by Roberta Kray
‘As good as.’ Sharon reached for her cigarettes.
‘Here,’ Jess said, grabbing her own pack from her bag, and offering it over. ‘Have one of these.’
‘Oh,’ Sharon said. ‘Ta.’
After they had both lit up, Jess sat back and waited for her to continue. She didn’t. Jess gave her another prompt. ‘So what made you think he was …’
Sharon’s mouth curled down at the corners. ‘Had straying hands, didn’t he? Couldn’t stop himself. Always touching people, staring at them.’ She gave a visible shudder. ‘I’m telling you, it made my flesh creep. You think I’d let my daughter near him? No way! She’d have been safer in a pit of snakes.’
‘So where is he now?’ Jess asked. She hadn’t seen any sign of him at the house. ‘Does he still live with Joan?’
‘Nah,’ Sharon said. ‘He kicked it years back, some kind of brain thing.’ She drank some more of her vodka. ‘A mercy, if you ask me. At least he went before … Well, God knows what he might have gone on to do. Those sort of people ain’t normal. It’s not safe to have them wandering around.’
‘So how old was he when Grace … when she went missing?’
Sharon thought about it. ‘Fourteen, fifteen? He was big for his age though, tall, well built. Stronger than he realized, if you know what I mean.’
Jess was pretty sure that she knew what she meant. ‘You think he might have had something to do with what happened to Grace?’
‘It crossed my mind, course it did. Joan gave him an alibi, said he was with her all day, but that meant fuck all. She’d have sworn her boy was innocent if she’d seen him kill with his own bare hands. The cops went along with every word she told them.’
‘They must have checked the story out.’
‘I’m not saying it was him. I’m not making any accusations. All I’m saying is that he wasn’t all there.’
Jess looked more closely at her. Could she be Ellen’s mother? She tried to visualize her with darker hair. There was no doubting that Sharon must have been pretty once but her face was ravaged now, her skin dull and grey; there were bags under her eyes and deep grooves running from the corners of her mouth. It was a lesson, if one was needed, of the damage that resulted from an excess of grief, booze and cigarettes. Jess glanced down at the fag in her own hand.
‘What about Joan’s husband? What was he like?’
Sharon shook her head. ‘Never met him. He died before I got together with Michael.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember.’
Jess snapped her next question out before she could think too much about it. ‘You think the cops did the best job they could?’
Sharon looked into her glass. It was empty. She stared at it with an expression of abject disappointment. ‘The cops were bleeding useless.’ She stood up again, grabbed the vodka bottle, filled her glass, sat down and placed the bottle beside her feet. ‘It’s been twenty years,’ she said, ‘and they still don’t have a clue who took her. That’s how good they were.’
Jess nodded. They were both silent for a while. From upstairs came the deep bass thud of heavy rock. She raised her eyes towards the ceiling and then looked back around the room. There were a couple of photographs hung up on the wall, both portraits of boys. She recognized one as the lad who had answered the door. The other one was older, blonder. There was no picture of Grace.
‘You’ve got two sons?’ she asked.
‘Yeah,’ Sharon said. ‘Darren and Jase.’
‘Does their father live here?’
She gave a grunt. ‘Get real. Not gonna make the same mistake twice, am I?’
Jess smiled back. She wanted to ask if she ever wondered if Grace was still alive but couldn’t; it was just too close to the bone. She was also tempted to ask if she’d ever heard of Ellen Shaw but knew that wouldn’t be a good idea either.
‘Joan said you used to work in a nightclub.’
Sharon nodded. ‘The Starlight,’ she said. ‘Had to, didn’t I? Someone had to pay the rent, put food on the table. If I’d left it to Michael we’d have starved to death.’ She took another swig from her glass. ‘I suppose she had a go about that too? Yeah, I bet she did. That bitch was born with a knife in her hand.’
