Waterloo Sunset: A Lake District Mystery #4 (Lake District Mysteries)

by Edwards, Martin

  ‘God, no. I was warned to keep my distance, my first day on the job.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure. But they say he’s strange. He runs the building like his own personal empire. When we’re at work, he struts around like the Duke of bloody Edinburgh, inspecting the troops. And then there’s the way he goes on about murder.’

  ‘Murder? You mean forensics, crime scene stuff?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s obsessed with it. Crime scene stuff, forensics, you name it. See that book he is reading? One of the girls had a look at it last night. It’s about what happens when maggots make a breakfast out of dead bodies. Lovely.’ Her face darkened. ‘And when I think about Lee…’

  ‘He’s harmless, I’m sure.’

  ‘Last week, he told the supervisor he was reading the life story of the German cannibal killer. This bloke met someone on the internet and talked him into letting him eat his bits. I mean, can you imagine?’

  ‘I’d rather not.’ He savoured the bitter. ‘So tell me about yourself.’

  ‘Not much to tell.’

  ‘People always have something to tell. More than you might imagine. Let’s start with your second name.’

  ‘It’s Paget. Gina Paget.’

  ‘How long have you been cleaning?’

  ‘Since January. From ten in the morning, I work in a sandwich bar in Covent Garden. We finish at three and then I start cleaning. I do an hour at a travel agent’s and then I’m due at John Newton House.’

  ‘Busy schedule.’

  ‘I need to pay the bills, same as everyone else.’

  ‘And Lee Welch was your closest friend?’

  ‘It doesn’t say much for either of us, I suppose. We’ve only known each other eighteen months.’

  ‘So you didn’t meet at school?’

  ‘I’d guess Lee spent even less time at school than me. She was a Scouser born and bred too, but we met in London, would you believe? Soho, actually.’

  ‘Dare I ask what you were doing in Soho?’

  She drank some vodka and lime. ‘Let’s just say she and I discovered we both shared the same dream. We wanted to be actresses and we met at an audition.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Not what we were led to believe, that’s for sure. This pervy bloke and his mates said they wanted us to star in a movie. Porn, of course. I’m not proud of it. But Lee and I hit it off. Two kids from Liverpool, trying to make it in the big bad city. We found we had a lot in common, and not just that our mothers both sold cigarettes in the Co-op. For a few months we shared a flat.’

  ‘And the film career didn’t work out?’

  ‘My only starring role was as Harriet Houdini, would you believe? I was an escapologist who was tied up by a master criminal while my co-star was tortured to reveal government secrets. You’ll get the idea if I tell you he was cast as James Bondage.’

  Harry laughed. ‘So you both got out alive?’

  ‘But stark naked, needless to say.’ She grinned. ‘Oh well, it was a life experience. Last Christmas, Lee and I came back to Liverpool. We thought there might be less competition up here. We knew we could pick up cleaning work and stuff like that to earn a few quid while we traipsed round the agencies. Waiting for a break.’

  ‘And you’re closer to family?’

  ‘Makes no difference, that wasn’t why we came back to the north. Lee’s parents were dead, her older sister works for the social services. My mum and dad split up when I was a kid and he emigrated to Australia. Mum’s dead now and the old feller might as well be for all I know or care.’

  ‘I suppose the sister identified Lee’s body?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

  ‘Did she have boyfriends?’

  ‘Plenty. They couldn’t get enough of Lee, she had more touch-sensitive features than the latest mobile. But whenever anyone got too serious, she gave them the elbow. Said she was too young to settle down. What she meant was, she was looking for a man with money. Of course, blokes like that are always married and only looking for a bit on the side.’

  ‘Did she find a man with money?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Lee loved being a woman of mystery, it gave her a kick. She enjoyed having secrets, hugging them to herself.’

  ‘What sort of secrets?’

  ‘If I knew that, they wouldn’t be secrets, would they? All I can tell you is that she had a secret, there was something she wasn’t telling me.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘For the past few weeks, she kept dropping hints that things were looking up. The moment I showed any interest, she changed the subject.’

