by Emmy Ellis
A grand story could be cooked up from that, creating a right old feast, but it didn’t mean any of it was the truth, and to be honest, did Cassie want to digest it?
I suppose I have to.
Yes, Mystic had mentioned Mam killing the paedo, but could she have guessed? Or had the spirits really told her that?
They sat at the kitchen island at Mam’s, Jimmy and Shirl on one side, Cassie opposite. Had Mam killed this Lionel fella and let a young man take the blame for it? Based on what Cassie knew about her mother now, she wouldn’t put it past her. Shit. How could Cassie make this better without anyone knowing Mam had done it? The same went for Micky Jennings and Lee Scrubs. How could she fix that? Cassie had covered shit up for Lenny after his death, and it looked like she’d be doing the same for Mam, regardless of how much it rankled.
Really, Cassie should stand tall and tell people what her parents had done, but shame and embarrassment stopped her. What it all boiled down to was her not wanting it to reflect badly on her. Selfish cow. Yes, she’d gone at things bull at a gate when she’d taken over the patch, emulating Lenny, but Jimmy had hit the nail on the head: she wanted to run it her way now, but if she wanted folks to follow her rules without her heavy hand featuring, she’d have to hush this up.
She’d have to do things she didn’t want to in order to obtain that goal, which meant possibly killing people who didn’t deserve it.
Bollocks.
Cassie hadn’t confirmed the Unknown-to-You truth about Mam and Lionel to Shirl, and she trusted Jimmy wouldn’t either. It was looking more and more likely that Mam had been abused, and while that must have been horrific, especially if she’d endured it without telling anyone like Mystic had said as they’d left her house, she could have walked a different path afterwards, she didn’t have to go all insane and let it addle her brain.
“The ‘B’ person isn’t Mark Benson,” Cassie said. “We found out a few things of our own while you were off at your nan’s and Mrs Cox’s.”
Shirl’s shoulders slumped, maybe with relief, and she blew out a long breath. She tied her curly hair into a top knot. It was wonky and bent over on one side, but if she realised, she didn’t bother fixing it. “So who could it be?”
“No idea,” Jimmy said.
His way of letting Cassie know the secret was safe with regards to it being Ben?
Whatever, Cassie appreciated it. Funny how she didn’t mind him butting in, but when Jason had done it, she’d seen every shade of red. “We’ll be finding that out. In the meantime, Shirl, keep listening, and if you hear owt else, obviously let me know about it. That goes without saying. You let Mrs Cox know she can’t repeat your convo, yes?”
Shirl bobbed her head, the bun waggling. “Yes. She knows the score.”
“Good.” Cassie imagined what Mam would have tacked on the end of that: “We wouldn’t want her kids having any accidents, would we.” It was a chilling realisation that held more meaning now—that Mam would kill no matter the age of the target.
The remnants of the late lunch Cassie had made them reminded her to tidy up. Cheese salad sandwiches and, as a nod to their packed-lunch schooldays, a Penguin and a packet of cheese and onion crisps, although she’d stopped herself going as far as pouring orange squash, providing coffee instead.
She collected the plates, and Shirl stood to help.
“Don’t worry about this,” Cassie said to her. “Get off home and put your feet up. You’ve done a good job today.”
Shirl blushed, seeming uncomfortable with the praise. “If you’re sure…”
Cassie nodded. “Yep, I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.” Much as she liked the girl, she needed Shirl gone. There was stuff to discuss with Jimmy, stuff Shirl couldn’t be a part of. “Go in my office on your way out. There’s an envelope for you on the desk. Something extra for your trouble.”
Shirl glanced at Jimmy then back to Cassie. “But you already pay me five hundred a week.”
Cassie paused in putting a plate in the dishwasher. “You’re not arguing, are you, Shirl?”
“O-of course n-not.”
“Then take what’s owed. Go and buy yourself something nice.”
“Thank you.” Shirl moved to the door. “I’m sorry if what I told you was upsetting. You know, about your mam possibly being involved with that perv. They didn’t know for sure, but…”
Cassie shrugged. “It’s the past—and it can stay there.” She smiled. “Tarra then.”
