by David Carter
‘Well? Spit it out,’ said Walter, eager to get his teeth into any morsels of fresh intel.
‘As it happens, they did come up with one name.’
‘What?’ said Karen. ‘For one of Ellie’s known customers?’
‘Yes,’ said Nick. ‘So they say.’
‘And are you going to share that with us?’ said Walter.
Nicky Barr glanced down at his notes to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything incorrect.
‘The name they have given me was Ronny, presumably Ronald, Speight.’
‘Is he known to us?’ asked Mrs West.
‘Can’t find anything.’
‘Did you get a description?’ asked Walter.
‘I did. Six feet plus, maybe as much as six feet five inches tall, lucky man, slimmish build, dark neatly parted hair.’
‘There are a lot of tall people in the world all of a sudden,’ said Gibbons, saying what others were thinking.
‘Yes,’ said Walter, ‘and Lena said that Bel only liked tall men. Be nice if this Ronny Speight character was one of the five just men,’ and he turned to Karen and told her to ring Lena and ask her if the name Ronny Speight meant anything to her.
They all heard her ask the question, and soon gathered there was a positive answer coming back.
‘I’ve been racking my brains trying to remember his name,’ said Lena. ‘How did you know?’
‘Just a name that has come up in our enquiries. Do you know where he lives?’
‘Not exactly, but I’m pretty sure South Wirral somewhere, Burton, Mollington, Willaston, one of them places.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Karen.
‘Glad to be of help. Is it true what they are saying?’
‘What are they saying?’
‘That Bel’s dead, that she has been murdered.’
‘Just a sec,’ and Karen glanced at Mrs West and Walter in turn, and said, ‘She’s asking if Belinda Cooper is dead?’
‘We can’t go on saying nothing forever,’ said Mrs West. ‘It will be all over the media any time soon.’
‘Tell her the truth,’ said Walter. ‘That we have found a body, but it has yet to be formally identified.’
Karen nodded and looked suitably grim, and relayed the info to Lena Freeman. Lena gasped for breath, and started crying and rang off.
‘So,’ said Walter, turning over the fresh news in his mind. ‘There can’t be that many Ronny Speights living in South Wirral. I’ll give you fifteen minutes to come up with his address.’
Jennifer Thompson did it in eight, courtesy of the voter’s roll, or at least there was definitely a Ronald Colin Speight living in Sandstone Cottages, Burton, South Wirral, and it seemed more than likely that he was the first man who positively linked both cases together.
‘We’ll go and see him in a minute,’ said Walter. ‘In the meantime, crack on with everything else we have discussed.’
Twenty-One
Sandstone Cottages lived up to their name, constructed from the local red sandstone. A pair of semi-detached houses with grey stone lined windows, and small neat gardens to the front. Karen opened the green timber front gate, and Walter ambled through it and up to the matching green timber front door.
He reached out and grabbed the brass doorknocker and banged it twice. In the next second a bolt was drawn across the door from the inside, and the door opened with a slight squeak. He was a big man, was Ronald Colin Speight, and the door wasn’t particularly high, so he had to stoop a little to see who was bothering him.
‘Ronald Speight?’ said Karen.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘Police,’ said Walter, flashing ID. ‘Can we come in?’
‘Can I stop you?’
‘You could do, though we’d think that awfully uncooperative.’
Speight grimaced and clicked his tongue, and nodded them in. They went through to the back of the house where there was a large square kitchen, maybe seventeen or eighteen feet square. In the centre was a rectangular dining table on which sat an opened copy of that night’s Liverpool Echo, the crossword half done, an ashtray with a recent cigarette butt, and a half full mug of stewed tea.
Speight sat in front of the tea as Walter sat opposite. Karen remained standing, looking around at pictures and photos on the walls, and at anything else that caught her eye.
‘So,’ Speight said. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You know Belinda Cooper?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Just answer the question,’ said Karen, smiling down encouragingly at the neat cut man.
