Crooked Street

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘That’s all right,’ Joanna said. ‘I understand.’

  But she hadn’t finished. Petula moved closer, still seeking more reassurance. ‘Are you a mum?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ As always Joanna’s hackles rose at the question.

  ‘I don’t suppose I can request …?’

  ‘I’m the senior investigating officer in this case,’ Joanna said crisply. ‘I think you can trust me to treat your sons with consideration.’

  Inside, she was fuming. Why did mothers believe that they had the sole rights to relate to children? What special powers did they think arrived in the lap of motherhood?

  ‘OK,’ Petula said with dragging reluctance. ‘They’re in here.’

  Joanna walked into the small sitting room. Two small boys were sitting on the sofa. A woman in her late forties looked up. Warily.

  ‘P-o-l-i-c-e,’ Petula mouthed to her and the woman nodded an, I thought so.

  Petula ushered Joanna to a spare chair and asked if she wanted a cup of tea. ‘Please,’ she said, thinking, let’s make this as normal as possible.

  She grinned at the two boys who were watching her nervously. ‘Hi, boys,’ she said cheerfully.

  Neither of them smiled but took their cue from their mother while the older woman – grandmother? – went to make the tea.

  ‘Were you on the swings tonight?’ She asked the question casually.

  The older one gave a slow, considered shake of his head. ‘We was just playing football,’ he said defensively.

  Damn. She should have recognized the red and white shirts of Stoke City. She recovered her lines. ‘On your own?’

  The older boy nodded and his younger brother mimicked with a serious dip of his head too.

  Joanna tried to get the right balance of interest without obvious nosiness. ‘Often play there, do you?’

  Again, two solemn shakes of the head with a couple of swift glances at mum, checking. They knew they shouldn’t have been there. Not that late.

  ‘But tonight you came running back for your mum.’

  The older one put a warning arm on his brother’s shoulder.

  ‘So what’s your name then?’

  ‘Iain – spelt funny.’

  ‘Makes it a bit different from the usual, I suppose.’

  The attempt at chumminess drew no response. Iain simply shrugged. ‘And your brother’s name?’

  The younger one took charge of this. ‘I’m Bob,’ he blurted out.

  ‘OK, thank you, Bob.’

  Bob gave a beatific smile and settled back into the sofa.

  Grandma returned with a cup of tea and sat between the boys. Bone china, Joanna noted approvingly. Nice. She took a sip. ‘So, boys,’ she said, focusing on the tea. ‘Tell me what happened tonight.’

  ‘We didn’t really see anything.’ Iain had a sudden interest in his nose, rubbing it and surreptitiously sliding a finger inside. His mother frowned and he dropped his hand into his lap. Joanna did not want to think what might be on the end of it.

  ‘No.’ His brother, undistracted, echoed. ‘We didn’t really see anything.’

  ‘But a man was on the floor.’ Joanna eyed them as she took another sip of tea. ‘Was anyone else there?’

  ‘Someone,’ Iain said importantly.

  ‘Anyone you know?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Iain was dragging this one out to the admiration of his little brother. She turned to him now. ‘Did you know who it was?’

  Bob sadly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I didn’t because she was wearing …’ Hand to mouth to smother a giggle, as though it was a forbidden word, ‘… a hoodie.’

  A woman and a hoodie. It was a start. After the complete void of Jadon Glover’s disappearance it was at least something tangible. She made it into a game. I-Spy. Twenty questions. ‘Was it … someone who lives in this street?’

  Iain put a considering finger to his chin. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, deliberating over the words.

  His mother, Joanna noted with approval, was saying nothing. Not encouraging or discouraging, not threatening, making promises or asking her own questions. Simply leaving the boys to respond to the police on their own.

  Joanna narrowed her eyes and pretended to guess. ‘Was it a red hoodie?’ She tried to look pleased with herself.

  The boys looked at each other, frowning now.

  It was Bob who answered, speaking very slowly. ‘I think it was blue.’

