The Reckoning

by Jane Casey

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ Gayle Skinner spat. ‘I don’t want you here.’

  She set her drink down and stepped out from behind the coffee table, unsteady on heels that were skyscraper high, then shoved Marla with enough force to send her staggering back a couple of paces. Rob reached out and steadied her, a courtesy that she acknowledged with an irritable nod. She was not having a great day as far as keeping her dignity went.

  Ken Goldsworthy had uncoiled himself from his chair slowly, like a heat-dazed lizard. ‘Now, Gayle. Come and sit down. You’ve had a shock.’

  ‘Filth. Get out of my house. Fucking pigs. If John was here, you wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘I’m not here to make trouble, Gayle. I just needed to tell you about Cheyenne.’

  ‘Does John know?’ Her chin was quivering and two tears slid out from behind the dark lenses. ‘Did you tell him too?’

  ‘One of my colleagues told him.’

  ‘Oh my God. He’ll be going mental.’ She put one hand to her head. ‘I can’t think. What did you say? You found her this morning?’

  ‘Yes. At the warehouse where the nightclub was held.’

  ‘You mean she was there all along?’ Gayle pushed her glasses up onto her head, giving me a proper look at her for the first time. Her eyes were the same shape as her daughter’s but the rest of her face was finer, built on a different scale. Her nose was suspiciously neat, the end delicately contoured, and I was fairly sure I was looking at the upgrade, while poor Cheyenne had inherited the original. ‘You mean you just missed her?’

  ‘We don’t think so.’ Marla launched into a long, wordy explanation of how they couldn’t have failed to notice the body; how it looked like it had been left there recently but we wouldn’t know for a while; how really there wasn’t much else she could tell her except that she was desperately sorry not to have better news and that the investigation was being handled by a different team from this point on, and that Rob and I were representing the team.

  I took my cue to introduce myself, then Rob, with a distinct feeling we was stepping into the firing line. Gayle shook my hand distractedly. ‘I was wondering who you were. I knew I hadn’t seen you before.’ She looked past me to Marla. ‘Who’s taking over? Why did they get rid of you?’

  ‘It’s a bigger case, now. It needs someone more senior to head it up.’ She sounded bitter. ‘The person taking over is Superintendent Charles Godley. He’s in charge of the murder squad.’

  It didn’t seem to mean anything to Gayle but Ken Goldsworthy smothered a laugh, turning it into a totally unconvincing cough. ‘John must be delighted.’

  ‘He just wants to make sure his daughter’s murderer is brought to justice.’ The inspector sounded prim.

  ‘I’m sure that’s the case, yeah.’

  A rattle of cups announced the arrival of Lydia. She put down the tray and then flung herself at Gayle with a howl, hanging around her neck.

  ‘Our poor darling. What are we going to do without her?’

  It was enough to shatter Gayle’s fragile self-possession. For the first time she allowed herself to break down properly, sobbing and clinging to the housekeeper.

  ‘I think that’s my cue to leave,’ Ken Goldsworthy muttered to no one in particular.

  Rob was two steps behind him as he slid into the sitting room, and I was another step after that. The sitting room was blissfully cool and dim. Goldsworthy stopped to take off his sunglasses and I shut the double doors behind me, more or less in DS Small’s face. I looked through the glass with my best eff-off expression. It wasn’t his case any more and he knew it, but he wasn’t pleased.

  ‘Mr Goldsworthy, before you go, can I trouble you for a word?’ Rob said pleasantly.

  ‘Don’t think I have anything to say.’ He fished his car keys out of his pocket. Up close he was showing his age, with wrinkles fanning around his eyes and a looseness to the skin around his neck. ‘Give Charlie my best. How’s he keeping?’

  ‘I’ll tell him you were asking after him. Does John Skinner know you’re here?’

  ‘Not unless he’s got the place wired for sound. He’s banged up, I hear.’ A smile. ‘Poor old John. Not got the luck, has he?’

  ‘You could say that.’ Rob took a step closer. ‘It does interest me – you being here. You’re not exactly mates, are you? Why would you be here with Mrs Skinner?’

  ‘To offer her my sympathy. I had heard her daughter was missing.’

  ‘You hear a lot, don’t you?’

