by Nick Oldham
Minutes later she turned left off the main road and cut down towards Osbaldeston.
In fifteen years the place had changed little. She drove straight to the large house which had once belonged to Joe Lilton. Apart from a new colour for the woodwork, the house looked exactly the same. A large Mercedes was on the driveway, the same colour as Danny’s somewhat older model had been. She experienced a tinge of sadness at the thought of her lovely car, but was thankful the insurance meant that in the not-too distant future, there would be a brand-spanker on her drive.
As she walked to the house this time there were no sounds of people arguing. A couple of dogs barked when she rapped on the door, which opened after a short wait. Two black Labradors bounded out and surrounded her in a friendly way.
‘Can I help?’ asked the lady with them.
She was in her fifties with a ruddy complexion, a large aquiline nose and sharp, angular face. Danny knew instantly it was not Joe Lilton’s former wife. She sighed inwardly, knowing she’d been a bit optimistic to hope to still find her here.
‘I’m looking for an old friend,’ Danny said, thinking that introducing herself as a cop might complicate matters. ‘She lived here, ooh, a good fifteen years ago. We lost touch when I moved south. Her married name was Lilton.’
The woman considered the information, then shook her head. ‘No, doesn’t ring a bell. We’ve been here five years; bought the place from a family called Rice. I think the house had been through several hands before that. Sorry.’
‘Okay, thanks. It was a long shot.’
Danny drove away and pulled up under some trees in a country lane. Even for a cop, finding someone fifteen years on is not necessarily easy. She thought for a few minutes, then had a brainwave. She used the mobile phone Henry had made her take (bless him) and dialled Lancashire Police HQ and asked to be put through to the pensions department in Human Resources.
She explained who she was and what it was she wanted.
Less than five minutes later, the woman gave Danny the information she required: Robert Neville, Police Constable, had retired eleven years ago. She gave Danny his address and telephone number. Danny was pleased to discover he still lived in Blackburn.
Neville was the officer who had regularly worked the mobile beat covering Osbaldeston fifteen years before - the beat Danny had been allocated for that one day when he had been off sick.
It took Myrna two hours to contact Karl Donaldson at the FBI office in London. He had been in a breakfast meeting with the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police and the head of the Maltese Police, discussing a particular drugs problem involving an American gang.
When he returned to his office, he had skimmed through his messages, saw the one from Myrna timed at 8 a.m. and was immediately interested. He put her message to the top of the pile, then went to get a coffee. First things first.
‘It was really nice to see you after all these years,’ Robert Neville said with a wave. ‘Sorry I couldn’t help you.’
‘That’s fine,’ Danny said, trying to mask her disappointment. It had been a wasted journey because Neville had no idea where the first Mrs Lilton had gone after she moved away from Osbaldeston. He had just been glad she had gone.
Danny walked away from Neville’s house towards the CID car, giving a quick backward glance and saying, ‘It was nice to see you too, Bob.’
‘There is one thing that might help, actually ... it’s just come to me.’
Danny tried not to let her shoulders droop. It had been an effort to get away from this man who had been divorced about six years, seemed to be leading a fairly solitary existence, and was reluctant to let the sight of a skirt leave his house without giving it a good long ogle. She turned, firmly believing this to be a delaying tactic.
‘Yeah, there is one thing. I seem to remember that when the Liltons split up, she got a fair percentage of the business. They had a few of those shops that sell everything dirt cheap - toiletries and stationery, stuff like that. They had five shops and I think she got two of them, one in Accrington and one in Burnley. She had to change the name of them, though.’
‘Can you remember what they were called?’ Danny smiled sweetly.
Neville wracked his brains. ‘Something like, “Everything You Need” or “Just the Ticket” or “Cheep ‘n’ Cheerful”. I’m not sure, sorry. Something tacky. I think the shops are still there. The one in Accrington is on Broadway, I think.’
