Stolen

by Roberta Kray

  Naturally, the police had been less than impressed about him leaving the scene of the crime even after he’d explained why he’d done it. They’d huffed and puffed and raised their eyebrows, trying to imply that he’d been involved in an attempt to cover up the surveillance of Brent Sandler.

  ‘Why would we want to do that?’

  ‘So you didn’t have to do this,’ the DI had said. ‘You lot prefer to keep out of it when the shit hits the fan.’

  You lot meaning private investigators, of course. Nick had kept his cool, stayed polite and told them what he knew. Which, as it happened, wasn’t that much. No, he hadn’t seen the driver of the Jag, the windows had been tinted, and it had all happened so quickly. No, he wasn’t sure of the exact colour of the car, but definitely dark blue or black. No, he hadn’t managed to get the registration or see what direction it had gone in after Old Street.

  They’d moved onto his surveillance of Sandler, asking about the man’s movements, where he went and who he saw. ‘It’s all in the notes,’ Nick had said.

  ‘Humour me,’ the DI had replied. ‘I’d rather hear it straight from the horse’s mouth.’

  And so Nick had told him what he could remember.

  Sandler’s visits to prostitutes seemed to interest him a lot. ‘You reckon he was cheating on his wife, then?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’

  ‘But you could hazard a guess.’

  ‘I’m paid to report the facts, not to guess. I didn’t follow the bloke inside. It could have been business or pleasure.’

  ‘And what kind of business might he have had?’

  ‘He was a solicitor, wasn’t he? I should think working girls need a good brief every now and again.’

  It was when the DI had started asking about Terry Street, if he’d seen the two men together, whether their relationship seemed amicable, that Nick had started to wonder if Terry was in the frame for the killing. Not good news. No one wants to be pointing the finger at an East End gangster – not if they value the air they breathe. It was only later he’d discovered that it was Vinnie Keane.

  While he poured hot water over a sachet of tomato Cup-a-Soup, Nick mused on whether this amounted to the same thing. Had Terry ordered the killing of Brent Sandler for some reason? Maybe he’d even been driving the car. Nick had stopped wishing by now that he’d paid more attention to the Jag and was glad that he hadn’t. Although he believed in the basic principles of law and order, he had no desire to put his own life on the line for the likes of a scumbag like Sandler.

  Nick took his mug through to the living room where he noticed the light was flashing on the answer machine. He pressed the button and waited for the tape to rewind.

  ‘Hi, it’s Lolly. Look, Esther’s having a party tomorrow and I wondered if you’d like to come. I know it’s short notice and you’re probably busy so don’t worry if you can’t, only . . . Well, come if you can. It’s starting about seven. Okay. Bye, then.’

  Nick played the message again. It was the ‘only’ that interested him, what she hadn’t said rather than what she had. Had she found out something? Or did she just enjoy his company so much that she couldn’t bear to party without him? Okay, so the latter was stretching it a bit but the fact that she wanted him there was encouraging.

  Under normal circumstances he’d have been working tomorrow but with the abrupt cessation of Sandler’s surveillance he was actually at a loose end. Roy Marshall had suggested he take the day off and he hadn’t objected. With his police statement done and dusted, he was free to go where he liked.

  It was a strange time for Esther to throw a party with her husband on the run and all this business with Hazel and Vicky Finch, but there was no accounting for how her mind worked. And who held a party on a Wednesday night? Only the rich, he thought, the people who weren’t ruled by nine-to five drudgery and alarm clocks going off at the crack of dawn.

  Nick considered calling Lolly back, confirming that he’d be there but then he’d feel obliged to tell her about Vinnie Keane. He wasn’t sure how close the two of them were but they certainly knew each other. He’d seen them together a few times in the Fox. Perhaps, with everything else that was going on, this particular piece of bad news could wait until tomorrow.

  He sat down and sipped his Cup-a-Soup. With luck, he’d be dining better tomorrow. Or perhaps it would just be endless canapés, vol-au-vents and insubstantial things on sticks. Anyway, a few hours in the country was just what he needed, a break from city strife and a chance to relax. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any drama.

  30

  Wednesday 21 September. West Henby

  By mid-morning there was a small army occupying the house, with cleaners, florists and caterers all jostling for position. The downstairs rooms were being hoovered, dusted, buffed and polished, the smell of Mr Sheen mingling with the heady scent of lilies and roses. Crates of champagne were being unloaded from a van and stored in the basement. Outside, the lawns were being mowed and lights strung through the branches of the trees.

  Lolly was glad she’d got up early and gone to see Mal before the place was overrun. She’d given him another pep talk on the wisdom of keeping his head down but whether he’d taken any notice was questionable. She felt nervous about Esther’s forthcoming announcement and prayed for rain so that it would be delivered inside the house and not from the garden where he might hear it. A good downpour would also stop the guests from wandering around the lake. She didn’t trust him to stay in the summerhouse.

  Her prayers, however, weren’t about to be answered any time soon. The sky was cornflower blue without a cloud in sight. Still, it was Britain, and the weather could easily turn before the party started. She would try and stay optimistic.