‘Yes, Bel and I had an on-off thing that ran for almost four years. She couldn’t get her head around the fact that I was married.’
‘Was?’ queried Walter.
‘Yeah. Was. Though, yes, we are still legally married, and we still share a house, but we have not been married in the true sense of the word for at least five years.’
‘What’s your wife’s name?’ asked Karen.
‘Debra, though I don’t know what that’s got to do with anything.’
‘Where’s Debra now?’ asked Walter.
‘I’d like to say I haven’t a clue, but she did tell me she was going to Spain with a couple of mates. As I say, we share a house these days and bugger all else, so I don’t really know where she is, and I don’t really care either.’
‘When did you last see Belinda?’ asked Walter.
‘About a month ago, maybe more.’
‘Not in the last few days?’ asked Karen.
‘No, just said so, didn’t I? Why, what’s this all about?’
‘Belinda Cooper was found murdered this morning,’ said Walter.
Speight’s mouth fell open, though no words popped out.
‘Where were you between midnight and 2am the night before last.’
‘Here.’
‘Alone?’ said Walter.
Speight nodded and didn’t speak.
‘Had you been out at all that night?’ asked Karen.
‘Yeah, I’d been to the Red Lion.’
‘What time did you leave there?’ asked Walter.
‘About half past eleven.’
‘And it would take you, what, half an hour to get home?’
‘’Bout that, certainly no more.’
‘And you didn’t go out again that night?’ asked Karen.
‘No, I did not.’
‘Did you ever stay at Bel’s house?’ asked Walter.
‘Course I did, many times. We were an item for a while, leastways I liked to think so.’
‘Did you ever see a baseball bat in the house?’
‘That old varnished bat? Yeah, I did, it was her father’s. She kept it behind the bedroom door, to deter burglars, that was the theory. Why? Was it used to kill her?’
‘No,’ said Karen, anxious to bury the thought.
Walter said, ‘Did she ever tell you about her other menfriends?’
‘Not directly, no names, oh she mentioned one of them was a solicitor, and I think another one’s name was Ian, but she was always reticent to discuss other men. I think she thought it might have upset me, but it didn’t. Oh, she liked to say she’d only ever been with five, but I took that with a pinch of salt.’
‘You didn’t believe her?’
‘Course not! What do you think? In my experience you can always add a nought, and then you’re not far away.’
‘I believed her,’ said Karen.
‘You would.’
‘I believed her too,’ said Walter.
‘Well, it takes all sorts. I didn’t, not that it bugged me.’
‘Tell me about your relationship with Ellie Wright?’ said Walter.
‘Ellie? What’s she got to do with anything?’
‘Just answer the question,’ said Karen.
‘Look! Who’s been talking?’
‘Mister Speight,’ said Walter, ‘You are really going to have to start answering our questions, because if you don’t you will leave us no al
ternative but to take you in for questioning, and if we do that, you could be there for quite some time. Do I make myself clear?’
Speight thought about that for a second, and nodded.
‘Ellie Wright?’ repeated Walter.
‘I am still in shock thinking about Bel. How did she die?’
‘I am not at liberty to discuss that. Please answer the question about Ellie?’
‘And the question was again?’
Walter sighed loudly.
‘You heard!’ said Karen. ‘What was your relationship with Eleanor Wright?’
‘What do you think?’
‘We want your version,’ said Walter.
Speight grimaced and looked to one side and back and said, ‘She was a good time girl.’
‘A good time girl?’ said Walter, getting fed up with hearing that expression.
‘Yeah, you know, on the game.’
‘You paid her for sex?’ asked Karen.
Speight nodded.
‘Where?’ asked Walter.
‘Where what?’
‘Where did this take place? Here?’
‘No, course not. At her little caravan, it’s at the foot of Marigold Lane, as I think you probably know.’
‘What kind of sex?’ asked Walter.
‘Not sure as I follow.’
‘I think you do. Answer the question.’
