As the vicar performed the committal ceremony Tara edged closer, looking from one mourner to another. The man and woman who had arrived in the limousine were middle-aged and well-dressed but looked tired, although, in the turbulent weather, many of the mourners appeared uncomfortable. Tara assumed that the man was Maggie’s brother who had flown in from Toronto for the funeral. This was confirmed when she introduced herself after the vicar had concluded the ritual.
‘Mr Hull? I’m Detective Inspector Grogan, Merseyside Police. May I offer my sympathy for the loss of your sister?’
The man, grey-haired with a leathery face, offered his hand.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he replied with only the slightest waver in his Scouse accent, even though he’d spent nearly thirty years of his life in Canada. ‘This is my wife, Eileen.’
Tara shook her hand, and the woman smiled without speaking. Her cheeks were red, more from her make-up than the biting cold, her lips bold and drawn with scarlet lipstick to a false pout. Her eyes betrayed her; that she did not want to be there; they kept looking beyond Tara towards the sanctuary of the waiting limousine.
‘I’m sorry that we haven’t yet made any significant progress in catching your sister’s killer.’
Kenneth Hull shrugged. What could he say to that?
A queue of mourners developed, all waiting to offer condolences to the brother of Maggie Hull. Tara moved away to a discreet distance to observe. Only then did she realise that Jez was not among those people shaking hands with Kenneth and Eileen Hull. The closest link to Maggie, for a brief period, it seemed, her only true friend and yet she hadn’t attended her funeral. Maybe these sombre occasions were not for her? There couldn’t be too many souls who enjoyed them, but usually, those closest to the deceased were the people who made the greatest effort to be present. The friendship between Maggie and Jez had perhaps cooled a few degrees more than Jez had so far admitted.
None of the mourners prolonged their conversation with Kenneth Hull. The people from Harbinson Fine Foods shook hands politely and moved quickly to the sanctuary of their vehicles. Tara watched all of them depart and was surprised to notice just how slow Edward Harbinson was on foot, relying upon his daughter to guide him over the soggy lawn and back to his car.
McIntyre dumped his umbrella in a waste bin at the junction of two paths and stomped to his dark-green Jaguar. Toby Ewing accompanied the older man with whom he’d been standing, past the hearse to a silver BMW parked directly behind the limousine. As he opened the passenger door for the old man, he noticed Tara watching him. They didn’t hold eye contact for long. Instead, Ewing glanced towards Harbinson and his daughter, then dropped his head as he made his way around to the driver’s side. He stole another glance at Tara who had continued to observe him, then ducked into his car.
Kenneth Hull and his wife remained at the graveside for several minutes, and it was with some reluctance, it seemed, that he eventually obeyed his wife’s desire to leave. Tara had decided that she needed another word.
‘I’m sorry to bother you, Mr Hull, but I wonder if you would mind answering a few questions about Maggie? We could sit in my car if you like?’
Hull instructed his wife to wait in the limousine while he spoke with Tara.
‘How can I help you, Inspector?’
‘Perhaps you could tell me when you last spoke to your sister?’
‘Gee, we usually spoke on the phone every couple of weeks,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘We took turns to call, but you know how things get out of sync and maybe three weeks would pass before she called me to give off stink about how I had forgotten all about her.’ It was enough to raise a tear in the man’s eyes which he tried to control with a hefty sniff. ‘I suppose it was Thursday, two weeks ago when she last called.’
‘How did she seem?’
‘All right, the usual Maggie, bright and cheerful, after she’d given me an earful for not calling her on Mum’s birthday.’
‘Did she sound worried about anything? Or did she mention anyone who was causing her trouble?’
‘Trouble? No, nothing like that, Inspector. I know she was lonely after Mum died. I asked her how work was going, but she didn’t sound too enamoured with that. She told me about some guy from her office who’d killed himself. She was very upset about that. She said she needed a break. I’ve been going on at her for years to come and live in Canada but she wouldn’t do it. She came over a few times for a holiday and loved it, but she told me that Liverpool was her home and home is where she belonged. Could be stubborn at times, our Maggie. If she had her mind set on something there was nothing anyone could do to change it. We used to have some rare fights when we were kids.’
He shook his head jovially at the thought.
‘Truth be told, Maggie always wanted things. If I got a new football for my birthday, she wanted a new doll. When I got a new bike, she cried until Mum bought her a new pram. Dad gave us 50p on a Friday night for pocket money. By Tuesday I would still have 20p, while she’d spent all of her money in the sweet shop within the hour and was asking to borrow more from me.’
‘Do you know of any reason why someone would want to kill her?’
Kenneth Hull shook his head, this time, in despair, raising his hands to his eyes. He drew a deep breath, and his body quivered nervously as he exhaled.
‘Did she ever mention anyone who had threatened or assaulted her?’
He looked horrified at the idea.
‘Why do you think she was murdered, Inspector?’
‘At the moment we have no steadfast reason, but I believe that Maggie knew her killer well, or was at least acquainted with him.’
‘She never mentioned anyone to me. The only people she ever talked or wrote about were those she worked with and the Baileys who’ve lived next door since we were kids.’
