Somebody's Daughter

by Carol Wyer

  Sitting in his car beside The Towers, Murray tore off the end of the egg sandwich and shoved it into his mouth. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he was ravenous. He stared over at the white van, belonging to Tommy Field. It hadn’t moved at all and Murray wondered where its owner had gone. Was it possible Valentine had murdered him, or was he hanging out with mates, stoned somewhere? One thing was for certain: Murray was sick of arranging shifts to keep an eye on the flat. There were other leads to pursue rather than wasting time on surveillance.

  It was late again. Yolande had warned him not to overdo it. What choice did they have? Four murders in four days and no suspects to charge. Murray shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth and wiped his fingers on his thighs. Egg sandwich! He should have chosen the BLT and a large bag of cheese and onion crisps. It would have filled him more than egg and cress. The things he did for his wife. His attention turned to a Volvo SUV. He recognised the driver, an officer from Samford HQ, where he and the team had worked before moving to Holborn House. He clambered out of his own vehicle and wandered across to have a few words.

  ‘Boss asked us to take over surveillance here. Got to keep an eye out for Tommy Field.’

  ‘Great. I’ll leave it to you. That’s his van.’ He patted the top of the car and strode back to his Jeep, glad he could get back on the streets and make headway again. No sooner had he pulled away than his mobile rang. It was Celeste.

  ‘I’ve been talking to one of Valentine’s girls and she says Amelia used to work out of the bus shelter close to Samford Primary School.’

  ‘I thought she worked at West Gate car park.’

  ‘The car park was only one of her patches. She used the shelter early in the morning. Apparently, there’s quite a bit of passing trade from men and women on their way to work.’

  ‘There is? I can barely manage to eat a bowl of cornflakes first thing in the morning, let alone go hunting for sex.’

  ‘It’s what she told me.’

  ‘Where exactly is this bus shelter?’

  ‘St Mary’s Road.’

  ‘I’ll check it out.’

  ‘I’ll keep asking about.’

  ‘Good work. Catch you later.’

  A bus shelter close to the school where Dominic worked. This could be a vital piece of the enormous puzzle they were being faced with. It also threw up the possibility Dominic knew Amelia, and if Murray’s memory served him correctly, Dominic regularly arrived early for work. He might even have been one of Amelia’s customers. He pressed the accelerator pedal enthusiastically. This was a positive step forward.

  Lucy sat opposite Dominic’s best friend, Harry, who’d asked to meet her in a pub, and judging by the state of him, he’d been there a while. He was balanced right on the end of a red leather banquette, next to a roaring fire that scorched Lucy’s legs. She shifted them to one side, further from the flames and relentless heat. Harry stared at his glass, eyes unfocused. His speech was slurred and he faltered before speaking. ‘Dominic wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  The interview was proving to be a waste of time. Harry had repeated himself three times and Lucy was beginning to regret the decision to come here when she ought to be looking for Eugene and Tommy.

  ‘What can you tell me about his relationship with Anne?’

  He stared at the bottom of his beer glass, head gently swaying. ‘Love at first sight.’

  ‘No issues there then?’

  ‘That’s not what I said, is it?’

  Lucy felt a flicker of hope. ‘Was their relationship in trouble?’

  ‘Not trouble but Dom… Dom got restless.’

  ‘Is that why he had an affair with Rachel Hardy?’

  He lowered the glass, mouth open wide, a complete overreaction brought about by too much alcohol. ‘You know about Rachel?’

  ‘Anne told us about it and also that Rachel’s father marched into their house, threatening to kill him if he carried on seeing her.’

  Harry’s lips vibrated as he released air through them, a half-snigger. ‘Dom was well pissed off about that. Stupid old bastard showing up and throwing his weight about. It only made Dom want to see Rachel even more.’

  ‘He wasn’t concerned about Eugene?’

  He belched and tapped his fist against his chest. ‘’Scuse me. Worried? No. It was all hot air. Dom told Rachel about it and they had a good chuckle at his expense. She said her dad was an old windbag.’ He scoffed at the word. ‘He didn’t like her dating blokes. Weird chap. Wanted her to live at home with him like she was a kid. He’d threatened other boyfriends she’d dated and they’d backed off due to his money and influence… and on account they were a bunch of scaredy-cats. Dom reckoned that’s why she rebelled like she did. She was a right goer according to him. Do it anywhere, anytime. Used to go to his school really early and shag on his desk or take it up the rear in her office. He loved all that. She was always adventurous. Even had a threesome with him.’

  ‘Did he say who with?’

  ‘No.’ He hiccoughed, his shoulders lifting and dropping with the shock.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No. I miss him, you know? I bloody miss him.’ His eyes began to fill. ‘I can’t think who’d kill him.’

  ‘How did Anne take his affair?’

  ‘Anne… now there’s a woman I should have married. She’s really lovely. Lovely Anne. He’d never have left her, you know? He enjoyed sex with Rachel but he adored Anne. They were trying for a family. He wanted that more than Rachel.’

