Keep Her Close

by M. J. Ford

  She barely touched the food herself, but Lucas seemed not to notice as he chattered away about this and that, spearing vegetables occasionally across the table.

  ‘You want dessert?’ he asked.

  ‘Er … no, thanks.’

  ‘You’ve hardly eaten.’ The heating must have been cranked up to the max in the restaurant, because her face felt flushed, sweat threatening to push through the pores. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Listen, Lucas, sorry about this. I think I need to get back to work.’

  ‘Heidi said it wouldn’t be a problem.’

  Jo smiled. ‘Heidi isn’t my boss.’

  Lucas looked confused. ‘But you said Stratton wanted you out of there.’

  ‘It’s not that. There’s this case. I feel guilty just sitting here.’

  ‘It’s your birthday, Jo. You spend every hour working as it is.’ He tried to touch her hand, but she pulled away instinctively. ‘Hey. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing’s up. I told you, I’ve got to work.’

  He stared at her, mystified. ‘Have I done something?’

  I don’t know. Have you?

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jo. ‘I’ve just got to go.’

  She began to put on her coat. A couple over at the next table were watching them surreptitiously.

  ‘Jo. Please.’ Lucas had lowered his voice. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘Thanks for lunch,’ she said. ‘See you at yours later.’

  The cold air outside was a blessing on her face. She could feel Lucas’s eyes still on her as she walked up the street. She told herself the restaurant wasn’t the time or place to have a confrontation, but she knew that wasn’t really what had stopped her.

  It was fear of watching him lie again.

  At the station, she got into her car. There might not be any new evidence in or around the Little Baldon bridge, but she was convinced there were answers there nonetheless. Something she, Pryce, and the uniforms had missed.

  She got stuck at the first set of lights, then another. It felt like the city was trying to hold her in. Lucas called and she ignored it. She was pulling away again, when the radio crackled with a message from the dispatcher.

  ‘All units. Call to attend. We have a disturbance reported on Burns Close, number 2. I repeat …’

  2 Burns Close.

  Susan Palmer’s address.

  Jo pressed transmit, to say she was attending, and another patrol car did the same, estimated seven minutes out. Jo switched on her lights, checked her mirrors, and swung her Peugeot in a U-turn.

  Chapter 13

  She arrived before the marked car, and found a number of kids standing out the back of the house. The lights were on in the surrounding houses, and there was a silver Jeep with a trailer bed parked at an angle outside. She made a mental note of the plate as she blocked it in with her own car.

  Jo took her baton from under the seat and went to the front door. She used the butt end to knock. ‘Susan? Are you okay?’

  There was no answer. Jo went to the front window, but the curtains were drawn apart from a crack. She saw a flash of movement. Someone was lying on the floor, beside the sofa. Bare feet protruded.

  The front door burst open to reveal a stocky man in a padded jacket and shorts. He clocked her.

  ‘Police! Stop!’ she said.

  He ran towards his car, saw it was trapped and doubled back. Jo put herself in his way, but he dropped his shoulder and knocked her aside with ease. She landed on the scrubby grass in time to see him plunging back into the house. Flashing blues told her the uniforms had arrived. She picked herself up as the familiar shapes of Andrea Williams and Olly Pinker came up the path.

  ‘You all right, ma’am?’ said the former.

  ‘He’s inside. Go!’ she replied, then followed them in.

  Susan Palmer was curled up on the floor against the edge of the sofa, clutching a bloody cloth to her face. ‘He went out the back,’ she said.

  ‘Stay with her, Olly,’ she said to Pinker.

  Jo and Andrea went through the back door and into a tiny garden. The gate hung open, and they came out into the alley running behind the houses and past a row of garages. The suspect had already slowed to an awkward waddle, breathing hard. Andrea sprinted after him, grabbing him by the shoulder, and tripped him. He sprawled on the tarmac, but she went down too. There followed an untidy struggle as Andrea grabbed a wrist, and tried to twist it behind the man’s back, but he pulled free and got hold of her dreadlocks, before rolling into a mount position of top of her. He lifted a fist to punch.

