Who's That Girl

by T S Hunter

  Joe looked at his watch.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” he said. “I’ll drop in and see Violet on my way home.”

  “And I’m going to go for a nice pint,” Russell said. “I think it’s time I talked to Ron properly about his so-called sister-in-law.”

  It wasn’t that Russell was particularly fond of lunchtime drinking, but he’d got the sense that Ron knew more than he was letting on when they’d been to see Jean, and he wanted to grill him a bit.

  When he arrived at the pub, he found the place almost deserted, and his young friend Paul behind the bar, with no sign of Ron.

  “He’s got you doing shifts now, has he?”

  Paul looked up from the glass he was polishing, smiling when he saw Russell.

  “Oh, hey,” he said. “I’m just covering while he’s out the back talking to the police again. They’ve been in more times in the last couple of days than any of the regulars. What can I get you?”

  “Pint of Pride, please,” Russell said. “How’re you doing Paul?”

  Paul’s Patty Cakes had been the act on stage when Danny’s body had been discovered and Russell knew the kid was sensitive enough as it was without this happening to him. He probably should have checked in on him earlier.

  “I feel like I’m some kind of jinx,” he said. “Or at least Patty is. First Chris, now Danny. It’s almost like every time I put a frock on, someone dies.”

  He was right of course. Soho wasn’t exactly a country fair, but neither was it the hotbed of vice, murder and depravity the press made it out to be. Even though Paul had a tendency to think the world revolved around him, and Russell didn’t have much time for that, the fact that they’d lost two friends in the space of six months was quite a big deal.

  “Yes, we seem to be losing friends quicker than we can make them. But it’s not your fault,” he said, accepting his pint and sliding some coins across the bar. “Keep the change.”

  Paul raised a facetious eyebrow.

  “Thanks, Big Spender.”

  “I’ll take it back if you like.”

  Paul dropped the coins into a clear plastic jar nestled beneath the optics.

  “Who’s back there with him then?” Russell asked.

  “That weasel-faced little one,” Paul said. “Your mate.”

  “Skinner? Good. I wanted to talk to him anyway.”

  “Really? God, I can’t think of anything worse.”

  Russell took a sip of his pint.

  “Has Ron said anything to you about Danny?”

  Paul pulled himself a half pint and sat on the stool behind the bar.

  “Oh, you know Ron, he doesn’t talk about much. I think it’s freaked him out that it happened here. Maybe more for the reputation of the pub than anything else.”

  “But he hasn’t talked about their past?”

  “Not to me. Wait, they had a past?” Paul asked salaciously.

  “Not that kind of past,” Russell said, tutting. “They were friends though. Ron said they were like brothers at one point.”

  Paul looked surprised.

  “That might account for the mood he’s been in ever since.”

  “But he hasn’t said anything?”

  “I don’t think I’m the kind of guy Ron is going to confide his deepest darkests to, do you?”

  “Not if he was in his right mind, no.”

  “Oi!”

  Russell took another sip of his drink.

  “You know they’re still holding Matthew, right?” Paul said. “It’s outrageous. How long are they allowed to keep him without charging him?”

  “Depends what evidence they have, and what Matthew’s said to them. Has he got a lawyer?”

  “Not unless he’s found one who’ll work in return for a hand-job. He’s skint, that boy. He’s more brassic than me. Did you see his wig? Cheap synthetic shit.”

  A small alarm sounded in the back of Russell’s mind. Another piece had just slotted into place. He didn’t know what it meant yet, but he would get there.

  “You don’t think Matthew actually did it, do you?” Russell asked.

  “Oh, come on,” Paul said. “Matthew can barely see a paper cut without retching, how would he have stabbed Danny?”

  “Fair point.”

  “But then, they’ve kept him in, haven’t they? And there’s no smoke without fire, right? They must have something on him.”

  “I doubt it,” Russell said. “Skinner’s the kind of copper who makes the obvious arrest, not necessarily the right one. Matthew was just there. He’ll do everything he can to make it stick so that he can keep his quick solve rate. I’ll have a word.”

  “Don’t make it worse,” Paul warned. Not without reason.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to his boss, not him. You know they’ve set up an independent panel now, to investigate anti-gay discrimination in the force? GALOP it’s called. They’re good guys.”

  “I didn’t know that. Your mate Skinner should keep them in work for years.”

  “Unless we manage to put him out of work first, of course.”

  Paul was about to respond when the doors opened from the back room, and Ron led Skinner and a uniformed officer out into the main bar.

  Skinner stopped when he saw Russell there, drink in hand.

  “Bit early for a drink isn’t it?” he sneered.

  “Not if you don’t have a job to uphold,” Russell replied.

  “If that’ll be all, Detective,” Ron muttered. “I need to get on.”

  “We’ll be in touch,” Skinner said. The threat hardly veiled. For some reason Skinner had his eye on Ron as well. Russell shook his head in frustration.

  “Can I have a word?” Russell asked.

  “I’m busy,” Skinner said. “Why not call in at the station later, I’ll see if I can get someone to talk to you.”

