Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle

by Shirley Wells

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Jack chuckled. ‘I bet there’s something somewhere that says you can’t question me if you’re off duty. You coppers have gone soft,’ he added, sitting opposite Max and putting their mugs in front of them. ‘The other day, outside the bank, there were a couple of young lads, no more than fourteen, mouthing off at two coppers. The coppers treated them like bloody royalty. Why the hell didn’t they belt ’em one?’

  ‘Because they’d have been on an assault charge before you could say “hello, hello, hello”,’ Max informed him.

  ‘Pah. Gone soft, they have.’

  ‘It’s not us coppers,’ Max argued. ‘It’s society as a whole. Everyone has rights, these days, even scum.’

  ‘Rights,’ Jack scoffed. ‘If you cause a disturbance, do damage, pinch something—well, you should lose all rights. It stands to reason.’

  Max couldn’t agree more.

  ‘It’s the same in schools,’ Jack went on. ‘In my day, you spoke when you were spoken to and not before. Step out of line and a few lashes meant you couldn’t sit down for a week. These days, kids are abusive to teachers. Violent even.’ He broke off to shake his head in bewilderment. ‘We’re in a sorry state. If there were a war tomorrow, I shudder to think what would happen. A bloody disaster, that’s what.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s a lot that’s wrong with the country admittedly, but there’s a lot of good around, too.’

  ‘Hm.’ Jack wasn’t convinced.

  Max took a swig of his tea and was surprised to find that it tasted good. He’d never laced tea with whisky. Coffee, yes, but not tea.

  ‘You make a good cup of tea, Jack.’

  ‘I thought you’d appreciate it, lad.’

  ‘Are you trying to grovel your way into my good books?’ he asked suspiciously, and Jack laughed.

  ‘No. I’m trying to get you drunk so that I can bash you over the head and drag your body into Black’s Wood. I reckon I’d make a good killer. What do you think, Sal?’ he asked, fondling the dog’s ears.

  ‘Talking of murder,’ Max began, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve managed to find—’

  Before he could finish, Jack left the room and returned with a tiny scrap of paper that he handed to Max.

  It was a receipt for a watch battery costing three pounds ninety-nine pence. The time shown on it was 4.45 p.m., which, if it belonged to Jack, put him in the clear.

  ‘You could have found this anywhere,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘I could,’ Jack agreed nonchalantly, ‘but I didn’t.’

  ‘How do I know that?’

  ‘You’ll just have to take my word for it, won’t you?’

  ‘Come on, Jack, if I took everyone at their word, I’d never make an arrest.’

  ‘You mean people lie to you? Tut tut. Whatever next?’ He put down his mug and leaned, elbows on the table, towards Max. ‘I’m not lying to you,’ he said seriously. ‘I swear on my life, on my dog’s life even, that I was in Rochdale getting that battery.’

  Max believed him.

  ‘You know something, though, don’t you?’

  ‘Like what?’ Jack demanded.

  ‘Ah, if I knew that, I’d be as wise as you.’

  ‘I know nothing that’ll make any difference to anything,’ the old man vowed.

  Which meant he did know something.

  The collie had moved nearer to Max’s feet and he leaned down to stroke her.

  ‘Tell me about your granddaughter, Jack,’ he suggested, straightening.

  ‘What the hell does my Hannah have to do with anything?’ Jack’s good mood was slipping.

  ‘I’d like to know if Bradley Johnson ever attempted to blackmail her.’

  ‘Why would he do that? What’s she ever done?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Max replied, ‘but we know he wasn’t above a spot of blackmail.’

  Jack shrugged as if the subject was of no interest to him whatsoever.

  ‘I’m sure we’ve all done things we wouldn’t want the world to know about,’ Max pushed on, ‘and someone in Hannah’s position would make a prime target for blackmail. Personally, I don’t care who our politicians sleep with, or if they’re drunken drug-takers, so long as they do the job we’re paying them to do.’

  ‘I quite agree with you.’

