A Narrow Return

by Faith Martin

  ‘No. I know what you mean, and I’ve thought about it a lot,’ Jenny said, surprising Hillary somewhat. Druggy types weren’t exactly known for their introspection. ‘I lay awake at night for ages, looking back to see if there were any clues that I’d missed, but I don’t think there were. She was just the same as usual. She was always pretty, that’s what I remember. She always looked prettier than the other mums. And she was cheerful and funny, but you didn’t backchat her. Of course, Peter was giving her grief – he always was. He thought he could get away with anything, and he was sulking about something, but Mum just laughed it off, the way she always did.’

  Hillary nodded. It sounded right. Their victim might have favoured her only son, but she doubted he’d be allowed to get away with much.

  ‘But if she did have a problem, do you think you’d know about it?’ Hillary asked gently.

  But Jenny merely snorted. ‘I can’t imagine anyone giving Mum a problem,’ she said with a suddenly savage grin. ‘She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but Mum was tough. Tougher than Dad, for sure. Tougher than Auntie Debbie too as it turns out. Nobody told Mum what to do, I can tell you that. She wouldn’t have cared if anybody had found out about her and Uncle Shane. She just did whatever she wanted to, and look out if you didn’t like it.’

  Hillary nodded, feeling her antenna begin to twitch. ‘So if she had a problem with someone, she’d take the fight to them, you think?’

  ‘Oh yeah. She wouldn’t back off from anything,’ Jenny said instantly. ‘You can ask anyone who knows her, and they’d say the same thing.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the impression I’m gaining of your mother too,’ Hillary agreed softly. ‘Well, thank you, Jenny. May we come back if I can think of anything else that I might need to know?’

  ‘Oh yeah. Any time,’ Jenny said. She didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic about it, but Hillary put that down to an aversion to having cops about.

  Driving back to HQ, Jimmy wound down a window. ‘Sorry about the draught, guv, but I’ve got to get the smell of that place out of my head.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Losing her mum really buggered her up, didn’t it?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘You thinking what I’m thinking? About what she said about her mum?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘About her being the tough one in the family?’ Hillary shot back. ‘Yeah, it opens up possibilities doesn’t it? With her husband away for long spells, it makes sense that she was the one who took the reins, so to speak. And someone like that, someone so self-confident and used to taking charge might not be aware of the dangers in confronting someone.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Just what I was thinking. If someone was threatening her or her family, she’d go at them no holds barred, not realizing that she might be walking right into something that she couldn’t handle.’

  Hillary sighed. ‘Thing is, Jimmy, we’ve no idea what that might be – and there’s lots of possibilities. If someone was threatening her kids in some way, she’d be vicious. But let’s not forget she was playing the field – she had two lovers that we know about, and who’s to say there weren’t more? That’s a minefield all on it’s own. And if someone was trying to blackmail her, for instance, I can’t see her simply rolling over and taking it lying down.’

  ‘Then there’s her marriage,’ Jimmy said. ‘She might not have been the faithful type, but I get the feeling she wouldn’t have wanted to divorce her husband or upset the kids. If someone was threatening to tell Melvin about her, she’d have it out with them.’

  ‘That leaves the field well and truly wide open, doesn’t it?’ Hillary said grimly.

  Jimmy sighed heavily. The guv was right. So far they had nothing. Still, it was early days yet, and nobody was expecting a miracle. After all, the case was twenty years old, and colder than a witch’s tits. The chances are it would have to go back into the unsolved pile when they were done, anyway.

  But he doubted that anybody had told Hillary that. She wasn’t the sort of woman who ever admitted defeat, and like a terrier with a rat, he couldn’t see her letting this case go.

  But she might have to. The sad fact was, that the majority of the cold cases that were looked at a second time, remained unsolved. And then you simply had to go on to the next one.

  But he just couldn’t see Hillary taking kindly to having her case snatched away from her and being ordered to forget about it and get on with something else. And that might very well be what Steven Crayle would have to do at some point in the near future. That was part of his job, after all. Jimmy grinned as he drove. And he was welcome to it. He only hoped he’d be around – but at a safe distance – to watch the fireworks fly when it happened!

