She knew exactly to what he was referring. It was common knowledge that Kath Whalley would soon be out of prison. It was also common knowledge who had put her behind bars. Kath wasn’t exactly known for her forgiveness. Joanna recalled the rough, tough teenager they had put away for violent theft. Unless Kath Whalley had had a personality transplant the vengeance she had sworn would happen sooner or later. It wasn’t guesswork or instinct but something much more certain. Fore knowledge.
She gave a great big sigh and she and Mike carried on their tour, ignoring curious people who were still gathering around the site, which had remained closed to the general public and the children.
The three families at Barngate Street all vehemently denied having seen Jason on the night he had gone missing. It seemed almost pointless speaking to the three clients from Nab Hill Avenue and Joanna was tempted not to bother. But something drove her on and she and Mike turned into it anyway. After the claustrophobia of the other streets, congested with cars, frustrated motorists piling up behind each other, the sound of car horns and driver frustration, in Nab Hill Avenue there was a different atmosphere. It seemed quiet and peaceful, a backwater or a haven depending on your point of view, particularly as a shaft of sunlight turned the wet road into a glistening river of steel. Cars no longer used the street as a rat run, a convenient shortcut to the Newcastle Road, because the road ended in four concrete bollards. It was now a cul-de-sac with fewer cars parked along its sides. There was a feeling of space, a reminder that this was not the centre of a huge city but a small street in a moorlands town. The reminder of surrounding countryside was furthered by the fresh flowers fastened to one of the bollards which bordered the turnaround space at the top. Joanna walked up to them, turned one of the rain-soaked cards over. To Sam, it read. We love you always, Grandma.
‘Do you remember this incident, Mike?’
‘Yeah.’ His voice was gruff. ‘Horrible business. Poor little thing. Six years old. Ran out after a football. I don’t honestly think the driver was speeding. It was just one of those things. He didn’t have a chance.’
‘The driver or the child?’
‘Both. We dropped charges against the driver. There was no evidence against him. The car crushed the little chap. He died at the scene of multiple injuries. I think the whole street was traumatized.’ His gaze skittered along the row of closed doors. ‘They’re a close community here, Jo.’
Again, Joanna had that strange sense that these families were connected by a web as sticky and invisible as the Internet. Something else struck her. Was it possible that Jadon’s disappearance was connected with this street? With the death of this little boy rather than a result of Daylight’s activities?
‘Who was the driver?’
‘Some guy passing through. I think he was from Macclesfield.’
A dead end then?
They stood and looked around them.
Nab Hill Avenue was a small area, only sixteen houses, eight either side ending in the small turning area bordered by the bollards. No chance a car would get through those. There was a walkway through them which, if you turned one way, would lead to Barngate Street. But if you turned the other way it led to the back of Big Mill and from there to Sainsbury’s car park. Jadon had vanished from this street or the one next to it. The question was had he come here at all on that last night?
Joanna looked around her, at the row of doors, all closed. It was quiet here, even for a residential area. Even for a No Through Road. At this time of the afternoon where was everyone? Listening from behind closed doors? She looked through her notes. ‘Three clients,’ she said, reading from the list. ‘Erienna Delaney, Yasmin Candemir and Charlotte Parker. All women, Mike.’
‘I’m not sure why we’re here,’ Korpanski grumbled. ‘As far as we know our perfect husband never even reached here on that Wednesday.’
‘No …?’ Joanna was dubious. ‘Probably not but there’s no harm checking, is there?’ She turned to face him and gave an encouraging grin. ‘We’d better see if we can winkle some secrets out of our coven of witches.’
Korpanski simply blew out his cheeks. It was his night at the gym and he was anxious not to miss it.
‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘where shall we start?’
‘Number six,’ Mike suggested, consulting his notes. ‘Grandma Charlotte.’
They knocked on the door.
It was opened almost immediately by a slim woman, maybe in her early sixties, wearing leggings and a white sweater, a lot of make-up too dark for her complexion and brown and red striped hair. Her arms bore tattoos and she had three piercings in each ear. ‘Yeah?’ Her manner was casual, disinterested, uncurious but not impolite.
