‘No idea what happened, but next thing I know she’s not returning phone calls, she only gets in touch to scrounge money and the first time she came home afterwards…’ He shook his head, blinked slowly. ‘I hardly recognised her.’
Tanner said nothing.
‘She’d always looked like her mum, Heather had, but now… THEN, I mean… she looked like her mum had done when she was ill. Just before she died. It was a shock, I can tell you that much. What she’d done to herself.’
Tanner watched Malcolm Finlay slowly raise his mug of tea, then pause and stare at it, as though he had momentarily forgotten what it was, what it was doing there. His mouth opened and closed, and then he drank.
‘Is there someone else Heather might have talked to about this man she was seeing?’
‘Maybe. A friend at college or something.’
‘What about family?’
Finlay looked at her.
‘Her sister, maybe?’ Tanner knew there was a sister who lived in Scotland. A secretary at an engineering firm.
Finlay shook his head and leaned forward to put the mug down. ‘They weren’t close,’ he said. ‘Even before Heather went off the rails. Her sister’s always been the sensible one. Always had a job and a family, even though, to be honest, it was Heather who was the bright one. I think she was a bit jealous because Heather was always the one who wanted attention, you know?’
‘She’s younger than Heather?’
Finlay nodded. ‘You know what she said when I told her about Heather? What had happened?’
Tanner waited.
‘She said, “Typical”.’ Finlay grunted. ‘It was just, what do you call it, a gut reaction. I know she was upset, because I could hear it in her voice, but that was the first thing out of her mouth. Typical…’ He found a thin smile from somewhere and leaned forward to brush at something on his trouser leg. He said, ‘Is any of this helping? Is it of any use to you?’
‘Everything’s useful,’ Tanner said. ‘It’s about building up a picture.’
‘That stuff about the bloke Heather was seeing. You think it might have anything to do with what happened to her?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Ten years, you said.’
‘There or thereabouts.’
‘People can harbour grudges for a lot longer than that,’ Tanner said.
Finlay sat back again, nodding as though he could see the sense in what Tanner was telling him. He suddenly looked like someone who was harbouring a grudge or two of his own. He said, ‘They reckon that with these things, with murder and what have you, most of them are solved quickly.’
‘Who reckons?’
‘The first twenty-four hours or something.’ He glanced towards the bookshelf. ‘I must have read it somewhere.’
‘It’s not true,’ Tanner said. ‘I mean, sometimes, yes.’
‘It gets harder though, presumably. The longer it drags on.’
‘It takes as long as it takes.’ Tanner swallowed and found herself studying the marks on the carpet near Finlay’s feet. She wondered if perhaps she had sounded a little offhand. Flippant, even. ‘It will get solved though,’ she said. ‘We will catch whoever was responsible for your daughter’s death.’ She slid her notebook into her handbag. ‘Then maybe you can get those photos out again.’
Within five minutes of the train pulling away from Sheffield station, Tanner had visited the buffet car and was back at her table with a gin and tonic. Opposite her, a man in a smart suit worked furiously at a tablet. Swiping, tapping. It might have been spreadsheets or Twitter or Temple Run, there was no way to tell. Tanner decided that she would sneak a look when she visited the toilet.
It made her angry with herself, how badly she needed to know.
Malcolm Finlay had been right to question her about how helpful his information could possibly be. Was it really likely that something which had happened to Heather all that time ago was somehow connected to her murder a decade later? Could whatever – or whoever – made her turn to drugs for escape or comfort in the first place, have been responsible for her death?
It was possible, of course. Anything was possible.
She looked across at Tablet Man. He glanced up, then went back to his screen.
Tanner decided that she would try to talk to some of the people Heather had known ten years before. It would not be easy, as she had clearly lost touch with them, but Tanner would try to find someone who might put a name to the older man Heather’s father believed she had been seeing.
She took out her notebook, intending to jot down a few ideas, but it lay unopened and the gin got drunk, and Tanner quickly found herself struggling to stay awake, staring out at the Yorkshire countryside and thinking about family.