  ‘But other people do care. If Hannah experimented with drugs at university or had an affair with a married man—well, it could jeopardize her future.’

  ‘I expect it could,’ Jack agreed.

  ‘So, as far as you know, Johnson didn’t attempt to blackmail her?’

  ‘Why the bloody hell should he?’ he demanded again.

  ‘I don’t know. I was hoping you’d tell me.’

  ‘Bloody nonsense. And don’t you go pestering Hannah,’ he added darkly. ‘She’s just lost a baby, you know.’

  ‘Yes, and I’m truly sorry about that.’

  ‘Have you got kids?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Two boys. Harry and Ben.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand that she’s had a rough time of it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Had Hannah Brooks done something to attract Johnson’s attention? And like what? As far as they could tell, she’d never so much as thought twice about anything that might smear her spotless character.

  ‘Another cup of tea before you go?’ Jack asked, and Max nodded.

  ‘Thanks. Easy on the tea though, Jack, eh?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tessa Bailey, Muhammed Khalil’s alleged girlfriend, had proved elusive. She was well known by the other girls working the streets, but no one had known where she was. That wasn’t surprising, Max supposed. Once word got out that people were looking for her, she would have done a runner. Extensive inquiries into Muhammed Khalil’s murder hadn’t brought up her name and she hadn’t come forward. That wasn’t surprising, either. People like Tessa didn’t come forward.

  However, unluckily for her, she’d been found in Blackburn. She was still working as a prostitute and after what, judging by the dark circles around her eyes, was a profitable night, she’d been seen going to Asda for a pack of cigarettes early this morning.

  She sat facing Max now in interview room three. It was cold in there and Max didn’t begrudge the mug of tea that was currently warming her hands.

  ‘Right,’ he began, ‘what do you know about Tom McQueen?’

  Her face, pale and grubby, registered shock. ‘Eh? What the—? Now you look here, I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

  Whatever she’d been expecting to be questioned about, it wasn’t that.

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I don’t. Why the ’ell should I?’

  ‘Because your ex-boyfriend knew him.’

  ‘Which ex-boyfriend?’

  ‘Muhammed Khalil.’

  ‘Who says he were my—?’

  ‘Don’t play games, Tessa. We know you lived with him.’ Max didn’t want to alienate her. That would get him nowhere. ‘McQueen won’t know you’ve spoken to us, I promise.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She sat back in her chair, and Max watched some of her natural confidence return. In her early twenties, she probably scrubbed up well. When she bothered. Her dark hair was long and lank, her teeth were yellow, and there were still traces of yesterday’s make-up round her eyes, but her figure was good and her skin was clear.

  ‘What am I here for?’ she demanded. ‘You’re supposed to get me a lawyer. I know my rights.’

  ‘You can have a lawyer if you want one,’ Max replied easily. ‘As to why you’re here, that’s up to you. You can either tell me what you know about McQueen, or you can be charged. We’ll start with soliciting or benefit fraud, something like that.’ He shrugged in a friendly manner. ‘The choice is yours.’

  She chewed on bitten fingernails while she considered her options.

  ‘I’ve never spoken to McQueen,’ she said at l
ast.

  ‘You haven’t missed much. He owned the flat you shared with Muhammed Khalil, yes?’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Right. Now, McQueen claimed that Khalil paid four hundred pounds a month for the privilege. Is that right?’

  ‘If he says so.’

  ‘He does. He even produced a rent book showing the amounts paid.’

  She shrugged at that.

  ‘The thing is,’ Max pushed on, ‘I don’t believe Khalil handed over that sort of cash every month. How could he? Most of the time he was out of work and, for some reason, he never got round to claiming benefit either.’

  ‘That were his business.’

  ‘And now I’m making it yours, Tessa. Did Muhammed pay rent?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Sort of? What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘It means—’ She stopped, probably to consider a benefit fraud charge, before continuing reluctantly. ‘He did pay for the flat. It’s just that—well, he did a few odd jobs for McQueen. It got took out of that.’

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  ‘So he was on McQueen’s payroll?’

