by David Evans
53
Later that morning, Sammy went back to work, no doubt to face a barrage of questions about Alison’s condition, the new baby and when the rest of her colleagues could visit. At the same time, Souter, accompanied by Susan, walked down to the Post’s offices. The pair went up to see John Chandler, the Deputy Editor, to let him know what was happening with Alison.
Chandler was all smiles. “What a different atmosphere in this office to the last time all three of us were here,” he said, referring to when they watched events from New York unfold on the television last September, not knowing Alison’s fate.
He opened a drawer in the filing cabinet behind his desk and drew out an opened bottle of single malt whisky and three glasses. “Just a small one to wet little David’s head.”
Toast made, and reassurances given to Souter about taking time off, he finally asked about progress on the story Souter had been asked to work on regarding the Claire Hobson murder.
“You know Susan is assisting on this? Souter replied. “Part of her university coursework.”
Chandler nodded. “How is the course faring up?” he asked her.
“Great,” she said, “Really enjoying it.”
“Well, you know I have no problems with you continuing to help Bob on this. Your work last summer was very promising.”
Susan looked suitably embarrassed. “Thanks.”
Souter then outlined what work they’d done on the story telling Chandler about Susan’s conversation with one of the boys who’d discovered the body and the possible new evidence uncovered.
Chandler raised his brows. “Good stuff. And you think this may be significant?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Souter said, “but I told Susan to speak to my contact at Wakefield CID who I know is looking into the case. Probably a cold case review, although he’s already got his hands full with those two murders.”
“Ah, yes, the man in the park toilets and that other young lad.”
“I need to speak to him again and see if this tunic button we learnt about is significant.”
“But don’t be afraid to use this one’s talents, Bob,” Chandler said, thumbing towards Susan. “Stay on it and stay in touch, but don’t forget your main priorities at the moment.”
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Susan joined in.
After being shown where Souter’s notes on the Hobson article were in his desk, Susan left him to return a few calls and answer some emails and walked back down to reception.
About to leave through the main doors, one of the women who manned the desk called her over. “You’re Susan, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Susan Brown, yes.” She walked to the desk.
The receptionist held out a piece of paper. “Sounded quite young when he rang up this morning.”
Susan read it.
‘Danny King. I’ll be at the shop at 5.’
“Thanks,” she said and left.
* * *
The wipers swept over the front screen of the black BMW. The car was parked in a bay of the supermarket car park facing the road. On the other side of the street was a hairdressing salon. This was Timperley on the southern outskirts of Manchester. The drizzle had started about ten minutes ago, always threatened by the leaden sky.
The salon was well-lit and he watched the tall, pretty girl with the long dark hair busying herself around a chair on the left hand side, half way down the length of the shop. Patrick was as reliable as ever. He’d been able to trace Felicity to this quiet district on the other side of the Pennines.
Brannigan thought back to the television programme he’d watched the night before. Some man had fallen out with all his family some twenty years before he died. And when it happened, there were no members who had wanted anything to do with him. Until, that was, they discovered he was worth a small fortune. Then, they’d challenged the will. But the man had left all his wealth to charities. And all this after his funeral where no one, apart from the undertakers had turned up.
He wondered if that could happen to him? With all that had happened in recent years, with Veronica’s passing and the stroke that Felicity had pulled. He was surprised at how it had affected him.
He mulled over what he was going to do next. If truth be told, he wasn’t sure. It was vital he found his step-daughter, but he wasn’t concerned about the money anymore. God knows she would probably be left that and more when he passed on. Despite not being a blood relative, she was the only family he had. But he was incensed that she had found it necessary to do what she did.
It had been over two years now since her mother, his beloved Veronica, had died. It was time to try and make peace with Felicity and try and convince her of the truth. He had loved Veronica deeply, but she made him promise to keep her brain tumour between themselves for as long as possible. That was difficult for him. There were times when he felt he needed to explain that to Felicity. Behaviour Felicity witnessed that was ambiguous gave her completely the wrong impression. Finally, two months before she died, Veronica sat Felicity down and broke the news. Felicity was angry, annoyed, then sad. She felt she had missed the opportunity to enjoy as much of her time with her mother as possible. Had she known the full picture, she would have made more of an effort to ensure they could have spent more time together. For that, she also blamed Brannigan. He should never have kept that secret from her. Felicity wouldn’t listen to reason that it was her mother’s wish that she wasn’t told.
And now, with what she had engineered, it didn’t look as if she would accept anything different. But he had to try. A glance to his watch. It would probably be some time yet before she left work. And where was she staying? Was there another man involved? He honestly hoped not.
He pulled his mobile from his pocket and dialled the yard number. A young lad answered on the fourth ring.
“Anything to report,” he asked.
The lad mentioned a couple of people who’d called in; one looking for a door from a Mark 1 Ford Mondeo, and somebody trying to find a front wing for a Renault Clio.
“He’ll be lucky,” Brannigan said. “Any further visits from the plod?”
