by Faith Martin
Tommy watched Frank march off into the nearest building, glad to get shot of him at last. In his hand he had a list of classes and break times, and decided to hang around until lunch break. Frank was right about one thing – there’d be no point going from class to class and asking for information from a group of twenty kids. Nobody was going to speak up in front of their peers. But if he could get a feel for the users and likely lads, he might be able to get one or two on their own during a break and persuade some information out of them.
Yeah. Right.
The secretary didn’t like Frank Ross, and didn’t like his suggestion of a public announcement, but the Head, anxious to be seen co-operating with the police, gave his permission. And so, at just gone 12.15 p.m., the secretary’s voice was piped into every classroom, and echoed hollowly in every corridor, asking for the boy who’d sold William Davies his mountain bike to report to his or her teacher. After a muffled silence, in which another male voice could clearly be heard whispering, the Head’s PA then added that if anybody had any information at all about William Davies’s bike, they were to report to the Head’s office.
Apart from a lot of speculative looks between themselves, and a few frowns of surprise from the teachers, the announcement might as well have been made on the moon, for all the difference it made.
Frank waited until all of 12.30, then left. Unlike Hillary Greene, he had been inside The Fox pub before. There weren’t many pubs in Oxfordshire that he didn’t know. And it wasn’t until he’d ordered his first pint that he realized he should have talked to Heather Soames, Billy’s girlfriend. If anyone had known where the bike had come from, she would. She might be only fifteen, same age as the vic, but in Frank’s opinion, women of any age quickly learned about finances. And especially all about their boyfriend’s finances.
Cursing, he used his mobile to phone the Head’s office again, but the secretary quickly confirmed that Heather Soames was not at school that day.
Her sister had brought in a sick note for her.
Frank shrugged. He’d try her again tomorrow. Couldn’t go chasing after the poor girl if she was sick, could he? Might get had up for harassment or failing to show proper political correctness.
Instead, he went to the bar and ordered another pint. He always made it a point to know where traffic were patrolling with their little breathalyzer kits, and none of them were due around here today.
Tommy heard the bell ring for lunchtime, and smiled as the doors began to open and children poured out. Some headed for the dining room, and the horror that was school dinners, others headed for the playing fields to eat packed lunches. Several headed off to the surrounding suburbs to eat lunch at home.
And one boy got on a very new, very fancy-looking mountain bike and pedalled away. Tommy watched him, his ginger head glowing in the fierce sunshine, and reached for his mobile.
Back at HQ, Hillary was still at her desk. She’d been debating accepting Paul Danvers’s offer of joining him in the canteen after he’d listened, po-faced, to her report on the Davies case. Now, with the jangling of the phone, she rather hoped that she might be getting an excuse to beg off his offer of treating her to the special. Which today, being a Thursday, would be the vegetable lasagne.
‘DI Greene.’
‘Guv, Tommy. Can you tell me if Lester Miller is a carrot top?’
‘Yep, complete with freckles and the creepiest pale eyes you’ve ever seen. Why? Have any of the kids fingered him as a dealer?’ she asked quickly.
‘No guv, nothing like that. But I’ve just seen him pedal off on a bike that’s almost a twin to the one Billy Davies has. Had.’
Hillary slowly leaned back in her chair. ‘That’s interesting. But not necessarily incriminating. Kids who are joined at the hip often imitate each other.’ She paused, thinking it over. ‘Tommy, forget about the school for a minute, and get on the blower to Miller’s father and find out if he bought his son a bike recently. You say you saw him pedalling away from the school?’
‘Yes, Guv. Lunch break, I reckon.’
Hillary nodded. Middleton Stoney was only a short three-mile journey on mostly flat roads from Bicester Comprehensive. Perhaps he was going home for lunch. But more likely, like his friend Billy, Lester liked to play hooky every now and then.
‘OK, Tommy, I’m going to drive to Middleton Stoney, see if I can shake loose some information from him. When you’ve finished chatting with the father, I want you to check in with Melanie Parker over at Juvie. When I mentioned Billy Davies’s name to her, it didn’t ring a bell, but perhaps Lester Miller’s will. She’s got her pulse on the kiddies’ drugs scene around here and offered to liaise with us if we needed it. She’s even got a snout at the school, so now’s a good time to take her up on the offer to make use of him. Until we can rule drugs in or out of this case once and for all, we’re just spinning our wheels.’