Listening to Malcolm Finlay talk about the relationship between Heather and her younger sister, Tanner’s face had betrayed nothing, but stories like that were something she always found hard to comprehend. Tanner had two elder brothers and they had always been thick as thieves. They talked on the phone every week. They spent Christmases together. She had been to dinner with one of her brothers only a week before and the other one and his wife had come away on holiday with her and Susan the previous year.
Stories like the one Finlay had told were sadly all too familiar though. Blood might be thicker than water, but so was bile. She knew very well that most people did not live like the Waltons, and her job brought her into contact with more dysfunctional families than she might otherwise encounter. All the same, Tanner couldn’t help feeling that she and her brothers were the strange ones. The freaks, the oddballs…
She was thinking about calling Susan again, steeling herself for it, when her phone rang.
‘I talked to some of the staff in that pub,’ Chall said. ‘They all knew exactly who I was talking about and one of them said he remembers that night really well. Said there was usually a lot of laughing or whatever, but not that particular Monday.’
‘An argument?’ Diana Knight had said something to that effect.
‘Several,’ Chall said. ‘This bloke in the pub told me he’d had to go across and ask them to keep the noise down. Chucked one of them out.’
‘Chris?’
‘Fits the description.’
‘Good stuff,’ Tanner said. ‘Well done.’
‘Oh, and I’ve managed to track down the final member of the group, too.’
‘Right, we’ll have a crack at her tomorrow.’ Tanner felt the tiredness start to lift a little. The man from Heather Finlay’s past was definitely worth checking out, but she still felt that Tony De Silva’s recovery group was the most promising area of inquiry. She stole another glance at her fellow passenger, tried and failed to read his expression. ‘Different approach this time,’ she said.
It gets harder though, presumably. The longer it drags on.
‘No more buggering about.’
… THEN
Caroline is as good as her word and arrives more than an hour before anyone else is due, beaming and laden down with plastic supermarket bags. She hugs Heather warmly and gives her a card.
‘It’s only a silly one,’ she says. ‘You’ve got to have a laugh, haven’t you?’
Heather opens the envelope in the kitchen: a cartoon kangaroo in a party hat saying ‘Hoppy Birthday, mate!’ Heather says, ‘Thanks,’ and lays the card on the worktop. Caroline immediately picks it up and walks across to place it next to the only other card she can see, which is sitting on top of a bookcase. She points at the home-made Happy Birthday banner hung across the window and says, ‘That’s great,’ then she walks back and begins taking food from the bags.
‘Probably brought way too much.’ She produces large packs of sausage rolls, quiches and pork pies. There is an assortment of dips and crackers, spring rolls, mini pizzas and a big box of chocolate biscuits. ‘You can always freeze some of it, eat it whenever you fancy.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Probably las
t you the rest of the week.’
‘You could always take some home.’
Caroline laughs. ‘Last thing I need is all that stuff looking up at me every time I open the fridge,’ she says.
‘Oh, yeah. Sorry.’
Heather fetches plates from the cupboard and watches Caroline set out a selection of the food; arranging the sausage rolls, carefully laying out the crackers in circles, taking the lids off the dips. She hands Heather the items that need heating up. ‘We can put these on when people get here,’ she says. ‘They can help themselves.’
‘I might take them round on plates,’ Heather says.
‘Good idea,’ Caroline says. ‘Like a proper posh do.’
Heather puts what is not yet needed into the fridge and, when Caroline comments on the quantity of drinks in there, asks her if she wants something. Caroline asks for a Diet Coke, and once the drinks are poured into paper cups, the two of them lean back against the worktops and look at one another.
‘So, get anything nice?’ Caroline asks.
‘Sorry?’
‘Presents.’
‘There’s nothing I want,’ Heather says. ‘My dad sent some money.’
‘Nice.’ Caroline glances towards the card sitting next to her own on the bookshelf. She has already seen what is written inside.
Love Dad.
Heather’s father is clearly a man of few words.
Not even a kiss…
‘So, you excited then?’
