*
Nick couldn’t get away for the funeral after all, which was a major disappointment, since Alex knew no one there. There were a few locals who had known the Lengs in the past, and one of the local newspaper juniors had been sent along to cover it, presumably because in life Jane had provided some colourful copy for them, and they might as well finish off her story in style. Eerily, Alex discovered that Jane’s sister was her clone in dress and manner, while the brother-in-law was a meek little man who scurried about, hardly speaking to anyone.
‘We never had any other relations,’ Grace confided to her, clearly seeing the presence of the tall and glamorous Alexandra Best as her claim to fame of a kind. ‘Me and hubby live a simple life, and I don’t know who’ll want to buy the cottage now. It’s a shame Jane wasn’t able to stay there very long after all, especially as she never liked London. She never fitted in, and it was Bob’s wish, not hers.’
Alex murmured the usual platitudes, thinking the sale of the cottage was probably going to be a trial to Grace too, and wondering how soon she could decently leave without causing offence. There wasn’t going to be a proper reception afterwards, Grace told her, grandly elevating the post-funeral bun-fight to something of an occasion, but Alex was very welcome to come back to her and hubby’s cottage for a cup of tea and a chat.
She wondered briefly if hubby had a Christian name at all. For a few seconds she wondered if she should agree to go back with them, in case there was any additional information she might pick up about Steven, but decided against it. If Jane and Grace had never been close, it was unlikely Steven would have figured very much in this relationship either.
She drove back to Bristol, feeling almost savage at the way people could pick and tear one another apart, and vowing to be nicer to people and to phone her Yorkshire relatives more often. She was met on her doorstep almost immediately by Mavis Patterson. She shrieked out a greeting, and Alex’s bonhomie vanished at once.
‘Where’ve you been lately, Alex? Me and Gran have missed seeing you about. We thought you’d deserted us. You’ve heard about your lady, I suppose?’
‘My lady? Oh, you mean Jane Leng. Yes, as a matter of fact —’
‘Bit of a turn-up, innit? Gran says it was her own fault, for bragging about her money and all that after her old man popped it.’
‘It doesn’t mean somebody has to go to your house and shoot you, does it?’ She aggressively defended Jane. She had been a foolish, pathetic woman, but nobody deserved to be shot in the head and having their brains splattered all over their own furniture — which was the way DI Gregory had described it to her.
Mavis clearly took her attitude personally. ‘Well, I was only trying to be friendly and making conversation. I know we ain’t been seeing much of one another lately, but I thought we were friends!’
‘Oh Mavis, we are friends. It’s just that well, I’ve just got back from Mrs Leng’s funeral, if you must know, so I’m feeling a bit down in the dumps. But if you want to come in and have some coffee with me, I’d love a chat.’
It was really the last thing she wanted, but Mavis had been her first real friend since coming to Bristol, if you didn’t count Phil Cordell, and there was no point in seeming too stand-offish to talk to her.
‘All right, but I’d rather have tea.’
‘Tea then.’ Anything to stop standing on the doorstep while the wind blew up and down the street, and made her shiver even more than the chilly atmosphere of a country churchyard.
‘So how did it go?’ Mavis asked, once they were upstairs in the flat, her eyes taking in everything about it to report to Gran later.
‘What? Oh, well, the same as any of them do. There’s not much fun at a funeral, is there?’
‘There will be at Gran’s. She wants jazz music playing. Acker Bilk for preference. He was always her favourite. Local man, see?’
For a minute Alex didn’t take in what she was saying. When she did, she started laughing for the first time in what seemed like ages. It was so like Gran Patterson to want jazz music at her funeral, Acker Bilk for preference, and so like Mavis to be damn sure that she got it!
‘What have I said?’ Mavis asked, mystified.
‘Nothing, but you do me good.’
‘Gran wondered if any of the blokes were going to turn up. You know, Steven Leng’s old friends.’
‘I don’t think so. There was hardly anybody there, really. It’s sad when nobody remembers you, isn’t it?’