  “If I have to call in at the station, I’ll be taking the information I have above your head,” Russell threatened. “I’m sure you’d rather the glory lands on your shoulders than Earnshaw’s?”

  Skinner hesitated just long enough.

  “Tell you what, I’ll walk you out,” Russell said. “Won’t take long.”

  He winked at Ron on the way past, leaving him and Paul to exchange whatever glances they wanted to.

  “I understand you’re still holding Matthew Dean,” Russell said, as they left the pub. “On what grounds?”

  “That’s a police matter,” Skinner sneered. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the case with members of the public.”

  “Fair enough,” Russell said, taking the wind out of his sails. “I thought I should let you know a few things I’ve discovered recently, which may help to inform your case.”

  “And why would I want any information from you?”

  “Because, Detective, I understand this community and you do not. They trust me. Which means people tell me things.”

  Skinner’s sneer didn’t move from his face.

  “And if you don’t thoroughly investigate the information I am about to give you,” Russell continued. “I will report you to the boys at GALOP and see what they think of the way you treat people in my community.”

  “You think I care about that lot?”

  “You should, because I can promise you Earnshaw does, and thanks to how you treated me, and the appalling way you handled Chris Sexton’s murder, you already have two strikes against your name. They need to be seen to be taking a stand, Skinner. Earnshaw wouldn’t think twice about throwing you to the dogs for some good PR.”

  Skinner stepped forward, ready to swing for him but Russell stepped back calmly, smiling.

  “You didn’t think I’d take it lying down, did you?” he asked. “After what you did to me, I’m gunning for you, son.”

  Skinner settled, reluctantly.

  “But whilst I would love to see you stripped of your badge,” Russell said. “I’d far rather see justice done properly.”

  “This is just sour grapes,” Skinner w
hined.

  “On the contrary,” Russell said. “You actually did me a favour getting me removed from the force. The pay-out was great, I no longer have to watch my back from the likes of you, and I don’t have to get up early in the mornings. So I should thank you really.”

  “Fine,” Skinner said. “Tell me what you know.”

  Russell couldn’t hide the strut as he walked back into the bar. He’d told Skinner what they’d found out about Jean, the will, the visits from the strange woman, and the fact that Joe had seen that same woman in the club on the night Danny had been killed, and again at Jean’s hospice that morning. He’d even handed over the shoe Joe had found, claiming that they’d found it later that night, out the back, and had thought nothing of it.

  Skinner hadn’t wanted to hear any of it, especially not the suggestion that Danny had been stabbed with a drag-queen’s high heel. As far as he was concerned, Matthew was as good a candidate as any for disgruntled degenerate turned murderer. All he had promised was to see whether the shoe fit.

  Russell, in turn, had promised to come down to the station house later that evening to take Matthew home, and if he hadn’t been released or charged, he would take the information he knew to the DCI, with a shiny new discrimination complaint attached.

  “You didn’t punch him, did you?” Ron asked, clocking his swagger.

  “No,” Russell said, smiling.

  “Shame.”

  “I did point out how bad he was at his job, though.”

  “Nice one,” Ron said, placing a pint on the bar in front of Russell. “On the house, that.”

  “Thanks Ron. Everything alright?”

  “I could do without the hassle, to be honest, but it’s fine.”

  “What did they want this time?”

  “He’s trying to fit young Matthew up. Wanted me to say I’d seen them arguing. I told him to sling his hook. He said something about Environmental Health. I swear, if he brings that lot in here, I’ll swing for him.”

  “He should back off of Matthew now,” Russell said. “I’ve just given him some real leads to follow. Should keep him busy, but I he’ll get very far.”

  “Really?” Ron asked, suspiciously. “What kind of leads?”

  Russell swigged his pint, he needed to talk to Ron about the past and it was going to be a difficult subject to broach. He was just going to have to get on with it.

  “Ron,” he started tentatively.

  “What’s up?”

  “Look, I know you don’t want to talk about the past, but there’s something strange going on, and I think you can help me understand it.”

  Ron sighed heavily.

  “I suppose it was all going to come out eventually anyway, wasn’t it?” he said, sitting heavily on the stool behind the bar. “What do you want to know?”

  “What was it that happened between Jean and Violet that meant they didn’t talk for all those years?”

  “Why’s that important?” Ron frowned.

  “It might not be, but can you just humour me?”

  Ron shook his head.

  “Jean and Violet were thick as thieves, growing up,” he said. “They’re not actually sisters, not by blood. Violet was adopted, see? And then Jean came along quite naturally. But you couldn’t tell either of them that they weren’t proper sisters. They always said it made their bond even stronger. They chose to be sisters—even though they weren’t tied by blood.”

  Russell drank while Ron talked.

  “Well, they were always together. Jean wouldn’t have got anywhere near as famous without Violet pushing her, getting her auditions, hassling agents and producers. Violet was the older one, the confident one. She was such a strong character.”

  He smiled at the memory of her.

  “Anyway, me and Danny met them around the time when Jean’s career was just starting to take off. I don’t mind telling you that we were both besotted with Jean at first, but she chose Danny. The girls always did.”

  He absently wiped at a watermark on the bar.

