He looked surprised to see the two women, then, recognising PC Graham, definitely wary.
‘There were one or two questions DC Murray wanted to ask you following on from our talk this morning when we were asking about the gear you and the other kids have, remember? All right?’ She placed herself to one side and quietly got out a notebook.
‘S’pose so.’ His eyes were firmly fixed on the floor.
‘Great trainers, Danny,’ Murray said.
He flared up. ‘Why’s everyone on about my trainers? All the guys have them! Why don’t you talk to them?’
‘Maybe we will. But you’re a bright boy, Danny. You know as well as I do who the guys have got the money from – guys who get them to run errands for them. Just errands, that’s all, like anyone would. Right?’
The boy looked away. ‘Dunno. Better ask them.’
‘The thing is, what’s interesting is that you didn’t have trainers, until Jason gave you the money. So – you don’t run errands?’
‘No!’ There was definitely resentment there.
‘But you’d like to?’
‘Well, it’s just errands, like you said. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’ He looked at her defiantly.
‘So, why don’t you, then?’
‘He won’t let me! Jason – he goes, “Your mum wouldn’t like it,” and so I wasn’t allowed. They didn’t want me.’
Murray pounced. ‘They, Danny?’
She let the pause lengthen when he didn’t reply. Eventually he muttered sullenly, ‘I dunno. No one really knows.’
‘Jason’s pals with them, though, is he? They’d do him a favour?’ Danny shrugged. ‘Do you think that’s where he gets his money from, Danny?’
He shrugged again, biting his lip, and Murray said more gently, ‘I know it’s hard for you. You’re not stupid and we all know what these “errands” are, don’t we? You’ve kept out of it so far, so you’re not in any trouble, but you’re worried about dobbing in your mates. Look at it this way: the police know what’s going on and before long they’ll be picked up. They’ll have a record and we’ll be on their backs from then on. If you want to be a real friend, tell them that. Tell them to come and talk to us.’
She didn’t think he would, and he certainly wouldn’t give names. But the kids in the school with noticeably expensive gear would be an easy place for the drug squad to start once they were called in. Then a thought occurred to her.
‘Do you know about that man who died, Felix Trentham?’
Danny looked uncomfortable. ‘Yeah, I guess.’
Murray leant closer and fixed her eyes on him. ‘He died, Danny. Died because someone got him drugs. Do you know anything about it, anything at all? It really wouldn’t be clever not to tell us.’
He was still very young. His eyes dropped and his chin wobbled. ‘I didn’t know anything, honest! Just, like, that the errands stopped after that. I heard the lads saying they were like laying off for a bit.’
Murray sat back in her chair and looked at him. It wouldn’t be right to push him any harder and in fact she didn’t think he knew much more than that.
‘Right, Danny, that’s fine for now. And don’t worry, no one will know we’ve spoken to you. But sometime you’ll have to quietly come round to the police station with your mum and go through what you’ve said and make a statement. OK?’
He didn’t look happy but the tears hadn’t come and that hint of defiance was back as he went to the door. ‘Haven’t told you anything, really,’ he said.
‘That’s right. You didn’t, really,’ Murray said, and as the door shut she added to Graham, ‘Better if he can tell himself that. It’ll be easier for him to lie if anyone challenges him.’
Graham nodded, closing over her notebook. ‘Is Jason running the operation on the ground, do you think?’
‘Seems likely. We’d better get back and I’ll try to find the boss. I hope he’s annexed an office.’
DCI Strang had indeed found an office, before he set out to interview Anna Harper. The CID operation in Halliburgh having been scaled down there was no lack of space and DS Wilson had been obsequiously eager to help him.
‘This one’s a bit dusty I’m afraid, sir, but there’s not too much litter lying around. I’ll put someone in to clean up and it’ll be ready by the time you get back. I can find a kettle and a coffee tray, if you like.’