Joanna and Mike flashed their ID. ‘We’re looking into the disappearance of Jadon Glover,’ she began. ‘We understand you were a client of his.’
The woman gave a bark. ‘Client,’ she said. ‘Is that what they call it? Like prostitutes or social workers?’
‘Whatever – that’s what we call it,’ Joanna said testily.
‘Right, well, he didn’t turn up last Wednesday so I can’t help you.’ Without waiting for them to respond she carried on. ‘Yes, it’s out of character. Jadon never forgot a debt or wrote it off.’ There was little rancour or bitterness. For the first time since Joanna had interviewed the debtors of Daylight – ‘the light at the end of the tunnel’ – this was the first time Joanna had heard someone accept their conditions so equably. ‘I heard he’d gone missing, Inspector.’ She leaned against the side of the door, half smiling. ‘Don’t think I’ll be wearing a black armband. His place will soon be taken by some other slithering viper.’
Joanna nodded her agreement. ‘I expect one of his colleagues will continue to collect their dues.’
‘Yeah, so whoever’s took him I hope they ask a big fat ransom from his wife and anyone else who’s benefitted from us lots’ misfortune.’
This was interesting. ‘You think he’s been kidnapped?’
Charlotte Parker looked at her as though she was stupid. ‘Well, what else? What would be the point of knocking him off? No one was going to write off our debt whatever happened to dear little Jadon. And he wasn’t important enough to hate. This is just about money, Inspector. Understand? It’s why and how it happened. Whoever said it was the root of all evil spoke the truth.’
Joanna frowned. ‘I think it was the love of money,’ she said dubiously. She peered past her into a dark, narrow hallway, stairs rising. Charlotte Parker was obviously not going to invite them in. She had her hands on her hips, blocking her vision beyond. Joanna caught a waft of paint. Ms Parker had been decorating.
‘Live here alone, do you?’ Korpanski tried the charm.
‘Yeah, except when my grandchildren come.’
Joanna sensed a chink. ‘Were they with you on Wednesday the fifth?’
‘Yeah, up until seven when my daughter, Irina, came for them after she’d finished work.’
‘Right.’
Silence fell. Charlotte Parker was not going to make this easy for them. She chewed her chewing gum and met their eyes.
Joanna wanted to prolong the conversation but she was struggling. ‘Had Jadon Glover ever missed before?’
Charlotte Parker shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Pretty regular, he was.’
‘Time-wise?’
‘Oh, sometimes early-ish, sometimes later. Any time between seven and nine.’ She volunteered the next statement. ‘I think sometimes he did Barngate first then us and sometimes the other way round. Varied it, see.’
‘Did you owe him much?’
Charlotte Parker looked like she was about to say, ‘What’s it to do with you,’ but she stopped herself. ‘Enough,’ she said shortly and then, her eyes looking weary, she explained. ‘My grandson was diagnosed with leukaemia. We thought he wouldn’t live.’ She couldn’t stop her eyes from filling with tears. She looked anguished. ‘We wanted to give him the holiday of a lifetime – take him to Disney in America. T
ake his mind off things. I borrowed the money,’ she said defiantly.
And what do you say to that?
It was Charlotte who regained control. ‘Stirling’s in remission,’ she said. Then, biting her lip, ‘But not me. There’s no remission from Daylight. No let up.’
‘How much did you borrow?’
‘Four and a half thousand.’
It was again said with defiance, challenging anyone to comment. Joanna had no intention of doing so. She didn’t want to alienate this generous grandmother. What good would it do? She couldn’t bear to ask how much had been paid back, try to work out percentages and interest rates and in what year she would finally finish paying for trying to distract her grandson from his illness, give him the holiday of a lifetime before he possibly died. It all seemed cruel. But also extravagant.
