Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

  ‘You knew Lauren well?’

  ‘At one time I thought I did.’ She sighed. ‘But children grow up, don’t they? Seeing her shouting at her dad, swearing at him even – it was like seeing a stranger in the house.’

  ‘Did they argue a lot?’

  ‘He didn’t. Lauren was always short of money and she kept trying to persuade her dad to lend her some. Or give her some. Usually, he handed it over. A bit of a foolish thing to do I thought but who am I to say? He’d always try and talk some sense into her though and that’s when the young madam would fly off the handle at him. The language she used made me blush, I can tell you.’

  Max sipped at his tea, more than willing to let her talk.

  ‘I’ll tell you something else,’ she said in a confidential tone. ‘A couple of times, I saw her and a young man visit the house. They hadn’t called to see Vince because it was in the middle of the day when they’d have known he was at work. Both times, they were only in the house a couple of minutes. Now, the day after I saw them the last time, I happened to notice that a pair of silver candlesticks weren’t where they should have been. He had a bit of silver did Vince. He attended classes and made stuff himself. Anyway, I used to clean it. He was quite fussy about that. So, like I said, I noticed those candlesticks had gone and mentioned it to him.’

  ‘And was he able to tell you where they were?’

  ‘Well, it was funny that. He looked at the table where they should have been, and seemed quite surprised. Then he said he remembered. He’d taken them to have them valued.’

  Max wondered why none of this had come out before. Sometimes the only thing you could do to drag information from people was sit and drink tea with them and let them talk.

  ‘Did he get them valued?’ Max asked, guessing the answer. ‘Did you see them again?’

  ‘Never. I couldn’t swear to it, of course, but I always thought that little madam had pinched them.’

  ‘The young man you saw with Lauren on those occasions, what was he like?’

  ‘I never saw his face. He had one of those hood things on. You know the sort I mean, like a jumper but with a hood?’

  ‘I know the sort you mean.’ The same as worn by the man Tony Swift had seen running down the road.

  ‘Although,’ she said, ‘I did see Lauren in town with him once. At least, I’m fairly certain it was the same one. It was back in the summer. He had a shaved head. You know how they have it these days? They used to call them skinheads years back.’

  A shaved head. They weren’t talking about Ricky Marshall then.

  ‘Would you recognize him if you saw him again?’ he asked.

  ‘The one in town? Possibly. I don’t know really. And as I said, I’m not even sure it was the one who came to the house with her. I think it was, but it’s hard to tell.’

  Their tea was drunk and Max decided to get her across the road while she was in a calmer state of mind.

  ‘Shall we go and see what’s what over the road then, Mrs Hollingsworth?’

  She gave Vincent Cole’s house a swift look as if she expected all sorts of demons to be lurking behind its walls.

  ‘If we must,’ she replied, resigned.

  They left her bungalow and walked slowly across the road to Vincent Cole’s house.

  Max went straight to the sitting room. She followed, and her gaze, as Max had guessed it would, went straight to the old ceiling beams.

  ‘Right,’ she said, shaking herself. ‘Let’s see.’

  She walked to the large mahogany sideboard, pulled open the doors and looked inside. Then she spun round to face him. ‘Have you lot moved stuff?’

  ‘No. Why? Is something missing?’

  ‘A large silver rose bowl. And a chess set. I can’t think what it was made from, but it was a gift from a friend of his in South America and I think it was valuable. They should be here. Of course, Vince could have put them somewhere else, I suppose.’ She looked up at him. ‘I can’t imagine why he’d do that though, can you? It would make no sense at all.’

  Max wished he could remember the last time anything had made sense.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Frank Carlisle walked round the corner into the driveway of Mason’s Cottage, and was relieved to see that there was no sign of his daughter-in-law’s car. With luck, she’d be working. He guessed it would take more than her husband’s release from a police cell to stop Alison earning commission.

