Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side

by Shirley Wells

  When Sarah was born, two years later, George’s reaction couldn’t have been more different. He fell in love with her on sight. It seemed that he’d been saving all his love for his little princess.

  Josie was saddened by his reaction to Andy, but she continued to be grateful. If George had said ‘Lick my boots,’ she would have fallen at his feet in gratitude.

  Life had ticked along, dull but safe, until that bright, sunny day seventeen years ago . . .

  Chapter Seven

  Max bit into a bacon sandwich and held a serviette beneath his chin to catch any drips that might be heading for his shirt or tie.

  His boss was in a bad mood. Max could sympathize. He wasn’t in a very good mood himself. He didn’t like kids vanishing from the school his sons attended.

  ‘Why did no one see Martin Hayden?’ Phil said, glowering at him. He hated people eating in his office. ‘That’s impossible, surely.’

  ‘It’s pretty remote out there,’ Max reminded him. ‘But one chap did, a Thomas Smith. He works at the garden centre and drives that way every morning. He saw Martin closing the gate to Lower Crags Farm. The only interesting thing he said was that a car – light blue, grey or silver – was parked a couple of hundred yards from there. The car was well off the road, under trees and difficult to see. He thought it was a couple having a quick snog before they reached the office or something.’

  ‘What make of car?’ Phil demanded irritably.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Quite small, he said, but he couldn’t tell us the make, model or registration number. He’s not even sure of the colour. He said he was past it before he really noticed it.’

  ‘Get it checked,’ Phil snapped.

  ‘We’re doing our best. Meanwhile, I’m off to speak to Martin’s guitar teacher. In fact ’ Max glanced at his watch and saw blessed escape beckoning ‘I’d better get a move on. He’s expecting me in half an hour.’

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Phil said when Max was already on his way out. ‘Max!’

  ‘I will, I will!’ Max closed the door behind him and stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth.

  Despite what he’d told Phil Meredith, he had plenty of time before he needed to be at Church Street so he caught up with everyone else or tried to.

  He managed to find Grace, and wondered again about parents who had given this firecracker such a name. Perhaps, after giving birth to six boys, Mrs Warne had thought her daughter graceful in comparison. Tall and reed-thin, with a broad Geordie accent and what, at best, could be termed a no-nonsense approach to life, she had never yet allowed a criminal to get the better of her. Used to bossing six older brothers around, DS Warne took crap from no one.

  ‘Anything on Campbell?’ he asked her.

  ‘Nothing interesting, guv. He used to teach music at a private school in Cheshire until he took early retirement. No mortgage. Financially sound. No form.’

  ‘OK, thanks. Where’s Fletch?’

  ‘Canteen.’ She grinned. ‘Asleep probably.’

  Max smiled at that. Fletch’s wife had just presented him with another daughter and Fletch hadn’t had a wink of sleep since. Max had warned him, but Fletch had merely called him a cynical bastard and laughed it off.

  ‘That reminds me,’ Grace said, looking around her before going to the bottom drawer of her desk. ‘Trudi will be off on maternity leave in a couple of weeks. We’re having a whip round.’

  ‘We’re always having whip rounds,’ Max observed, reaching for his wallet. ‘And, um, who is Trudi?’

  ‘WPC Dover. Joined us from Hull six months ago. Tall. Redhead.’

  Max could place her, just. He handed over a fiver and made his escape before anyone else rattled a tin at him or sold him raffle tickets.

  Jill had promised to meet him at Church Street and he called her number.

  ‘I’m running late,’ she told him, ‘but traffic permitting, I’ll be there by half past.’

  ‘OK, no rush. See you in a bit then.’

  ‘Right. Oh, and Max, have you got a photo of the lad who made those accusations against Geoff Morrison?’

  ‘I have, yes. I’ll bring it along.’

  Max did an about turn and went back to Grace’s desk. ‘Grace, that photo of Paul Sharp did you do some copies?’

  ‘I did, guv.’ She sorted through a pile of stuff in her in-tray and finally handed him a copy of the photo.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked her, gazing at the photograph again.

