by Roberta Kray
‘Really?’ she said coldly.
He knew that bringing up the subject of Jess wouldn’t do much to raise the temperature, but there was no way round it. ‘Well, we’ve just found out that the fire at Jessica Vaughan’s place was deliberate and that she was definitely the intended target. She’s had to go and see the police at Hackney, so you may be hearing from them at some point.’ He decided not to mention that he was currently sitting outside the station. ‘I guess they’ll want to liaise with you in case there’s a connection to the Becky Hibbert murder.’
Valerie gave a sigh. ‘Right,’ she murmured.
‘And there’s something else. Apparently someone looking very like Micky Higgs threatened Lynda Choi’s brother with a knife about five months ago. David was trying to get some information on the calls Lynda made to the other girls on the night she died, and Higgs seemed to take exception to it.’
‘Did Choi report it?’
‘No, and if you ask him he’s probably going to deny that it ever happened. He doesn’t want to cause any grief for his family.’ Harry squinted into the sunlight, screwing up his eyes. ‘But I suppose the big question is why Higgs – if it was him – would go to all that trouble if his girlfriend had nothing to hide.’
‘And you didn’t think this was worth mentioning when we talked on Tuesday?’ she said crossly. ‘What’s the matter with you? Is there anything else you haven’t told me?’
He pulled a face, aware that he’d blotted his copybook yet again. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ In his defence he could have said that she hadn’t taken seriously the idea that there could be a connection to the Minnie Bright murder, but he was smart enough to keep that suggestion to himself. ‘I’m sorry, okay. I just thought that with Livesey in the frame all this stuff was probably irrelevant.’
‘Maybe in the future you could let me decide what’s relevant and what isn’t.’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll do that.’
‘Do you have a number or an address for this David Choi?’
Harry had got David’s number off Sam Kendall but decided not to give it out. The least he could do was ring David first and warn him that the law was about to come visiting. ‘Not a home address, but he works at a dry-cleaning place on the industrial estate. His family owns it. I don’t know exactly where the unit is.’
There was a short pause while Valerie wrote down the information. ‘And that’s it? You’re sure there’s nothing else you want to share with me?’
Harry winced at the sarcasm in her voice. ‘No, nothing else.’
‘Well, in that case, I’d better get on.’
Harry was about to suggest that they get together for a drink sometime, but she’d already hung up. ‘Well done, Mr Lind,’ he said softly. ‘Beautifully handled as usual.’ He leaned back and rubbed at his temples. Why did he have the feeling that another large nail had just been hammered into the coffin of their relationship?
It was almost an hour before Jess finally emerged from the police station and climbed into the car beside him. She looked tired and drawn, as if the very last of her energy had been drained away. He waited until she’d fastened her seat belt and had a moment to gather her thoughts.
‘So, how did it go, or shouldn’t I ask?’
Jess gave a shrug. ‘I’m not sure. You know what coppers are like.’ She smiled thinly at him. ‘No offence, but you’re never sure what they’re really thinking. They recorded it all, all the stuff about the Minnie Bright article, but then they kept asking what other stories I’d worked on in the past six months and whether someone might bear a grudge. And then after that they wanted to hear all the gory details of my personal life.’
‘I guess they’ve got to cover every angle.’
‘They seemed to think it was very convenient that Neil was away in Edinburgh when the flat was burnt down. I mean, what do they imagine: that he tried to have me knocked off while he got himself the perfect alibi?’
Harry started the engine and slid the car out into a line of traffic. ‘Well, you can be highly annoying, Vaughan. Perhaps he just couldn’t bear the prospect of being your boyfriend any longer.’
Jess put out her tongue and scowled at him. ‘Oh, thanks for that. You really know how to cheer a girl up. And Neil’s going to be overjoyed to get home and find himself under suspicion for attempted murder.’
‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’
‘Are you? Because I’m not sure of anything any more.’ Jess folded her arms across her chest and gazed dolefully at the road ahead. ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d dropped this damn story weeks ago.’
