by Roberta Kray
29
It was almost midday before Snakey Harris finally turned up with the Mini. Harry, who’d been keeping an eye on the street, saw him arrive and went down to meet him. Snakey was a tall, lean-faced man in his early fifties with sad brown eyes and closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. The lower part of his face had a permanent purplish tinge, as if he was in constant need of a shave.
Harry passed the cash over and thanked Snakey for his trouble. As they shook hands, he couldn’t help but notice the tattoo of the slim blue-green asp coiled around the mechanic’s wrist, its head resting neatly between his thumb and forefinger.
‘I appreciate your help,’ he said. ‘Even if you have taken several hours longer than you said you would.’
‘Sorry about that, Mr Lind. I had an urgent call-out or I’d have been here sooner.’
Despite being told to call him Harry on numerous occasions, the invitation had never been taken up. Harry wasn’t sure if that was because he’d still been a cop when they’d first met, or because Snakey preferred to keep things on a purely professional footing.
‘Better check it’s the right car before I go,’ Snakey said.
Harry bent down and peered through the passenger window. The Mini was clean and tidy inside, with nothing to indicate whether it was Jess’s or not. He glanced back over his shoulder. ‘It was the only red Mini Cooper there, right?’
‘The only one that I could see, Mr Lind.’
‘Okay.’ Harry straightened up and nodded. If it was the wrong one, he’d have a lot of explaining to do to the local constabulary. ‘Thanks. I’m sure this must be it.’
‘I’ll be off then.’
‘Do you need a lift back to Dalston?’
Snakey shook his head and gestured towards a red Mazda MX-5 parked a little way down the road. ‘I’m sorted, ta.’
Inside the sports car, a glamorous brunette was busy reapplying her lipstick in the rear-view mirror. Snakey Harris, for some reason Harry had yet to fathom, acquired one beautiful girlfriend after another. How did he do it? The man had a certain laconic charm, but he was hardly George Clooney.
Harry was still pondering this mystery as he made his way back up the stairs. He had almost reached the landing when his mobile started ringing. He took it out of his pocket and checked the screen. It was Valerie.
‘Hey, Val. How’s things?’
‘I’ve got a question for you.’
He could tell from her abruptness and the coolness of her voice that this wasn’t a social call. ‘Okay. Fire away.’
‘Would you like to explain to me what your connection is to Becky Hibbert?’
He frowned. ‘What?’
‘Becky Hibbert,’ she repeated. ‘One of Jessica Vaughan’s business cards was found at her flat with your name and number written on the back.’
Harry stopped, his hand tightening around the phone. It only took him a second to realise that something bad had occurred. If the police had been searching Becky’s flat, if Valerie was dealing personally with it, then it could only mean one thing. ‘What’s happened to her?’
There was a short pause on the other end of the line. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘And you haven’t answered mine. For God’s sake, Val, just tell me what this is all about.’
He heard a small intake of breath before she answered. ‘Becky Hibbert was found murdered this morning at the Mansfield. She’d been strangled.’
Harry felt a constriction in his own throat. ‘Christ,’ he murmured. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Hardly. So, if you wouldn’t mind explaining what she was doing with your number.’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘Then the sooner you start telling it, the sooner I can get on with this murder inquiry.’
‘I’ll come down the station,’ he said, preferring to speak to her face to face. ‘Fifteen minutes, yeah? I’ll see you then.’ He hung up before she had the chance to say anything else. A chill ran through him as he thought first about Becky Hibbert’s untimely death and then the fire at Jess’s place. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence that those two things had happened on the same night? He raised his eyes towards the flat, where Jess was still sleeping. She, at least, had had a lucky escape.
Harry stood for a while at the top of the stairs, going over the facts in his head. He thought about Becky Hibbert’s phone call and her fear that someone would find out that she’d spoken to him. Had that someone decided that she was a loose cannon, that she couldn’t be trusted to keep her mouth shut? Or had they found out that she had talked? Maybe she’d known more than she’d said. Or maybe, hidden in her words, was a clue to what had really happened on the day Minnie Bright died. Well, whatever the truth, she would never be the one to speak it now.
Harry let Lorna know that he’d be out for a while, grabbed his jacket from his office and headed back down the stairs to his car. As he drove, he considered the possibility that Becky’s death was unrelated to the murder of Minnie Bright. After all, he knew nothing about her life or what she might have been involved in. She could even have been a random victim. But then his thoughts returned to the fire at Jess’s flat. Although he was still waiting on the call from Jeff Bryant, there was now little doubt in his mind as to what the news would be.
He parked the car as close as he could to the building and walked the rest of the way. As he stepped through the sliding doors and into the warmth of the foyer, he was met by the usual hustle and bustle of a police station. Thankfully, there was only a short queue at the desk. After a brief wait he approached the middle-aged PC at the counter, gave the man a nod and said, ‘Harry Lind. I’m here to see DI Middleton. She’s expecting me.’
‘Take a seat,’ the PC said, gesturing towards a row of plastic chairs. ‘I’ll let her know you’re here.’
