Kennedy 04 - The Broken Circle

by Shirley Wells

  Ella rolled her eyes at that. ‘You’re a hopeless liar.’

  ‘No. Really. It is.’

  ‘Perhaps it is,’ Ella allowed, ‘but you’d give all you had to have him back. I’m not blind, my girl.’

  Jill was enjoying her own space. If things had been OK between them, she might have wanted him back at her cottage. But things weren’t OK. Max was having one of his distant phases. It wasn’t the first, not by a long way, but it was damned annoying. All Jill wanted was a normal, healthy relationship and that was practically impossible with Max. He came close enough for her to think that they had a future, and then he stepped right back.

  She was about to say so, or words to that effect, when her doorbell rang.

  ‘Saved by the bell,’ Ella said drily.

  Jill assumed it was the postman, but Jack Taylor and his dog were standing on her doorstep.

  ‘Is Ella here by any chance, Jill?’

  ‘She is, yes. Come in.’

  ‘No, I won’t do that. I’ve got the dog,’ he added unnecessarily. The dog was currently sniffing Jill’s hand in the hope that biscuits were hidden there.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Come on in out of the wind. We’re in the kitchen.’

  He hesitated long enough to let the last of that hard-won heat out of the cottage and then stepped inside.

  ‘I saw you walking this way,’ he greeted Ella, ‘so I guessed you’d be here. Gossiping,’ he added with a wry smile.

  ‘Gossiping? Now look here, Jack—’

  ‘Ella Thorpe, you’ve—’

  ‘Ella Thorpe? By, it’s been a long time since I’ve been Thorpe.’

  ‘Born a Thorpe and born a talker. That’s you.’

  ‘There’s a world of difference between talking and gossiping.’

  ‘Yes,’ he allowed, ‘so there is.’

  He handed over the carrier bag he’d been holding. ‘I’ve brought those leeks I promised you. Or would you rather I took them to your place to save you carrying them? I can leave them on the step.’

  ‘No, I’ll take them. Knowing you, you’ll forget.’

  ‘Of course I won’t forget, woman. Streuth, I’m not senile yet.’

  ‘Yet,’ Ella teased. ‘I’ll take them. And thanks, Jack.’

  Once again, the easy banter between the two surprised Jill. They’d both been born and brought up in the village, but even so, there was a closeness that, unless she was mistaken, went deeper than that.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea or a coffee?’ she asked Jack.

  ‘Thanks, Jill, but no. I can’t stop. Thanks, though.’

  With that, he was gone, letting another icy blast of air into the cottage.

  ‘Do you want some leeks?’ Ella asked.

  ‘And what would I do with them?’ she answered with an amused shake of her head. ‘I’m sure Jack’s an expert grower, but unless they come with a label stating the minutes and the power level required for a microwave, forget it.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Jill, surely you can cook a leek.’

  ‘Um, I don’t know. Never tried.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Ella said, ‘you can give me computer lessons and I’ll teach you how to cook.’

  ‘It’s a lost cause. Truly.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Ella nodded at Jill’s floor. ‘You’ll need to clean that now. Jack won’t go anywhere without that dog of his.’

  ‘It’s company for him.’

  ‘It is,’ Ella said softly, ‘and he’ll need as much of that as he can get when Archie’s gone.’

  ‘They’re close, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. They were the same at school. Had to do everything together. Archie,’ she added smiling at the memory, ‘was my first boyfriend.’ She laughed at Jill’s astonishment. ‘I was ten and he was twenty-one, but I had a dreadful crush on him. His friends teased him about me, but he didn’t mind. He was always kind to me. A lovely man. Jack’s the same.’ She picked up the carrier bag. ‘Anyway, enough of this gossiping. I’d better be going, Jill.’

  Jill needed to get moving, too, and when Ella left, she set off for headquarters. There were a dozen jobs that had to be done before she could leave for Styal.

  The place was heaving. At first, Jill thought something important had happened, but no, it was merely the usual organized chaos. People were shouting, phones were ringing and a couple of uniforms were playing football with a crumpled ball of paper.

