Nothing but Trouble

by Roberta Kray

  Jess emptied the stagnant water out on to the ground and filled the urn with fresh water from a bottle in her bag. Then she took the cellophane off the daffodils, peeled off the elastic band at the base of the stems and arranged the flowers as nicely as she could. As she placed the urn back in front of the headstone, she wondered if she’d got her own work/life balance right. Sometimes it was all too easy to get caught up in the thrill of the chase and to forget about the people who really mattered. Neil was a good man, an understanding man, but even he might run out of patience eventually.

  After wrapping the dead flowers in the cellophane, she rose slowly to her feet. As she gazed down, she felt that familiar pang of sorrow and loss. ‘Well, I can’t hang around here all day,’ she murmured. ‘People to see. Things to do.’ But still she lingered for a while, drinking in the peace of the cemetery before returning to the faster pace of life outside the gates.

  By 10.30, Jess was on the Mansfield Estate in search of Becky Hibbert. It was another nice day, so she’d left the Mini at the Fox and strolled up the high street in the sunshine. She never parked on the estate if she could help it – you left a decent car for five minutes and you’d come back to find it either stripped or gone. With its three bleak crumbling towers, its dark passages and graffiti-covered walls, the estate was the local hotbed of crime. There was nothing, so far as she could see, to recommend it. Dirt and despair seeped out from every corner.

  She thought about the Chois and how they’d finally managed to escape, but not before the damage had already been done. Lynda had teamed up with four other Mansfield kids, all of them bored and restless, with too much time on their hands. That single summer’s day fourteen years ago had probably sealed her fate as well as Minnie Bright’s.

  Jess frowned as she walked along the litter-strewn path. What could it have been that Lynda had remembered after all this time? Something that had put the wind up Kirsten, that was for sure, and something worrying enough for her to persuade Paige to unleash her thug of a boyfriend on the unsuspecting David Choi. But whatever it was, it must have happened before Minnie Bright went into the house. By the time the poor kid had got through the window, Lynda and Sam had taken to their heels.

  At the fork in the path Jess veered to the left, stopping outside the entrance to Haslow House and gazing up at the endless rows of rusting balconies. Here and there, like tiny pinpricks of hope, lay a gleaming window or a freshly glossed front door, but the majority of the occupants had long since ceased to care. Neither Becky nor Paige had travelled far from their roots. They’d grown up on the Mansfield and lived there still.

  She walked into the cool foyer, wrinkling her nose at the smell. It was a combination of bad odours, but the most pervasive was the stink of urine. Jess had never understood why people chose to pollute their own environment. A kick against the lousy cards they’d been dealt, or some kind of tomcat mentality that compelled them to mark their own territory? Or maybe they just didn’t give a damn.

  She found a lift that was working and stepped inside. The smell was even worse within the confines of the small metal box, but she jabbed at the buttons anyway. Ten floors was a long way to walk, and Becky Hibbert might not even be in. Jess knew that she worked the afternoon shift at the supermarket and was hoping to catch her before she went out.

  The lift jerked slowly upwards, heaving and groaning like an old man with a sack of rocks on his back. Jess took short shallow breaths, hoping to avoid the worst of the stench. To distract herself, she tried to figure out what she would say to Becky. There were times when you only got a single shot, and this could be one of them. She couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity. David Choi had given them a lead and it was up to her to exploit it.

  When the lift finally reached the tenth floor, she stepped out with relief and took a few quick gulps of air. She went to the corner and checked the arrows on the wall to see which direction she should be going, then set off in search of Becky’s flat. It didn’t take her long to find it. Only five doors to the right and she was there.

  There was no bell, and so Jess knocked on the door. She waited, but there was no response. After thirty seconds she banged a little harder, but this yielded no result either. Leaning her head close to the door jamb, she listened for any sound coming from inside. There was only silence. Was Becky really out or was she just ignoring her? For many of the residents on the Mansfield Estate a knock on the door meant only one thing – the loan shark was here to collect his weekly interest.

  There was a square window to the side of the door, but the curtains were three-quarters closed. Jess put her hands to the grimy glass and peered through the remaining slice. She could see an untidy living room with a worn-looking sofa and toys scattered across a threadbare carpet. But no sign of any life. ‘Sod it,’ she said under her breath. There was nothing worse than getting hyped up for an important meeting and then having the rug pulled from under your feet.

  Should she wait, or would she just be wasting her time?

  Turning around, Jess took a couple of steps forward and gazed down from the iron railings. From here she had a good view of the estate, but there was no sign of Becky. Five minutes, she decided, and then she’d be off.

  It was more like ten before her eyes finally made out the familiar figure plodding through the main gates. She was pushing a pram with one hand and had a toddler attached to the other. Jess quickly took a step back in case Becky looked up and saw her. With the kids and the pram she was bound to take the lift, and once she was on the tenth floor there was nowhere else she could go in a hurry.