  ‘Nice-looking kid,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘if a bit dreamy. Looks older than sixteen.’

  ‘Are you going to have a word with him?’

  ‘I’m on to it,’ she promised. ‘He’s working for a travel agent’s in Manchester now.’

  Clutching the photo, Max set off once again.

  He parked outside Toby Campbell’s house with five minutes to spare. There was no sign of Jill, so he sat in the car and waited, using the time to gather up a pile of junk from the passenger foot well. Having grabbed a handful of empty polystyrene cups, chewing-gum wrappers and sandwich containers, he realized he had nowhere to put them. There wasn’t a litter bin in sight along Church Street. In the end, he dropped them on the back seat.

  The houses in the street had been built in Victorian times. They were large terraced houses with steep steps leading to the front door. Number four was the same as the rest, and the exterior at least looked to be in good order. The white paintwork was fresh, the windows clean and a large tub planted with purple heathers added a splash of colour.

  Jill pulled up just as the radio presenter announced that the news was coming on. Max switched it off. He’d already heard the headlines: more funding for police forces. He’d heard it before. If they were lucky, each force would end up with enough to train a puppy.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ Jill said as she joined him. ‘Any news?’

  ‘Nothing. We’ve organized a reconstruction for this afternoon, but that’s a long shot.’

  A curtain twitched at the front room window of number four.

  ‘Looks like he’s waiting for us,’ Max said. ‘Come on.’

  They walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. And waited.

  ‘Sorry,’ the gentleman said when he finally opened the door, ‘but I was down in the cellar.’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Trentham and Jill Kennedy, Harrington CID,’ Max said, offering his ID for inspection. He often wondered why he bothered. For all the notice anyone took, he could show them a bus pass with a photo of Marilyn Monroe on it.

  ‘Yes, yes. Come in, please.’

  When they were in the hall, Mr Campbell switched off a light and closed a door that must lead to the cellar.

  ‘Do you live alone, Mr Campbell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ghosts at the window then. Great.

  ‘Nice place,’ Max added, looking around him. The decoration was too fussy for his taste, but it was neat and clean.

  ‘Thank you. Come into the sitting room.’

  They walked into the sitting room, and Max looked out of the window to confirm that this was indeed the room from which the curtain had moved. Definitely ghosts. In the unlikely event that it wasn’t ghosts, either Toby Campbell was lying about being in the cellar, or there was someone else in the house. Martin Hayden?

  Toby Campbell was in his late fifties or early sixties, and was obviously stuck in a time warp. He was wearing cream trousers, white shirt, a cravat and a pale lemon jacket which seemed to date from the 1950s, and his grey hair was overlong.

  ‘Sit down,’ he offered. ‘Can I get you a coffee? Or tea?’

  ‘Coffee would be great, thanks,’ Max said, smiling. ‘As it comes no milk or sugar.’

  ‘The same for me, please,’ Jill answered his questioning look.

  ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom?’ Max asked him.

  ‘Not at all. Top of the stairs, second left.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  He didn’t look worried that Max might
stumble across a seventeen-year-old. All the same, it wouldn’t hurt to look.

  Max opened the door on the first left and guessed it was Campbell’s bedroom. Checking the wardrobe confirmed this. The jackets and suits represented every colour of the rainbow. Unfortunately, there was no one lurking between the hangers.

  He opened other doors. One led to a second bedroom which, judging by the dust lying on the oak drawers and bedside table, hadn’t been used for a while, and another bedroom was filled with unopened boxes and bulging plastic bags.

  When he went into the bathroom, a quick look round revealed no second toothbrush or anything out of the ordinary.

  He flushed the toilet and opened the bathroom cabinet. Nothing of interest.

  When he crossed the landing, heading for the stairs, a huge ginger cat scuttled in front of him, pausing only to spit. Had the cat moved the curtains?

  By the time he returned to the sitting room, his coffee was already waiting for him.

  ‘Thanks.’ Max picked up the cup and made himself comfortable on a well-worn leather sofa. ‘As you know, we’re investigating the disappearance of Martin Hayden. We believe he came to you for guitar lessons.’

