‘Well, that makes a start, you guys,’ Anderson said, flicking his thick mop of wavy hair back and finishing his drink. ‘Every time we get back here we jot down everything we’ve turned up. Oh, is it OK to use your pad, Patsy?’
She nodded quickly, touchingly eager to be of use.
‘I’ll be off then. But you will keep me on message, Frank?’
‘The problem’s solved, isn’t it,’ Crane said, with an ironic smile of his own, ‘now you’ve got the flip chart up and running?’
‘I’m a reporter and we do like to be where it’s at when anything’s actually happening.’
It was a fair point, Crane supposed, but it emphasized again the separate directions they were coming from, the newspaperman anxious for all the publicity and headlines he could grab, and the PI, keen to keep his work and himself as low profile as possible. He’d always sensed that taking the chance of working with him was going to be a two-edged sword.
The atmosphere seemed flat when Anderson had gone as when he was around you could almost feel the energy he seemed to throw off like blown air.
‘Another drink, Frank?’
‘A very small one,’ he said, telling himself to bring a little stock of booze with him next time, the kid had little enough spare cash. He flicked through the sheets of the flip chart. Could it be one of them, he wondered, or one of those secret punters who might never now be traced, however hard they brainstormed? He sighed.
‘Thanks.’ He took the fresh drink she handed him. She seemed to be mutating before his eyes. It wasn’t just the hair and the make-up she was looking to, but also her clothes. She wore a crisp white square-neck top, lilac, narrow leg trousers and newish black mules. He sat with her on the sofa. It was obvious she’d loved working with them this evening.
‘Patsy, when the police searched Donna’s room after she’d gone missing they’d have been hoping to find letters, a diary. Especially a diary.’
She nodded. ‘That’s what Mr Benson said. We were there while they went through her things. They found nothing like that and they looked everywhere, even under the mattress. Her bed has drawers in the base, they took every single thing out.’
‘Did they look under the carpet?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s fitted. You can’t move it.’
‘There could just be a little part that’s loose. My granny used to keep a few tenners in an envelope in a place like that.’
‘I could take another look.’
‘Might be worth a try. Has anything been done with the place since?’
She shook her head, gave a slight grimace. ‘They’ve kept it exactly as it was. Like a … what’s the word?’
‘Shrine?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll have a scout round next time I’m there.’
‘Good girl.’
He got ready to go. He patted her arm, gave her a warm smile. She was searching for her own self-worth as hard as he was searching for Donna’s killer. And it seemed that Donna had had to die for the complex chain reaction to be triggered which could lead to Patsy being given a chance to live.
Later, Patsy couldn’t sleep for thinking about him. Three times he’d been here and would be here more, with Geoff, the men listening to what she had to say, so keen to use what little she knew. She’d never known anything like it. She wondered, could Crane be, could he possibly be, interested in her? She knew she wasn’t much of a looker, but neither was he, but what a bloke! He really seemed to like coming here, having a drink with her, and she didn’t think he was living with anyone, at least that was the feeling she had. Life had never seemed like it was now, and it was just since she’d met Frank.
SIX
Crane blended in with the women and scattering of men who waited to pick on up their children. As Liam Patterson only lived a couple of roads away, and it was summer, Crane hoped he took himself home. The boy came drifting across the playground with two others. ‘Liam? Liam Patterson? Could I have a word with you?’
He eyed Crane suspiciously. He was small but chunky, with spiky brown hair, a pink, downy face and a snub nose. ‘You think I’m getting in that car, pal, you’re out of your tree,’ he said in a piping voice. ‘We don’t go nowhere with strangers.’
Crane put on a friendly smile. ‘I’m not asking you to, Liam. I’m helping the police. About the lady in the reservoir.’
‘Not that again. Haven’t they nobbled anyone? The fuzz are rubbish.’
‘Couldn’t catch a fish in a bucket!’
‘Couldn’t catch a burglar with a wooden leg!’
‘Couldn’t catch a torcher with his pants on fire!’ The list of police inadequacy went on for some time. Crane waited patiently. At least the three seemed in no hurry to move on.
