

  ‘I believe you,’ she said. She gave him one of those up-from-under glances and batted her eyelashes. ‘I bet you have to deal with all sorts in your job. Perhaps we should go for a drink sometime and you can tell me all about it. I like a man who can take care of himself.’

  Harry’s gaze shifted from her face to the coffee table and briefly settled on the magazine. Had he been the type who liked his girls served up on a plate, he might have been tempted, but obvious had never really done it for him. He preferred the cool, aloof sort of woman, the sort who made him chase further than a foot across the sofa. ‘Well,’ he said, being careful to come across as duly flattered, ‘that sounds like a plan. Perhaps when this case is over …’

  He let the sentence hang in the air while he put the mug back down. Then he moved swiftly on. ‘So, getting back to Sam Kendall. I’m presuming nothing similar has been happening to you? No threats, no odd phone calls?’

  ‘No, nothing.’ Her blue eyes suddenly widened. She worried on her lower lip for a second and faked a small shudder. ‘God, do you think I could be in danger too?’

  He didn’t fall for this act either. It was all too stagy, as if she’d rehearsed the routine while she’d been grinding the beans in the kitchen. ‘I shouldn’t think so. It all seems to be connected to the article, and since you refused to talk to the journalist, I don’t see why you should be a target.’

  ‘Bloody reporters,’ she said.

  Harry thought it was interesting how celebrities, even minor ones like Kirsten Cope, spent half of their lives desperate to get into the papers and the other half squealing like babies when they got the kind of attention they didn’t want. He thought about Jess and suppressed a grin. ‘I got the impression that this one was trying to write a serious piece about the aftermath of Minnie Bright’s murder, how it affected the people who were caught up in it, the enduring legacy … that type of thing.’

  ‘That’s what she might have said,’ Kirsten almost hissed, ‘but all those damned journos are the same. They’re devious bastards. They’re not interested in the truth. They only want to dig the dirt.’

  ‘And is there any dirt to dig?’

  Kirsten’s expression instantly changed, her face growing hard, her blue eyes blazing with anger. She spat out the words before she had time to think. ‘And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Only asking,’ he said, but he’d already got the answer he needed. She was hiding something. He’d seen the flash of panic, the instant recoil of her body. She’d had a knee-jerk reaction that no amount of acting lessons could have disguised.

  As if realising her mistake, Kirsten quickly forced out a smile. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that all this … all this …’ She flapped a hand vaguely in the air. ‘It brings back a lot of bad memories.’

  ‘If there’s something about that day you’d like to tell me …’

  She was wary now, on edge. ‘What day?’

  Harry stared patiently back at her. ‘The day Minnie Bright was murdered.’

  Kirsten gave a tiny start, but then suddenly and unexpectedly relaxed. She leaned back against the sofa, her lips parting as she expelled a breath. ‘Oh, I know what’s going on here. You’ve been talking to David, haven’t you? Well, I wouldn’t believe a word he says; he’s an out-and-out nutter. In fact, if I was looking for a suspect, he’d be at the very top of my list.’

  Harry had no idea who this David was – perhaps he should have looked through Jess’s file more thoroughly – but decided not to display his ignorance in public. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘So what did he say to you?’

  He gave a shake of his head. ‘I can’t tell you that, any more than I’d repeat what you’ve said to me.’

  ‘He’s got a screw loose,’ Kirsten said tartly. Quickly she moderated her tone. ‘I mean, I guess it’s not his fault, what with what’s happened and all, but he can’t go around making crazy accusations.’

  ‘What kind of accusations?’

  Kirsten narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she wasn’t completely stupid either. ‘You’ve talked to him, you should know.’

  ‘People say a lot of things. Some of it’s the truth and some of it isn’t.’

  She took a moment to think about this statement, her brows pinching together with the effort. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Having made one mistake already, she wasn’t prepared to make another.

  After the unforeseen detour, Harry returned to his original line of enquiry. ‘So nothing else happened that day, nothing the police weren’t told about?’

  ‘How many times?’ she said, her mouth growing sulky again. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Why do I have the feeling that you’re not being straight with me?’

  That hard look came back into her eyes. Her voice, taut with anger, was barely more than a whisper. ‘Are you calling me a liar?’

  ‘I’m not calling you anything. I’m simply offering you the opportunity to put your side of the story, to come clean before this all gets out of control.’

  ‘Shit,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘I’ve had enough of this. I want you to leave.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Now!’ she insisted, her voice growing shrill. ‘Get out! Get out of my flat!’

  Harry could see that he’d come to the end of the line. Knowing when to quit was as important as knowing when to stick. He got to his feet and gazed down at her.

  ‘What are you staring at?’ she growled.

  ‘See you around,’ he said. ‘You’ve got my number if you need it.’

  She glared at him, her mouth twisting into a sneer. ‘You’ll be a long time waiting.’

  At the door Harry glanced back over his shoulder. Kirsten was still sitting on the sofa, but she had drawn up her knees. The knuckles of her right hand were pressed hard against her mouth. He threw her one last parting shot. ‘The past always catches up with you in the end.’ It was a corny line and he knew it, but he didn’t care. She was a two-bit actress in a TV soap opera. Corny lines were probably what she understood best.

  14

  Back in the car, Harry didn’t set off immediately. He sat for a
while drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while he mentally reviewed his encounter with Kirsten Cope. It had left a bad taste in his mouth. She was lying and he knew it, but he didn’t know why.

  Reaching down, he retrieved Jess’s file from under the seat and quickly flicked through the pages. There was no mention of a David so far as he could see, but a large pile of press cuttings – cuttings relating to the original trial of Donald Peck – were stacked up in the back, and the name could be buried in any one of them.

  He picked up his phone and immediately it started to bleep. Battery low flashed up on the screen. He swore softly under his breath. He’d forgotten to recharge it. Still, he should be able to squeeze out one short call. He punched in the number and waited. It was answered after several rings by a sleepy-sounding voice that murmured an incomprehensible greeting.

  ‘Jess? Is that you?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘It’s Harry. Sorry, did I wake you?’

  There was a short pause, and then a long expelled breath that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh. ‘What time is it?’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Almost nine.’

  A more distinct groan floated down the line. ‘Hold on a sec.’

  ‘I haven’t got a sec,’ he said. ‘My phone’s almost out of juice. I’m in Chigwell. I’ve just been to see the delightful Kirsten, but I’ll tell you about that later. I was wondering if the name David meant anything to you. I don’t have a surname, but he must be connected to the Minnie Bright case in some way.’

  Jess paused while she thought about it, or maybe she was just trying to get her sleep-dazed brain into gear. ‘Er, no, I don’t think so. It doesn’t ring any bells.’

  ‘Could you ring Sam and see if she knows him?’

  ‘You mean now?’

  Harry could hear movement in the background, and then a male voice saying something that he couldn’t catch. Jess obviously had company. ‘Why, don’t you hotshot reporters work on Sundays?’

  ‘Ha ha,’ she said. ‘Okay, I’ll give her a call.’