  ‘Was she doing it just to amuse herself? Make herself seem important?’

  ‘I suppose so. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeming bothered. But she did start spending money. The sort of money she’d not had before.’

  ‘You think this might have had something to do with her death?’

  ‘How can it? Sounds like she was killed by some maniac. Another woman was murdered a few weeks back, wasn’t she? So it was nothing—personal. Not that it makes things better. People are saying there’s a Liverpool serial killer. Some of the Lithuanian girls say they’d be safer going back home. Poor Lee. To think she would finish up…’

  She started to sniffle. He rested his arm on her shoulder and she buried her face in his jacket.

  ‘I do hope you’re not causing this young lady distress, Harry?’

  The words were spoken lightly, but all of a sudden the temperature had plunged to freezing. Harry disengaged himself from Gina and turned to face Juliet May. She was standing in front of the booth, accompanied by a tanned, bulky man. For all his cream suit and bling, his cold eyes reminded Harry of the soulless Borg in the mural of Star Trek. This was someone Harry hadn’t seen for a long time and had hoped not to encounter again. His new landlord, Casper May.

  ‘Evening, Juliet.’

  ‘Evening. You’ve met my former husband before, I think?’

  Harry nodded. Casper didn’t react.

  ‘Harry’s a partner in the law firm that’s moved into John Newton House. Crusoe and Devlin, remember, there was a time when I helped with their marketing?’

  A grunt. ‘I’ve used Jim Crusoe.’

  Juliet’s perfume spiced the air. Although it was early, Harry realised that she’d already had a few drinks. ‘You do use rather a lot of people, don’t you, darling?’

  Next to him, Gina stiffened. Harry noticed her glance from Juliet to Casper, trying to fathom what was going on. Harry wished he knew.

  Juliet’s arched eyebrows said: she’s half your age, you must be out of your mind. Her voice was honey-smooth.

  ‘Well, Harry, aren’t you going to introduce us?’

  ‘Sorry. Gina Paget, this is Casper May and Juliet…’

  ‘May,’ Juliet said. ‘I haven’t changed my name since our divorce.

  ‘Gina, how lovely to meet you.’

  Juliet extended a slender hand. Exquisitely manicured, as ever, but could Harry detect a hint of not-quite-concealed age spots? ‘And what do you do, exactly?’

  The girl shook hands and treated the older woman to an all-innocence gaze.

  ‘As a matter of fact, Mrs. May, I’m an executive in the premises regeneration sector.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘So what’s the story with you and Mrs. May?’ Gina asked as Juliet and Casper strolled off in the direction of the restaurant and VIP lounge, accompanied by the theme to Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

  ‘Story?’

  ‘Why did she want to muscle into our conversation when her husband obviously couldn’t give two shits? Is she after your body, or what?’

  ‘My expense account couldn’t compete with Casper May’s.’

  ‘But she’s not married to him any more, is she? And what’s that all about anyway? Why divorce a bloke, then swan around posh bars with him?’

  ‘Juliet’s a lady with exp
ensive tastes. She likes the lap of luxury.’

  ‘She won’t be dropping into your lap, then?’

  ‘Not any time soon. Her boyfriend is some hunk who acts in a soap.’

  ‘I don’t get it. There’s something between you.’ She moved closer, scrutinising his face for clues. ‘Come on, I saw it in the way she looked at you. Like she’d been rummaging through a cupboard and found a pair of shoes she’d forgotten she ever had.’

  ‘Thanks for the ego boost.’

  ‘Listen, women like that are crazy about shoes. Can’t see it myself, give me a pair of Nike trainers any day.’

  ‘Women like that?’

  ‘You know. Glossy, upmarket. Women who can afford to spend a small fortune on a nip and tuck whenever something starts to sag or droop.’ A bitchy grin. ‘Shame about the trout pout. She looks as though she stuck her gob in a wasp’s nest.’

  He couldn’t help flinching.

  ‘Go on, then. Do you and Lady Muck have…a past?’