Harry knew that it was only the tiredness talking. Jess had never walked away from trouble in her life and she wasn’t about to start now. ‘I’ll tell you what. Let’s get back to Kellston and grab some lunch before we go and see Clare Towney.’
Jess gave him a sidelong glance and smiled. ‘In other words, stop your whining, Jessica, and just get the hell on with it.’
‘Your words,’ he said. ‘Not mine.’
Twenty minutes later, Harry and Jess were squashed into a corner at the back of Connolly’s. The café was doing a brisk lunchtime trade and all the other tables were full. The noisy hiss of the coffee machine vied with the clatter of cutlery, music from the radio and the general babble of conversation. While Harry tucked into a chicken salad, Jess picked unenthusiastically at an omelette, sawing off tiny pieces and moving them aimlessly around the plate.
‘You going to eat that or just play with it?’ he asked.
Jess glanced up at him. ‘Since when did you turn into my mother?’
‘Only looking out for you, hun. I wouldn’t like to see you waste away.’
Spearing a morsel of omelette, Jess put it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Happy now?’ Then she put down her fork and heaved out a sigh. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to take it out on you. All this stuff, it’s just … I can’t get my head around it. I feel like there’s something staring me in the face but I’m too blind to see it.’
‘You and me both,’ he said.
Jess topped up her glass from the jug of water on the table, then lifted it to her lips and took a few quick sips. ‘I mean, when you think about it, it all comes down to what really happened on the day that Minnie Bright was killed. We know what the girls said to the cops at the time, but what if they were lying?’
‘About what part of it?’
Jess’s brow furrowed in concentration. ‘Well, Paige, Kirsten and Becky claimed they ran off and left Minnie in the house. But what if they didn’t? Or what if, like Lynda, they went back? Perhaps Minnie did what she was told and opened the door for them. They all went in and … I don’t know, maybe there was some kind of argument or fight over what was being taken and one of them pushed Minnie and she fell and …’
Harry pursed his lips. ‘That doesn’t account for Peck’s DNA being on her clothes.’
‘But it would account for why the three of them didn’t want the case re-examined. And there could be reasons for the DNA. Minnie was lying on the floor, wasn’t she? There could have been contamination.’ Jess picked up her fork again and tapped it against the edge of her plate. ‘If all three girls stuck to the same story, they’d be free and clear. Who was going to suspect them when Minnie’s body was lying in the home of a known sex offender?’
Harry could see where she was going but he wasn’t convinced. ‘They were only ten years old, Jess. They were just kids.’
‘Streetwise, though. And if the police already had Peck in the frame, how hard were they going to question them? Those girls had forty-eight hours to get their story straight. So long as they kept it simple and consistent …’
‘But why would Paige and Becky have agreed to talk to you if they had something to hide?’
Jess gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. Because fourteen years had gone by and they thought they’d got away with it? Everything revolves around fame today, about having your photo in a magazine or the
paper, about being the centre of attention even if it is only for five minutes. Maybe the lure of that outweighed any minor risk of the truth coming out.’
‘Not for Kirsten Cope, though.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Not for Kirsten. Which means either that she’s smarter than the others or she’s got more to be afraid of. She was the one who was on the phone to Lynda Choi for over forty minutes on the night Lynda died. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but Kirsten doesn’t strike me as the type who spends vast amounts of time on Friends Reunited, so what was so fascinating about that conversation?’
Harry recalled his last glimpse of Kirsten Cope at the flat in Chigwell, sitting on the sofa and biting down on her knuckles. Yes, she’d certainly been worried.
‘Lynda Choi remembered something that the others didn’t want coming out,’ Jess continued. ‘Why else would they lie about her calling them?’
Harry finished his chicken salad and pushed the plate aside. It was a theory but it had a lot of loose ends. ‘So where does Clare Towney fit into the scheme of things?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Jess said. ‘Why don’t we go and find out?’
