‘He was just a kid then,’ Barbara said in her son’s defence.
‘But after the accident he started taking it. He thought it was helping him recover. In mind, at least.’
‘Do you know where he got it from?’ Easton asked.
‘No. He never told me.’
‘But you know he started dealing too?’ Dani said.
Matthew shook his head, in shame, perhaps? ‘He’s my son. It’s my job to know. He had more money than he had any right to have, given his low-level jobs. It had to be coming from somewhere.’
‘Did you ever find out where?’
‘No. And that’s the truth. I’ve no reason to lie about that.’
Dani nodded. She believed him.
Over the next few minutes the conversation trailed off. Dani tried asking the same questions in different ways, hoping for a different, and more useful answer, but the Reeves remained steadfast in not giving away anything more about their son’s criminality. They had no reason to hold back, Dani ultimately decided, figuring it was time to move on. They also said they had never heard of Grace Agnew or Natalya.
‘Just one more thing before we leave you,’ Dani said. ‘Have you ever heard of Jimmy Colton?’
‘Jimmy Colton?’ Matthew said, his face screwed in confusion. ‘Why?’
‘We believe he may be an acquaintance of your son’s.’
‘You think he might be the one who did this?’
‘We don’t know yet. Have you heard that name?’
‘No,’ Matthew Reeve said, before looking to his wife for confirmation. She shook her head. Their reaction to the name seemed genuine enough.
Dani checked her watch. ‘I think we should probably get out of your hair. Unless there’s anything else?’
Dani knew she and Easton didn’t have any further appointments to get to, but she sensed they’d pushed enough. The Reeves’ lack of response to Dani’s question gave their answer, and Dani and Easton were soon back in the car, heading towards Birmingham.
‘Well the Reeve house is one unhappy place to be,’ Easton said.
‘You think they were being straight with us?’
‘Straight-ish. They probably know more about their son’s problems than they’re letting on, but I don’t think they’re holding back to be deliberately obtrusive.’
‘Yeah. I felt the same. And I’d say they’ve never heard of those women before, nor Jimmy Colton.’
Did that suggest Jimmy really was just an alias of Reeve’s rather than a real person? Maybe, maybe not.
‘We’ve already got Reeve’s mobile phone, right?’ Dani asked.
‘Yeah. Recovered at the crime scene. There was also a tablet and a laptop there.’
‘Good. We need to scour through his records, dig as far as we can into his life. His friends, his contacts. See who’s in the mix that shouldn’t be. Remember, he’s our murder victim, but we also have to treat him as what he is; a criminal who’s linked to the death of one woman and the disappearance of another.’
‘You think that’s what he is?’ Easton said. ‘Not just a victim but a suspect too?’
‘Maybe he killed Natalya. Maybe Grace Agnew too, but one thing is clear, he didn't kill himself. Regardless of Reeve’s role here, there’s still at least one other party out there we need to identity and find. Reeve was a dealer. That’s an angle we have to cover.’
‘Do you think there really is a Jimmy Colton too? If so, he could be our guy.’
‘I honestly don’t know. But you can be damn sure that I’m going to find out.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Grant arrived back home not long after six p.m. The game of golf had taken the four men through until lunchtime, and afterwards they’d settled in the bar for the obligatory stodgy food and pints of beer. Grant’s day had never quite recovered from his tantrum on the twelfth – either in a golfing or a social sense – but he’d had little choice than to tag along after the game; it was that or call a taxi home, which almost certainly would have been a questionable move in the other players’ eyes. He decided instead to suck it up and try and make the day as least bad as he could.
It was fair to say he hadn’t particularly warmed to either of Francis’s friends much. Baxter was a seriously cantankerous man who Grant failed to hold any sort of relaxed conversation with, and Wilander’s head was so far up his own arse he must surely be forever eating his own shit. Francis, for all of his laddish bravado, was actually the one that Grant had felt most at ease with. Which was quite a turn-up, given how Grant had felt towards his neighbour at the start of the day.
