She Did It: You think you know her - think again.

by Mel Sherratt

  After a minute, she slowed down, chancing a look over her shoulder. There seemed to be no one following her but it had been a reminder that her past would catch up with her one day.

  Had Danny come into the city for the evening or was he living here now? She wouldn’t put it past him to turn up out of the blue looking for her. But with everyone in tow, maybe they had been having a night out. She had got this far without anyone finding her.

  Going for another hit didn’t seem quite as enticing. Esther decided to leave for home. Once back in the safety of her flat, she took out her notebook, added on her takings from that evening and put everything away again. Tonight had been very lucrative and tomorrow she would stop at Colin’s to see if he was interested in any of the other items she had stolen recently. If he wasn’t, they would go into the nearest bin too.

  But an hour later, she was in bed with no signs of sleep. She began to pick at the cut on her leg, making it bleed. Seeing Danny again had freaked her out. If he caught up with her, he would probably give her a good beating. And if he didn’t find her, she would always be looking over her shoulder.

  The sooner she got out of London the better really. Even though she had something to do here, it was too risky to stay anywhere for long. For now, she needed to give everyone she came into contact with the impression that she was sticking around for good.

  That would be enough to keep anyone from finding out what she was really there for.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Monday, 13 March

  Carley and the major crimes team had been working to solve the murder of Jamie Kerrigan for two weeks but so far had drawn a blank. There wasn’t anything captured on CCTV footage nearby that would be of interest to them. There was nothing pointing on the alley itself, and on the street, there had been people seen but no one, except their victim, going into it.

  It led them to thinking Kerrigan was meeting someone and his attackers had been waiting for him. Carley had scoured cameras from around the wider area with the CCTV analyst but they hadn’t been able to ascertain who had been lying in wait. Neither was the back of the alley covered.

  Carley had accompanied Max to question anyone they were aware of who was associated with Kerrigan. But even if anyone knew anything, they were staying tight-lipped. Apparently, no one had been arguing with Kerrigan. No one had a grudge against him. There wasn’t a bad word said about him, which was a suspicion in itself. The crew Kerrigan belonged to was known not to speak out against each other. There was definitely some sort of cover up going on.

  Their main suspects were still Danny Bristol and Ewan Smith, but both had given each other alibis. They had been together on the night in question, watching television at Danny’s flat. Having been in trouble before, they had been able to preempt all the questions they would be asked, so their answers were pitch-perfect. And being unable to find the weapon used in the murder meant there were no clues other than its make – a Glock 17 9mm safe-action pistol.

  So, Carley was surprised as she looked up from her computer to see Max waving her into his office.

  ‘We’ve received a call from a neighbour of Ewan Smith’s. He thinks he might have heard a gunshot last night.’

  ‘And he’s only just ringing it in this morning?’ Carley checked her watch; it was 11.30 a.m.

  Max shrugged. ‘Nothing surprises me anymore.’

  Carley shrugged on her jacket, picked up her phone and keys and followed Max out of the building.

  In recent years, Shoreditch had become popular and fashionable, with accompanying rises in land and property prices. An inner city district in the east end of London, it was still undergoing transformation, and the area where Ewan Smith lived was as worn as it had ever been.

  The estate was a large sprawl of council housing, mainly tower blocks. Pre-war builds had nowhere near enough room to accommodate today’s mass of cars –which were parked everywhere there was a space – and everywhere there wasn’t, resulting in vehicles struggling to pass.

  Carley followed Max as they jogged up the steps towards the third floor of the tower block. A man in his fifties, with combed-over hair and greasy skin was waiting for them.

  ‘I can’t be sure,’ he said. ‘It may have been his television. But I’ve knocked and knocked this morning and he hasn’t come to the door.’

  ‘Are you positive he’s in?’ asked Matt.

  ‘I heard his door go about eleven last night when he came home. He sometimes gets me a paper in the mornings, or puts a bet on for me.’

  ‘What time did you hear the shot?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes after he came in. Don’t look at me like that!’ The man raised his hands in the air before dropping them dramatically. ‘What happens if I’m wrong? I don’t want to get beaten up for poking my nose in. I can’t—’

  Max held up a hand for him to stop. ‘I don’t suppose you have a key?’

  The man shook his head. Max told him to step back, then he kicked at the door lock but it didn’t budge.

  ‘Reinforced?’ asked Carley.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past him.’

  Max radioed through for a trained officer to bring an enforcer, also known as the big red key. While they waited, they knocked on a few doors to see if the neighbour’s story could be corroborated. Two of the eight were answered, and neither of their residents had heard or seen anything.

  Once the door was battered opened, Max went in first and Carley followed behind, her baton flicked out in readiness.

  ‘Police!’ Max shouted. Two officers followed behind him.

  ‘Bathroom’s clear. So is the bedroom,’ said one of them.

  ‘Kitchen’s clear,’ said the other.

  Carley and Max went into the living room, their steps tentative. Ewan Smith was on the settee. His head had fallen to their right, revealing a gunshot wound above his ear. Brain matter was splattered on the wall behind him, clear from the amount that he was dead.

  Carley covered her mouth, turning away for a moment.

