He squinted at Jennifer and she remembered him telling her he owned glasses, but had given up wearing them as he was fed up of them getting lost every time he went on a bender.
‘Look miss, I’m dying for a fag and I just want to get out of here,’ he said, chewing what was left of his grubby thumbnail.
‘Bradley, I’ll give it to you straight. You give me some information and if it’s juicy enough, we will tell the court you’ve been cooperative. It might help your case.’
Bradley raised his chin defiantly. ‘I don’t help coppers.’
Jennifer leaned forward, detecting the smell of stale cigarettes. ‘This is about helping yourself. You must have something we can use.’ She was all ready to tick the non-compliant box when he spoke up.
‘I’ll tell you what’s dodgy, Johnny Mallet doing himself in. I reckon someone made him do it.’
Jennifer’s heart quickened as she poised her pen to take notes. ‘Have you got any proof to back this up?’
‘No. But he started hanging around with someone before he died. Johnny said they gave him free booze. I told him; you don’t get nothing for free in this world. A few weeks later, Johnny was acting messed up, talking in some weird voice. He said Shelly was next.’ Bradley scratched his head. ‘It’s bugged me ever since. I know everyone on these streets, but whoever seen Johnny is covering their tracks.’
‘What about Shelly, have you seen her since?’
Bradley sighed, desperate for a drink to fix his shaking hands. ‘Well, that’s the other thing. I reckon she knows more than she’s letting on. That’s all I can tell ya.’
‘Thanks Bradley. I think this is worth a follow up.’
The conversation with Bradley played on Jennifer’s mind as she pulled her black Converse sneakers from under the bed. She didn’t need to dress up where she was going. The phone rang just as she pulled them on. It was not the silent calls that plagued her, but Will. ‘I don’t know if I can make it tonight,’ he said, without so much as a ‘hello’.
Jennifer’s heart plummeted. ‘Why not?’
‘Some bastard has slashed my tyres. I won’t be able to get them replaced until Monday.’
‘Oh mate, I’m sorry to hear that. Any idea who did it?’
‘I don’t know. I reckon they used a knife or a screwdriver. Could be anyone.’
‘Have you called it in?’
‘Yeah, I’ll write my own statement. Uniform have enough to do. It means I won’t be able to pick you up though.’
‘You’re not blowing me out. Do the statement tomorrow. I’ll pick you up; you can have a few drinks. Sounds like you need them.’
‘All right then, if you don’t mind. See you in half an hour?’
‘Yeah, will do.’
Jennifer hung up, and a text beeped into life. ‘You gonna make me dine alone tonight? Ethan.’
A chill ran up her spine. Did Ethan have anything to do with Will’s tyres being slashed? Jennifer shook the thought away. As if anyone would do that, just to have a date with her. She replied with a ‘Sorry’ and secured the house before leaving.
The aroma of stale beer lingered in the air as Jennifer followed Will downstairs to McClusky’s basement club. The place was heaving with students, keen to take advantage of the Saturday night burger and beer deal. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light as Will squeezed them into a corner table. There were better establishments across the river bridge, but McClusky’s was their favourite haunt, and they enjoyed laughing at the rubbish acts on stage.
Will wolfed his quarter pounder, stopping only to take a swig of beer. ’I’ve been living off lettuce leaves all week,’ he said in his defence.
Jennifer took a mouthful of wine, taking a break from her oversized burger. Recent events had suppressed her appetite, and her stomach felt like she had just swallowed a brick. ‘Will, what do you know about Ethan?’
Will took a swig of his pint and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘He’s just some rich kid playing at detective. Why do you ask?’
‘Dunno. He invited me to The Ivy, and I turned him down to come out with you.’
‘The Ivy? I am honoured. Not that I blame you though, I’m not in for all that fine dining crap. What did he say when you told him you were coming out with me?’
‘I didn’t. I told him I was out with a mate,’ she lied, not wishing to plant a seed of suspicion in Will’s mind.