  Jo swung the baton at the same time as Andrea bucked her hips, and the stick connected with the man’s forearm. He roared in pain and fell sideways, clutching his wrist. ‘Fucking bitch!’ he said. Williams recovered, grabbed the man’s other arm, and yanked it around. The suspect toppled on to his face with a thump. Between them, they managed to fasten on a pair of cuffs. ‘You broke my fucking arm!’ he wailed.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Jo, fastening the second cuff. ‘You okay, constable?’ she asked Andrea.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The suspect did a double-take at the height of Williams. ‘What the fuck are you?’

  ‘Shut it, tiny,’ said Andrea, pulling him to his feet.

  ‘Watch him,’ said Jo. Breathing hard herself, she returned to the house, phoning an ambulance as she went. One was already being dispatched, she was told. Back in the house, she found Pinker looking after Susan Palmer, who was now seated on the sofa.

  ‘Are you all right, Susan?’

  Palmer nodded. There was still blood all down her chin, and her lip was swelling up.

  ‘Who is that?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know his name,’ said Susan.

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘I don’t need you here. I’m fine.’

  Jo had seen it before. The clamming up. The fear.

  ‘Susan, we think that man threatened your daughter. He might have been involved in her death. You need to tell us what you know.’

  Natalie’s mother leant down and picked something off the carpet. It was, Jo saw, a tooth. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t know anything.’

  * * *

  Back at the station, after a doctor had checked him out, they catalogued the man’s possessions. The driver’s licence and cards in his wallet read Alex Maynard. He had close to a grand in cash. The Jeep, currently seized, contained several small bottles of pills in the glove box, packs of sterile syringes, vials of something called Clenbuterol, which she learned was the proprietary name a popular steroid, a bag of gym kit, and a crate of high-energy sports drinks. Also, and incongruously, a child’s car seat. In addition to the smartphone he had in his pocket, there were two others in the car – cheaper pay-as-you-go models. His wrist, luckily, wasn’t broken, but had swollen significantly. He held an ice-pack over it.

  ‘So, Alex. Can I call you that?’

  ‘Call me what you want,’ he said, slouched in the interview room after they’d taken his prints. Without the jacket, his physique was on full display. His whole body looked like a collection of inflated segments, the veins across his arms like worms as they rested on the table in front of him, his pectorals jutting out under a tight white V-neck T-shirt that read ‘MaxGains’. One foot bounced hyperactively on the floor, flexing a bifurcated, diamond-shaped calf muscle. Jo read the tattoos across his knuckles. One side said ‘Love’ and the other ‘Lift’. His face was fleshy, with acne spreading under his neck and across his jawline, although the depth of his tan almost concealed it.

  ‘What were you doing at Susan Palmer’s house?’

  He shrugged. ‘Having a chat.’

  Jo smiled at him. ‘You can do better than that. You broke her nose, knocked out her tooth.’

  ‘Did she tell you that?’ he asked.

  ‘She didn’t have to.’

  Alex folded his arms, with difficulty, and looked up at the ceiling impatiently. ‘This is bullshit,’ he sa
id.

  ‘Susan said you were there to collect money.’ It was Andrea who’d taken her to the hospital, and got her to open up a bit. But so far she was resisting giving any sort of official statement.

  ‘Is that a crime?’ he asked.

  ‘It is if you use force,’ said Jo.

  He looked right at her. His eyes were slightly bloodshot. ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘She fell over.’

  ‘Have you got a good explanation for the cash we found in your car?’

  ‘I don’t trust banks.’

  Jack Pryce came into the room, carrying a few pieces of paper.

  ‘Hello Mr Maynard,’ he said.

  ‘When am I going home?’ he asked.

  Pryce smiled. ‘I think we’ll be here a while yet, sir. Can you tell us when you last saw Natalie Palmer?’

  ‘I had nothing to do with that,’ he said.

  ‘With what?’

  ‘Her mum said she was dead. Good riddance. She was a junkie.’

  ‘A junkie who owed you money?’

  Maynard wagged a thick, calloused finger. ‘I’m just a collector,’ he said.

  ‘So what was the money owed for?’

  ‘Ain’t my business.’

