by Isaac, Jane;
Helen followed his gaze. The curtains danced in the soft breeze. ‘Mr Turner. Is there something else you want to tell us?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Why do you keep looking towards the window?’
‘It’s my wife, Jenny. She doesn’t know about any of this. Doesn’t even know he’s back in Hampton. And she’s due home, any minute. If she finds you here, she’ll be worried.’
Helen nodded and stood. The poor man seemed genuinely upset. ‘Do you know who your brother has been spending time with since his release? What he’s been doing? Anything will help.’
Nigel shook his head. ‘As I said, I made it my business not to know.’
***
They were at the car, wrestling with their seat belts when Helen’s phone rang. Rosa Dark’s name flashed up on the screen.
Helen plugged her lead into the USB port. ‘Hi Rosa. You’re on speakerphone.’
‘I’ve been out and spoken with Yvette’s husband. He’s in a pretty bad way. The grandparents are bringing their daughter home from holiday early. They should be back today.’
In all the excitement of tracing a potential suspect, Helen had almost forgotten she’d sent Dark to see Sinead’s late neighbour’s husband. ‘Anything on Sinead?’
‘He said they were friends. When I asked about the number of text messages they exchanged, he said his wife sent a lot of texts to all her friends, usually jokes she’d pulled off the internet. She gave up her job as a teaching assistant after the cancer scare, couldn’t face going back. Had a lot of time on her hands at home and was always scouring the internet and sending things on.’
‘What about her phone?’
‘He can’t find it.’
‘What?’
‘I know. It’s a mystery. He’s looked all over the house. He half wondered whether she’d seen something on there, on the internet, that had upset her and she’d disposed of it before she’d killed herself.’
With the DNA trace and a potential suspect in mind, Yvette’s missing phone seemed low priority. But it bothered Helen, especially as they still hadn’t located Sinead’s phone.
She thanked Dark and updated her on the DNA results and their current priorities. ‘Where are you now?’
‘On my way back to the station.’
‘Could you meet Gordon Turner’s case officer on the management of serious offenders’ team? I don’t care if he has to cancel the rest of his appointments today, arrange to meet him and see what he can tell you about Mr Turner. I’d like to take a look at the file too.’
CHAPTER 40
Connor turned the corner into Rhys’s street and immediately ducked behind a Nissan parked diagonally opposite. Rhys’s sister was leaning against the pebble-dash frontage of their house, chatting to a man in baggy jeans and a white T-shirt. He peeped through the car window at them. They were standing sideways on, him only inches away from her protruding stomach, deep in conversation. She gave a giggle and glanced at the road. Connor ducked down again. He’d only been in Rhys’s house a couple of times, but enough to know they didn’t get along. She hissed swear words at her brother when they passed in the hallway and gave Connor odd looks. Rhys loathed Bronwen, said she was always getting him into trouble. There was no way Connor was going to get past her without a string of questions.
Connor cursed his mother again for taking his phone and darted across the road, keeping low. Within seconds, he was in the alley at the rear of the houses. Two high brick walls ran the length of the alley, facing each other, leaving a broken path between, just wide enough to get a small car down. The walls were mossy and pitted. Wooden gates painted a variety of colours marked the back entrances to the houses. It didn’t take long to count down the gates to Rhys’s. A graffitied picture of a hand sat beside a rickety white gate. He tried the gate, surprised to find it unlocked, and slipped inside.
Weeds and dandelions pushed through the cracks in a pathway that led to a back door. The handlebars of an old bike were visible beneath the overgrown grass; a punctured football lay beside the back door. Connor looked up. Rhys’s bedroom was at the back. If he could get his attention…
A peal of laughter sounded. Bronwen. She was still talking out front. He didn’t have long. Grass tickled his calves as he searched the garden and gathered up a couple of stones. He stood back, found his aim and threw. The first one bounced off the window ledge. He tried again, but the second missed altogether, pinging off the wall. He turned to search for another stone when the back window flew open.