Harry sat down, leaned back and looked around. It was a long time since he’d last been here, but the territory was completely familiar to him, from the magnolia walls, through the midday drunks and nervous witnesses, to the strong, persistent smell of disinfectant. He was suddenly assailed by two contradictory feelings, one of belonging and the other of utter estrangement. It was as if his past and present had come together and temporarily knocked him out of kilter. But he had plenty of time to regain his equilibrium. It was another twenty minutes before Valerie finally graced him with her presence.
She gave him a thin smile as she came through the locked glass door into the foyer, but that was the sum total of her greeting. There was no apology for keeping him waiting. ‘This way,’ she said brusquely, opening another door that led off to the right.
Harry rose to his feet and followed her. He noticed that she was wearing one of her smarter suits, a grey pinstripe with a white blouse underneath. She’d either been in court or had an important meeting to attend. As she strode along the corridor, her high heels made a sharp tapping sound against the lino.
The room was the same as every other interview room Harry had ever been in, small and soulless, with a single high window, a table with four chairs and a scuffed and stained floor. There was another, smaller table set off to the side holding a bank of recording equipment.
Valerie sat down and laid her notepad and pen on the table. ‘So,’ she said. ‘What have you got to tell me?’ Her voice was as chilly as it had been on the phone.
He sat down opposite her. Under different circumstances he might have been put out by her manner, but he understood that she was under pressure and that his involvement in the case, however peripheral, was a complication that she really didn’t need. ‘How’s the investigation going?’
She frowned, ignoring the question. ‘Harry, as I’m sure you appreciate, I’m pretty busy at the moment. Can you please just tell me what Becky Hibbert was doing with your phone number?’
He would usually have been cautious about what he told the police regarding a client – no one wanted a private detective who blabbed about their business as soon as the law started asking
questions – but this was a murder inquiry. Anyway, Sam Kendall had already reported events to her local station, so he wouldn’t be betraying a confidence. Accordingly, he gave a concise summary of the situation, of the damage to Sam’s car, the malicious notes and her connection to the killing of a child. He saw Valerie’s face go blank when he mentioned Minnie Bright and realised that she probably didn’t remember the case. At the time in question she hadn’t even been working in London.
‘She was a ten-year-old girl who was murdered in Kellston in 1998,’ he explained. ‘A man called Donald Peck, a known sex offender, was convicted and sent down for life. He hanged himself in prison. Sam was one of the girls who was with Minnie on the day she was killed. As was Becky Hibbert.’
Valerie’s frown deepened. ‘So what are you saying – that Becky Hibbert’s murder is connected to this other one?’
‘I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m just telling you the facts. It’s up to you what you do with them.’
There was a brief silence before Valerie waved her hand impatiently and said, ‘Go on. I’m presuming there’s more.’
‘Well, it was Jess Vaughan who introduced Sam to me. Jess was writing an article about Minnie Bright’s murder, and—’
At the mention of Jess’s name, Valerie’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Very tasteful,’ she murmured.
Although it was obviously a mistake to attempt to mount any kind of defence of Jess’s motives – Valerie had always disliked her – the words slipped out before he’d really thought them through. ‘Actually, the piece was going to be about the ongoing effect that murder has on other people, how some learn how to cope with the trauma and others don’t.’
‘Yes,’ Valerie replied drily. ‘I’m sure there was nothing salacious about it at all. But can we get to the point, do you think? You still haven’t explained why Becky Hibbert had your number.’
Harry told her about how Paige Fielding and Becky had agreed to be interviewed but had then changed their minds. ‘Jess thought there was something odd about it, especially because they’d seemed so keen when she’d first approached them. She went to see Becky again to try and find out what was going on, and by this point Sam Kendall was my client so she left my number too in case Becky felt more comfortable talking to me.’
‘Why should she?’ Valerie asked. ‘I mean, why should Becky feel more comfortable?’
He gave a shrug, deciding that it was probably best not to mention Jess’s threat to ring Social Services. ‘Because I’m not a journalist?’
Valerie narrowed her eyes as if this explanation was far from adequate. ‘And did she call?’
Harry nodded. ‘Yesterday morning. She sounded nervous, agitated.’ He paused, and then added, ‘No, more than that. She was scared. She seemed scared that someone would find out that she’d talked.’
Valerie leaned forward, putting her elbows on the table. ‘What did she say to you?’
He explained what Becky had told him about Lynda Choi and the phone calls she’d made on the night she’d drowned. ‘Look, Val, I don’t know if any of this is relevant. It may have nothing to do with Becky Hibbert’s murder. Have you talked to Paige Fielding yet? She was a friend of Becky’s. She may be able to tell you more.’
‘Have you got a number for her, an address?’
‘Not on me, but I can text it through to you. It’s in the office. You may want to talk to Fielding’s boyfriend too. He’s a nasty bit of work called Micky Higgs.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’ Valerie wrote down the names before glancing up at him again. ‘So, is that everything? There’s nothing else I should know?’
‘Well, there is other one other thing. Last night someone set fire to the block of flats Jess lives in over in Hackney. We don’t know if it was deliberate yet. I’m still waiting to hear back from Jeff Bryant.’
