‘I don’t believe you, Effie. It was the antique guns, Marvin, yes, Dougie’s big one? You want my advice, you’ll put your hand up to that or they’re going to go after you for Donna’s killing. They’ll dig it all up, about her being into you for money and … all the rest. I reckon you’ve got two choices.’
‘Oh, shit!’ Effie wailed. ‘He’s trying to go straight, for fuck’s sake. He’s already been inside.’
‘I know, Effie, but there’s one job he’s not paid for.’
He left them standing in the hall in a numbed and wretched silence.
Crane’s mobile rang. ‘Frank Crane.’
‘Ted here, Frank. Mahon’s completely cleared. We knew he would be, but we told the silly sod that if he’d really cared about Donna it’d help us to find the real killer if he told us the truth. Well, he really had been in Leeds with the French totty. He finally came up with a postcard he’d got from her. She’d written from Fontainebleu with a full address. It’s dated four days after the Saturday in question and actually refers to the clubbing last Saturday and him being most of the night with her. He must have given her a belt round the chops so she’d not forget him …’
Once again he sat with the Jacksons in their cramped living room. Once again emotion seemed to thicken the air. ‘Dear God,’ Malc muttered, hunched in his chair and staring into space, features expressionless. ‘We were positive it were him, every last one of us.’
‘These things sometimes happen, Malc,’ Crane told him. ‘I’m very sorry. It means starting from scratch, I’m afraid. The police are aiming to re-assemble the original team who worked on it. I think we can safely leave it to them now.’
‘No, carry on, Frank,’ Connie said, in a sad, firm voice. ‘You got things going, when no one else did, even if it only showed it wasn’t Bobby.’
‘I’d like to stay with it, Connie, but you need to think about the cost.’
‘It doesn’t matter, the money. We’d not have another day’s peace of mind if we didn’t think we’d done everything we could. We owe it to our darling daughter, God rest her.’ The skin around her eyes seemed permanently roughened and red with the endless weeping of the last twelve months.
‘You go right ahead, Frank,’ Malc said in a wavering tone, dabbing his own eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It’s what we both want.’
Crane glanced at Patsy. She was as impassive as before, unable to dredge up any more emotion for her dead sister, even though she’d loved her too, with a love Crane felt was maybe surer than theirs, based as it was on her wry acceptance of what she’d known the real Donna to be like.
He got up. ‘All right, I’ll give it my best shot. I’ll be in touch. Need a lift, Patsy?’
‘Please.’
Connie and Malc saw them out as usual, standing in the light of the small lamp above the front door, Malc’s arm protectively about Connie’s bowed form. Crane had seen much human misery in his time with the force but had never been able to handle it as professionally as he should. He thought, ‘Christ, I’ll nail the bastard if it’s the last thing I do.’ He wasn’t to know that it very nearly was.
Anderson was holding centre stage again at the Glasshouse. ‘That’s right,’ he was saying, ‘and if a Chinese kid wants to learn the piano they get him going on a simple piece called “Knives and Forks”.’
He had the others laughing, but Carol knew he was in a mood. It was almost impossible to spot unless you knew him well. There’d be that faintly abstract look in his eyes, the slightest impression that he wasn’t giving his full attention to being the life and soul of the party, although his brain spun at such a speed that he was always able to deal with any number of conflicting thoughts at the same time.
‘You want to come back to my place for a bite, Carol?’ he said, when the others were talking generally.
‘You’re not working tonight?’
‘I should be, but all work and no play …’
Yet Carol knew he never played, not these days, and though he’d be jolly and chatty back at his flat, she’d know in the occasional silences that he was brooding about the Donna Jackson business, brooding with a new intensity now that Bobby Mahon had been cleared.
‘We’ll have one more before we go then.’ And he was off to the bar, though not bouncing with his usual restless energy.