‘What are you doing?’ It was Rhys.
‘Shush!’ Connor pointed at the house. ‘Bronwen’s out front,’ he said in a low voice. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Are you kidding? My mum’ll go nuts if she finds you here. You dobbed me in.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘No? Who else sent the police to my door? I told you to tell no one.’
‘I didn’t. My mum recognised us from the camera footage, told the police. I never said a word about you. I swear.’
Rhys didn’t answer. He turned suddenly, and disappeared, leaving the window hanging open.
‘Rhys!’ Connor hissed. He listened hard, eyes searching the window. Nothing. He was weighing up his options, thinking about trying the back door, when a shadow appeared behind the glass.
Rhys opened the back door and poked his head out. ‘You need to go. If my family find you here—’
‘Can’t you come out for a few minutes?’
Rhys looked unsure. ‘I’m supposed to be grounded.’
‘So am I.’
A brief glance back. ‘Mum’s sleeping off a migraine. They think I’m in my room. We’d better be quick, before they see us.’
He slipped his feet into some trainers beside the door and snuck out. They jogged up the back alley, onto the top street and headed towards the park. Connor checked over his shoulder a couple of times. When they reached the edge of the park, they were gasping. They headed for an old oak in the corner and slunk down, resting their backs against the gnarly trunk.
It was quiet in this corner. Apart from a woman walking her dog in the distance, they were alone.
‘So, what happened?’ Rhys asked when he’d got his breath back.
Connor explained how he arrived home the other day to find his mother staring at the CCTV footage. How she’d forced him to go to the station.
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Rhys said.
‘She took my phone and my laptop. I couldn’t contact anyone. Still can’t.’
‘What did you tell the filth?’
‘Nothing. Said I was there on my own. When they said we were seen leaving together, I denied it. Even when my mum recognised you, I still denied it.’
‘She’s got a big mouth.’
Connor bristled. He didn’t approve of his mum contacting the police, but he wasn’t going to listen to anyone criticising her either. ‘She didn’t mean any harm.’
‘Didn’t mean any harm? My mum went crazy! I’ll be lucky if I’m let out this side of the summer holidays.’
Connor felt his cheeks redden. He looked away. A crow circled the tree, cawing to its mate. ‘What happened at the police station?’ he asked eventually.
Rhys sniffed. ‘Got asked a bunch of questions. Forced to admit I was there and saw the woman.’
‘You told them you were there?’
‘I didn’t have a choice. They’re testing the place for prints.’
They’d laundered their clothes and hadn’t considered fingerprints. How could they miss that? Connor ground his teeth and pressed his back into the trunk. They’d done nothing wrong. Well, maybe a bit of trespassing. Not enough to warrant them getting tangled up in a murder investigation.
‘What exactly did you tell them?’ Rhys asked.
‘That I was in the factory. I didn’t say I’d seen the woman. I told them I didn’t go upstairs.’
‘What? You idiot. Now our accounts are different. I told them we both went upstairs and saw the
woman.’
Connor’s face reddened again. ‘How was I supposed to know what you’d say? You said to tell no one.’
‘Look, we didn’t have anything to do with the murder,’ Rhys said. ‘We haven’t been charged with anything, haven’t even been arrested. It’ll blow over.’
‘There’s more.’ He shared the details of the man in the park yesterday, the attack outside his house last night.
Rhys didn’t flinch. ‘Probably just some nonce,’ he said. ‘There’s loads of them around.’ He broke off a handful of grass, opened his fingers and watched it drift to the ground.
‘I’ve had enough,’ Connor said. ‘I wish I’d never gone into that factory.’
‘The police think we know something, ’cos we were there. That’s why that detective keeps coming to the house.’
Connor recalled the impish detective, the one who’d interviewed him in the station. She’d visited him again yesterday evening, asking for details of his movements over the past two weeks, wanting all the contacts in his phone, details of who he spent time with. So that was why she was asking all those strange questions. He looked across at Rhys. ‘A detective came to you too?’
