by D Attrill
“How are you then?”
“Nae too bad, thankin’ you. Wanna come right through the kitchen? I only just set the kettle going, a while.”
“I wouldn’t mind.” It was difficult saying a straight yes to such offers “Sugars and no milk if that’s possible, please.”
“I’d best see to it.” Becky was pointing Leyton in through the door.
Making herself comfortable, Leyton watched her friend set about preparing it.
Becky looked like a newly-promoted barista, in the way she applied herself to the task.
“Ah, she’s a good girl.” Fiona was giving encouraging appraisal as she joined at the table. “Isnae content just seeing to my wee boy, eh?”
“Do you know - you’ve more or less saved me the trouble of visiting.” Leyton joked.
“Could I offer you a job?” She’d produced a box of chocolate éclairs from the fridge. “Help me with eatin’ a couple of these?”
“O...oh, go on.” God she was being a bad girl today.
“You make straight into the lounge - sit yourself comfy.”
Astounded by her hospitality, Leyton obliged. She almost tripped over a cardboard box, just inside the lounge doorway. Ambling amidst three or four others, she dived across onto the sofa before her balance eluded her. She rested back against the beige white cushion, only to find herself staring at the boxes again, standing all around her. So tempted to be a little nosey, she leant over to the nearest one and nudged up the flap. There wouldn’t be time to take it further.
“Hey...I saw you.”
Becky appeared in front, clutching two mugs plus a cardboard cake stand.
“Jo, see those tables by the telly? Pull the little one out, yeah?”
Leyton slid the small table into the centre, as Becky lowered the drinks. Fiona was standing in the door, supping her own. Just as she attempted conversation, a noise could be heard through the ceiling.
“Oh dearie.” she was staring up above her. “Becky, you fancy giving your great skills a demonstration?”
“Looks like I’d better.” Becky leapt up, just as she was about to lift a custard slice. “Carry on you guys, don’t wait.”
“She really got it, aye?” Fiona was looking on as she left.
“You wouldn’t think I was rude…” Leyton finished destroying her first éclair “if I asked what these various boxes were about. I don't remember seeing them on Friday.
“Oh, they’re jist things I havnae ever had time to unpack. Gonna be unpopular with Izzy if I don’t soon, though.”
“I didn’t realise you were so new in town.”
“About a month and a half. No time to think since though. My new fella’s stolen so much o’ it - all that I get to myself’s for sleeping or eating. Is already feeling like Glasgow, all o’er again.”
Despite hearing it so straight and simple, it seemed difficult to absorb. Unpacking a few boxes of toys should not take weeks - that ‘wee boy’ was supposedly the most important thing in her life.
The gall to ponder Fiona’s logic, didn’t exist in her. It felt safer to stay innocent.
“Is it really that bad?”
“Is like a war zone, I tell ye. You need a bulletproof vest on just to answer the door.”
“You don’t reckon anybody’s sporting a grudge?”
Ohh. She held on a moment - this could be testing her host.
Taking a large lug of her coffee, Leyton got ready for reactions.
“Someone round here has.” Fiona replied, not showing the merest look of offence. “Started off as my wee Tommy, now it’s his kid brother. Some cops came chasing him, outside his ain door - also driven their car intae him.”
“My goodness.” She could not help but widen an eye. It so reminded her of other people recently.
A phone ring came from the kitchen. Fiona excused herself to take it. While she was stood talking in the kitchen, with her back turned, Becky reappeared.
“All well up there?” Leyton asked.
“It is now.” Becky was laughing. “He’s costing his poor mummy a mortgage in nappies though.”
“I’ve got to say, old Fiona’s one hell of a talker. I wonder where she might have got that from.”
“Has she been giving you the lowdown on her new life south of the border?” Becky continued quizzing.
“All the gory details, yes.” She didn’t let it put her off a second eclair. “I can see why she might be on edge...”
Becky was hushing her. Fiona had finished her call and appeared to be hiding the phone where she couldn’t hear it again.
