Two Lovers, Six Deaths

by GRETTA MULROONEY

  Hayworth looked him up and down. ‘Well, you don’t look as if you take much interest in style or fashion so I’m not surprised. I am a model, yes, busy with work. In demand.’

  ‘Oh? With any big names or just catalogue stuff?’ There was a real pleasure in needling the man.

  A hint of a frown. ‘As I said, I’m in demand.’

  ‘Where do you live now?’

  ‘In London. Although I don’t see why that is any of your concern. I have to get going. I’ll see you out before I say goodbye to my daughter.’

  ‘You mentioned that Lisa didn’t see enough of Tamsin, but your mother says you don’t visit often.’

  Hayworth stood and laughed, hands on hips. ‘I’m sure you said you’re a private detective, not social services in disguise.’ He gestured around. ‘Butterfly world. Too much for me, I’m afraid. It only seems charming when you are very young. Once I’m sorted I’ll bring Tamsin to London.’

  ‘That your car?’ On the doorstep, Swift pointed to the new blue Jaguar F-type coupé parked outside the house.

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Tasty.’

  Hayworth shut the door a little too firmly. Swift moved his car down the road and sat in it, keeping an eye on the house. He googled JoJo Hayworth and saw that he had modelled leather bags, beach wear, business suits and fitness clothing in magazines, hair products on billboards, had various bit parts in TV commercials and worked as a film extra. Not exactly the high life, yet he seemed to be in the money. That must be over £50K worth of Jaguar.

  Once Hayworth had accelerated away, Swift went back to the house.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you again,’ he said to Cora. ‘JoJo said he’d give me his address but I forgot to take it. Could you give it to me?’

  ‘Right, my love. Hang on a minute.’

  Tamsin appeared in the hall, wearing her new princess costume. It was floor-length, in pale green satin with a pink lace cape and train and silver and gold beading. A green and gold crown sat on her curls.

  ‘Do I look pretty?’ she asked, twirling in front of him in pink and green ballet slippers with all her father’s self-assurance.

  ‘Lovely. That’s a beautiful dress.’

  ‘I know.’

  She glided away as her grandmother came back out with a slip of paper, saying that Tammy was all excited now, it would be hell getting her to bed tonight. He glanced and saw that Hayworth lived in Barnes.

  Swift decided to drive the few miles to Whitstable and take a look at the sea. He bought a hot falafel wrap and ate it sitting on a bench at the harbour, breathing in the scents of mud, fresh salt air and the incoming tide. The waves were a metallic silver under the grey sky and boat masts were whistling and slapping in the brisk breeze. There were few people about and fat, predatory sea gulls zoomed and screamed.

  He felt a rush of adrenalin as he took out the page of newspaper and read through the article which featured a Dominic, but not the man who had partnered Lisa. What he learned confirmed one of his suspicions:

  Police have confirmed details of the dreadful tragedy that took place last Saturday in Wakes Avenue, Lincoln. Dominic T. Hill, an American citizen and veteran of the Vietnam War stabbed his girlfriend Judy Chernin, a local woman, with a kitchen knife. He then hanged himself in the bathroom of their first floor flat. Neighbours reported hearing an argument in the early hours of the morning. The next-door neighbour, Mrs Grace Binyon, told our reporter that the couple often had arguments. Mr Hill is thought to have suffered with his nerves following his service in Vietnam. He had left the US air force after a posting in Cambridgeshire, where he met Judy at a dance at the base. A friend said that he had been invalided out of the service although the USAF would not comment on this.

  Neighbours were alerted to the tragedy when they heard the couple’s two-year-old son crying persistently. Police were called and discovered the bodies. The little boy, also called Dominic, is now in care of social services.

  Swift stared out at the rushing tide, and then walked along the pebble beach, over the groynes and past the Lifeboat station. Dominic Merrell had decided to search for his birth parents and had discovered this tragedy. The two-year-old child must have seen his dead parents, might have witnessed the stabbing and his father putting a noose around his neck. He could have been looking at them for hours, calling and crying to them, perhaps trying to wake them up before neighbours intervened. His distress then and now was unimaginable. Did this mean that the adult Merrell had been so traumatised by what he found out that he had suffered a breakdown and been moved to re-enact it? It would make a strange and terrible kind of sense, given all the troubles piling on top of him. Swift turned the thought over but as he watched a gull spearing the water, he was not convinced that things were that clear-cut.

