Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle

by Shirley Wells

  ‘I was out this way and thought I’d call in for a quick one. That’s not a crime, is it?’

  ‘Not yet. On your own, are you?’ Max asked, looking around. There was no sign of the minder.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘It’s a nice place to stop, isn’t it?’ Max looked at the oak beams, the jugs and horse brasses, and the roaring coal fire. ‘I only stumbled across it when I came out to watch the Nutters last Easter.’

  The famous Britannia Coconut Dancers performed their folk dances with blackened faces that were supposed to reflect either a pagan or medieval background, or their mining connections. No one seemed to know for sure. One theory was that the dances had originated with the Moorish pirates who settled in Cornwall and were employed in local mining. Then, when the mines and quarries opened in Lancashire in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, it was only natural that they should bring their expertise north. Whatever, the spectacle of the men with their black faces, and their red, white and blue arched garlands, was well worth seeing.

  The subject clearly didn’t interest McQueen, however. Perhaps he had other things on his mind.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about Bradley Johnson?’ Max asked. ‘Anything that might interest me?’

  ‘Not a whisper.’

  ‘I’ve heard he wasn’t averse to a spot of blackmail. Would you know anything about that?’

  McQueen’s gaze sharpened at that. ‘No.’

  ‘He wasn’t blackmailing you, was he?’

  ‘Me? God, man, what do you take me for? Blackmailed by a tosser like him? Besides,’ he added, ‘I’ve got nothing to hide. He’d have nothing on me.’

  ‘Come on, Tom. Everyone’s got something they’d rather keep private.’

  ‘Not me.’ He gave Max a smug smile. ‘As pure as the driven white stuff, that’s me.’

  More like the filthy black slush out in the gutter.

  ‘What would you have done if he’d tried it on?’

  Grinning, McQueen leaned across the table to whisper, ‘I’d have told him to fuck off.’ Sitting back in his seat, he added, ‘Then again, I might have bludgeoned him to death in Black’s Wood. Who knows?’

  He’d glanced at his watch five times in as many minutes. He had to be meeting someone.

  ‘Does the name Claire Lawrence mean anything to you?’ Max asked.

  Jill had watched the local news programme from the evening that Claire had gone berserk and, other than a mention of Bradley Johnson’s murder, and a quick shot of McQueen and several others at a fundraising event for the local hospice, it was all sport and weather.

  ‘Why should it?’

  Unless Max was mistaken, the question had touched a nerve.

  ‘I just wondered. She’s currently behind bars for murdering her daughter. I’m sure you remember the case, Tom.’

  ‘No, I can’t say I do.’

  Liar.

  McQueen emptied his glass—he’d been drinking whisky—and got to his feet. ‘I’d have another but I don’t want to be caught drinking and driving. Night, Chief Inspector.’

  When he’d gone, Max walked to the window and gazed at the car park opposite. It was pitch black out there but, when McQueen opened his car’s door, the courtesy light came on. Max could see enough to know he was making a call on his mobile phone.

  He was tempted to follow him, but McQueen would be wise to that. With Max on his tail, he’d go straight home and cancel any meetings he might have had.

  Max wondered if his sharp exit had been prompted by talk of Claire Lawrence. Max would look into that and see if Claire had ever rented one of McQueen’s properties.

  Come hell or high water, Max would have McQueen behind bars for something. If not for murder, then for dealing. All he needed was a bit of hard evidence.

  And for how long had he been saying that?

  Claire had been on drugs for most of her life so she would have been an ideal candidate for one of McQueen’s properties. There was no proof, but Max was convinced he preyed on the vulnerable and Claire would have been a gift to him. Not only could he squeeze rent from her, she’d soon become a valued heroin customer.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jill walked out of the bookie’s on Saturday morning, having wagered a small fortune on what, hopefully, were promising horses, and was heading for the newsagent’s to buy her lottery ticket, when she bumped, almost literally, into Hannah Brooks. She would have to get her ticket later. It was a rollover this evening so she didn’t want to forget. Still, if those horses came good, she’d be quids in.

