Alex chewed her bottom lip and watched her mother’s changing expressions, the way she swallowed awkwardly and looked away frequently.
‘We were with her a long time, Alex. I thought she was wonderful. She was kind and she loved you so much.’ Looking up she added, ‘She loved you too much – too much. I felt funny sometimes because she did everything for you. And for me. We had everything.’
‘What are you saying, Mum? Or what aren’t you saying?’
‘What she wanted was to set me up with a new start. I would get back into school, go to university, have all the things I’d always wanted. The catch was, you – she wanted you. She could give you a perfect life.’
Alex rubbed her face. ‘A social worker. Where was all the money from?’
‘Inherited. That’s what she told me and I believed her. I still do. I don’t know why she wasn’t interested in having her own baby – perhaps she couldn’t. I don’t care. Perhaps she doesn’t like men. It doesn’t matter. She had made me an allowance, a generous one, and I saved almost all of it. I didn’t need to spend the money. When I said I was taking you and leaving, I wanted to give all the money back but she wouldn’t take it. Afterwards I was grateful for that because it got me through – that and the job at the Black Dog. And the kindness of strangers like the Burke sisters and Gladys Lymer. And you were a good little soul – I could have you at the pub when I had to and you were an angel.’ Alex’s mum smiled. ‘What happened?’
Alex smiled back. ‘That’s an old joke, Mum.’
‘Sweety, that woman went nuts on me. She tried to take you away anyway. She told me she could have me put in a home because I had endangered my child. The things she said were crazy. The people at the child protection services place were her friends and she insisted they would stand up for her.’
‘What did you do?’ Even trying to imagine what her mother had gone through was impossible. ‘You were so young and she had all the power.’
Getting up, Lily flexed her shoulders and raised her chin. ‘I went to the agency myself. I didn’t accuse Beverly Irving of anything, just said I was ready to go out on my own and was there any reason why I shouldn’t. They told me it was fine as long as I could prove I had a plan and you would be safe and well-cared for. I had the plan and that was it. I went back and packed. When I told that woman what I’d done she backed off as if I’d slapped her. Then she threatened me and said she’d find me and get you for herself in the end, but I left and never saw or heard from her again.’
Carefully watching her mother, Alex said, ‘Sit down again, Mum. You said this person’s name, Beverly Irving, but it doesn’t matter if I know her name. She’s gone from our lives and that’s all that matters.’
Lily remained standing. ‘She’s not gone, Alex. And she wants to make us suffer for what she lost, what she still believes – all these years later – should have been hers. And she talked about how I intend to spoil the life she has now and how she won’t allow it. I never did anything to hurt her and I never would.’
‘Have you seen her again?’
‘No, absolutely not.’
‘Why are you afraid of her again? How could she have any idea where we are?’
‘I think she does. And I think she’s got a lot of misconceptions about us wanting to hurt her. She threatened us. She said she would hurt someone I love if I don’t do what she asks.’
Alex swiped at her moist brow. ‘That’s senseless.’ She shook her head and went over to hold her mother’s shoulders. ‘You’re imagining things that won’t happen. It’s so far in the past it’s never going to touch you again. Forget it.’
Her mother stroked Alex’s cheek. ‘Sweety, yesterday after I picked up my mother’s things, I got a threatening call from that woman. She knew I’d been to the agency and picked up my mother’s things. She’s found us again.’
TWENTY
‘Gather round,’ Dan O’Reilly called, walking into the Folly parish hall, once again their makeshift squad room. ‘Make it fast, if you please!’
Stewed coffee vied with fried radiator dust and damp woolen uniforms for ‘smell of the day’. The windows, cranked open a measly half-inch, had lost any battle with the coating of hot air and thick, grimy steam that painted the glass. More falling snow closed away the scene outside, but they all knew it was as cold as hell wasn’t, and sleet was starting to strafe the land.
Bill Lamb ducked around Dan to put a steaming mug of his personal brew on the nearest table. ‘There you go, guv. The real stuff.’