Mavis shrugged. ‘Yes, well, that’s not going to happen to Gran neither. She’s made out a list of all her old mates for me to contact when she snuffs it. She wants to make sure she gets a good turn-out and a proper booze-up.’
*
Long after Mavis had gone home, Alex found herself wondering who in the world was really right. Was it the likes of Gran, who wanted jazz music playing, and a good turn-out and a proper booze-up at her funeral? And the likes of her one-time clairvoyant client, Leanora Wolstenholme, whose weird friends had turned up in garish clothes and spent the night swopping stories about the dear deceased and ended up as cheerful as if they’d been to a wedding?
Maybe they all had the right idea after all, and Jane’s sister Grace and her crocodile tears were just a display of hypocrisy. Whatever. She felt more relaxed now, anyway, and if the emotionless Grace and hubby wanted to play it that way, it was nothing to do with her. She could forget the lot of them. Almost.
All except for her obligation to Jane, which didn’t end with a shooting in a Chilworthy cottage, no matter how much she longed to think that it could.
‘You know what, Dad?’ she muttered, raising her eyes to some vague heavenly plane. ‘You left me with a conscience, that’s what you did, and now I have to see this through.’
The sound of her phone ringing sent her heart racing again. No, it wasn’t her father coming through on some ethereal mobile, she told herself angrily. It was Nick.
‘Are you all right? Was it harrowing?’
‘I’m fine and no it wasn’t. It was all very emotionless. I came away hoping that people care more about me than those two seemed to care about Jane Leng.’
She hadn’t meant to say anything like that, but now she realized it had been nagging away at her, and she should have known he’d pick up on it.
‘You know how much I care about you, Alex, and so do your family. But you’re not an easy person to make friends with, are you, darling?’
‘What makes you say that?’
He gave a small laugh. ‘Don’t get on your high horse, but you do put people off with that delicious voice of yours. Mind you, it’s a turn-on as far as I’m concerned, but not everybody sees it that way. You’re very self-contained, Alex.’
‘Well, thanks for the character analysis —’
‘There you go, up in a minute. So I rest my case.’
She clenched her teeth at his smugness, but he was probably right, she thought, wilting, and she didn’t feel like arguing with him, anyway.
‘What should I do then, adapt to the natives? And don’t think I can’t,’ she added, smiling now, because he knew it was one of her stock-in-trades.
‘It might not be a bad thing. You can try it out on me next weekend.’
‘You’re coming down?’
‘All the way, babe.’
When she hung up, she admitted that he could always cheer her up. He was good for her, and she, apparently, was good for him. Her spirits lifted, and maybe by the time she saw him she would have done with the Lengs once and for all. During the next week she would have interviewed Keith Martin, made her final assessment of all Steven Leng’s friends, and that would be that.
There was nothing more she could do, and no one else she could report her findings to, since Grace obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with it. If Nick or anyone in the local police force was interested in seeing her final report, they would be welcome to it. It probably only confirmed what they already knew, and what Jane had known in her heart
. Steven had been a long time dead, and the only two people who had cared for him in their separate ways, were also dead.
*
On Monday she made a determined effort to call on Gran Patterson and give her the lowdown on the funeral proceedings, and compare notes over funerals of old and Gran’s determination to make hers a memorable one. Though not like that clairvoyant woman’s, she told Alex firmly, after she had listened to all of that. She wanted no such nonsense at hers. Alex was invited to supper again that evening, and didn’t feel able to refuse, although the combination of Mrs Dunstable’s cooking and now Gran’s hefty portions of steak and kidney pudding made her wonder if she would ever get into half her clothes again.
And where was that local gym she had fully intended joining, she asked herself when she finally got back to the flat that evening, thankful to slip into something less constricting than her black trousers and sweater. You didn’t dress up for Gran’s. You left that to Mavis, with her red and yellow striped top and her blue shiny jeans, and this week’s cerise hair colour.
