Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side

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Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side Page 9

by Shirley Wells


  ‘Jill Kennedy, Harrington CID.’ Harrington CID? Tsk. Phil Meredith would throw a fit. ‘I wanted to call and offer my condolences.’

  ‘You’d better come in.’ Sarah took a wad of crumpled tissues from her jeans pocket and blew her nose before showing Jill into the kitchen where the entire Hayden family was sitting around that well-scrubbed pine table.

  ‘I don’t want to intrude,’ Jill told them, ‘but I did want to offer my condolences. I’m so very sorry about Martin.’

  ‘Sorry won’t help, will it?’

  Jill hadn’t expected much more from George Hayden.

  ‘George, will you just stop it?’ Josie pleaded, a hint of steel in her voice that hadn’t been evident before.

  ‘Aye, I will at that. Come on.’ He gestured to his son. ‘There’s still work to be done, you know.’

  With that, he and Andy stomped out of the kitchen in their huge, heavy boots.

  ‘He’s upset,’ Josie apologized for him. ‘He didn’t mean to be so rude.’

  Jill would have liked to talk to George and Andy Hayden, but it wasn’t her job. Officially, she wasn’t even on the case. She could hardly demand that the two men answer her questions.

  They were both suspects in her eyes, despite having watertight alibis. She’d seen such alibis dissolve before. They might be upset, although it was difficult to spot, but they both gained from Martin’s death in some sick, perverted way. George might be able to forget that he’d brought up another man’s son, and Andy no longer had to live in his brother’s shadow.

  ‘It’s good of you to call,’ Josie added.

  It wasn’t good at all, and Jill knew a pang of guilt. On the other hand, Josie would want Martin’s killer found as much as she did.

  ‘How are you coping?’ Jill asked gently.

  ‘We’re coping.’

  Josie was a changed woman. Jill had expected her to crack under the strain, but no, she was showing a surprising strength. Perhaps, with the family falling apart around her, she was determined to hold them together.

  ‘What about you, Sarah?’ Jill asked. ‘You and Martin were very close, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She sniffed into those tissues. ‘Who did that to him? Eh? Who did it?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Jill admitted, ‘but we’ll find out.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Did Martin do drugs, Sarah, or anything like that? You were close to him. He’ll have told you things he wouldn’t tell his parents, wouldn’t he? Yes, I’m sure he would. When my sister and I were growing up, we always confided in each other.’

  ‘He’d have told me, yeah,’ she said, ‘but no, he weren’t doing drugs. He were too clever for that.’

  ‘Did he ever have a drink or a cigarette?’

  ‘Nah. Oh, I know there were a bottle of Dad’s wine found in his briefcase,’ she rushed on, ‘but it weren’t for him. He were planning to make this kid at school drunk on it.’

  ‘Do you know the kid’s name? A friend, was it?’

  ‘It weren’t no friend. Martin called him a little shit.’ She grimaced. ‘Sorry, Mum, but that’s what he called him. Fielding or something, his name were.’

  David Fielding. He was the boy who’d thought he and Martin were the best of friends.

  ‘Would you do me a favour, Sarah? I’d like to walk to where Martin used to catch the school bus. Would you show me the way?’

  Sarah looked at her mother and then shrugged. ‘If you like.’

  Any idiot could find their way along the road to the bus stop, and Jill had already been to the spot, but she wanted to talk to Sarah alone. She wasn’t the brightest of girls and, if she knew anything, it would come tumbling out.

  The farmhouse was a dark, sad building and it was always a relief to step outside. It was bitterly cold today and the sun wasn’t bothering to do much about that. A stiff breeze was blowing, too. All the same, it was good to step outside into the fresh air.

  ‘How’s your mum doing really?’ she asked as they set off up the drive.

  ‘OK,’ Sarah replied. ‘Better than any of us really. Dad’s took it hardest because Martin were his favourite.’

  ‘Didn’t they ever row?’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Dad used to go mad when Martin brought books home from school that Dad thought made him look like a sissy. Martin liked English that’s what he were planning to do at uni and his English teacher gave him a couple of books.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Dad threatened Martin with his belt if ever he brought home poetry books.’