Groans of envy went up as the other detectives in the room dragged folding chairs to make a half circle in front of Dan. All except newly minted Detective Constable Jillian Miller, just off the beat and into civvies. Miller managed to wear a beguiling smile – and fresh lipstick – and was perched on a desk with her long legs crossed.
Dan had a lot on his mind, more than he could stuff away for later consumption, but he made a mental note to make sure Jillian Miller didn’t become any kind of a problem in the department and that her new status was not allowed to make her feel more powerful than she was.
‘Anything from Harding and Trafford?’
‘They called in earlier,’ Miller said, heel swinging. ‘They’re at the Hill estate and they aren’t ready to leave, or they weren’t then. Said they had some information and they’d bring it in. Apparently, they didn’t think they could trust me with it.’
Dan nodded and made no response. The usual barrier of whiteboards and screens had been erected across the hall but there were too few pieces of useful information on the boards.
‘Where are the pictures of Lance Pullinger and Darla Crowley?’ He and Lamb had decided not to divulge the possibility that these two had used the same name for reasons still awaiting final explanation.
Detective Constable ‘Longlegs’ Liberty all but levitated from his chair and hurried to shuffle through folders spread across a trestle table. Straight blond hair stood up at his crown while soft brown eyes missed nothing and kept him looking perpetually young. The leather jacket and blue jeans he favored added to the twenty-something misfit appearance. He pulled out photos of the two deceased victims and put them on a board.
‘Good for you,’ Dan said. ‘There should be a chart of the Hill development near Winchcombe with Arson’s comments and information for the house in Winchcombe where the first victim was found.’
‘Second,’ Miller sang out.
‘Darla Crowley died first,’ Dan said flatly. ‘The post-mortem reports are in and confirm this.’
Longlegs was already sliding out maps and charts. Tall, slim and with the look of a man who didn’t eat enough, Liberty was an asset who covered bases before most of the crew knew they needed covering. But he steadfastly avoided the sergeant’s exam and insisted he’d risen as far as he needed to go – to Dan’s puzzled irritation. Dan never intended to give up on dragging some ambition to climb the ladder of advancement out of Liberty.
Fifteen minutes on and the whiteboards, although not crowded, took on the expected case-in-progress appearance. Dan started using markers to connect elements, slashing lines quickly from photos to other photos and from charts to maps.
‘The burns on Crowley were definitely made by cigarettes?’ Jillian Miller asked. ‘How do they know that?’
‘They know it from comparing them to photos of other established cigarette burns and because forensics – and the police surgeon – have seen hundreds of them.’ Sometimes he thought Jillian talked just to hear her own voice. When he felt more charitable, he classified her as intelligent but over-eager.
Bill Lamb put his empty coffee mug down. ‘You want to go through anything we got from house-to-house, guv?’
‘Yes. I take it we’re talking about Winchcombe.’
Detective Constable Ashton, young, dark and eager, raised a hand. ‘It’s not easy along the street there. Most of the people we spoke to are shopkeepers and they might as well have got together to decide what to say. If they saw anyone com
ing or going from the house in question they either didn’t take any notice or thought it was people working on the place. A couple remember Darla Crowley but didn’t know her or anything remarkable about her. Not one of them recalled seeing Lance Pullinger.’
Dan passed the marker from hand to hand. ‘That doesn’t make any sense. Do the canvas again.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Pullinger could have been cautious enough to limit his visits to after dark. Let’s find out how the neighborhood changes at night. And we need to take a good look at alternate entrances to the building. We know there’s one from the back via an access road from Castle Street and from the yard behind for deliveries from when there was a shop on the ground floor. Find out how easy it is to get in and out from that yard. I’m expecting that it’s very easy. Supposedly the sale of the shop floor is still not finalized. It was being sold separately from the rest of the house. That doesn’t have to mean you can’t get in that way.’
‘I’ll get on it,’ Detective Constable Ashton volunteered.
