by J. E. Mayhew
Mrs Pleavin was a small, mousey woman in every sense of the word. Her hair was a greying light brown and her eyes glittered with a nervousness that set Kinnear on edge. She sat on the edge of her armchair like she had no right to be there.
“Here she is,” Pleavin said, pointing at her. “She won’t be any use though. Not detective material, this one.” Mrs Pleavin gave a fleeting, injured smile and looked down at the mat that lay spread out in front of the fireplace.
“Hello, Mrs Pleavin, I’m DC Kinn…”
“I’ve told her who you are. Just get on with the questions,” Pleavin snapped. Kinnear raised an eyebrow. The man’s demeanour had completely changed. He was rubbing his hands together and one foot tapped rapidly on the carpet.
“So, Mrs Pleavin, I’m DC Kinnear from Merseyside Police. I wondered if you’d noticed anything unusual or suspicious in the last couple of weeks?”
Mrs Pleavin glanced over at her husband who gave a brief nod. “No,” she said. “Just the usual delivery vans coming and going.” Her face crumpled in disgust. “Especially to number four. They have a lot of stuff dropped off.”
“But nothing out of the ordinary?”
Mrs Pleavin shook her head. “It’s a quiet little spot, really. All this that’s happened, I’ve never known…” She sounded bewildered, which Kinnear could quite understand.
“And you don’t remember seeing any kind of cleaning company van or car? Anyone calling at the Taylors’ or to Jean Quinn’s?”
Again Mrs Pleavin shook her head. “We do keep a close eye on the place. Donald would have noticed anything untoward on his rounds, wouldn’t you, dear? I try to keep an eye out when he’s away but there’s so much to be done, keeping the house just so.”
Kinnear nodded. “And what days were you away over the last three weeks, Mr Pleavin?”
“I’m not sure,” Pleavin said, reddening a little. “There’d be the weekly Tuesday afternoon shopping trip. Then I’m out Wednesday morning for The Greasby Ramblers, it’s a walking group…”
“It’s good for you both to keep fit,” Kinnear said, smiling.
“I don’t go,” Mrs Pleavin said, and Kinnear realised that he didn’t even know her first name.
“She prefers to stay in the house, don’t you, dear?”
Mrs Pleavin gave a tight smile and seemed to shrink into the seat further.
“Just for the records, Mrs Pleavin, could I have your full name, please?”
“Helen,” she said.
Kinnear gave her a warm smile. “My favourite aunty is called Helen,” he said. “She used to spoil me rotten when I was a kid.”
Helen Pleavin’s face uncreased into a genuine grin, for a moment. She glanced over to her husband and Kinnear noticed a glint of mischief in her eye. “You haven’t told Mr Kinnear about Monday afternoons. Sometimes you go out on Monday afternoons, don’t you, Donald?”
The muscles in Pleavin’s jaw clenched. “Sometimes, yes,” he said. “I just go for a walk in the hills. North wales usually. Moel Famau. There are some great little rambles round there.”
“Even in the winter, Mr Kinnear,” Helen Pleavin said, her eyes fixed on her husband. “Comes back in the dark sometimes.”
“I’m sure the detective doesn’t want to hear about my adventures in the countryside, dear. That’s enough now.” There was an edge in Pleavin’s voice that Kinnear didn’t like.
“So, can I ask, Mr Pleavin. Helen mentioned your ‘rounds.’ What do these entail?”
Pleavin swallowed and stared at his slippers. “Well, I check everyone’s houses are secure…”
“So you check them front and back?”
“Usually. I make sure the houses are locked if people are out. Check if their windows are closed, keep an eye on garden sheds.”
Kinnear frowned. “And everyone is okay with this?”
Pleavin shrugged. “Mostly…” He looked up and saw Kinnear’s quizzical expression. “The Whites don’t like me going in their back garden, so I don’t…”
“Unless they’re out,” Helen Pleavin murmured. “Then you do…”
“They’d thank me if I stopped a burglary, wouldn’t they?” Pleavin said, his voice a petulant whine. “I don’t overstep the mark.”