‘You don’t think he had anything to do with my tyres being slashed, do you?’ Will frowned.
‘Oh God no. It’s probably one of those little scroats you nicked last week. C’mon, forget about it. The second half is coming on.’
Jennifer dropped Will home at the end of the show and walked him from her car to his flat to ensure he got in OK. He was cute when he was drunk. He leaned forward and twirled her hair, trying hard not to slur his words. ‘You look lovely tonight.’
Jennifer giggled, steering him back onto the pavement.
Will threw his arm around her shoulder as she did so. ‘When are we going to get it together?’
‘We are together. We’re bessie mates aren’t we?’ Jennifer was amused by Will’s comments, but she had no intention of spoiling a good friendship with sex. Although she had grown up in Haven, she had lost touch with her friends after she joined the police. Will was one of the few people she could trust.
Will tapped the side of his nose with his finger and giggled. ‘Ah now, you know what I mean.’
Jennifer fished the house key from his jacket pocket and shoved it in the door, shushing him to quieten down. ‘Yes, and I also know you are very drunk.’
He kissed her on the cheek and she accepted a hug, wishing things could be different.
‘Jennifer, it’s Steph. Sorry to call so early, did I wake you?’
Jennifer fumbled with her phone, wishing she hadn’t answered it. ‘Oh hello Sarge, it’s time I was getting up anyway. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing, I was just wondering if you could come in for a couple of hours’ overtime today. We’ve had a spate of distraction burglaries on elderly residents, and we need house-to-house enquiries. The powers that be want our best officers working on this case – but they’re busy working on the intel so I said I’d give this to you.’
Steph laughed loudly, then spluttered a cough down the phone. ‘Sorry, too early, I know.’
‘Right, yeah, I’ll make my way in,’ Jennifer said, failing to find the humor. She rubbed her eyes. There were worse things than getting paid overtime to speak to some old dears.
If the gnomes bordering the garden of number 52 Maple Drive didn’t give the game away, the mobility scooter parked at the side of the house did. Elderly residents occupied all the houses on the pretty tree-lined street, and they were rich pickings for the predators that preyed on the vulnerable. Distraction burglaries were rife in the area, and the occupants of Maple Drive were far too trusting. Jennifer inhaled the sweet scent of the winter beauty honeysuckle bordering the wall of the small whitewashed cottage.
She pressed the doorbell and a yapping sound from within signalled her presence. ‘Who is it?’ a small frail voice questioned from the other side.
‘Mrs Connelly, it’s the police. I’m just making some enquiries, there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘Henry, get down, go on, off with you.’ The door opened, and a short white-haired lady peeped out cautiously. Her pink cardigan matched the gentle flush in her soft cheeks, the cloud in her eyes betraying her age. Jennifer held up her warrant card.
‘Come in dear, and call me Joan,’ the woman said, beckoning her inside. ‘You could be holding up anything for all I know, it’s these cataracts you see.’
A small black poodle jumped up and down, a coiled spring vying for attention. ‘Don’t pass any remarks on Henry, he won’t hurt you. If he did, I wouldn’t have to worry about burglars.’
‘I take it you’re talking about the one yesterday evening.’
‘Oh yes, I’ve heard all about it. Poor Mr Baxt
er, he only lost his wife last week. What sort of people would beat an old man black and blue for a few bits of jewellery? It’s disgusting.’
‘I agree. We’re doing all we can to catch them, including making doorstep enquiries.’
‘Have a cup of tea, dear.’ It was a statement, not a question. Jennifer sat at the kitchen table as Joan busied herself warming the teapot. Fondant fancies lit up the plate in yellows, pinks and, Jennifer’s favourite, chocolate brown.