‘Thanks, Sergeant. That will be very helpful,’ he had said, and when he returned Wilson was hovering to show him what had been done. There was a computer set up on the desk, all the surfaces were shining, the promised coffee tray was on a side table and there was even a coat stand in one corner.
‘There’s a list of codes for the computer there. And if there’s anything else you want, you’ve only to let me know, sir,’ Wilson said as he left. ‘Only too happy to help.’
Strang raised his eyebrows. Running scared, indeed! Was DI Hammond going to find himself isolated, like someone with a nasty case of plague? He took his laptop out of his case and set it up; he didn’t fancy using the station computer system, though having access at least to the files that weren’t specially protected would be useful. He settled down to recording notes from his interview with Anna.
There was a knock on the door and Wilson appeared again. Was all this eagerness going to become a nuisance, he wondered, but he wronged the man; this was to ask whether he would see someone called Sascha Silverton who had arrived asking to speak to him.
‘She’s one of the lady writers up at the Foundation this week,’ Wilson said. ‘Says she heard you wanted to speak to her.’
Strang frowned. Yes, he had said that, but it had been well down his priority list. ‘Get her to make an appointment,’ he was saying, when the woman herself appeared at Wilson’s shoulder; a good-looking woman certainly, but one who had a heavy hand with the slap.
‘Here! I told you to wait,’ Wilson said, but she gave him a gleaming smile.
‘Oh sorry! I just thought if I could be a help I ought to take the first opportunity. I’d hate to be a bother’ – the gleaming smile was directed at Strang now – ‘but I know in these situations getting all the evidence in quickly is of such importance.’
Strang rose reluctantly. ‘In that case, Ms Silverton, perhaps we should get on with it at once. What do you have to tell me?’ He waved her to one of the chairs on the other side of his desk and nodded to Wilson to leave.
She settled into it, looking around. ‘Do you know, I’ve never been in a DCI’s office before! What a pity I don’t write crime! I’d be fascinated – well, I’m fascinated anyway. It’s a job that must be a constant challenge! You must tell me, how have you begun on this case?’
Was that really a dimple? She fluttered her eyelashes too; was she for real? Perhaps winsomeness came readily to ‘lady writers’ – though not if you were Anna Harper!
‘Just in the normal way, Ms Silverton. Now, what was it that you wanted to tell me?’
‘Well Gil – you know, Gil Paton, up at the Hub? – he said you were looking into poor Cassie’s accident. Do you have a theory about it?’
‘No. I prefer facts.’
‘Of course. Now, I know it was in the morning she was knocked off her bike – I saw her limping around at the Foundation not long afterwards. So do you think that someone knew when she was going to be coming in and actually seized the opportunity to make an attempt on her life?’
He was beginning to have a very unwelcome suspicion about this woman. ‘I have no reason to think that. What do you know about it?’ Then, very deliberately, he added, ‘Of course, I believe you were told that she was going to come in to the Foundation that day, despite her recent loss?’
Sascha hadn’t expected the question and for a moment she lost her poise. ‘Only in the vaguest possible way. No idea of time, no idea she would be cycling. Nothing to do with me, Inspector.’
‘You weren’t out in a car at the time it happened?’
‘Of course not! I was having breakfast i
n the Hub – anyone will tell you.’
‘So you can’t shed any light on what happened?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Then perhaps I can ask you what the evidence was that you were so anxious to give me immediately?’
She seemed to have prepared for that question and now they had stopped talking about her own movements, she seemed more confident.
‘If you can tell me what line you’re going on, who you are looking at particularly, I’m sure I can help you. I’ve met almost everyone who could be involved – except Anna Harper, of course. She’s absolutely my icon, you know, but she keeps herself very much to herself – but perhaps she’s opened up more to you? She must be very anxious,’ she said with an encouraging smile.
Strang gave her a long, steady look and she hesitated, but carried on, ‘And of course I can tell you about Jason Jackson. He has a bone to pick with Anna, of course – I expect you know that? He’s a nasty bit of work and I’m only astonished that he apparently confined himself to hunting through her papers. Do you know what he was looking for?’