‘Guv,’ Tommy said, and hung up.
Janine parked her Mini beneath a resplendent copper beech tree, not far from St Mary’s Church in downtown Oxford, and checked the address.
The offices of the ‘Elite Public Relations Company’ was housed in one of those splendid Gothic monstrosities that looked so cute on tourist-board brochures. As Janine climbed out of the car, a gaggle of camera-festooned Japanese tourists, led by a guide, washed around her, chattering like escapees from Babel. ‘Next, we’re going to go up The Broad, and see if Trinity College has its doors open. Trinity is situated almost next door to Blackwell, the famous book shop, so if anybody wants to do some reading …’ the chatter of the guide drifted off into a sleepy early-afternoon waft of heat as the troop moved away.
Janine walked across a short expanse of gravel and checked out the bell pushes on the door. ‘Elite’ shared the Gothic hall with a couple of private interior design companies, a very upscale dentist, and several varieties of accountants (but not turf).
Janine pressed the buzzer for Elite and was exhorted by an invisible Sloane Ranger to, ‘Come on up to the second floor. We’re behind the turquoise door.’
Janine stepped into a cool, black-and-red tiled hall with stark white walls. She could smell some kind of furniture wax and a floral air conditioner. Several of the windows lining the massive main staircase had pieces of stained-glass in them, that gave the building the air of a part-time church. Elite must certainly do well for itself if even the more obscure Oxford branch could afford digs in this place.
As she climbed the stairs, and easily spotted the turquoise door, Janine decided to treat herself to a pub lunch after the interview, for a change. It was hot, and she could do with a glass of something cold.
‘Hello, can I help you?’ The Sloane Ranger turned out to be someone who’d obviously modelled herself on Joanna Lumley, despite having neither the looks nor the figure for it. Stick-thin, and with obviously dyed short blonde hair tortured into a Purdey cut, she was wearing enough mascara to choke a duck. And she had to be sixty if she was a day. Janine smiled at the receptionist and flashed her warrant card. The old girl looked at it and her jaw dropped open.
Janine got the impression she’d never seen one before.
‘Oh my,’ she said helplessly.
Janine smiled. ‘I have an appointment to see Jenny Cleaver,’ she said flatly. She’d already phoned to make sure Cleaver wouldn’t be in the London office and had spoken to her secretary, who’d confirmed that she’d be available that lunchtime.
‘Oh, yes, of course. That poor boy. I read about it in the papers, and I remembered that Jenny lived in Aston Lea. Please, go right on through. Second door on the left,’ she pointed to one of three doors, housing, it was supposed, the executive officers.
Janine imagined that there was very little that escaped the receptionist’s attention. She had the air of one of those women who made it a point to know everything. Janine tapped on the door indicated, and without waiting for a summons, opened it and walked in.
If Lester Miller was surprised to see Hillary Greene show up on his h
ome territory so soon after seeing her at the school, he didn’t show it.
He simply stood back, a sandwich in one hand, and waved her in. ‘Come on in,’ he said, and took a bite out of what looked suspiciously like a tomato ketchup special. Some of the red gloop splurged out over his hand, and he licked it off as Hillary stepped past him.
‘I said I’d have to speak to you again, Lester,’ Hillary said, glancing around. The Millers lived in a big, detached house with mock-Tudor pretensions, situated on the very outskirts of the village. Middleton Stoney was cut in half by a main road, but there was no sound of it here. Through a pair of open French doors, Hillary could make out a large area of grounds, consisting of manicured lawns, flowering shrubs and weed-free flower beds, all proof of a professional gardener’s services. The three-piece suite in the lounge was black leather, the glass tables smoky, and the paintings on the walls were originals. Not good ones, in her opinion, but originals.
‘Want something to eat?’ Lester asked, waving his gory sandwich in the air.