Shirl walked out, and Cassie continued loading the dishwasher, the front door snicking shut as she placed the last cup in the top rack.
“She had some issues herself in that regard,” Jimmy said. “So her putting two and two together would have come naturally.”
“Poor cow.” Cassie set the machine on to wash. “But that’s her story, Jim. Not yours to tell.”
“I know; she said I could let you know if I wanted, though. I just thought you needed to be aware of why she’s skittish. She’s scared of you, yeah, but it goes deeper than that. She finds it hard to trust.”
Don’t we all. “She can tell me herself if she has the need.” Cassie took two Diet Cokes out of the fridge, handed a can to Jimmy, then sat. “I have decisions to make.”
He laughed quietly and shook his head. “By the look on your face, you’ve already made them, you just need to talk them out. I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“No. I don’t like it myself, but…” She sighed. “Listen, while they did shit things, the worst kind of things, they were still my parents. I covered up for Lenny, so I’ll cover up for Francis. It means…well, you can imagine what it means.”
“Threats or murder?” Jimmy appeared apprehensive and bit his lower lip.
“Depends how our next visit goes.”
“Shite.”
“Hmm.” She tapped the top of her can.
“Where are we going?” He picked at a hangnail.
“To visit Ben’s parents.”
“Right.”
“Drink up.” She popped the tab, air hissing out of the can. “We can’t sit around all day, can we. People to see and things to do.”
Cassie smiled to hide the fact she wanted to run again. Her legs were eager to, as was her heart, but her stupid head and Lenny’s teachings forced her to see this through.
Murder or not, she had to tuck the past beneath those rancid bedsheets once and for all. Only then could she move on.
* * * *
As it happened, Paul and Lisa, Ben’s parents, were home. Cassie turning up on their shiny, red-tiled doorstep which was braced by potted plants didn’t seem to have been a shock. It was like they’d expected it, had resigned themselves to a visit at some point. It wouldn’t have taken much for them to join the dots, creating the picture before them now. Their son had overheard them talking about Francis, then Francis had got shot. For all Cassie knew, Ben could have borrowed one of Joe Wilson’s guns that he used to shoot any ill pigs. Mind you, Joe had shotguns, not a handgun, which had been used to murder Mam, according to Branding.
On the phone this morning, at the arse crack of dawn before he’d set off for work, the DI had said forensics would be able to tell if the weapon had been used previously, in a crime they already knew about. Something about striations on the bullet, which had lodged itself in a gravestone after passing through Mam’s heart. He reckoned that could cause a problem if it was matched. Whoever had committed the first crime would possibly get hauled in for Francis’ murder—unless he could stop that from happening. That was the problem, he’d said, he had no control over other areas of the investigation, and ‘losing’ vital evidence like that would end up with fingers pointing at him because he’d have to delete the data trail, and to do that he’d have to log in with his name and password. Or take a chance and use someone else’s, risking getting caught.
She got it. She knew he had his hands tied in some respects. Today, and in the days going forward, she wasn’t going to be like her mother where she’d ex
pect him to get rid of stuff no matter what. Maybe she should put him out of his misery and let him know that. If he was worrying about her reaction all the time, he wasn’t putting his all into helping her out. They didn’t need him fucking up.
In the living room of the terraced two-bed house, an old-fashioned type that hadn’t moved with the times, all brown velour and a nasty-arsed, swirl-patterned seventies carpet they must have laid themselves because Mam or Dad wouldn’t have put it down (it was one of their properties), Cassie and Jimmy remained by the door, blocking the exit so Paul and Lisa had no chance of legging it. Not that they looked like they would. Paul, his going-grey brown hair in a messy style, sat beside his wife on the sofa, clutching her hand. Lisa, the kind of blonde that was natural but lacklustre through age, shook, her elfin face pale, wrinkles beside her eyes showing that grief was still out and about in her life, poncing around in its big clumpy boots. All in all, they were broken, this couple, united in grief and desperate to save their son.