“S’ok. I’ve finished.”
Fiona was wearing a far-from-ok look on her face as she came back in and took up a cushion.
“Bloody boyfriends. Who needs them?”
“That doesn’t sound like a romance running smoothly.” Becky commented innocently.
“I wis just asking him what part of ‘ladies morning’ he disnae understand... Jo, you a’right, lovey?”
“I’m fine...I’m fine....er really...”
Leyton lost hold of her words. She found it impossible to take her eyes off Fiona’s face. Something totally possessed her about her new friend’s appearance, especially her silky black hair. She could hardly avert her eyes for a second.
“Jo...” Becky seemed to have noticed too - she was waving a hand in front of Leyton’s face.
“Anybody at home?”
“I think so...” While the moment did pass, Leyton decided to keep the act up. Becky would soon offer the inevitable.
“Whit’s the matter?” Fiona was also studying her stare “You look like you seen a golden aura all around me.”
“I feel strange... it feels strange....I meant.” Leyton found her own diction was sliding in all directions. “Suddenly... well, it’s like I’ve known you my entire life.”
“I get that off a lot o’ my guests. Sure hasnae had any effect like this before.” She helped Leyton up from her chair. “You want a wee glass of water?”
“Er, no thanks...I’ve had that passing shock but I’m sure ... it’s finished, almost.”
“You look like you’ve seen a bloody ghost. Do you think she might want out for a walk, Becky love?”
“Yes come on.” Becky insisted “Fiona’s right. We’ll walk you to the end of the street.”
It had worked.
Taking her coat, Leyton allowed Becky to lead her out of the door slowly, and down the steps.
She felt full control of her bearings again, as they strolled along Primula Drive. That said, it was still best to leave Becky in charge of her every step.
Padding their way to the end of the junction and the open street beyond, she finally turned round to face her friend eye-to-eye.
“I’d like you to promise me something, Becky Grayson.”
“As long as you can remember it when you come round again.”
“I already have.”
“You telling me this was a trick to just to get us out here?”
“Half of one. I’ll say this. Fiona’s face did strike a slight chord; nothing sinister about it.”
That could also end up looking like a lie: she continued before it had chance to happen.
“Now listen. Fiona and I spent an entire morning chatting. Going on my own observations, she came over as about aggressive as Bambi.”
At this point, she faced Becky firmly eye-to-eye.
“You must promise you will not pester me about Fiona’s ‘fabled’ temperament again, well, not unless you have evidence.”
“She alw...
“Seems to fly off the handle occasionally... yes. You will face that in almost every occupation, Becks. My erstwhile boss, Superintendent Hargreaves was scarcely a soft touch.”
“Fiona is, though?”
“She’s just been suffering a lot of undeserved troubles.”
“She’s lying...” Becky seemed not to know where to give up. “She suddenly shows up in Sheffield, doesn’t have a job.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“At least I got one. I mean, SHE still drives a car about every day; SHE can afford a nanny at 28 quid a night... all out of her invisible boyfriend’s pocket . Doesn’t that tell y...”
“ENOUGH.” The line had been drawn. “Fiona’s a friendly, reasonable person, who happens to suffer recurring bouts of stress.”
Starting to know how Fiona felt, she aimed a straight finger at Becky.
You’re not to worry. Do you understand me?”
“Ok...”
“BECKY. Do you un-der-stand me?”
Leyton needed eye contact, although it appeared she’d shocked Becky with her cold tone of voice. Softening things, she tried again.
“Becky?”
“Yes. Yes I promise not to worry about her.”
“OK...” Leyton accepted an ultimately solemn reply. “Well, let’s get back before all the eclairs go, eh?”
She signalled Becky to lead the way back. Coming up to eleven thirty, her watch nearly made her change her mind. At least she could head back to the station knowing she had been told.