‘Well, Mr Hull, thanks for your time, and once again I’m very sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he replied, shaking Tara’s hand with a firm grip. ‘I hope to hell you catch the filth that murdered my sister.’
‘If you give me a contact address in Canada, I’ll try my best to keep you informed of any developments.’
* * *
The day had taught Tara little except that Allerton Cemetery was best avoided, even in death.
When her unsettled mind returned to matters of police business, Tara began once again to wonder why Jez had not attended the funeral. As soon as she was back in the office, had some tea and dried off, Tara called Jez’s work number.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Riordan is not in the office today,’ said a young man, sounding nervous.
She put down the phone. That explained it – Jez had been out all day on business, or perhaps was at home, sick and maybe tucked up in bed.
She called at the house in Woolton on her way home. The Peugeot SUV was not in the drive. There were no signs of life about the place, no lights on and the curtains were open. Tara pushed a hastily scribbled note through the letterbox just to let Jez know that she’d called. As she drove home to Wapping Dock, she continued to think it strange that Jez had not attended Maggie Hull’s funeral.
CHAPTER 27
‘Miss Riordan is not in today,’ said the same young voice as the day before.
‘When are you expecting her?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, is there anyone else who knows when she is due?’
‘I… I don’t know,’ the boy stuttered.
‘Would you mind asking someone?’
There was silence as the kid went in search of the answer. Tara wondered how on earth this lad managed to get through the day.
‘No one is sure when Jez, I mean Miss Riordan, is likely to be here.’
‘Do you have a number where I might contact her?’
‘Hold on.’
Tara could scarcely contain her frustration, firstly, at having to spell everything out for this dodo and secondly, being unable to speak with Jez.
‘You
can call her at home,’ said the listless voice.
‘Right, thanks. You’ve been a big help.’
She slammed the phone down. She needed coffee, strong and hot to match her temper. The morning was even worse than she’d envisaged: a dull headache, feeling cold and overcome with drowsiness. She hadn’t managed to get any sleep and had left home without showering or picking up a change of clothes. Her first call was in search of Jez Riordan. Right now, she wasn’t sure if that was for professional or personal reasons. Murray approached her desk.
‘Morning, ma’am,’ he said cheerfully but with some tact. ‘How are you?’
‘Bloody awful!’
‘That good?’ he said, smiling conspiratorially. ‘Big Beryl is here.’
‘And what does he want?’
‘It’s his time for checking in – his bail conditions. But I thought you might like a word.’
Murray had remembered their intention to ask Big Beryl about his association with Tommy Gracey. At that particular moment, Tara was miles away from the idea.
‘Yes, OK,’ she sighed. ‘Bring him into an interview room. I’ll be right down.’
* * *
A few moments later, Big Beryl sauntered in bumptiously. Tara and Murray were already seated in the room.
‘Mornin’, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Before you start, I haven’t done nothin’.’
He squeezed himself carefully into a plastic chair, his large behind only just slipping between the armrests. Tara had not yet lifted her delicate head from the papers in front of her. She thought she’d stay there for a while just to hear how much Big Beryl had to say before he was asked a question.
‘I’m too busy workin’ now, you know. You wouldn’t be interested in ordinary work, would you? What I mean is that I’m straight now, Inspector, honest to God. I promised the wife, no more dodgy jobs, honest. Not fair on her, know what I mean?’
Murray could hardly contain himself, while Tara couldn’t bear to see and hear such a giant of a man squirming in his juices.
‘My heart’s pumping custard for you, Beryl,’ said Murray. ‘I’ll be handing around the Kleenex in a minute.’
‘Just lettin’ you know, Inspector, that’s all.’
‘It’s all right, Beryl,’ said Tara, looking up at last from her notes. ‘I only want to ask you a simple question.’
The cockiness returned instantly if only to conceal his fear.
‘My brief says I don’t have to tell you nothin’.’ He folded his arms defiantly, but his chest was so broad they barely met in the middle.
‘What kind of work have you been doing for Tommy Gracey?’
‘I’m sayin’ fuck all.’
Tara rose from her chair and paced around the room, halting by the window. She stood behind the big man and smirked at Murray.
‘You know, Beryl, if you could help us out with Tommy Gracey, we might be able to make those burglary charges go away.’
Tara had been thinking about this for a couple of days now, ever since Big Beryl had managed to win bail. She could see problems ahead if they took this case the whole way. They had not yet recovered any of the stolen property. A conviction rested solely upon Mrs Henshaw having identified Big Beryl as the man who was making off with her TV. Tara knew well that a good defence barrister would dispute this on the basis that Mrs Henshaw had recognised Big Beryl from working at the Speedy-Klean car wash, thereby casting doubt on the validity of the formal identification process. The defence would simply claim that Mrs Henshaw had successfully identified a man who worked at a local car wash and was confusing that image with a man who had broken into her home. If they weren’t going to pursue the case, Tara could at least use it as a stick to beat a few answers out of Big Beryl.
‘Then again,’ she continued, ‘if you can’t help us, I might have to pass on some information that would be detrimental to your continuing bail.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the fact that you are associating with convicted criminals who are themselves only free under licence. So, tell me about you and Tommy.’
