by David Evans
* * *
“Won’t it be great, Suz? I’ve never had a real holiday before, certainly never abroad,” Sammy said dreamily. “I just hope my passport arrives in time.”
“Should do.” Susan was studying the screen of her mobile phone. “Have you really never had a holiday?”
Sammy stretched out on the settee in the sitting room of the flat they shared and closed her eyes. “We did some sea-side trips when I was a kid. Before … Well, it was all Mum could afford. I remember Blackpool once. She took me on the Big Dipper. I threw up and she got really annoyed with me. She took me back to the guest house where we were staying and left me in bed while she pissed off out enjoying herself.” She sat up and looked at her friend. “It hasn’t rung, you know,” she said.
Susan brought her head up. “No, I know. I was just looking at something. Anyway, your mother just left you on your own? How old were you?”
Sammy lay back down. “She did that all the time. I must have been about nine. And then she comes back pissed with this bloke in tow and I had to listen to a load of old bollocks they were talking. That was until the landlady found out and threw us out.”
“What? In the middle of the night?”
“Wasn’t the first time.”
“So what did you do?”
“Pitched up at the railway station and waited for the first train in the morning. We were due to leave that day anyway.”
“So this will be your first trip abroad?”
“Yeah.” They were both quiet for a minute as Sammy turned her head to observe her friend, once more concentrating on her mobile phone. “What the Hell’s so fascinating?” she finally asked.
“I’m going to check the voicemails again,” Susan answered.
“Is that the councillor bloke you and Bob were talking about the other week?”
“I’m on to two of them now, the Council Leader and the Head of Planning.”
“And have you learnt any more, other than that guy’s shopping habits?”
“Shush!” Susan grabbed a pen and opened a notebook.
Sammy closed her eyes again as her friend began scribbling.
After a couple of minutes, Susan put the phone down. “Well that is interesting,” she said.
“What is it this time?” Sammy commented, eyes still closed. “Does he need to get a loaf of bread on the way home today?”
“Faulkner is actually on holiday.”
“You learned that from his voicemails?”
“No, I knew that a couple of days ago. But the interesting thing is, he’s obviously been having trouble with his PC. That was a voicemail from the IT department. They were letting him know they would be down to look at it on Monday.”
Sammy sat up on one elbow. “You’re not thinking what I’m thinking, are you?” A broad smile spread over her face.
“Do you think you could?”
“If I can get access, I don’t see why not. Just have to choose the best time that’s all.”
“Let’s do some serious thinking,” Susan said.
* * *
The previous morning, when Belinda was released from Pinderfields, she felt grateful that it coincided with her off duty. In addition, her own GP had given her a sick note for five days. She wouldn’t want any of her own patients in Orthopaedics to see her face as it was.
Anthony had been quite attentive earlier but she’d finally persuaded him he couldn’t jeopardise his little summer job on her account. He’d rung her in the afternoon to say that he was meeting up with his schoolmate, Simon, and they planned to go into Leeds to the cinema in the evening and could he stay over. She told him that would be okay and she would be fine. She wasn’t sure she would be but she couldn’t stifle the lad because of her problems with Charlie.
She’d made herself have a lie in before finally getting up and running herself a bath. Normally she’d shower every day so a nice long soak was a treat. She’d lazed around all day, tried to read a book but put it down then made herself something to eat, although she didn’t feel hungry. It was half past eight and she was finding it difficult to concentrate on a film she was trying to watch on the television when the noise of a key being placed in the front door lock disturbed her.
Her heart rate quickened as she heard the door open then close.
“Hello? Belinda?”
Shit! Charlie.
He strode into the lounge where she sat on the sofa.
“Ah, you are here.”
“What do you want?” she asked disdainfully. “A change of clothes or do you want to knock me about again?”
“Come on, Belinda. You know it was an accident. I didn’t mean it.”
“Sure. Of course I do. I tell myself that every time I look in the mirror.”
His demeanour hardened. “Look, you know the pile of crap you’ve brought down on top of me; poking around my business, taking that film to be developed. I’ve had some shitty detectives round to the office trying to imply all sorts of nonsense.”
“And that’s my fault … how?”
He stood rigid for a moment, holding her gaze. Finally, he appeared to deflate, sat in an armchair and let out a deep breath. “How did we get to this?”
She sat up straight. “You really don’t know?”
He leaned back and looked to the ceiling but said nothing.
Belinda relaxed a little. “Was I really that boring? No, don’t answer that. I saw what you and your friends were doing on those photographs.” She studied him intently. “What was it? A thrill you felt you couldn’t get from me?
“I don’t know. It’s like a drug, I suppose.”
“Oh, so I need to feel sorry for you now, do I? Some addict that needs help? Or will some hot-shot psychiatrist tie it all back to what happened to Jeff?”
He stiffened. “Don’t you dare bring my brother into this.”
“Why not? It was you that told me all about those weird incidents when you were growing up. Trying to smother you, wondering what it would be like to die. And then he goes and does it. Stark bollock naked with a plastic bag over his head.”