  CHAPTER 9

  It was late by the time Swift garaged Cedric’s car and made for home. He was still thinking about Merrell. Years back, he had dealt with a similar scenario in the Met. He knew that a child who experienced that kind of early trauma could be affected throughout their life.

  As he turned off the main road into a deserted side street, he heard high, persistent screams. He quickened his pace and saw a man in the distance. It looked as if he was trying to force someone into a car. Swift started running and shouting. As he drew nearer, he saw Yana twisting and turning in the man’s hands, her screams muffled now as he clamped a hand over her mouth. Swift kicked the man hard in the legs and seized his elbow as he grunted and turned, aiming for an arm lock. Yana broke free. ‘Run!’ Swift shouted and she took off. Her attacker wriggled away and punched Swift hard in the stomach and face, sending him reeling backwards. He managed to catch hold of a lamppost and reached into his pocket for his keys. As the man came for him, he stabbed into his face several times and the attacker staggered, letting out a bellow of pain. Swift balanced, panting. The car door slammed, someone was running and he was hit from behind with a heavy metal object in the back of the legs. As he fell down hard on the pavement, a boot connected with his kidneys. A man yelled, the car doors slammed again. He rolled away and heard the car engine roaring. He managed to lift his head and look at the license plate as it sped off.

  He sat up slowly, pain shooting along his back. Breathing was difficult and he could feel blood flowing from his nose. A woman had run from her front door. She was wearing a dressing gown that billowed out as she bent down to him.

  ‘Are you okay? There were two men. I saw them from my bedroom window. Was it a mugging?’

  He rolled sideways onto his knees, and then used his hands to push himself upright.

  ‘I’m all right, thanks. Have you got a tissue?’

  She pulled one from her dressing gown pocket. ‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ she said.

  ‘No, really, there’s no need. I live nearby. I’d rather get home.’ He wanted to check that Yana had made it back to Cedric’s and was not still on the streets. The car might cruise around looking for her.

  ‘But are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, really. Thanks for your help.’

  His legs felt like jelly. He walked away gingerly, aware of the woman standing and watching him. He paused to put the license plate number in his phone, then held the tissue to his nose with one hand and pressed the other hand to his chest, reckoning he had at least one cracked rib.

  When he knocked on Cedric’s door he could hear the music of a TV late night news programme. Cedric was wearing pyjamas, the gaily-patterned type that he liked. He stared at Swift and pulled him inside.

  ‘Is Yana here?’ Swift asked.

  ‘No. I was just starting to worry about her . . . but what’s happened to you? Your face is covered with blood.’

  ‘Yana was attacked by a couple of men. I’m going back out to find her if I can. Whereabouts did you say she was sleeping?’

  ‘Past the bridge and along the river path towards Putney. There is that little semi-circular clump of bushes with a bench in the middle. But, Ty, your nose . . .’

&nbs
p; ‘It can wait. Phone me if she comes back.’

  ‘Here.’ Cedric pushed a bunch of tissues into his hand and took the blood soaked one he had been pressing to his nostrils.

  Swift walked to the river, taking shallow breaths through his mouth. The backs of his legs had started to tingle, the numbness of the blow abating. He stopped by a bin, checking that his nose had dried up and threw the tissues in. A thin sliver of crescent moon hung in the sky. The water was dark and silent, the path deserted. A light, stinging rain started as he approached the bushes to his left. He slowed down. The bench was empty but he thought he had seen a shadow.

  ‘Yana,’ he called softly. ‘It’s me, Ty. Cedric’s friend. The men have gone. It’s safe now.’

  He waited. One of the bushes rustled and she emerged. She stood, watching him.

  ‘They hurt you?’ she asked.

  ‘A bit. You?’

  ‘He pull some hair out, hurt my arm.’