Sweat broke across Big Beryl’s forehead and he looked at Murray in hope of a friendlier face.
‘C’mon, Inspector, you’ll get me a bullet in the knee if I tell you anything about Tommy.’
Tara grinned to herself before turning to face the big man. When her eyes met Beryl’s, they were deadly serious.
‘Your choice, Beryl,’ she said coldly.
* * *
After a light lunch of tea and buttered toast, she felt herself slowly returning to normal. She was in more of a mood to try Jez at home once again, however, there was still no answer from her telephone. She was beginning to think it very strange. Jez had told no one of her whereabouts or when she was likely to return home. If Tara cared to admit it, she was worried about her new friend.
She and Murray spent some time with Tweedy in the afternoon. The Detective Superintendent filled out several more pages on his flipcharts with the information they had reported to him concerning their interview with Big Beryl. By the time they’d finished, they were ready to bring in Tommy Gracey for questioning regarding the murder of Maggie Hull.
Tara again called at the house in Woolton on her way home. There was nothing different from the night before. Jez was not at home and, it seemed, had not been there since Tara’s last visit. There were not too many places Tara could imagine Jez having gone to. A holiday? Perhaps, but why didn’t they know about it at her office? Maybe she’d gone to London, something to do with her painting – to visit an exhibition? Again, was there a need for her to keep it a secret? That was about it, unless some harm had come to her. Tara didn’t dare contemplate it.
When she arrived home, she tried Jez’s number again but without success. A few minutes later her telephone rang. She rushed from the kitchen and made it before the third ring.
CHAPTER 28
There was no measurable success in the questioning of Tommy Gracey. Information extracted from Big Beryl had given them grounds to believe that Maggie Hull had been a client of Gracey’s at some time in the recent past. Big Beryl had remembered collecting payments from her two years previously. What Tara needed most was proof that Gracey had done business with Maggie Hull close to the time when she was murdered. A search of his home provided evidence that he was a loan shark, but his books were either written using the Enigma code or else the guy conducted his business by the seat of his pants. They were unable to decipher much of his accounts. Jez had described the debt collectors who she’d paid, on Maggie’s behalf, as mere youths. Neither Big Beryl nor Gracey was forthcoming with names of any youngsters who did their dirty work.
Tara was losing interest with this line of the investigation. It had been their only possible lead, but she’d been sceptical from the outset. Her suspicions lay somewhere closer to Harbinson Fine Foods. With days going by and no sign of Jez Riordan, she began to imagine scenarios of how the two incidents could be related. It was uppermost in her thinking now and she’d decided to run the matter past Tweedy.
A week had elapsed since Tara had last spoken with Jez. She had thought it had been Jez a few nights ago when she raced to answer the telephone, but it was Kate calling to ask her to babysit for Adele. This evening, as her god-daughter slept beside her on the sofa, Tara thought it strange that there was no news forthcoming from Jez’s office on her whereabouts. She failed to understand their lack of concern, and she had now reached the point where she would be the one to report her officially as a missing person. That, of course, would have consequences for her. Tweedy was bound to ask why she had such a close association with a woman who might well be a suspect in a murder case.
A miserable Wednesday morning was spent in the office pondering all of the possible connections between Jez’s disappearance, Maggie Hull’s murder and Richard Andrews’ suicide. Her theorising did not encompass what she was soon to learn when Tweedy entered the room and called for everyone’s attention.
‘Right folks
, I have some news concerning the spate of poisonings.’
Everyone in the office stopped what they were doing to listen to their superintendent.
‘Laboratory results have confirmed that in the case of the student victims the source of the poison was confined to a chicken curry ready meal. The nature of this poison remains unconfirmed. As you know, all similar products have been removed from sale in shops, and a general product recall is in force. Similar items retrieved from the homes of the other victims are still being tested. The manufacturers of the food product are now helping with inquiries. A team of environmental health officers are already on-site at the factory and carrying out an investigation.’
Tara suddenly felt she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask.
‘Sir, what is the name of the supplier?’
‘Harbinson Fine Foods.’
In a fleeting second her investigation into the murder of Maggie Hull, the suicide of Richard Andrews and the apparent disappearance of Jez Riordan had taken on a whole new meaning. Tara now found herself in the middle of the biggest police emergency on Merseyside that she had ever faced.
CHAPTER 29
None of the senior executives from Harbinson Fine Foods were available at the company’s head office in the Liver Building. Edward Harbinson, CEO, and Toby Ewing, director in charge of primary production, were both at the factory in Speke assisting investigators in trying to locate the source of the poisonous contamination. At the firm’s other Merseyside factory in Birkenhead, Skip McIntyre was doing the same. Tara and Murray, upon instruction from Tweedy, had hurried down to the factory in Speke. She was eager to speak with the company chairman, and she and Murray had to battle their way through a posse of media vying for the latest on this crisis. When they reached the reception desk, they flashed their warrant cards and marched directly towards the factory floor. Immediately, there were shouts from a man standing above them on a mezzanine.
‘Oi! You can’t come in here dressed like that!’
THE DARING NIGHT Page 11