  He had no intention of telling her or anyone else about his affair with Juliet. Some doors needed to stay shut forever. ‘You’re a scary cross-examiner. More like leading counsel than a cleaning lady. Or, should I say, a premises regeneration executive?’

  ‘You liked that?’

  ‘Loved it.’

  ‘I couldn’t resist. Anyway, there’s your image to think about. It wouldn’t do for a respectable solicitor to get a name for buying drinks for humble cleaning ladies.’

  ‘Who said I’m respectable?’

  ‘Oh my God, are you denying it? Lee and I agreed, you can figure out everything you need to know about the people you clean for. I don’t mean earwigging at doors or snooping through their wastepaper baskets. It’s about the way they treat you.’

  ‘Tell me more about Lee.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What sort of woman was she? Did you like her?’

  ‘What do you mean? I told you, she was my closest friend!’

  Her voice became strident and a grey-haired man in the next booth with his arm round a fat girl in a very low-cut top looked round to see if anything was wrong. Harry glared and he turned back to contemplating his companion’s milky cleavage.

  ‘Sorry, Gina.’ His cheeks were burning. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘I mean, yesterday evening, you found me crying after I heard the news. I couldn’t take it in. And you ask if I liked her?’

  Protesting too much? ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No.’ She swallowed hard. He could see her mind working; he’d seen the same expression on a thousand clients’ faces. How much to say, how much to conceal? ‘You don’t need to apologise. I mean, you’re smarter than you look.’

  He waited, said nothing.

  ‘Matter of fact, you’re right. I never thought about it before. Because you should like your friends, shouldn’t you? Nothing else makes sense. And I did like her, most of the time, of course I did. But…she could be difficult.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Lee was ambitious. She told me that, every night since she was a kid, she’d dreamed of becoming an actor. And nothing was going to stop her. All she needed was a stroke of luck.’ Gina bowed her head. ‘Won’t happen now, will it?’

  ‘When did you find out Lee was dead?’

  ‘Shaz texted me yesterday afternoon. She was Lee’s supervisor. When I rang her back, she said the police had spoken to her and they had a preliminary ID. There was stuff in Lee’s handbag that told them who she was. And a payslip from the cleaning company.’

  ‘So whoever killed her didn’t rob her?’

  ‘Some money was taken, according to Shaz. And her Rolex.’ Gina’s face crumpled. ‘She was so proud of that watch, it was brand new.’

  ‘Not a fake?’

  ‘She said not. But most of her bits and pieces were left with…the body.’

  ‘Have the police talked to you?’

  ‘No reason why they should. There’s nothing I can tell them.’

  ‘You’re her friend.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything about the murder, do I? Anyway, Shaz didn’t give them my name. Cleaners and the police don’t mix. A lot of the girls work under false names. It’s the tax, you know.’

  He grinned. ‘And do you have an alias for the taxman?’

  She burst into a fit of the giggles. ‘Harriet Houdini, who else?’

  ‘Never thought I’d get to buy Harriet Houdini a vodka and lime. Care for another?’

  Her face was flushed, her voice growing louder. The alcohol had ironed out her inhibitions. ‘Trying to get me pissed so you can have your wicked way with me?’

  ‘Would you believe me if I said no?’

  She considered. ‘Know something? I think I would. Anyway, who cares? Same again.’

  When he came back from the bar, he caught sight of the grey-haired man in the next booth putting his hand up his girlfriend’s tent-like skirt. The man’s face had disappeared in his companion’s hair. Her eyes were fixed firmly on Tom Cruise.

  Gina asked, ‘You’re not seriously trying to get me pissed, are you?

  ‘No, promise. See, I’m on grapefruit juice already.’

  ‘Very restrained.’

  ‘I’m out later tonight.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Hot date?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘You’re not married, are you?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  She fingered the rim of her glass. ‘Mmmm. You don’t have the shifty look of a married man on the make. I could almost believe you’re interested in talking to me for the sake of it.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  She shot him a heard-it-all-before glance. ‘Not entirely true, though? I mean, why are you asking all these questions about Lee?’