  It was another few minutes before Jess heard a dull grinding noise coming from the shaft. Then the sound of doors creaking open. Shortly after that, Becky appeared from around the corner. She was a short, heavyset girl with big boobs and hips. Strands of lank brown hair, in need of a wash, hung limply around a plain, sullen face. She was wearing a pair of grey joggers and her green hooded top had sweat stains under the arms. Preoccupied by the toddler’s whingeing, it wasn’t until she was almost at the door that she glanced up and saw Jess standing there. Her brows crunched together in a full-on scowl.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’ve just got a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.’

  That Becky did mind was perfectly clear from her expression. ‘I’ve got nothin’ to say to you. How many times do you need to be told? I’m not gonna do it, right?’

  The kid stopped snivelling and stared up at Jess, temporarily distracted by this sudden turn of events. A small ball of snot nestled in his left nostril. Jess looked down at him, and then at the sleeping baby. It was at that very moment that she noticed the two carrier bags attached to the arms of the pram. She thought at first that it was grocery shopping, but suddenly realised that Becky had been indulging in a more expensive form of retail therapy.

  ‘Emily’s,’ Jess said, tilting her head to read the name on the front of the bags. ‘That’s a pricey kind of shop. Designer, isn’t it? They must be paying well at the supermarket these days.’

  She could see that Becky was flustered. Lying was probably second nature to her, but that didn’t mean she did it well.

  ‘I’ve been working extra shifts, ain’t I? Anyway, it’s none of your business what I spend me money on.’

  ‘It is if you’re being paid to keep quiet. The police take a dim view of people deliberately covering up a crime.’

  ‘And what crime would that be, then?’

  ‘Threats, criminal damage. I presume you’ve heard what’s been happening to Sam Kendall.’

  Becky gave a shrug of her heavy shoulders. ‘I don’t know nothin’ about that.’

  Jess decided that now was the moment to play her ace card. ‘But you do know about the phone calls Lynda made on the night she killed herself. She called you, didn’t she? She was in a state and she wanted Paige’s number.’

  ‘How did you—’ Becky stopped short, her mouth still open. But it was too late to take it back. She’d alr
eady confirmed part of Harry’s theory.

  Now was the moment for Jess to start sowing the seeds of suspicion. ‘What you have to ask yourself is why you should keep quiet when others aren’t. I mean, it’s going to look bad for you when the truth comes out.’ Then, not wanting any of this to lead back to David Choi, she quickly added, ‘There’s a private investigator working on Sam’s case now. If you have the right contacts, it isn’t too hard to get hold of old phone records. Perhaps Paige told you about him. His name’s Harry Lind.’

  Becky shook her head. ‘Paige ain’t told me nothin’.’ And then, as if her brain had only just caught up with what Jess had mentioned earlier, she said, ‘What do you mean about other people talking?’

  Jess smiled thinly back at her. ‘Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Let’s just say that not everybody is being quite as tight-lipped as you.’

  Becky’s face twisted a little, and she shifted from one foot to the other. Finally she seemed to make up her mind. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a key. ‘I’ve gotta go. The kids need feeding.’

  Jess, inwardly cursing, sensed that her best opportunity was slipping away. ‘And then there are Social Services to consider. I don’t suppose they’ll take too kindly to your involvement in all this.’ It was a low blow and she knew it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. If she wanted Becky to come clean, then she was going to have to force her hand.

  Becky’s gaze darted down towards her children before moving up to settle on Jess again. ‘This ain’t got nothin’ to do with them.’

  ‘Think about it,’ Jess said. ‘Do you really want to be the scapegoat in all this, Becky?’ She got her purse out of her bag and took out one of her business cards. Quickly, she scribbled Harry’s name and number on the back. ‘If you don’t want to talk to me, you can give the private detective a call – in confidence, naturally. Only I’d make it soon, because the longer you wait, the worse it’s going to get.’

  Jess thrust the card into Becky’s reluctant hand and walked away. When she reached the corner she glanced back over her shoulder, but the other woman had already gone inside. Had she done enough? She hoped so. She’d lit the fuse and now all she could do was stand back and wait for the bomb to go off.

  18

  Harry put his elbows on the desk, opened his mouth and yawned. He’d been up since the crack of dawn, making sure that the van was ready and all its equipment in proper working order. Today was the start of the Aimee Locke surveillance. He could have done the checks the night before but had spent some of the evening slapping another coat of paint on the walls of the flat and the rest sharing a bottle of wine with Valerie at Wilder’s.

  He frowned as he thought back over the evening. She’d been more distant with him than usual, less relaxed. Just the pressures of the job, or something more? He didn’t want to dwell on the something more. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel if she hooked up with another man. Their partnership may have died, but it hadn’t quite been buried. She was a free agent and had every right to pursue a new relationship, but a part of him still baulked at the idea. She’d had boyfriends since him, of course she had, but none of them had been serious. And when she’d almost been killed by the Whisperer a couple of years back, he was the person she’d turned to.

  He pondered on this for a while before switching his thoughts to the events of the morning. The Lockes’ side of the street had double yellow lines, but there had been plenty of space on the other side. The local residents kept their expensive motors behind secure iron gates, and so the only people who parked on the close were those who either worked at the southern end of the high street or shopped there. It had been too early for either to be out in force.