  It was nearly lunchtime by the time she got back, and Sam and Vivienne were already back at the office, Vivienne looking damp and displeased.

  ‘No luck with Mark Burgess, guv,’ Sam reported, without being asked. ‘He still does the rounds there, and a lot of people have confirmed that he’s got an eye for the ladies all right, but no one’s willing to point the finger.’

  ‘I think it’s gross,’ Vivienne said with a shudder. ‘A middle-aged butcher, for Pete’s sake. Some women have no class.’

  Hillary bit back a smile. No doubt to someone of Vivienne’s age and good looks, the thought of anyone over thirty and possessing a less than physically perfect body, having sex was the ultimate in bad taste.

  Unless they looked like Steven Crayle of course, she corrected herself with an inner smile. She hadn’t missed the goo-goo eyes the youngster had been giving their boss. She wondered, briefly, if he secretly enjoyed being the object of a young and pretty girl’s desire, then abruptly cut the thought off.

  He was a man. Of course he did.

  ‘Up for a pint at the Bull, guv?’ Jimmy asked, interrupting her suddenly sour thoughts.

  ‘Give me ten minutes,’ Hillary agreed readily. She went back to her stationery cupboard and picked up her bag and headed to the locker rooms. There she used the ladies next door and went to her locker. She noticed the scratches the moment she lifted the padlock into her hand and, with her own key paused a centimetre above it, blinked in surprise.

  Slowly, she opened the locker and looked inside. Her spare coat was hanging just how she’d left it. Her holdhall, though still on the bottom shelf, had its flaps showing. But she had stashed it the other way around. Which meant that someone had moved it. Which meant it had almost certainly been gone through. Her eyes swept on, doing a rapid, mental inventory.

  Her perfume bottle wasn’t in the same place either.

  And her spare comb was gone.

  She stood there for several moments, baffled.

  There weren’t that many possibilities to explain it. The first and most likely, was that there was a thief about. Nothing new or surprising in that, of course. They were everywhere, just like rats. Seldom seen, but you knew they were there. And the fact that they were in a police station meant nothing at all.

  She checked the padlocks on the lockers either side of hers, and then a few at random. Most of the padlocks were old and had their fair share of scratches, but none that looked new or recent.

  So why would a thief target her locker specifically, and no one else’s? She’d only be on the job for a few days – if robbery had been the motive, any self-respecting light-fingered tea-leaf would know better. They’d wait a few weeks before striking, giving her plenty of time to store more stuff here – maybe a spare handbag, gear, hell, even trainers or a watch. That way they’d be far more likely to come up with something they could sell on for a reasonable profit.

  No. This was not the work of a thief.

  But the comb was missing. Not her perfume, which was nearly a full bottle, and might have been taken to give to a girlfriend as a makeshift present.

  But her comb. Which was something very personal.

  Unless someone into voodoo wanted a strand of her hair, of course. The thought made her l
ips twist into a grim smile. If she suddenly started getting sharp stabbing pains, then she might consider the occult.

  Until then, there was only one likely explanation.

  She had picked up an admirer.

  ‘Shit,’ Hillary said succinctly.

  Melvin McRae looked surprised to see Sam and Jimmy on his doorstep.

  After their lunchtime drink, Hillary had asked Sam to take Jimmy to re-interview Melvin, and find out if he knew about Mark Burgess, or any other casual affairs his wife might have had, whilst she borrowed Sam’s car and went to interview Lucy McRae.

  Melvin led the two men back into the pleasant living room overlooking the church. This time he poured himself a beer from the fridge in the kitchen before they started, and offered them tea.

  ‘No thank you, sir,’ Jimmy said politely. He was still full from his two lunchtime pints, and he’d made sure Sam had driven over here. ‘Sorry to bother you so soon, sir, but we’ve uncovered some new information. Its might be rather painful,’ Jimmy warned him.

  ‘Oh?’ Melvin said warily.

