‘And the drugs?’
‘Possession only. Weed and a bit of skunk. Phelps didn’t look as if he was on the hard stuff but, even if he was sticking to the nursery slopes, someone must have supplied him.’
‘Any thoughts who that might have been?’
‘He gave me a flat number in Ebury House, one of the blocks on the edge of the Flatwood, but that could have been misdirection. There’s a pair of sneakers slung over the telegraph wires outside, so everyone knows it goes on there.’
‘Any association that you know of with a man called Bostwick?’
‘Bostwick? I’m sure I’ve heard that name in connection with the White Angel lot.’
WA — so that’s what the note on his record had meant. It had the ring of a supremacist organisation, which Petrowlski had confirmed. I made a note to check if there was any other sign of their involvement, and if there was it would surely put Phelps in the clear.
‘They’ve gone very quiet of late, if they ever even existed,’ Petrowlski had told me.
‘How do you mean?’
‘There’s been talk of such an organisation for years but I’ve never come across an actual card-carrying member. And I didn’t get a sense of anyone else there that Phelps was connected with.’
Shame, but she hadn’t made it sound incontrovertible. Out of interest, I then ran the two number plates from the Phelps drive through the ANPR. The Mini, as I’d deduced, belonged to Phelps, and the Corsa to a Tyler Curzon. He was the same age as Phelps, so presumably a mate. I wondered if he was any relation to the local councillor.
* * *
Plum tried all Thursday and Friday morning, and still there was no response from Rita Todd. ‘Could be her phone’s not working,’ she suggested. It was unlikely but a possibility.
By the middle of the afternoon, my ribs were complaining painfully and I decided to take some paperwork home and make up the time in relative comfort.
‘I’ll stop off at Rita’s place on the way,’ I told Plum.
‘Want me to come too? I can drive you.’ The offer was grudging, but it was there nonetheless.
‘OK, thanks.’
Plum’s car was a scruffy old banger of a vehicle and she treated it accordingly, that is, with minimal respect. In order to sit down I had to clear the front passenger seat of an old computer hard drive, bits of dried flowers, a couple of children’s crayons and a tin of beans (unopened), along with assorted sweet wrappers and crisp packets. When she turned the key in the ignition, music blasted out of the speakers at ear-bleeding volume. Seeing me wince, she doused it straight away, but not before I’d caught the climactic bars of the 1812 Overture. She was full of surprises.
Encouragingly, as we drew up outside, Rita’s house was one of the few in the little terrace of two-up two-downs that had light shining from behind the flimsy curtains of the ground-floor windows. But several pushes on the doorbell summoned no one and it began to look as if the light was a security precaution. While I continued to wait, Plum tried next door, but the young woman who appeared, carrying a toddler on her hip, didn’t know where Rita might be.
‘We don’t see much of her at all these days. Usually it’s just a wave through the window as she’s off out. Don’t get me wrong — everyone deserves a social life, but we used to rely on Rita for babysitting, so we’re a bit stuck now.’
It occurred to me then that we knew nothing about Rita’s family circumstances. ‘Is there a husband or partner?’ I asked, over the trimmed privet.
‘No one I know of, although I have wondered just lately if she might be seeing someone. She’s got a grown-up daughter who lives somewhere not too far away. We see her now and again.’
‘What makes you think Rita could have someone she’s seeing?’
‘She never used to go out much of an evening, but these days she does. And she’s dressed up like she’s going somewhere special. She did tell me where she was headed one time.’ She frowned. ‘Barney’s I think it was — some bar in town, I suppose. I’ve never heard of it, but then I’m way out of touch with Charnford’s nightlife, thanks to this one.’
The toddler, who had been staring unblinkingly at me, was getting bored and starting to wriggle.
I gestured to Plum, who handed over a business card.
‘When you next see Rita, could you tell her we stopped by and ask her to give us a call?’
The toddler looked all set to demonstrate his lung capacity, so his mum took the card and with a brief, apologetic smile, went back in and closed the door.