45
Palmer Street, running in an easterly direction off the high street, was only a short walk from Connolly’s. The terrace was much the same as all the others in the area: a row of small red-brick houses with one window on the ground floor and one on the first. Most of the square front yards were concrete or gravel, the limited space filled by council wheelie bins.
‘This is it,’ Jess said, stopping outside number 36. The exterior of the house was neat and tidy, the paintwork in good condition. A pair of starched white nets obscured her view of the inside, but she thought she sensed a movement behind them. She checked her watch. Five minutes early.
‘So, how are you going to handle this?’ Harry said.
She glanced up at him, realising that despite a great deal of thought, she hadn’t yet come to any firm conclusions. ‘With tact and diplomacy?’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
They walked up the path and Jess rang the bell. The door was answered almost immediately by a tall, slim girl who looked closer to eighteen than twenty-eight. She had a pretty heart-shaped face, wide hazel eyes and long red hair that reached almost to her waist. Her skin, pale as porcelain, had an almost translucent quality to it. Her features were perhaps too individual to be classed as beautiful, but she was certainly striking.
‘Clare Towney?’ Jess asked.
The girl nodded. ‘I’m Clare.’
‘Hi. I’m Jess Vaughan and this is my colleague Harry Lind. He’s a private detective.’
Clare looked from Jess to Harry and then back at Jess. Her eyes narrowed a little. ‘You didn’t say that you were bringing someone.’
‘You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to,’ Harry said. ‘If you’d rather see Jess alone …’
Clare studied him for a moment, but then gave a shrug and stood aside. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’d better come in.’
Jess stepped into a room that was overstuffed with furniture and knick-knacks. The wallpaper was old-fashioned and flowery, the large pink blooms more suited to a bedroom than a lounge, and the grey carpet had one of those busy patterns that would give you a headache if you stared at it for too long. The curtains, heavy and pulled partly across, blocked out most of the afternoon sunlight. From the room beyond came the sound of a television.
Clare gestured vaguely towards a dark corduroy-covered sofa.
‘Thank you,’ Harry said, moving a cushion and settling into a corner. ‘We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.’
Jess took the place beside him. She waited until Clare had sat down in an armchair before she began. Without going into too much detail, she swiftly explained about the article she’d been planning on writing and how she’d gradually become more interested in the original trial. ‘And then, of course, I talked to Ralph Masterson and he gave me the impression … well, that he wasn’t entirely convinced of your uncle’s guilt.’
‘Really?’ Clare said. She looked bemused.
‘He didn’t mention that we’d talked?’
Clare shook her head, but her gaze met Jess’s for only a second before flicking down towards the floor. ‘I haven’t seen him in years. We moved away after the trial.’
‘I see,’ Jess said. She was about to probe a little further when a female voice, a slightly scared-sounding voice, piped up from the room beyond.
‘Who is it? Who’s there?’
Clare jumped up and went over to the open door that separated the two rooms. ‘Don’t worry, Mum,’ she said gently. ‘It’s only … it’s only some friends from work. You watch your programme. We won’t be long.’
‘Is it the man about the boiler?’
‘No, Mum. He came last week, remember? The boiler’s fine. There’s plenty of hot water and everything. I’ll only be a few minutes, yeah?’
Clare walked back, sat down again and crossed her legs. She was wearing a floaty sleeveless summer dress that made her look faintly ethereal. Her feet with their pearl-coloured toenails were bare. She looked over at Harry and gave him a tentative smile. ‘I’m sorry about that. She gets nervous when there are strangers in the house.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, sitting forward and smiling sympathetically. ‘We understand.’
Jess watched her closely. The way she’d addressed her apology solely to Harry made her suspect that Clare Towney was the type of girl more comfortable in the company of men than women. Or was she just trying to get one of them on side? As soon as the thought crossed her mind she felt a twinge of guilt. Having an uncle like Donald Peck couldn’t have been the easiest thing to deal with, and now the past was coming back to haunt her again. ‘It must have been tough for you, the trial and everything.’
