Mud Pie

by Emma Lee Bole

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Michelle

  I blagged a half-day off Brendan, who agreed with a guilty alacrity that made me realise I should be asking more often. I’d lost the knack of having days off while working at Tzabo. Refusing overtime there would have meant I wasn’t up to the job, couldn’t take the pace. Brendan was content to let me set the pace. He wasn’t a great manager, in truth. Rhoda was the one who kept the business on track.

  My day off wasn’t a holiday: it was business of a different sort. I caught the bus to Macc, and then the slow train into Manchester, feeling taut and edgy until I was safely on a second train heading out towards St Helens. A couple of hours after I set out, a bus finally deposited me at my target.

  A hunt through phone books in the library had assured me that this was where KK’s ex-wife lived. Michelle Egan: she hadn’t remarried, although the librarian who rang St Helen’s library told me that their voter’s list showed a man with a different surname also living at the address. The house was a small red brick semi with a tidy, colourless garden, possibly ex-council, but spruced up.

  I didn’t expect her to be in. I’d come prepared to hang around all day if need be, so her appearance at the door was something of a shock.

  In more ways than one. I gawped. I’d imagined her as big and blowsy, a female version of KK, loud and broad and possibly hairy. I did them both an injustice. Michelle was willowy, frail and beautiful. She had fair fine skin that would show wrinkles early, but didn’t yet, and a trusting gaze, even for me.

  “Mrs Egan? I’m a friend of KK,” I said awkwardly. “I mean Joseph. I’ve come about Joseph. But he doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “Are you a girlfriend?” She was wary, but not chilly.

  “No, I’m a colleague of his. I cook for the rugby club, and help behind the bar sometimes.”

  “Oh, God, it’s about that murder, isn’t it?” She pushed back her hair wearily. “I’ve had the police round already. Not that I could tell them anything.”

  “DS Grimshaw?” She looked blank. “Good-looking guy, smooth, a sharp dresser, very self-possessed?”

  “That’s the one.” As if Grimshaw’s name had been a passport, she opened the door wider to let me in.

  We sat down in the living room. Michelle curled up self-protectively on the grey plush sofa. She looked like an advert for air-freshener: pretty housewife surrounded by pastel blandness. Newly hoovered carpet, computer in the corner, pictures of a boy and a younger girl dotted around the room. I presumed the boy was Ashley. He had KK’s unruly hair, but not his fierceness of gaze. I wasn’t offered tea.

  “I never met the girl who died,” she said. “I’ve haven’t been to the club for years. I’m sorry about her death, but, you know, I really don’t have anything to do with it at all.”

  “I know KK has a criminal record. GBH.”

  She sighed, then gazed at me steadily. “It wasn’t that bad. Only a stupid brawl in a pub. He didn’t hit the other guy that hard; it was just bad luck his jaw broke. And Joe didn’t get convicted of GBH in the end, only assault.”

  “Did he go to prison?”

  “He got a fine and community service.”

  “That’s what brought the police along, though, is it?”

  “Why are you asking?”

  “Do you think Joseph could have stabbed somebody?”

  “No,” said Michelle, without hesitation. She shook her head emphatically. Her hair swung, soft and pale as corn-silk. “He just wouldn’t. Hitting somebody, yes, stabbing, no. And he definitely wouldn’t touch a woman. You don’t think he did?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What do you want, then?”

  “I want to prove him innocent. Actually, I want to prove them all innocent,” I confessed.

  A glimmer of a smile shadowed her face. “That’s a tall order.”

  “Yes. The thing is, the police aren’t getting anywhere. They seem convinced it was someone from the club. But I don’t agree. I’ve got my own reason for thinking it was a drugs murder, but the police aren’t interested in listening to me because they reckon I’ve just got a bee in my bonnet and they’ve got all these other suspects lined up. Including KK.”

  “And who else do they suspect?”

  “Half the club, I should think. Niall. Brendan. Bob.” I realised with a shock of annoyance that I had left Bob off my useless list, and should really add him on.

  Michelle tucked her bare feet up under her. The pose made her look even younger, about twenty. Resigned, she said, “What did you want to know?”

  “About KK’s conviction. What caused the brawl in the pub?”

  “It was nothing. He got accosted by a drunk, and he hit him a bit too hard. He put him in hospital.” Was there a glimmer of pride?

  “Were you there?”

  “Not that time, no.”

  “What time were you there?”