“Nothing,” the youth answered.
Brannigan ended the call and dialled another number.
“What do you want?” Andy’s sharp tone answered.
“Hey, calm down. Don’t get stroppy,” Brannigan said. “I just wondered if you’d heard anything from Felicity?”
“Not a peep. You?”
“She’s hardly likely to call me now, is she?”
“I suppose not.” There was a pause before Andy continued, “I had a visit from the police on Friday. A DI Strong and another one called Ormerod.”
“What was that to do with?”
“Mark’s murder. They were asking about Felicity, seeing as she was his cousin. And then they asked if I knew you and when I’d last seen you.”
“So what did you say?”
“Couldn’t really remember, but before Christmas.”
Brannigan thought for a moment. “Would you want her back?”
“Felicity? Of course. I love her but she doesn’t make it easy.”
Brannigan gave a small chuckle. “All right Andy, but you tell me if she does get in touch.”
54
“So where are you living, Tracey?” Stainmore asked, as she sat opposite the woman they’d brought in from Agbrigg Road. Strong was alongside.
She wriggled in her seat. “What about my complaint?”
“We can deal with that once we’ve established a few facts.”
“Sweep it under the carpet you mean.”
Stainmore ignored the comment. “Are you and Si an item?”
There was a slight reaction before Tracey put on the act. “Si? Who’s Si?”
“Short for Simon. The man you were with, in the off-licence. The man you were following when you both ran from the shop.”
“Never met him before. I just legged it because I thought there was going to be trouble
, especially when he knocked that old girl over.”
Strong had had enough. “Okay, Tracey,” he said, “here’s the deal. We have you and your boyfriend on CCTV using a stolen credit card in the same off-licence the Sunday before last …”
She shook her head and interrupted. “No, it wasn’t me. Those cameras are not good enough. Besides, I always have my hood up.”
Strong leaned forward and stared hard at the woman. “But the really important thing to bear in mind, Tracey, for all your smart-arse attitude and answers, is that this particular card belonged to a man who was murdered just hours before.”
She paled and looked down. “Well I don’t know nothing about that.”
Stainmore took up the questioning again. “So you can see how it looks, Tracey. At the moment, we have a direct connection with you – and Simon – to our murder victim within hours of the incident.” She paused for effect. “Now stealing his wallet and credit cards, that would be a pretty good motive for murder.”
“We didn’t touch no wallet.” Almost as soon as she said it, she seemed to realise the mistake she’d made. “That’s if it was us.”
Strong and Stainmore exchanged looks.
In a calm tone, Strong said, “We’d like to help you Tracey. But to do that, you need to help us. So … where are you and Simon living? I’m assuming you are living together. And probably some bedsit just off Agbrigg Road.”
“Look, I had nothing to do with that card.”
“Oh I know,” Strong responded. “It was Si who used it in the shop. We can see that. But …”
“I never touched the card. He got it.”
“Simon?”
Tracey slowly nodded.
“So where is Simon? Where would he go?”
“Probably back at the room.”
“Which is?”
She reeled off an address near where Simon was last seen. Strong stopped the interview as Stainmore took Tracey to a holding cell. Despite initial protest, she quickly realised she would be at the station for a while.
* * *
Susan parked her Micra by the entrance to the service yard of the corner shop where Mark Thompson’s body had been found, and waited. A check of the watch; five to five. The radio was on and she was looking forward to the five o’clock news bulletin when she spotted him, pedalling up the road towards her. He passed by and looked in, making sure who she was. Then he turned round, gave a little wave and pedalled off back the way he came.
She started the car and followed him. He turned left and then left again into a dirt track leading to some garages. She followed slowly, not sure what he might be leading her to. Her car’s headlights swung round to reveal an empty road. The boy was nowhere to be seen. She paused and waited again. From between two garages a head appeared and then a hand, beckoning her forward. Slowly she did and came to a stop by the first structure. But she had the car in reverse gear in case she had to make a quick exit.
Danny looked up and down then approached the passenger door. He opened it and climbed inside.
“What’s with all this cloak and dagger stuff?” Susan asked.
“Kill the lights,” Danny said. “I don’t want to be seen talking to anyone.”
Susan did, then turned to the lad. “What’s scaring you, Danny?”
“Me? Nothing.” His head swivelled, looking all round.
Susan paused a moment. “So, what do you want to tell me?”
Danny’s breathing quickened. “I’m not even sure this is a good idea.”
“Look, Danny, it feels to me like you need to talk to someone, share something. I can listen. And I promise you, I can keep secrets too.”
He took a deep breath.
“You liked Mark, didn’t you?” she pressed on. In the dull light she could see his eyes begin to glisten. “He was your friend, you told me.”
Then, his shoulders began to heave up and down.
“Do you know what happened to him?”
The floodgates opened and he burst into tears, barely able to breathe before turning to her and burying his head in her chest. Awkwardly, she put her arm around his shoulder.
