by Bud Craig
“What happened with your case?”
We walked on.
“Adjourned,” she said. “Interim care order. Back in 28 days.”
“Right.”
“The mother wanted the kids back today,” she went on. “I’m sorry for her of course, but...”
She shrugged. Marti had never been able to have kids and I knew how badly it hurt her. The idea of someone having their kids taken away would strike a nerve. Sometimes, I knew, she felt the unfairness that someone like the teenage mother in this case could have kids so easily when she couldn’t. Not that she talked about it all that much. The only family she had now was her mother. She had no brothers or sisters and her Dad had died ten years ago. Whether that made her childlessness worse I wasn’t sure. I sympathised of course, but I had two kids and a lovely granddaughter. There was always an unspoken ‘it’s all right for you, you don’t know what it’s like’.
“What have you been doing,” she asked.
“Well, on Friday I had a call from someone I thought was dead,” I replied, “and on Saturday I was helping police with their inquiries.”
“What the hell have you been up to now, Gus Keane,” she laughed, “I turn my back for five minutes.”
“Well, the police inquiry you will need to know about,” I said.
I told her about Edward Tattersall and Rachel’s involvement.
“Poor Rachel,” said Marti. “Is she all right?”
“More or less, I think.”
We walked on a bit further.
“I never knew the guy,” she said. “But the idea of someone being in the band who actually abused kids. And he was standing in for me. God, what a nightmare.”
Nightmare was as good a word as any, I thought.
“Have you got any good news,” asked Marti.
“I don’t know about good,” I said, “interesting maybe.”
I then told her the story of Tony’s phone call.
“Well, you do live, don’t you? And here’s me thinking you’d be bored without me.”
I winked at her and took her hand.
“I’m gonna take the afternoon off,” said Marti.
“Great. If you play your cards right, you can come back to my place after lunch.”
“In that case,” she said, squeezing my hand, “I’d better play my cards right.”
We went into The Temple, to be hit with a buzz of conversation and warm air. Right on cue my specs steamed up. I remembered the time, years ago, when I’d tried contact lenses but some sort of weird allergy had knackered that. As we joined the queue of students and office workers at the bar I took my glasses off. Taking a napkin from a nearby table, I gave them a wipe and put them back on.
“What do you want to drink,” I said.
She opted for a J2O, apple and raspberry. I tried to catch the eye of one of the bar staff. To no avail. You’d think someone as big as me would stand out, but I seemed to be rendered invisible whenever I joined a queue. I looked along the bank of beer pumps, wondering whether to break my usual habit of not drinking at lunchtime. A skinny woman wearing red glasses was ordering food a little way to my right. Her left hand held a walking stick. She looked familiar, but it took a few seconds to realise who it was.
“Hiya Josie,” I said.
She turned her head towards me. After a moment of puzzlement, she smiled.
“Oh, hi,” she said, her southern vowels sounding alien among the northern voices. “We meet again.”
“Do you know Marti?”
“No.”
“Josie Finch, Marti Pym,” I said.
The two women shook hands. Josie’s brown eyes smiled at us.
“How do you know Gus,” asked Marti.
“We met at Ordsall Tower, I was doing the books.”
“So you’re an accountant?”
“That’s right.”
Marti looked as if she were about to speak, then thought better of it. The ring tone of her phone sounded from her handbag.
“Sorry,” said Marti, taking her mobile from the bag. “I’ll take this outside.”
As she walked away, Marti answered the call. “Hello, Lily,” she said, her voice fading as she went out of the pub.
“What’s with the stick,” I asked Josie.
“Sprained my ankle yesterday morning, slipped on the ice.”
“Nasty.”
Josie shrugged, then changed the subject.
“Is Marti a social worker?” she asked.
It was, I supposed, a reasonable assumption that Marti did the same job as me.
“No, solicitor. And a singer.”
“A singer? Cool. Like in a band?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, A Lop Bam Boom they’re called. They started out doing fifties stuff, you know, now they’re classed as a function band.”
“A what?”
“They play at functions: weddings, birthday bashes...”
And now, I thought, they’re mixed up in a murder, at least indirectly.
“Right. They any good?”
That was an easy question to answer.
“Fantastic. I suppose I would say that. My daughter plays the guitar for them and Marti’s...”
“Your partner?”
I wondered, not for the first time, if that were the right word.
“I suppose she is,” I said, “we don’t live together but we’re...”
“An item?”
I nodded. I thought of how well Marti and Rachel got on, even though my daughter was twenty years younger. I remembered all the match-making Rachel had got up to without my realising it. I also recalled how long it took me to realise that, amazing though it seemed, I stood a chance with Marti. Josie changed the subject again.
“How long have you worked in Ordsall Tower?”
“Twenty something years on and off,” I answered.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I got early retirement a couple of years ago,” I explained. “Then set myself up as an independent to do odd bits of work.”