  ‘Are they the men who made you work for them in Bolton?’

  ‘Some of them, yes.’

  ‘I need to talk to you but first, do they know where you’re staying?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I not tell anyone. Honest, I don’t.’

  She was afraid. ‘Okay. Come on, let’s go back. You’re safer inside.’

  He phoned Cedric to tell him. Yana walked back beside him, looking around her all the way. They didn’t speak. There were tears of relief in Cedric’s eyes when he saw them. He placed a hand gently on Yana’s head.

  ‘Come in, come in. I have the kettle on. Ty, wash your face, dear boy, you look as if you have been mauled by a bear.’

  Swift washed and examined his swollen nose. He opened his shirt and saw that he had a large bruise just above his stomach. He asked Cedric for an ice pack and some painkillers. Yana had a red mark around her wrist and a bald patch at the back of her head. Cedric gave her arnica cream to soothe her skin. She sat on the sofa, rolling her flute against her cheek.

  ‘Thank you. I am sorry. Your son is right. I bring trouble again. Trouble follows me.’

  Swift took a bag of peas from Cedric and held it against his chest. He swallowed painkillers with scalding coffee laced with rum, while Yana and Cedric had cocoa.

  ‘Take your antibiotic. You must finish them,’ Cedric reminded her. ‘Chest infection,’ he explained to Swift. ‘The doctor did various tests and we’ll go back in a week or so.’

  ‘Good.’ Swift was feeling exhausted. Talking hurt. There were pains in his legs, chest, back and face. He drank more coffee and turned the peas. ‘The men who attacked us were from Bolton. Yana, how did they know where to find you?’

  She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘I know. You need to tell us. Did you contact someone?’

  She nodded and looked at Cedric.

  ‘It’s all right, my dear. You have done no wrong. Tell us about it.’

  ‘I send email to a girl there, my friend,’ she whispered. ‘I try, not know if she will get it. She has taken a phone from a man who visit the house, from his pocket while he sleep. So she read it. I tell her if she can get away, I am in London. I tell her I will wait by kebab shop every night at nine o’clock. They must have found out. Do bad things to her.’

  ‘But why come all the way to London for you?’ Cedric asked.

  Yana picked at her lip. ‘I see very bad things there. They worry I tell people.’

  This from a girl who must have seen such terrible things in Syria, Swift thought. ‘But you definitely didn’t tell your friend about this house?’

  ‘I not stupid,’ she said with a touch of healthy defiance, rubbing her wrist.

  ‘I think we should call it a night,’ Swift said. ‘We can talk tomorrow. You need to stay in for now, Yana. No going out. Those men may try again.’

  At the door, he spoke quietly to Cedric. ‘We need to get Yana to speak to the police. Can you try talking to her tomorrow? She trusts you. I’m going to contact a friend in the Met in the meantime.’

  He had eased into bed with an ice pack on his nose and a fresh one against his chest when his phone rang. Nearly one in the morning and an unknown caller. He moved the ice to the side of his face.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘That Tyrone Swift?’ A muffled, nasal voice.

  ‘Yes, who is this?’

  ‘Harry Merrell.’

  ‘Hallo, Harry.’

  ‘Hmm. Thing is, I think I need to talk to ya.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘So, my dad . . . my dad . . .’ There was a gulping sound, as if he were crying.

  ‘What about your dad?’ Swift asked gently.

  ‘Oh God, this is all a mess, all a bloody mess, izzinit?’

  ‘Are you drunk, Harry?’

  ‘S’pose. Yeah. That night, y’know, you were right . . . I was there . . . y’know . . . on my scooter.’ His voice dropped as though he was in a tunnel. ‘I think my dad . . . my dad saw me. He must have thought . . . bloody fucking mess.’

  ‘Did you kill Lisa?’

  A high-pitched laugh. ‘No! But there’s somethin’ else . . . See, I had to go and help her . . .’

  ‘Help who?’

  The voice became indistinct and all Swift could hear was ‘ess.’ It could have been Lisa.

  ‘I can’t hear you, Harry.’

