by Edie Baylis
‘I’m sure. She can’t afford to. She’s suggested though that I take Teagan out again.’
Mike threw himself into his leather chair. ‘You’ve got to be joking? It cost a fortune last time.’
‘That’s as maybe and to be honest, I had no plans to repeat it even though she’s texted me a couple of times. I mean, I didn’t think I’d need to. Her part is done now, but Helen says it will help.’
Mike frowned. ‘How the bloody hell will it help, apart from raise the minimum payment on my Barclaycard?’
‘Helen said she’ll get more leeway to dig around if Teagan’s not there,’ Heath explained. ‘She was just telling me she’s only looked in the cellar so far. There was nothing there, but she thinks they’re probably stashed in the bedroom.’
‘But you said she’d told the girl that she’s sorting stuff out, didn’t you, so how will it look strange?’
Heath shrugged. ‘Dunno – it’s her call, I suppose. I guess she knows what she’s doing. She said Teagan has a habit of wanting to help and she can hardly have her hanging around whilst she goes through everything. What would she say if she finds them when Teagan’s standing next to her? It’s a big gaff, Dad. Helen’s got a lot of digging to do.’
Mike sighed. ‘What are you going to do then?’
‘Well, Helen said she’ll offer to look after Dulcie one night this week – pretend she wants to spend some time with her. Wednesday, she said. Once she’s told Teagan that then I’ll conveniently suggest going out again.’
Mike nodded and glanced back at the woman by the BMW. ‘Before you do that, get your arse out there and offload that beamer to that snotty cow, will you?’
Thirty Seven
TEAGAN’S HEAD was utterly scrambled. She stared at her mobile and massaged her temples.
Sorry I’ve been quiet - got a lot on at work. Fancy dinner or drinks sometime this week? Weds is good for me xx
Flicking onto her Facebook app, Teagan willed the mobile signal to remain stable enough to load Darren’s profile – the 98,000th time she’d looked at it since last night.
Clicking on his picture, she zoomed in. She still couldn’t see any resemblance to Robert Adams. Admittedly, she hadn’t studied Robert and certainly couldn’t gauge any similarities with Michael from that newspaper cutting. The resemblance between Michael and Robert was easy because they were so uncannily similar, but as for Darren, in her opinion there was no real likeness at all, short of dark hair and light eyes, but that could be said about a lot of people. It was ridiculous to base someone being someone’s son, grandson or whatever purely on those factors.
Teagan pursed her lips. Although Dulcie was clearly being truthful about Michael being Robert’s father, she got the distinct impression that she was now back down the line of fabrication and dramatic stories. But all of this opened another can of worms. There was no way she could tell Helen about this one. How could she slip in that Dulcie had happened to mention that Robert had a different father to what they’d always believed? The answer was simple – she couldn’t. It would cause no end of pain and anguish, not to mention, anger and what with Dulcie’s illness and imminent move, this family was fractured enough as it was and she didn’t want any hand in worsening that.
She took a deep breath and decided to pretend she didn’t know this volatile piece of information and strongly wished she could unhear it.
Closing the Facebook app, Teagan stared at Darren’s text again. She certainly wouldn’t mention it to him. Rushing off to phone an ex-boyfriend on their first date was bad enough, but now he wanted to take her out again, she wouldn’t mess that up too by hitting him with that. She shook her head in disbelief. Darren would think her crazy.
Teagan smiled to herself. She had a good feeling about where this was going. The only trouble was, when would she next have a free evening? It looked unlikely what with everything that was going on at the moment.
Would love to. Not sure about Weds but will find out xx
Hitting send, Teagan placed her phone down and decided she’d better think about making Dulcie’s lunch.
JOE SHUT THE DOOR to the undertakers and managed two paces before dragging his fags out of his pocket. With fumbling fingers he shoved one in his mouth and rushed to light it.
Inhaling deeply, he leant against the wall hoping the cigarette would get rid of the taste of embalming fluid he was sure was in his gob purely from breathing in the air inside the funeral directors.
