Bitter Blue

by Cath Staincliffe

  ‘You don’t think Carly Jowett’s behind this do you?’ She was slightly incredulous.

  ‘I don’t know yet. Her name came up. Tell me about her.’

  ‘Not a lot to tell really. She had no discipline. She came over well in the interview but she was late for her shifts, poorly turned out, not as helpful as she should be with the guests. I had to give her a formal warning; a verbal one.’

  ‘How did she take it?’

  She tilted her head to the side while she found the right word. ‘Resentfully, sullen. Like a child.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It was the following week, Malcolm asked me to go to his office. Carly was there, she’d been caught stealing: champagne and flowers. She was dismissed.’

  ‘And how did she react to that?’

  ‘“You can stuff your effing job”,’ Lucy quoted. ‘But I don’t think she sent the letter.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She gave an impatient shake of her head. ‘It just seems like an awful lot of an effort and a long time since. She was caught red-handed. It’s not like she was treated unfairly. And it was Malcolm that caught her, not me.’

  ‘Maybe she thought you’d tipped him off?’

  She shrugged. Not convinced.

  ‘What about Ian Hoyle?’ The mean and moody manager who couldn’t wait to see the back of me. ‘How do you get on?’

  Something flashed through her eyes. Surprise? Fear? Hard to tell because she recovered well. ‘Fine. Why?’

  ‘I found him a little ... brusque.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Oh? Was that the best she could do? There was an awkward pause. She was hiding something. I could smell it as the time stretched between us.

  ‘He didn’t seem very keen to help. I don’t know why?’

  She kept her mouth shut, her eyes on the mug in her hand.

  I waited.

  ‘He can be a bit off-hand,’ she offered. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

  I studied her. Flawless skin, glistening lips, a lie slithering through her eyes.

  I took the risk of being rude. I’d been paid after all. ‘If you’re not straight with me it only makes my job more difficult.’

  Anger snapped across her face then she put her cup down. ‘It’s silly, just a silly mess, that’s all.’ She looked up at me from under her lashes. ‘I’m not Ian’s favourite person at the moment. It wasn’t ... I hoped it wouldn’t matter, or I’d have told you. He ... he had a crush on me. They’re expecting a baby, I think things are a bit tricky at home. It was silly. I told him not to be ridiculous. He knows it’s for the best. Men!’ She gave a brittle laugh. I didn’t join her.

  ‘Did anything happen?’

  ‘A kiss, a meal. I offered a shoulder to cry on, he completely misread the situation.’

  Had it gone further? She’d kept this from me, was there more?

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important.’

  On what planet, exactly? Woman spurns man, woman receives anonymous letters, calling her a bitch, making death threats. My money wasn’t on Carly Jowett anymore.

  ‘Really,’ she leant forward, her palms together, fingers pointing at me. ‘It’s not Ian. It’s not his style. Besides, he’s too much to lose.’

  It was a feeble disclaimer in my book. People risked everything more often than we liked to imagine.

  ‘He’d never do that.’ Or she didn’t want to accept he would.

  ‘He’s the most likely suspect from where I’m standing.’

  ‘No,’ she insisted.

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Let me talk to him.’ She said. ‘He’s having an awful time at the moment. They’re not sure whether the baby ... there may be something wrong. I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. And he’s not going to admit it, if it was him.’

  She thought. The tips of her fingers pressed against her temples. ‘I know it wasn’t Ian. I’d swear on it. But if it was, and I really don’t believe it, not in a million years, then it would have been a moment of madness and he’ll be eaten up with regret. He’ll tell me,’ she nodded emphatically. ‘He’s mixed up at the moment but he’s a decent man.’

  ‘I’d rather speak to him again myself.’

  ‘No,’ she said stubbornly, a hard edge to her voice.

  I took a breath. ‘My professional opinion, the reason you hired me ...’

  She raised her palm to stop me. ‘I’ll speak to him tomorrow, I’ll ring and tell you all about it. I don’t want him harassed anymore.’