  ‘Hannah, hello. How are you?’ She had the distinct impression that Hannah would have avoided her given half a chance.

  The miscarriage had taken its toll and Jill was shocked by her appearance. Although three or four inches shorter than Jill, she always seemed larger than life, one of those with boundless supplies of energy. This morning, she looked small. Or perhaps that was because her coat, a long and navy woollen one that she wore with the collar turned up and her shoulder-length fair hair tucked inside, swamped her small frame. The blue and yellow hand-knitted mittens she wore would have suited a young child.

  ‘Hello, Jill. I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘And Gordon?’

  ‘Oh, you know.’

  Jill didn’t, but she could guess. ‘It sounds trite, I know, but things will get easier.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right. And everyone’s been so kind.’

  They were blocking the narrow path cleared of snow on the pavement.

  ‘Good to see you, Jill, but I’d better get home.’

  Jill was right; given the choice Hannah would have ignored her.

  ‘I’ll walk with you. It’s nice to get out in this weather, isn’t it? Anything’s better than all that rain we had.’

  ‘Yes.’ Hannah looked resigned to having to make conversation. ‘I’m sorry about Monday evening,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t drink often and I’m afraid it went to my head. I just wanted to get—merry,’ she said. ‘Fat chance, eh? It was foolish of me.’

  ‘Not foolish at all. Quite understandable, in fact. In the same circumstances, I would have wanted to get totally legless.’

  Hannah smiled, grateful for the understanding.

  ‘I haven’t been far this morning,’ she said, ‘only up to Granddad’s. He was out at the crack of dawn with his dog.’

  ‘Jack’s a keen walker, isn’t he? How’s he taking things?’

  ‘Nothing fazes him. Disasters come and go and he takes them in his stride.’

  ‘I saw him the other day and we were talking about Bradley Johnson,’ Jill said. ‘He didn’t care for him, did he?’

  Hannah shrugged that off. ‘He didn’t care for foreigners as he called them. No matter that Mr Johnson had lived in England for so long,’ she added lightly. ‘As far as Granddad was concerned, he was a foreigner.’

  ‘Strange though, don’t you think? To take such a strong dislike to him?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it was a strong dislike exactly.’

  Jill would have said it was exactly that.

  They were out of the main street, heading towards the church. Here, because the snow hadn’t been cleared from the pavement, walking side by side was difficult.

  ‘You must have got on well with Bradley,’ Jill mused.

  ‘Me? What makes you say that?’

  ‘Wasn’t he going to help you with your campaign?’

  ‘Oh, that. Yes, he was.’ She shoved her mittened hands deep in the pockets of her coat. ‘I expect the publicity would have helped him, too.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Of course.’

  ‘A dreadful thing to happen,’ Hannah went on, trotting out the well-worn phrase. ‘I do feel for his poor wife. It’s just awful to think of something like that happening here in Kelton.’

  ‘It is,’ Jill agreed. ‘I never really knew him, but I do like Phoebe.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suppose you went to their legendary parties?’


  ‘No.’

  Jill was surprised.

  ‘We did have invites, of course,’ Hannah went on, ‘but we could never make it for some reason or another.’

  ‘You didn’t see Bradley and Phoebe socially?’

  ‘No. Why would I?’

  Because Bradley liked to meet local celebrities and Hannah was just that. Lately, her face hadn’t been out of the Rossendale Free Press.

  ‘No reason, I suppose.’ The pavement narrowed and Jill stepped into the road.

  ‘I don’t know how many friends Phoebe has,’ she went on when she was able to walk beside Hannah again, ‘but she needs every one of them right now. It will get easier for her once the killer has been caught. It will give her closure. Until then, she won’t be able to get on with her life.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ Jill went on, ‘that people don’t talk. Either they feel they’re betraying a confidence or it’s just natural for them to keep gossip to themselves. It would be so much easier, and so much better for poor Phoebe, if people talked.’