Glancing to the left, he caught his reflection in the window – his image resembling that of a tramp, overlaid with the display of dusty plastic white lilies against a grey backdrop and of course a polished mahogany-looking coffin. In all fairness, there was little an undertaker could put in a window display to entice people in. They could hardly prop a corpse in the window, could they?
Joe shuddered and took another drag of his fag. He could still bloody taste it. That smell. It lingered in the air in there – a heavy, pervading mix of death, masked with scented chemicals. It must be psychological? It wasn’t like they kept bodies there or embalmed them, was it?
Joe paled. Or did they? Maybe they did? He didn’t know. He ran his hand over his head, brushing his overgrown fringe out of his eyes. The thought that he’d just spent the last hour surrounded by stiffs stacked up the other side of the wall whilst discussing what sort of coffin Alan would like, freaked him out. He'd never been in an undertakers before, neither had he arranged a funeral and all the stuff that went with it. Personally, he didn’t think Alan would care what sort of wood his coffin had, let alone the sort of handles because he shouldn’t even be in one!
Joe kicked his boot against the funeral director’s wall, the anger over the unjust situation rearing its ugly head once again.
Oh Christ, this was shit. Why couldn’t Dave have done this? The people in there had looked at him like an alien as they’d had to slowly explain what they meant by every single thing they asked. Well, how was he supposed to know? On the other hand, he couldn’t do what Dave was doing either. Out of the two of them, Dave was the only one able to get a loan to cover the funeral because there was no way the bank would lend him a penny. Not these days.
‘Got a light?’
‘Yeah.’ Joe mechanically took his lighter from his pocket and glanced in the direction of the gruff voice. Fuck. His bowels made worrying moves to lose control as he saw the voice belonged to one of the nutters – the uglier one. The scar on his face looking even more offensive in the daylight.
Wasn’t this all done now? Wasn’t it sorted? He’d got them the keys as arranged. It was finished, wasn’t it?
Joe watched the man slowly raise the lighter to his own cigarette and waited for him to say something. Either that or set fire to him. What did he want?
He glanced around to see if anyone was in shouting distance should this freak attempt to murder him in public. He didn’t feel particularly comfortable that he was standing next to this loony outside an undertakers either, but there was obviously a reason as to why he was here.
Joe forced himself to look back at the psycho and wanted to punch him for murdering his friend, but he wasn’t going to do that. To deflect from his own raging cowardice and rather than concentrating on the man’s scar, he found himself unable to draw his eyes from the man’s mangled ear, coming to the conclusion he wasn’t sure which was worse.
‘I want you to arrange for the girl to be out of the house one night this week,’ Keith growled, his voice low.
Joe watched the man suck on his fag as he glanced around. To anyone looking, it would just be two men having a random chat to pass the time. Well, it wasn’t a random chat.
‘What do you mean, arrange for the g...’
‘Is everything always difficult for you to understand?’ Keith snapped, a tone of warning in his voice. ‘Just fucking arrange it so she’s not there, alright?’
‘But how?’ Joe flapped. ‘She’s a live-in carer or something and I...
‘I don’t know
and I don’t fucking care!’ Keith mumbled. ‘Orders from the top. The boss wants no one about apart from the old girl.’ He exposed his teeth in a half-smile/half-grimace. ‘Do you understand that one?’
Joe nodded, panic fluttering. ‘I didn’t think I’d be needed again.’
Keith made a strange snorting sound and for a moment Joe hoped the man might keel over, but unfortunately he didn’t.
‘So did I,’ Keith muttered. ‘Just sort it. Believe it or not, the sooner I don’t have to trail your scrawny arse around, the better. Phone me on the burner when it’s sorted.’
‘Ok,’ Joe mumbled, not wanting to begin thinking about how he would arrange this. There was no way Teagan would agree to leaving the old bat unattended for the evening.
Keith went to walk away, then stopped and turned back. ‘Oh, I almost forgot...’