  ‘Harassed?’ Now she was really getting my goat.

  ‘He’s a friend.’

  What could I do? Lock her in her flat? Dump the case?

  ‘I’m not happy about it.’

  Silence.

  Stalemate.

  She ran her thumb along the edge of her other nails. ‘You’ve spoken to everyone on the list then?’

  ‘There’s still the students here.’

  She shook her head dismissively, echoing my own sentiments.

  ‘And Carly Jowett. I’d like to rule her out. There won’t be much more I can do after that. Unless I start to try and trace the lettering, but that will only give us the sources that were used and they are probably publications anyone can get at their local newsagents.’

  ‘Maybe we’ll never find out,’ she said philosophically, ‘you said that might be the case but at least we’ll have tried.’

  I still felt uneasy as she showed me out. Frames hung beside her door: pictures of a young man and a couple of Lucy.

  ‘Benjamin?’

  She nodded. Lowered her almond eyes. I couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound trite.

  Lucy opened the door.

  ‘Be careful with Ian,’ I said, ‘if he’s very stressed ...’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ she said.

  She stood on the steps and gave a little wave as I drove off, looking for all the world like an air-stewardess bidding farewell to a planeload of passengers.

  Chapter Five

  It was dark, just after eight o’ clock, but I hadn’t finished work. Time to put in my first stretch of surveillance on Severn Road, to see on behalf of the Ecclestones whether the area was a pleasant place to move to. I hate surveillance; it’s tedious as hell unless someone’s on the run and then it gets scary. However, as I charge double rates for it, when I get brassed off I just think of the money. Getting cold and wanting to pee are two of the technical problems. At The Four In Hand, a nearby pub, I made use of their toilet facilities. I’d already sorted out a packed supper to keep me going and even bought along an audio-book complete with a portable cassette. An old pro, me.

  There was space to park near the top of the street. With a high wall surrounding the corner property to my left and a car park for flats opposite to my right, I wasn’t nicking anyone’s beloved parking space or loitering outside anyone’s front room causing concern or unwelcome curiosity. My view stretched a fair way down the road, past ‘Chestnuts’ with its For Sale sign. The street lamps washed the pavements with traditional sickly orange light. There wasn’t much traffic, this wasn’t a rat run. One point in favour for my clients.

  After half an hour I got out and had a stroll up and down for a closer look. The abandoned house across the road from ‘Chestnuts’ was in darkness and the business place deserted. Next-door to the Ecclestones’ prospective home at ‘Oakview’ a people carrier sat in the driveway, immediate neighbours back from work. Walking further down the road I could smell fat – someone doing chips or a roast. My mouth watered.

  Back in the car I settled in for a wait and watched dog walkers, couples, and students pass by. The students wore trousers wide as curtains, slung with heavy chains, some had their faces pierced and studded like biker jackets; one boy looked just like a hedgehog, his hair spiked all over his head and a long sharp nose. A dog barked on and off but not enough to call it a nuisance.

 
; I listened to a few chapters of the latest George Pelecanos novel and at ten I ate my sandwiches: Cheshire cheese, basil and red onion, and drank some coffee from my flask.

  My mobile rang as I was clearing up the crumbs. My friend Diane.

  ‘Do you want to share a taxi on Saturday?’

  ‘Can do.’ We were going to a mutual friend’s fortieth birthday party. ‘How’s the masterpiece?’ Diane was making an original screenprint as a gift from the pair of us.

  ‘Gorgeous. I might hang on to it and palm Chris off with one of my old posters.’

  I laughed.

  ‘You working?’

  ‘Stakeout.’

  ‘Ooooh.’

  ‘Not a lot happening.’

  ‘Good. Who are you staking out?’

  ‘Potential noisy neighbours, undesirable elements. All quiet so far. So, Saturday what time?’

  ‘Nine? She’s doing a buffet.’

  ‘Okay. Pick me up on the way. How are you?’