  Jill had wanted a word with DS Warne, but there was no sign of her. She had to be the only person not in the building.

  ‘Fletch, have you seen Grace?’

  Unlike Grace, DS Fletcher was at his desk. He was doodling on a pad while he ate a Mars bar.

  ‘She’s out at Kelton interviewing the Johnson boys.’

  ‘Oh? Anything new?’

  ‘Diddley squat,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘Which means the boss is in a foul temper.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘It’s all very well, but we can’t invent evidence, can we? And we must have interviewed everyone within a ten-mile radius of Kelton.’

  ‘Something will turn up.’ God alone knew what, but something would. ‘It always does.’

  He nodded at that, but didn’t look convinced.

  ‘Where is Max anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s gone to see the lovely Mrs McQueen. The charming Tommy is away, by all accounts, so the boss has gone to see—Babs.’

  ‘That sounds cosy,’ she said lightly, alerted by something in his tone.

  ‘Very. According to Grace, they were all over each other last time they met. I gather they have a history.’

  ‘Max and Tom McQueen’s wife?’ Surely not. There hadn’t been so much as a whisper of a past when Jill had accompanied Max to the McQueens’ house.

  ‘Yup. It was years ago, when Linda was still alive. Seems like Max wants to renew the, er, acquaintance.’

  ‘Really?’ Jill was amazed that Fletch couldn’t hear her heart pounding. ‘I wouldn’t bet much on his chances. I bet McQueen’s wife aims a lot higher than a copper with two kids, three dogs and a mother-in-law.’

  ‘Probably,’ Fletch agreed, laughing. ‘Still, so long as it keeps him out of my hair, I’m not losing sleep about it.’ He looked at her. ‘You must think you had a lucky escape. Rumours of marriage were being bandied around when you two were together.’

  ‘That was a long time ago, Fletch. Right, I’m off to Styal. See you.’

  ‘See you, Jill.’

  Fletch returned to his doodling and Jill left the building with her heart still hammering wildly.

  The bastard.

  God, he was a lot of things—moody, arrogant and downright stubborn among them—but she’d always thought he was honest. What the hell had given her that idea? Honest men don’t spend the night with another woman when they’re supposed to be working late.

  Shock had turned to blind fury as she rammed her car into gear, the wrong gear, and juddered out of the car park. No wonder he’d been distant lately. Why couldn’t he just say he’d had a better offer? Why did he have to humiliate her by throwing her a few crumbs now and again?

  Barbara McQueen of all people, too. If Tommy found out about it, Max would be at the bottom of the canal sporting the latest design in concrete boots. And that, Jill decided, as she almost drove into the back of a red BMW, was the best place for him.

  Bastard!

  She arrived at Styal without incident and was soon sitting opposite Claire. And feeling just as depressed as her companion looked.

  On closer inspection, however, she decided she was wrong. Claire, still on suicide watch, looked worse than Jill had ever seen her. Her face was empty, like a house where the lights are on but there’s no one home. As if she’d vacated her body.

  ‘Christmas is a lonely time, isn’t it?’ Jill murmured. ‘It’s OK if you have children but, otherwise, it all seems a bit pointless.’

  ‘It’s just another day here.’

  ‘I bet you get turkey for dinn
er.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They spoke of the mundane. At least, Jill spoke, and Claire, if she was feeling generous, contributed one of her monosyllabic replies.

  ‘I thought you weren’t coming here again,’ she sneered.

  ‘I managed to persuade them,’ Jill replied easily. ‘I said you were going to tell me all about Thomas McQueen.’

  ‘No way. I’m not talking about him.’

  ‘Why not? You don’t like him so it’s no skin off your nose, is it?’

  Claire thought about that, then shook her head. ‘I don’t spose he talks about me, so I won’t talk about him.’ She looked at Jill, her eyes filled with despair. ‘I need to get out of here.’

  ‘Then you know what you have to do,’ Jill said reasonably. ‘Tell me where Daisy’s body is and—’

  ‘And what?’ she scoffed.