‘If anyone comes.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Caroline says. ‘Everyone’s well up for it.’ She looks around. It’s not a big flat, just a kitchen and a small living room divided by a row of cupboards, one bedroom and one bathroom off the hall. ‘So, who else is coming then?’
‘It’s just us,’ Heather says. ‘The group.’
Caroline smiles, to show she’s fine with that. ‘I was hoping there might be some fit blokes.’
‘Robin?’
Caroline grins. ‘I was only messing about.’ She wanders across to the door. ‘Chris is good-looking, but I think I’d need to get him really drunk and there’s not much chance of that.’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ Heather says.
Caroline throws her a look, expressionless, then turns away and points up at the frames hanging near the kitchen door. The slogans, drawn and decorated. ‘Do these help, then? Just looking at them, I mean.’
Heather glances at her watch. ‘There’s another one I’m going to do. A journey not a destination.’
Caroline stares at her.
‘Recovery.’
‘Oh, right.’ Caroline cocks her head and claps her hands together. She nods at the frames. ‘Anyway, we can forget about all this for one night, can’t we? We are having a party…’
Heather watches as Caroline drops her empty paper cup into the kitchen bin. She walks across to straighten one of the frames, moves it just a fraction and says, ‘It’s times like this I really need to remember it.’
They all arrive within fifteen minutes of each other, though predictably, Chris is the last one to turn up. There are more cards to put on the bookcase and Robin and Diana have brought presents, each one beautifully wrapped. Heather opens them while they watch: an expensive set of soaps and bathroom smellies from Diana; a red leather iPhone case from Robin.
‘They’re gorgeous,’ Heather says, quietly, looking away as she tears up.
Robin smiles and lays a hand on her arm. Diana smiles too, but it seems like an effort, a bad mood hanging over her like a small, black cloud.
‘Blimey, that’s quite a spread.’ Robin nods towards the plates of food on the worktop. ‘Must have taken you ages.’
Heather looks quickly to Caroline, but the younger woman says nothing. Just winks.
‘Thank God,’ Chris says. ‘I’m bloody starving.’
‘Dig in,’ Caroline says.
As Chris starts loading up his plate, and Robin and Diana move to sit down, Heather gathers up her presents together with all the shiny wrapping paper and walks quickly away into the bathroom, so they won’t see her crying.
‘She’s having a baby,’ Diana says. ‘Can you believe it? That woman is having my ex-husband’s baby.’ She and Robin are sitting close together on the sofa, paper plates of food on their laps. Heather and Chris are talking in the kitchen, while Caroline is smoking in the far corner of the living room, blowing her smoke out of the open window. ‘Phoebe called me, absolutely furious.’
‘Understandable,’ Robin says.
‘Not with her,’ Diana says. ‘Not with the woman he left me for. With me. Yet again, this is somehow all my fault, because I wasn’t a good enough wife to hold on to him.’
‘You shouldn’t let it upset you,’ Robin says.
‘Really?’ She turns to look at him, horrified. ‘That’s all you’ve got to say? That’s being supportive, is it?’
‘You’re being rather unfair.’
‘Am I?’
‘We’re not actually in a session, Diana.’ He gestures towards the Happy Birthday banner. He holds up his untouched plate of food to illustrate his point, but Diana is determined to make one of her own.
‘We’re supposed to be a group though, aren’t we? A family. This is my “here and now”, OK, and some support would be very much appreciated. This bloody nightmare is my “here and now”.’ She glances up and can see that Heather and Chris are looking at her. ‘I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.’
‘As long as you know what not to do,’ Robin says.
‘I really don’t need a lecture.’
‘Times like these are the most dangerous.’
Diana barks a short, bitter laugh and shakes her head. ‘You don’t have to worry. If I’m reaching for a bottle, it’s only so I can go round there and smash that bitch over the head with it.’