  “What do you mean?” she said defensively.

  “When he’s been violent.”

  “I haven’t been there when he’s been violent.”

  “But the way you said it.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “But he’s got a temper,” I said. “Look, I’m just trying to work out what he might be capable of. Was he ever violent towards you?”

  “I told the police no.”

  “He’s had a go at Niall in the club at least twice,” I persisted. “I get the impression it’s a regular event.”

  That caught her attention. She bent forward a fraction. “Is it? Why?”

  “I thought you might know.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “You told the police no,” I said. “Does that mean there was something you didn’t tell them? I need you to help me out here.” I didn’t want to mention poisoning, not unless she did first. That could just be a drunken flight of AnneMarie’s imagination.

  “Well...” Michelle looked away, pulling at a strand of hair with a small, unhappy gesture. “He just shook me once. I don’t think once really counts. Everyone does something once, and shaking isn’t anything, is it? And he was wound up; we’d had an argument.”

  “What about?”

  “Something and nothing. I mean, this was years ago. I can’t even remember properly. It was about whether we ought to visit someone in hospital or go for a drink. It was nothing.” She shook her hair across her face.

  “But?”

  “But nothing, really. He shook me and we had a shout at each other and threw the odd set of keys and then I stormed off to Niall and AnneMarie’s house and that was it. We’re talking ten years ago. It was nothing.”

  She was right. It was nothing. It wouldn’t have even rated on the scale of my mother’s alcoholic knockabouts with my so-called father. Wouldn’t have merited an hour’s worth of memory, let alone ten years’ worth.

  So why was it important to her? Why had she needed to tell me?

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” I said, to give myself a moment to think. “I like your suite. It’s very classy, looks like a show home.”

  I didn’t think this was actually complimentary, but Michelle said, “Thank you,” as if she meant it. Her smile was a flower opening. She was beautiful. I stared. My God, in the club she’d have the players buzzing round her like bees...

  “Did you ever make teas at the rugby club?” I asked.

  She laughed. Christ, spell-binding. “Not very well,” she said. “I was hopeless at it. Niall always complained about my mash.”

  “He does about mine too,” I said, untruthfully. If Niall had ever complained about my mash I’d have pinned his big ears back with a pair of skewers. “Why did you go to Niall’s house, after that argument?”

  “Niall could always sort Joe out. He calmed him down. Big brother effect, I suppose. He’s very...”

  “Masterful,” I supplied.

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t calm Joe down nowadays,” I said. “Maybe the effect’s worn off. Did Joe f
ollow you there?”

  “Oh, yes. He pulled a clock off the wall and then stormed out.” I felt I was catching glimpses of an event through small, netted windows. “Niall was very kind. He always tried to look after me, whenever.” She twirled her hair.

  “Whenever what?”

  “Well, you know, anything.”

  “Who did you know first,” I asked, “Niall or KK, I mean Joe?”

  “Niall. I met Niall at a party, my cousin’s twenty-first. He was a friend of Niall’s. Niall introduced me to Joe later on.”

  There was something in the way she said Niall’s name. She liked to say his name.

  “Was he match-making?” I said. She smiled, and shrugged.

  “How long were you married to Joe for?”

  “Less than two years.”

  “What happened?”

  She looked away again, through her hair. “I suppose Ashley happened. That’s why we got married, but Joe wasn’t ready to be a father. He loves Ashley, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t happy about it. He didn’t want to be tied down.”

  “But he didn’t go to New Zealand.”

  “That was his choice.” She shifted restlessly. “Look, I didn’t make him marry me. I wasn’t bothered. I mean, who cares these days? It was Joe who insisted. He likes everything – you know.”

  “Done properly and in order.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “Michelle, this sounds stupid, but somebody told me a weird story about Joe trying to poison you. I don’t believe it, but–”

  “Who said that?” Her voice sharpened.

  “Then did it happen?”

  “It was a total accident. Somebody had put carpet cleaner in a drinks bottle, that was all, and it got mixed up behind the bar.”

  “Who did that?”

  “Well, nobody wanted to own up to doing anything so stupid! It was soon after they refurbished the bar, could have been anybody really.”

  “So what happened?”

  “I threw up a lot,” said Michelle.

  “What kind of bottle was it?”

  “Advocaat. Look, this isn’t important.”

  “Who gave you the drink?”

  “Joe. But it was sheer accident. He was the one who took me to A and E. He was devastated. Out of his mind with worry.”