Carol knew that Mahon being out of it had messed up that big feature he’d wanted to write, that he was positive would help him in his ambition to be an investigative journalist on a paper like The Sunday Times. There’d be another ending to the Donna killing and he’d dig it all out brilliantly, but they both knew it wasn’t going to have the same impact. Frank Crane was bugging him too, though she knew he also reluctantly admired him, the way he could ferret things out that Geoff was kicking himself that he’d not picked up on. He was so competitive, forever wanting to spot the bad lots before the police did. He’d be impossible to live with if Crane got ahead of him now, after all the work he’d put in, though Crane was probably off the case with the police reopening their files. She wished to God Geoff was. It had been nothing but Donna Jackson since they’d pulled the poor kid out of Tanglewood. She sighed. A flesh and blood rival she could cope with, but a dead beauty? Yet she couldn’t help loving the big dope. Things would be different when he made it to London. Then that provoked another dismal thought: would he take her with him?
At the bar, Anderson could brood in peace, not feeling he had to be the amiable charmer he’d spent his working life perfecting. He just couldn’t get Mahon’s innocence out of his head. It messed everything up, every bloody thing. Donna and that piece of rubbish had been the story. The way he’d decided to write the big feature was carefully to imply that it couldn’t have been anyone else but Mahon, let the reader draw his own conclusions. And then Mahon was suddenly out of the frame. What was the story going to be now? Would it have anything like the same force? He doubted it. He switched on a cheery smile for the bar girl who brought his drinks, who he knew fancied him. Well, at least it must mean that clever sod Crane was off the case, he could do without him turning up the leads that should have been his. That break Crane had had with Cliff Greenwood still stung.
He sat down with Carol, faithful Carol, whose body had stopped turning him on some time ago, though her clever, well-read mind was still a big draw, and the tasty meals she cooked for him. It would be all over when he went to London. Alone, definitely alone. London would solve everything.
Patsy could hardly believe it, but Frank was in her little flat a third time! It couldn’t be the new hairstyle, could it, and the care she was taking with her clothes and make-up? She went off to get the drinks, leaving Crane with a renewed sense of guilt. He had an idea the kid was getting a little struck on him, when the only reason he was back here again was the original one – her knowledge of the Willows and the people Donna had mixed with. He’d need her help and also the help of that brash, talented prat, Anderson.
When she came back with the drinks, she said, ‘Where will you go from here, Frank?’
‘Talk it over with Geoff first. He said he’d always be willing to help. It’s in his own interests, of course, wanting to break a story he’s spent so much time on.’
‘He’s a nice bloke. He was very kind with Mam and Dad.’
‘I’ll try and pin him down this evening, though I daresay he’ll be on some job or other. People like me and him don’t do time off.’
‘You … could ask him to come here, if you like. I might be able to help.’
‘You know, Patsy, that’s a very good idea,’ Crane said, and meant it. ‘You had the inside track on Donna, if anyone.’
‘I don’t think anyone had the real inside track on that little madam.’ But she looked very pleased he’d taken the suggestion seriously. Crane began to key Anderson’s number.
‘Geoff Anderson.’
‘Frank Crane, Geoff. Look, Connie and Malc want me to stay on the case. It shouldn’t affect the new police investigation, it’ll probably
take them a week to get people off other things and back on to this. I’m at Patsy’s place. I wondered if you could find a little time to spend with us and talk the thing through?’
‘Give me half an hour, Frank.’
Anderson snapped shut his mobile. ‘Look, Carol, something’s come up. Sorry about the evening. Another time, eh?’
‘Donna Jackson,’ she said dejectedly. She was more than used to seeing him rushing off when there’d been a drugs bust or a knifing, but the DJ story was so old. Why couldn’t Crane see Geoff in the morning, when he usually did have some spare time?
‘Crane’s like a pig with a truffle, Carol. He’s wasted time and the Jacksons’ money by this Mahon nonsense.’ He gave her a quick kiss. ‘Next free night, I promise …’
And then he was bounding, more his old eager self than he’d been ever since he’d learnt about Mahon. She wished she didn’t love him quite so much. She was almost certain, if he got to London, she’d not see him again.