Hillary smiled. ‘Thanks, but no.’ She’d missed lunch, but she’d have to be desperate before taking pot luck with someone of Lester’s culinary preferences.
‘Sit down then. What can I do you for?’ Lester threw himself on to a reclining chair, all but bouncing. His feet, encased in dirty, sweaty sneakers, left a distinct mark on the leather. Hillary wondered if it would be his mother, or a maid, who had to wipe it off.
‘Tell me about Billy,’ Hillary said, taking a seat opposite, and taking out her notebook.
‘I already told you,’ Lester said, taking another bite of his sandwich. Beside him, on a table, stood a tall glass of Coke or Pepsi, filled to the brim with ice cubes. Hillary felt her mouth water, and quickly looked away.
‘I notice you came home on your bike,’ Hillary said, and Lester, after a moment’s startled silence, abruptly laughed.
‘Funny things you coppers notice. Yeah, I came home on the bike. So what?’
‘Nice bike. Expensive. Billy had one just like it.’
Lester flushed. ‘I got mine first,’ he said petulantly. ‘But that was Billy all over. No class. He only wanted one ’cause I had one.’
‘Really?’ Hillary said, sensing a way under his skin. ‘Funny that. From what people have been saying it was Billy who was the leader, and you were the one who followed him around, like a sheep.’
Lester laughed again, and reached for his glass of Coke. ‘Bollocks,’ he said, and took a long drink. His Adam’s apple bobbed angrily in his scrawny neck, and Hillary noticed that his freckles marched all the way up from his chest to his ears.
‘How did Billy pay for his bike, Lester?’ Hillary asked quietly. ‘His dad and mum work in a garage. He get one on the cheap? Only way for someone like Billy to get kit like that, wasn’t it?’
Lester shrugged. ‘I dunno. I never asked him.’
‘Oh come on Lester,’ Hillary said, with a sceptical laugh. ‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t know? According to his dad he had some sort of a job. You both did.’
‘A job?’ Lester squeaked in echo, as if she’d just mentioned a dirty word. ‘That’s a laugh. We don’t work, Billy and me.’
Hillary nodded. Again he was speaking in the present tense. Had it really not sunk in, even yet, that his friend was dead? She knew that sometimes children, including teenage boys, could form really tight, emotional bonds. But usually there was a dominant personality and a worshipper. She was beginning to think that this was the case here, with Lester firmly in the acolyte mode. But she was out of her depth, if so. She’d have to have a word with the department shrink, perhaps have him interview Lester Miller. You never know – it might give her some insights.
‘And what about your bike, Lester? How did you come by it?’
‘My dad bought it for me,’ Lester said at once, and gave her a telling look. It was the sort of smug, you-don’t-get-me-that-way look that made Hillary smile. If only he knew it, he’d just given her a big stick to beat him with.
‘He buys you a lot of stuff, I bet. Only child, fruit of his loins and all that. Things just drop in your lap, don’t they Lester? But for Billy it was different. His dad was dirt poor – he had to graft and scheme for what he got. No wonder he was the one with all the brains.’
Lester flushed. ‘He wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, though, was he?’ he snapped, leaning forward on the chair, his sneakers making squeaking noises against the leather as he moved.
‘Wasn’t he?’ Hillary said calmly. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Well, look how he ended up,’ Lester pointed out, going for callous, but his voice wobbled as he spoke. And he swallowed hard. He stared at the half-eaten sandwich still in his hand then abruptly tossed it on to the glass tabletop, where it smeared the expensive glass with grease. He looked a little green around the gills, as if he suddenly felt sick.
‘Lester, do you know where Billy got his spending money?’ she asked quietly. ‘Was it drugs?’
Lester shook his head. ‘No. It wasn’t drugs. And before you ask, I dunno. Why don’t you …’ He broke off and then smiled as he heard the front door open and close. A moment later, Hillary rose to her feet as a man pushed his way into the lounge. He was almost humming with aggression.