  As he knocked on the door, he wondered if every father did that. Frank had three other children and, when visiting their homes, he simply walked round to the back door, pushed it open and shouted out to announce his arrival. They didn’t mind. If they’d considered it an invasion of their privacy, they would have said so.

  There was no response so he knocked again. He was about to turn round and go home when his son’s dog ambled into view.

  ‘Hello, Cally. Is he round the back?’

  Frank walked up the path between house and garage, and saw Steve shovelling snow from the patio.

  When his son straightened, Frank realized that Ruth hadn’t been exaggerating. She’d called in yesterday afternoon and said he’d looked worse than she’d ever seen him. Frank had dismissed her concerns. After all, he’d only been released a few hours.

  ‘Give him a good night’s sleep in his own bed,’ Frank had told her, ‘and he’ll be as right as rain.’

  A night’s sleep had done nothing to help, it seemed.

  ‘This is a surprise, Dad. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Yes. Just thought I’d call and see how you are. Is Alison working?’

  ‘She is, yes.’

  As they spoke, Cally nuzzled Frank’s hand. Even the dog seemed sad.

  ‘I’ll get myself a spade,’ Frank said. ‘We’ll soon have this cleared.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. It can wait.’

  ‘Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today,’ Frank said, heading down the garden to the shed. ‘I’m not totally buggered yet, you know,’ he called over his shoulder.

  He found a spade and was soon working alongside Steve.

  ‘It’s a cheap way of keeping warm,’ he said, enjoying the exercise.

  ‘It is, but don’t do your back in, Dad.’

  ‘I’m used to digging on the allotment,’ Frank reminded him, ‘and this is nothing. I remember when the snow was up to the – what?’ he asked, spotting Steve’s smile. ‘Ah, you’ve heard that before, haven’t you?’

  ‘A few times, Dad.’

  It was good to see Steve smile, but it didn’t take the dark shadows from his eyes. The lad must have been to hell and back.

  Frank felt guilty as they quietly cleared the snow. He should be supporting Steve, not bringing him bad news. But he’d come here determined to have some straight talking. If they were closer as a family, if they said what was on their mind, maybe Steve would never have been in this mess.

  ‘It’s not often we see you here,’ Steve remarked after a while.

  ‘It’s not. To be honest, I can’t say as I’ve ever felt particularly welcome.’

  ‘I know, Dad, and I’m really sorry about that.’

  The apology hurt, and Frank wished he’d kept quiet. But what was the point? Families didn’t keep quiet. They didn’t keep feelings to themselves for fear of hurting one another.

  ‘So where’s Alison today?’ Frank wasn’t interested but he felt the need to make conversation.

  ‘The company’s holding an exhibition in Liverpool. Today and tomorrow. She’ll be back on Saturday morning.’

  ‘Liverpool?’ Frank scoffed. ‘Can’t she drive home from there?’

  ‘She has customers to entertain in the evening, Dad. You know how it is.’

  Frank knew exactly how it was and he very much doubted if customers would be entertained.

  Cally, not a fan of the outdoor life, took herself off to the shed. She’d find a warm spot and settle down to sleep.

  ‘I bet you’re glad to be home?’ Frank said
quietly, and Steve nodded.

  ‘More than you’ll know. It was a bit – worrying.’

  ‘I daresay it was.’

  ‘In future I’ll only buy logs by the load and, instead of walking Cally over the hills, I’ll walk her through the village.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You can’t let something like this change you.’

  ‘But it does.’ He gave Frank a weak smile. ‘So what have you really called in for?’

  Such directness took Frank by surprise. It shouldn’t have. When you didn’t feel welcome, you didn’t visit unless you had to.

  ‘How are you and Alison getting on?’ he asked, hedging around the subject.

  ‘The same as ever.’ Which didn’t answer the question. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Damn it, Frank had come with the intention of telling his son the truth and he was determined not to leave until he’d done just that. Maybe it wasn’t his place to say anything. God knows, he’d never interfered in his children’s lives before. But Alison had no right to cheat or lie.