  ‘Yeah, bit sick now, too much to drink. Gotta go.’

  ‘Harry, I’ll ring you tomorrow, okay?’

  ‘Nah, I’m away . . . with school. Ring ya when I gebback . . .’

  ‘Okay. Take it easy.’

  ‘Yeah, I s’pose . . .’

  The line went dead. Swift lay back, wincing. Someone as taut as Harry had to crack sometime. But what was he cracking about? He recalled the confusion and anger he had felt when his mother died, how he had refused to let his father console him. It had been a time of pain and rage. He had rowed, weeping, the wind stinging his salty eyes. Sometimes he felt that he had never recovered from that loss and never would. The world had been out of kilter ever since and he had mis-stepped through it.

  He pulled a pillow against his ribs and fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep, waking every time he moved.

  * * *

  In the morning, he drank coffee and took more painkillers before stepping into the shower. His nose was dark and swollen and he moved like an old man. He made porridge, and then sat on the sofa with an ice pack against his chest. He emailed Nora, asking if she could look up a license plate and briefly explaining the situation with Yana and the attack:

  Would you be willing to call round and see Yana on an informal basis, explain that the police could offer her and the other girls in Bolton protection? I think it would be good if a woman talked to her.

  He eased himself up and fetched more coffee, then rang Georgie Merrell. She sounded terse.

  ‘You said you have Dominic’s possessions from the flat?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, the police gave some to me and I had the rest of them brought over. I’ve been through them, sorted out the clothes.’

  ‘Were there papers? Documents?’

  ‘There were some insurance documents, his passport, and a few letters about bills. Why are you asking?’

  ‘I’ve clarified that Dominic was adopted. I am sure he must have had some paperwork. I’ll check with Lisa’s father, in case any of his things were mixed in with hers.’

  She sighed. ‘You think you know someone, and yet he never told me something so fundamental about his life.’

  ‘I don’t know when he found out about the adoption. He might not have been hiding it from you when you were together.’

  ‘Who knows? He was certainly good at hiding other things from me, and landing me with surprises.’

  It was the first time Swift had heard bitterness in her voice. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve had some correspondence from banks about loans and credit cards, looking for payment of money Dominic owed.’

&nb
sp; ‘How much?’

  ‘Almost twenty thousand pounds — so far. I hope there isn’t more I don’t know about. I suspect there might be. I am his next of kin and executor, so I have to deal with it. He left no savings so I’m going to have to find the money, possibly extend the mortgage.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Yes. In all the time we were together, we were never in debt. Dominic was prudent with money. That woman changed him utterly. It’s all such a mess.’

  He wondered if he should have told her about her husband’s borrowing and theft, his aspirational spending. She was right: this was a horrible situation. Merrell had abandoned her, and then left her his wreckage to deal with. She would have done better to divorce him and not retain any responsibility for his affairs. Swift wondered if this had crossed her mind.

  ‘If you talk to the businesses involved, they might be willing to accept gradual payments. It would be worth taking advice. There are agencies who advise about debt.’

  ‘No. I want it gone, the slate wiped clean. I will just have to bite the bullet and contact my bank. If Dom was here I’d shake him till his teeth rattled.’

  Maybe it was good that she was getting angry. ‘Is Harry away at the moment? He phoned me last night.’

  ‘He’s in Wales on a field trip as far as I know. What did he want?’

  ‘Just to talk. When is he back?’

  She laughed. ‘How would I know? It’s like living with a secret agent. He went on Monday and those trips are usually a few days. That’s a bit rich, wanting to talk to you when he blanks me.’

  ‘It’s often the way with teenagers though, isn’t it? Punishing people they love because they’re struggling.’

  He ended the call, feeling sorry for her. He didn’t yet know how Harry was connected to Lisa’s death, but there was a link. His mother would have to know about it at some point. Her burdens were growing.

  Swift stayed standing because it was the least painful position to adopt. He wondered where to try next about Merrell’s adoption. He knew that getting information from an adoption agency or local council would be almost impossible and guarded by data protection. His phone rang — Georgie Merrell again.