  ‘That’s correct. Every Friday at four thirty.’

  ‘Did he say anything to you to indicate that he might not arrive this Friday?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ve heard the news on the radio, of course, but I’m still half expecting him to turn up.’

  ‘What are your impressions of Martin, Mr Campbell?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Toby, please. Impressions, hmm.’ He put two fingers to his chin and gave the question his serious consideration. ‘He’s a very confident boy, and also ambitious. With Martin, everything has to be done now. I keep telling him, he needs to take time to smell the roses.’ He smiled. ‘But he won’t take any notice of me. Old man, he calls me. He’s only teasing, bless him, but there are precious few seventeen-year-olds who don’t think they know it all.’

  ‘Would you say you were close?’ Jill asked. ‘Would Martin confide in you?’

  ‘There has always been a special bond between master and pupil. Yes, I like to think he’d confide in me.’

  ‘Has he told you anything out of the ordinary lately?’ Max asked. ‘Anything that might be bothering him or something that’s happened to him?’

  ‘Nothing I can recall,’ he replied thoughtfully, sipping from his bone china cup. ‘There was a spot of trouble at the school, I know that. Martin’s one of those boys that his peers will pick on. He’s bright and beautiful. A few boys taunted him, I gather. Apunch was thrown and Martin had a bruised eye. It angered him, but he’s probably forgotten all about it by now. At the time, he vowed vengeance, but yes, I’m sure that’s forgotten.’

  ‘What about his family?’ Jill asked. ‘Does he talk of them often?’

  ‘He speaks of his sister, Sarah. I gather they’re quite close. It was only recently that I knew he had an older brother. As for his parents, I think he rubs along with them OK.’

  ‘They didn’t know he was having guitar lessons,’ Max put in.

  ‘Ah, yes, I am aware of that. I once asked Martin why he was keeping it from them, and he said he wanted it to be a surprise.’

  ‘Is he talented?’ Jill wanted to know.

  ‘No.’ Toby Campbell smiled wistfully. ‘He’s keen. He’s decided he wants to play the guitar, and play it he will. There’s no passion there, though. He’ll be competent, but that’s all.’

  ‘And where would his passions lie, do you think?’ Jill persisted.

  ‘His passions? Hmm. I’m not sure he’s passionate about anything. He’s ambitious yes, but he has no passion. At times, he seems quite a cold-hearted individual.’

  ‘If he were in trouble, might he come to you?’ Max asked.

  ‘I’d like to think so.’ Again, Toby Campbell wore that wistful smile. ‘But I doubt it. Naturally, if he does, I’ll contact you immediately. His poor parents must be out of their minds with worry.’

  ‘Yes,’ Max agreed.

  As they were leaving, Max again remarked on the house. ‘Friends of mine were thinking of buying a house just down the road from you,’ he explained, ‘but they were a bit concerned it might be too small. This is a lot bigger than it looks though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And you can extend out the back.’ He headed for a doorway. ‘Come and look at the kitchen.’

  Max duly oohed and aahed over the size of the kitchen and the scope for expansion.

  ‘And with the cellar, there’s plenty of storage space,’ Toby Campbell pointed out. ‘One couple has converted the cellar to a games room, I believe.’

  ‘Really? Would you mind if I had a look?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  The cellar was like a small antiques shop. Old chairs and tables vied for space with bookcases.

  ‘It’s mostly my parents’ old furniture,’ Campbell explained. ‘I really must get round to sorting it out one day . . .’

  When Max and Jill stepped outside and walked down the steps to their cars, Max wished he had a quid for every time he’d interviewed someone only to feel he’d wasted his time. He’d be a millionaire by now.

  ‘Do you really know someone who’s thinking of buying a house round here?’ Jill asked.

  ‘No. I just wanted a gander at his cellar.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I’ve got a photo of Paul Sharp, the boy who made those accusations against Geoff Morrison.’ He unlocked his car and reached for the photograph. ‘A good-looking boy,’ he murmured, handing it over.