  They reached the gate at the end of the drive. Sarah, who’d obviously been doing this since she was big enough, clambered over the gate. Jill, glad she’d worn trousers, did likewise.

  ‘What about sport, Sarah? Did Martin like that?’

  ‘Not really. He quite enjoyed tennis, but they didn’t do that very often. Me and him used to play tennis in the summer. We haven’t got a court or anything like that, but we used to play down in the orchard.’

  She began snivelling into her tissues again.

  ‘I can go on my own if this is too hard for you,’ Jill told her gently.

  ‘It don’t matter.’

  Jill couldn’t tell how the girl was feeling, but she suspected that coupled with the distress would be the high that comes with the death of a loved one. That high, with people rallying round, people making you the centre of attention, will usually last until after the funeral. It’s then that the grief really hits home.

  ‘Didn’t he like swimming?’ Jill asked. ‘I thought everyone loved to swim, and they’ve got a nice pool at the school.’

  ‘He didn’t mind swimming, but he hated the teacher. Reckoned he was a perv.’

  Along with everyone else by the sound of it. ‘Who was that? Mr Morrison?’

  ‘Yeah. Martin reckoned he stood and ogled the boys in their swimming trunks.’

  ‘He sounds a right creep.’

  ‘He is. Martin said ’ She broke off, looking embarrassed.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Nah, it’s rude. Martin were a right devil at times.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Well, he said that when he went into the pool, he always made sure he had um, an erection. A stiffy, he called it. He reckoned it drove the perv mad.’

  Jill smiled at that, but she couldn’t help thinking that Martin Hayden had been a dangerous boy to know. Dangerous enough to blackmail his PE teacher? Had Martin thought he was a pervert? Had he heard about those accusations?

  ‘Did he ever say anything to Mr Morrison about it?’

  ‘Nah, it were just a laugh.’

  Jill wondered if that was true.

  ‘The bus stops at the end of the road,’ Sarah said, pointing.

  ‘At the T-junction? That makes sense.’ There was no point making Sarah walk any further. ‘Let’s turn back then.’

  It was cold, but at least it wasn’t raining. For all that, the grass verges still squelched underfoot. It was a beautiful spot though, and hard to remember that the bustle of Harrington was only five miles away.

  ‘He bought me this,’ Sarah said, reaching up to reveal a gold necklace that had been hidden by her sweater. ‘Martin did. Nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s lovely.’ It was too showy for Jill’s taste, but it was gold, and heavy. ‘I bet it cost him a lot, too. He was one wealthy schoolboy.’

  ‘He’d got some money off someone,’ she explained, ‘and treated me. Out of the blue, it were.’

  ‘How lovely. I wish I knew that person,’ Jill said lightly.

  ‘Yeah, me an’ all.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he said who that person was?’

  ‘Nah. He told me I was best not knowing.’

  Probably very wise words.

  If it were any other boy, she would be convinced that someone would know the identity of the person who’d given him the money. Close friends would know. With Martin, she wasn’t so sure. He might have confided in Jason Keane, but she doubted it. Martin was one of those rare creatures who could keep
a secret.

  When they reached the farmhouse, Josie was sitting exactly where they’d left her.

  Perhaps Sarah found the sight of her mother too upsetting to bear as she quickly made an excuse to go to her room.

  ‘She’s a good girl,’ Josie said softly, when they were alone.

  ‘Yes.’ Jill sat opposite her. ‘How’s Andy taking it, Josie?’

  ‘He’s shocked, of course, but he’ll be OK. They were never close.’

  ‘Did they fight?’

  ‘No, it never came to that. They weren’t really close enough to quarrel. They went their separate ways and were happy like that.’

  ‘What about you and George? How are you getting along?’

  Josie grimaced at that. ‘He’ll speak to me in front of the kids. Other than that, he ignores me. He’s taken to sleeping in the spare room. We’ve told the kids that his snoring is keeping me awake.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s never been a demonstrative man so I don’t suppose the kids have noticed much different. Well, we’re all different at the moment, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘We’ll get over it,’ Josie told her. ‘People do, don’t they?’ Some did, some didn’t. When the loss of a loved one hadn’t even been faced for forty-eight hours, however, no one believed they would.