At five-fifteen in the morning it could only be one person calling the office. Myrna lunged for the phone on her desk and picked it up before the first chirp had been completed. Tracey moved, disturbed by the noise. She did not wake.
‘Karl?’
‘Yeah, it’s me, Myrna. How ya doin’?’ came the voice from 3000 miles away, loud and clear.
‘Good,’ she whispered into the mouthpiece. ‘Can you hear me okay?’
‘Yeah - but you sound like you don’t want anyone else to hear.’
‘I don’t. Just hold the line while I transfer you.’
She put the call through to Steve Kruger’s office and slipped across the hallway, closing the door behind her. It was a strange sensation to sit in Kruger’s chair, but she felt comfortable and warm doing so, almost as if he was still there and she was sitting on his knee. She picked up the phone. ‘That’s better. Now I can talk.’
‘What can I do for you, Myrna? I passed on that last piece of information you gave me to a detective I know in Lancashire Police.’
‘Thanks, Karl. This is about him again, Charlie Gilbert.’
Donaldson did a quick calculation in his head re time-zones. ‘In that case this must be important if you’re phoning at this time of day.’
‘It is, I think. I want to get something moving, only I’m not sure how. I reckon I need your knowledge.’
‘I’m flattered. Shoot.’
‘The cops in Lancashire have dug up a body, young girl, maybe a week ago now, I’m not sure. It made national headlines because it was found by a man and a woman having sex.’
‘I read about it.’
‘I got some information which points to Gilbert as the perp.’
Ahh, the word ‘perp’ made him smile nostalgically. ‘Offender’, which they used in England, was just so . . . dull.
‘Gilbert? How good is the information?’ Donaldson wanted to know. ‘I don’t want to bother the cops with gossip.’
‘It’s better than information, Karl.’ Myrna declared her hand. ‘It’s a witness. I’ve got one here who says she knows for sure it was Gilbert. I believe her, and from what I know of Gilbert I’d believe he’d easily be capable of murder. I just don’t know how to take this forwards ... and there is a further complication.’
‘Yep?’ He tried to sound positive.
‘The girl will only talk to one person. It’s a cop she met a few years ago, some guy called Danny Furness.’
And that ‘guy’, Danny Furness, was at that very moment strolling through the rather grimy streets of Accrington, an East Lancashire town with great tradition but little else to show the modern world. Broadway was the main shopping street, now pedestrianised with the open market on one side and shops on the other.
The one Danny was looking for was at the end of a row of shops. Its huge plate-glass window was garishly covered in brightly lettered words which declared brashly, Everything-U-want - under 1 roof and that everything was permanently reduced. Danny went in and walked directly to the first member of staff she could identify. She flashed her badge and warrant card and asked to speak to the manager. She was led to the back stairs and up through an assault course of stock boxes to a first-floor office, where she was introduced to a woman who she immediately recognised as the former Mrs Joe Lilton.
The woman looked like Danny felt. She was a mess. Her stringy bleached hair was pulled back into a pony tail; her blotchy skin, puffed up around the cheeks, looked like too much alcohol had taken its toll; the smell of booze was one of the things Danny recalled from her pr
evious encounter with this woman. She had a mouth which was permanently turned down at the corners and the skin around her thin lips was corrugated with age.
‘You probably don’t remember me,’ Danny said, presenting her warrant card which the woman peered at suspiciously.
‘No, you’re right. I don’t.’
‘Look.’ Danny glanced quickly round the room. ‘I’m really sorry to barge in on you unexpectedly, but I’d like to talk to you. I need about half an hour of your time, but I don’t think talking in here is appropriate.’ She indicated the office. It was no place to sit and talk, particularly as Danny knew it would be a conversation of great delicacy. The room was a complete mess of papers, invoices and more stacked-up stock. And there was only one chair and a phone which rang constantly.
‘I’m busy,’ the woman barked sharply.
Danny held her hands up placatingly. ‘I know you are, but so am I; I’m here doing some enquiries about the murder of a young girl in Blackpool. Her name is Claire Lilton. Her stepfather is your ex-husband, Joe Lilton.’