‘What sort of day have you had?’ Crane asked her, as they waited for Anderson over the drinks.
‘The sort of day I always have. I’m a checkout, remember?’
‘But you must be in line for some kind of promotion after all this time.’
She coloured in that way she had. ‘Oh, I don’t want a promotion. I’m happy with the girls. If I took a step up I’d be over them and it wouldn’t be the same.’
Crane thought, poor kid, she had so little confidence, seemed so defenceless against peer pressure, not just among the sort of women who lived on the Willows, but among her mates on the tills.
‘Funny you should mention it though, because my supervisor said did I want to think about moving up a peg.’
That would have been when she’d ditched the tousled hair and the layers of make-up, Crane guessed. ‘Why not go for it, Patsy?’
‘The other girls, they’d think … they can be a bit catty.’
‘You’d learn to live with it. And you’d get on, make more money. You always felt Donna had all the attention and you lost out. Well, now’s the time to make up for it.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Frank.’
‘Just go for it. If they’re wanting to promote you they must think you’re the right type.’
Patsy had never known her confidence to be given such a boost. But then, she’d never known anyone like Frank. He never seemed to be flannelling, he just seemed to say exactly what he thought. And he must think there was something about her …
Crane felt it was the least he could do, help her find herself after the years of living in her sister’s shadow, of unsuitable men, mundane work. A quid pro quo for the help she’d already given him and that she would hopefully continue to give him. It would help to ease the slight persistent guilt a little.
Anderson came rushing in, holding a collapsible stand that already had a flipchart screwed to it.
Crane said, ‘What’s all this?’
‘If we’re brainstorming we might as well do this as methodically as possible.’
‘What’s wrong with using our memories, for Christ’s sake?’
‘If we write everything down here nothing gets overlooked. And Patsy’s memory won’t have had the training ours have had.’
‘You can say that again, Geoff,’ she said, but she was very pleased to be involved like this with two men who were so different from the sorts of men she was used to.
As usual, it went against all Crane’s instincts, which were to work alone and keep his cards close. Yet he’d done exactly this type of thing in the police force, when information was coming in by the shed load, the felt tips on the white boards, noting everything that seemed crucial. But then, they’d all been police together, working to a common goal. Anderson had his own agenda, and if everything went on the flipchart he’d almost certainly feel more in control, no detail lost for the big feature he’d set his ambitions on, with Crane unable to get too far ahead of him. Crane wondered what it mattered if it got them anywhere? Except that his professional pride was coming into it now and he wanted to get there ahead of Anderson.
‘Do you guys want a drink?’
They both nodded and Anderson said, ‘I like your new hairstyle, Patsy, by the way. You’ve changed it haven’t you since I used to visit your folks?’
‘Glad you like it,’ she said, going quickly off to the kitchen.
‘She’s different,’ he said. ‘Just used to sit there when I was talking to Connie and Malc. Hair a dog, make-up laid on with a trowel, tended to be sullen.’
‘She did a good job for me with Greenwood and I told her so. I’m also encouraging her to go for promotion. She’s not a bad kid, just lost her confidence with the spotlight always being on Donna.’
‘Donna was a taker and she had a lot to answer for.’ He turned back to the flip chart and wrote the word DONNA at the top of the first page in felt tip and underlined it. ‘Right,’ he said briskly. ‘Let;s jot down on this page everyone we know to have been in contact with her.’
‘Maybe we should start with the kid who found her.’
He shrugged. ‘If you like, but that’s all he did, find the body. I tried to get a little story out of him but he was having nightmares and it was his father who gave me the outline and then told me to sod off, they’d all had more than enough with the police.’ (But he wrote down LIAM PATTERSON.
‘Thanks, Patsy,’ he said, taking his drink from the offered tray. ‘Donna knew Clive Fletcher before Joe Hellewell, right?’
‘She was barely out of school before Fletcher got his beady eye on her. God knows how he does it.’ She gave a shudder. ‘Cre-epy.’