Joanna steeled herself. She needed to refocus. Somehow in this morass of human tragedy, silliness or profligacy, a man had disappeared. It didn’t matter what had led to these people’s position with the doorstep money lenders. It made no difference why they had got into debt in the first place or their family circumstances. Her job was not to moralize but to find out what had happened to him. She needed to remind herself if it wasn’t against the law it wasn’t illegal. Her job was to uphold the law. That was what she was paid for. Not to try and change it. Or even judge it.
‘There are three of you in this road who owed money via Jadon,’ she said.
Charlotte met her eyes and barked out a laugh. ‘Yeah, right lot, aren’t we?’
‘Do you know the other two?’
She nodded, then grinned. ‘Yeah, we’re good friends, actually. Got a little club. Share a bottle of wine every now and then. Yasmin. She’s one of the good Muslims. Wears a hijab and all that and always in trousers but you ought to see what she wears underneath. Red-hot lingerie. She’s a hoot. Turkish.’ She chortled. ‘Turkish Delight, we call her. Then there’s Erienna. She’s Irish but don’t hold that against her. She’s good fun too. Yeah,’ she challenged, ‘I know ’em. And we’re all in the same boat.’
‘In what order does Jadon come collecting here?’
She didn’t even think about it. ‘I don’t know. Random, I guess. I’ve never really asked. Funny,’ she said. ‘It’s Daylight what bonds us but we don’t waste time talking about that.’
‘So what do you talk about?’
‘Dunno. Clothes, make-up, celebrity gossip, the soaps. You know.’
Joanna nodded more to do with connecting with the women than in agreement.
‘So he didn’t stick to an exact time?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know.’ It was an uncompromising response.
‘Tell me,’ Joanna said curiously, ‘if you think he’s been kidnapped why no demand?’
Charlotte Parker shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me.’ She paused then laughed. ‘Maybe he’s done a runner. He always had a nice big bag of money with him.’
But Joanna’s mind was tracking down a different path. Had Jadon been attacked just for the nice big bag of money?
Korpanski stepped forward, breaking into her thought. ‘We don’t think he’s done a runner, Mrs Parker. He was only married a couple of years ago and they seem devoted.’
She snorted. ‘Is that so? Glover got married and they’re devoted. Nice.’ Her voice was mocking.
‘Is there something you’re not telling us?’
‘No. But I’ve got experience as far as “devoted” couples go.’ She scratched the air at the word and fixed the DS with a glare. ‘Wives don’t hold you down. If you’re going to scarper you don’t take wives along as well.’
Charlotte seemed like an intelligent woman. Worldly-wise. ‘Why would he go?’
‘If he’d been stashing away bits and pieces, a bit here and a bit there, maybe it was worth his while to break free. If he wasn’t quite as fond of his wife as he had been maybe he wanted to escape without having to pay the price – or explain. Maybe another woman?’
Joanna shook her head slowly. They’d found no evidence that Glover had been unfaithful to his wife. If he had he’d managed to cover his tracks efficiently. But it was certainly an option they needed to consider.
‘Is there anything else you can add?’
Charlotte stuck her head out of the door and looked up and down the street as though wondering who was watching her. Her gaze seemed to stick on the small heap of sodden flowers pinned to the railing.
Still looking at them, she spoke. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said carefully and waited for them to leave, still peering out of the door.
But there was something Joanna needed to know to sharpen her image of events. ‘When Jadon collected the money,’ she asked slowly, ‘did he come inside or wait outside?’
Charlotte shrugged. ‘Depended on the weather,’ she said, stepping back and half closing the door, anxious to end the conversation.
This time they did.
‘So,’ Joanna said as they walked along the pavement, ‘kidnapped with no ransom demand – or done a runner. I wonder? Leaving behind his car, his wife, his identity, his mobile phone, credit cards? It doesn’t seem likely.’
Korpanski kept his eye on her. ‘And the other alternative?’
‘Someone’s taken out their revenge,’ she said. ‘Come on, Mike, it’s a possibility.’
‘So which is it?’
That was exactly the question Leroy, Jeff and Scott were asking themselves. They were fiercely checking the books. Had Jadon been lining his own little nest?
‘If he has been,’ Leroy said, ‘I am going to kill him myself with my own bare hands.’