She had been to many houses like this, elderly people who were settled and happy until they were burgled, then the bubble of security burst, taking with it any sleep and filling the vacuum with a sense of loneliness. Jennifer admired the delicate china cups hanging from the oak dresser. ‘Thank you,’ she smiled, as she took two down, pouring a little milk and dropping in a cube of sugar with a plop.
‘I’m afraid I didn’t see anything, but Lillian, my neighbour told me all about it. I don’t have any valuables, apart from Henry here.’
Henry rested his chin on her lap and closed his eyes as she stroked his head. He emitted a soft moan of comfort. ‘He sleeps at the end of my bed.’
Jennifer took another sip of her tea. She liked the sound of the cup clinking as it landed on the saucer, it was homely.
Joan smiled warmly. ‘It’s lovely having a detective sitting here keeping me company. Can you spare me five more minutes of your time?’
Jennifer smiled, ‘Yes, of course I can. What can I do for you?’
Joan’s face lit up as she stood and returned to the oak dresser, pulling out a drawer. ‘It’s more like what I can do for you. Now, where are they, let me see … ’ She rifled in the drawers, muttering softly. ‘I knew when I woke up, something just told me I would give a reading today. Ah, here they are.’
Jennifer took a bite of a French fondant. In for a penny, she thought, briefly closing her eyes as the delicious creaminess melted on her tongue. She placed the empty wrapper on the saucer and drained the last of her tea.
Joan appeared to have taken on a new energy as she joined her. She allowed the deck of tarot cards to slide out of the red velvet pouch, and lay a magnifying glass on the lace tablecloth. A cold breeze swept past as Joan shuffled the deck with expertise.
‘I don’t know if this is a good idea,’ Jennifer said quietly, her eyes never leaving the gold-rimmed deck of cards, the edges feathered and worn from years of use.
‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, dear.’ She paused and her eyes, gently pleading, looked into hers. ‘Please? It won’t work if you’re closed to it.’
Jennifer slowly nodded. ‘Go on, then.’
Joan returned her attention to the deck of cards that were now spread face down on the table. The only sound in the house was the soft snore of the poodle laid at her feet, accompanied by the tick of a grandfather clock in the hall.
‘Pick out three cards,’ she said solemnly. Jennifer tapped three cards with her forefinger, and Joan lay them face down in front of her. Picking up her magnifying glass, she studied the cards. ‘These three cards represent past, present and future. We will begin with the past.’ Joan slowly turned the card over. ‘This is the eight of cups. It represents change and transition. Leave the stagnant past behind and face new challenges, the unfamiliar, something which will be more fulfilling in the future. But only if you can walk away from what you are holding on to.’
The words struck home. The memories of Jennifer’s traumatic childhood were something she desperately needed to leave behind. Joan’s magnified eye surveyed the next card. The image of a tower lay in front of her. ‘This is your present. You are busy making foundations for challenges to come, but will they last? You must ensure your foundations are strong if you are to get through what lies ahead.’ Joan sighed while she stared at the card, seeing more than the picture in front of her. ‘This is not material strength; I see it in the form of relationships, love, people you can depend on. I fear some of your foundations may let you down when you need them the most, even work against you.’
Jennifer frowned. What had started out as a bit of fun had taken on a serious tone. ‘Now we move on to your future.’ Joan slowly turned over the last card, and the devil image flashed in front of her. Joan’s mouth set in a thin line, with no trace of the friendliness she had worn since Jennifer’s arrival.
Jennifer emitted a nervous laugh. ‘We’re not doing very well here, are we?’
‘I don’t like to see this card as part of a future reading. It is a warning. You are setting up structures in your life that attracts negative influences, users and takers. You feel you are bound but you must break free. This card does not bode well for you.’ Joan scanned all three cards before her with her magnifying glass, before laying it back on the table. She shook her head and spoke in a whisper; ‘The darkness is all around you.’
She closed her eyes and brought her head down. Her lips moved as she mumbled to herself, clutching the small silver cross around her neck. She lifted her head, her breathing beginning to quicken. ‘Oh dear, this is not good at all. I sense a child in all of this. Do you understand?’