  ‘Isn’t he just?’ she agreed. ‘Almost as good-looking as Martin Hayden. If there was anything in those allegations, and Morrison is interested in boys, he’d be a huge temptation.’

  ‘Grace is talking to him. He’s twenty-three now and works in Manchester.’

  Jill nodded. ‘I’d like another word with Martin’s mother. Is that OK with you? I’m sure she’s holding something back.’

  ‘Of course.’ Max realized he was holding his breath. ‘So, um, perhaps we could meet up later to discuss it. This evening? I’ll buy you dinner,’ he added hopefully.

  ‘Sorry, Max, I can’t.’ She was smiling, but it was an awkward, strained little smile. ‘I’ve made arrangements for this evening.’

  Made arrangements? What the hell did that mean?

  ‘Who’s the lucky man?’ he asked lightly. ‘Anyone I might know?’

  Her hesitation was only brief. ‘Yes.’

  He seemed to stand on the pavement for an age waiting for more.

  ‘Scott Williams,’ she said at last.

  It seemed another age before his vocal cords recovered sufficiently from the shock.

  ‘You’re joking!’ But he knew she wasn’t. ‘Well, isn’t that just great. I try my damnedest to rid the streets of scum and he puts the scum straight back on the streets. God, of all the people. Ask him how he sleeps at night. Still, I assume there’s no need to ask. You’ll know how he sleeps at night. A damn sight better with you by his side, no doubt.’

  ‘Why, you arrogant’

  ‘I need to go and catch some criminals to keep the defence lawyers in luxury,’ he snapped. ‘Let me know if you get anything from Josie Hayden.’

  He jumped in his car, had a brief view of Jill scowling as she marched back to her car, and sped off.

  Scott Williams? What the hell did she see in a smooth, conceited prat like him? Perhaps he was a stud in the bedroom.

  Max wished that thought had lain dormant.

  Chapter Eight

  When Jill stopped her car outside Lower Crags Farm, she was still fuming. What right had Max to offer an opinion? She was free to spend her time with anyone she chose. If she and Max had still been living together, then maybe, just maybe, he would be entitled to give his views. But they weren’t living together. And why weren’t they living together? Because he’d leapt into bed with Miss Young-and-Very-Attractive at the first opportunity.

  And he had the audacity t
o pass sarky comments on her sex life.

  She could sleep with half the population of Harrington or Kelton Bridge – or indeed the whole of Lancashire – and it was still none of his damn business. How dare he be so arrogant as to assume that it was?

  ‘Bastard!’ she muttered, giving her car door a hefty slam.

  She strode across the yard to the front door, took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, lifted the knocker and dropped it against the wood.

  Josie Hayden opened it before the sound had even died away. The poor woman looked on the point of collapse.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no news,’ Jill said quickly, ‘but I was wondering if I might have another word.’

  ‘Come in,’ Josie said. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’

  Jill followed her into the kitchen. The table in the centre of the room was well worn, and the cupboards were old and free-standing, but everything was spotlessly clean. There wasn’t so much as an unwashed cup to be seen.

  The window at the sink overlooked the driveway and Jill guessed that the poor woman had spent hours at that window, waiting and hoping.

  ‘Is everyone at work today?’ she asked and Josie nodded.

  Josie was wearing her hair tied back and a dress that had once been a dark blue but had been washed so many times that it had faded to grey. Jill supposed that if her own child was missing, she wouldn’t care how she looked, either. If it were Ben or Harry, she’d be out of her mind. She had no idea how Max would cope.

  Not that she had any intention of thinking about him.

  She made small-talk as they waited for the kettle to boil and the tea to brew.

  ‘Sit down and join me,’ she suggested, taking a place at the table.

  With reluctance, Josie sat down. It was clear, however, that she didn’t like sitting still. Those long, bony fingers kept tugging at a thread on the sleeve of her dress. The skin around her bitten fingernails looked raw.

  Jill reached for her hand, as much to stop her pulling at that thread as anything else.

  ‘Josie,’ she said slowly, ‘if you know anything at all, you must tell us. Was something worrying Martin? Has something happened? Has he had a fight with his father? You must tell us, you know that.’