‘Should we call the police?’ Plum asked me, keen to crank up the drama.
‘Only if we want to get an earful for wasting their time,’ I said.
‘We could ring round the hospitals.’
‘I’m not sure that that’s necessary yet either. We’ll put a note through the door. Have you got any paper we can use?’
‘In the car.’
But while Plum was rummaging around, another vehicle pulled into a space a little way down the street and Andrea Todd got out. She called over as she headed towards us.
‘Can I help you?’ As she crossed the road, the wind swept her hair over her face. Pushing it back, she saw and recognised me. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, holding me under scrutiny for just a little too long. ‘You’ve been in the wars.’
‘I can be clumsy sometimes,’ I said, hoping that would cover it. ‘But it means I’ve been off work, so I had to cancel your mother’s appointment. I’ve been trying to contact her to make another, but without success, so we came to see her in person.’
‘Me too,’ said Andrea. ‘Have you tried the bell?’
Plum joined us in the small garden. ‘Loads of times. But no one’s answering.’
Andrea gave her a long look, before turning her attention to sorting through the keys on her laden key ring.
‘When did you last see her?’ I asked.
‘Last Friday, when I left your office,’ she said, finally isolating the key she wanted. ‘I called her, but her answer machine doesn’t seem to be working.’
‘We had the same problem.’
Andrea unlocked the door and, stooping to pick up a handful of letters from the mat, she called out to her mum, even though her absence seemed to be confirmed.
‘Looks as if she’s gone away,’ said Andrea. ‘She did text me over the weekend to say that she might. That was a miracle. She hardly ever uses her mobile. She bought herself a smartphone not long ago — a complete waste of money.’
‘Is it unusual for her to be out of touch for this long?’ I asked.
Like her mother, Andrea didn’t appear to have any difficulty understanding me. ‘Not at all.’ She seemed very relaxed with it. ‘What is rare is for her to get any time off work, so I imagine she’s making good use of it. She’s got friends in Hoyland so I’m guessing that’s where she’s gone. I was at a conference near here today, so it was convenient to stop off on my way home. I knew there was a chance she wouldn’t be here.’
We followed her inside and found things neat and orderly, with nothing overtly out of place. Looking through to the kitchen, I could see that the washing up had been done and left in the drainer.
A picture on the wall caught my eye: a framed photograph of two children, a girl of about four with a chubby infant lain across her lap. The older child looked very like Andrea, even down to the hairstyle.
‘Yes, me and my little brother, Martin,’ she obliged. ‘The picture was taken shortly before he died. He had a life-limiting condition.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
Half a dozen thank you cards were displayed on the mantelshelf and on a side table stood a bouquet of flowers, still in their delivery box and beginning to wilt.
‘From grateful families,’ said Andrea. ‘She gets that all the time.’
‘May I?’
Her nod said, ‘Go ahead’, so I picked out the card that sat wedged between the blooms.
My thought
s and prayers will be with you always FRA xx
‘FRA?’
She shrugged, unable to elucidate.
‘Your mum is Catholic,’ I said, noticing that one of the cards had a religious theme.
Andrea seemed amused by the statement. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Not anymore. I mean, we used to go to Mass every week when I was a kid, all done up in our Sunday best. But when my grandparents died, we stopped all that. Between what happened with Martin and what Mum had to put up with from Dad, it was enough to make anyone lose their faith. As for me, I’m a complete lost cause and will no doubt burn in the fires of hell.’
‘What happened with your dad?’
‘We left him when I was still quite small, shortly before he drank himself to death,’ she told us, with a note of defiance. ‘It’s been just Mum and me for a long time now.’ Something in her voice made me hold back from probing further.
‘Your mum hasn’t had other relationships?’ I queried. ‘Her neighbour seems to think she might be seeing someone.’