  Most of the staff hired for the do came from the village. Although they disliked Esther, it was extra money, cash in hand, and for that they’d even put up with Mrs Gough ordering them around. Lolly went from room to room until she found who she was looking for, a pale girl, a few years older than her, with long red hair and freckles. She checked that Jude was nowhere around before approaching.

  Theresa jumped when Lolly tapped her on the shoulder and let out a yelp when she saw who it was. ‘Lita! Jesus, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I wish I knew. Esther asked me to come.’

  ‘Christ, I’d have told her to shove her party where the sun don’t shine. After what she did to you . . . I wouldn’t have stepped foot in this house again.’ Theresa laughed, leaned forward and gave her a quick hug. ‘I’m glad you did, though. When did you get here? How have you been? You should have called me. Are you staying for long?’

  Lolly didn’t get a chance to even begin answering her questions before Mrs Gough put her head round the door and promptly put a stop to the conversation.

  ‘You’re not being paid to chat, Theresa.’

  ‘Sorry, Mrs Gough.’

  ‘Sorry doesn’t get the table laid.’

  ‘No, Mrs Gough.’

  The housekeeper gave them both a dirty look before she withdrew, but only as far as the hall where she continued to keep her beady eyes on them.

  ‘When do you get a break?’ Lolly asked quickly.

  ‘Lunchtime, twelve o’clock.’

  ‘Let’s have a catch-up then. I’ll meet you on the back steps. And look, if anyone asks can you do me a favour and say I was round your place last night, just for an hour or so about half seven?’

  Theresa gave her an enquiring look, but immediately nodded. ‘Course I will.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Lolly left the room and said to Mrs Gough, ‘Anything I can do to help?’

  The housekeeper pursed her lips. ‘Not distracting the staff would be a start. That girl does little enough as it is.’

  Lolly took that as a no and headed for the library. The house would be in chaos for the next few hours and it was the only place to get some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, Heather and Jude had beaten her to it. They were standing by the window and se
emed to deliberately move apart when she opened the door. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Heather said. ‘I was just off.’

  As she left, Lolly went inside and walked over to the bookshelves. She could feel the remnants of an atmosphere in the room, something simmering, but couldn’t quite grasp its nature. She glanced over at Jude.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

  ‘I don’t know. You didn’t seem best pleased with Heather yesterday. Have you sorted things out?’

  ‘As much as you can sort out anything with Heather.’

  Lolly thought about this while she went back to looking at the books. After a while, when Jude still hadn’t moved, she asked casually, ‘Do you have any idea what this announcement is about tonight?’

  ‘What announcement?’

  ‘Esther said she was making an announcement. At dinner last night. She said—’

  ‘Oh that. Esther’s always making declarations of one kind or another. I wouldn’t worry about it.’

  Lolly felt a jolt of alarm. ‘Why should I be worried?’

  ‘You shouldn’t.’

  ‘So you know what it’s about.’

  ‘No.’

  Lolly stared at him. ‘So how do you know I shouldn’t be worried?’

  ‘Well, it’s not going to be anything to do with you, is it?’ He said it with a hint of derision, as though she was so far from significance that she barely warranted a second thought, never mind an announcement. ‘Forget about it.’

  For a second Lolly was back on the Mansfield estate, a kid again, sitting in Jude’s flat and watching him out of the corner of her eye while he watched the big screen up on the wall. It was those women who’d fascinated him – Lana Turner, Veronica Lake, Rita Hayworth – with their ability to charm and seduce and destroy. And hadn’t he been the same with Amy Wiltshire? Lolly had been as inconsequential to him then as she was now. Even though her love for Jude had long since been extinguished – well, most of it – she still felt a pang, a hint of that old rejection.

  Lolly, annoyed by her own reaction, immediately went on the offensive. ‘It was Esther who asked me to come here, remember? Or rather asked you to do it for her. And it’s not as if she even likes me, so I can only presume she’s got another motive. Do you have any idea what that might be?’

  Jude’s mouth curled into a half smile. ‘Because she likes to have an audience.’

  ‘Is it about Vicky Finch?’

  ‘I’ve told you. I don’t know. You’ll just have to wait and see.’

  ‘You do know,’ she insisted. ‘You’re just not telling me.’

  ‘Why should I? You’re not telling us about Mal.’

  Lolly flinched at the retort and quickly tried to cover it up by shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her mind started racing. Did he know Mal was here? Had he found out about the summerhouse? Followed her last night, perhaps. Or seen her leave the house at the crack of dawn this morning. She forced herself to hold his gaze while she said, ‘That’s because I’ve got nothing to tell. I don’t have a clue where he is or why he took off.’

  Jude gave her a doubting look. ‘You two were always tight.’

  ‘What would you know about it?’ She tried to make her next comment sound as if she was affronted by Mal’s failure to inform her of his plans. ‘And clearly we’re not that tight or he’d have told me what he was going to do.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Lolly, deciding this didn’t merit a reply, picked a Graham Greene novel at random off the shelf and walked out of the library. It was only when she was halfway up the stairs that she glanced down at its title and winced. It was called The End of the Affair.