Clare put her hands on her lap and twined her fingers together. ‘I try not to think about it.’
‘But you never had any doubts?’
‘Doubts?’ she echoed.
‘About your uncle’s guilt,’ Jess said.
Clare shook her head. ‘She was there, wasn’t she? That poor little girl was there in his house.’ She glanced over at Harry. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not quite sure what … I mean, I don’t understand why you’re involved in all this.’
‘I’ve been retained by Sam Kendall,’ he said. ‘Do you remember her? She was one of the girls who went to your uncle’s house with Minnie that day. She’s been receiving death threats.’
‘Really? Oh, that’s terrible.’
‘But not as terrible as what happened to Becky Hibbert,’ Jess said.
Clare blinked hard. ‘But that doesn’t have anything to do with … She was killed by her boyfriend, wasn’t she? That’s what it said on the news.’
‘Maybe,’ Jess said. She left a short pause before she continued. ‘You worked with Becky, didn’t you? That must have been awkward.’
‘We usually worked different shifts. I do mornings – one of the neighbours comes in to sit with Mum – and she did afternoons. I hardly ever saw her.’
‘But you heard about the article I was writing? Even if Becky didn’t tell you herself, one of your workmates must have mentioned it.’
Clare hesitated, a look of indecision passing over her face. She probably wanted to deny it but had no way of knowing if Jess had already talked to the staff at the supermarket. ‘I may have heard a rumour.’
‘And how did that make you feel?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if I was you I wouldn’t have been happy,’ Jess said. ‘Here’s this girl, who some might say was partly responsible for what happened to Minnie Bright, bragging about how she’s going to be in a glossy magazine as if the whole horrible affair was something to be proud of.’ Jess was only guessing, but it was a guess based on Becky’s response after she’d first approached her. ‘After everything you’ve been through, that can’t have been easy to deal with.’
> Clare gripped her knees tightly and stared hard at Jess. Her hazel eyes flashed with suspicion. ‘Are you accusing me of something?’
‘No,’ Harry said firmly, shooting Jess a warning glance. ‘Of course not. We’re just trying to talk to everyone involved in the original case. We’re not singling anyone out and we’re certainly not throwing any accusations around. We’re here to try and establish whether Donald Peck’s conviction was safe. If you have any doubts, any doubts at all, then we’d like to hear them.’
‘I don’t,’ Clare said. ‘My uncle was a sick man. He had serious problems. You must be aware of his record.’
Harry nodded. ‘So you don’t share any of Masterson’s reservations?’
‘I wasn’t aware that he had any. Like I said, I haven’t seen him for years.’ Clare gave a weary sigh. ‘Look, I was fourteen when all this happened. I barely knew the guy and I certainly wasn’t privy to his thoughts on whether my uncle was guilty or not.’
As Jess glanced around the room, her gaze alighted on the sideboard by the door. On it was a framed family photograph, a picture of Clare Towney when she was six or seven standing in a garden with her parents. At least she presumed they were her parents. The woman had a look of Clare about her – the same striking red hair, the same wide eyes and mouth. The man, in his early thirties, had blander, less memorable features.
‘Is that your mum and dad?’ Jess asked.
Clare, looking startled at the question, followed Jess’s gaze. ‘Yes.’
‘So your dad, he’s … er, not around any more?’
‘No,’ Clare said. ‘He cleared off shortly after that picture was taken, cleared off and never came home again. Mum spent the next twenty years waiting for him to walk back through the door. Even when we were in Devon, she still thought he’d …’ She gave a small, bitter laugh. ‘He couldn’t take it, you see, having a brother-in-law who was the local perv. It’s not the greatest family connection, is it? Hardly something to brag about down the pub.’
‘It must have been hard for the two of you,’ Harry said.
‘We managed. We had to. Now all I want to do is to put the past behind me and get on with my life. That’s not too much to ask, is it?’