  He had chosen a spot with a clear view of the Lockes’ house, but not directly opposite. The white van, despite its hi-tech interior, looked like the kind any workman might use, a bland sort of vehicle that blended effortlessly into the background. He had turned off the engine, waited and had a quick scan around. When he was sure that no one was watching, he had climbed into the back. For the next couple of hours, long, fruitless and predictably tedious hours, he’d sat peering through a camera lens until Warren James had come to take over the surveillance.

  In that time, nothing had happened. No one had come. No one had left.

  Although he had a mountain of paperwork to get through, Harry’s mind continued to drift. With his fingers poised on the computer keyboard, he started to think about Valerie again. She’d asked him what he was working on, but he hadn’t mentioned the Minnie Bright case. He told himself that this was because he hadn’t wanted to put her in an awkward position. She hadn’t been involved in the original investigation, but she was still a cop, and all cops got defensive when old cases came under scrutiny – especially when those old cases had been headed by their current boss. Had she sensed that he was being evasive, or had her mind been elsewhere?

  At ten past eleven he’d walked her back to Silverstone Heights, but this time there had been no invitation to come up for coffee. Just a quick peck on the cheek, a vague excuse about having an early start, a promise to call him and then she was gone.

  Harry was still mulling this over when the internal phone started to ring. He picked it up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s a call for you,’ Lorna said. ‘A woman. She won’t give her name but she says it’s urgent.’

  ‘Okay, put her through.’ Harry waited until he heard the click. ‘Hello, this is Harry Lind speaking.’

  There was a rustling on the other end of the phone, an edgy clearing of a throat.

  ‘Hello?’ Harry said again.

  And then the line went dead.

  Harry gave a shrug and replaced the phone in its cradle. He was used to nervous clients. Whoever it was would think about it some more and then they’d call back or they wouldn’t. Either way there was nothing he could do about it.

  Shortly afterwards the phone rang again. He expected it to be his mystery caller but instead it was Mac.

  ‘You got a minute?’

  ‘Sure,’ Harry said. He walked out to reception, gave Lorna a nod and went into the room next door. Mac glanced up and waved towards the empty chair.

  ‘That was quick,’ he said, as if Harry had sprinted from the other side of Kellston. ‘Grab a pew. I won’t be long.’

  Harry sat down, stretched out his legs and made himself comfortable. His partner’s office was a little larger than his own and had the same view over Station Road. The left side of the room contained a solid bank of metal filing cabinets, the right a couple of bookcases filled with volumes on law and criminal procedure. A tall potted palm – the one that Lorna had been fussing about yesterday – stood proudly in the corner. The surface of Mac’s desk, even though he’d only been in for a few hours, was already invisible, covered by a chaotic heap of files, folders and overflowing plastic trays. His large mottled hands were busily sifting through the writs that needed serving. It was the bread-and-butter part of the business, tedious but a steady earner.

  After a while, Mac stopped his sorting, picked up a white form that had been lying to his left and skimmed through the details. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Sam Kendall. One of the Minnie Bright girls, huh?’

  Harry gave a nod. ‘Threats and criminal damage.’

  ‘And you think it’s connected to the original case?’

  ‘Well, someone wants to shut her up, and that’s never a good sign.’

  Mac placed the form carefully on his desk. He sat back, folded his arms across his chest and stared at Harry. ‘You’d better make sure of your facts before you start pissing off the high and mighty at Cowan Road.’

  ‘I’m not intending to piss anyone off.’

  ‘Pretty cut-and-dried, the way I remember it.’ He left a short pause. ‘But then I wasn’t there. Didn’t you work on that investigation?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘No, I was part of the team that went into the house, but I was pulled off the case shortly after. We had a spate of armed
robberies in the area, banks and building societies. It was pretty violent stuff. I got assigned to that instead.’

  ‘Who was running the Bright case?’

  ‘Saul Redding,’ Harry said. ‘He was a DCI back then. But I’m sure it was all by the book. He’s got nothing to worry about.’

  ‘He’s got plenty to worry about if he sent the wrong man down.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ Harry insisted. ‘Peck did it all right. His DNA was all over her. I think this is something else entirely, something to do with the girls and the story they told the police.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Harry. This could be a bloody minefield. Just tread carefully, right.’ Mac glanced down at the form again. ‘Jessica Vaughan. So she’s back on the scene, is she?’

  Harry could hear the disapproval in his voice. He grinned. ‘Mad, bad and dangerous to know.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you can joke about it, but last time you got mixed up with that lunatic journalist you almost got your brains blown out.’

  ‘I’ll be sure to pass on your best regards.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Mac said. ‘Just keep me posted.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And watch your back.’

  ‘I’ll do that too.’

  Harry had only just returned to his office when the internal phone started ringing. He perched on the edge of the desk with one foot on the floor. ‘Hey, Lorna.’

  ‘Your shy lady friend is on the line again.’

  ‘Okay, put her through.’ He waited for the click, for the sound of life on the other end. ‘Hello, Harry Lind.’

  Again there was silence. Not complete silence, but nothing in the way of actual words.