‘When you used to swim in the reservoir, how late would you stay?’
‘Listen, we need to split, mister—’
‘Ninety-nines all round if you answer a couple of questions.’ Glancing cautiously about him, Crane showed them the edge of a fiver.
‘You don’t want no change?’
‘It’s yours.’
‘You couldn’t make it a tenner?’
‘No.’
‘OK, man, a couple of questions.’
‘Swimming in the reservoir, how late would you stay?’
‘Till it started getting dusky. Till the funny men started hanging about, up on the other reservoir.’
‘Funny men?’
‘Queers,’ he said.
‘Poofters,’ said another.
‘Arse bandits,’ said the third.
They began to giggle.
‘Did any of these men talk to you boys?’
‘Only Ollie.’
‘Ollie?’
‘Ollie Stringer. He’s always around. He’d watch us swimming. Didn’t try nothing on though. Daren’t. We’d have had the Bill on him, no bother.’
‘The police have some uses then?’ But the blank stares reminded Crane that youngsters didn’t usually do irony. ‘What does he look like, this Ollie?’
‘Fat. Has glasses with no edges. Always wears a straw hat.’
‘Look … Liam, you went home when the light started going, but did you ever see the lady called Donna at Tanglewood with anyone when she was still alive?’
‘You said two questions, mister. This is about ten.’
‘That’s the last one,’ Crane said, giving the knowing urchin another warm smile. ‘Can you remember someone as pretty as the lady was with a bloke around there?’
‘Nah, she was just dead meat to me, buddy.’
Crane wondered which forbidden shocker he’d been watching, Goodfellas or Reservoir Dogs? But then the boy’s downy face became impassive in the afternoon sun and he wondered how many frightful, recurrent dreams he’d had about trawling the bottom of a murky sheet of water and getting hold of a handful of pale dead flesh.
‘Frank Crane.’
‘It’s Terry Jones, Frank. How are you doing?’
‘Nice to hear from you, Terry.’ It was too, DI Terry Jones had once been Crane’s boss when he’d been in the force.
‘Marvin Jackson. Ted tells me it’s time for some collar-feeling.’
‘I’m certain he’ll admit to the fancy guns. Otherwise he knows he’ll be a suspect for Donna’s death. She was definitely into him for money.’
He gave Jones the details of what had happened between Jones and his sister. ‘He’s scared shitless about any of that coming out. He knows he’s just got the one option.’
‘Bloody good effort, Frank. I’ve been in touch with Leicester, that’s where the guns were sold in a district auction. A go-between put them in the sale, then the gang bought them back themselves, cash down. It only cost them a small commission and then they’ve got a bona fide bill of sale to show private buyers they’re the legal owners.’
‘Clever stuff.’
‘No one can fix these things like Dougie. The police still haven’t nabbed the gear but they know damn fine who’s involved. If your
friend Marvin coughs we’ll be able to establish a link between Dougie and the gang, and we should be in business.’
‘Glad I could help, Terry.’
‘Tell me, are you still working on the Jackson case?’
‘The Jacksons rehired me. I told them your people would be making a fresh start, but they’d not take no for an answer. I’ll not get under your feet.’
‘You never do. And as far as I’m concerned, the more brains involved in that particular can of worms the better. You must come for a bite of supper one night, Frank …’
Jones put down his phone. Christ, he wished Crane were back. There’d been big trouble. Crane had fixed some evidence against one of the most evil types the city had ever known. Top class lawyers had picked up on it, Crane was out. Jones sighed, turned back to the file on the antique guns. It hadn’t been just down to Crane, but also to Ted Benson, he was sure of it. He was sure too that Crane had taken the burn for the lot, as he was single and Benson had kids and a sick wife. That was the sort of bloke Crane was, apart from being the sharpest Jones had ever had on his team.