  ‘If you showed some remorse and let the police find Daisy’s body, a judge might be inclined to look sympathetically at your case.’

  ‘Big deal.’

  ‘It could be, yes.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I need to get out of here now. This minute.’

  ‘Then cooperate, Claire.’

  The sudden smile was smug, and Jill felt a great urge to hit her.

  ‘And make your job easier? Why the hell should I?’

  ‘No reason. My job’s easy enough. It’s no big deal driving here, chatting to you, and driving home again. The pay’s good, too. Your daughter doesn’t matter to me. Why should she? I never knew her. To me, she’s just the same as any other kid.’

  Claire always became agitated and more talkative when Jill reduced her daughter to an object.

  ‘There are dozens of kids just like yours,’ she went on. ‘Some make good, others don’t. I don’t suppose yours would have done much with her life. A druggie working the streets, just like her mother.’

  ‘My Daisy’s clever!’ she burst out.

  On the rare occasions she spoke of her daughter, Claire always used the present tense as if Daisy was sitting at home waiting for her.

  ‘So you say. Mothers always say that, don’t they? And who can prove you wrong? Let’s face it, according to you, she doesn’t even deserve a decent burial place or a head-stone with her name on so that people know she existed. No, I don’t believe she was clever.’

  ‘You should see her school reports. They all say how clever she is.’

  ‘Teachers always write stuff like that. It’s supposed to encourage them. The standard phrases will have been trotted out on every pupil’s report.’

  ‘She could read before she went to school. I taught her myself.’

  ‘So she was clever, so what? She wasn’t that great or you wouldn’t have dumped her in some piece of ground where no one can see her or know she existed.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just like all the rest.’

  ‘I walked through the cemetery in Stacksteads the other day and there was a grave there covered in toys, messages, flowers. That child was only seven when he died. Now he was a clever kid. He must have been. Everyone wants to tell the world how wonderful he was.’

  ‘You haven’t got a clue!’ Claire cried.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Jill replied truthfully. ‘The police have to knuckle down and do their best to find Daisy’s body. With the best will in the world, though, they don’t have the time or the funding. And why should they care? They’re supposed to prevent crime. It’s all a bit pointless after the event. So in the case of some kid—’

  ‘Her name is Daisy!’ This came through gritted teeth.

  ‘In the case of some kid who didn’t matter—’

  ‘She matters! I can’t tell you where she is. I can’t!’

  ‘Can’t?’ Jill said. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I need to get out of this place.’

  ‘Then tell me where you buried Daisy.’

  ‘I need to get out of this place. That’s all. I need to get out!’

  This was the first time Claire had seemed remotely bothered about spending her days in Styal. She had never once mentioned wanting to get out.

  ‘Has something happened?’ Jill asked curiously. ‘You’re not being bullied, are you? If you are—’

  ‘What the hell could you do about it?’ Claire scoffed.

  Jill ignored that. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No.’ Again, Claire looked defeated by life.

  ‘So why—?’

  Jill could have kicked herself.

  Right from the start, she had failed to get her teeth into this case. She’d known something didn’t fit but, until now, she hadn’t had a clue what was wrong. Like a fool, she’d believed all she’d read in police and psychiatric reports. Instead of meeting Claire with an open mind, she’d come here assuming that all she had to do was persuade Claire to tell her where Daisy was buried.

  ‘You didn’t kill Daisy, did you, Claire?’

  Every last drop of blood drained from Claire’s already pale face. She couldn’t have looked more terrified if Jill had been holding a gun to her head.

  ‘She’s still alive, isn’t she?’

  Blood began to ooze from an almost healed scab on Claire’s arm as she scratched at it.

  ‘You’re mad, you are,’ she said wildly, pushing back her chair and heading for the door. ‘Fucking mad. I don’t want to see you again.’

  Claire had gone, leaving Jill with her own confused thoughts.

  Chapter Twenty

  On Thursday afternoon, Max was in Mill Street, Harrington, heading for the coffee bar. He’d had one of those days where he’d chased himself around in circles and got nowhere. Lately, he’d had a lot of those. Since leaving home at seven that morning, he hadn’t even found time for a coffee.