“And how often do you do your ‘rounds,’ Mr Pleavin?”
“I haven’t recently, have I? Not since you lot warned me off…”
“Somebody made a complaint?”
Pleavin nodded. “One of those fake policemen… you know…Community Support fella. He knocked on the door a few weeks ago and said I shouldn’t be going into people’s back gardens. Put me in my place, didn’t it? But now look what’s happened.”
“And you don’t know who complained?”
“No idea,” Pleavin said. Kinnear noticed a tiny smile had crept onto Helen’s face and made a mental note to come back and talk to her when her husband wasn’t in. There was more to Helen Pleavin than met the eye.
Chapter 15
Albert Green, who lived at number one, Hilbre Grove was an oddball. That was the only word Alex Manikas could come up with to describe him. Green had answered the door wearing a long kaftan decorated with red and blue swirling dragons. He wore a little pillbox hat and smoked a cocktail cigarette in a holder.
“Are you the policeman whose coming was foretold?” he asked when Alex started to introduce himself. “Do come in but please try and keep to the plastic mats. I’m trying to preserve the carpets.”
Alex wrinkled his nose. The atmosphere in the other two houses had tested his sense of smell to destruction but the stink in here was running them a close second. “Do you have pets, Mr Green?” he said, glancing around at the desiccated excrement that lined the edges of the stained hall carpet.
“Several cats, as you shall soon witness, young man! They’re old and wise and my best friends!”
Albert Green’s living room heaved with feline bodies. Alex counted at least twelve lying in various places around the room. Piles of magazines and newspapers cluttered the floor and made movement difficult. “You have a lot of cats,” Alex said.
“I do, I do. Take a seat, why don’t you?”
Alex scanned the chairs, each one occupied by a cat and covered in a thick layer of hairs. “I’m fine thanks.”
“Suit yourself,” Albert said, smiling. “Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?”
“No! Really!” Manikas almost shouted. “I had a drink just before, thank you. You’re very kind.”
Albert nodded. “Very well,” he said, sitting down heavily. Alex thought for a second that he had actually sat on top of the cat that lay there but right at the last moment, it slid up onto the arm of the chair and settled itself onto his lap. “So, tell me officer, with what particulars can I furnish you?”
Alex stared for a second and then remembered what he was doing and pulled out his notebook “Ah, yes, if I can ask you. Have you noticed any unusual activity around Hilbre Grove in the last three weeks?”
Albert Green stroked his chin and then the cat. He frowned and looked up at the ceiling. “Yes,” he said, at last.
An awkward silence fell across the room as Alex waited but it seemed that was the sum total of Mr Green’s answer. “And… what have you noticed?”
“There are a lot of policemen around,” Mr Green said. “The cats think it’s because of that horrible man who came to the house two weeks ago.”
“You had a visitor?”
“Yes.”
“Why was he horrible?”
Mr Green shrugged. “I don’t really know. Maybe he’d had a bad upbringing. A good role model is so important for a child, don’t you think?”
Alex began to wonder if this was some kind of wind-up. “Sorry, Mr Green. In what way was the man horrible?”
“He tried to sell me cleaning equipment. It all looked a bit cheap and shoddy but then he told me the price. Ten pounds for a duster. Well, I mean, that’s daylight robbery, isn’t it? I told him so!”
“An
d this man didn’t like that?”
“No! He began to verbally abuse me. He even tried to kick one of the cats as she ran out. Disgusting way to treat such a wise and venerable creature. You know, the Egyptians used to worship cats as gods…”
“This man. What did he look like?”
“Like a demon,” Mr Green said, his eyes widening. “Stubbly short hair, and a stubbly beard. And a tattoo of an inverted cross on his neck. Can you imagine that? Hideous!”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He said he’d been in prison before and he was sick of ‘stuck-up gets with too much money’ telling him his stuff was too expensive!”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Shocking.”
“Exactly. I told PC Esso about it and he said they were looking into it.”
“PC Esso?”
“Yes, the young police chap. He had one of those new-fangled hats on… a baseball cap, that’s right!”