“So you don’t work in Salford all the time?”
“No, I go where the work is. Mainly the Greater Manchester area.”
I thought about the recent shortage of work that was putting a strain on my finances. I had another conference tomorrow but nothing else on the horizon. The baby P case in London a few years ago had led to an increase in referrals and more kids being in care. This should have led to more work but it had coincided with the cuts. Ah, well, this way of working was preferable to putting up with the daily grind. Not to mention all the office politics that went with it. It was certainly much better for my health.
“Anyway,” I said, “I’ll be going to Ordsall Tower tomorrow. Will you be there?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, should take me another couple of days to finish, I reckon.”
She turned towards the barman and paid him.
“Better go back to my table. I’m off today,” she said, “me and my friend have been getting a bit of retail therapy. Now for a nice, leisurely lunch.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Thanks again for, you know...what you did on Friday.”
I pictured the appalling Simon breathing alcohol fumes in Ordsall Tower.
“That’s OK. Enjoy your day.”
“Will do. Catch you later.”
I watched Josie limp away, thinking about seeing Tony tomorrow. Again I thought about Brenda, trying to picture her. All I got was an identikit teenage girl from the seventies, complete with flared jeans and long, straight hair. Here I was, older and wiser, in theory at least, still thinking about it. I thought of that expression, ‘one day all this will be twenty years ago’. Nearer forty in this case. God.
* * *
Marti came back in, anxiety on her face, taking my mind off the distant past. “What’s up,” I asked.
“That was Mum’s next door neighbour,” she said.
“Problems?”
I knew
Marti had been worried about her mother for a while.
“Mum’s had a fall.”
Marti’s mam had reached the age where people ‘had a fall’ rather than just falling over.
“She’s in hospital,” Marti went on. “Possible broken ankle. I’ll have to go and see her, probably stay for a while.”
I put my arms around her and gave her a hug. Marti would have to drive to Liverpool. Inevitably I thought of my own parents: my Mam, who had died when I was eighteen; my Dad, ‘marvellous for his age,’ everybody said. How long would that be the case? There was always something.
“Right,” I said. “We’ll nip to my place for a quick sandwich before you set off.”
“I’d rather leave straight away.”
“No,” I insisted. “How do you think your mother would feel if she knew you’d skipped lunch?”
“Oh, all right, I’ll have a sandwich.”
She sounded resigned.
“I won’t be able to go to Liverpool with you,” I said, “I’m working tomorrow.”
“That’s OK.”
“Give your mam my love.”
“Sure. Oh, Gus, I’m sorry,” she said sadly, “we’ve hardly seen one another for ages.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s hardly your fault. Right, where’s your car,” I asked.
“Underground car park.”
I thought for a moment.
“I’m off to the gents,” I said, “you go and get your car and come back here. Pick me up in the car park.”
A couple of minutes later I went out into the Temple car park and stood to the side of a shelter built for smokers. Going inside would have afforded me more protection from the wind but I’d have had to breath in cigarette smoke. I heard a familiar voice from inside the smokers’ enclave.
“But she must have recognised me,” said Josie Finch in a stage whisper.
She went quiet for a while. I couldn’t explain how I knew but it was obvious Josie was on the phone.
“Yeah, I know,” she went on. “Anyway, I recognised her.”
She coughed as only smokers can. It really was a pointless and stupid habit. Thank goodness Rachel and Danny didn’t smoke. Josie spoke again.
“Course I’m sure. A black solicitor who sings in a band. With a fucking Scouse accent. How many of them do you think there are?”
That must have been why she’d asked all those questions, I thought. There was a brief period while Josie listened to whoever was on the other end of the line.
“It’s OK for you to say ‘don’t worry about it’.”
What’s going on now, I asked myself as I heard the sound of a car horn and turned to see Marti’s black Mercedes a few yards in front of me.
* * *
I walked over to Marti’s car, lost in thought, opened the passenger door and got in. As I did up my seat belt and Marti drove off, I saw two women approaching Josie.
“You know that Josie we just met?” I asked as we left the car park.
Marti changed gear and glanced in the mirror.
“Yeah.”
“She knew you,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I told her about the overheard conversation in the car park.
“You know, she did look familiar,” she said. “I couldn’t place her though.”
“She obviously doesn’t want to be recognised.”
“A guilty secret,” Marti smiled, “fascinating. Another mystery you’ve discovered. You seem to attract these things.”
She slowed down for traffic lights and pulled up behind a 4x4.
“I’m trying to think why or how I met her,” said Marti after a pause for thought.
“Could she have been a client?”
She signalled to turn left, frowning in concentration.
“Don’t think so. I remember her in some other context.”
We drove on a little way before she spoke again.
“No, no good,” she admitted. “My mind’s a complete blank. That’ll annoy me now.”
“You’ve got too much else to think about,” I said.