It had been a clear day and the setting sun was now a bright sliver through the dense trees of the low hills that surrounded the two sheets of water. Mallard, moorhens and Canada Geese clucked softly at the water’s edge, their night quarters beneath overhanging foliage. Crane climbed the curving flight of wide stone steps that led from the lower to the upper reservoir. He spotted the straw hat almost instantly, on the head of a plump man in rimless glasses, who sat on a bench at the side of the perimeter track, gazing out over still water.
Crane sat on the same bench, about a yard from him. His faded blue eyes darted to Crane’s through strong lenses. He had soft, pink, blobby features that gave an impression his face had no real bone structure. He wore a neatly ironed blue shirt and chinos. ‘Looking for company, dear?’ he said hopefully, in a high, slightly wheezing tone.
‘Are you Ollie?’
He gave a little smile. ‘Perhaps I should say, “Who’s asking?” like they do on the telly.’
‘Frank Crane.’
‘It’s a nice name and you’ve a nice friendly smile, but I don’t believe I’ve seen it before, so it makes me just a tad wary.’
‘Remember a young woman called Donna Jackson, Ollie?’
‘Dear boy, if you’re a bobby, despite that disarming cotton shirt and those form-fitting linen trousers, I shan’t even admit to being called Ollie. I’m Bill Brown to the police, Frank Crane, always was.’
‘I’m just a private investigator, working for Donna’s parents.’
‘Don’t believe I like PI much either, dear, it’s like saying you’re not a crab but a lobster. They can both give you a very nasty nip.’
A twenty-pound note rustled between Crane’s fingers.
‘Oh!’ Ollie gave a little coquettish scream. ‘Specie. I’m quite overwhelmed. It’s usually the other way about, duckie, when you get to my age.’
‘Look, Ollie, I know you don’t talk to the police, you and your friends up here. I’m not wanting to intrude. I’m just an ordinary bloke working for two very distressed people whose daughter was strangled and dumped in the lower reservoir. Now it’s not easy to get to Tanglewood without wheels unless you live nearby. I daresay you all have a fix on one another’s motors, was there one you couldn’t place roundabout the time she went missing?’
‘You’re dead wrong there, dear. I can’t afford wheels on my bit of pension. Out through the door at fifty. “We’re having to downsize, Ollie, I’m afraid,” he says. “Oh,” I say, “is it just gays you’re downsizing, Mr Havercroft because you only look to be downsizing by one?” Didn’t know where to look, love, didn’t know where to put himself. Terrified I’d go to the Tribunal. But I still got bleeding downsized.’
‘But you know everyone, Ollie, don’t you? I bet you’re their first port of call for a good gossip.’
He liked that, almost simpered. ‘Well, yes, they do like chewing the fat with their Auntie Ollie. That’s what they call me. So very Gallic.’ He took the note from Crane’s fingers almost absently. ‘Well, you have a trustworthy face. Now this is absolutely on the qui vive. We did see rather a lot of a young chap called Adrian along here, and the whisper was that he’d been seen getting out of a motor with your Donna and going off round the bottom reservoir.’
‘The night she—’
‘Oh, no.’ He broke Crane off. ‘It was a month or two before that.’
Crane was puzzled. ‘But … if he was one of your little group …?’
‘The word was he was a fiver each way, love.’
‘Bisexual?’
‘Never could get that carry-on together myself, but there you are.’
‘And he’s not been seen around any more? After that night?’
‘Oh, yes, he was around a good while after the upset. But he just drifted off in the end, like they very often do. Probably got work outside the area. Couldn’t say just when, I lose track of time at my age.’
‘But it was definitely him, getting out of the car with Donna?’
‘We’re almost certain, love. But it was dusky and he was wearing a cap and wasn’t in his usual car. That’s why it’s just a whisper, think on.’
‘What did he look like? How old?’
‘Fair, tallish, kept himself in nice shape. About forty.’
‘And you’re sure he was a fiver each way?’
‘Well, sometimes he’d be around and sometimes not, and when he wasn’t the word was he fancied the other side of the bed. And then there’d be those distasteful jokes flying around about the girlfriend being so confused she’d not know which way to turn.’ He pursed his lips in disapproval.