  More guesswork to narrow the field. ‘Dark blue? Like the night sky? Light blue like the sea on a sunny day or royal blue like on the Union Jack?’

  But it had gone far enough. Grandma’s arms tightened around the pair of them. ‘I’ll stay tonight, pet,’ she said, ignoring Joanna. The boys’ mother flashed her gratitude. The interview was over.

  Joanna stood up and Petula followed her out to the hall. ‘You have a fine pair of boys there, Mrs Morgan.’ She was surprised to pick up on a note not only of truth but of envy in her voice.

  Petula looked both delighted and proud as she nodded. ‘Thank you, Inspector. All my own work,’ she said. ‘Father didn’t want to know. We struggled when Iain was born, but when Bob came along eighteen months later it was curtains. Luckily I’ve got Mum.’

  It flashed through Joanna’s mind again how lucky she was. Matthew would never abandon either a son or a daughter – let alone two children.

  Another phrase resonated. Luckily I’ve got mum. Eve had had her mum. Joanna’s mother was hardly grandmother material although she wasn’t bad with her sister’s two, Daniel and Lara, who were growing up so fast. But Joanna knew her mother would never treat a child ill. Unlike Eve Glover’s mother.

  She gave Petula a card. ‘If they say anything more that might help us find the killer, please get in touch.’ She was surprised at how calmly the woman was taking this. Her boys had witnessed a violent murder. Had this been a movie the boys would have been under police guard in case they did remember anything and the killer came back for them. After all, it looked as though this was the work of someone who had already killed twice, because Jadon had to be dead too. They simply hadn’t found his body yet. Jeff Armitage’s murder was not the first but the second and it wouldn’t take the residents long to reach the same conclusion. From there it was only a small step to the residents of these streets getting twitchy and asking for extra police patrols. She half expected Petula or Grandma to also ask whether it was safe for the children to play in the recreation area. The answer was surely no. Even after the restrictions had been lifted would it ever be safe again? Only if there was an arrest. But neither of these questions was asked, which she found surprising. The two women’s focus was completely on the two boys, apart from a brief, conspiratorial glance at each other.

  Joanna stood up. For now she had to face her own problems. Rush would soon be breathing down her neck and he would want results. It looked as though the murder of Jeff Armitage was the second in a connected crime – and they’d not even managed to solve the first one.

  They’d not even found his body.

  NINETEEN

  The routine was so automatic Joanna hardly had to think about it. They would work through the night, isolate and guard the site, pick up any evidence that might be significant. Check the CCTV. The coroner was informed and Jeff Armitage’s body was removed to the morgue. Matthew would perform the post-mortem in the morning.

  In the meantime, they started digging into Jeff Armitage’s life.

  He turned out to live in a semi at the other end of town with a guy called Arnie. Whether his name was Arnold or this was a pseudo name connected with his famous namesake Joanna didn’t know but she dispatched one of the PCs to interview him while she started collating the evidence. The area would now be under even closer surveillance. Unfortunately the children’s swings and the slide were not covered by CCTV, only the approach to the area. They would be able to see people coming and going but not the actual assault. Had it been better placed maybe, just maybe, they might have go
t some useful information. As it was they had nothing to go on.

  9.30 p.m.

  Joanna returned to the station, thinking. They needed to shift this investigation, change gear. Find Jadon’s body or Jadon himself. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he was still alive, a ghost haunting Leek town who had taken his revenge out on his colleague. It was a possibility they couldn’t discount – not just yet. The boys had said they had thought it was a woman but Glover was not a big guy. Slightly built, in a hoodie, it was possible the boys had been mistaken.

  But the crimes couldn’t have been more different. If one killer was responsible for two deaths he or she had certainly changed gear. Armitage’s body had been left in full view. No attempt had been made to hide it or conceal the crime. It was the opposite of the mystery that surrounded Jadon Glover’s fate. Was it even possible the crimes were not linked?

  No. Too much of a coincidence.

  Too many questions, not enough answers. In fact, Joanna grimaced, they had no answers.