‘We play every Wednesday,’ Francis said as they were pulling into his driveway. ‘Sometimes at the weekend too if there’s a tournament or social going on. You’re always welcome.’
‘No. Thanks for offering, but I think I need a few more lessons before I put myself through that again.’
When the engine shut off, Grant opened his door, got out, and went around to the back of the car.
‘You just need to relax and enjoy it more,’ Francis said, coming around from the driver’s side. He clicked a button on his key fob that sent the boot lid gliding effortlessly and silently into the air. ‘None of us is that good, really.’
‘Yeah, I’ll let you know,’ Grant said.
He pulled his clubs from the Range Rover’s cavernous boot, slung the heavy bag over his shoulder, said goodbye to Francis then lugged his gear across the street back to his house. When he reached the front door he slapped the bag down onto the gravel and headed inside. He’d put the clubs away later, he just wanted to get inside and slump down for a while.
Before he’d finished taking his shoes off his attention was caught by the sound of giggling in the kitchen. He looked over at the shoe rack and noticed a pair of three-inch stilettos there, with fancy sequins along the straps. They weren’t Mary’s or Annie’s. Unless one of them had been on an impromptu shopping spree.
‘Mary, I’m home,’ Grant called out.
‘In here, Steven,’ she called out, followed by more muted laughter.
Grant walked through to the kitchen. Mary was there, standing over the breakfast counter with a cocktail glass in her hand filled with pink liquid. She was all glammed-up in a knee-length skirt and silk blouse, her hair neatly coiffed, her lips a cherry red and her eyes dark with make-up that nearly covered her bruise.
She wasn’t alone. Sat at one of the breakfast stools was a similarly dolled-up woman. Actually, no, she was even more dolled-up than Mary. The make-up on this woman’s face was thick, almost like paint, her lips so bright they could act as a beacon, and the figure-hugging top she was wearing revealed several inches of buxom bust that was over-spilling onto the marble counter.
‘Darling, this is Julie Francis. Ed’s wife.’
‘Hello, Steven,’ Julie slurred.
Grant nodded and smiled. He was certain that wasn’t their first drink of the day.
‘Did you boys have fun?’ Mary asked.
‘Not as much as fun as you two have had, by the look of it,’ Grant said.
‘Oh, stop being such an old stiff,’ Mary said, taking a glug of her cocktail. ‘Come and have a drink.’
‘Why not?’ he said. He took a seat next to Julie and felt her eyes on him.
‘Mary tells me you’re a professor,’ she said.
Grant looked up at Mary who smiled before setting about making his drink.
‘I am,’ he said.
‘You must be damn clever then,’ Julie said.
‘That’s one way to describe it. And what do you do, Julie?’
‘Oh, you know, this and that.’
Grant really didn’t know, but he didn’t say. And he wasn’t that interested, even though it did intrigue him that, like her husband, she’d given such a vague answer about her profession, if she had one at all.
‘Seems like you two have had a good day,’ Grant said.
‘We have,’ Mary said, reaching over and passing him the cocktail.
<
br /> Grant took a sip of the drink, which was pretty much pure gin with a smidgen of overly sweet mixer. His eyes watered. On top of the beer he’d already drunk, this was certainly going to make for an interesting evening.
‘Julie came over this morning,’ Mary explained. ‘She was bored at home on her own. She suggested we get some girly pampering.’
‘You men were treating yourselves so why shouldn’t we?’
That explained the make-up and hair, and the glittering and polished nails that Grant saw both of them had. Quite when the day of pampering had turned into a binge-drinking fest, Grant wasn’t sure, but both women were happily slurring their words, and he was pleased that Mary was relaxed and less tense than she had been recently. He’d long got used to her wild mood swings, from way up high to rock bottom, a long-standing problem of hers but one which was exacerbated by Ethan’s recent behaviour. Unfortunately, that meant that recently there had been far more lows than highs.