‘It’s worth another twenty, Ollie, if you can find out where this Adrian went, and what his surname and occupation were, and what make of car he mostly used. Someone here must have the inside track.’
The idea seemed to excite him, maybe gave a little zest to what must have been an empty existence since Mr Havercroft had been forced to let him go. ‘I’d not want my name coming into anything.’
‘You have my word. I always protect my sources.’
He liked that too. He adjusted his Panama hat so the brim came a little lower over his eyes. ‘All right, young man, I’ll see what I can do. I must say you’ve got a very persuasive manner with you.’
‘Good. I’ll be back here, same time, same bench, the evening after next, yes?’
Ollie touched his arm. ‘Are you quite sure you’re straight, dear?’
Crane grinned again. ‘Straight as a stick, Ollie. Awfully sorry I can’t oblige.’
The three of them stood in Patsy’s living room again. Crane had written OLLIE STRINGER on the chart and ADRIAN with a question mark, while telling them what Ollie had told him. Anderson listened with the crooked grin Crane was getting to know only too well. He’d studied a lot of body language in his time and he could tell that the reporter’s was beginning to tense.
‘I could have gone along too, Frank. I could have made time last night.’
‘I had to work on him to get him to speak to me. If I’d gone round there with a crime reporter he’d have been a write-off.’ Crane spoke more tersely than he’d intended. He was beginning to hate it, having to explain the way he worked, to write it all down, to know that Anderson was intent on controlling everything.
But Anderson began slowly nodding. ‘It’s a valid point.’ Then he put on one of his practised smiles in the old engaging way. ‘Well done, pal. I can see I’ve got a lot to learn from an expert like you.’
‘Just experience, that’s all. In this game you often find yourself going over well-trodden ground and so you have to learn to look closer.’
There was a great deal more to it than that, but Crane knew they were exerting themselves to meet each other halfway, as they each had so much the other needed: Anderson’s knowledge of the case and Crane’s ability in the field. Even so, Crane was anxious to reach an answer to Donna’s k
illing before the reporter, if it were possible for anyone to. His pride was now very much involved in what Anderson clearly regarded as a competition.
Anderson said, ‘This Adrian guy makes my nose twitch.’
‘And mine.’
‘But would Donna have gone out with an AC/DC?’ he said, pulling a face. ‘What do you think, Patsy? HIV-wise, it might have been dodgy.’
‘There wasn’t much she didn’t know about safe sex,’ she said. ‘And anyway she might not have twigged what he was.’
Crane felt it could quite easily become near impossible for Anderson to attempt to profile Donna as the sweet innocent she’d looked if he ever did get to write that final story. He said, ‘Why might a bisexual have reason to kill her?’
‘Blackmail again?’ Anderson scribbled on the sheet now devoted to Adrian. ‘Maybe he’s married and his wife doesn’t know he’s AC/DC, and might have given him the welly if she’d found out.’
‘Bias at work if it came to light? It still happens.’
‘Perhaps another gay,’ Patsy said. ‘Jealous of Adrian going out with a woman.’
‘Nice one, Patsy,’ Crane said. Pleased, she began to redden.
‘But gays tend not to do violence,’ Anderson said.
‘Joe Orton wouldn’t have thought so.’
‘When do you aim to see Ollie again?’ The reporter spoke tentatively.
Crane also forced tact. ‘Tomorrow evening. We could both go, now he trusts me. You can be a colleague. He’ll take to a bloke with your looks.’
‘Bugger! I’m tied up. Can’t get out of it either. It’s an Asian girl being forced into a marriage against her will. She’s on the run and she’s made very complex arrangements to see me and talk about it. You couldn’t make it the evening after?’
‘Sorry. I’ve promised Ollie and it’s too hot a lead. I’ll make sure it all goes on your flip chart.’
That wasn’t the point, but Anderson smiled in cheerful resignation. ‘I’ve got to go now, but keep up the good work, Frank, and do keep me in touch, said he with a mirthless grin.’
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