  Nothing except an angry motive.

  The question burned into her mind: why hide Glover’s body so successfully but make no effort to conceal Jeff Armitage’s murder? Where was he?

  She allowed her mind to wander here and there. Thinking time was important. She tried to imagine Jadon’s fate. Bodies buried showed up as fresh earth even out on the moors. Bodies left out even at this time of year tended to decay, attract flies and, without putting too fine a point on it, stink, so where was he?

  She finally made it home at 1 a.m. Matthew was fast asleep and she made a real effort not to disturb him. She almost succeeded until she lowered herself into the bed and pulled the duvet around her. He murmured, threw his arm out and turned towards her then sank back into sleep.

  She was having a nightmare. One she had had before. It always began in the same way with the smell of paint. It made her nauseous because she knew what came next. The car. The windscreen wipers whispered before they turned into fingers grappling through the windscreen, trying to reach her. She drove on. A great black skinny bird flew over cawing and croaking in desperation. She was pulling something heavy, tugging it towards … The door was difficult to move, rattling and clanging into the night, but she managed it and, pulling him inside, pushed him down the hole. But the nightmare was not over. As she retreated and tried to close the door behind her she could not resist one last look. And that was when she saw it. His hand moved.

  That was when she woke screaming and knew.

  She never would be free. She could remember him saying it to her and disagreeing but in the end he was right. ‘You will never be free.’

  Thursday, 17 April, 7 a.m.

  He woke her gently, still damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. He handed her a cup of coffee and she sat up, thoroughly awake now. ‘You’re early.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, sitting on the side of the bed. ‘I, umm … I have to go to court this morning but I can do the post-mortem on your man this afternoon. Is that any good?’

  She sat up. ‘Yeah. Great. Thanks.’

  He delved into the wardrobe and took out his suit while she watched him. There’s something sexy about watching a man dress for the formal background of court. Particularly Matthew, who usually went to work in chinos, cords or jeans with a sweater or jacket.

  He was, at best, a casual dresser.

  But not today. He looked like a solicitor in a grey pinstriped suit, pale blue shirt, maroon tie. She beamed up at him. Wise choice, Piercy.

  ‘What’s the case?’

  ‘It’s the little boy,’ he said. ‘Eve’s son. The one whose grandmother “looked after” him while she was busy being the perfect wife to the perfect husband.’ He bent and kissed her and she breathed in the sharp scent of aftershave. ‘There’s not much doubt about the verdict. Whether Eve Glover will come in for criticism I don’t know.’

  ‘And does it have any bearing on my case?’ She sat up, hugged her knees. ‘I suppose it would give Eve a reason to attack her mother – if she’d cared about the child.’

  ‘It might also give her a reason to go for her husband.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought of that.’

  She finished her coffee and touched his arm. ‘Poor kid. He didn’t have much of a chance, did he?’

  ‘No. I hate these cases, Jo.’ His eyes looked troubled. Stormy green. She put a hand on his arm. ‘I know, I know. But just think of all the children who are loved and wanted and precious. Focus on those, Matt.’

  He smiled, gave her a peck on the cheek and stood in front of the mirror to brush his hair. Matthew always finished with a comb-through with his fingers which gave him the tousled look that suited him so well. Joanna smiled to herself then climbed out of bed too. ‘Will you ring me when you know what time the post-mortem on Jeff Armitage will be?’

  ‘Yep.’ He was downstairs, already eating his breakfast. Time for her to get in the shower, get dressed and face the day. And she had the feeling it would be both long and difficult.

  8.15 a.m.

  Rush was waiting for her, almost ambushing her as she walked into the station. He didn’t say anything but motioned, with his head, towards his office.

  Once inside he wasted no time getting to the heart of the matter. ‘I take it you’re of the opinion that these two cases are related?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I can’t think they’re random. Too much of a coincidence.’

  ‘So just fill me in, will you?’ There was just the faintest hint of sarcasm in the question.

