by Jane Isaac
“Where is it?” Helen retrieved her notebook and scribbled as he spoke. “No, don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll take that one. And Steve?”
“Yes?”
“Well done.”
***
The engine hummed as they drove out of the estate. Helen considered Jules, Karen and Naomi: the love triangle. The difference between Karen and Naomi struck Helen. From what she’d learnt of Jules Paton, Naomi’s background seemed more similar to his own. But she could see why Karen caught his eye.
They pulled out onto the main road leaving the rabbit warren behind, and passed an industrial estate encased within a six-foot high brown fence that was in dire need of a paint job. From the road, only the tops of the buildings were visible but, having visited there on many occasions, Helen knew these units housed garages, printing firms, engineering factories and even a recruitment office.
As Pemberton slowed to join a line of cars waiting at the traffic lights, Helen’s gaze fell on an imposing Victorian building painted entirely in black. The sign read Black Cats. Straddling the corner of Henderson Street and Albert Road, on a Saturday night the queues to enter the nightclub ran almost down to the entrance of the rabbit warren estate itself. A pair of chilling, green cat’s eyes were painted on the black background above a neon sign, which lit up red when the club was open.
The bald headed, gaunt face of Chilli Franks entered her mind. She recalled Dean’s earlier words, ‘we’ve found nothing to suggest he is criminally active now.’
Helen thought back to Chilli’s release from prison. He’d taken his nephew, Nate, under his wing. She remembered Nate from her early years in the force. The accident baby of heroin addict, Sheena Franks, Chilli’s youngest sister. As Sheena suffered from postnatal depression, a psychosis that deteriorated into manic depression that dogged her life, she rejected Nate at birth. For the majority of his early years, he was passed around family and friends with intermittent periods back with his own mother who clearly lacked interest. Finally, she took an overdose, slashing her wrists in a hot bath when Nate was just nine-years-old.
Helen was one of many cops who’d been called to his school for several violent incidents before he reached the age of eleven. He struggled academically, was a loner and Helen remembered there being something odd about him, an uneasiness she couldn’t place. She recalled that Nate moved in with his auntie Petra, Chilli’s older sister, after his mother’s death. But it was no secret Nate idolised his uncle, having visited and written to him in prison. They stayed close after Chilli’s release and rumours were rife in the rabbit warren that Nate unofficially lived with his uncle. For a while, social services kept a close eye. But Nate’s school attendance started to improve, he enrolled at the local boxing club and stayed off the streets and slowly their interest dwindled. Whatever influence Chilli had on his nephew appeared beneficial.
Since his release, Chilli had marketed himself as a reformed character, an honest businessman with a strong influence in the parenting of his nephew. But she struggled to believe that she was labouring under a misconception.
The lights changed. Pemberton turned left, leaving the club and Roxten behind them. They passed a burnt-out car on the grass verge displaying a police aware sign, then scores of housing estates tucked behind lines of tall privet hedging as they pressed on towards Hampton centre.
Helen’s mind switched back to Karen Paton. She considered the photo she’d seen on her fridge, on a night out with the girls. Maybe it was taken at Black Cats. She certainly looked a lot more glamorous and relaxed than she did today, worrying that ring around her finger until it grazed.
Helen turned to Pemberton, “Did she seem frightened to you?”
He briefly faced her, before switching back to the road. “Karen Paton? Like a rabbit caught in the headlights.”
Chapter Eleven
Hours later, Helen burst through her front door and heeled it closed. Heavy rainclouds had advanced into the skies over Hampton throughout the afternoon and were now emptying their load with a vengeance. She dropped her briefcase down, suppressing a shiver as she unbuttoned her overcoat.
A high-pitched beep sounded twice and she paused to search through her bag. Another message from Dean: Really need to talk. Have some information that may assist your current case. Could you squeeze in a quick coffee later? Helen stared at her phone. What information could he have now that he couldn’t share earlier?
Frustration bubbled inside her. For the last few hours the investigation had been thwarted by obstacles: Dark had confirmed with Naomi’s parents that Eva Carradine was one of her oldest friends, but they’d reached a dead end when they visited Eva’s address as a male student answered the door. The spa address records were out of date and Eva hadn’t lived there for the past six months.
In desperation, they approached the DVLA for an updated address, then the electoral role, but they all followed suit. Naomi’s other friends didn’t seem to mix with Eva, not enough to know her address. Why hadn’t Eva updated her records? To add to her frayed patience, the phone company’s computers were down and they were still awaiting Naomi’s call records.
With Eva and Jules both missing, she was starting to wonder if they weren’t both involved in some way. They could check with the Department for Work and Pensions for Eva’s new address, but not until the morning as they were closed. This felt like dead time.
Jenkins’ decision not to inform the press of the details of the murder weapon felt like a noose around her neck. It was normal to hold back information; they shared only what they felt would assist the investigation. But with the press fixated on gun crime, unless they caught the killer quickly, this decision would come back to bite them. Every tick of the clock taunted her.