  ‘I suppose it would.’

  Jill was hoping to shame her into saying something, but Hannah remained tight-lipped.

  ‘Your grandfather often walks in Black’s Wood, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know about often. He sometimes does, yes. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Do you think he’d tell us if he’d seen something or heard something?’

  ‘Of course he would. Why wouldn’t he?’ As well as defensive, she sounded angry.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’

  They had passed the church and were only a couple of hundred yards from Hannah’s house.

  ‘If you hear anything, anything at all, will you let me know, Hannah?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course I will. It’s just awful to have this hanging over Kelton. No one can relax, can they?’ It seemed to Jill that Hannah was relieved to have the conversation almost over. ‘Although I doubt if people will talk to me. Besides, who would know anything about it? I’m sure no one local is responsible.’

  Jill wasn’t sure of any such thing.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she said. ‘Well, it’s good to see you, Hannah. Give Gordon my regards, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, I will. Thanks, Jill. Good to see you, too.’

  She marched off quickly, hunting in her pocket for her house keys as she went. Jill stood watching until she dived inside her house and closed the door on the world.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Max was getting seriously annoyed. No one was talking. They exchanged their knowing glances, they spoke in riddles, but no one said anything of value. No one claimed to have seen anything.

  Except Ella, of course. She’d seen Bradley Johnson on that fateful afternoon.

  No one else had, though.

  In Kelton Bridge, where it was impossible to sneeze without the whole damn village taking bets on an early death from pneumonia, someone must have seen something.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Chief Inspector?’

  Max dragged his attention back to Phoebe Johnson. ‘A coffee would be welcome. Thanks.’

  She left him in the sitting room and he could hear her clattering around in the kitchen.

  Max sat, then stood up again with his back to the fire. He was restless. Until someone gave him something to go on, he couldn’t get his teeth into this investigation.

  When Phoebe returned, carrying a tray on which sat two coffees and a plate of mint chocolates, it struck him again how composed she was. Too composed for a woman whose husband had been murdered?

  How could one tell? Relationships came in all shapes and sizes, and people dealt with grief in countless ways.

  ‘Thank you.’ He picked up his coffee, sat in a chair by the fire, and waited for her to sit opposite. ‘You said your sons hadn’t been in Kelton for six weeks,’ he began. ‘Are you sure they didn’t pay a visit more recently? Perhaps a brief flying visit?’

  The question startled her. ‘A flying visit?’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘Oh, yes, that’s right. They popped in a fortnight ago, the Saturday before …’ Her voice trailed away. ‘Sorry, that slipped my mind.’

  Just as it had slipped Keiran’s mind. And Tyler’s.

  ‘That’s OK. We’ve been talking to their friends at the universities and—’

  ‘Why?’

  Because they’re a pair of lying so-and-sos. Because, as Max’s dad would say, they both needed a bloody good hiding.

  ‘It’s routine. We’re trying to build up a picture of your husband’s movements during his last days. Why did they visit?’

  ‘No reason. I gather they were at a loose end and decided to call in.’

  According to a friend and fellow student of Keiran’s, the lad had been ‘summoned’ to the manor.

  ‘You’d have to ask them,’ she added lamely.

  ‘Where are they today?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ She smiled at that. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve expected to know where they are and who they’re with, Chief Inspector.’

  Outwardly, she was polite and helpful. But inwardly? Or perhaps she really had forgotten her sons’ visit to the manor, and perhaps she was clueless as to their current whereabouts.

  ‘Would you ask them to give me a ring when they return?’

  ‘Of course. If you think it’s necessary.’

  Max did.

  ‘I’m still curious about how your husband came to meet Thomas McQueen,’ he said. ‘Can you think back and try to remember exactly what your husband said about him?’

  ‘I don’t think he ever said anything. He gave me a list of people he wanted at that last party and Mr McQueen was on it. I’ve no idea how they met.’