  ‘Once upon a time, I was married, but my wife left me for another man. I always dreamed we’d get back together, but one night someone stabbed her to death.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘For a few days the police suspected me of killing her. I made it my business to find out why Liz died. It was a sad story. The reasons for murder usually are.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’ Her hand crept across the table to cover his. Her touch was soft and warm.

  ‘It was a long time ago. But ever since, I suppose I’ve been obsessed with murder. The people who commit it. And their victims.’ He withdrew his hand. ‘Hard to explain better than that. You probably think I’m as bad as Victor Creevey.’

  ‘Honest, you’re nothing like him.’

  He sipped his juice, the grapefruit sharp on his tongue. ‘The smart money says that Lee and Denise Onuoha were killed by the same man.’

  ‘Racing certainty, isn’t it?’ She gave a theatrical shiver. ‘Serial crimes…’

  ‘Does the name Aled Borth mean anything to you?’

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘I saw him reading the report which identified Lee this afternoon. The news seemed to shock him. As if her name meant something to him.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Around fifty, works as a cinema organist. Single, never been married, as far as I know.’

  ‘A loser?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason.’

  ‘Ever heard Lee speak about Borth?’

  ‘Never.’

  Her voice was flat and emphatic. He’d heard that tone so many times before in police interview rooms. She was holding something back about Lee, but he guessed that if he pushed too hard, she’d walk out and refuse to talk to him again.

  ‘You can’t protect her now, Gina. She’s beyond that.’

  She flushed. ‘You think I don’t realise? I’ve never heard of Aled Borth, let’s leave it at that.’

  ‘Okay. Sorry, I know it’s hard, the loss of someone you were close to. Whatever their faults, however angry they made you feel.’

  She shook her head. Not listening, following her thoughts. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, would you? I
t was Lee’s idea to come back to Liverpool. She said if we weren’t careful, we’d finish up on the game, working to keep a gang of Albanian pimps in cocaine. Lee said we’d be safe back home.’ Gina turned to him, her pretty face twisted with pain. ‘How fucking wrong can you be?’

  ***

  The Waterloo Alhambra was a mock-Moorish palace shoe-horned between a car repair workshop and a doctor’s surgery in a narrow street that ran down to the waterfront. Harry contemplated the ornate carved red brickwork and the elegant columns, mentally transporting himself to the sun-splashed hills and terraces of Granada. The illusion was shattered by a slap of wind from the Irish Sea and the smells from a kebab house half a dozen doors away.

  Built in the days of Cecil B. De Mille by an architect with a similar fondness for the epic, the Alhambra had shut its doors when movie-going fell out of fashion in the seventies and suffered an inglorious reincarnation as a bingo hall and bar. When the owners called time on bingo, a group of enthusiasts had set up a charity to lease the premises and restore the Alhambra to former glories. Five years later, to everyone’s amazement, including their own, the venture flourished. Sidney Rankin, the chairman of trustees, and universally known as El Sid, was a friend of Harry’s from days when they’d played together in the same student football team. Sid had recommended Aled Borth to consult Harry for legal advice, something all three of them had come to regret.

  In the foyer, Sid’s favourite song was playing. He’d picked it as a signature tune for the Alhambra after reading somewhere the—no doubt apocryphal—story that Ray Davies had been inspired to write the lyric by the Mersey, not the Thames, as everyone thought.

  ‘But I don’t need no friends,

  As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset,

  I am in paradise.’

  From a vantage point outside the bar, he spotted Ceri as she walked into the foyer. Green silk blouse and chiffon scarf around her neck, black trousers and sparkly sandals, casual chic for a summer evening. A couple of heads turned in her direction. She must be accustomed to attention, both in and out of court, but it didn’t seem to mean anything to her. Their eyes met and she smiled.

  ‘This place is amazing, isn’t it? Ten years I’ve lived in Merseyside and I’ve never come here once. I feel ashamed. Thanks for inviting me.’