  ‘I keep myself in the loop. Knowledge is power, as a great man once said.’ He sniffed. ‘Don’t know who, if it comes to that. But he was right, whoever he was.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything about who took Cheyenne, would you?’ It was a long shot, but I thought it was worth a try.

  He shook his head. ‘Not a word. If I do hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.’

  ‘Very helpful of you.’

  ‘I do my best.’

  ‘Only we do have to consider that it was one of John’s enemies. You know, someone who has a reason to want to get back at him.’ Rob was frowning as he spoke, mock earnest. ‘Remind me, who won when the two of you had your little spat in the nineties? It was John who got the bulk of the territory, wasn’t it? You got left with Beds and Herts. Not what you’d call a goldmine.’

  ‘You’re looking in the wrong place if you’re looking at me.’ His voice was flat. ‘I don’t go after people’s kids. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t love John Skinner. I’m very happy he’s in trouble. But I didn’t have anything to do with the girl going missing.’

  ‘Why should I believe you? You’re up to something.’ Rob moved forward again, deliberately crowding him. He was taller and broader than Goldsworthy, who had foolishly come out without back-up. There was a time and a place for physical intimidation, and I was glad Rob was there to provide it. ‘Why are you here, Kenny?’

  ‘From what I hear, John’s not coming out any time soon.’ He jangled his keys. ‘Leaves a vacancy, doesn’t it?’

  ‘And it would piss him off if you slept with his wife.’

  The smile widened. ‘I’ll tell you something. It would piss him off a whole lot more if he had to get divorced so she could marry me.’

  ‘That’s the plan?’

  ‘Is it hard to believe? She’s a very attractive woman.’

  And you’re not exactly a prize. ‘She’s stayed loyal to her husband for a long time, even though he’s been abroad,’ I said. ‘What makes you think things will be different now?’

  ‘Prison’s a lot different from sunny Spain.’ He popped a tiny breath mint into his mouth. ‘Not half as much fun to go and visit, is it? And with poor Cheyenne gone, what do they have to keep them together?’

  ‘No one knew she was dead until this morning.’

  ‘Nor did I,’ he said quickly. ‘I was just thinking when I heard that it would be hard for Gayle. Being on her own, I mean.’

  ‘Cold,’ I commented.

  ‘Spare me the disapproval. John Skinner wouldn’t behave any different if it was the other way round. You show weakness, you have to expect to come to grief.’

  ‘How is it weak to be in prison because you were trying to find your daughter’s kidnapper?’

  Goldsworthy shook his head. ‘He should have kept out of it. That’s his trouble, you see. He can’t delegate. Can’t trust his men. You never get your hands dirty – that’s the rule.’

  ‘And you’re managing to keep to that, are you?’ Rob asked.

  He held up his hands and turned them so we could see the front and back, then headed for the door. ‘Spotless. You won’t get anything on me, sonny. Many have tried. Better men than you.’ Over his shoulder, he threw, ‘Ask Charlie Godley about it when you get the chance. He’ll tell you.’

  I would do that, I thought. There were lots of things I wanted to know about Godley’s past life as the scourge of organised crime. Goldsworthy would be a good place to start.

  Back
in the sunroom, Marla had made it into a chair. Small was standing but with his backside propped up against a window ledge. He had shed the jacket, I noticed. Gayle and Lydia were still on the sofa, but sitting apart now, both clutching a mug. Gayle looked up at us through spiky wet lashes. She looked tiny, hunched over like a child in trouble.

  ‘Oh, it’s you.’ She peered up at Rob. ‘What did you say your name was again?’

  ‘DC Rob Langton.’ He put his card on the table along with Godley’s. ‘Superintendent Godley sends his regards. He’ll be coming to see you tomorrow himself. He didn’t want to bother you today.’

  ‘That’s nice of him.’ I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not. She gave a sniff, then blew her nose on a tissue the housekeeper supplied. ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘We’re reinvestigating the case from the start.’ The side of my face felt hot where Marla Redmond was burning holes in it by glaring at me. ‘In the light of what’s happened, we need to review the evidence that’s been collected so far by DCI Redmond’s team. It changes our perspective on the case.’

  ‘So it’s not that they did a crap job.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ Probably not.