  ‘Good. Got an interview at the Infirmary.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Artist in residence. Chance to do my own stuff and some for the hospital. They had a mosaics bloke last time, they might think textiles is a bit girlie.’

  ‘That’s it, think positive.’

  Returning to my tape, I concluded that if anything was going to kick off it would be later when the pubs emptied. Didsbury Village, half-mile away was like a riot waiting to happen at the weekends. Hundreds of youngsters, set on having a good time, dead drunk and circulating through the pubs and bars on the prowl for fun, sex and oblivion. Taxi drivers steered clear. It was like town without the bus ride. Yet on Saturday mornings when everyone queued cheerfully in the deli or the fish shop, called at the library, browsed in the bookshop or gazed in one of the numerous estate agents you wouldn’t have imagined it was the same place.

  A car drove past me, a blare of sound. It parked in the yard in front of the apartments beyond Chestnuts. The door banged and then things were quiet again. A plane took off, probably making more noise than anything so far. I jotted it down. The Ecclestones might need to know they’d get holiday flights going over throughout the summer, loud enough to prevent conversation in the garden and to wake you in the morning. It was only a few miles to the airport.

  An hour passed and a dribble of people returned home. The only rowdy ones were two lads, obviously out of their skulls on something, kicking a can between them as they walked down the middle of the road. I watched them until they were out of sight. It was late now, my bladder was bursting and I could feel my back stiffening in reaction to the creeping cold. Time to call it a night. I switched the engine on, turned up the heater and pulled away.

  As I drove into the side street a few hundred yards down on the left a movement caught my eye near one of the alleyways. A person stumbling, tripping. I was about to drive on, thinking it was someone the worse for drink, but as the figure stood upright the light from the street-lamp illuminated them. A woman, blonde curls, blood on her face and on her pale top. Eyes shut, face creased with distress. Adrenalin jolted through me like a fist in the belly. I stopped the car just a few yards past her and ran back to help.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Daft question I know but it was an opening.

  She flinched at my voice, looked wildly about. Her arms were wrapped around her stomach. I was worried she was going to run off. I moved closer slowly and spoke quietly. ‘What’s happened, has there been an accident?’ I couldn’t see a crashed car but maybe someone had run her over.

  She gave a jerky sob.

  ‘I can take you to hospital.’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head, her voice was high with emotion.

  ‘You’re hurt.’

  ‘I’m all right,’ but then she staggered and I had to catch her to stop her falling.

  ‘Come and sit down for a minute, my car’s just here.’

  She didn’t resist and I steered her to the car and got her in the passenger side. The blood was coming from her nose and lip and from a cut high on her forehead. She was trembling violently, her teeth clattering, her breath jerky, a bubble of blood formed in one nostril and burst. I crouched beside her on the pavement, leaned over and pulled a J-cloth from the glove compartment. ‘Here.’

  She sniffed, took it and pressed it to her face.

  ‘What happened? Was there an accident?’

  ‘No.’

  My stomach turned icy.

  ‘Someone did this?’

  She began to cry.

  ‘I can call the police.’

  ‘No,’ she wept, ‘please don’t. I can’t, please.’

  She was frightened.

  ‘Did you recognise them?’

  ‘No.’ She made an effort to pull herself together, wiping her nose and using her fingers to dry her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I just want to go home, get cleaned up.’

  ‘Where were they?’

  ‘I can’t ...’ she broke off.

  ‘If there’s someone hanging around, attacking people ...’

  ‘It all happened so fast. I didn’t see them, it was dark.’

  ‘How many people?’

  ‘One.’

  ‘A man?’

  She nodded.

  ‘In the alley?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Did he take anything?’

  ‘No.’

  I swallowed. ‘Just beat you up?’ I wanted to ask if she’d been raped but it seemed brutal to say it so baldly. ‘Did he try anything else?’

  ‘No.’ She started crying again. ‘Shit,’ she rocked to and fro and ran her hands over her hair a couple of times.