  As ever, Jill had the feeling that Josie knew a lot more than she was telling.

  ‘Have you heard from Brian Taylor?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  Surely, the boy’s natural father would have been in touch. Only a month ago, he’d been desperate to meet his son.

  ‘You haven’t contacted him to let him know what’s happened?’

  Josie shook her head.

  ‘He will have heard about it,’ Jill pointed out, ‘unless he’s managed to miss the TV and radio reports. I’m surprised he hasn’t been in touch.’

  ‘He didn’t bother for seventeen years,’ Josie said, her tone curt, ‘so I don’t suppose he’d bother now. What is it to him? Martin’s just a stranger to him.’

  She spoke in the present tense, Jill noticed, as if Martin was still alive. Perhaps she hadn’t accepted it yet.

  On the other hand, she’d been expecting to hear that he was dead. Wasn’t it supposed to be God’s idea of retribution?

  ‘Josie, who do you think did this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and there was a crack in her voice. ‘But I wish to God they’d taken me instead!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘You’re upset, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Geoff Morrison pushed past Alan and hit the button to switch on the kettle. ‘No, I’m not upset. I’ve had a hard day and I want a coffee. Is that OK with you?’

  Alan went into the lounge and, just to prove he was sulking, he switched on the vacuum cleaner.

  Geoff would go and make peace in a minute, but for now, he needed quiet. It was all right for Alan; he hadn’t had the police breathing down his neck half the day.

  A shiver crawled over his skin. All those questions. All those crude insinuations.

  He looked around the kitchen. There wasn’t a thing out of place. That was another sign all wasn’t well. Alan was tidy by nature, but if his world was turning smoothly, he worked on his music. If there was any emotional blip, he cleaned.

  There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen. All utensils were in their correct places. The kettle gleamed, as did the toaster. He could see his own reflection in the cooker’s glass door. Even the plants had had their leaves polished.

  Soon, Geoff guessed, he’d get the ‘I like to keep things nice for you’ routine. He wasn’t in the mood for it. Not tonight.

  He was supposed to get all he needed from this relationship. Sometimes, it seemed as if all he got was suffocated. At first, he’d been quite touched by Alan’s jealousy. Now, it had worn thin. He only had to look at another bloke, and sometimes he didn’t even have to do that, for Alan to start sulking. The sulking was usually followed by a blazing row unless Geoff managed to calm things down.

  As soon as he’d finished his coffee, he went upstairs and ran a hot bath. Alan, he knew, would be fuming at his lack of interest, but why the hell should he be the one to make things right all the time? Why couldn’t Alan make some effort for a change? Why couldn’t he trust him? He hadn’t even asked how his day had been. For God’s sake, he could have been arrested for all Alan knew or cared.

  He poured a generous dollop of oil in the water. It was supposed to aid relaxation. Geoff doubted it would work.

  He pulled off his clothes, letting them drop on the floor around him, climbed into the bath, and lay back with his eyes closed. All he could see was Martin Hayden laughing at him . . .

  He’d been shaking all day, long before those coppers had turned up to talk to him. Had they seen the way he’d been trembling?

  He was still shaking now. The bath water was as hot as he could stand it, yet he was still shivering. The longer he lay there, the more angry he became. On top of everything else, why should he have to put up with this crap from Alan?

  Lying in the hot water, he didn’t know whether to hurl something at the walls or burst into tears. He was an emotional wreck.

  The bathroom was spotless too, so there was nothing to hurl at the walls. Apart from his clothes lying in a heap on the floor. He could throw a bar of soap at the mirror, but that wouldn’t help matters.

  Every muscle in his body ached from the tension. He’d like to go for a long run, but that would annoy Alan even more. Besides, at the moment, he’d rather stay close to home. There was no pleasure in running through the town centre. He liked to run through the park or out in the countryside, but if anyone spotted him, they’d assume

  Well, God knows what they’d assume.