  At midday Lolly and Theresa were sitting on the grass eating hamburgers washed down with Coke while they caught up with each other’s news. There had been an addition to Theresa’s family since the two of them had last met, a baby she’d called Michael. Money was tight – there wasn’t much work in the village, but they got by. Lolly glossed over her life in London, only talking about the legitimate stuff she did and leaving out the dodgy parts.

  Inevitably the talk turned to Mal and his escape from prison. Theresa gazed around the garden.

  ‘I keep expecting to see him walk across the lawn or down the drive. It doesn’t seem right, him not being here. I hope he doesn’t get nabbed by the cops; the poor bloke deserves a break. I wonder where he is now.’

  Lolly shook her head, forced to lie in order to protect him. ‘I don’t know, but I hope it’s a long way away.

  ‘You’ve heard about Mrs Docherty, I suppose? Esther gave her the push last month. She told her it was because she was moving to the States but the house isn’t even on the market yet.’

  ‘I don’t think she can sell the house without Mal agreeing to it. And she told me it was because she was a gossip.’

  ‘That’s such a load of crap. She hardly said a word about what went on here.’

  ‘Went on?’ Lolly enquired.

  Theresa grinned and lowered her voice. ‘Well, all the comings and goings. The men. First, that Claud – he left his wife for her, you know – and then there was some actor, I can’t remember his name, and then—’ She stopped suddenly, looking flustered, as if she feared being tactless.

  ‘Jude?’

  Theresa, sensitive to Lolly’s feelings, grimaced. ‘I don’t know if anything’s going on between them. It probably isn’t. But people talk, don’t they? He spends a lot of time here these days.’

  ‘It’s all right. You don’t have to worry about breaking my heart. I don’t care what he does, or who with.’

  ‘Good. You deserve better. What happened to his face, by the way? Did Esther give him a slap?’

  ‘He says he got mugged in London.’

  ‘I think I prefer my version.’ Theresa took a swig of Coke and put the bottle down on the grass. ‘That girl who’s been staying, the blonde. Who is she?’

  ‘Her name’s Heather Grant. She’s writing a book about what happened to Kay.’

  ‘She’s very pretty. Maybe Esther’s got competition.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I’ve seen them together in the pub a few times. Just her and Jude. Very cosy, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Cosy?’ Lolly repeated. ‘You think . . . ’

  ‘Well, not actually doing anything, but it’s all in the body language, isn’t it?’

  Lolly recalled that sudden moving apart she’d observed when she went into the library. ‘He gave me the impression he didn’t like her much.’

  ‘What’s liking got to do with it? Men don’t have to like women to fancy them.’

  Lolly thought this was true, especially of Jude. He’d despised Amy Wiltshire but he’d still wanted her. Lust rather than love. She supposed any red-blooded man would have the hots for Heather, but whether the girl felt the same was another matter altogether. Heather struck her as determined, focused and the only thing she appeared to have on her mind at the moment was her book. Anyway, it would be a risky business to mess about with Jude while she still needed Esther’s cooperation. Thinking of the book reminded Lolly of Vicky Finch.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen another blonde girl here recently, have you? In the past few weeks. About my age.’

  Theresa shook her head. ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Oh, just someone Heather knows. Her name’s Vicky.’

  ‘No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m hardly ever here, only to help out at parties and there haven’t been many of those in the past few months. The house could be full of guests and I wouldn’t be any the wiser. Is it important?’

  Lolly didn’t want to go into the whole Hazel/Vicky business and so she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Hey, I forgot to ask. What’s with the alibi for last night? I hope you were up to no good.’

  ‘I wish,’ Lolly said, laughing it off.
‘I just fancied a walk, a chance to get away from everyone for an hour or so, but then I bumped into Jude who gave me the third degree about where I was going and yours was the first name that popped into my head. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not. Why would I? And you’re welcome to come round any time. Do you know how long you’re staying for?’

  ‘I haven’t decided. A few days. It depends how it goes.’

  ‘Odd though, Esther inviting you here after everything that’s happened. What is it, some kind of olive branch?’

  ‘Since when has Esther ever offered those?’

  ‘Exactly. I’d watch my back if I was you. She’s not exactly renowned for the sweetness of her nature.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘You must be worried about Mal, though. Where do you think he is?’

  Lolly didn’t like lying to her old friend but she had no choice. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Somewhere safe, I hope.’

  Theresa might have pressed her further if the other workers hadn’t started to stir, gathering up their litter and heading back inside the house. ‘Here we go again,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘I’ll see you tonight if Mrs G. doesn’t sack me in the meantime.’

  Lolly stood up too. ‘Before you go, could I just ask you something? You weren’t here with Michael on Friday, were you?’

  Theresa looked puzzled. ‘God, no, why would I bring Michael here? You know what Esther’s like about kids. She won’t have them anywhere near the house. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. Someone said they thought they’d heard a baby crying, but they must have got it wrong.’

  ‘There hasn’t been a baby here since . . . ’ Theresa’s voice trailed off as her gaze strayed towards the lake. She gave a shiver and wrapped her arms around her chest. ‘No, not here. Not ever.’

  The two girls stood in silence for a moment and then went their separate ways.