‘I won’t make any apologies for this. He was a complete, utter, fucking bastard.’ She leaned over her cup of tea and hissed the words across to Danny. They were sitting in a cafe in the shopping centre, facing each other at a corner table. Danny had learned that since her divorce from Joe, the woman had reverted to her maiden name, Turner.
‘In what way, Jackie?’
‘Used to really slap me about. I should’ve got out years before, but the money was good. . . y’know?’ she admitted. ‘The money was hellish good.’ She sniffed.
‘Why did you split up?’
Jackie Turner shifted uncomfortably, did not reply.
Danny saw she had struck some sort of chord. ‘What happened after the divorce?’
‘He was a right bastard, but I screwed him as best I could.’ She lit a cigarette and Danny took a light from the match. ‘We had six shops then, all selling rubbish, mind, but little gold mines they were. He made sure I got the two least profitable ones and I even had to change the trading name, f’God’s sake. I sold one immediately, and ploughed the money into this one which has turned into a real good ‘un; I also got the house, but I couldn’t afford to keep it on, so I sold that and got myself a bungalow instead - in Wilpshire. Nice ‘n’ snobby ... haven’t managed to find a bloke with much money yet, but I do all right.’ She gave a wistful smile. Danny warmed to her.
‘And the kids?’
A shadow crossed her face momentarily, then cleared. ‘Kid - my daughter Julie.’ Danny’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the name. Then: ‘She’s twenty-four, married, got two kids of her own now, but it’s a marriage made in hell, if you know what I mean?’
Danny considered the woman sitting opposite and was quite impressed. She was obviously a fighter and a survivor. Danny hoped she would turn out to be the same.
Jackie Turner’s eyebrows rose, what was left of them, that is. They had been plucked almost to oblivion, replaced by an unsure line. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘Because it’s a murder investigation, we follow up all sorts of leads, so don’t think it’s unusual to be asked a few questions. Joe’s not a suspect, but we like to know as much as possible about families, backgrounds, all that kind of stuff.’
‘I’d suspect the bastard,’ Jackie said vehemently. ‘He could be really violent.’
‘Even with kids?’
Jackie clamped her mouth shut tight, accentuating her corrugated lips.
‘Jackie, when I came to see you all those years ago, you and Joe were having a real humdinger.’
‘Yeah, I remember now.’
‘What was it about?’
She shrugged. ‘The usual shite. Drink played its part. I’m not sure what sparked it.’
Danny looked directly into her eyes. Jackie’s dropped and she inspected her smouldering cigarette end.
‘I don’t think it was the usual, was it, Jackie?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
The detective’s eyes closed briefly in an expression which told Jackie that Danny thought she was a lying bitch. ‘It’s only just come back to me, Jackie. Literally only last night, but I think I’ve put two and two together. When I turned up at your house, I wasn’t really listening to the words of your ding-dong, but they must have sunk into my thick head.’ She tapped her skull. ‘And only now have they come out the other side.’ Danny opened her shoulder bag and took out the scrap of paper she had written on in the early hours after that vivid dream. She glanced at Jackie, who looked very unhappy.
‘Joe said, “I never touched her”,’ Danny read out. ‘You said, “You did, you bastard. You had it off with her. She told me”.’
Jackie stared past Danny’s shoulders, her jaw set tight. Her eyes were moist. Danny was aware of the other woman tapping the floor with her feet.
‘ “I never, as God is my witness”, or something like that, is what Joe then said. And you said, “You got into bed and...”’ Danny’s voice swooped to a whisper, ‘ “fucked Julie”. That’s what I remember, Jackie. What was all that about?’