  ‘I saw her,’ he confided, wishing his voice was a little stronger. ‘About six weeks back. I was in the car with Bill going to Burnley. Alison was in the car in front of us. She stopped at the lay-by, left her car and went to someone else’s, someone who was waiting for her. She kissed him.’ He realized he’d been holding his breath and he exhaled. ‘It wasn’t the sort of kiss she’d give a friend either.’

  There, it was said.

  He waited for some reaction from Steve, but there was nothing. The haunted look in his eyes didn’t change. The shoulders didn’t droop any lower.

  ‘I see,’ was all he said.

  ‘You knew?’ Frank asked.

  ‘No. But I’m not surprised.’

  A blackbird landed on the snow-covered wooden bench about a yard from them. Perhaps it thought they were digging for worms. The ground was frozen too hard for beaks to drag out food, but there was plenty in the garden. Seeds, nuts and fat balls hung from the trees.

  ‘Does Mum know?’ Steve asked.

  ‘I haven’t told her, no.’

  ‘Probably best not to,’ Steve said. ‘You know how she worries.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  They smiled at that, and carried on clearing snow in a silence that, surprisingly, wasn’t uncomfortable.

  ‘Don’t worry about things,’ Steve said after a while. ‘I’ve done a lot of thinking. I’ve realized what’s important and I’m going to sort things out. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.’

  ‘I’m glad. And I’m sorry if I was wrong to tell you about Alison. I just had to and that’s all there is to it. It was on my mind. I don’t like cheats.’

  ‘Who does?’

  ‘And at a time like this—’

  ‘It’s all right, Dad. Don’t worry about it.’

  Their spades clanged against the paving slabs as they worked, and the patio was soon clear. ‘Time to put the kettle on,’ Steve said, and Frank nodded.

  It was a long time since he’d felt so close to his son.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  That evening Jill sat in on the briefing. Given the mood Max was in, she soon wished she hadn’t. He was snapping at everyone. He wasn’t getting answers and patience had never been one of his virtues. He looked stressed, too. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and his tie had been loosened.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘The guy wearing the hoody who was seen running down Longman Drive on Monday night is our number one priority. If he’s the same person Mrs Hollingsworth saw, he’s visited the house with Lauren and knows his way around.’

  ‘We’re getting CCTV checked in the area,’ someone said.

  ‘Good. And we need to speak to everyone who might have known Lauren. Her diaries haven’t given us anything yet. Make sure every number is checked and double checked.’

  Jill knew they’d checked those numbers. Most entries consisted of an initial, maybe two, and a mobile number. The mobiles had long gone and it was proving almost impossible to get details of past owners.

  ‘Ask her flatmate again,’ Max said. ‘She might know of someone fitting an admittedly vague description. Speak to Ricky Marshall again. It might be worth talking to Father Gosling again, too. Perhaps he saw Lauren with someone wearing a hoody.’

  ‘What about the mysterious Josh?’ Jill asked. Have you found him yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You need to,’ Jill said with certainty. ‘If he was constantly on the phone to her, she knew him well. She would only take someone she trusted to her dad’s home.’

  ‘We’ve only her flatmate’s word that the bloke even existed,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘But surely you’ve checked Lauren’s phone?’

  ‘She changed her sim card,’ Max reminded her impatiently. ‘Now then –’ Dismissing Jill, he held up a sheet of paper.

  ‘This is the list of items missing from Vincent Cole’s home. It adds up to a fair sum. We need to ask around and see if someone’s tried to sell any of it.’

  Jill’s mind began to wander. If this hoody-wearing young man had killed Vincent Cole, it must stand to reason that he’d also murdered Lauren.

  He must have known of Lauren’s movements on the day in question. Had he also known Steve Carlisle’s? Had Lauren mentioned Steve to this person? Why? And in what context?