Joe tensed with dread as the man shoved his shovel-like hand in his jacket, relieved to see the only thing he pulled out was an envelope.
‘What’s this?’ Joe asked as Keith shoved the envelope into his hand.
Keith nodded towards the undertakers. ‘The boss wanted to contribute.’
Joe suddenly felt a rush of indignation. ‘Probably right, considering you bastards put him in there.’
Keith’s cold eyes flashed dangerously. ‘Don’t push your luck, cunt – otherwise you’ll be joining him.’ He bared his teeth for good measure. ‘I’ll expect your call.’
Joe was still trembling by the time Keith had disappeared around the corner at the end of the road. That was very stupid of him to react like that. Fuck, he needed a drink.
He glanced at the fat envelope in his hand then quickly shoved it into his jacket. Alan wouldn’t mind if he borrowed a few quid to get himself a drink or two to calm his nerves, would he? Besides, he needed to clear his head to think of a way of how he could face calling Teagan again.
Thirty Eight
‘MRS SHEPHERD?’ the voice asked. ‘This is DI Marshall.’
Helen rose from her desk and stretched the phone cable so that she could reach to close her office door. ‘Yes? How can I help you?’
‘I just wanted to bring you up to date with where we are with the investigation into Ken Manning’s disappearance.’
Helen’s heart sank. She’d already told them God knows how many times that she didn’t know where he’d gone and she still didn’t. Nothing had changed.
‘Mrs Shepherd? Are you still there?’
‘Yes, I was just thinking. Have there been any new developments? Have you found him?’ she asked, noticing Joanne craning her neck to see into the office. Nosy bitch.
‘Have you had any contact with Mr Manning since we last spoke? Anything at all? Or remembered anything that might help?’
‘I’ve already told you everything I know and no, I haven’t had any further contact with Ken. I’d have told you immediately had that been the case,’ Helen snapped.
Ken hadn’t been in contact and if he had, she’d have been tempted to wring his neck for leaving her in the lurch about the apartment. But it didn’t matter – not now Robert was dealing with it. Which reminded her to call him and see how that was going.
‘I just wanted to double check, being as Mr Manning’s phone logs and emails showed a lot of activity between the two of you in the week or so leading up to his disappearance. Markedly different compared to your previous level of contact, which, shall we say, wasn’t very frequent...’
Helen stared at the receiver. ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I had anything to do with Ken’s disappearance? We may not have been in regular contact until recently – he’s an old friend, but we are in the same industry and, if you must know, I was interested in purchasing one of the properties he was marketing.’
‘I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mrs Shepherd.’
Helen scowled, not missing the patronising tone in the detective’s voice. ‘The property is for my mother. She has dementia.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but the reason for my call is to let you know that I’m afraid we’ve moved the investigation to a possible murder, rather than a missing persons case,’ DI Marshall said.
‘W-What? Murder? Why?’ Helen cried. So they thought he was dead? Well, that put paid to Ken routing the sale of Footlights through Manning Sales and Lettings. Shit.
‘Yes, Mr Manning’s bank accounts have remained static since his disappearance. His phone records and emails show a similar lack of activity and there’ been no use or reissuing of his passport.’
‘Who has killed him then? Why would anyone want to kill him?’ Helen blathered, wanting to say the expected things and having to at least pretend to be upset about their concerns.
‘We aren’t saying that this is what’s happened. We’re just widening our investigation to include all possibilities.’ There was a pause. ‘Did Mr Manning have any enemies that you were aware of, Mrs Shepherd?’
‘No. Not as far as I know. As you are aware, we hadn’t been in contact much before recently, but he didn’t mention anything like that to me,’ Helen said.
‘Ok, well thank you, Mrs Shepherd. We’ll be in contact again should there be anything else we need to ask or if there are new developments,’ DI Marshall droned. ‘And if you do happen to recall anyth...’
‘Yes, I’ll call you. Thank you for letting me know.’ Helen abruptly replaced the receiver and stared at the phone. Ken had hacked someone off then? Oh well...