‘He trawls the clubs,’ he told her. ‘I’ve seen him around.’
‘The photographer,’ Crane said, ‘who may or may not have talked her into nude photography? You gave him a clean bill of health in your reports.’
‘I had to watch my step. The readers know him as a weddings and babies man. It was only the insiders who knew the truth and they didn’t talk.’ His grin was faintly conspiratorial. There was plenty a skilled journalist could imply about a man like Fletcher, but Crane guessed it was to be the big story again, with Donna cast as the innocent she’d looked. Anderson said, ‘I suggest we see the bloke as soon as we can.’ He wrote down CLIVE FLETCHER on the chart and below that he wrote JOE HELLEWELL.
‘He was a bit creepy too,’ Patsy said. ‘He was good looking and seemed all right, so I don’t really know why. Only met him the once.’
‘Agreed. Another arsehole and I couldn’t get a fix on him either. Attractive wife. Gave an impression she was making do. We’ll see him as well. Pity about the rock hard alibi.’
Crane knew this was going to be the problem. The case had been picked over in such detail he wondered if there could possibly be any area left he could shine his own little torch into that hadn’t already been floodlit. He picked up the felt tip and scribbled MARVIN JACKSON and EFFIE.
‘What’s all this?’ Anderson said. ‘Patsy’s brother?’
‘Donna was definitely putting the squeeze on Marvin for some hold she had over him,’ Crane said. He wasn’t going to spell it out, not in front of Patsy.
‘How do you know this?’
‘Patsy tipped me off and I went to see him.’
‘Now come on, you bugger, I thought we’d agreed to act together.’ He spoke lightly and with his usual disarming grin, but Crane could sense the underlying irritation. He was beginning to realize just how much of a control freak Anderson really was and how driven to try and take over. And this was the second time Crane had come up with an extra angle on a case he’d lived and breathed. The reporter gave Patsy a slight look of reproach. It was clear he felt it was him she should have tipped off.
She reddened. ‘I told no one at the time, Geoff. It wasn’t just because he was my brother, it was because I had a bloody good idea …’
She broke off, embarrassed. Crane said, ‘What Patsy’s saying is that Marvin probably had the best alibi of all. We t
hink the police believe he was involved in an unrelated matter that night.’
Anderson didn’t like that either, even if you could barely tell, but Crane didn’t want him rushing into print about anything to do with antique guns until Benson was good and ready.
‘All right, you cagey sod,’ Anderson said, in the amused tone he’d perfected, ‘but I’ve got my own snouts at the station.’
‘Fair enough,’ Crane said. ‘Anyway Marvin’s live-in’s another matter. Effie. She detested Donna. Whether she detested her enough to kill her and had the nous is highly unlikely but not impossible. Let’s regard her as a long shot.’
Anderson turned back to the flip chart and began to write each name listed on the front sheet on to a separate sheet of its own. His edgy movements told Crane that behind the collected exterior he was still very annoyed. ‘Now,’ he said, can we think of anyone else she knew who might have a possible motive? Anyone at all. Patsy?’
‘That was the trouble, she knew so many people, mainly blokes. And she was so secretive. She got off on it. She’d only ever hint at things. “I’m going for a Chinese with this guy who has a look of Brad Pitt. If Bobby comes round tell him I’m at Auntie Linda’s.” All that stuff.’
‘OK. Now, on these separate sheets let’s think about motivation. Take Fletcher. Maybe Donna got to know too much about his operation but refused to get involved herself?’ He jotted down KNEW TOO MUCH?
Crane said, ‘Blackmail?’ Anderson wrote that down too.
‘He might have lost it with her because she’d not have sex with him,’ Patsy said. ‘She led blokes on, even when there was no way she was going to sleep with them.’
He scribbled down CRIME OF PASSION?
They did the same for the others, working through possible motives. Crane had to grudgingly admit that it did help focus their minds, especially Patsy’s, and time passed quickly.
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