“Shut up, you stupid woman!”
Silence hung in the air for a split second as they both studied one another.
Eventually, Belinda spoke. “I’m sorry, Charlie, I shouldn’t have …”
“No, I’m sorry.” He stood. “I shouldn’t have come. It’s too soon.”
“It’ll always be too soon.”
“Did Anthony tell you he came to see me at the office yesterday?”
She shook her head.
“I know you’re both hurting and I’m truly sorry. I only came to say I’m going away for the weekend – on my own. I just think it would be a good idea. Get some distance … well, anyway. I’ll be back on Monday. We can talk then.”
After the front door had closed, she curled into a ball on the sofa and began to sob.
19
Monday 30th July 2001
Strong dashed from his office, paperwork in hand and literally bumped into Stainmore. “Sorry, Kelly, I was just … Is everything okay? You look on another planet.”
“I was. Have you got a minute?”
“Sure.” He held out the file. “Let me just take this upstairs and I’ll be right back. Sit down and wait.”
Five minutes later, they were facing each other across Strong’s desk.
“What’s troubling you?” he asked.
“I didn’t tell you but, last Monday, I called in to see Patrick Whitaker, Denise’s son.”
Strong raised his eyebrows. “Did you now?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
Strong waved her apology away.
“Anyway, he seemed to hint that his mother was looking forward to a sex-change operation. When I quizzed him on how she might be able to pay for it, he didn’t know but he said that ‘she had a plan and would have her wish’.”
“Any idea how?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking … and I know this is
all circumstantial, but when I pushed him, he said she’d latterly done some cleaning job for a … quote, ‘bloke with money’. So that coupled with the phone call on the records, I just thought I’d fly a kite with Chamberlain when we went round there. But then, with his reaction, I’m wondering whether Denise knew what went on in that house … maybe details of who attended and her silence might be worth the ten grand she reckoned she’d need to ‘have her wish’, as Patrick said.”
“It’s a theory,” Strong agreed. “But take it on a stage further, and this could be serious.”
“I know.”
He stood up, walked over to the window and stared out, hands in his pockets. After a minute, he turned back to face Stainmore. “What would be your next move?”
“Back to see Chamberlain and press him on the telephone call.”
“No, let’s leave him for a minute. Anita Matthews is your best way in. She looked decidedly shaken when you threw in that little cracker on Thursday.” He sat back down. “See if you can organise a meet somewhere away from Chamberlain’s offices.”
“Okay, I’ll sort that. I’m assuming you’ll want to come with me.”
“That depends. If you think you’ll get more from her on your own, woman to woman, so to speak, then go for it.”
Stainmore headed towards the door. “I’ll let you know,” she said.
When Stainmore returned to her desk, Ormerod approached, a strange smile on his face. “Kelly, your new secret admirer is downstairs.” She looked puzzled. “Jason, your little coroner’s officer.”
She pulled a face. “Ha, bloody ha. Is he downstairs now?”
“Desk called up five minutes ago.”
Jason Manningham was twenty-eight years old but looked much younger. Stainmore thought he looked like he should be in a boy band. Tall and thin, he struggled to give shape to the suit he was wearing. His shirt looked about an inch too big on the neck and his dark floppy hair was neatly coiffured.
“Jason,” she said in greeting, holding out her hand. He shook it limply.
“Hi Kelly,” he responded. Was it her imagination or did he seem to be nervous? “I was just wondering if you were any nearer completion of your investigation into Denise Whitaker?”
“Oh, yes. You’re still holding the body. Not literally, you understand.”
He gave an exaggerated laugh.
It was her turn to feel nervous. Why? This was stupid. “I haven’t yet concluded all my enquiries,” she continued.
“That’s fine. It’s just I had her son, Patrick contact me last week and he was wondering what to do as regards a funeral.”
“That’s fair enough. There’s a few more things I need to check and I’ll be in touch when I’m happy.”
“Okay, thanks,” he said.
* * *
Souter shook his head as he spotted Susan appearing on the newsroom floor.
“What’s with you?” she said approaching his desk.
He swivelled on his chair. “You.”
“What about me?”
“I can’t believe you managed to sweet-talk Chandler into giving you the week off.”
She swayed around and made a pout. “Well, when you’ve got it, you’ve got it,” she said, looking for a smile from him that wasn’t there. “Anyway, that’s not the only thing though, is it? I can tell. You’re looking particularly grumpy this morning.” That comment finally drew a smile. “So come on,” she encouraged, sitting down next to him at a spare seat.
“It’s nothing.”
“Bob,” she said, eyebrows raised, “it’s not nothing. So, come on … spill.” She leaned closer and waved her hands towards her as if attempting to draw the information out of him.
After a delay, he reluctantly responded. “Well … it’s my fault really. Alison got a bit upset on Friday.”
“Why? What have you been saying?”
“Nothing. I suppose I’m still nervous after that phone call on Friday. I let it get to me.”