‘Sounds like that was a good idea,’ Grant said. ‘You both look great by the way. Bottoms up.’
He held his drink out and the three of them chinked glasses. Julie knocked back the rest of her glass then checked her jewel-encrusted designer watch. Whether the jewels were real or cheap knock-offs Grant didn’t know, but it was ostentatious bling regardless. Like husband, like wife.
‘Look at the time, Mary. I’d better get back to babs. He’ll be wanting a foot massage after all that walking about chasing balls.’
‘Yeah, Mary,’ Grant said. ‘How about that?’
‘Ha, think again,’ Mary said. ‘Haven’t you got any work to do today at all?’
‘No rest for the wicked.’
Mary set her drink down and guided Julie out of the kitchen. Grant watched them both sauntering and swaying away. Julie turned and looked at him coyly before she moved out of sight. He heard more giggling from the hallway before the front door finally opened and then closed, and Mary returned to the kitchen.
‘That was different,’ Grant said.
‘Tell me about it.’
‘She seems… nice.’
‘She’s mad,’ Mary said. ‘But a lot of fun.’
‘That’s one way to describe it.’
‘Yeah, well you can fix your eyes back in your head now, Steven.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked, feeling his cheeks flush.
Mary looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
‘Where else was I supposed to look?’
‘How about at me?’
Mary twirled around and blew a kiss at Grant.
‘Yeah, when you put it like that.’
Grant got up from his stool and moved over to Mary. She turned away from him and he put his arms around her waist and pressed his lips against the back of her neck. He saw her skin go goose-pimply when he lightly kissed her.
‘How was Ed?’ she asked.
‘Not as much fun as his wife, I’d say.’
‘You didn’t have a good time? Oh, Steven, you didn’t spoil it, did you?’
Grant said nothing. Was he that obvious?
‘That temper of yours.’
‘It wasn’t that bad. Actually Ed was surprisingly ok. Better than his mates at least.’
Grant kissed Mary on her neck again and she let out a satisfied sigh and pushed back so her body was tightly pressed against his.
‘So come on,’ Mary said. ‘What gossip did you get?’
‘Gossip?’
‘About Ed and his wife. What’s the story?’
‘I didn’t get any of that.’
‘Too busy talking about girls and cars no doubt?’
‘Something like that. Why do you ask, anyway?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s something odd about those two. She seems nice and all but… they’re a bit mysterious aren’t they? And the way she talked about Ed. I sensed it’s not all good over there. He sounds so controlling of her. I think she appreciated the chance to get out.’
‘Certainly looked that way to me.’
‘And he’s always so leery and staring when I see him. I really don’t know what he’s about.’
‘Who can blame him when he’s got such a gorgeous neighbour?’
‘Ha, keep working at it, Steven. What does he do, anyway?’
‘For a job? I have no idea.’
‘She doesn’t work at all. I just don’t get them.’
‘I reckon you’re overthinking this a bit, honey. I tell you what, I could really do with a shower. You want to come with me?’
‘I’ve just had my hair and my face done!’
‘Ok, well maybe afterwards we could…’ Grant kissed Mary again, more tantalisingly this time.
‘Not today,’ she said, swivelling around and pushing herself away.
Grant sighed.
‘Well, off you go then,’ she said, giving him a cheeky smile. ‘I’ll cook us some dinner.’
Grant was about to head off when Mary turned towards him.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘What’s that noise?’
‘What noise?’
‘Shouting. Outside.’
Grant stopped and listened. Sure enough, there was the faint but nonetheless clear sound of quite frenzied arguing. A man and a woman. Grant and Mary moved out of the kitchen and through to the dining room to look out the front.
Across the street, on the drive of the Francis’s house and in the glare of their security lights, Ed and Julie were in the midst of a raging slanging match. Francis’s face was creased in anger. Julie, her back to Grant, was waving her arms around in the air frantically as she gesticulated at her husband.
‘What the…?’