  ‘What do you want from me?’ She sounded listless, as if she had no energy left. I wondered how much of the brittle drawl had been put on for Goldsworthy’s benefit.

  ‘Now? Nothing. Except your permission to have a look at Cheyenne’s bedroom.’

  ‘Whatever you want.’ She took another sip from her mug and pulled a face. ‘This is disgusting.’

  ‘Keep drinking it,’ Small ordered. ‘It’ll do you good.’

  ‘I know I’m being weird. I just don’t seem to be able to take it in. It doesn’t seem real. I keep expecting her to walk through that door.’

  ‘Shock,’ Rob said. ‘It’ll take a while.’

  ‘Why did this have to happen?’ She started to cry again, rubbing at her eyes with the balled-up tissue. ‘I just don’t understand why this had to happen.’

  ‘I’ll show you Cheyenne’s room.’ The housekeeper stood up. ‘I want to do something to help.’

  The other two looked as if they wished they had thought of that as a way of getting out of the room. The sound of Gayle’s sobs was disturbing, especially when there was so little you could offer as comfort. I felt I had to say something.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Skinner. I wish we had been able to find her for you.’

  ‘I know you do. But you didn’t.’

  ‘No. We didn’t. Is there anyone we can call for you? Someone you’d like to stay with you?’

  ‘Lydia’s here.’ She sniffed. ‘I’m used to being on my own. Even Cheyenne was never around. I never knew where she was, to be honest with you, and there’s no need to look at me like that. I’m not proud of it, but I didn’t want to fence her in. My parents were hell on me and it made me a rebel. I got married when I was eighteen, just to get away from them. Eighteen. I didn’t have a clue.’

  I was quietly patting myself on the back for having guessed correctly. She looked younger than thirty-two without her sunglasses, though she had the unnaturally smooth skin of the high-maintenance Botox addict, like her husband.

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, Mrs Skinner,’ Rob murmured.

  ‘Who else is there?’ Her eyes welled up again.

  ‘The person who took her,’ I suggested. Or possibly your husband for getting her involved in his dirty world.

  ‘You will find him, won’t you?’

  ‘It’s a promise.’ Now that the urgency had passed, the entire might of the Metropolitan Police was at our disposal. I hoped she hadn’t noticed the irony.

  The housekeeper was waiting by the door and we followed her out, into the hall and up the spiralling oak staircase. Cream carpet stretched as far as the eye could see.

  ‘I bet this is fun to keep clean,’ Rob said.

  ‘Not my problem. The cleaner comes twice a week. I do everything else – cooking, ironing, looking after Cheyenne. And Gayle, if it comes to that.’ She threw open a door. ‘This is Cheyenne’s room.’

  It was more of a suite. A little hallway led into a sitting room with a computer desk and television, a big sofa and two beanbag chairs. It was a typical teenage girl’s room in that there were random posters on the walls for bands I’d never heard of, and pictures of young and pretty actors, borderline androgynous with their long eyelashes and pouting lips, safe and unthreatening. I looked for a couple of minutes at the collage of pictures she had framed: her friends posing, wearing bizarre outfits at fancy-dress parties, leaping off a diving board into a sparkling blue pool. In the background and not quite in focus, a man in a polo shirt and shorts looked on. I thought I recognised John Skinner, which made sense. The same two girls appeared with Cheyenne again and again.

  ‘Who are these two?’

  Lydia came into the room far enough to see where I was pointing. ‘Cheyenne’s best friends. That’s Katie Harper and that’s Lily Flynn.’

  Katie was the dark-haired one, Lily, the wistful blonde. Katie had a brace on her teeth in most of the pictures, a mouth full of metal that didn’t stop her from smiling broadly. They were both shorter and thinner than Cheyenne and I lingered over the photo that showed the three of them together, Cheyenne in the middle with her arms tight around the other girls’ necks, pushing them down. She looked over-excited, her face pink, her eyes wild.

  Cheyenne had collected little bits and pieces of rubbish – scraps of paper, stickers, a chocolate wrapper – and pinned them to her noticeboard. A collection of concert-ticket stubs and wristbands hung down the right-hand side; she had been to Glastonbury the previous year, and Latitude. Aged thirteen. I wondered if her mother had gone with her, or if she’d been unaccompanied there too.