Jennifer nodded fervently. ‘Yes I do.’
Joan waved her hand over the cards. ‘Whatever happens, keep the child safe.’
‘From what?’
‘You will know when the time comes.’ Joan shook her head as she gathered up the cards in haste. ‘I’m sorry dear, but I must insist you leave.’ The dog awoke and anxiously circled his owner.
‘But wait,’ Jennifer said, ‘can’t you tell me anymore?’
‘It’s not safe, you have to go,’ Joan said with a tinge of panic in her voice as she rose from the table. The poodle barked sharply in agreement.
Jennifer stood to find Joan’s hand rested on her back, gently guiding her to the front door. Jennifer turned ‘Mrs Connelly, Joan ... are you all right?’
The elderly woman undid the clasp of the cross around her neck. ‘Give me your hand.’
Jennifer opened her hand and Joan dropped the chain into it, warming her palm.
‘I’m not allowed to accept gifts.’
‘Please. It will shield you from the darkness.’
Jennifer shook her head to protest, but Joan firmly closed Jennifer’s fingers over the chain and shuffled her through the open door. ‘Wear it for protection and don’t take it off.’
Joan took her dog by the collar as she saw Jennifer out. He yapped in protest, his front feet off the ground, scrambling in the air to chase Jennifer off the premises.
The door slammed and Jennifer stared at the chain sitting in her palm. What the hell had just happened? She raised her hand to knock, but something stopped her. Whatever Joan had picked up on, she had felt it too. The dark cloak of oppression. A realisation overcame her. She was validated. With shaking hands, she fastened the chain around her neck. Her shock mingled with relief as she left the house.
Joan watched through the lace curtains as Jennifer walked away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her shoulders heavy with sorrow. ‘I wasn’t strong enough to carry on.’
17 Chapter Seventeen
Frank - 1985
Women were more trouble than they were worth. They were leading him down a dangerous path and he wasn’t ready for prison. Not yet anyway. He had come so close to throttling Shirley this time. He couldn’t risk seeing her again. If her old man found out … McCarthy was a tough bastard who would probably beat him to a pulp for what he did to his little girl. But he would never find out, Frank had made sure of that. He had put on quite a show as he begged for her forgiveness, making up some cock and bull story about being abused as a child, explaining how he had been treated so badly that now sometimes he turned on the people he loved the most. Then he had produced his grand finale, a piece of poetry written just for her. A goodbye poem to his beautiful angel, the only one who understood his anguish. Soft as butter, was old Shirley, and she had lapped it up. He would be sorry to see her go, she was a good shag.
It wasn’t as if it was his fault. Th
e silly bitches just wouldn’t leave him alone. The worse he treated them, the more they chased, as if they were part of some tragic love story. Sure, there were a couple of times he could have got away with it, but what was the point? When he killed it had to mean something, good killings that people would read about in the papers and say ‘good riddance’ about. When they discovered his identity, he would be revered. Not that the police were going to catch him anytime soon.
His job as a delivery driver helped pass the time, and volunteering for the Salvation Army in his spare time was an excellent cover. It was almost Christmas, and he was on his last delivery of hampers for the needy. Mrs Harris’s doorbell chimed as he balanced the box of groceries in his arms. He was tired and his feet ached. He had work in the morning, and just wanted to drop the box and go home. The door opened to reveal a thick-jowled woman, her face set in a permanent grimace.
‘What do you want?’ she said, glaring at him.
Given that he was wearing a uniform, he would have thought it was obvious. Frank faked a smile. ‘Mrs Harris? I’ve got your Christmas hamper, courtesy of the Salvation Army.’
‘About blooming time. How do you expect me to get by with no food in the house?’
Judging by her ample bottom as she turned to let him in, she got by just fine. All the other old dears had been very grateful, some had even offered a tip with the little money they had.
Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 13