  ‘How can anyone do that, and at such close range?’ She dry-retched.

  While she composed herself, Max flicked on latex gloves and went around to the front of the body.

  ‘There’s no weapon so it couldn’t have been suicide.’ He checked for a pulse and shook his head before radioing the details through to the control.

  Carley pointed to a whiskey bottle and a half-full glass. ‘Unfinished drink. I wonder if he came back alone and someone was waiting for him or if someone came afterwards and took him by surprise.’

  ‘With no signs of forced entrance, I’d say his murderer was invited in.’

  She looked around the room. There was nothing out of place. For all intents and purposes, Smith looked like he had fallen asleep in front of the television after a night out.

  ‘Someone could have sneaked up behind him and taken a shot,’ said Max.

  ‘The list of people he would have upset in the past is going to be huge for this one,’ Carley said, pointing out the obvious. ‘I wouldn’t know where to start.’

  ‘I think Danny Bristol will be our first port of call, see what we get from him and go from there. There’s nothing we can do here while the forensics team are in. Let’s pay him a visit.’

  Carley was aware they didn’t want to disturb any of the evidence so was glad when Max began opening a few drawers in the kitchen. There was nothing that he could see straightaway, even though there were a few more hiding places. They’d have to wait until the room was swept and searched and see if anything came back.

  They each took one more glance around before leaving the flat and awaited the arrival of the forensics team. There was nothing either of them could do for Ewan Smith now, except find his murderer.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Thursday, 22 June

  Esther woke early. After spending more time out than she had anticipated the night before, and then having a fitful sleep because of seeing Danny Bristol again, she’d have to preen herself to perfe
ction today. She wanted to make the best impression she could to entice Jack Maitland into her bed.

  The bathroom smelt of bergamot pear, heliotrope lilies, and musk sandalwood. The cream had rubbed into her skin so quickly that she felt pampered and was glad she had taken the time to steal the purse from a tourist in the department store so that she could buy the accompanying shower gel and deodorant spray too. Everything needed to be seamless today.

  The beauty products were a special treat. It meant that even in the crummy space, with its mould coming through behind the toilet cistern and in between the cracks of the tiles, she couldn’t wait to get showered and into her dress.

  As she lathered up, she thought about the day ahead. Esther had certainly lucked out meeting Tamara. Despite first impressions, she hadn’t expected her to be so accommodating. Her vulnerability was kind of appealing, if not nauseous at times, but she could handle that.

  Spending time with Tamara and learning all about her past had been a bonus. Tamara was trusting her much quicker than she had envisioned. But then again, that wouldn’t be hard. Her acting was superb at the moment. There had only been that one incident with Ben that could have given the game away.

  She dressed carefully that morning. Even though she would hate every minute of it, she was going to make sure she spent as much of the day as possible with Jack. At least he seemed personable.

  It had been a bonus to get an invite to Royal Ascot, and she was even getting paid for taking the next two days off. Tamara had insisted; she wasn’t going to complain.

  She popped on her hat, and smiled at her reflection through the dirty wardrobe mirror with the crack across the bottom. The colours in the dress brought out the green in her eyes, and even though her hair was dyed auburn, she loved its colour.

  Clothes really did make the person. Esther looked very hoity-toity, she mused, which was just as well because she was way above her class. She ran her hand down the dress to smooth it, reached for the pashmina shawl that Tamara had been determined to buy her too, and popped it over her arm.

  With one final check in the mirror, she pouted, blew herself a kiss, grabbed her bag, and headed outside.

  The weather was glorious as she bounced down the steps on the balls of her feet. Storms were forecast with some well-needed rain, but she hoped they would hold out for today. She didn’t want anything to dampen her spirits.

  It was a ten-minute walk to West Brompton station where she needed to catch the Overground train across the river to Clapham Junction. She was meeting Tamara there in an hour. It was only two stops but she wanted to get there in plenty of time.

  Esther knew she looked good so she raised her shoulders higher as she walked. Her heels tapped rhythmically on the pavement, bringing more attention to her. It made her feel powerful.

  Heads turned as she walked along Trebovir Road. It was embarrassing but liberating at the same time. Everyone could see she was going somewhere special. They didn’t think she was special, which was a shame. But for now, all eyes were on her.

  ‘Spare a few coins for a meal,’ a voice came from the pavement. She looked down, seeing a man in disarray, dirt smeared on his face, his hair matted. By the side of him, a Jack Russell terrier was curled up asleep.

  Her heels tapped on the pavement like bullets from a revolver as she marched past him but then she stopped. She closed her eyes momentarily thinking back to a time when she’d had to beg on the streets to survive. Rummaging around in her bag, she took out her purse and drew out a five-pound note. She went back to the man and thrust it in his hands.

  ‘Thanks, miss!’ His eyebrows raised in surprise.

  ‘Get yourself something good with it, mind,’ she said before turning on her heels.

  Once she was seated on the train, she sent a text message to Tamara.

  On my way. I know I’m early but I couldn’t sleep. I’m so excited. See you soon.

  A message came back almost immediately.

  I’m on my way too! See you there.

  She smiled to herself.