Chapter 8
(i)
Garstone and Armitage had meantime gone up to Barnsley to finally meet Tom Payden for the first time. Gary’s older brother proved to be anything but a handful from the moment they pounced on his no-longer-secret abode.
Tom was dressed in a paling denim jacket and dark football sweater, with brushed-back brown hair; he was of a similar build to Brian Saddleworth but didn’t seem at all unhappy to see the police.
Having asked permission to turn off the cooker, he waltzed straight out to the waiting Vectra without any need for them to use handcuffs.
Down at the station, Tom was sitting in a relaxed and remarkably carefree posture, opposite the DCs.
His bad aftershave seemed clouded out, by the over-milked tea in front of him.
It seemed very clear that, just like his brother it was not necessarily the law he was lying low from.
The interrogation delayed over an hour, waiting for Leyton to return from another rendezvous with that ruddy Becky mate of hers.
Garstone eventually gave up the ghost and got on in repayment of their guest’s courtesy. As Tom sat smiling at them, he gave his best face back. Garstone still needed a very wise moment to question the threatening text he’d sent Gary. Even though he hadn't got a photograph of his partner or Paula Radcombe at hand, bringing up the wrong things too soon could easily unsettle him.
“Given your willingness to assist us in our enquiries, I will treat you as being here of your own free will.” Garstone had to show respect was due “This is in return for your continued co-operation.”
“Aye, come on, mate.” Armitage supplemented. “You’re doing brill so far. Weren’t actually expecting it: not with the history you’ve got...”
“Onto more important questions,” Garstone allowed Tom to finish his tea before asking. “You ok with us asking you, what business you’ve got hanging round the Wincobank and Firth Park area?”
“I take me dog there a lot.” Tom shrugged.
“All the way from Stairfoot? That's sweet. Do you head out this kind of way regularly?”
“Yeah, a lot since first discovering it.” Supping his last drops, Tom placed the empty cup aside. “There’s this big grass slope. You want to watch him bombing it back up the top with his stick.”
Watching him mime an action, Garstone detected a stable innocence in his rapid-fire mannerisms. As they continued indulging in lighter matters, he found an avenue that might just rattle Tom Payden into submission. Having to use underhand tactics was torture for morale so the word was still ‘tactful’.
“It comes to our suspicions, Thomas,” he applied seriousness with sarcasm “that you have an unnamed significant other, residing in said end of town.”
“There’s this bird I met two months ago, aye.”
“So you weren’t just over here for walkies.”
Sleeves rolled up, Garstone strapped himself in ready to reel in some truth. “Thus, overlooking the one porkie you’ve told us so far, what’s her address?”
“She didn’t tell me it. Never has.”
“You mean you don’t walk her home at the end of night? Come on mate, that’s not the way to a long lasting relationship is it?”
“Oh, she's always been a weirdo, her.” said Tom, promptly. “Won’t let me meet her round her place - always insists we meet in a pub, out town or some place. Says her road’s right dodgy.”
“Sounds rich from her, on what I’m hearing.” Garstone judged hastily. “What exactly did you see in her?”
“We met just after I got. She were sat in me local… eyeing up me Gunners top. Ended up talking till it were gone chucking-out time. I’ve got be honest, I weren’t into that heavy metal shit, but a couple or so of their numbers are alright.”
“Like dressing for looks do you? Don’t worry, mate, we’re all guilty.” Talking with a guy his own age, this way was helping for connections “Still has me wonder, who your brother steals his dressing tips from.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll let you have a look.” Garstone passed him the Fife St hit-and-run shot “Tasty tracksuit there, mate.” He still distanced himself from the topic of Tom’s partner.
“Yeah, that’s like mine.” Tom put the photo down flat, having hardly spent a second. “Lent Gary it a couple of days.”
“You nearly got your little brother into a lot of trouble. All to get yourself out of it, possibly?”
He showed Tom the Meadowhall Rd image. A pale-clad arm could be seen extending from the Corsa window, motioning the young mum to hurry.