“But you must have done or said something if she got upset.”
He sighed and leaned towards her. “I was just nervous when I was at her house, looking out onto the street, checking her phone, you know. I didn’t say anything, that’s the point. I wanted to but I didn’t want to upset her. In the end that’s just what I did. She knew there was something I wasn’t telling her.”
“She’s a big girl, you know. You should trust that she can handle whatever you tell her. The worst thing you can do is keep things from her, for whatever reason.”
He took a breath and looked around the newsroom. “I know. She told me she didn’t like people lying to her; she’d had enough of that previously. But I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell her everything. Anyway, have you been vigilant? Nobody watching you or hanging around the flat?”
She shook her head. “No. I think you’re building this up too much. After all, what’s at stake in this development? It’s got the go-ahead but we don’t know that Brogan is going to be involved. Not for certain.”
“What about Sammy? Has she mentioned anything?”
Susan looked him in the eye. “Bob, talk to Alison. Tell her all that’s been going on. She’ll understand. You’ll find there’s really nothing to worry about.”
He broke into a grin. “Thanks,” he said.
“Wow, this is cosy,” Janey Clark quipped as she strutted over to her desk next to Souter’s. “Oh, did you know …?” she continued, “This is a very rare week.”
Souter and Susan exchanged puzzled looks. “How’s that?” he said.
“This is one of only two weeks in the year when there aren’t any discount deals from national furniture or bedding stores.”
Souter snorted a laugh.
“So I thought I’d do a piece on that.”
* * *
Anita Matthews’ house was a neat semi-detached on a quiet residential street in Durkar, to the south of the city and not far from the M1 motorway. It was just after one o’clock when Stainmore rang the front door bell. Chamberlain’s office had informed her that Anita had a day off and passed on her home telephone number. Initially reluctant to meet, she had finally agreed to a lunch-time visit from Stainmore.
After a short wait, Anita answered the door and waved Stainmore inside. She led the way straight down the hall and into the kitchen. A seat was offered at the breakfast bar.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Stainmore said, settling onto the uncomfortable seat.
“I didn’t have much choice did I?” She filled a kettle and switched it on. “Tea? Coffee?”
“A coffee would be nice, thanks.”
The woman sat down opposite Stainmore. “So, what do you want?”
“I’m not here to give you a hard time over those photographs.” Stainmore held up both hands. “As you said, what consenting adults get up to in the privacy of … well, somebody’s home, is up to them. But I do think you know a bit more about another matter I’m investigating.”
Anita stiffened. “And what would that be?”
“The name Denise Whitaker clearly meant something to you when I mentioned it last week.”
The kettle clicked off and she rose to put some instant coffee in two mugs.
“Who was she?” Stainmore pulled out her notebook and pencil.
Anita paused for a second, facing the window, before opening the fridge and fetching out the milk. She held it up as a question to Stainmore.
“Please,” she said, “no sugar.”
Finally Anita returned to face Stainmore over the breakfast bar, drinks in front of them. “She cleaned for Charles,” she eventually offered, “at the Leeds Road house.”
“So why did you say the name meant nothing to you the last time we talked?”
She took a drink of her coffee, avoiding eye contact. “I … I don’t know. I suppose it was because Charlie … I mean Mr Chamberlain had said he didn’t know her.”
“And why would Mr Chamberlain deny any knowledge of her? I mean, he must have know
n she cleaned for him. Presumably you didn’t organise this?”
“You’ll have to ask him that.” Her expression had hardened again.
“You are aware of what happened to Denise?”
“Only when Charles told me.”
“When was that?”
Again, hesitation from Anita. “After you called last week.”
Stainmore sipped her coffee and remained silent for a second. “Okay, so when was the last time you saw Mrs Whitaker?”
Anita smiled nervously. “Sorry. It’s just … I assume you know of her situation?”
“What situation do you mean?”
“She was … a bit … strange, shall we say.”
“Shall we say she was hoping to change her gender?” Stainmore responded.
Anita looked down. “Well, yes.”
“So, again, when was the last time you saw Denise?”
Anita screwed up her face as if in thought before answering. “Maybe last January? I don’t really know. I do know she let Charles down early part of last year … April, May time.”
“In what way, let him down?”
“Well, she never turned up to clean the place. He said there’d been no word of apology, no notice that she was leaving, nothing.”
“Didn’t that concern you?”
“I didn’t think too much of it. After all, I didn’t actually employ her.”
“So what did Mr Chamberlain say when she suddenly stopped working for him?”
She shrugged. “He thought she’d had a better offer somewhere else. Maybe she got a job for more hours or paid more money.”
“But he didn’t try and find out why?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“So it wasn’t you who rang her home number from the office on …” Stainmore made a point of referring to her notebook. “… June 6th at 10:23?”
Anita hesitated. “No. I never had her contact details.”
“Then it was most likely Mr Chamberlain who made that call?”
“I’ve really no idea. You’ll have to ask him.”