  The day was getting off to a good start, even though she was nervous about returning to Ascot. She tucked her emotions away, safe in the knowledge that no one would interfere with them. No one would want to.

  ‘Going somewhere nice, love?’ an elderly lady sitting across the aisle from her asked.

  ‘Ascot Racecourse,’ Esther replied, a little taken aback. She was used to being ignored round and about in London. People walked with their heads down or eyes fixed straight ahead to avoid any kind of contact. It must be the outfit, she assumed.

  ‘How divine! You have the perfect day for it. I hope the weather lasts.’ The woman beamed at her. ‘And I hope you enjoy yourself. You look radiant.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Esther smiled back, hoping as she did that the woman wouldn’t want to engage in a full-blown conversation. She didn’t want to encourage her but neither did she want to be rude. Her parents had brought her up to respect her elders.

  Luckily, the woman settled back down to the magazine she had been reading. Esther studied her for a moment. Layers of brightly coloured clothes for when it became too hot, the pearl necklace around her aged neck was probably a family heirloom and her face was made up with a skillful hand. Silver-grey hair curled in a set. It made her think of her mum, how she might look now. Although she wasn’t so old, she would obviously look very different than the last time she had seen her when she was seventeen.

  Esther should have complimented the woman too, but it was too late now. Instead she relaxed back in her seat, turning her head towards the window. Although she quite liked the ‘being nice to everyone’ attitude she portrayed, she would be off in a minute anyway, so it was hardly worth the effort.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Tamara waved to Esther as she disembarked the train and pushed her way across the platform through the crowds. She held on to her hat as it clashed with the brim of another woman and then ducked underneath her.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ she exclaimed, greeting Esther with an air kiss. ‘That dress suits you more on second viewing.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Esther almost squealed. ‘I’m so excited!’

  ‘Me too. Come on, we need platform two.’

  The next train to Ascot was due in ten minutes and they joined the throngs of elaborately dressed passengers as they waited for it to arrive. Tamara hadn’t had a day off in a long time. Building up the business had been her priority for the past twelve months. So she very much felt like a child, shivers of excitement rippling through her.

  There was no sign of Jack Maitland, nor any of the team from Dulston Publishing as the train pulled in. They got on board, and she pointed to a seat with a table. ‘Quick, grab that!’

  Esther shimmied along the seat to settle next to the window. ‘What’s Royal Ascot like?’ She looked at Tamara, shyness in her expression.

  ‘I haven’t been for several years now,’ Tamara replied. ‘Although it was a family tradition until I was in my late teens. My parents sometimes go but they’re giving it a miss this year.’ She looked at Esther. ‘Did you live in Shoreditch all your life?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  Esther shrugged and Tamara could tell she had made her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Nothing to talk about,’ Esther finally replied. ‘I’m an only child. I lived there with my parents and left when I was twenty-one.’

  Tamara waited for her to say more but Esther didn’t elaborate. It struck her that she might be embarrassed. Everyone around her seemed to be wealthy. Did she feel the odd one out?

  ‘I know I’m lucky to be brought up with money,’ she said, ‘but sometimes it isn’t a blessing. There are certain things expected of you.’

  ‘Such as?’ Esther was all attentive now the conversation had moved away from her. Tamara wondered whether to confide in her. It felt slightly indulgent saying that her wealthy upbringing was sometimes more of a hindrance than a help. She paused, and then dec
ided to go for it.

  ‘Well, according to my family, by now I should be married with a husband that I dote on and who I run around after. I should have at least two children, who should be in private schools. I definitely shouldn’t be running my own business.’ She raised her shoulders up and then down in defeat.

  Esther pulled a face. ‘That’s a little old-fashioned, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s my parents, for you.’ She nodded. ‘My father is old school but a gentleman for most of the time but my mother is a nightmare. She is a stickler for tradition. “No woman in the Parker-Brown family has ever gone out to work,” she keeps on telling me. And I keep on telling her that I’m not going out to work – I own the bloody company – but she won’t have it.’

  ‘Do you have brothers and sisters?’

  ‘Two older brothers and a younger sister.’ She sighed. ‘I know I’m a disappointment to my parents. They brought me up well. I was educated at Marydale Grammar School for Girls and then I read English at Oxford. Law had been my parents’ choice but I had been adamant. Once I’d finished my studies, I went to live in Spain teaching English to middle-grade children.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Esther was impressed.

  ‘My parents weren’t happy about it – my mother because I was working at all and my father because I hadn’t followed in his footsteps. It wasn’t enough that both my brothers were lawyers too. But, after twelve months, I was homesick and came back to London anyway.’

  ‘What does your sister do?’

  ‘Cordelia? Oh, she’s never worked after having her first child at twenty-two. I didn’t want to follow tradition, so I went to work for my brother, Jonathan.’

  ‘And then you started Parker-Brown PR,’ said Esther.

  Tamara nodded. ‘Of course, my parents had been totally against it, but working in publishing public relations is a good career choice for me and, well, I’m making a living from it slowly.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to make sure this campaign for Something’s Got to Give is the best and biggest by far,’ Esther remarked, ‘so that your mum can eat her words when you are so successful that everyone wants to hire you.’