With Paul being a sandwich short like Ben, did that mean he wouldn’t understand the gravity of the situation? Cassie didn’t know him enough to judge.
Fuck, she really didn’t want to do this, but she had to find out from the horse’s mouth where they stood. She couldn’t just take Mystic’s word for it that these two planned to keep their traps shut.
“I’ve found out it was your Ben who killed my mam.” There wasn’t any point in beating around a bush that had so many prickles she’d get stabbed by emotions if she hesitated.
Lisa cried out, stuffing the tip of a bony fist between her overlong teeth. She closed her blue-shadowed eyes, and it was obvious she was afraid of what Cassie might say next. Her light-pink jumper had pilling on it, giving the impression it was a much-loved favourite, had been through the wash too many times, and it swamped her skinny frame, puddling over her concave belly. Paul rested a chubby arm across her shoulders, his shirt stretched across his wrist, hand splayed on the top of her arm as though he needed to touch her to steady himself.
“What are you going to do?” Paul’s blue eyes watered. Once, they may have been a vibrant shade like Cassie’s, but the loss of their baby and too many tears might have dulled them, plus age, the unrelenting passage of time that didn’t give a shit about looks. “He’s just a lad. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“How do you know?” Cassie asked. “Spoken to him about it, have you? As in, you’re aware of what he did but didn’t think to tell me.”
That was unfair. How could she expect them to dob their own kid in? Of course they’d keep it to themselves.
“No, we guessed. After…after news of your mam’s murder came in,” Paul said. “He…he heard us talking the other day. Lisa worked out who’d done it, killed our babby, like, and Ben walked in. Just stood there, he did, staring, then he buggered off out.”
“Did you think he’d kill Francis?” Cassie watched for signs of him lying.
“No,” Lisa wailed, her mouth a narrow tunnel then gaping to a wide ‘O’. “No, he’s not that sort. He’s a good boy.”
“Clearly, he is the sort, and clearly, he isn’t a fucking good boy.” Cassie grimaced at that. The poor kid was doing what he felt was right, what Cassie would have done in his pig-shit-stained Timberlands, but she wouldn’t allow these two to know that. She’d maintain her hardness—she had to so they were frightened of her, so she’d get the truth out of them about what they planned to do now. “Working at the farm today, is he?”
Paul nodded. “Yes. Joe’s still too upset to deal with it alone, plus he’s gone back to the factory part-time now.”
Cassie felt for Joe. He’d loved his wife, Lou, but would he have loved her if he’d known what she was really like? Some nutter who’d killed? Cassie wasn’t going to let him in on that, it’d finished the poor fucker. And she felt for Paul, too. Not only was he still mourning his baby and a sister who’d got shot in the sodding eye, he had this to deal with.
Cassie folded her arms. “Phone Ben. Tell him to come here. Don’t tell him why.”
Jimmy shifted beside her and glared at the couple. “You don’t need us to say what will happen if you don’t do as you’re told.”
Bloody hell, hark at him, coming into his own. “Jimmy’s right.” Cassie took a step forward, pointing at man and wife. “Do this the right way.”
Paul let go of Lisa and took a phone out of his pocket. He rang his son on speaker—sensible fella—and ordered him home.
Ben sounded panicked. “What’s up, Dad?”
“Just get here.” Paul jabbed his finger on the End Call icon. He looked at Cassie. “He’ll drive hell for leather now, thinking his mam’s ill. She’s been having trouble with her heart, like Lenny.”
Cassie paced in front of Jimmy. “I don’t care what he does so long as he doesn’t get pulled over for speeding. What are your plans regarding Mam?”
Paul frowned. “What do you mean?”
He isn’t a sandwich short, he’s missing the whole picnic. “Are you going to be telling anyone what you suspect her of? I mean, there’s no proof, none that I’ve found anyroad, to suggest she actually killed your daughter.”
“It had to be her” Lisa whispered. “She was the only one to leave The Donny via the back that day.”