“Maybe. I kind of think it goes back to when I was in London.”
“That covers years.”
“Yeah.”
We turned into Salford Quays.
“It’ll come to you,” I said.
She nodded, looking round for somewhere to stop.
“I’ll be back for your birthday,” she said.
I was still trying to forget about that.
“I’d better tell you now, in case I don’t get the chance before the day,” she went on, “I’m taking you somewhere posh for the night.”
“Can’t wait,” I said.
“Well, you’re gonna have to. Have a shave and bring a suit. You look really distinguished in a suit.”
She nipped smartly into a parking space. We got out of the car and made our way to the lift in Palace Apartments. As we got into the kitchen my phone rang.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hi, Gus, it’s Angela.”
There was only one reason why the boss would be ringing me.
“This isn’t about Tattersall, is it?”
I sat down at the table. Marti took her coat off and went to put the kettle on.
“Got it in one. I’ve had the cops round.”
“So have I.”
“You too? I suppose they’ll talk to anyone who had anything to do with him.”
“No doubt.”
I could hear Angela take a deep breath.
“Anyway. There was to have been a conference tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“It would be helpful if you could come in as arranged,” she said. “We’ll have a meeting anyway, see if there’s any help we can give to Imogen and the kids.”
“OK. There is one thing,” I said. “My daughter, Rachel, found the body.”
“Oh, my God. How did that happen?”
I explained about Rachel going to pick up Tattersall for a gig and everything that followed.
“I don’t suppose they do CRB checks for a job like that,” said Angela. “Thanks for letting me know, Gus, but I don’t see it makes much difference. We’ll carry on as planned.”
“Fine.”
“Partly it will be an arse covering meeting.”
“We didn’t kill him,” I joked.
“Quite, but somebody will be demanding an inquiry into how we handled things. And your experience and independence will be invaluable.”
She was right of course.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER SIX
The next day I arrived at Ordsall Tower and went into the social work room, thinking how familiar the shabby partitions dividing the space into teams looked. The notice board was festooned with posters advertising a coach trip to Thwaites brewery, the next Unison meeting and a quiz night. A few people sat behind desks with mugs of tea and coffee, typing away at their keyboards or talking intensely on the phone. I took my waterproof jacket and jumper off and hung them on a hook on the wall. I walked over to a woman aged thirty something with dark brown hair.
“Hi, Karen,” I said.
I pulled up a chair and sat next to her, putting my briefcase on the desk. Karen Davidson was as far removed from the stereotype of a social worker as you could get. In her smart grey trousers and white blouse she looked more like a high powered business woman. It was good to see her. She was one of the few people left in Ordsall Tower from the days I worked there full time.
“Hi,” she said. “You here for the meeting about Tattersall?”
“Yeah, bit of a shock him dying like that.”
She nodded.
“Yeah, but I can’t say I’m too upset about him,” she went on. “Not many people will mourn a creep who abused lots of kids.”
“I don’t suppose they will. Some will say he got what he deserved.”
“Possibly,” said Karen. “Rough justice though. I can’t say I’m comfortab
le with that.”
Just then Josie Finch came in, complete with stick.
“Do you know if Angela’s around?” Josie asked me.
“She’s in,” said Karen, “but she’s got a meeting with Gus and me soon and going out straight after that.”
“Thanks,” said Josie.
“She can be a bit elusive, can Angela,” Karen went on. “There’s been times I’ve been tempted to ring missing persons.”
Josie turned to go.
“Either that or bring Gus in.”
Josie stopped and looked towards me.
“Why Gus?”
“Do you not know,” said Karen. “Gus is a private eye on the side.”
Josie looked from one to the other of us, obviously wondering if she were having her leg pulled.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, look him up on Google.”
Promising to do just that, Josie left us.
“In the meantime, if you see Angela before I do,” Josie added on the way out, “could you mention I need a word with her.”
“No problem,” said Karen.
We watched her walk away.
“Does she look familiar to you, that accountant woman,” Karen asked.
“Who Josie? Don’t think so. Why?”
What I’d overheard at the Temple the previous day came back to me. Josie knew Marti and Karen thought she recognized her. Strange.
“I just think I’ve seen her somewhere before,” Karen replied.
“How’s Emma?” I asked, deciding to forget about this little mystery for now.
Her eyes lit up at the mention of her daughter’s name. Being a single parent had somehow softened Karen, knocking off some of the hard edges.
“Happy as the day’s long,” she said. “One thing about having kids is there’s always somebody who’s pleased to see you.”
I smiled at the thought.
“Although she’s gonna have to cope without me tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I’m being allowed out.”
Karen had moved in with her parents when eight months pregnant. She reckoned it had worked out better than expected. Certainly babysitting was rarely a problem. She had been in a bit of a state in those days, even going as far as handing in her notice. Then she had pulled herself round and cancelled her resignation.