  ‘Was it for drugs?’

  ‘Like I said, not my business.’

  ‘So whose business is it?’ said Jo. ‘Who’s your employer?’

  Maynard didn’t answer.

  ‘So you’re a collector? That’s your profession?’

  ‘I do security too. Y’know? Door work.’

  ‘How do you know Natalie was a junkie then?’ asked Pryce.

  Maynard shrugged.

  ‘Ever drive out to Little Baldon?’ asked Jo.

  ‘Where’s that then?’

  ‘You know where it is.’

  Maynard’s foot stopped tapping. He spread his hands. ‘Help me out.’

  ‘Okay, where were you last Tuesday, after four pm?’

  ‘Tuesday … Tuesday … I’d have been at the gym.’

  ‘Which gym?’

  ‘Shredded – it’s out in Cowley.’

  ‘Until when?’

  ‘I dunno. Eight or nine. Before work.’

  ‘You spend four or five hours in the gym?’

  ‘This sort of body doesn’t come easy.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Jo. ‘We saw the stuff in your car.’

  ‘All legal,’ said Maynard. ‘Personal use.’

  ‘And can anyone vouch for your presence there, at Shredded?’

  Maynard scratched his eyebrow, where the scar of a ring piercing remained. ‘Sure. Loads of guys. There’s a camera too.’

  Jo studied his body. It could be true, but checking out the alibi would take time, and make them look weak. She needed to find a way past his defences. This wasn’t his first time in a police interview room, as the record attested. GBH, possession with intent, drunk and disorderly. He’d served six months for a fight in which another man had lost the sight in one eye. The fact that he hadn’t requested any sort of brief suggested he was either stupid or supremely confident.

  ‘Do you have a temper, Alex?’

  ‘Depends what someone does to piss me off. Most people don’t try.’

  ‘Steroids can’t help,’ she said. ‘All those chemicals mess with your head.’

  ‘Not if you’re a responsible user.’

  ‘Ladies like it, do they? The big look?’

  Maynard leered. Under his top, he tensed his pecs. ‘Some, yeah.’

  Pryce grimaced, but Jo kept a straight face. ‘Don’t all those steroids … y’know, make things shrivel up?’ She nodded towards his crotch. ‘Downstairs.’

  He leant forward, meaty hands entwined. ‘Why don’t you strip search me and find out, darlin’?’

  She heard a knock and saw Olly Pinker at the door. ‘One moment, please.’

  ‘That’s right, run along,’ said Maynard smugly.

  Outside, Olly shook his head. ‘Susan’s still not talking,’ he said. ‘She says it was a misunderstanding, and she ran into a door.’

  ‘Course she is,’ said Jo.

  ‘You want me to get a statement from the neighbour who called us – anything incriminating?’ asked Olly.

  ‘I can’t see the point. Can you head out to the Shredded gym in Cowley? See if you can get the CCTV for last Tuesday afternoon. We need to check if this lump was there at the time the van was stopped on the Little Baldon bridge.’

  ‘On it, ma’am,’ said Olly.

  Jo drew a deep breath. They could keep Maynard in, but if Susan didn’t want to help, it would be a pointless exercise. She couldn’t see how he fit the hit and run – his Jeep could never be mistaken for a white transit, and they’d already run his plates through the ANPR with no hits near the A4074. This whole thing could easily be a side-show. Still, she wasn’t ready to let Maynard off the hook just yet. He might easily have access to a white van, or have accomplices who did.

  Back inside, she restarted the interview.

  ‘She’s not talking, is she?’ Maynard asked with a smirk.

  He knew the game, all right. He didn’t care what the tape recorded, because without Susan’s testimony it would never make it to court.

  ‘Let’s go back to whom you work for?’

  ‘I told you, it’s—’

  ‘… none of my fucking business, I know. However, given you assaulted both me, and one of my colleagues, I’d advise you to play nicely.’ She turned over one of the sheets of paper. ‘You’ve something of a history of violent behaviour, it seems.’

  ‘I used to have a temper,’ said Maynard, muscles twitching involuntarily. ‘Time served.’