“Did he say he was a PCSO by any chance?”
“Yes, that’s what I said. He’s the fella.”
“Right,” Manikas said, making a note. If the PCSO had followed the complaint up, then it would save him a lot of time. “Well, thank you for your time Mr Green. You’ve been very helpful. Apart from the unpleasant salesman, have there been any other strangers around?”
Green stroked his chin and made a huge pantomime of thinking. “No,” he said, at last. Then he leaned forward in his chair. “But I tell you this: there are few people stranger than Donald Pleavin.”
“In what way is Mr Pleavin strange?” Alex Manikas asked, wondering what you’d have to do before Green decided you were strange.
“In and out of people’s gardens. Nosing on people all the time. He watches everyone. He watches everything. Making notes. Scribbling things down. Mark my words. That one’s a strange fish and no mistake.”
Alex closed his notebook. “Well, thank you, Mr Green,” he said. “No need to get up. I’ll show myself out.”
*****
The curtains rippled as Kath Cryer walked up to the door of number four Hilbre Grove. Clearly, Paul and Tina White had been watching what was going on at their neighbours and anticipated a call.
Kath tugged at the wrist splint. After throwing herself in the path of the shotgun, back in October, she’d come away with nothing worse than a painful wrist. Apparently, she’d sprained it when the blast of the shotgun knocked her off her feet. There was some damage to the muscles and tendons that would take a while to heal. In some ways, it was an indignity; a gammy leg and a cane would have held more gravitas. Theo, Kath’s boyfriend, always pulled a face when she slipped the splint on. He called it her ‘old lady glove’ and made no bones about what a turn-off it was. He was constantly telling her that she shouldn’t need it anymore and to try and go without it. But she needed it.
The door to the Whites’ house swung open and a stocky, well-groomed man smiled out at Kath, taking her by surprise. “Paul White?” she said, fumbling for her warrant card. “DI Kath Cryer. Can I have a chat?”
“Yeah, sure,” White said, leaning against the door frame. “Is it about the Scissor Man?”
“Scissor Man?”
White snorted. “Yeah, that’s what Don Pleavin said you’d called the killer. Is that all part of the gallows humour you police are meant to have?”
“If we could discuss things inside, please…”
White frowned. He was a good-looking man in his early thirties. A little on the plump side but then who was Kath to hold that against him? He looked like a man who was careful about his appearance, with his trimmed beard and open shirt. Paul White hesitated for a moment. Kath could sense his hesitation. “Sure,” he said, at last and stood aside. “Welcome to Chez White.”
Kath gave the briefest of smiles and stepped into the hall. The décor matched Paul White completely; pastel blue walls, a few tastefully arranged ornaments and a mirror to glance in as you left the house. A murmuring came from one of the rooms at the end of the hall. It rose and fell, sounding faintly seductive but Kath couldn’t make out the words. “Is your wife around at all? I’d like to talk to you both.”
White glanced down the hall and then back at Kath. “She’s working at the moment. In a conference call. Can’t be disturbed.”
Kath shrugged. “You’ll have to do then,” she said, giving another grimace. White led her into the front room and she sat down on the leather sofa without waiting to be invited.
“So what’s going on?” Paul said, his arms open. Everything about him put Kath on edge. He was overfriendly, trying too hard. Smarmy, that’s what Kath’s mum would have called him. When she was a teenager, dancing around her handbag with her friends, he’s the kind who’d come slithering up to them; twice their age and three times as handsy.
“We’ve found another body,” Kath said. “At number three, this time. Jean Quinn’s house. She’s on holiday, too, apparently.”
Paul’s face fell. “Another body?” he sat down. “That’s awful. Was it a woman or a man?”
“That’s an unusual question, Mr White,” Kath said. “Why do you ask?”
Paul White shrugged. “I don’t know. It might have a bearing on who I saw. If a woman was hanging around number three, I might notice more.”
Kath frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Dunno,” Paul said. “I don’t pay much attention to workmen and delivery fellas but women tend not to do those sorts of jobs.”