  “Well, not long after that, their parents died, quite shortly, one after another. They were both devastated, of course, but they still had each other. Anyway, that’s when they found out that the house at Cumberland Terrace had been left to Jean only.”

  Russell cocked his head. What a cruel thing for their parents to do. They must have known it would create a division between the girls.

  “Well, Jean was having none of it. She insisted that it was both of theirs to share. But you could tell something had changed for Vi. They’d put her on the outside, and nothing Jean could do would put things back the way they were before.”

  “But they lived there together for a while?” Russell asked.

  “Oh yeah. I mean, it wasn’t like a huge crack appeared overnight. But it was definitely the beginning of the end.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think Vi started seeing the differences between them more after that, that’s all. I mean, Jean’s career was taking off, everyone loved her, she was glamorous, she was beautiful, blonde, curves in all the right places.”

  “And then there was Violet,” Russell said.

  “Oi,” Ron snapped, defensively. “Vi was a beautiful woman. Stunning, in fact. She just lost her confidence in Jean’s shadow. Anyway, by the time they moved in to Cumberland Terrace, Jean and Danny were already engaged. And that was another wedge between the girls.”

  “She didn’t like Danny?”

  “I don’t think it was that, as much as he was another reminder that she was on the outside. Jean and Danny were a unit, with their own jokes and their own secrets, and Violet was a bit of a third wheel.”

  “Why didn’t she move out? Make her own life?”

  “Because she had nowhere to go. Jean’s wages supported all three of them, and obviously at the time she could live in the house rent free.”

  “So what changed?” Russell asked.

  “I don’t know what triggered it, but they started arguing all the time, usually in public too. Anyway, one night Violet turns up here at the bar, just as we were closing. Says they’ve had an almighty row, and Jean’s thrown her out.”

  “Why did she come here?”

  “Well, because I was mates with Danny, it had always been the four of us. Vi and me had been seeing each other, on and off. Nothing serious like, but still, I was fond of her. She had nowhere else to go. So, I said she could move in here, thinking it would all blow over in a week or so.”

  “So she moved in?”

  “Yep. And then, of course, one thing led to another and we fell into a more, you know, permanent relationship. We didn’t hear anything from Jean, and Danny barely spoke to me any more. We all just drifted apart. But the bar was getting up and running, and Vi was a brilliant landlady, and we got on alright, so things just muddled along like that for a while.”

  Ron stood and picked up Russell’s empty glass, rinsing it in the sink. He took a clean one off the shelf and poured Russell another pint without asking. Russell would have to nurse this one, or he’d be too drunk to think straight.

  “So you didn’t really see Danny or Jean much after that?” Russell prompted.

  “Danny would swing by every now and then,” Ron said. “But it always upset Vi when he did, so even that tailed off. Jean never came. I always thought she’d got too high and mighty for the likes of us. But maybe she was just busy. Or maybe she still had the hump with her sister. Who knows?”

  He had poured himself a drink too, and drained half the glass in one swig. Dutch courage.

  “Anyway,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “After about three months living here, Violet announced she was pregnant.”

  “Wow,” Russell hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Of course, I offered to marry her. She said no. Said we lived in different times now, we didn’t need to get trapped in marriage just because of the baby. She said she didn’t want to pressure me, or burden me. I can’t quite re
member which. Anyway, the kiddie’s born. A lovely little boy.”

  Russell could see that the memory was full of mixed emotions.

  “I was obviously pleased as punch. He was a little looker. And smart, too. So there I am, thinking I’ve won the jackpot. I’ve got this lovely woman, a beautiful baby boy. And we were happy. Well, I thought we were. Looking back, I should have seen how the pregnancy had changed her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Vi had been acting funny pretty much since she found out she was pregnant. Like properly moody. I just thought it was the hormones, you know?”

  Russell nodded.

  “Anyway, one afternoon, when the nipper’s only two or three months old, Jean turns up wanting to speak to Vi. Well, they’d only been upstairs for about five minutes, when all hell breaks loose. They start yelling at each other, chucking stuff, the baby’s screaming. Bloody pandemonium. I had customers in and all.”

  “What were they fighting about?”

  “I don’t know. Everything and nothing. Jean had heard about the baby, and I think it had upset her. I don’t suppose Vi was particularly sympathetic. Jean may have had all the celebrity and the pretty looks and the big house and the handsome husband, but Violet finally had one thing that Jean couldn’t have—a baby.”

  “Jean and Danny couldn’t have kids?”

  “Jean had miscarried in the early days of their marriage, and then the doctors had found some problem with her downstairs, don’t ask me what. And that was that. Danny hadn’t been that bothered, either way, but he said it had broken Jean’s heart.”

  “I can see how that would add to the tension,” Russell said.

  “Yeah, well, it was all obviously too much for Vi, ’cause the next night she sits me down and tells me she’s leaving. That she can’t do this any more. When I asked her why, she says she’s sorry. That’s all. It’s just better for everyone if she goes. Well, I was gobsmacked, I don’t mind telling you.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “No idea,” Ron said. “She wouldn’t tell me, and I was that hurt by it all, I didn’t even try to find her, I’m ashamed to say.”