Jackie’s head fell into her hands. A huge sob thudded through her body and Danny touched her shoulder. Then Jackie sat upright and wiped her face which was streaming with tears. ‘Snot rag, I need a snot rag.’ She patted her pockets desperately and stopped when Danny handed her a tissue. She blew her nose with a loud trumpeting sound and looked at Danny with a forlorn expression. ‘Oh God - Jackie, Joe and Julie, the three J’s ... a perfect family by all accounts,’ she spat bitterly. ‘Money, businesses, big house, big bloody Jag and a father who couldn’t keep his filthy rotten hands off his only daughter. She was ten years old when he did it to her and then denied it. That’s what really split us up. I don’t even need to start explaining why, do I?’
Danny shook her head.
‘No bloody wonder Julie’s own marriage is on the rocks. She’s completely dysfunctional where sex is concerned, even though she’s had two kids.’
‘Did you have any proof about Joe?’
‘Julie’s word. A doctor’s examination.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the police?’
Jackie stared contemptuously at Danny. ‘Because I didn’t trust you to do anything other than put Julie through hell - and she’d gone through enough already.’
Jackie’s hands fumbled with her cigarette packet in an attempt to get one out. Danny laid her hands over Jackie’s and took the packet from her, tapping one out and handing it to her. Jackie lit it from the one she was already smoking.
‘Thanks, Jackie. I’m sorry to have brought up such painful memories.’
‘You haven’t.’ Jackie uttered a short laugh, a sardonic curl on her lips. ‘It’s with me every single day, every hour of every day and I can’t shake it off. It will never leave me and I’m not sure I want it to, perverse as it may seem.’
Danny nodded, rose to leave.
Jackie reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘There is one thing?’
‘What’s that?’
‘Please don’t approach Julie and ask her anything. She has to forget.’
‘I won’t,’ Danny promised.
It was only a very short appearance at Blackpool Magistrates Court for Louis Vernon Trent. He was flanked by two large policemen, one of whom was handcuffed to him, the other standing slightly behind him in the dock, his hand rubbing the knob of his baton almost sensually, willing Trent to behave badly so he could whack him. As it was, Trent remained meek, mild and compliant.
There was no application for bail and Trent was remanded in custody to reappear before magistrates on the following Thursday.
Twenty minutes later he was in the back of a prison bus which turned out of the rear yard of Blackpool police station, only to be met by a crowd of jeering onlookers who pelted the vehicle with eggs and rotten tomatoes.
Henry Christie yawned and stretched. He had been chatting to the CPS solicitor who had handled the short hearing, but had now
gone, leaving Henry alone in the court, which was now deserted.
Henry was pleased Trent had been boxed off. It took a lot of pressure off him, particularly from FB who seemed to relish giving Henry grief. Now, other than the paperwork side of things, Henry could concentrate on Claire Lilton’s murder, which in a lot of respects was even more worrying than Trent’s escapades.
At least they knew they had been after Trent.
Now they had another murderer on the loose who they did not have a clue about. It was going to be a tough one to solve and he had to get a squad up and running from nothing again and motivate them to success.
As he walked towards the court door, it swung open and a breathless DS Furness stood there.
‘I’ve got something.’
‘What? From this dream nonsense?’ Henry laughed.
‘Yes, from this dream nonsense.’
‘Sit. Tell.’ Henry waved to a seat at the back of the court. She did both.
When she’d concluded, she said, ‘Well?’
Henry nodded slowly. ‘Let’s give it a run. Let’s pull him in.’
They walked out of the court, across the mezzanine and into the door of the police station.
‘Danny!’
She turned to the enquiry desk where the Public Enquiry Assistant was tapping on the toughened glass screen, beckoning Danny towards her. The woman pointed across the foyer to the waiting area. ‘He wants to see you.’
Danny looked. It was Joe Lilton.
Chapter Seventeen
It was with a great deal of pleasure that Danny ‘laid hands’ on Joe Lilton and arrested him on suspicion of murdering his stepdaughter. She cautioned him to the letter and he replied, ‘I don’t blame you for arresting me, but I didn’t kill her; that’s what I’ve come in here to clear up.’
Danny led him down to the custody office.