Valerie assumed the same expression he had seen on Mac’s face earlier in the day, a kind of resigned acceptance that trouble and Jessica Vaughan were rarely apart for long. ‘No one hurt, I hope.’
‘No, nothing too serious. Shall I ask Jess to give you a call?’
‘No need,’ she said. ‘I can do it myself.’
‘Not on the number you’ve got,’ he said. ‘Her phone was destroyed in the fire along with all her other stuff. I’ll ask her to ring you when I get back to the flat, that’s if she’s awake yet.’
As if he’d just confessed to some sordid affair, Valerie’s whole body stiffened. ‘She’s at your flat?’
‘She needed somewhere to go.’
‘A hotel?’ Val suggested tightly. ‘Friends?’
‘I am a friend,’ he said, irked by her attitude. He sat back, folding his arms across his chest. ‘And it was five o’clock in the morning. God, Val, it’s only for a few days, just until her boyfriend gets back.’
As if realising that the interview, informal as it was, had strayed out of the professional and into the personal, Valerie sat up straight and pushed back her shoulders. Nothing, however, could disguise the look in her eyes. ‘Perhaps you could get her to give me a call then. Today, if it isn’t too much trouble.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll do that.’
Valerie snapped shut her notepad and rose smartly to her feet. ‘Right, if you’ve nothing else to add, I think we’re done. I’ll see you out.’
They walked in silence back to the foyer. Harry, although his conscience was clear, searched for something to say that might heal this new breach between them. It was not as though he had deliberately withheld the information about Jess staying at his flat – she’d only been there since the early hours of the morning – but perhaps he should have told her straight away.
At the door, he stopped and looked at her. ‘Hey, I’m sorry if—’
But Valerie clearly wasn’t interested in his explanations. She gave a quick shake of her head. ‘I’ve got to get on,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’ And with that she turned on her heel and left him standing there.
Valerie punched in the code, went through the glass door and headed back up the stairs. Was she behaving irrationally? She didn’t think so. Jessica Vaughan, boyfriend or not, wasn’t to be trusted. And now the two of them were living under the same roof. How long before this new-found friendship turned into something more?
On the first floor she stopped at the landing and gazed out of the window. She watched as Harry strolled down the road towards his car. His damaged left leg gave him a slightly swaying gait, but the limp was barely noticeable now. It would be easier, she thought, to just let him go, to sever the ties between them for ever. So why couldn’t she? Her head told her that was the smart thing to do, but her heart wasn’t ready for anything so final.
With a sigh, she carried on climbing the stairs. It was time to get focused again, to concentrate on the job rather than her personal life. Becky Hibbert deserved her full attention. She could think about everything else later.
The incident room was buzzing with talk, with the tapping of fingertips on keyboards, with the sound of phones constantly ringing. Valerie went over to Swann and perched on the edge of his desk.
‘Any news on Dan Livesey yet?’
‘Yeah, we’ve been calling round the local clubs and eventually managed to find his employer. He’s been working for Chris Street, sometimes at Belles, sometimes at the Lincoln.’
‘So we’ve got a home address?’
‘Not yet. Chris Street refused to give out any information over the phone, so I’ve sent Daley over to see him.’
‘Typical,’ she muttered. Chris Street, like his father Terry, was gangster through and through. The family owned a few clubs and bars, but made most of their money from drugs and prostitution. She wasn’t surprised that he was being obstructive. Chris Street would rather pull out his own teeth with pliers than voluntarily help the law.
‘I’ve run a check on Livesey,’ Swann said. ‘A couple of arrests for drunk and disorderly and a six-month stretch for assault ten years ago. S
o we’ve got his prints and his DNA, but unless we find something to match them with …’
‘Exactly. Mind, you have to get pretty up-close and personal if you’re strangling someone. Maybe the lab will come up with the goods.’ She shifted slightly on the desk, glanced around the room and then looked back down at Swann. Lowering her voice, she said, ‘What do you know about the Minnie Bright murder?’
It took a moment for the name to register with him, and then his brows shot up. ‘Hannah Bright’s kid, right?’
‘You knew the mother?’
‘Everyone knew Hannah. When she wasn’t being done for soliciting, she was raising hell in some pub or other. She spent more time in the cells than she did at home. I’m surprised that poor kid wasn’t taken into care.’ He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘Come to think of it, she’d have been a damn sight better off if she had been.’
‘What happened to her, to Hannah?’
‘Not a clue. She hasn’t been around for a while, though. I reckon she took off after the trial. I don’t imagine the locals were entirely sympathetic; she probably got out before they drove her out.’ He paused before adding, ‘What makes you ask?’
Valerie gave him a quick rundown of what Harry had told her.
Swann listened carefully. ‘Odd. You think there’s anything in it, guv?’
‘I don’t know, but I guess we’ll have to check it out.’
‘Nasty business, that. Still, Harry knows what he’s talking about. I mean, he was one of the poor sods who went into the house and found the body.’
Valerie tried to mask a jolt of surprise. She hadn’t been aware of that. In all the years they’d been together, Harry had never once mentioned it. A ripple of frustration ran through her. She wondered sometimes if she knew him at all. ‘Yes, of course.’
Swann gave her a sly look. ‘And you’ll be keeping the super informed?’