‘It’s not impossible,’ Andrea conceded. ‘After Dad, it took her a long time to trust again, but she’s looked after herself and she can be quite the flirt when she feels like it. So yes, there have been men from time to time, although she hasn’t necessarily lost the knack of choosing unsuitable ones. Sometimes it feels like I’m the responsible one.’
‘So you wouldn’t know who she might be seeing?’
‘Sorry.’ She shook her head. ‘If past form is anything to go by, I’ll be the last person to know.’
‘Why did you bring Rita to us?’
Andrea sighed. ‘I think she’s being forced out of her job. She needs someone to have her back. Someone she’ll listen to, before she gets herself in too deep.’
‘Into what too deep?’
‘She didn’t explain? I mean, I don’t know the full story, but what with all the cuts, Mum’s been working ridiculous hours. This is the first time off she’s had in I don’t know how long. I know some of the practices have changed too and, according to her, not for the better. Mum can be quite forthright if she doesn’t agree with something. And obstinate. She digs her heels in. She let slip a couple of weeks back that she’s had a run-in with management, and as an experienced and therefore expensive member of staff, it would suit them to get rid of her. I’m worried that she could go the same way as her friend Delores and, to be frank, Mum can’t afford that.’
‘Delores worked with her?’
‘For years. She was the other senior nurse on the ward. She’d been having quite a lot of time off to look after her elderly mother, and I understand it was suggested to her in the strongest terms that it was time she retired, which she did. From what Mum told me, she wasn’t given much choice.’
‘But if your mum is being badly treated, if her workload is excessive . . .’ I began.
‘That’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it?’ said Andrea. ‘Do something for me, would you? Stick with her, just for a little longer. Persuade her to keep your appointment and try and get her to open up and talk to you about what’s been going on.’ She nodded towards the cards. ‘Mum’s good at her job, you can see that.’
‘Of course.’ I didn’t like to tell Andrea that I’d planned to persevere with Rita anyway — because we needed the business. But whatever our next move was, there was nothing to be done until she was home again.
By the time Plum had dropped me off at my flat in the early evening, I was shattered and my back and limbs ached. What I’d planned as a short nap went on a bit and I woke as it was getting dark. I didn’t want work spilling too far into the weekend, so once I’d eaten and pinged my next move back to Crusader, I reluctantly got out my bag to do the work I’d brought home with me. The mugging had made me jittery, but somehow I was going to have to learn how to relax again.
Chapter Sixteen
It was Friday morning and our last ten till six shift of the week. I was under strict instructions to keep Denny away from the station while preparations were going on for the first of several surprise retirement parties that he pretty certainly knew all about. I was then required to deliver him back to the nick promptly at the appointed time. But it was late morning before he surfaced from Bowers’ office, looking more crumpled and careworn than ever. He’d have to smarten himself up if he was to host this VIP, I thought, uncharitably.
‘Productive meeting?’ I asked him.
‘Hm,’ he said, and that was that.
The afternoon was a quiet one and we only needed to put in a couple more hours before we could go back. To avoid returning to the station too early and blowing the ‘surprise’, I talked Denny into some R & R at the Rose café, a greasy spoon just off the high street. It was nearly six o’clock and starting to get dark when a call came through from the dispatch centre about a Liam Archer making a nuisance of himself outside the hostel for the homeless.
‘He must have a sixth sense,’ Denny said, with a sour look on his face. ‘I can’t believe he’s doing this again. He was only in the cells a couple of nights ago and this time he’ll really be in trouble.’
‘Do I know him?’ I asked. Like so many others around here, the name wasn’t familiar to me.
‘You’d probably recognise him on sight,’ Denny said. ‘He’s one of that little crowd that used to hang around in the park all day. He’s been a lost soul since . . .’
‘What?’
‘Since forever. Archer’s pretty harmless until the drink takes over.’
‘What’s his problem?’
‘I’m not sure that anybody knows, really. Basically, his head’s not right and he likes a drink. It’s a combination that gets him into trouble from time to time. He’s easily led. I’ve known him for must be going on twenty years now. He was one of the first round here to be let out under “care in the community”.’