‘Normal.... Man.... Woman.... Bonk away, what else is there?’
‘There was no torture involved?’ asked Karen, studying Speight’s face, looking for anything that might be there.
‘Course not, what do you take me for?’
‘When did you last see her?’ asked Walter.
‘Last Friday.’
‘What time?’ asked Karen.
‘About two o’clock in the afternoon, I had a free afternoon, thought why not, it’s as good a way to spend a blustery day as any. And then....’
‘Then what?’ said Karen and Walter, as one.
Speight scowled and shook his head, and said, ‘And then the dopey bint set fire to herself.’
Walter repeated the words, ‘Set fire to herself.’
‘Yeah, isn’t that what happened? Later that night. Talk of the pubs; it was, in the days that followed. Oh, I don’t think she did it on purpose, probably got pissed and knocked a heater over, summat like that.’
‘You don’t think it’s possible that someone set fire to her?’ said Karen. ‘Was that not the talk of the pubs as well?’
‘Course not! Why would anyone do that? She was a good time girl. She gave the fellas a good time, what’s not to like? Who’d want to kill her?’
‘You tell us?’ said Karen.
‘Hey, now look here, it’s nothing to do with me.’
‘It’s everything to do with you!’ said Walter. ‘You were there on the day she died, and hey ho, you were also regularly present in Belinda Cooper’s house, and guess what? Both of those women met violent deaths in the past week, and you are the only person on God’s earth we know of who knew both of them, and intimately at that. It doesn’t look good for you, does it?’
‘There must be others.’
Walter again: ‘Where were you last Friday night between 11pm and 2am?’
‘In the pub, on the way home, in bed, alone.’
‘Two deaths and he hasn’t an alibi for either, Guv,’ said Karen, smirking, piling on the pressure.
‘Not looking good for you, is it?’ repeated Walter.
‘Only one thing wrong with your argument, but it’s quite an important thing. I wasn’t there when either of them died, and I didn’t have anything to do with either death.’
‘So you say,’ said Karen.
‘Yes, I do, and you can’t prove a thing.’
‘And you can’t prove you weren’t there either,’ said Karen.
‘And the funny thing is, I don’t have to.’
‘Are you involved in drugs?’ asked Walter.
‘Yeah, sure, paracetamol, every time I get a feckin’ hangover.’
‘So you didn’t supply Ellie Wright with cocaine?’ asked Karen.
‘Course not!’
‘But you know who did?’ said Walter.
‘No! Well, not exactly, but....’
‘But what?’ said Karen.
‘There’s a bloke in the pub, everyone knows if you want anything like that he can supply. I saw him sitting with Ellie once or twice.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What does he look like?’ said Karen.
‘Ordinary looking, quite tall, modern short haircut, dark I think.’
‘A bit like you?’
Speight grinned. ‘Yeah. A bit like me, young woman, ’cept it wasn’t me. Anything else you want to know? I wanna get changed, I’m going out, socialising.’
‘How did you get down to the caravan?’ asked Walter.
‘Got the old 4X4, and by Christ, I needed it, that road is dreadful, feckin’ disgrace, it is, ruined the suspension, shouldn’t wonder.’
‘So your tyre tracks will be down there?’ said Karen.
‘Most likely.’
‘What size shoes do you take?’
‘Eh? 10s. Why?’
‘Just checking,’ said Karen.
‘You’re not planning on leaving town are you, no nice holidays in Spain, or somewhere like that?’ said Walter.
‘Not a chance.’
‘Good,’ said Walter. ‘Because if you left the area without advising us first I’d take a very dim view of that.’
‘I have no reason to run away.’
‘Let’s hope so, for your sake,’ said Walter. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
Five minutes later they were outside in the car. It was already full dark and getting noticeably colder. There was an old 4X4 parked in the lay-by opposite, dark green by the look of it.
‘His?’ you think, said Karen.
‘Probably, check the number.’