  ‘You can’t think of anyone he might have annoyed?’

  He hiccoughed again and downed the rest of his beer. ‘Not Dom. He was a good man. Great with children. He’d have made a terrific dad. You want another drink?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘I’m going for a piss and then get another. Do you have any more questions for me?’

  ‘No, we’re done, but if you think of anything, let me know.’

  He nodded, and as he did, a tear escaped the corner of his eye. He staggered to his feet and shuffled towards the bar. Lucy left her half-drunk glass of sparkling water. Rachel hadn’t believed her father capable of harming Dominic. Had they misread the situation? Was the reason behind them being unable to contact Eugene more sinister, and was he in danger?

  Natalie shut her stinging eyes. Her contact lenses were troubling her again. She would have to get them changed or start wearing glasses, which weren’t as practical during fieldwork. Still, she’d soon be doing less of that. To date, she’d gleaned Rachel was, in spite of what her father had told them, an arrogant and ruthless individual. She read through the statement Poppy had taken from a sales assistant who hinted Rachel had only been promoted because she’d pushed her father into it, and her predecessor, Bradley Chester, who’d been senior sales manager prior to Rachel taking over, had been fired by Eugene, purely to appease his daughter.

  She rang upstairs and asked for contact details for Bradley. This needed looking into, and although she couldn’t imagine if or how the man might be connected in any way to Amelia or Katie, a dissatisfied employee might bear a grudge.

  Lucy had left the pub and stopped off at Constantine’s Café, where eight customers were willing to swear Valentine had been at the café on Saturday night and therefore couldn’t have murdered Rachel. Although he had alibis, she wasn’t ruling out the possibility he was responsible for the deaths of at least two victims – Amelia and Katie. He had a motive – getting Tommy’s girls off his patch. She followed Fallow Avenue towards the walkway alongside the canal, a broad stretch of pavement used by the general public who fancied a waterside stroll during the day but at night was frequented by gangs and street people. Maybe one of them knew Tommy. The streetlights barely lit the pavement and she hunched protectively, blending in with the semi-darkness as she descended the steps from the street towards the canal, intending to try the bridge 100 metres further away, a haunt for the homeless who couldn’t find a bed in the shelters. A couple of boys
, no more than thirteen, stared insolently at her as she passed them.

  ‘Got a fag?’ asked one.

  ‘I don’t smoke,’ she replied.

  They squared thin shoulders and tried to intimidate her with their crude responses and hard stares.

  She didn’t admonish them. She didn’t want to play the cop card yet. What she wanted was information about Tommy.

  ‘You often hang around here?’

  ‘What if we do?’

  ‘I’m looking for somebody, a bloke with frizzy hair and one of those big earrings that stretch a hole in the ear.’

  ‘Your boyfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who is he then?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who he is, have you seen him?’

  One of them snorted and spat the gunk onto the pavement. They’d lost interest in her. ‘If you’ve got no ciggies, we can’t help you.’ They meandered away, leaving her to walk beside the ebony water.

  Ahead were some individuals, sitting with backs against the walls, blankets over their lower limbs, talking in low voices. She drew closer and suddenly the voices fell silent and eyes lasered on her. She was able to hold her own, but if she got jumped by several of them at once, she’d be in trouble. She wondered if she’d been stupid to come here alone on a whim, especially after admonishing Murray for acting without heed to safety. The vibrating phone in her pocket caused her to turn her back on the men ahead and, keeping her head lowered, she pressed the mobile close to her ears.

  Andy’s words froze her to the spot. ‘Where? The gents’ toilets in Prince’s Park? See you there.’ She thrust the phone into her pocket and ran, arms pumping, back along the canal, up the steps, two at a time, ignoring the laughter from the two boys now sat on the wall who shouted abuse after her as she sprinted past them. This was dreadful news. Superintendent Tasker would probably take her off the case. She thundered on, back towards her car, and threw herself into the driver’s seat. Fuck! Eugene Hardy. Dead in the toilets. Whatever next?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Monday, 4 November – Late Evening

  Bradley Chester’s sitting room floor was an obstacle course of toddler’s toys: a laughing, sit-on giraffe took centre stage among a pile of soft-play foam bricks, activity centres, a toy ukulele, a mini toolbox with half the items thrown about the rug and a bunch of soft toys in various positions, on their backs, sitting upright or neglected with tails and bottoms in the air. Bradley gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Not had time to tidy yet. He wasn’t tired and I had trouble getting him to bed. He only dropped off to sleep a few minutes ago.’

  Natalie smiled. ‘How old is he?’

  ‘He’s at the terrible two stage, knows his own mind and has more energy than is humanly possible.’

  Natalie recalled chasing after her children when they were a similar age. Leigh had always been quick on her feet, Josh less speedy, but both had been single-minded. ‘Sorry to bother you so late. I need to ask you a few questions about Rachel Hardy.’

  ‘I read the article about her death online. That was one hell of a shock.’