Gareth Miller glared at Hillary Greene from his height of six feet three or so. His son must get his colouring from his mother, for Gareth had dark brown hair, and greyish eyes. ‘I thought I might find one of you lot here,’ Miller said ominously. ‘When I got a call from that DC Lynch asking about Lester’s bike, I got the feeling I should make my way home pretty sharpish.’ He shifted his eyes from Hillary to his son and then back to Hillary again. When Hillary looked at Lester Miller he was calmly eating his sandwich once more and smirking at her.
Of course, he felt untouchable now that Daddy had come home.
‘You are aware that my son is only fifteen years old … whoever the hell you are?’
Hillary quickly held out her card. ‘Detective Inspector Greene, sir. And—’
‘You can’t interview him without either his mother or me present. I’ve a good mind to complain about this.’
Hillary counted to three and smiled blandly. ‘Of course you’re free to do so sir. My immediate superior officer is Superintendent Philip Mallow,’ she lied. She didn’t want this getting back to Danvers just yet, if Miller actually followed through on his threat. And she could trust Mel to smooth things over. ‘And I apologize if I’ve made either yourself or your son uncomfortable,’ she lied brightly. ‘It didn’t occur to me that Lester might not want to help me find out who killed his best friend. And as a parent yourself, I felt sure that you would identify with the tragedy the Davies family are going through and be only too eager to help. But,’ Hillary reached for her bag and hefted it on to her shoulder, ‘I can assure you that the next time I want to speak to Lester, I’ll inform you first.’
Gareth Miller, who’d had the good grace to look a little guilty during her speech, just as she’d intended, suddenly stiffened his backbone and nodded curtly. ‘See that you do.’
Hillary nodded back just as curtly, turned and smiled sweetly at Lester, then walked slowly and stiffly out of the house.
That was the second time Lester Miller had got under her skin.
She was still fuming as she got back into her car and her fingertips hurt as she all but poked them through the pads on her mobile phone as she dialled Tommy’s number. ‘Tommy,’ she gritted, the moment he answered. ‘You at Juvie yet?’
‘Just pulling into the car park, guv.’
‘Let me know right away if Melanie has anything on Miller, yeah?’
‘Right guv,’ Tommy said, sounding surprised. As well he might. It wasn’t her usual style to breathe down her officers’ necks like this. Hillary took a slow count of three and took several deep breaths, then sighed and told herself not to be such a prat. ‘OK, Tommy. See you later.’
She hung up and wiped a hand
across her forehead, unsurprised to find it coming away wet and sticky. ‘This damned heat,’ she muttered, and started up her car, wound down her window and headed back to Kidlington.
Janine didn’t like Jenny Cleaver. This was almost certainly because she was even more beautiful than herself. Although Janine didn’t actively trade on her looks to get what she wanted, she was very much aware of how much they could help, or hinder. So whenever she met a woman even better endowed in the looks department than herself, it always raised both her hackles and alarm bells. Seriously beautiful women, especially if they were also bright, could be trouble.
Jenny Cleaver was taller than herself, leaner, and had a mass of auburn hair that looked natural, a triangular-shaped face, and clear white skin with wide, sea-green/grey eyes. It wasn’t hard to see how she’d managed to land a catch like her husband. They certainly made a striking couple. Although Janine wondered which one of them had first dibs on the bathroom in the morning. Or did they have matching his-and-hers full-length mirrors, in which they could primp and preen?
‘Detective Sergeant Tyler,’ Janine said, showing her badge briefly. ‘Thank you for giving up your lunch break to see me. We’ve kept missing you the last few days.’
‘Sorry. I was in London yesterday. This is about Billy, yes? Darren said you’d spoken to him last night. I honestly don’t know how I can help.’ Jenny Cleaver, who’d risen to her feet when Janine had come in, now indicated a swivel chair in front of her desk, and dropped back gracefully into her own chair. She watched Janine cross her long legs and smiled.
Something, Janine wasn’t sure what, feathered a warning across the back of her neck, and then was gone. ‘You might think, because Aston Lea is such a small place, that we all know our neighbours’ business,’ Jenny Cleaver carried on, ‘but I’m afraid that’s not the case. I know George and Marilyn, of course, as I often call in at the garage for petrol and such, but I can’t remember the last time I even spoke to Billy.’