  “How long were you in A and E for?” I asked.

  “They kept me in overnight. I felt sick for a week.”

  “When was this?”

  “It was... oh... Ashley was just a baby.”

  “Early on in your marriage, then. How much longer did it last?”

  She sighed, wearily. “Not that much longer, I suppose. We spilt up before Ashley was two. But that had nothing to do with me getting sick.”

  “What was it, then?”

  “I just realised that we’d made a mistake. I didn’t love him enough. We argued. We shouldn’t have married. Then I met Lester, and we had Leanne.” A whole opera in five sentences. “This is Lester.”

  She reached behind her to pick up a photo from the dresser. It gave me a shock. Lester was big and raw-boned, tousled-haired, sun-bleached, masterful. He looked a lot like Niall.

  “When you argued with Joe, was he ever violent then?” I was remembering AnneMarie’s slurred words. But Michelle slowly shook her head.

  “You don’t seem entirely sure,” I said.

  “Well, he shouted a lot. He threw things a few times. Broke a bookshelf. But he didn’t throw them at me. He didn’t actually hit me or anything.”

  “So being shaken was the worst that ever happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just going back to that incident for a minute.” I didn’t know myself why I was going back to it – except that she had brought it up, and there was something there that I hadn’t caught. “When you argued and went to Niall’s house. Why couldn’t Niall calm Joe down that time?”

  “I don’t know,” she said dreamily. “I suppose Niall just got it wrong that time.”

  “How?”

  “Well. He got quite stern. He told Joe to stop behaving like a three-year old or he could leave the house.”

  “So Joe left the house?”

  “Yeah.” Michelle twiddled her hair, stroked the arm of her chair. Her eyes were distant, remembering.

  “So Niall looked after you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Like a big brother.”

  “Mm.”

  “Was he good at that?”

  “He was very concerned.” Her fingers kept stroking the arm of the chair. “He was very protective,” she said.

  “Was AnneMarie there?” I asked.

  Her hand stopped stroking. “She was in hospital. She had pre-eclampsia before Taidhgh was born. That was what the argument was all about. Joe thought Niall should be there with her.”

  “Did you sleep with Niall?”

  She caught her breath, and looked at me, lips slightly parted, before she started breathing again. And then she looked away, and didn’t answer for a moment before she said “Don’t be silly.”

  It wasn’t a no. So I said again, “Look, I’m not going to tell anyone. Did you sleep with Niall?”

  “That’s none of your business,” said Michelle, starting to get affronted.

  That wasn’t just not a no. That was a yes. Michelle didn’t like lying.

  “I want you to go now,” she said with dignity. She uncurled her legs and stood up. “There’s nothing else I can tell you.”

  I stood too and gathered my bag, glancing around the room for any final clues hidden in the neat displays of a blameless family life. Seeing the photos, another possibility hit me like a punch. “Michelle,” I said. “Who is Ashley’s father?”

  She gasped. And there was a gap of at least two seconds before she said, “Joe is Ashley’s father. How dare you?”

  “Are you sure? What would a DNA test say?”

  “It wouldn’t know the difference,” said Michelle. Then she blinked. “He’s Joe’s son. Joe’s,” she said, her voice suddenly gone husky, as if she had only just realised what she had let slip.

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “Of course not. Know what? He’s Joe’s. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “He’s Joe’s,” I said. “I accept that. It’s nothing to do with me, anyway. It’s irrelevant. I just needed to know about Joe. He’s not really likely to have committed murder, is he?”

  “No,” said Michelle. “He’s Ashley’s father. He sees Ashley every fortnight. He sent him a hundred pounds for his birthday. He’s a good dad.”

  “Exactly. Look, thanks for all your help. I’ll see myself out.”

  She came to the door anyway, looking worried. “Joe didn’t do it, did he? It would be terrible for Ashley.”

  “No,” I said. “He didn’t. Thank you.” I walked off down the drive, wondering why KK had let Michelle go when she was so beautiful, and nice, and averse to lying, even if she had fallen headlong for his brother.

  Michelle didn’t think KK had poisoned her, and neither did I. It sounded more like an accidental poisoning to me, as she’d suggested. And he’d never hit her. I was ready to strike KK off my list. She hadn’t really said anything incriminating about him at all.

  What she had told me was something far more important.

  That Niall was a bastard, and capable of anything.