Tomorrow she was going to Bath to find Keith Martin, and she still toyed over whether or not to be Alex Best, PI, or someone asking a few questions on behalf of an old friend of Steven Leng’s parents. The Aussie accent she had adopted with the Wilkins brothers might have been useful, but there was always a faint chance that they would have contacted Keith Martin and warned him to be on his guard if someone like that came snooping around. In the end she decided to be herself, but to dress casually in a blue sweater and jeans and a dark jacket, and to tie her hair back in a ponytail. No point in frightening him off.
She was on the road to Bath before ten o’clock the following morning, after routing the way by means of an Internet website and printout. It had taken a damn sight longer than finding the roads in an A to Z, but now that Ray had taught her some of the skills, she felt duty-bound to use them. And by all accounts, Bath was a nightmare city for driving and finding your way around.
Thankfully, Keith Martin’s hardware shop wasn’t too hard to find. It was on the outskirts of the city and had his name emblazoned in large letters over the shop front. Even so, she had to park some distance from it and walk the rest of the way. All to the good of the promised exercise regime, Alex told herself, and put on a bright smile as she entered the shop.
The man sorting through a box of nuts and bolts behind the counter was about her age, which put him right in the frame for Steven’s friend. But he didn’t resemble Alex’s image of him by one iota. The fresh-faced boy in the school photos had been thin but fairly wiry. This man’s skin was as pasty as if he rarely saw the light of day. His hair was thinning and fast-receding, he wore unflattering rimless glasses and he was weedy to the point of gauntness.
‘Can I help you?’ he said, in very nasal tones.
Not exactly the most attractive male of the species Alex had ever come across, she thought.
‘I hope you can,’ she said, putting as much warmth into her voice as she could, and broadening her accent to that of a Bristolian. ‘I don’t want to buy anything, but I think you once knew a boy called Steven Leng.’
The box of nuts and bolts slid out of Keith Martin’s hands, and the contents clattered on to the counter. If his face could have gone any whiter it would have resembled parchment. As it was, it had the effect of making his sharp nose stand out more than ever, and his eyes darkened behind the rimless glasses.
‘Oh dear, can I help you pick those up?’ Alex said conversationally, but determined to push on now. ‘I’m so sorry if I startled you, but perhaps you didn’t know that Steven’s father died recently. You remember that he was a fireman, I’m sure. Well, of course you would remember that in the circumstances. Anyway, Mr Leng fell from the Clifton Suspension Bridge, and ten days ago poor Mrs Leng was shot and killed in her cottage. Terrible, wasn’t it?’
She chattered on as if it was no more than local gossip, not giving him time to think as she bombarded him with everything at once. Sometimes it was the best way to get results. And of all of them — the aggressive Wilkins brothers, John Barnett who couldn’t answer anything, the slimy Lennie Fry — Alex had the sure feeling that if she was ever going to get at the truth, this was the one who was going to crack.
‘What do you want with me?’ he said in a noticeably higher voice than before. ‘I never met Steven’s parents. I never knew anything about them.’
‘But you know about Steven, don’t you?’
Chapter 16
Someone else came into the shop then, and with a muttered ‘excuse me’ Keith turned away to serve him, but Alex could see that his hands were shaking. He knew something all right, and the last thing he had expected was to be reminded of something that happened ten years ago. It might not be a bad thing to let him mull it over for a few minutes, she thought, as she saw how he fumbled over the customer’s change. He was definitely disturbed.
‘I’ll be back later,’ she called out, moving towards the door.
There weren’t many shops around here, but there was a snack bar, and she could do with a cup of coffee. It was nearly lunchtime, and she could offer to buy him lunch, but she didn’t see why she should, even to get the truth out of him. She doubted that a slice of pizza or a tired-looking meat pie, which was all the place seemed to offer, would do much to loosen his tongue. Better by far to ply him with drinks and see what developed.