  ‘Given Lauren’s lifestyle,’ Max was saying, ‘it’s a fair bet that whoever stole these items is feeding a drug habit.’

  ‘What about the keys found on Lauren when she was murdered?’ Jill piped up.

  ‘One for her car and one for her flat,’ Max said, frowning to indicate she’d interrupted his train of thought.

  ‘But what about the key to her dad’s house? She’d called at her dad’s that morning expecting him to be out, right? So she must have had a key on her.’

  ‘We haven’t found it,’ Max said.

  ‘So it stands to reason the killer took it?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Nothing stands to reason,’ Max muttered. ‘All I can say is that we’re still looking for it.’

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘So, if we assume –’ She saw the look on Max’s face. ‘I know, I know. Assume nothing. But my guess is that Lauren and this unknown wearer of the hoody were stealing stuff from her dad’s place together. That means she knew him well and trusted him. Deep down, she was a good girl and she loved her dad so—’

  ‘How do you figure that one?’ DS Fletcher called out in amazement. ‘She was stealing from him. She had a row with him and stormed out on the morning she was killed. Not the sort of love I’d want.’

  ‘She was a bright, happy girl who was doing very well at school until her mother died,’ Jill reminded the room in general. ‘They were a close family and Mrs Cole’s death was devastating for both Vincent and Lauren. Lauren turned away from the church and her father. She began playing truant and left school instead of going to uni as her dad had expected and hoped. She got herself a job, but couldn’t stick at that. She mixed with people who were afraid of nothing, who were experimenting with drugs. She tried anything that might ease the pain. She would have craved love from her dad, but he was lonely, and too wrapped up in his own pain to give it. She tried to get money from him, another attempt to get some attention. She boasted to her flatmate that her dad would give her anything. She wanted to be loved, told people that she was loved. In truth, she was lonely. Her dog was well cared for because he was all she had. Recently, she’d returned to the church and she would have returned to her father, too. Given time to heal, she would have been a bright happy woman again.’

  She saw the smirks on their faces and heard a couple of whispered quips.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘was I stepping into the realms of psychology bollocks then? All I’m saying is that Lauren Cole loved her father. If she was allowing someone to steal from him, she would have known and trusted that person for a long time. It may be that she went to school with him even.’

  Max must have decided to humour her.
>
  ‘There might be something in that,’ he said, but he sounded doubtful. ‘Talk to everyone who knew her – those who’ve known her for years as well as more recent acquaintances.’

  ‘And I bet his name is Josh,’ she couldn’t resist adding.

  When the briefing was over, Jill was about to head to her office for her coat and then go home.

  ‘Jill, can I have word?’ Max called to her.

  ‘Yup.’ She walked over to him.

  ‘My office,’ he said, taking her by surprise.

  They walked along the corridor to his office.

  ‘Well?’ She was curious now.

  ‘You’re staying at my place tonight.’

  He perched on the edge of his desk and she could see he was waiting for an argument. Jill was too taken aback to give him one.

  ‘You what?’ she said.

  ‘You’re staying at my place.’

  ‘Blimey, quite the caveman, aren’t you? Why might I want to do that?’

  For answer, he moved a couple of files on his desk and produced a large black and white photograph.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  But she guessed that the hooded person in the photo might be fond of making late-night phone calls.

  ‘This person was outside your cottage. Now, I don’t suppose you get too many visitors wearing balaclavas, do you?’

  ‘Can’t say I do, Max.’

  She was trying to make light of it to cover her shock.

  ‘Was this taken by the camera near my front door?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, about five minutes before you got home last night.’

  So it hadn’t been a fox after all.

  ‘Right,’ she said, unable to think of anything more appropriate.

  ‘So,’ he said briskly, ‘we’ll call at your place so that you can pack a few things and collect the cats. We’ll leave your car there. That way, he might think you’re inside. We’ll get all the lights put on timers. Also, we’re going to set up a caravan in Mrs Johnson’s drive. From there, we should be able to see anyone trespassing.’