  ‘Well, yes,’ Jo replied, ‘but you’re still out on licence. This could put you back inside.’

  ‘Doubtful,’ said Maynard. ‘I was scared. You came at me with a club.’

  ‘A standard issue baton. I identified myself as a police officer.’

  ‘I didn’t hear that.’ He tapped his ear. ‘Years working on sites with no protectors.’

  ‘My colleague, who you tried to punch, is wearing a uniform.’

  ‘Didn’t see. She came at me from behind. What is she anyway, a tranny?’

  Jo got the impression he was enjoying their little duel. Time to pull out the trump card. ‘It’s not really you I’m worried about,’ said Jo. ‘You look like you could handle yourself in prison.’ She turned over the pages in front of her until she reached the papers regarding Alex Maynard’s complicated visitation arrangements. She ran her finger down the page. ‘It’s your daughter who concerns me.’

  The chair creaked under his bulk as he sat forward, and his eyes glinting.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nia’s a pretty name,’ she said. ‘My little girl is three, too. They’re a handful, right?’

  Beside her, Pryce shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She resisted looking across.

  Maynard just watched her.

  ‘Looks like your rights are limited as it is. One day a fortnight. I suppose it’s supervised, given your past?’

  He didn’t answer, but he looked like he wanted to rip Jo’s head off. He probably could too.

  ‘Even if a court won’t convict on the assault, there’s enough here to give children’s services some concern.’ She glanced at Pryce. ‘What do you think, Jack?’

  Pryce looked distinctly ill at ease. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘That’s bollocks,’ said Maynard.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t,’ said Jo. ‘Especially these days. Can’t be too careful, right? They’d have to postpone contact while they got the facts straight. That would mean another hearing. The evidential bar is much lower with council busybodies. I could see it being at least a year until you get to see Nia again.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ he said, spitting the words.

  Jo put on her most sympathetic look. ‘I’m trying to help you get out of a hole,’ she said. ‘If this was just extortion with menaces, I’ll be straight, there’s a ch
ance you’d get off. But sadly Natalie Palmer is dead, and you were seen threatening her recently.’

  ‘Really?’ said Maynard. ‘Says who?’

  ‘It’s on camera,’ said Pryce. ‘Right outside the front of Jesus College.’

  Jo didn’t bat an eyelid, but she was annoyed. There was no footage, and if Maynard called their bluff, he’d know they were grasping at straws.

  ‘My gaffer’s got me working the case and he wants results,’ she said. ‘This isn’t going to go away because Susan Palmer won’t accuse you.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Pryce. ‘We’ve got a witness too – said you were rough with Natalie.’

  Just shut up now, thought Jo. You’re trying too hard.

  Maynard was wavering, though – she could see it in the way his fists were curled, like he was trying to hold something in.

  ‘All right, Alex,’ she said, standing up. ‘I can see you’re determined, and that’s fine. But I’m not going to sit here and watch you flex. We’re going to hold you overnight while we get statements from all the associated parties. Children’s services will be contacted in the morning, and we’ll provide a narrative report of what happened tonight. You seem like a clever bloke, so—’

  ‘All right, wait,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Sorry, time’s up,’ said Jo. She looked at her watch. ‘I can still get home to read a bedtime story.’

  ‘I didn’t have nothing to do with that woman’s death. The mum wouldn’t pay, so I went to chat to the daughter. Just to see if we could work something out.’

  ‘Between the two of us, I believe you,’ said Jo. ‘But you can see it doesn’t look great. How much did she owe?’

  ‘Two hundred,’ said Maynard.

  ‘And who does she owe?’ asked Jo.

  Maynard laid his hands flat on the table, looking at them. ‘If I tell you, they’ll know it was me.’

  ‘We’ll do our best with that,’ said Jo. She sat again.

  ‘I didn’t know what the debt was for.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Sully brothers,’ said Maynard. ‘Arab blokes. Cad and Mo. Cad’s the manager at a place called Lounge Bar on Cowley Road. I work the door there.’

  Jo had driven past the place a few times. It had a bit of a bad reputation, changing hands about four months earlier. The name of the manager meant nothing to her.