She didn’t know Bath, but she was a great one for making instant decisions — mostly. The one that was forming in her mind now didn’t take much thinking about. She finished her coffee and went back to the hardware shop, where Keith looked at her apprehensively now.
‘I can’t tell you anything about Steven,’ he said at once. ‘I’d just about forgotten his name until you mentioned it.’
Oh yes? The small tic at the corner of his mouth told Alex otherwise.
‘It’s only some family business I want to clear up,’ she said, ‘and I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘You’re not a reporter, are you?’
‘Why would you think that?’
‘Well, you said Steven’s parents were both dead, so I thought it might all get stirred up again.’ He gave a convulsive swallow.
Alex glanced at her watch as if she had somewhere to go.
‘Look, Mr Martin — Keith — I’ve got things to do this afternoon, but perhaps we could meet later when you’ve closed the shop. I’d be glad to buy you dinner anywhere of your choosing, and we can talk in a more relaxed atmosphere.’
She could see that he didn’t want to talk to her at all, and yet her instincts told her he didn’t find the chance to get it all off his chest exactly unwelcome, whatever it was. He was clearly a weak character, possibly the weakest link in the chain, and from the look of him a good meal wouldn’t go amiss. Now that she had a good chance to look at the shop it was pretty seedy and she wondered how he ever made a living in an elegant and prosperous city that assuredly had high taxes. He wasn’t the affluent businessman she had expected him to be — which was all to the good for her purposes.
‘I’m not sure —’ he went on lamely.
She made up his mind for him. ‘Keith, I’ll come clean with you. Mrs Leng was convinced that Steven was still alive, even though the case was closed years ago. She just wanted someone to look into it for her, since she kept thinking she saw him, in crowds, at football matches —’
‘Steven never went to football matches!’ he broke in, his face redder now.
‘But she couldn’t stop worrying that it might have been him. Now that she’s dead I can’t report my findings to her, but it would still be satisfying to know the truth. I thought you might have an inkling about that. Shall we say that I’ll pick you up here around half past six and we’ll have an early dinner and talk about it?’
She still didn’t give him time to think, and for a moment she thought she had already gone too far. He could so easily bluster it out and tell her to get lost. But he didn’t. He gave a grudging nod.
<
br /> ‘I don’t know anything more than I already told the police years ago, but if you just want to talk about it —’
‘That’s all I want to do, Keith. Just to get the story straight in my mind.’
He wasn’t too bright, Alex thought, as she went off to do the tourist bit in the city. Jane was dead, and any report that she made could only be for her own satisfaction — or someone else’s. She couldn’t deny that the thought of getting one over on the police findings was always an attractive one, knowing their opinion of PIs, especially young female ones with an accent as plummy as Thunderbirds’ Lady Penelope, and a reasonable record of successful cases behind her.
Sometimes she had to remind herself of that, to offset the doubts that still beset her at times, wondering what the hell she was doing in this business at all, when she could have a cushy little number as a secretary, or working behind the checkout at Sainsbury’s ... and at the thought, she knew why.
But now that she had a few hours to kill, she may as well make the most of it. She did all the tourist spots in Bath, from the glorious cathedral to the art gallery and costume collections, and the lovely riverside pubs. Back in the shopping centre there was the irresistible purchase of a slithery black cocktail dress, and then the obligatory visit to the Roman Baths and springs and taking afternoon tea in the Pump Room. If you missed that, you were a philistine, according to one of the natives who pointed out the way.
Altogether it was an enjoyable, refreshing afternoon, Alex decided, and even though she ended up metaphorically kicking her heels in a car-park listening to music on her cassette player and hoping it wouldn’t strain her car battery too much, she knew she had to spin out the time until she called back at Keith Martin’s shop. Half past six was about the limit she could stretch to, though she wondered how much wine she could get him to drink at such an early hour to get him to unwind. It all depended on his state of mind, and what he was used to. He didn’t look like a tippler, but you could never tell.
Deadly Suspicions (Alexandra Best Investigations Book 3) Page 21