‘Good. Daily, you go with him. See if anyone remembers any vehicles parking repeatedly. Either at the back or in front.’
A commotion on the other side of the screens silenced them. Bill Lamb raised his eyebrows and Dan held up a silencing hand. A raised, garbled voice could be heard over all the noise.
Dan went around a hanging whiteboard and between the screens. He was confronted by one of his constables dodging back and forth to stop a brawny man from getting past him. Tightly curled dark hair, sharply memorable features and a hard-muscled body beneath a navy-blue pea coat and jeans made for a man not easy to forget – or to underestimate as an opponent if he ever chose that course.
‘OK, OK, OK,’ Dan said, loudly enough to be heard but without shouting. ‘What’s the problem here?’
‘You O’Reilly?’ the man asked in a London accent.
‘Chief Inspector Dan O’Reilly,’ he responded.
‘Yeah. It’s you I’m looking for, then. They said you would know where my wife is.’
Dan could feel the officers behind the screens holding their breath, listening hard and willing themselves not to interrupt. If he’d wanted their help he’d have let them know.
‘Who told you to come here?’ Dan asked. He didn’t believe any police officer would send this man.
‘Look,’ the fellow said through his teeth, ‘you don’t get to ask me any questions, I—’
‘Who sent you here?’ Dan felt his constable move a step closer. ‘Come on, man. Speak up. I’ll help you if I can, but be straight with me first.’
The man narrowed very dark eyes. ‘A woman, if it matters. I don’t know who she was. She came out of the back of that row of cottages in Winchcombe in a hurry and she wouldn’t tell me what she was doing there. Cheeky bitch. None of my business, she said. It was the cottage where Darla was living.’ He flexed his hands, opening and closing his fingers, turning the tips white. ‘I can tell you she ran away. The snow didn’t slow her down. A wiry one, she was. Had on one of those ski hats that only show the eyes and mouth. I think it was blue but I don’t take notice of things like that. I followed her as far as the front of the buildings but it was too busy for me to stop her from leaving. She’d have kicked up—’
‘All right, all right, I’ve got the picture.’ What woman could have been in Winchcombe poking around the crime scene?
‘Now I think of it, the hat could have been red.’
Dan made a mental note that the hat was probably blue. ‘Take a seat over there.’ He pointed out a row of seats against the front wall of the building and took out his notebook and pen. ‘What’s your name? What’s your wife’s name? Where did you last see her, and how long ago was that?’
‘I’ve been away. I work the cruise lines – a decky. Haven’t seen her in months and she stopped writing or calling – or picking up when I called her – but I know she’s alive and well because she’s cashed the checks I sent her.’ He sneered. ‘She would. Women. I’m Vince Crowley and she’s Darla Crowley.’
TWENTY-ONE
‘Come on, darling. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can put it behind us.’ Tony looked back at Alex who pulled against his hand like a truculent kid. ‘Come on! You said you wanted to come. You said you were up for this? We tell them what we know, which isn’t much, and get home for an evening by the fire.’
‘Grr,’ she said. ‘It’s déjà vu all over again.’
‘Aren’t you the original one?’ He knew when he’d better keep things light. ‘We haven’t been in the lovely parish hall for ages. We miss it, don’t we?’
‘No, and I wish Dan and Bill would find themselves a home away from home somewhere else. OK, I’ll pull myself together. But only because I want to get out of here fast and your fire sounds OK.’
‘Only OK? Thanks. Let’s move before our boots freeze to the spot.’
They had walked the short distance from the Black Dog to the parish hall in increasing darkness. For now, the snow mixed with sleet had stopped but he didn’t fool himself it wouldn’t start again soon enough. Alex walked beside him up the driveway to the front doors of the hall.
‘You looked pensive when I got to the Black Dog,’ he said. ‘Was it just this Gladys thing that had you down? You haven’t said a word about how it went with your mum.’