“You weren’t wearing it there.”
“That were me in that one, though.”
“Was it also you who stopped by at Saddleworth’s Scrap Merchants on Thursday, in pursuit of spare exhausts?”
“Yeah, me again. Know nothing about this bloke wi’ a bike however.” He was asking for the other picture from Garstone. “The reg ain't mine either.”
“This text to your darling little brother is.”
It was time for the one solid piece of incrimination they had. Garstone presented the print-off he’d made, of the message thread containing including Tom’s threat to Gary.
“Aye, that's my number.” Tom was looking at it, and in doing so looking resigned to his fate. “I take it I'm back in jail over that.”
“As you haven't tried us with an alibi for anything else,” said Garstone “I don't think you can get yourself off this one either.”
“I sent him that ages back.
“Aye, Aug 18th, according to the receipt we dragged out of your brother's bin. Still very naughty though, matey.”
“I were just wanting to frighten him.
“Maybe you were shittin' thissen a bit.” said Armitage
“Didn't want us opening the same can of worms that had you up the court first time round.”
“I can hardly set foot out me door… and that’s at that place I'm hiding at.”
“Is that why you told your brother to say 'Stairfoot' as opposed to Kendray?'
“Aye, perhaps.
Payden crossed his legs. He lifted his cup for a slurp then set it down in the end.
“Tell you something. You scuffers can sit spying outside my place all day and night tomorrow if you like. I won't mind. Just bring some music along, you might get bored otherwise.”
Payden’s eyes appeared to hold directly with his; it was as if a washing line connected them. He was also looking in Armitage’s direction a little, also nodding.
“Okay, we’ll let you have that one.” Garstone put the print-off away “I wouldn’t get excited though - it still leaves theft, deception, speeding, causing injury by reckless driving... ooh dear, what a naughty Tommy boy we've been? What are we going to tell the parole officer, eh?”
“Got a sec?” Armitage asked Garstone aside. “Tom, hold on, mate.
“What is it?�
� Garstone hoped his fellow DC hadn’t just got more drivel on offer.
“You know he actually saw through his whole five year on the inside.” Armitage corrected. “Got himsen a transfer to Broadford Open instead.”
“Just hold it; you saying you and this guy go back?”
“It were me who pulled him last time.”
“My god.” Garstone swallowed a plum. He couldn’t believe he called Leroy Armitage useless sometimes.
He resumed conversation with their client.
“For the recording, an apology is due to Mr Payden. Officer has neglected to take circumstances into account.”
“No probs.” Tom sounded like he’d eavesdropped; it wouldn’t have been difficult.
Motivated by his own mistake, Garstone got quickly back on track.
“So, Tom, you do freely admit taking your little ride into the sunset, and the scrapyards beyond... and your shufty around the titbits at the other end?”
“I said I were just needing an exhaust.” Tom sat up, spouting it stubbornly, across the room.
“Maybe it was something else you were after?” Retaining tact, Garstone reached the big one. “Not number plates? No? A replacement hubcap, perhaps?”
“Not needed anything like that for a bit.”
“Really?”
It was tricky to sound nice to this guy any more, let alone be it. He produced a plastic shape that Armitage also probably recognized… though he'd prefer not to.
“For the tape, I am showing exhibit No# 13572.” He let Payden acquaint himself with the broken hubcap. “Someone else out there seems to bear a grudge, Tom. Fifty-seven year old Paula Radcombe took the brunt.”
“How does that drop me in it?” Tom sat forward suddenly, looking quite big-eyed.
“Isn’t it coincidental - a lass matching the description of your 'top-secret' squeeze storms amok around Meadowhall right after she's gone about swinging one at a member of the staff? Six hours after, and with all your other said escapades done and dusted the same cleaning lady -the aforementioned Miss Radcombe, rest her soul - is discovered dripping all over the top of articulated lorries.”
“Do you do drama class in your spare time, copper?” Tom was starting to sound dangerously clever.