  ‘You couldn’t describe him? Age, height, clothing? Did he say anything, did you hear his voice?’ I thought of the lads kicking the can. One of them perhaps? ‘Where was he?’

  ‘Please,’ she raised her hands to the sides of her head, shutting me out. ‘I can’t think about it. I just want to forget it, leave it.’

  I understood her reaction: the shock and terror displacing everything else. But if the attack wasn’t reported then it would take that much longer for the bastard who’d attacked her to be caught. It might mean other attacks, other victims whose lives were suddenly damaged by random violence.

  ‘Please can you take me home.’

  ‘Of course.’ I straightened up and sighed.

  She lived nearby, Old Landsdowne Road which runs parallel to Severn Road. I parked where she told me to, in the middle of a row of terraced houses. There were lights on. ‘Will there be someone there?’

  ‘Yes.’ She opened the car door.

  ‘If you change your mind, about the police, I’d be happy to talk to them. This is my number.’ I gave her my card. She took it without even glancing at it and pushed it awkwardly into her pocket.

  ‘Can you manage?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’ Her voice was shaky.

  She got out slowly, he must have hurt her body as well as her face. What with? Boots, fists, a bat?

  I watched her until she’d opened the door and gone inside.

  The brush with violence left me feeling hollow with fatigue but speedy too. I’d been hurt myself in the course of my work – the cases I investigate occasionally expose me to the risk of harm – but it must be even more traumatic when an attack comes from out of the blue with absolutely no reason.

  Although my scars had healed there was still a visceral reaction to similar situations. Like a smell or a cherished melody that triggers powerful memories, the atmosphere that accompanies brutality awakened all those dreadful feelings from before. The childlike terror, the sick anxiety, the more complex reactions of guilt and depression. It all came flooding back and by the time I got home I too was tearful and trembling.

  The house was quiet. Everyone in bed. I looked in on the kids. They were fast asleep. They’d want separate rooms before long. I wasn’t sure how we’d do it. I speculated while I made cocoa and toast, lathered honey onto the toast and settled in the armchair in the kit
chen. Swapping rooms about and dividing one of the bigger ones in half might be a possibility. Or waiting until Sheila, the lodger, moved out of her attic flat, which she was planning to do when she graduated. But without a lodger there’d be less money for rent and bills. Maybe Laura, Ray’s girlfriend, would move into the flat with Ray, and then little Tom could have Ray’s old room. I was trying to distract myself but I couldn’t keep it up for long.

  The heating had gone off and the room was cool so I kept my coat on. Digger sidled in and waited while I ate. When no crumbs came his way and I’d moved onto sipping cocoa he moseyed off again.

  Images from the evening haunted me, the woman’s teeth chattering, the silhouette of her stumbling, the bubble of blood in her nose. Would she think differently about reporting it in the morning? Maybe whoever she lived with would persuade her, give her some support.

  I considered whether I should go to the police myself. What could I tell them? Precious little really. A lone woman had been attacked and beaten somewhere near Severn Road shortly before 11.40 p.m. She could give no description of her attacker and refused to report the crime. Sparse details but I decided I’d feel better passing them on to the police than not bothering.

  How would I phrase this in my report to the Ecclestones? It may not have been the first time the man had struck. I’d have to see if the other residents, or even the police, could tell me anything.

  My thoughts turned to the impasse I’d reached with Lucy Barker. She’d been adamant about talking to prickly Ian Hoyle herself. As yet he seemed the most likely culprit. Was she being foolish? If he held up his hands and confessed would that be the end of the matter? Or if she challenged him would he attack? He was already stressed, if he felt cornered he might act violently. Could I have done more to dissuade her?

  In bed I cuddled a hot water bottle. Found it hard to sleep but I tried not to get wound up about it. At least I was warm and horizontal and safe at home.

  Chapter Six

  ‘That was Katy’s mum on the phone. She wants us to pick Katy up today. I said she could stay for tea.’

  Maddie gave a dull nod. Maddie looked like I felt; her face was pale and she had dark shadows beneath her eyes.