As Cassie didn’t have the full story, she was in the dark here. “So you’re saying you watched the door the whole time? And what’s the back of the pub got to do with owt?”
“Our baby, she was out there in the buggy, asleep.” Paul fidgeted. “We thought it better that she wasn’t near the fag smoke—you could smoke in pubs back then, see.”
Cassie recalled her younger years in The Donny with her father, the air thick with grey clouds. It brought on a memory of Doreen singing karaoke, and Cassie had to swallow down her emotions. This wasn’t the time or place to get upset in that way. “So how come it only just occurred to you recently that it could have been Mam? Why didn’t you say owt about it back then?”
“Because no one would want to accuse a woman who’d not long had her own baby,” Paul said. “It just didn’t seem something a new mother would do.”
Cassie stopped pacing and stared at him. “Again, why think it was her now then?” She tried to recall if this had been in any of the ledgers, the death. Yes, it had, but just the date and the fact it had been murder, no specific details. The coded words had been in Lenny’s handwriting.
“Grief can blot things out,” Lisa said. “Cloud the issue. I was so caught up in losing my Janey that everything else fell by the wayside.”
Paul patted her knee and eyed Cassie. “Lisa’s found it a difficult subject to speak about. Only been opening up lately. Years that’s taken. We talked, as I said, and it was like a light bulb had gone off for her, wasn’t it, love?” He looked at her.
She nodded. “Everything came tumbling back. Francis going out there, then coming in a few minutes later. Her leaving the pub.”
“Surely someone else saw that,” Cassie said. “Why didn’t they inform the police?”
Paul laughed, and it sounded cruel. “One word: Lenny. I suppose, because he’d taken over the patch, people knew he’d go ballistic if they accused his missus.”
Cassie couldn’t argue with that. Even back then, Dad’s reign relatively new, people would have kept that information quiet. But if anyone had seen Mam, did they think she’d done it? If so, how had they lived with themselves keeping it a secret?
The loss of a leg or getting stabbed by Dad most likely put paid to them offering up info.
Cassie let out a little of what she was feeling. “If she did it, I’m sorry.” There. That was all the outward sympathy they’d get from her. She’d keep the rest locked inside.
“Sorry doesn’t bring Janey back, though, does it?” Lisa said.
A key scraped in the lock, and Jimmy turned to face the hallway. He stepped back, and Ben walked into the lounge, eyes wide, hands shaking. He caught sight of Cassie, and his face turned white then flu
shed on his cheeks, a damning bright red.
“Ay up, Ben,” Cassie said. “We’re just having a little chat about what you’ve been up to.”
With the doorway blocked by Jimmy again, Ben moved backwards to stand against the opposite wall beside the sofa. What did he think it was going to do, swallow him up and save him? “Look—”
“No, you look,” Cassie shouted. “What the fuck did you think you were playing at? You killed my mam when that should have been my job.” Fuck. Shit. Jesus bloody Christ. She hadn’t meant to say that. “You should have told me so I could deal with her.”
“Would you have?” Lisa asked.
Cassie turned to her. “You’d better believe I would. That woman…” She stopped herself from revealing more. About Micky and Lee. About the lies and manipulation. About not wanting Cassie. “She needed punishing, and Marlene would have been a better ending to her. Instead, she’ll get a funeral, people mourning her.” Those who have no clue what a bitch she was. She was as mad as Lou. “She doesn’t deserve that after what she’s done.”
“Well I’ll be blowed,” Paul said. “You mean it, don’t you.”
Cassie nodded. “She was unhinged. Had to be stopped.”
“So why are you here?” Ben asked in a whine. “What does it matter who killed her so long as she’s dead?”
“Because you don’t get to call the shots on my patch. That’s a violation.” In that moment, Cassie hated him for taking her choice away from her, even though she understood why he’d done it. “Where did you get the gun from? And don’t try to fob me off. If someone’s selling on the estate, I need to stop them.”
“Some bloke in The Donny.” Ben sounded sulky.