  He rounded the corner into Bridge Street and collided with a heady mixture of perfume, shopping bags and yelping female.

  ‘Sorry. My fault.’ His arms went out instintively to steady the unfortunate woman. ‘Oh, Mrs McQueen—Babs. Sorry.’

  ‘What are you doing here? God, you almost gave me a heart attack.’ She gathered herself. ‘You almost knocked me off my feet.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Max said again.

  ‘So what are you doing here?’ she asked again, still looking shaken.

  ‘I was on my way to Starbucks,’ he explained, nodding up the street. At this rate, he’d never get his coffee. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine. Well, tired out. I’ve been out all day. Busy. You?’

  ‘Fine. And I’m sorry about—I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, and he wasn’t sure what. ‘Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘Well, I—oh, go on then. Yes, why not?’

  Conversation was impossible as they battled their way through a crowd of shoppers laden with carrier bags that hung heavy with gifts and wrapping paper.

  Starbucks was busy and noisy. The music was far too loud, but no one seemed to care. Perhaps customers were too grateful for a break from Christmas shopping to notice.

  Max needed to think seriously about Christmas. Presents needed buying and, although he could do that on Christmas Eve if necessary, he ought to put a few cards in the post. It was a damn nuisance.

  They managed to find a table by the window and Max got their coffees.

  ‘So how have you been spending your day?’ she asked him when he put them on the table.

  ‘Chasing myself silly.’

  ‘Oh dear. And was Tommy able to help you yesterday?’

  ‘He did his best, but no, not really.’

  It was Barbara McQueen that Max had really wanted to see, but Tommy had returned early from Amsterdam and scuppered that. Max had resorted to asking him, yet again, about the dinner he’d shared with Bradley Johnson.

  ‘How is Tommy anyway?’ he asked. Yesterday, he’d been in a foul mood and making noises about police harassment again. Max had been forced to grovel.

  ‘Busy,’ she re
plied. ‘He’s always busy. I expect he told you that he came back from Amsterdam so he could go to an auction this morning?’

  Max nodded.

  ‘It’s for some run-down terrace house that’s up for sale,’ she told him. ‘If he buys it, he’ll turn it into flats—probably student accommodation.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Burnley Road. You wouldn’t catch me living there but students aren’t fussy, are they?’

  ‘They can’t afford to be,’ Max pointed out.

  ‘I suppose.’ She sipped at her coffee. ‘It’s a good job Tommy’s a decent landlord. Nothing’s too much trouble for him. They only have to mention a dripping tap, and the plumber’s there the next day. And he’s not like some who put the rent up every week.’

  St Thomas? No, Max couldn’t believe that.

  ‘Someone said something about that,’ Max said, pretending to search his memory. ‘Oh, yes, it was someone who knew Muhammed Khalil. You remember Muhammed Khalil? The lad who was murdered in Harrington?’

  ‘No.’ She looked as if she’d never heard the name.

  ‘Yet another unsolved murder case,’ Max said lightly.

  ‘But yes, he rented a flat from Tom. He used to say the rent went up quite frequently.’

  ‘Honestly, some people are never satisfied, are they?’

  ‘Apparently not. Don’t you remember the case? It was headlines on the local news for weeks.’

  ‘Vaguely,’ she said. ‘I just couldn’t remember his name.’

  ‘He used to do some work for Tom, didn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t know about that. Tommy’s business is just that, Tommy’s business. I’m not interested in it. So long as it pays the bills, eh?’

  ‘Quite.’

  Max drank his coffee and, all the while, he could see Barbara’s brain ticking over.

  ‘What sort of work?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘No idea,’ Max replied easily. ‘Maybe he did some plumbing or something like that.’

  ‘Ah, yes, that’s possible.’

  She thought a while longer.

  ‘It’s expensive keeping property maintained,’ she said at last. ‘He has to put rents up to survive, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Of course. Property isn’t the best business to be in at the moment,’ Max sympathized. ‘Still, Tom knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he’ll be OK.’