‘That poor woman,’ Mary said.
Julie spun around and, walking on one heel, hobbled away from Francis. She opened the door to the Range Rover and jumped in. Francis moved forwards to try to stop her but a second later the reverse light came on and the car swung viciously backwards in an arc, into the road.
‘She’s pissed as a fart,’ Grant said. ‘She’ll crash that damn thing.’
Tyres screeched and the Range Rover sped forwards. Francis, holding Julie’s other stiletto in his hand, rushed after it and flung the shoe at the escaping car. It harmlessly smacked against the back window. Francis didn’t give chase, just stood there huffing at the edge of his drive as his wife tore away in his pride and joy.
After a few seconds, his chest still heaving, Francis turned and glared over at the Grants’ house. His eyes moved to the dining room window where Grant and Mary were gawking.
Mary gasped and stepped back, pulling Grant with her, but neither of them could fully tear themselves away and they stood at what they hoped was a safe distance.
‘Can he see us?’ Mary asked.
Grant didn’t know, and he didn’t answer, just carried on staring over at his raging neighbour. After a few seconds more, Francis turned, stormed back to his house and slammed the door shut behind him.
‘I don’t think he’s getting that foot massage today,’ Grant said, not trying to hide his glee. At least now he wasn’t the only guy on the street whose dirty laundry had been aired in public.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Day 146
McNair is sitting by my hospital bed. I’m pissed off that she’s the one who’s come to see me. Not someone from the CPS, not one of the detectives who’s been involved in the case, but my own boss. As though the familiar face will make a difference to what I can remember.
‘Dani, do you understand what I’m saying to you?’ McNair asks.
‘Yeah. That you think there’s a chance my brother might get off.’
‘No. Not get off. We know he’s a killer. But the defence’s argument of diminished responsibility has some credibility. We just need to know if you can help. You know him better than anyone.’
‘Do I? Other than him coming for me and trying to crack my head open like an egg I remember jack shit. Don’t you understand? It’s gone. My brain is fucked. Whatever
you want from me, it’s not in there anymore.’
‘I know you’re struggling, Dani. But you taking the stand could help make sure he gets what he deserves. Just paint the picture: who he was, what he did. You knew him for years when he was hiding his secret. He killed Alice, his wife, your best friend, then got on with his life like nothing had happened.’
‘I’m well aware now of what he did. Clearly at the time I wasn’t.’
McNair sighs. ‘I know. Just think about it, yeah?’
She gets up from the seat, but pauses as she hovers over me as though she’s expecting me to have a sudden change of heart.
Of course, I don’t. Eventually she turns and leaves without either of us saying another word.
Later I’m sitting at a formica table in the assessment room, McNair’s visit still weighing heavy on my already tired mind. Greg, one of the neurologists, is next to me. Two large beakers are on the table. I’ve just separated all of the white plastic counters into one, and all of the black plastic counters into the other.
‘Very good,’ Greg says as he finishes scribbling a note on his pad. ‘Now again.’
He picks up a beaker in each hand and empties the counters onto the table, mixing them around with his hand.
I sit back in the chair and fold my arms. I’m tired. I’m bored. My head is raging, at Ben, at McNair. At Greg for making me do this, again. But I’m trying to keep it inside.
I look up. I see McNair standing across the other side of the room. I blink, thinking perhaps it’s just a hallucination. I know my brain plays tricks on me sometimes. No. This time I’m damn sure McNair is right there, watching me.
‘Dani? Let’s do it once more,’ Greg says. ‘See if you can beat your time again.’
‘Beat my time?’ I say, my focus still on McNair who’s staring at me like I'm her little experiment. Like she's analysing me to see what the craic really is. ‘It’s not a bloody Olympic sport. Who gives a flying fuck how fast I can do it?’
‘I do,’ he says, not at all moved by my aggressive response. ‘Please?’
‘No.’
‘This is the last time today. I promise.’
The Essence of Evil Page 15