She looked at him enquiringly, wide-eyed.
Strang got to his feet. ‘You know, I’m getting a very odd feeling about this. For some reason you seem to be interviewing me, not the other way round.’
‘I … I don’t know what you mean! I came here so you could ask me any questions you like.’
‘Which paper, Sascha?’
The smile had gone and temper showed in her face. She jumped up. ‘I don’t like your tone. If you don’t want to question me, I’m entitled to leave, aren’t I?’
‘And I don’t like journalists who don’t declare themselves and try to trap people into giving them useful material – not very competently, in your case. I asked you, which newspaper? I shall be making a complaint to the editor.’
She looked as if she was thinking about brazening it out, but then her shoulders sagged. ‘Oh, for God’s sake! I don’t have a newspaper – I want to get a job with one. I thought if I could manage to wangle an interview with Anna Harper it would be my calling card, because she never normally talks to anyone, but she’s too high and mighty, locked away in her million-pound mansion keeping her secrets safe.’
‘You think she has secrets?’
‘I’ve followed up every scrap of information I could dig up and got nothing – she’s covered her tracks too well. Why would she do that if she didn’t?’
‘You seem to have taken a lot of trouble for no result at all. Why focus on her?’
Sascha had no ready answer. ‘Just … I was interested. And I was bloody fed up with churning out soft porn for stupid women who wanted a new romance every week to make up for the ineffable dreariness of their lives.’
‘And you thought it would be a scoop to get the inside story of what, as far as I know, is nothing more than a minor case of attempted burglary? It’s not exactly hold-the-presses stuff.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said sulkily. ‘So, thanks for nothing.’
On the way out she turned and said, ‘You do understand it was just that I was interested in Anna, like anyone might be?’
It was an odd thing to say and even as Strang said, ‘Yes, of course,’ he was trying to work out what she had meant. Covering her back, for some reason? Anna would inevitably attract interest, and if he’d been her PR advisor he’d have suggested she should be a bit more open – the suggestion of secrets was enough to make that interest more obsessive. It was no accident that the word ‘fan’ was short for fanatic.
Jackson had his own declared reason for stalking her – but was Sascha another stalker? If it hadn’t been for that final remark, he’d have written her down as just another journalist raking for whatever muck they could find, but it had him wondering now. There were so many weird currents swirling around this case that you couldn’t be sure who was and who wasn’t involved.
Strang glanced at his watch and yawned. It had been a long day, he’d only had an energy bar since breakfast and there was still a debriefing to have with Murray before he could set out on the long drive home. It would be interesting to see what she’d come up with, and not just about the county lines problem. The Harper case seemed to be expanding in all sorts of unexpected directions.
With the alarm screaming, Cassie Trentham opened her front door and went into the cottage fumbling for the fob. It was such a hideous noise, such an unwelcoming way to return home. She didn’t feel it was reassuring, more an invasion of her sanctuary.
Her ears were still ringing as she went to the window to wave to Davy, who was lurking outside as he always did, ‘to see her safe in’, as he said. As if Marta wouldn’t have made sure it was linked to the Highfield system! They’d have been on to it instantly if anyone had broken in.
She went back to shut the door, hesitated, then locked it. She’d never locked herself in before and in a way she felt it was foolishly neurotic. On the other hand – well, it had been an unsettling day. She’d been spooked by the way Anna and Marta were acting anyway, trying to scare her one minute and then pretending there was nothing wrong the next. As children she and Felix had been conditioned to accept an unexplained directive from Anna with a shrug of their shoulders, but she wasn’t a child now and if there really was some threat to her she had a right to know what and why.
Cassie had tried telling herself that they were imagining it. Anna could be neurotic and Marta sometimes got swept along with her. She’d almost managed, until the interview today with that nice policeman. He’d been trying not to worry her, but she had spotted the moment when he had suddenly realised there might be something in what she had said and taken it seriously. She’d wanted him to tell her politely that she was being silly and he definitely hadn’t done that.