  ‘The body of Jeff Armitage was found by two young boys yesterday evening. They were witnesses to the crime.’

  He held up an index finger to halt her – right there. ‘Have they been able to give you any details?’

  ‘They’re five and six-and-a-half years old, sir. They have said that the perpetrator was a woman wearing a blue hoodie and tracksuit.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, his mouth thin with disapproval. ‘CCTV?’

  ‘A bit vague, sir.’

  ‘And the other one?’

  ‘Jadon Glover, sir. He hasn’t turned up. We haven’t found a body and have no further evidence. He seems to have just dropped off the radar. We’ve done some pretty thorough searches in the surrounding area but haven’t come up with anything.’

  Rush was silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘His car?’

  ‘Still impounded, sir. But we found nothing.’

  ‘And his wife …?’

  He must have sensed her hesitation because he stared at her. ‘His wife?’ he repeated.

  ‘There is an issue with his wife, sir.’

  His eyebrows lifted to prompt her. ‘Well, go on, Piercy, or am I to be kept in suspense?’

  ‘She had a little boy, sir. When she married Jadon Glover he did not want the little boy around so he was parked with Grandma.’

  ‘On a permanent basis?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ For some God-knew-what reason she found herself defending Eve. ‘I think she visited him when Jadon was at work.’

  ‘And?’ He was a man of few words.

  ‘The grandmother was … unsuitable, sir.’ She paused. ‘The child was neglected and worse. He died. Matthew, my husband, did the post-mortem. The child was treated cruelly. The grandmother is in court today.’

  Rush’s eyes burned into her face. ‘That gives the child’s mother,’ he said very slowly and deliberately, ‘prime motive. Surely?’

  How could she get this one across?

  ‘I would have thought that, sir, except that she didn’t seem to have really bonded with the child. She didn’t seem to care, sir.’

  Even Rush was silent at that. He dismissed her with a tight-lipped, ‘Thank you.’ She was almost at the door when he fired his Parthian shot. ‘Try and get a result this time.’

  She would have loved to have banged the door behind her.

  You think I’m not doing my level best?

  Korpanski was already in, working on the comp
uter. He swivelled around as she entered, her face reflecting her dark mood. ‘Ooops,’ he said.

  She took her ill humour out on him, saying sourly, ‘Thanks for the helpful comment, Mike.’

  He simply grinned at her, unruffled.

  She sat down. ‘We have a problem.’

  ‘Yep. So what have we got?’

  ‘A second money lender killed. And it looks very much as though Jadon met the same end.’

  ‘Except …’ Korpanski frowned, adding unnecessarily, ‘… we don’t have a body.’

  ‘I’ve called a briefing for nine. Matthew will do the post-mortem on Armitage this afternoon. He’s in court this morning. It’s Eve’s son’s case. Granny’s in court. We’ve got to go back to house to house, Mike. I’m convinced the killer is one of our debtors and I’m also convinced that they killed Jadon as well. Our killer is from one of those streets. Most likely either Britannia Avenue or Barngate Street but possibly one of the others. Someone from Mill Street or Wellington Place could have followed him or one of the three people from Nab Hill Avenue walked down to meet him. It’s even possible he varied his order that night as he sometimes did, visiting Nab Hill Avenue first. Our crime scene, Mike, is somewhere in that vicinity. Considering the foul weather the night Jadon was killed he probably stepped inside the house. And if the killer used a knife there will be blood.’

  ‘Can’t argue with that,’ he agreed.

  At the same time that Joanna was briefing her force Matthew was in court, giving evidence.

  ‘I performed the post-mortem on Rice Sutherland on the morning of March the fifth at the mortuary. I also performed X-rays. There were forty-four separate injuries in total …’ He listed them and responded to a question: ‘No, it’s not possible that these injuries were accidental.’ He anticipated the next question by adding, ‘And Rice did not have an underlying condition that would have made him susceptible to fractures. The injuries had been sustained over a long period of time, probably since Rice was a few months old.’