  ‘McQueen is a bit of a dubious character.’ He decided to settle for the understatement. ‘He has a somewhat colourful past. Did your husband know about that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’ve told you, Chief Inspector, he never mentioned the man to me.’

  ‘Someone suggested your husband had dabbled in blackmail,’ he said quietly, and she let out a shocked gasp.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Max said, ‘but we need to examine every possibility.’

  She nodded her acceptance.

  ‘I don’t suppose you knew anything about blackmail?’

  ‘Of course not. And I don’t believe it for a moment. It’s yet another horrid rumour, that’s all. People were jealous of him. Of us. Of our lifestyle. People spread malicious lies.’

  Before Max could comment on that, Tyler’s car was heard pulling up outside.

  ‘That’ll be Tyler and Keiran,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell them you’d like a word.’

  Max timed it. Almost three and a half minutes to tell them he’d like a word?

  When they arrived, it was Tyler who, once again, dominated the room. Yet, according to students at Lancaster, Keiran was the party animal. He was the one who, allegedly, went on drinking binges and was often too ‘out of it’ to get to lectures.

  ‘Chief Inspector,’ Tyler greeted him. ‘I gather you want to ask us yet more questions?’

  Tyler was cocky and arrogant.

  ‘I just wondered why neither of you mentioned coming to the manor a fortnight ago,’ Max said pleasantly.

  ‘There was nothing worth mentioning,’ Tyler assured him. ‘We were only here for an hour.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Keiran agreed. ‘We were out for a drive and called in for a quick coffee with the folks.’

  ‘And your father was here?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Keiran looked scared to death. Or hungover. Perhaps both.

  ‘You say you were out for a drive? Why was that? Where did you go?’

  ‘Until a month ago,’ Tyler explained patiently, ‘we were both driving around in old wrecks of cars. Keiran still is. I was given some money for my twenty-first and last month I decided to get a new one. We fancied going out and putting it through its paces.’

 
; ‘Ah, I see. And where did you go to put it through its paces?’

  ‘We drove down the M6 from Lancaster, and were planning to go into Manchester for a wander round the shops. Because we stopped off here for a coffee, though, we decided to go straight back to Lancaster.’

  ‘Your visit was unannounced?’

  ‘Yes. A spur of the moment thing,’ Tyler insisted.

  Max didn’t believe him.

  ‘And you saw your father? He wasn’t working?’

  ‘We saw him—a quick hello and goodbye,’ Keiran explained.

  ‘And how did he seem?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Was he pleased to see you? Was he busy? Was he about to go out? Was he having a relaxing day at home?’

  ‘He was fine. As Keiran said, we only stopped for a quick coffee.’

  ‘And your car?’ Max asked. ‘Did it perform well?’

  ‘Very well,’ Tyler said, and Max recognized the satisfaction of a young person pleased with his car.

  ‘You’ve got the Mini One convertible, yes? 1.6?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘About fifteen grand on the road?’

  ‘Give or take, yes.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money for a student to fork out,’ Max remarked.

  ‘As I said, I had some money for my twenty-first. And Dad helped me out with a loan. He said I could pay him back as soon as I was working and had a decent income.’

  ‘More coffee, Chief Inspector?’ Phoebe asked.

  ‘Not for me, thanks.’ Max waved a dismissive hand. ‘Someone at your university, Keiran, was under the impression that you visited the manor at your father’s request. Summoned was the word used, I believe.’

  ‘For God’s sake.’ Tyler always answered for his younger brother. ‘Whatever gave them that idea? Well, Chief Inspector, it’s nonsense. It was a spur of the moment, social call. Nothing more and nothing less.’

  Max was wasting his time. Whatever these three people knew, and he was sure that Phoebe knew more than she was saying, he wasn’t going to uncover it here.

  ‘Right, I’ll be off then,’ he said. ‘Thanks for your time.

  When I have any news, I’ll be in touch.’