She looks up to see Caroline walking across, sighs and sits back. As well as a voluminous polka-dot dress, the newest member of the group is now wearing a pointed party hat and, ominously, two more are dangling from her fingers by thin elastic. She grins at Robin and waves one of the hats, but the look on his face tells Caroline all she needs to know, so she turns and walks away towards the kitchen.
Heather has made a playlist and now her phone is docked with a pair of portable speakers set up on the kitchen worktop. She has put together a collection of music from the year she was born – Depeche Mode, The Police, Billy Joel – as well as all her favourite songs from her time at school and college.
In the middle of the living room, Chris is dancing to ‘Tubthumping’ by Chumbawamba. He is acting out the lyrics as he throws himself around, arms flailing, taking a whisky drink, a vodka drink, a lager drink, a cider drink, and pretending to get increasingly pissed as he does so.
Heather is watching from the kitchen and laughing hard, loving it. She shouts at him over the music. ‘That’s hardly very appropriate, is it?’ He gives her the finger and that makes her laugh even more. She calls him a wanker and, without looking at her, he grins and spins away and ‘drinks’ another drink.
He is reeling about the room by the time the song fades out, pulling faces at Robin who is sitting alone in the corner. The track is replaced by ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ by The Verve and instantly Chris changes tack. He begins to sway and writhe, throwing elegantly dramatic shapes as though completely transported by the music. His movements become steadily more ornate and manic, but as the song reaches a climax, he throws a sly glance towards the kitchen and looks fiercely disappointed to see that Heather is no longer watching.
Instead, she is walking across to join Caroline and Diana, who are talking by the bookcase. They both tell her what a great party it is and the three of them stand and laugh at Chris for a minute or two.
‘You’ve got a lot of books,’ Caroline says.
‘Yeah, I love reading.’ Heather reaches out and touches one of the cracked spines. ‘Get that from my dad.’
‘That’s nice.’ Diana picks o
ut a book and studies the back cover. ‘I was actually in a book club for a while, but it was just a bunch of women in full make-up who talked about whatever novel it was for two minutes, then sat round drinking wine and yakking about house prices. Don’t get me wrong, I was one of them, but I do like to curl up with a good book. Plenty of time to do it now, as well.’
‘I haven’t read a book since school,’ Caroline says.
‘Really?’
‘I like magazines and stuff, but books seem like such hard work.’
Heather shakes her head. ‘Not if you find the right book. You can really get lost in it, you know? Best entertainment there is, if you ask me, and it’s free. Well, good as. Most of this lot were thirty pence each from the charity shop.’
‘Oh.’ Diana looks at her. ‘I work part time in a charity shop and we have a huge books section. If you tell me the sort of thing you like, I can keep an eye out.’
‘Yeah, cheers,’ Heather says.
‘It’s really not a problem.’
Chris moves across to join them, then stands there, hands on hips, nodding his head in time to Ace of Base, until they are all looking at him. He says, ‘Talking about me?’
‘Talking about books,’ Heather says.
‘Bloody hell,’ Chris says. ‘Party’s not got that bad, has it?’
Heather leans towards Caroline. ‘He’s not a big reader. Not unless you count cereal packets.’
‘I prefer films,’ Chris says. ‘It’s a more kinetic medium.’
‘A more what?’ Caroline says.
‘Yes, I like films too.’ Diana is actually tapping her feet to the music now and seems finally to be enjoying herself. She replaces the book she has been looking at. ‘What’s your favourite?’
Chris thinks about it. ‘Well, there’s one called The Sperminator I’m rather fond of. Oh, and Raiders of the Lost Arse is an absolute masterpiece.’
Diana says, ‘You’re disgusting,’ and looks as though she means it, but Caroline and Heather are already giggling and, after a few seconds, Caroline has to spit some of her drink back into her cup.
Nobody is quite sure how long the doorbell has been ringing. When Heather finally hears it, she immediately panics and rushes to turn the music down. She stands frozen in the kitchen and tells everyone to be quiet. Convinced that someone has come to complain about the noise, she sends Robin to the door, deciding that if she is in trouble, he is the person best equipped to get her out of it.
Die of Shame Page 19