  The room was immaculate otherwise. Pale pink cushions stood on point along the sofa, and a big fluffy rug the same colour was draped over the back. Gauzy curtains hung at the window and around the archway that led to her bedroom.

  ‘Did she keep it like this?’

  ‘Not her. She was a messy madam.’ Lydia was standing in the hallway, hanging back. I could understand her not wanting to enter the room, and I could understand that she wanted to keep an eye on us. I caught sight of myself in the mirror with Rob behind me looking very tall and out of place, his suit extra-dark as if it was drawing the light into it, my face severe and hard. We looked sinister, appropriately enough. We had come with the news of Cheyenne’s death, and if she had lived, we wouldn’t have been there.

  ‘Was her computer here?’ I pointed at the desk.

  ‘She had a laptop. A white one. Your lot took it away.’

  Which meant we would be receiving it sometime later that day, along with the other evidence the other team had managed to collect.

  ‘Bedroom through here?’

  ‘And bathroom. And wardrobe.’

  I understood why she’d mentioned the wardrobe when I saw it. It occupied a space about the same size as my own bedroom, with floor-to-ceiling shelves and hanging rails that were loaded with clothes. I checked a few labels.

  ‘High-street stuff.’

  ‘She didn’t have expensive tastes, for all that Gayle would give her anything. She liked to shop with her friends and they shop at Topshop or Jane Norman or Oasis.’

  I was rattling through the racks. ‘Size twelve. Size ten. What was she?’

  The housekeeper rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever she could fit into. She wore things tight. Spilling out of them, she was. Refused to try on a fourteen, which is what she was. I bought her underwear but I had to cut out the labels before she saw the size.’

  ‘Do you know what she was wearing at the club? It would help us to be able to describe her to the other people who were there.’

  ‘No.’ Lydia scanned the rail. ‘Something new, probably. I don’t see that anything’s missing. Apart from her jacket. It was dark-green, a blazer sort of thing. Wool.’

  ‘Did you find any labels or receipts in her bin
?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t sound certain, and I waited. ‘There was something by her bed. A Topshop tag. I don’t know what it was.’

  ‘Did you keep it? Throw it away?’

  She frowned. ‘I think I threw it away.’

  Dead end. ‘Okay.’ A kilt and blazer swung from hangers at the end of the wardrobe. ‘School uniform?’

  ‘Yes. I washed it. For when she came back.’

  The kilt was about twice as long as any of the other skirts. ‘Quite a contrast from her usual style.’

  ‘Oh, she hated it, but she looked lovely in it. Just lovely. Much nicer than in any of this tat.’ She glared at the rest of the clothes, disapproval all over her face.

  Somewhat inevitably Cheyenne had slept in a four-poster bed, the canopy draped in gauzy hangings that matched the curtains. Soft toys filled the window seat and a pink elephant sat on the pillow, legs splayed, a melancholy look in its black button eyes. Row upon row of bottles of nail varnish, perfume, hair products and make-up of all kinds filled the top of the dressing table, jostling framed pictures of her parents out of sight behind the mirror. Rob nudged open a drawer to reveal a few inhalers rattling around inside it. He picked one up and checked the canister.

  ‘Ventolin. She was asthmatic?’

  ‘Not badly. She used to get wheezy when she was stressed or after she did exercise. I couldn’t get her to take her inhaler with her when she went out but I put one in her schoolbag every day, just in case.’

  The drawer next to it contained a curling iron, straighteners and a hair-dryer, all neatly put away with their cords wound around them.

  ‘She always left them plugged in.’ Lydia went to stand beside him, looking down into the drawer. ‘I used to come up and check before I drove her to school. The number of times she’d left the straighteners on. Look.’

  She lifted the cloth that covered the table to show me a series of brown scorch marks on the painted surface.

  ‘You looked after her,’ Rob said.

  She snorted. ‘I stopped her from burning the house down.’

  ‘That too.’

  ‘I did my best.’ She looked away, and her voice was muffled when she spoke again. ‘Didn’t always approve of her mother’s ideas, but what could I do? She needed discipline but Gayle didn’t know how to do that. She only knew how to love her. That was what she never had herself, you see. It was the other way round. Lots of rules and no love.’