Karen switched on ANPR and fed in the number and back came the answers. Owned by Ronald Speight, taxed by Ronald Speight, insured by Ronald Speight. All legit, and no penalty points on his licence either.
‘Quite the model citizen,’ said Karen.
‘Yeah, looks that way, the thing is, I don’t think he’s the murderer.’
‘Neither do I, Guv, but he is a sleaze-ball of the first order.’
‘Can’t lock him up for that.’
‘More’s the pity. Could the drug dealer be the killer?’
‘Maybe, but who is he?’
‘Good question. Someone in the pubs should finger him. Did Belinda Cooper do drugs?’ said Karen.
‘Nothing to suspect it, we’ll have the toxicology report back in the morning, that’ll confirm it.’
‘Someone here is a murderer, someone we’re close to, but which one?’
‘Buggered if I know. Come on, Greenwood, I’m getting hungry and I’m getting tired, and you must be too, and no one sees things well through tired eyes, and a tired brain. Let’s get back and wind it up for the day, and get home.’
‘Sounds like a plan, Guv. Sounds like a plan.’
Twenty-Two
Karen arrived home at half past eight. She’d only been in the flat ten minutes when her mobile rang. It was David, and she wondered what he was going to say. Only one way to find out, take the call.
‘You’re in, are you?’ he said.
‘I’ve just come in. What can I do for you?’
‘Maybe it’s what I can do for you. Fancy going out for something to eat?’
‘Oh I can’t, Dave, I’m bushed, and very tense too, we’re so busy at work.’
‘It’s David, actually.’
‘Sorry! DAVID,’ she said, pronouncing the word deliberately, smiling at his mild rebuke.
‘You have to eat.’
‘I’ll grab something from the freezer, maybe a tuna steak.’
‘I know a perfect cure for tenseness.’
‘I’ll bet
you do.’
‘No, not that.... Leastways not yet, no, I was thinking of my neck massage, it’s well renowned, I’m famous for it.’
‘Bet you are,’ she said, but on thinking about it, it was true she did have an aching neck, and right there a soothing neck massage sounded like pure heaven, and with that thought in the forefront of her mind she found herself saying, ‘Okay, but neck massage and nothing more, and you are not staying over, do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Miss Greenwood. Perfectly!’
‘Don’t be a prune. Come over in an hour.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Walter did something that he rarely did on the way home, he stopped off at the local fish and chip shop and bought a jumbo sized battered cod, together with a large portion of chips, and a tub of steaming mushy peas. Yes, they were dreadfully bad for you, but by hell they were delicious, the steaming aroma seeping through the damp paper wrapper.
As soon as he was home he tipped them onto a large dinner plate, added some tomato sauce and vinegar and extra salt - that should annoy the salt police - and sat in his favourite chair before the TV and ate the lot, as he followed and giggled his way through the latest cops and robbers caper from the States.
He’d eaten the dinner far too quickly, and inevitably that brought on indigestion and heartburn, and that meant a trip to the kitchen, and a dose of pink indigestion medicine. Ghastly. Whilst there, he opened the fridge and grabbed a can of black stout, and a glass, and returned towards the lounge. On the way he spotted the landline phone in the hallway. Should he ring Carlene again? He’d sure liked to have talked with her, but she’d been so offhand with him last time, leastways he thought so, and by his reckoning it was her turn to call him. In any event he’d not ring.
The TV show was so bad it wasn’t true, and he snapped it off and grabbed his new tablet, and found his way back to that Internet dating site, purely as research, he reassured himself, looking to see if he could find any entries for Belinda Cooper. It went without saying that if she had used the site she had probably used a false name, as so many of them appeared to do on there, as he’d discovered through personal experience. Probably disguised her address and locality too, that went without saying, and a sensible thing for any woman to do, but the number of fresh photos he had seen of her in the office gave him a head start on anyone else looking for her. Surely she must be there somewhere. What middle-aged woman living alone in the twenty-first century wouldn’t be?