  ‘Were you aware that your wife had had an affair with another man, sir? Apart from Shane Gregg, that is.’

  Melvin drank slowly from his bottle of beer.

  Finally he sighed. ‘No. But I did wonder. I mean, when I learned about Shane. It had been going on for some time, you see, and neither me nor Debbie had any idea. Well, it made me wonder, that’s all.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘Yes. If she’d done it once, maybe she’d done it before. I can see how it might, sir.’

  ‘So it was true?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Do you know or remember a man called Mark Burgess?’

  ‘Burgess? No.’

  ‘He used to have a butcher’s round. Still does.’

  Melvin McRae shrugged. ‘I left all that sort of thing to Anne. The shopping, buying food, keeping the house, feeding us, that sort of thing. I was away such a lot, you see.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘So none of the neighbours ever mentioned anything to you, like? You know, trying to be kind. Well, trying to keep you in the picture. You see, sir, it seems unlikely that nobody knew what was happening.’

  Melvin smiled grimly. ‘No. But then again, most people like to keep themselves to themselves, don’t they? Besides, everyone liked Anne. She was popular with the neighbours. Even our friends were more friends with Anne, than with me, if you see what I mean?’

  Jimmy did. When it came to infidelity, they’d be more likely to side with Anne, is what he was saying. Probably most of them believed that Melvin McRae had more than his fair share of foreign birds when he was away on his coach tours anyway, so who was he to kick up a fuss?

  ‘All right. Well, thank you, sir,’ he said. He couldn’t see that there was any point taking it any further. And it wasn’t as if the man didn’t have a solid alibi.

  As Melvin McRae closed the door behind him, Jimmy only hoped the guv’nor was having better luck with her witness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hillary regarded the block of flats thoughtfully. Whilst not quite as insalubrious as the building that housed the youngest McRae offspring, it was a far cry from being what most people would describe as a des res. Red brick walls gave way to black roof tiles, both somehow managing to look like dreary smears on the landscape. None of the windows were broken or boarded over, but most were dirty, and needed a good wash. Where there was paint work it was cracked and fading.

  Hillary wondered if Lucy McRae had always lived like this, or if it was a sign of recent hard times. According to her files, unlike her younger sister, Lucy had no previous record.

  But that could just be because she’d been more careful.

  Hillary walked to the door and saw that the intercom and locking method wasn’t working. Anyone could just walk into the communal hall area, which she did, wrinkling her nose as the faint scent of human urine tickled her nostrils. Plain cream walls echoed her footsteps coldly back at her as she set off up the grey, not exactly clean, concrete steps, to the third floor.

  And whilst there were no pitbulls snuffling threats under the door, or the sound of crying babies, the silence seemed somehow worse. She could imagine that most of the residents who lived there were first time buyers, and as such, nearly everyone was out at work. The building had an abandoned feeling that made her shoulder blades ache in a tight knot as she walked along the echoing landing, checking the door numbers as she passed by.

  When she got to Lucy McRae’s flat, she rang the bell and waited. She knew from the file, that Lucy was unemployed at the moment and claiming benefit, although she had held down a variety of jobs; but never for very long.

  Commitment issues, maybe, Hillary speculated. Or maybe she was one of those people who just couldn’t take instruction, and so was constantly running foul of their boss, believing as they inevitably did, that they knew better and could do better, given the chance.

  The door opened, revealing a very attractive blonde woman, who gazed back at her blankly.

  Hillary was slightly taken aback. Of all her children, Lucy resembled her mother the most. The photographs of Anne McRae, both alive and dead, were now burned into Hillary’s memory, and here she was, almost alive again and in the flesh. The same longish blonde hair, and bright eyes, the same curvaceous figure. And if she had inherited more than just her mother’s looks, Lucy might well have too high an opinion of herself to make life comfortable for either herself or those around her.

  ‘Yes?’ she demanded.

  Hillary held out her ID.