‘That’s obviously working, then.’
‘Yeah, turns out that we’re the ones who have to do the caring,’ Denny said with a sneer. ‘It’ll probably mean another night in the cells while he sobers up.’ He gave me a searching look. ‘Wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s put him up to this, to get me a harmless last collar.’ His gaze lingered on my face for a moment, but if this was a set-up, I knew nothing about it.
Turning into the end of the road, even though a couple of the street lights were out, we immediately saw a giant of a man, going on six and a half feet, and bundled up in a parka and woolly hat. Clearly inebriated, he was lurching all over the pavement, scavenging the verge for missiles to throw at the hostel windows, in between shaking his fist and swearing, apparently at the building. We cruised slowly to a standstill and gradually, as he took in the vehicle and who was in it, Archer started to back away down the street until he finally turned to run. As we came to a standstill Denny and I both started to get out of the car, but Denny put out an arm to stop me.
‘I’ll go after him. You go and see what damage he’s done to the hostel.’
‘You sure?’ It was tempting to point out that I was younger and fitter, but I thought it politic not to do so.
‘He’s pissed out of his brains,’ Denny said. ‘He won’t get far. I know these streets better than you do, and I know how to handle Archer.’
I couldn’t argue with that, so I let Denny go after our offender and walked up the path to the hostel, a converted Victorian house, where, aside from a broken window, there seemed to be little damage.
The manager, Doug, saw me approaching and came to the door. He seemed pretty cool about the incident.
‘It’s not like it hasn’t happened before,’ he said. He was standing in front of a row of photographs pinned to the wall, showing more staff than I’d have expected in a place like this. Some of them looked as if they’d been taken by our photographer.
‘What provoked it?’ I asked, knowing that it might not have been anything.
‘He did,’ said Doug pointing down the garden, where, for the first time I saw the dark coloured mongrel standing
patiently beneath a laurel tree. Deciding that neither of us was of sufficient interest, it lay down and put its head on its paws. ‘He sleeps under there when Liam uses the hostel,’ Doug said. ‘That’s what kicked off the row. Liam doesn’t get that Jacko can’t sleep inside, even in bad weather. I’ve called the RSPCA. They’ll have him overnight.’
It seemed that Archer had arrived at the hostel drunk just as it was getting dark and, finding Jacko barred again, he began shouting abuse and throwing anything he could get his hands on at the windows.
‘That’s when I called you,’ said Doug. ‘This is a residential street, so we have to be mindful of the neighbours.’
I reported in, then waited for Denny to come back with Archer. After ten minutes, I began to think that Archer must have outrun him. Somewhere in the distance, a powerful car engine revved and a dog barked. Jacko lifted his head for a moment. At this rate, I could be here all night. Locking the car, I headed in the direction they had gone, to what looked like an industrial area. Rounding the corner, I came to an expanse of lumpy wasteland in front of a couple of big, prefabricated hangars. A security light blazed out from the side of one of them, the distant glare half blinding me. I strained my eyes in the semi-darkness, weighing up the most likely direction they’d have taken, but this was new territory for me. I could just about pick out a street sign to the side of the security light, so, regretting that I hadn’t brought a torch, I aimed for that, stepping out across the rough ground. I had no idea what I was treading on and a vision flashed through my head of broken glass and needles, ready and waiting to pierce my heavy-duty boots at any moment. Instead, my foot caught on something inert and sent me sprawling. My landing was, fortunately, soft soil and clumps of grass, but as I cursed my clumsiness, I heard a horrible low moan coming at me from close quarters. Turning, I realised I’d tripped over my partner.
‘Denny? Oh, fuck! Denny!’
He was lying curled in a foetal position, groaning and muttering something I couldn’t hear. I knelt down beside him, putting my knee in something sticky and disgusting in the process. Ugh, dog crap. Ignoring it, my voice shaking with emotion, I spoke into my radio.
The Truth About Murder Page 8