But standing here agonising wasn’t going to do any good. She went through to the kitchen and got a bottle of white wine out of the fridge and sat down in the sitting room with her glass. She picked up the remote and turned on the television.
It was halfway through the news and there was a big story about the snow that was, apparently, planning to sweep in from Russia in the next day or two with devastating effect. The Beast from the East, they were calling it.
Davy had been on about it too, all the way back to Burnside, using it as another excuse to get her to move back to Highfield House, but she’d pooh-poohed it.
‘Come on, Davy, we’re hardy people, us Borderers! We’re used to snow. It’s the city folk get their knickers in a twist and make a great big fuss – and it’s the end of the world if a couple of snowflakes fall in London. If you’re scared of driving just stay at home. I’ll manage.’
Davy had protested at this slight to his manhood, but she’d only laughed and got out of the car.
Now as she watched the report, she began to have some qualms. They were saying this wasn’t like anything they’d seen for years and it was true, she was very isolated out here. Perhaps she might think of staying at Highfield, just for a few days until it was over.
If there was one thing she hated, though, it was giving in. It looked all right at the moment – she could take stock tomorrow and make her decision then.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was half past seven by the time Kelso Strang arrived back in Newhaven – well after Betsy’s bedtime so at least he would be spared a story-reading session tonight. But even so, with the alternative of withdrawing into his bedroom or watching Fin’s choice of television – or worse, listening to her worries over her daughter’s latest misdemeanour at nursery – returning home wasn’t an appealing prospect.
He suddenly remembered that it was jazz night at the pub – just what he needed, to unwind over a pint with undemanding company. And it was ridiculous to be feeling guilty for parking the car outside the house and walking along to the pub instead of going in.
At home now all too often he felt like a cat being stroked the wrong way, spiky and irritable; it dismayed him, rather, that for all his good intentions in offering a h
ome to Fin and Betsy, he couldn’t stop himself impatiently wondering how long it might be before they moved out. On the gloomy days, he wondered if it would ever happen. He took a seat in one corner and sat back, soothed by the familiar atmosphere and the easy chat and feeling tension seeping out of him.
The band started up and as the music made satisfying patterns in his head, he found his mind drifting back over the events of the day. Somehow it always liberated his thoughts, as if it cleared space for the workings of the subconscious to make themselves known.
As he drove back, he had been thinking about the case they could mount against Steve Hammond. There was plenty to work on, he reckoned, with what Livvy had said about the schoolkids and the Glasgow connection with Jackson, along with the evidence Kate could give once they got under way, particularly since Wilson seemed to be keen to get onside. He could speak to JB about the politics of getting in the drug squad at once.
But now it was Anna Harper who was at the centre of his freewheeling thoughts, vague ideas that came up and vanished again. Was she right about a plot against her and her family – or had she such a guilty conscience that she had constructed one out of random events? She believed it, anyway. And Marta Morelli did too.
He let his mind drift on to her, the strange, forbidding woman whose life was so closely interwoven with – what, her employer? Her friend? Her lover? Somehow that last didn’t fit with their interaction. She had been more like a protective older sister, at once admiring and convinced that the younger was incapable of managing on her own. Fin had been like that, he acknowledged with a rueful smile, until her own world had fallen apart.
They were certainly in it together, Harper and Morelli. Whatever Anna had done, she had been, and would be, supported. But what could it be? His mind ran over the possibilities.
If they weren’t prepared to give the police information that could protect them, it had to be something illegal. Something that would have the sort of tariff that would ensure a jail sentence – with Anna’s money she could pay any sort of fine and still have plenty to retire on quietly if it had turned her public against her. Kate had said that Cassie believed she’d changed her name once before; she could do it again – and that was something he should look into. There was no official register for Deed Poll name changes but that might be somewhere to start.
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