At the bottom step, she paused. ‘There’s a lot more to say but I’d rather wait until we’re at home to talk about it.’
She often talked about them being ‘at home’ as if they had somewhere they belonged together. Well, even while it got other thoughts going around in his head, he liked to hear her say it.
‘At least tell me if the talk you had with Lily was OK?’
Alex nodded, yes, and took hold of the cold ring of metal to open the door. He helped her turn it then put a shoulder to the warped wood to meet the expected resistance as the door scraped open.
He shoved the door shut behind them. ‘They can’t all have gone home. There are cars outside, including the Jag.’
As they had the last time they’d been here, the police had set up a row of screens that cut off most of the hall from anyone coming in casually. In front of the screens a row of desks was empty.
Alex held up a finger. Voices reached them from the other side of the screens and almost immediately a uniformed police constable came from one side.
‘Evening,’ he said on seeing Alex and Tony. ‘How can we help you?’
‘We’re looking for Detective Chief Inspector O’Reilly.’ He didn’t like interacting with these people any more than Alex did. ‘Is he here?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the officer said. ‘He’s busy but if it’s urgent I’ll see if he can talk to you.’
‘It’s not urgent,’ Alex said quickly. ‘It’ll keep.’
‘What will keep?’ Dan appeared with Bill Lamb. Other members of their team straggled out and began to leave the building.
‘Buy you a pint at the Black Dog, guv?’ a striking black man Tony remembered from the last time this crew took over the village asked. ‘Unless you’d rather we stayed to finish going over what we were talking about. Better in the snug or the restaurant than here. You, too, Sergeant Lamb, if you haven’t got other plans.’ He gave what could only be called a sly smile.
‘Good idea to deal with it there,’ Dan said. ‘I’ll be along as soon as I can.’
‘About time you called me Bill, Ball— LeJuan.’ Bill Lamb’s expression was too angelic. ‘Can’t make it until later tonight but it’ll be my shout if you’re still around when I get back. Don’t forget to find out how Longlegs made out with that man he took to Gloucester. We need to double-check contact information for him, too.’
LeJuan gave an abbreviated salute and left with a blond man Tony also remembered.
But for one uniformed officer on a desk, the hall emptied out until the three of them had it to themselves.
‘We’d better get our interview room together,’ Dan said smiling and seeming relaxed. The man was a damn sight t
oo good-looking for Tony’s liking, and too charming, and that he had a thing for Alex didn’t fade from the way he looked at her.
The three of them dragged grey metal chairs over to a corner they’d used on previous occasions. Next to a hissing radiator and beneath a snow-encrusted window, it felt too familiar even if the seasons had changed since the last time.
They sat, quietly considering gaps between parched and splitting floorboards. Tony looked sideways at Alex and felt guilty at the flush that swept up her neck and cheeks. She was a prisoner to her furious blushes.
Dan cleared his throat. ‘So, what brings you here this evening?’
Tony felt no guilt over the scowl he sent the man. The least he could do was throw Alex a kinder lifeline.
She scooted to the back of the shiny metal chair and crossed her arms. ‘Remember … you don’t remember. You don’t even know. I called Gloucester because Gladys Lymer was missing.’
‘When was that?’ Dan looked sincerely lost.
‘Last night.’
Frowning, Dan considered, then took a breath and nodded. ‘Yes. Of course. But there was a call back to say she wasn’t missing. I got a note about that. Don’t tell me she’s done another runner.’ The irregular scar along his jaw had grown paler but not much less noticeable than when Tony first met the detective.
‘This probably doesn’t mean a thing,’ Alex said, sitting up straighter on the chair’s slippery seat. ‘In fact, I’m sure it doesn’t but I’d feel awful if … and it isn’t likely, but if it turned out to be some important piece of a puzzle.’
‘It’s always good to speak up about anything. I think that’s something we’ve all learned, haven’t we?’
‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s very stuffy in here. It can’t be good for all of you.’
Whisper the Dead Page 15