‘She mentioned it,’ Jess said. She was still holding the untouched glass of vodka. If she could have found somewhere to dump its contents, a convenient pot plant for example, she would have – but there was nowhere. Feeling Sharon’s eyes fixed on her she lifted the glass to her lips, took a gulp, hoped for the best and swallowed. With luck the alcohol would counter-act anything too poisonous.
‘She still thinks it’s my fault,’ Sharon said.
‘No one could ever think that.’
‘She does.’
‘But what do you think?’ Jess asked. ‘Who do you think was responsible?’
Sharon shrank back against the sofa. ‘Who took my little girl?’ Her eyes grew liquid. ‘I’ll never know now, will I?’
Chapter Forty-One
The silence was starting to get on Harry’s nerves. She hadn’t said a word for the past ten minutes and was driving with a stern concentrated expression on her face.
‘Have I done something to annoy you?’
Jess shot him a sideways glance. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Do you really think that everything’s about you?’
‘It’s crossed my mind,’ he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
‘Well, think again. Some of us have got serious problems.’
Harry lifted his brows. He wasn’t exactly on cloud nine himself. Valerie hadn’t called and he still hadn’t worked out whether he wanted her to or not. His leg was giving him grief, his future at Mackenzie’s was looking less than secure, and he was on his way to meet Ray Stagg again. ‘Anything you want to share?’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’
Jess scowled. A noise came from the back of her throat, a low irritated sound.
Harry shut his mouth. Perhaps he should have got a taxi instead; even the mindless babble from an over-chatty cabbie would have been preferable to this chilly atmosphere.
Then, as they stopped at the traffic lights, she turned to look at him again. ‘If you must know, it’s Len’s funeral on Monday.’
‘Ah,’ Harry said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘So they’ve released the body.’
She didn’t reply.
‘And you’re feeling guilty about it.’
Her eyes flicked quickly towards him again. She tapped her fingers against the wheel. ‘Why should I feel guilty?’ she snapped.
‘You shouldn’t,’ Harry said, ‘but you do. It’s human nature. You’re convinced you should have found some answers by now but you haven’t. That makes you feel bad – it always made me feel bad when I was working on unsolved cases – but it’s even worse for you because he was a friend.’
The lights turned to green and Jess shifted the car forward. She kept her gaze focused on the road ahead. ‘I went to see Sharon Harper today.’
Harry was shocked although he tried not to show it. ‘And?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I didn’t tie her down and flash a bright light in her face. They taught us not to do that at journalist school – well, only as a final resort. I gave her the choice and she was okay about it. And if you’re going to ask if I found out anything useful then I really don’t know. It turns out that Joan Sewell had a son, Francis, a few years older than Grace, who she neglected to mention when I talked to her. He’s dead now. Sharon claims that he had mental problems although she had a rather less subtle way of describing it.’
‘Did she think he had something to do with Grace’s death?’
‘With her disappearance,’ Jess corrected. ‘No, she didn’t say that exactly.’
‘But she implied it?’
Jess audibly breathed in, releasing the air in a long frustrated sigh. ‘Yes. But then she didn’t seem too kee
n to exonerate her husband either. And before you mention it, I realize that she needs someone to blame and that anything she says might not be entirely reliable.’
Harry nodded.
‘So you’ve got my story,’ she said. ‘What’s been bugging you?’
‘Me?’
‘I get the impression that you might not be your normal happy self.’
‘I’m flattered that you’ve noticed.’
‘Don’t be,’ she said. ‘You’re not that hard to read.’ She took a sharp left. The road was long and clear but she kept her speed down. ‘Let me guess – woman trouble?’
Harry stared at her. He wondered, not for the first time, whether the female of the species didn’t have an unfair advantage when it came to the complex world of relationships; they always seemed to know more than they should. ‘That could be interpreted as a sexist comment.’
Jess gave a snort. ‘Or just an insightful one.’
‘So what would your advice be,’ he said, trying to keep his voice light, ‘if that was the case?’
‘I’d need to know the details,’ Jess said. Pulling into the car park at Vista, she got as close to the bright lights of the front entrance as she could. ‘But I’m not sure if I want to. I’m only here to drive. That’s my part of the bargain. Psychological insights come extra.’