“I see,” Kath said, not really agreeing with White’s logic and thinking it said more about his attitude to women than his observational skills. “Well I can’t really divulge that information. I’m sorry. Do you get on with Jean Quinn?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s a no-nonsense sort of woman. I like her. She just says, ‘hello,’ and then gets on with her day. Not a great one for chitchat. Doesn’t poke her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Whereas some other people on the Grove do?”
Paul pulled a face. “I suppose so. It’s not a bad place to live. Dot and Dave are pleasant enough.”
“How about Gretchen and Graham Jones?”
“Oh them,” he snorted. “Have they been bitching about us? What have they said?”
“They did mention that you’d been spotted having sex in the back garden, yes. They weren’t making a complaint.”
“I bet they weren’t,” Paul snorted. “Especially not Graham. He didn’t quite have his binoculars out but…”
“You don’t get on, then?”
“None of my business what they think is it? I don’t bother them; they don’t bother me. Graham’s a bit of a dreamer. Thinks he’s the next Ed Sheeran, missing the point that he’s past it. Pretty average pub singer, in my opinion.”
“So you haven’t seen any suspicious activity in the Grove at all? Vehicles outside the Taylor house or Jean Quinn’s? Anything at all?” A muffled, wordless groan drifted down the corridor into the room.
Paul White stood up and closed the door. “No,” he said, raising his voice. “As I say, white van man comes and goes but I haven’t seen anything…”
The groaning became louder and a thump accompanied it. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr White, what is that noise?”
Paul’s face reddened. “That? Oh just Tina having a laugh with some of her work colleagues…”
An insistent screech, muffled by something other than the door filled the air, now. Kath’s scalp prickled and she jumped to her feet. It sounded like someone who was gagged trying to attract attention. “I’m sorry, Mr White but I’m going to have to investigate that…”
“No!” Paul White stood up too but Kath was at the door already. He followed her down the hall. “Please. It’s not what it looks like!”
“Let’s see shall we?” Kath threw open the door to the room at the end of the hall and her eyes widened.
Tina White sat, gagged and bound tightly to a wooden chair with rope. She wore a gingham dress and what looked like a blonde wig
tied in plaits. Tears mixed with tracks of black mascara that coursed down her cheeks as she stared up, pleadingly at Kath.
Chapter 16
Kath Cryer prised the gag from Tina’s mouth, and the woman snapped, “What d’you think you’re doing?”
“I thought you were in trouble, I…” Kath looked across the room to an expensive-looking camera and microphone that was rigged up to a computer. “What’s this? Lilly White?” A voice said from the computer. “I never said anything about a rescue. I tell you what though, how about you show the lady your appreciation? Eh?” The tone of voice made Kath shudder.
“I don’t know who you are, sir but this is DI Kath Cryer of Merseyside Police and I’m in the middle of an investigation. Do you mind hanging up?” She looked at Paul White. “Do you mind explaining to me?”
“I told you it wasn’t what you thought it was,” he said.
But Tina had cut in. “I’m a cam girl,” she said. “And you’ve just cost me fifty quid.”
She was quite good-looking, but Tina didn’t strike Kath as a typical model type; underneath all the make-up, Kath reckoned she probably looked like most women in their late twenties or early thirties. Maybe that was the appeal: the girl next door. Attainable.
Now, as Paul slowly untied her, Tina explained. “Some of the clients have specific requests. He’s one of my regulars. Goldilocks bondage.”
“Right,” Kath said, biting her lip and not daring to ask if any bears became involved later on. “I’m sorry, I just heard the noise and assumed…”
“Assumed what? That I was holding someone captive?” Paul White said, seizing on Kath’s apology. “What do you take me for? Some kind of weirdo?”
Kath gave Tina a brief glance, taking in her gingham dress and wig. “I don’t know, Mr White. What exactly is your role in all of this?”
“I know what it looks like but none of this is illegal,” Paul said, reddening. “I do all the technical stuff. And the marketing, advertising, monetising the Instagram feeds and all that.”