  One thing was certain, he was safer at home.

  He lay in the bath for a full forty-five minutes and then, very reluctantly, climbed out. A towel wrapped around his waist, he gathered up his clothes, threw them in the laundry basket the empty laundry basket, he noticed and padded across the landing to the bedroom.

  When he was dressed, he stood at the window for a few moments, gazing out at the street. Their house was in a quiet cul-de-sac. Nothing was happening out there.

  From the orange glow given off by the street lights, he could see that the garden was a mess. It always was at this time of year. Other gardens in the road looked equally drab and lifeless. Except number three’s. It was the third of December and already they had a string of lights in a tree and a flashing reindeer standing on the lawn.

  He walked down the stairs, and put his head round the door of the lounge. Alan was reading the newspaper.

  ‘Do you want a coffee?’ Geoff asked.

  ‘No, thanks.’

  With a sigh, Geoff went to the kitchen and made one for himself. That was another thing; when Alan was in one of his moods, he never accepted a coffee. In five minutes, he’d go and very pointedly make one for himself.

  Geoff carried his coffee into the lounge and sat down.

  ‘How was your day?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine, thanks. Yours?’

  ‘Pretty crap, if you must know,’ Geoff told him, growing angry all over again by his short, snappy answers. ‘I had the police questioning me again.’

  Alan looked up, his interest piqued. ‘And?’

  ‘And it’s pissing me off,’ Geoff snapped. ‘I had the detective who’s been on the telly, and some bloody Geordie woman. Detective Sergeant Warne or some such name.’

  ‘Why are they picking on you?’ Alan asked. ‘Christ, how many people knew you had the hots for Hayden?’

  Geoff’s temper was about to snap.

  ‘I did not have the hots for Hayden,’ he said, speaking slowly and with exaggerated patience.

  ‘I saw you looking at him,’ Alan cried.

  ‘So I looked at him once. Bloody hell, that’s not a crime, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s not a crime,’ Alan said coolly. ‘
It’s just not very nice when you’re supposed to be with me. How would you like it if I eyed up every bloke in the vicinity? I suppose it wouldn’t bother you, would it? Let’s face it, you’ve never been as committed to this relationship as I have.’

  That did it.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Alan, shut up! If I looked at the kid, it was only because I was surprised to see him there. Martin Hayden in a gay club? Come on. I’ve told you before, he was a pretentious, arrogant tosser. I had no interest in him whatsoever. None.’

  ‘He had plenty of interest in you,’ Alan retorted. ‘I saw the way he looked at you.’

  ‘He did not!’

  ‘He did. He would have been all over you the next time he saw you. When I wasn’t around.’

  ‘But he never saw me again, did he?’

  ‘No. And now you’re upset because he’s dead.’

  ‘I’m upset, if that’s what you insist on calling it, because the coppers are hounding me.’

  ‘Big deal. You know they can’t touch you. And why? Because yours truly lied through his teeth and said you were here with me.’

  Geoff stood at the window staring out into the darkness. His heart was pounding with anger. Or perhaps it wasn’t all anger. Perhaps he was being too hard on Alan. After all, he had lied to the coppers. He’d said he had been with him that morning until eight forty, long after Martin Hayden’s bus had left without him. If Alan had told the truth, that Geoff had left the house at seven so that he could go for a run before the school day started, he’d really be in the shit.

  ‘Don’t take it out on me,’ Alan said. ‘You asked me to lie to the police for you, and I did. For all I know, you could have been meeting ’

  ‘I wasn’t meeting anyone,’ Geoff said on a weary sigh. ‘I don’t want anyone else. I’m not interested.’

  ‘Really?’

  Geoff was growing to hate that pathetic whine. ‘Yes, really. I’ve told you a million times.’

  He heard the sofa creak. A second later, Alan’s hand was resting on his shoulder.

  ‘Let’s give it a rest, shall we? Let’s lighten up?’

  Geoff sighed. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘We could go out for a drive,’ Alan suggested, his voice soft and suggestive. ‘You keep your hands on the wheel. I’ll let mine wander.’

 

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