When her mobile rang almost immediately, Helen rolled her eyes and snatched it from her handbag. ‘Yes?’
‘Hi, love,’ said James. ‘I just wanted to...’
‘What? What now?’ Helen barked. ‘What the hell is it now?’ She grabbed her mug of coffee and slurped at it irritably.
‘Nothing’s wrong. It’s just I didn’t get much chance to see you this morning at breakfast and I felt we should clear the air. Are you alright?’
‘Yes, James, I’m fine. I’ve only been out of the house for less than an hour. And as for clearing the air, that’s not something I’m prepared to discuss whilst I’m at work.’ Helen didn’t want to discuss it anywhere else, either. What was there to discuss? Her husband was a prick who hassled her constantly, like the needy prat he was. And furthermore, he’d even resorted to trying to run to her brother behind her back.
And no, he hadn’t seen much of her at breakfast because she’d purposefully left earlier than usual for that very reason. She couldn’t stand being around him.
‘You need to start talking to me, Helen,’ James pushed. ‘I know things are difficult at the moment and also know you’ve had money issues which you should have spoken to me about. There’s also other stuff that I...’
‘What? What did you say?’ Helen’s volume increased, causing more necks to crane in her direction from the main office. She forced herself to lower her voice. ‘You’re phoning me at work to accuse me of having money problems?’
Had Robert said something? Had he told James he was funding the apartment because she couldn’t afford it? If he had, then he was even more of a piece of shit than she’d thought. Not that he was her real brother – only half. A fact making her life-long dislike of his aloofness and arrogant nature a lot more understandable. Understandable, being as on the face of it, they didn’t share half as many genes as she’d once thought. From looks to personality, they were as different as it was possible to get.
‘I’m not accusing you of anything,’ James lied. ‘We just really need a conversation about things.’
Helen reined in her temper. She wasn’t about to explain anything to him. None of it was any of his damn business and nor would it be.
‘Can we talk tonight when you get back?’ James asked.
Helen heard that pleading twang in James’ voice – the one which always made her want to scream. Everything about him made her want to scream. Yeah, she’d talk to him tonight and tell him she wanted a goddamn divorce – see how he liked that? But she wouldn’t be wasting all night looking
at his miserable bloody face. Neither was she spending hours with him when there were 1000 other more pressing things to deal with.
‘As you know, I’ll be back later so we’ll talk, but I won’t have time to have a long conversation about whatever seems to be niggling you,’ she snapped.
‘You’re going back out? Where are you going?’
Helen clenched her jaw. Questions, questions, always never-ending bloody questions. ‘If you must know, I want to spend some time with my mother.’ She didn’t know why she’d just said that. She didn’t want to spend time with that woman at all. She wanted to slap the lying bitch around the face until she apologised for being a wanton slut who had engineered the death of her own husband, that’s what she wanted.
Helen smiled, an idea forming. Spending the evening around Footlights wasn’t a bad idea. She’d give that stupid girl the evening off which would allow her all night to dig around. She could slip the old cow some extra pills to send her to sleep. A full evening with no distractions and no interfering. With any luck she’d find those jewels or at least be a damn sight closer to doing so.
‘Look, I’ve got to dash. I’ll be late for a meeting,’ Helen lied. ‘We’ll talk before I go to mother’s.’ Promptly ending the call, she changed the ring settings of her mobile to silent.
Now she’d call Teagan and let her know that tonight was her lucky night. God, she was generous.
‘IT GOES WITHOUT SAYING that this car comes with a full MOT and we’ll throw in six months’ warranty too.’ Heath gave the woman standing by the Lexus a beaming smile. ‘The same deal applies to that stunning Audi you like the look of.’ He nodded towards the red car across the other side of the showroom. ‘Such a stunning colour too.’
He secretly hoped that out of the two cars, this woman picked the Audi because the Lexus was the one he used when going to Maidenhead. He didn’t want to turn up in a different car the next time he picked Teagan up. Besides, he preferred the Lexus.