  ‘Nah.’ She looked at Max as if he were insane. ‘Muhammed got the flat cheap. Then, when he didn’t have the rent money, and McQueen put that up every month, McQueen said he could do a job for him.’

  ‘What sort of job?’

  ‘Dunno. He was doing odd jobs for him before I lived with him.’

  ‘So was he fetching and carrying? Selling? Something like that?’

  She nodded and looked on the verge of tears now.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ Max asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Drugs?’ Max asked.

  ‘I dunno about that.’

  Perhaps she didn’t. She’d have a damn good idea though.

  ‘And Muhammed was happy with this arrangement, was he?’

  She reached into the pocket of her denim jacket and pulled out a tissue that looked as if it had cleaned roads in a previous incarnation.

  ‘Here.’ Max took a white handkerchief from his own pocket and handed it over. ‘There will be less germs on that.’

  ‘Ta.’

  She blew her nose and dabbed at eyes that swam in moisture.

  ‘No. He weren’t happy,’ she said finally. ‘He wanted to see McQueen and tell him he wanted paying properly. The trouble were, he couldn’t get near the bloke.’

  ‘I see. So what did he do?’

  ‘Nowt. Well, as far as I know. He did talk of breaking into McQueen’s house, but it meant nowt. That way, he said, the bloke’d have to listen to him. He wouldn’t, though. Blokes like him don’t listen to no one.’

  ‘Are you sure he didn’t try something like that?’

  ‘Course I am. McQueen’s got a bloody great guard dog for one thing.’

  ‘But he might have tried something else? Or he might have tried getting past the dog?’

  She thought long and hard. ‘He decided he’d get money another way. There were some stuff he had to deliver and—’

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Tessa!’

  ‘Crack,’ she whispered finally.

  So McQueen was dealing crack now. Why not? There was a growing market for it. Many addicts were using it alongside heroin.

  ‘Right. Carry on.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Muhammed decided he’d sell it on and then tell McQueen he were robbed. He got a mate to beat him up so it looked real.’

  Max winced. That was a very foolish, not to say dangerous thing to do.

  ‘How did McQueen take that?’

  ‘Badly. He didn’t believe him. Muhammed thought the best thing to do were to pack up and clear off, just in case McQueen sent someone for him.’

  ‘And?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘And then Muhammed was dead,’ Max guessed. ‘Right?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She blew her nose again.

  ‘There’s something else, isn’t there? Come on, Tessa. Out with it.’

  ‘After—after that, McQueen asked for me. He knew my spot on the street, and he asked the other girls if I were about.’

  ‘And? Did he find you?’

  ‘About a month later, yeah. He’d been with a couple of the other girls by then.’

  ‘Tom McQueen goes with prostitutes? Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Bleeding hell. We didn’t play Scrabble.’

  ‘He went with you?’

  ‘Yeah. And it scared me to death, I can tell you. I thought it was cos of Muhammed, you see. It couldn’t have been, though. Well, he never mentioned it and I didn’t.’

  Max was still trying to accept that Tom McQueen paid for sex. Why the hell hadn’t they discovered that particular gem?

  He wanted every working girl questioned.

  ‘So what do you think, Tessa? Do you think McQueen killed Muhammed?’

  ‘Nah,’ she scoffed. ‘He’d have got one of his thugs to do it, wouldn’t he?’

  He would. But McQueen would have issued the order and that was good enough for Max.

  ‘Who else was working for him, Tessa?’

  ‘Dunno.’ She spotted his doubtful expression. ‘I don’t. Honest. Muhammed never knew, neither. When McQueen wanted a job doing, he’d have a newspaper delivered to the flat. Muhammed knew then that he had to go to the phone box and call him. Even then, he never spoke to the man himself. It were a mobile he used to call and someone else answered it.’

  ‘I need names,’ Max urged her.

  ‘You won’t get any from me. I swear, I never knew. Muhammed didn’t, either.’

  Max believed her. If McQueen was good at anything, it was covering his tracks.