Harry released his seatbelt and got out of the car.
She got out too.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
‘What do you think? I’m not staying here on my own. The last time I was at this place …’
They both glanced over towards the wall where Troy’s body had been lying.
‘Oh,’ Harry said. ‘Yeah, right. Sorry.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘those girls are never going to talk to you. They won’t trust a man. What you need is a woman’s touch.’
‘I thought you were only here to do the driving.’
‘Call it a complimentary extra,’ she said, ‘seeing as I may have been a little remiss in skipping our appointment this morning.’
Harry smiled. It was probably as close to an apology as he would ever get.
There was a uniformed bruiser on the door, almost as wide as he was tall. He didn’t look happy, perhaps because he’d drawn the short straw and was stuck outside on what was not an especially pleasant evening. There was no rain as yet but any icy wind was blowing across the forecourt. He watched, his thick arms folded over his chest, as Harry and Jess approached.
‘I’m here to see Mr Stagg,’ Harry said. ‘I’m expected. The name’s Lind.’
Practising his intimidation technique, the big guy stared hard at him. Then, when Harry didn’t crumble, he bent his head and muttered into his walkie-talkie. ‘Geezer to see the boss. Says he’s expected.’
While they were waiting, the three of them stood in an uneasy silence. Harry wished he’d put his overcoat on; he could feel the wind slicing through the thin fabric of his suit and biting into his bones. Jess was more sensibly dressed in a woollen jacket and scarf. Gritting his teeth, he fought against the impulse to stamp his feet; tough guys didn’t feel the cold.
Eventually the box crackled into life again. ‘Tell him to wait in the foyer.’
The big guy seemed disappointed. He’d clearly been hoping for a spot of action – anything to relieve the boredom. Stepping aside, he opened the door and gave a jerk of his head. ‘Okay,’ he said.
Harry followed Jess inside, a pleasant shiver rolling through his body as he felt the welcome burst of warmth. At least Stagg didn’t stint on the heating. Another guy, equally large, was standing just inside. Mutely, he waved them towards the leather sofa.
Harry sat down. If Stagg was being his usual punctual self, they could be here for a while. He could hear music coming through the walls, a dull grinding beat, the sound of male voices and a smattering of applause.
Jess shrugged out of her coat. Underneath she was wearing dark trousers and a tight cream shirt with the top three buttons undone.
Harry’s eyes widened as he noticed the amount of cleavage on view. ‘What’s with the outfit? You’re not here for a job interview.’
She grinned back at him. ‘You want the girls to talk, don’t you? I’m just doing my best to fit in.’
Surprisingly, Stagg emerged almost instantly from his office and strode over to them. It was hard to tell whether he was sober or not. He was wearing a fawn silk suit, beautifully cut, a white shirt and striped tie. Harry’s own suit hadn’t come cheap but it looked shabby in comparison.
Stagg nodded at Harry and glanced at Jess. ‘Who’s the broad?’ he said as if she wasn’t able to speak for herself.
‘The broad’s called Jessica Vaughan,’ she said, ‘and she’s helping Mr Lind with this investigation.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since now,’ Harry snapped, irked by his attitude. ‘You got a problem with that?’
Stagg gave a smirk, his eyes sliding down towards where Harry’s gaze had been focused only a short time before. ‘You need a girl to hold your hand, you go ahead – but she can wait out here while we talk.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Harry said. ‘And as I’m only going to repeat exactly what you tell me, you may as well save me the bother.’
Ray Stagg’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching at the side of his mouth. He wasn’t the kind of man who was used to being challenged. For a moment he looked like he was going to argue the point but then had a change of heart. ‘Whatever.’
They stood up and followed him into his office. Harry gave Jess a glance as they walked through the door. If she was the slightest bit perturbed by the multiple examples of female nudity on the walls she didn’t show it.