‘And I’ll help you,’ Jeff said.
‘If you find him,’ Scott said heavily. ‘The police aren’t having much luck so what hope have we got?’
They bent back over the computer screen.
‘Right then – number eight.’
Joanna and Mike stood outside a green painted door and banged. They had to wait a minute for the door to be answered. When it was they saw a young woman with flame-coloured hair and a guarded expression. She looked at them without surprise. ‘I had the feeling you’d be along sooner or later,’ she said, ‘though why you’re even botherin’ to conduct a search for that piece of shit I really don’t know.’
Both Joanna and Mike might privately agree with her but that wasn’t the point.
They asked the same questions, got roughly the same answers. Erienna Delaney didn’t know in what order Jadon did his visits but he hadn’t appeared on the Wednesday in question. It was the first time he’d failed to show. Once he’d been late because he’d had a puncture and another time a black man had arrived, saying that Jadon and his missus were on their honeymoon. Her anger was as hot as the red in her hair and erupted as suddenly and shockingly as a volcano.
She’d borrowed the money because her fucking roof was leaking and she didn’t think it would ever be paid back as somehow the capital seemed to go up rather than down every time she paid a bit off. There were early get-out clauses and hefty fines if they missed a week. ‘Doesn’t matter about holidays and such like.’
Joanna and Mike left, feeling dissatisfied. They’d learned nothing but felt they had been swimming against the current. Both women seemed to have built fortress walls around themselves. They were guarded and careful. The only one left now was Yasmin Candemir who lived at Number 4, Nab Hill Avenue. She responded quickly to their knock, a beautiful young woman wearing the hijab as she came to the door. She had lovely teeth, a flawless olive complexion and huge, alluring dark eyes full of a sad expression. She looked demure but not above giving Korpanski a distinctly curious sideway appraisal.
But however exotic her appearance her accent was local and her answers disappointingly the same as her friends. Had they practised this? Got it word perfect? Jadon Glover simply hadn’t turned up on the Wednesday. ‘No, he didn’t turn up,’ she repeated. At this she disappeared inside the house, reappearing with a couple of twenty pound notes in her hand. ‘I kept
the money for him,’ she said with a flash of her white teeth and slanting dark eyes. ‘It doesn’t do to fall behind, you know. They charge extra.’ Her tone was coy, challenging. She was, Joanna decided, a likeable character. She nodded her understanding of the situation and Yasmin continued.
‘The interest rates are bad enough without adding a single penny to them.’
They didn’t even ask her why she’d needed the money. What did it matter? The reasons were legion. It made no difference. The interest rates and penalties were the same. Karen Stanton seemed to be the only one to have climbed on top of the debt which, in view of her personal problems, paid tribute to her intelligence and strength of character. And only one person, Marty Widnes, had ever been given a temporary reprieve. The rest had been subject to the rigid, punitive rules of Daylight.
They left Nab Hill Avenue and retraced their steps, strolling down Barngate Street. Korpanski swallowed the question: so what did that achieve? It seemed that the people, like the streets, closed ranks against outsiders. In Barngate Street two cars had met head to head and it seemed neither would back up. A few faces peered out of windows. Curtains twitched and they passed a couple of shoppers struggling back from town with heavy bags. Finally one of the cars backed up and flashed the other forward and the daily grind continued. The children were coming out of school, most accompanied by their mothers, fathers, grandparents. Some were dashing along on pavement scooters. The children looked healthy and happy but the guardians were watchful of careless traffic or careless children. It was a life where they needed to be careful. Their space was small. There was little privacy. Easy for neighbours to discover your secrets. A supermarket delivery service held up the traffic as it dropped off the plastic boxes full of groceries. They reached the playground, still taped off. The residents were grumbling now, frustrated at having lost their little play area, but the children were content simply watching the scene unfold. A small rim of them were clustered behind the tape, watching every move of the officers, cheering every time a cigarette butt or a scrap of paper was dropped into an evidence bag.
Joanna spoke to Cornell. ‘Nearly finished?’
Crooked Street Page 18