‘Yup. She came yesterday and said she’d be back. Even questioned Bronwen. I’m really gonna pay for that one. If they thought we were involved, they’d have arrested us by now.’
***
Pemberton was pulling out of Nigel Turner’s housing estate when Helen’s phone buzzed again. It was Spencer.
‘The flat is cleared out, only a few bits of furniture left,’ he said. ‘No clothes, toiletries, food in the cupboards. Turner’s decision to leave was clearly planned.’
‘No indication of where he moved on to?’ Helen asked.
‘Afraid not. He was careful to leave nothing of any consequence behind.’
‘What about the neighbouring flats?’
‘One side of him is empty, we’re yet to trace the resident. The other side is an elderly gentleman who barely goes out. He passed Turner a couple of times in the hallway when he was here, they never really spoke.’
‘What about the landlord?’
‘He remembers him, of course. He was one of the few to know his background, admitted he was a bit reluctant to take him on, but he said he didn’t give him any trouble. Apart from leaving without notice. He’s advertising for a new tenant now.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ Helen said. ‘Keep trying other flats in the block.’
CHAPTER 41
Time passed easily in their quiet corner of the park. A woman wandered along the nearby path with a pushchair, a sleeping toddler inside. A Labrador trotted over to check them out before its owner called it back. Slowly, the heat of the day was starting to kick in.
Connor’s stomach growled. It was almost lunchtime. He needed to get back home before his mother noticed he was missing.
He looked across at Rhys, laid out beside him, staring up at the blue sky between the leafy branches of the ancient oak. ‘We should make a move,’ he said. One of his laces had come undone. He reached down to tie it and noticed a man in a baseball cap leaning against a nearby tree, fiddling with his phone.
He was tall. Well-built. Wearing a black T-shirt, dark jeans.
‘Oh, shit.’
‘What is it?’ Rhys jerked forward.
‘Over there, look!’
Rhys followed his direction. ‘What? I don’t get it?’
‘That man. He’s the one who was watching me here yesterday.’
The man caught his eye and stared.
Connor’s mouth dried.
‘I think I know him,’ Rhys said. He squinted. ‘Oh my God, it is. We’ve got to get out of here. Now.’
They jumped up and turned towards the road, walking at first, trying to appear normal, although there was no hiding the urgency in their step. They left the park and headed towards town. Traffic blasted along the main road. Connor glanced over his shoulder. He didn’t want to. Didn’t want to see the man following them. But the pull was unbearable.
‘He’s behind us.’
They both turned at the same time. The man quickened, drawn to them like a magnet.
‘Run!’ Rhys said.
They could hear footsteps behind them as they sped up. Pounding the pavement. Eyes darting in all directions. They needed to turn off the main drag, it would be easier to lose him in the side streets.
A short break in the traffic. They edged towards the road, attuned to each other’s movements. Weaved their way through, narrowly missing a cyclist speeding towards town.
Connor didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know the man was still there. The brakes of a driver howled in protest as he followed; the horn of a van blasted.
A side street presented itself ahead. Twenty metres away. Within seconds they were there. Connor steered Rhys into it. They turned, then took the first street on the left. Another quick glance. He was making ground, closing in on them.
They were in the old terraced streets that marked the edge of Weston now, an area also known as Hampton’s red-light district. Sweat coursed down their backs, the blistering sun picking at every ounce of bare skin. Further down the road was Roxten and the Rabbit Warren with all its alleys and back entrances. If they could reach there, they had a better chance of losing him.
Another turn, another street. There seemed no let-up. Lungs were starting to burn, hearts pounding in their chests. They were running alongside a house when Rhys suddenly nudged Connor into the back entrance. A gate sat ajar. Connor guessed his thinking. They snuck inside, pushed the gate to.