Helen reread the text message from Dean. As she wrestled off her wet coat, she wondered whether Dean had discovered the location of Jules Paton. Or had he uncovered more background on Karen Paton? Whatever it was, she realised that she couldn’t afford to ignore it. She pocketed her phone and popped her head around the lounge door to find Robert on the sofa, watching television.
“Hi, Mum.” He looked up briefly, before fixing his attention back on the screen.
“Hi, darling.” She rested her hand on her youngest son’s bony shoulder. “How was school?”
“Okay.” His voice disappeared into the television.
“What are you watching?”
“Friends re-run. It’s one of my favourites.”
She nodded and smiled to herself at the depth of his voice, the last remnants of boyhood receding just a few months earlier. “Where’s Grandma?”
“In the kitchen,” he said, eyes glued to the screen, a smile tickling his lips.
She crossed to the kitchen and pushed the door open. Seated at the breakfast table, Jane Lavery looked up from her magazine and smiled. Blue eyes shone out from a wonderfully clear complexion, only gently wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. Her grey hair was pulled back from her face and tied at the nape of her neck. “Hello there!”
Helen smiled fleetingly and glanced around. Her nose twitched at the gentle aroma of garlic in the air. “Where’s Jo?”
“She phoned. Delayed in London, apparently. She’ll be here around nine. How was your day?”
Helen glanced up to check the time. Eight o’clock. “Just about to get longer. I’ve been called out again, I’m afraid.” The lie stung the back of her throat as it escaped.
Jane nodded and stared at her knowingly. “Sorry about that. Do you have time for a bite to eat? I’ve made lasagne.”
After John’s death, committing to a full-time position in the police force as a single mother had presented a major challenge. Helen found resolution in moving back in with her recently widowed mother and over the years her mother acted as housekeeper come childminder. Jane Lavery occupied her life with her grandchildren and the arrangement enabled Helen to balance the unsociable shifts and demanding hours of the police force, whilst she raised her boys.
> Inevitably there were clashes, days when Helen loathed her mother’s intrusion in her personal life, days when Jane resented her daughter’s very existence; two women from different generations battling for space and supremacy in a shared home. But generally, the arrangement suited them both in its own way. Recently, they’d moved into this detached house with adjoining flat, giving them both a degree of independence, although her mother still spent the majority of her time in their shared kitchen.
“Maybe later, thanks Mum. You okay?”
“Fine, thank you.”
“Where’s Matthew?”
“In his bedroom.”
Helen headed up the stairs. The first few days of a murder investigation left little spare time for sleep, let alone family, and she took every opportunity to check in with her boys, even if it was only for a few precious minutes. She reached Matthew’s door, knocked once and strode in.
A rather dishevelled Matthew leapt off the bed, hastily lifting a sweater to cover his bare torso. But it was what was underneath Matthew that made Helen gulp. A hand shot out with verve. It swept a mass of long, dark hair away from the face of a girl who sat up and pulled down a skimpy t-shirt over her bare stomach. Helen just caught sight of the blue stud in her navel before it was covered.
For a second, Helen froze. Then retreated. She shut the door and rested the side of her head on it. When she had agreed to allow Matt to join the Air Cadets last year, she hadn’t bargained on him discovering the world of girls.
Suddenly, a damp shiver rippled down her back, reminding her that she needed to change. The rain had soaked through her coat, wet trousers clung to her ankles. She withdrew to her own room, grabbed a black jumper from the closet and sat on the bed unbuttoning her shirt.
This wasn’t the first time she’d encountered a girl in Matthew’s room, but certainly the only time she’d interrupted something. Helen closed her eyes, desperately trying to recall her own memories at sixteen. Like him she was still at school, studying for her GCSEs. Was she interested in boys, experimenting at this age? She cast her mind back twenty years, but no particular memories came to light. Until John…
As she threw the jumper over her head and stood to fasten her jeans, she thought about the boys’ father.
Helen met John at university and they married soon after graduation when they discovered she was pregnant with an unplanned Matthew. He joined the Army and she played mum. They were married for four years before he died suddenly on a routine helicopter flight from Nuneaton to Oxford. Not a day passed when she didn’t think of him in some way; miss his laugh, his friendship, his zest for life. At times like this she missed his support too, even though he would probably have burst out laughing and turned the whole event into some kind of joke.
For some reason her mind switched to Dean. Dark and athletically handsome, he couldn’t be more different to John. She remembered how he charmed her mother, wheedled friendship out of her boys, and then let them all down. He would be the last person her mother would expect her to meet this evening.
Helen moved back across the landing and hesitated outside Matthew’s room. Her fingers lingered on the handle momentarily, before she changed her mind and headed back down the stairs.
As she entered the kitchen, her Mother handed her a parcel. “Lasagne on the run,” she smiled. Spending the majority of her life with serving police officers, she was well versed in the unusual habits forced upon them.
Too guilty to refuse, Helen took the foil-covered container and placed it in her bag. “Thanks. Did you know Matthew has a girl in his room?”
“Yes, Leah.” Her mother nodded. “They’re just listening to some music.”
“They were doing a lot more than that when I walked in.”
Jane Lavery turned her attention back to the dishwasher. Mugs clicked together as she unpacked.