  ‘Oh right. I’ve been expecting you. Dad called. Come on in.’ When she opened the door wider, Hillary could see that Lucy was wearing designer leggings of grey silk, ruched at the pockets and tapering to slim ankles. With it she wore an apricot jersey, obviously cashmere, and a set of dangling pearl earrings. Her hair was clean and looked as if it had been newly cut and styled, and her make-up was discreet and flawless. She also wore an expensive perfume, the name of which momentarily escaped Hillary.

  The person definitely did not fit the surroundings, and Hillary was suddenly sure that the living arrangements had to be temporary. From what Sam and Vivienne had been able to unearth about the eldest daughter of their murder victim, Lucy had never married, but had lived with a succession of men, all of whom had been both older than herself, and wealthy.

  Shades of her brother there, if Jenny was to be believed, Hillary mused. Of course, she wasn’t sure that she did. For all she knew, Peter McRae was deeply in love with his partner. They’d certainly been together for nearly eight years now, which sounded more like a long-term and stable relationship, something that Lucy had been unable to find.

  ‘Sorry about the flat. I’ll be moving out soon,’ Lucy said, giving Hillary a little eerie feeling, as if somehow the younger woman had been reading her mind.

  Hillary looked around and smiled briefly. ‘It’s fine.’

  But it wasn’t so much fine, Hillary mused, as interesting. The general décor was old and dull, but a large, very new looking, wide screen plasma HD television sat in one corner. Another new-looking personal CD player rested on top of a plain battered wooden coffee table, along with several of the latest pop music releases. When Lucy indicated a chair, Hillary saw the sparkle of gold and diamonds on her wrist, indicating very nice bling indeed.

  As Hillary slowly sat down in a well-worn but comfortable brown leather armchair, she had the feeling that Lucy McRae had been in a dry spell, but had recently, perhaps very recently, come into some money. And she made a mental note to herself to ask Sam or Vivienne to check around with the neighbours, see if any of them knew Lucy well, or where she might have got the money from for her little luxuries.

  ‘Auntie Debbie said you’d been to see her.’

  Hillary felt a jolt of surprise, and carefully squashed it. ‘Oh? I didn’t realize the family was still in touch with Mrs Gregg.’

  ‘Well, we’re not. Not really. I mean, she doesn’t see Dad at all, and Peter’s too happy livi
ng the good life to bother. But I reckon Jenny might touch her up for a couple of quid, now and then.’

  ‘You know that for a fact?’

  ‘Oh no, just speculating. I know my little sis, see.’

  ‘But you yourself see your aunt regularly?’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say regularly. But she’s not banned from my doorstep or anything,’ Lucy said, with mock-drama.

  ‘I take it from that, that you don’t think your aunt had anything to do with your mother’s death?’ Hillary asked bluntly.

  ‘Nope. But I know you lot did,’ Lucy said, sitting back in her own chair and crossing her legs. As she did so, a simple gold ankle chain glinted in the grey light filtering in through the dusty windows.

  Hillary allowed herself to smile wryly. ‘I take it DI Squires made his suspicions plain?’

  Lucy laughed, a harsh, less-than-musical sound that made Hillary inwardly wince.

  ‘Let’s just say he shouldn’t play poker.’

  Hillary nodded. ‘I asked your father if he believed in his sister-in-law’s guilt.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Lucy went suddenly still. ‘What did he say?’

  Hillary’s eyes sharpened on her. ‘He said that he didn’t know. Not for sure, one way or the other. But I got the feeling that he doubted it.’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘Well, we know her, see, and you don’t. I just can’t see Auntie Debbie taking a rolling pin to anyone.’

  ‘And Jenny? Did she think your aunt did it?’

  Lucy laughed again. ‘You’ll have to ask her. Nowadays I don’t think Jenny thinks much of anything at all. No longer capable of it, if you know what I mean? The coke’s cooked her brains. It’s only a matter of time before they take those poor kids off her and put them into a home.’

  ‘You don’t fancy taking them on yourself then?’ Hillary asked, more rhetorically than anything else. She could see for herself that the McRae children were hardly filled with the milk of familial kindness.