  ‘Can we talk about the store?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Tell me why you were fired.’

  He sat on the edge of a well-worn armchair, legs apart, hands together between them. ‘Do you want my version or the official one?’

  ‘What was the official version?’

  ‘Eugene felt I no longer had a grip on customers’ changing demands. Sales had tumbled during the previous twelve months and a younger person with a fresher approach was required to take the store forwards.’

  ‘Was it true?’

  ‘Sales had declined but not solely because of product buying. There were other factors in play: shopping habits have been evolving for a while. People are leaving the high street in favour of online shopping, retail parks and indoor shopping centres, and since the indoor centre opened in Samford, we’d noticed an obvious drop in numbers of shoppers coming through the doors.’

  ‘What’s your version of events?’

  ‘The bastard sacked me to free up the position and give it to Rachel. There was no way I’d underperformed and I’d repeatedly told Eugene the store needed to move with the times and get a stronger online presence, but he’d ignored my advice.’ He looked at his hands before continuing, ‘I overheard them, in his office. Rachel yelling it was about time she got off the shop floor and into management and that he needed to do something about it quickly or she’d leave Hardy’s. He told her he’d sort it out and he did. He got rid of me.’

  ‘But that’s unfair dismissal. Did you not challenge him?’

  He gave a half-hearted snort. ‘This is Eugene Hardy we’re talking about. He plays by his own rules. There’s no union or anyone to support me. It would be my word against his and his daughter’s. I admit, I lost my temper and told him I’d overheard their conversation, and I would sue him…’

  Bradley is covered in a cold sweat. Eugene, at his desk, lifts a paper knife and peers through half-closed eyes like an animal about to spring on its prey.

  ‘Sue us? Sue Hardy’s for unfair dismissal? I don’t think so. There was no such conversation, was there, Rachel?’

  Rachel, one stockinged leg over the other, is sitting prim and proper to the right of her father, concern etched over her features. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. However, I’m deeply offended by your accusation.’

  Eugene continues, ‘Bradley, I really don’t know why you feel the need to invent this ridiculous story. It smacks of sour grapes and I’m frankly astonished by your behaviour and suggestion of nepotism. I’d have expected much better of you, especially after having worked at Hardy’s for many years. I had considered you part of the family but you clearly don’t feel the same way, and as for hurling accusations at Rachel, well, that’s a step too far.’

  ‘I… I—’

  Eugene silences him with a look. ‘Sales have been poor in recent months, and with profits dropping off, cuts have to be made. It’s a shame I’ve had to make the decision to let you go, but I have, I believe, been more than generous with my redundancy offer, especially in light of recent complaints about you.’

  ‘Complaints?’

  ‘Yes, a few members of staff have complained about sexual harassment. I think it’s for the best if we don’t let such accusations get out.’

  ‘But, I haven’t—’

  Rachel says, ‘Two female members of staff told me in strictest confidence they’d been harassed by you. You used inappropriate language and upset them. I had difficulty in persuading them not to put in an official complaint.’

  ‘What bullshit! Who? I want to speak to them!’

  Rachel gives him a tight smile. ‘I don’t think that would be prudent. They were quite distressed enough.’

  Eugene takes over before Bradley can respond. ‘Now, if I were you, I would accept my offer and leave. If you don’t, and decide instead to pursue some petty vendetta, then go ahead. You will, I’m afraid, lose out, and I don’t mean simply financially. I understand Fradley’s is looking to make redundancies too. I was only talking to Gareth Fradley yesterday about it. Your wife works there, doesn’t she? It would be dreadful if you both lost your jobs.’

  Bradley’s tongue has glued itself to the roof of his mouth and he can only make choking noises as blood rages through his ears.

  Eugene lays the silver letter opener on the desk and pushes the document across. ‘If I were you, I’d sign it now and get out before the offer is rescinded.’

  Rachel regards him coolly. Her huge lion ring glints in the sunlight streaming through the office window. He has no choice. He reaches for the pen and scrawls his name above the line.

  Bradley shook his head. ‘I don’t understand how he could turn on me like he did. I started working at Hardy’s when I was sixteen, on the shop floor, tidying shelves, sweeping floors, learning from others until I made it to sales assistant and finally to senior sales manager. I
t took me twenty years to reach such a senior position and I was good at my job. Eugene even consulted me on major decisions and not once did he voice any concerns over my skills or abilities, not until two days after I overheard the argument between him and his daughter and then suddenly, I was being shown the door. Fucker!’

  ‘You didn’t part on good terms then?’

  ‘You could say that. I was marched out of the building like I was a shoplifter, which was Rachel’s idea. She insisted I was creating a fuss and would upset the other staff members, and I was banned from returning to the store. Says a lot about valuing employees, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Have you not found a job since?’

  ‘No. The redundancy money won’t last much longer and there aren’t any jobs available paying a similar salary. We’ve got significant outgoings and my wife’s expecting again.’ He balled his hands into fists and stared at the carpet. ‘What a bastard, eh?’