After a few minutes, his anguish subsided and he pulled away. “Sorry,” he said.
“In your own time,” she encouraged.
55
It was gone six o’clock when the lights began to go out in the salon opposite. Felicity emerged a minute or two later alongside another, shorter woman of around the same age. The rain had become heavy and, after the other woman had locked the door, the two of them raised umbrellas and set off up the road.
Brannigan started his car, backed out from the space he’d occupied for hours, and headed off in pursuit.
As he waited at the lights, he watched Felicity and her colleague walk to a bus stop on the opposite side of the main road. Seconds later, a car horn bipped behind him, telling him the lights had changed.
He set off, turning right, before pulling in to a space on the left-hand side of the street behind a delivery van. Despite the weather and the gloom, he could see the double yellow lines at the kerb but trusted there were no traffic wardens around at this time of day. He adjusted the interior mirror so he could observe the queue at the bus stop without turning around in his seat.
After about five minutes, a bus pulled in and he watched as the dark figures boarded, including Felicity and her friend. Waiting until it had passed, he pulled out, several vehicles in between.
Several stops later, he’d pulled in behind the bus at another stop and saw half a dozen passengers, including Felicity and her friend, get off. Fortunately, they began to walk up the road, away from him. He was suspicious she might recognise his car.
As the bus pulled off, he could see them hurrying away, heads down, umbrellas shielding them. They crossed the road and turned right into a side road.
As he followed and managed to squeeze between a gap in the traffic, he just caught sight of the pair disappearing through the door of a terraced house on the left.
“I’ll get it,” came the familiar voice from within in answer to his ring on the bell. “It’s probably that stuff you ordered from the …” Felicity stopped as she opened the door and saw who was standing outside.
She went to close it again quickly but Brannigan had his foot on the threshold.
“I just want to talk to you,” he said, trying to sound calm.
She’d turned ashen. “How did you find me? Does Andy know?”
Footsteps came from a room at the back of the house before approaching along the hallway. “Is everything okay, Felicity?”
Brannigan shook his head in answer to Felicity’s question. “No, but interesting you ask.” A slight pause before he continued, “Look, I don’t want any trouble, I just think we need to talk.”
The young woman from the salon had appeared at Felicity’s shoulder. “Is this …?”
“My step-father, yes.”
The woman stiffened. “Do you want me to call the police?”
“No, it’s fine,” Felicity responded, turning to her friend. “Do you mind if we use your front room?” She looked back to Brannigan. “We won’t be long.”
The woman frowned, looking suspicious. “If you’re sure.”
“It’ll be okay,” Felicity reassured her.
Her friend took a step back. “You’ve got ten minutes, and then I’ll call the police.”
Brannigan couldn’t help a slight smile form on his face. Had Felicity told her friend everything surrounding the events of a fortnight ago? He doubted it, otherwise she would understand why Felicity wouldn’t want any police involvement either.
Felicity stepped back and led the way through a door to the left and into a room with a dining table in the middle, cutlery set out for four places. The curtains were open and a gas fire was unlit in the Victorian fireplace.
As the other woman closed the front door, he shut the room door behind him. He could imagine her hanging around outside, hoping to hear whatever conversation he an
d Felicity were about to have.
His step-daughter sat on a chair at the far side of the dining table and folded her arms. “So how did you find me?” she asked belligerently.
He took the chair opposite. “It doesn’t matter. I haven’t told Andy but I think you should consider him.”
Her features softened slightly but her arms remained folded.
“You’ll probably think I’m angry with you, Felicity,” he went on.
She raised an eyebrow.
“I was, initially. In fact I was fuming. But I’ve had a chance to think about things.”
She said nothing but the colour had begun to come back to her cheeks.
“What I can’t understand is why. Why did you feel the need to do what you did?”
She snorted. “I wanted to hurt you,” she finally said. “Just like you hurt Mum.”
Brannigan shook his head. “At the end of the day, it would all come to you anyway. You know I’ve got no one else.”
“Right,” she said disbelievingly.
“It’s true. Who else have I got?” He held his arms wide. “There’s only you … and Andy.”
“And look what you got him involved with.”
Brannigan gave a grim smile. “I think you did that.”
Felicity slumped in the chair, her hands in her lap now.
“Look, I’ve tried to tell you how things were but you just closed me out. I know you resented me – coming into your lives. You wanted to have your mum to yourself after what happened to your real dad. I get that.” Brannigan paused a moment and leaned forward onto the dining table, slightly adjusting the positions of the cutlery in front of him. He looked up at Felicity.
“I know you’re still hurting about your mum,” he continued. “I wanted Veronica to tell you about the tumour. We had arguments about that. I didn’t think it was fair that she was depriving you of knowing … of enjoying what little time you two had left. But it was what she wanted.”
He watched her face as tears began to run down her cheeks. “Finally, I persuaded her to tell you – when it became obvious that something wasn’t right.”