Footsteps thudded the pavement. They listened intently. Wide eyes staring at one another. No sooner had the footfalls gone than they were back. Followed by heavy panting. He sounded close. Close enough to touch.
Connor imagined him looking around, contemplating where they’d disappeared to. In a house maybe? Down a side alley? He checked the gate. It looked closed, but the latch wasn’t down. If he pushed it, they were finished. Their two lithe bodies were no match for the man’s thickset muscular frame.
They weren’t sure how long they stood there. Switching their gaze between the gate and the back of the flat where the curtains were tightly drawn. On the uneven paved yard, amongst the black bin bags and old boxes piled beside an overflowing wheelie bin. The smell in the heat of the day was acrid.
Minutes ticked by. They heard the bell of a cyclist in the distance. The thrum of an engine.
Connor pulled the gate open a crack, peered out. From his narrow view, the road appeared to be empty.
‘I think he’s gone,’ Connor said.
Rhys slid to the floor. Connor bent over double and moved his tongue around his mouth. He needed a drink.
‘What did you mean?’ he said to Rhys.
‘About what?’
‘You said you knew him.’
Rhys stared at the ground. ‘He’s the dead woman’s husband. Another cop.’
‘What?’
‘I saw him talking on the telly.’
‘But…’ Connor gathered his thoughts. The man chasing them wore a baseball cap obscuring his face. ‘How can you be sure?’
‘I told you, I saw him on the telly. And there’s an overgrown mole on the side of his head. If he stands a certain way, like in the park, you can see it. It’s gross.’
Connor worked this through in his mind. He hadn’t noticed the mole. ‘Why is he chasing us then?’
‘We were at the factory. Maybe he thinks we saw something.’
Connor could barely process this. The man who’d been watching him, who attacked him last night, who’d chased him today, was connected to the victim.
An inquisitive face appeared at the window.
‘We need to get out of here,’ Rhys said.
They dashed out of the gate, looked both ways and headed down towards the corner, away from the house. Breaking into a jog. They couldn’t afford to be chased by an angry resident thinking they were trying to break into their property.
Or worse, be stopped by the police and questioned.
A couple more streets and they were in Roxten. When they were sure they weren’t being followed, they slowed to a walk. A bell rang over the door of a shop on the corner.
‘You got any cash?’ Rhys said.
Connor placed his hand in his pocket. Drew out two twenty pence pieces, a couple of tens and a pound coin.
‘Enough for a Coke,’ Rhys said. ‘I’m gagging.’
***
Helen was almost back in Hampton when her phone rang. It was Dark again.
‘I’m with Chris Francis, Gordon Turner’s MOSOVO case officer,’ she said. ‘He’s not able to give us anything new in terms of Gordon’s whereabouts, but he did say Gordon’s been increasingly frustrated about not being able to get work. He was being treated for depression, kept complaining about money problems. Chris says he was visiting another ex-con who lives in the flats near Turner shortly before he disappeared and he spotted Turner with one of the Gladstone brothers. He wondered if he was touting for work, maybe as a minder or as one of their heavies. He’s bigger than a lot of their other muscle and people here don’t know his background.’
Helen thanked Dark and rang off, her mind whirling. The Gladstone family were those suspected of stepping into Chilli Franks’s shoes and rebuilding his organised crime network. It seemed strange to think Gladstone himself might meet Turner personally; Chilli was always shrewd about meeting contacts in public, though Gladstone wasn’t the cleverest. And if he was looking for some muscle, Turner, at 6 foot 4 inches with a bulky frame, would certainly fit the bill.
She made a quick call to DI Burns in the organised crime unit, passed on the details and asked him to look in to any association between Turner and the Gladstones. If Sinead had looked to borrow money, it may be Gladstone was the lender and Gordon Turner the enforcer. She was reminded of the bruising across Sinead’s body. It might explain the violence. Perhaps the association went back even further.
‘How did you get on with the inquiries into Blane’s and Sinead’s personal backgrounds?’ she asked Pemberton.