Helen raised her brows. “He’s only just sixteen.”
Her mother stopped for a moment and met her gaze, a model of composure. When she finally spoke, her voice exuded a quiet confidence. “I’m sure it’s all very innocent.” She turned back to the dishwasher.
Helen stared at her mother’s back astounded, wondering when she had suddenly embraced liberalism. But this was a conversation for another day. “Make him come downstairs, please?”
Her mother looked back at her and nodded silently.
Helen glanced at the clock. “I’ll speak to him later. I need to go now.” She held up her bag. “Thanks for dinner.” And with that she sped out of the kitchen, threw a jacket over her shoulders, called a goodbye out to Robert in the lounge and banged the door shut after her. It had taken less than ten minutes.
Using her bag to shield her head from the unrelenting rain, Helen ran to the car and hurried in. Once seated, she rubbed the back of her neck irritably at how her mother’s values had mellowed somewhat over the years. She certainly hadn’t been this laid-back with Helen in her teens.
She leant forward and turned over the engine as thoughts of work swept back into her mind. She glanced down and flicked the switch to change the radio channel to BBC Hampton, hoping to catch the news. It was always handy to know how far ahead, or indeed behind you, the press were. Instead she was confronted with a Kings of Leon song, “Sex is On Fire”. She promptly turned it off. That was all she needed.
Chapter Twelve
The moment she was through the door of Hayes Coffee House, Helen spotted Dean. He was seated in the far corner, phone glued to his ear, wearing the blue top she bought him last year. Meeting him here, like this, felt wrong somehow. She hesitated awhile and watched him. He seemed to be having an animated conversation with someone on the phone. Curiosity drove her feet forward.
She’d almost reached him before he noticed her. He immediately stood and pocketed the phone, sending a stray serviette to the floor.
“Everything okay?”
A smile stretched across his face. “Of course.”
She paused. “Because you looked like you were in the middle of something.”
“No, it’s fine. You know what it’s like in this job. Everybody wants a piece of you.” His face softened. “I’m so glad you came.”
She extended a wary hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled her close to him and kissed the side of her face. As their cheeks brushed, she inhaled that same odour. Combined with the strong smell of coffee and vanilla in the cafe, it was intoxicating.
She nodded abruptly, retrieved her hand and sat, averting her gaze to look around the cafe as she battled to keep a lid on her composure. A young girl, probably early twenties, sat on one of the large sofas in the window, bent over a laptop, her head softly tipping to music from barely visible headphones. Two women were deep in conversation on tall stools beside the bar. The waitress fiddled with what looked like an old CD player behind the counter.
The peacefulness of the atmosphere calmed her. She turned back to Dean, “There was something you wanted to discuss?”
“Yes, of course. Shall we order first?”
She looked up at the menu behind the counter, an automatic gesture - she knew exactly what was on the board. “Just a latte, thank you.”
Helen watched him look towards the counter. The waitress was over in an instant. “Two lattes, please. And two of those double chocolate cookies.” He flashed Helen a smile.
“Oh, not for me… ”
“Who said they were for you? I might be hungry.”
The waitress’ giggles dissipated into the air as she retreated. When he looked back at Helen there was a twinkle in his eye. “So, how have you been?” he asked.
“Fine.”
“You finally got the Homicide Team then?”
“Yes.”
“Pleased?”
The muscles in her thighs tightened. He wasn’t going to make this easy. The last thing she wanted was to engage in small talk, but if she left now she had gleaned nothing. And she needed something. “Of course.” She forced a fleeting smile. “Hard work though.”
Silence hung in the air. A surge of laughter turned Helen’s head to the two women at the counter who appeared to be chuckling together at some private joke, lost in their own world.
“How are the boys?”
Helen turned back and fidgeted uncomfortably. “Good.”
“Still playing footie?”
She forced herself to be polite. “Robert is, yes. He’s in the youth league finals on Sunday.”
“Wow! I’ll have to see if I can get over to watch it.”
Helen shook her head as she spoke, “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.” She looked down and found a deep scratch, gouged in the corner of the table. She ran her finger along it.
“Helen, we need to talk.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “Yes, you said you had some information about the case?”
He leaned forward. “I do. But first we need to talk about us.”
Helen immediately stood. “I have no… ”
“Sit down, please?” The pain behind his eyes irked her. “Just hear me out? That’s all I ask.”
Helen sat down slowly. This was the conversation she dreaded. The one she wanted to avoid.
“You and I had a huge misunderstanding… ”
She widened her eyes as she interrupted, “You lied. You said your marriage was over. You were separated.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t lie. My wife and I were separated last year. But we hadn’t sorted out the financial arrangements, so I was living at the same house in the spare room. That way I could still be around Honey.”
“Honey?”
“My daughter. That text message you received, the one you thought was for my wife? It was meant for Honey. You are right next to each other on my phone.”
Helen desperately tried to recall the few details of his life that he had told her. He had talked about his daughter. She recalled her being around the same age as Matthew, although they’d never met. “Isn’t your daughter’s name, Lucy?”