Stagg took his seat and flapped a hand towards the chairs on the other side of his desk. Other than an empty in-tray, a white telephone, a bottle of Scotch and a half-full glass, there was nothing on the desk’s surface. It was as ridiculously wide and as free of clutter as the last time Harry had been there.
Harry and Jess sat down.
Leaning forward, Stagg addressed his question solely to Harry. ‘I take it you haven’t heard from her?’
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Have you heard from Al?’
‘You really think that bastard’s going to get in touch with me?’
‘You mean, after what he did?’
Stagg’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t rise to the bait.
‘Oh, come on,’ Harry said. ‘This is about more than a husband going AWOL. Al’s up to his neck in it. People have died. And Agnes … well, wherever she is, she’s in a heap of trouble too. These aren’t coincidences. You know it and so do I.’
Ray Stagg remained silent.
‘I’m working in the dark,’ Harry persisted. ‘And that’s not a place I like to be. Either you tell me what’s really going on or you can sort it on your own.’
Stagg pursed his lips, giving it some thought. ‘Then I’ll take on someone else. There’s plenty more where you came from.’
‘You do that,’ Harry said, ‘and I’ll be sure to let them know if Agnes gets in touch.’
There was a short stand-off as the two men glared at each other.
Eventually, if grudgingly, Stagg gave some ground. ‘Okay, what if I was to say that Al might have taken off with some goods that didn’t belong to him. Would that make a difference?’
‘And could some of those goods have belonged to a certain white-haired gentleman who is not renowned for his forgiving nature?’
‘It’s possible,’ Stagg conceded.
Harry smiled. ‘And would it be safe to assume that some of those goods weren’t entirely legal and that said gentleman isn’t going to rest until he gets his property back?’
‘Under the circumstances, that would seem to be a logical assumption.’
‘Right,’ Harry said. It was pretty much as he’d thought but there were still a few loose ends. ‘So do you think they were all in this together – Al, Troy and Agnes?’
‘Fuc
k knows,’ Stagg said. ‘Maybe. It’s starting to look that way.’
Harry frowned. ‘Only it doesn’t make sense. I mean, if they were, why didn’t they all take off at the same time? They must have understood the risks. Why would Troy and Agnes come back to work? Once they’d got what they wanted, there was no point in hanging around.’
‘I suppose not,’ Stagg agreed.
‘So?’
‘So what?’ Stagg said. He raised his hands. ‘You think I’ve got the answers? I don’t. That’s what I’m paying you for, isn’t it?’
Harry stared at him. ‘I’m also assuming that Tommo was involved in this, that he—’
At the mention of his friend’s name Stagg’s face twisted and he quickly looked down. ‘He was doing me a favour, that’s all. A one-off, nothing else. He didn’t deserve … that filthy bastard shouldn’t have …’ He stopped abruptly, too experienced to let his mouth run away with him.
Harry couldn’t pretend that he savoured the idea of being caught in the crossfire between Ray Stagg and Jimmy Keppell, no sane man would, but he was in too deep to back out now. There was Agnes to consider and Ellen Shaw too. He’d been doing a lot of thinking about Ellen today. He’d tried to ring her but had only got her answering machine. He hadn’t left a message. If what she’d told him was the truth, then Keppell was making her life a misery too.
‘What’s the matter?’ Stagg said, glancing up again. ‘You scared?’
‘Yeah – but not enough to walk away.’
‘Good,’ Stagg said, ‘on both counts. You’d have to be a bloody fool to underestimate him. And I don’t like working with fools.’
‘You and me both,’ Harry said.
There was another silence.
Jess shifted in her chair and crossed her legs. She looked at Stagg. ‘Do you think Agnes is still alive?’
His cold blue eyes slowly swivelled towards her. While his gaze hovered somewhere lower than her chin, his mouth crawled into a smile. He left a short pause for effect. When he finally spoke, his voice was blatantly mocking. ‘Are you a good detective, sweetheart?’
‘The very best,’ she said, smiling widely back. ‘For example, and this is only a small one, I can sniff out a dead barman at fifty paces.’