  ‘Muhammed reckoned it were someone at Reno’s who answered it,’ she said, ‘but he weren’t sure. A couple of times, he could hear music and stuff. Reminded him of Reno’s.’

  Reno’s was Harrington’s trendy nightclub and Max had thought a law-abiding management ran it. He’d get it checked.

  ‘Thanks for that. Now, does the name Bradley Johnson mean anything to you?’ he asked her.

  ‘The bloke who were killed? No. I don’t know him. I saw it in the paper, but I never knew him.’

  ‘McQueen did.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we ain’t on each other’s Christmas card list.’

  ‘That’s not a bad thing.’ He nodded at her untouched tea. ‘That’ll be cold.’

  She took a sip and grinned at him. ‘No wonder you’re a detective.’

  Max couldn’t help smiling. ‘Would you like another?’

  ‘No, ta.’ Cold or not, she drank it all. ‘McQueen won’t get to know I’ve talked to you, will he?’

  ‘Not from me he won’t.’

  ‘And me benefits—?’

  ‘Not my department, Tessa.’

  ‘Ta.’ She looked at him for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you summat else about McQueen. It’s only a rumour, and probably complete bollocks, but I’ve heard a couple of people say that he likes kids. Young kids, not teenagers, like them pedro—’

  ‘Paedophiles?’ Max asked in astonishment.

  ‘So folk reckon, yeah. He’s married,’ she added quickly, ‘well, you’d know that, and she’s supposed to be a looker. But people reckon it’s all for show.’ She pulled a face. ‘As I said, it’s probably just talk.’

  ‘Probably,’ Max agreed, thinking of the Barbara who had once longed for children and since changed her mind. ‘I don’t suppose you can give me the names of the people you heard that from, either?’

  ‘Sorry. I would if I could, but I don’t know them. It’s just talk.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘So can I go now?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘You can.’

  ‘Ta.’

  Max returned to his office in the knowledge that they might, just might, be getting something on McQueen. He’d known, suspected at least, for some time that he was dealing. He simply couldn’t get h
ard evidence. And when McQueen was arrested, he wanted to make sure that all charges would stick. No mistakes could be made.

  He thought of Barbara McQueen and wondered just how happily married she was. On that London to Manchester train journey, she’d been his for the taking. Or so he’d liked to believe at the time. Had he lost his touch? Or would his irresistible charm get him an invite to her home? McQueen was away a lot so perhaps she got lonely.

  Max decided that if he couldn’t get into McQueen’s home by fair means, he would have to resort to foul.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jill and Ella were warming themselves on the radiator in Jill’s kitchen. Ella had called in with sprigs of holly from her garden and was chilled. Jill, who’d been trying for over an hour to coax her boiler into life, thought she’d never be warm again. At the moment, the radiators were humming with warmth, but her cottage still felt cold.

  ‘You used to have a holly tree in your garden,’ Ella remarked, ‘but it was ripped out to make way for the shed. A shame.’

  Jill looked out at her frozen garden. The shed must have been there for twenty years.

  ‘I’m going back a bit,’ Ella admitted, and Jill laughed.

  Ella was often ‘going back a bit’. There was little she didn’t know about Kelton Bridge’s past.

  ‘Perhaps I’ll plant a new one.’ But Jill’s gardening skills were on a par with her culinary expertise. ‘Or perhaps I’ll leave well alone. I can pull up the odd weed and mow the lawn, but anything more technical is beyond me.’

  ‘There’s nothing technical about a holly tree,’ Ella pointed out. ‘Which reminds me, I’ve decided to get a computer.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘Yes. You’ll have to give me lessons. I’ve signed up for a course at the college—six sessions especially for Luddites like me—so I’ll see how that goes.’

  In the past, whenever Jill had told her how useful a computer would be, Ella had scoffed at the very idea.

  ‘You’ll be getting a mobile phone next, Ella.’

  ‘Not on your life. Let’s see if I can work this computer first.’

  She gazed at Jill for a few moments. ‘I suppose you’re finding it quiet now that Max has gone home.’

  ‘It’s good to have my own space.’