by Jeff Gulvin
Jimmy had found out that the Jamaican connection was a nightclub owned by Stepper-Nap’s brother. The Jamaican authorities knew about the club, but they could not get a handle on the coke being imported from Miami, or if they could they were being bought off somewhere. The end result was patsies swallowing coke and bringing it in to Heathrow or Gatwick. That meant that somewhere a doctor was tame enough to aid in getting it out of them.
Ryan parked his car in Grove Lane and got out. Paul Fuller, and two other Murder Squad detectives were with him. The tape had gone from the street and a uniform stood outside the front door of the Turner house. Ryan lit a cigarette and shifted his shoulders. He yawned. Might as well not have gone to bed for all the sleep he had had. He blew smoke into the wind that had lifted with the morning and now rushed through the leaves of the trees in the church yard. The SOCO team were working in the house. Ryan was here to meet the husband when he got home. He looked at the DCs as they moved onto the pavement.
‘House to house, boys. You know the drill.’ He grinned then. ‘I’ll be in number twenty if you want me.’
He left them then and went up to the front door of the Roberts’ house. Mrs Roberts let him in, seated him down in the lounge and made coffee. He heard the toilet flushing upstairs and then her husband came down. He nodded to Ryan and sat down.
‘Bad business this, Sergeant. Very bad.’
‘You’re right.’ Ryan sat forward. ‘Alec Turner’s due back any time,’ he said. ‘Going to be something of a shock.’
‘You can say that again.’
‘He might need a bit of support, I mean our Lab team is swarming all over his house right now.’
‘He can come here.’
‘Good.’ Ryan smiled at him. ‘Good friends are you?’
‘We’re neighbours. Watch out for one another’s houses, that sort of thing.’
‘You know much about them—the Turners?’
Roberts half-moved his shoulders. ‘Not much. They’ve lived next door about five years.’
‘They got a family?’
‘Not children. No.’
‘Just the two of them then.’
‘They’re career people, Sergeant.’
‘What do they do?’
‘Don’t know. He’s in engineering I think. I don’t know about Jessica.’
Ryan stood up. ‘Nothing was stolen.’ He nodded over his shoulder. ‘Next door. Her handbag was untouched.’
‘Not robbery then. Your motive.’
‘No.’
‘What then?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
Roberts stood up. ‘It was all very quick, Sergeant. Three shots. That meant he meant to kill her. Head and neck wasn’t it?’
Ryan nodded.
‘Mark of a professional that. They must have gone out the back way. Car parked somewhere.’
‘Did you hear a car?’
‘I might’ve done. Can’t really say.’ I was concentrating on her front door.’
Ryan looked out of the window. ‘The other houses,’ he said. ‘Somebody might’ve heard something.’
He left the old man then and went next door. The SOCO team were busy. He found Weir talking to Chris Daly, the man who’d found the false fingernail the night before. He looked up as Ryan came into the kitchen. Ryan could see Superintendent Morrison at the back gate.
‘Any word on when the husband gets home, Slips?’ Weir asked him.
Ryan shook his head. ‘The Roberts don’t know. Old man’s a sharp old buzzard though, Guv’nor. Already telling me this was a professional hit.’
‘Oh yeah? Tell us why can he?’
Ryan made a face. He looked at Daly. ‘What you got for us, Chris?’
‘I was just telling the Guv’nor, Slips. The fingernail, false, glue on the back of it. Some kind of make-up fixative I reckon. We’ve got some pink wool from the catch on the back gate.’
‘No prints on the door handle?’
Daly turned his mouth down at the corners. ‘Not very clear ones. I might get something. We’ve found two black hairs on the front door. Maybe somebody leaned against it. They’re very long hairs. Human I reckon, but we’ll have to wait till Lambeth check them out.’
Weir jiggled a transparent plastic bag he was holding. ‘Three shell casings. No doubt the pathologist will dig out the slugs.’
Ryan took the bag from him and looked at them. ‘9mm?’
‘Look a bit small. 7.62 maybe.’
Ryan glanced at Daly who nodded. ‘We’ll need to check them out.’ He handed the bag to him and followed Weir along the hallway. ‘Long hair and a false fingernail, Guv’nor.’
‘They could’ve been here already’
‘Pink wool?’
Weir shrugged.
Ryan heard the chug chug of a diesel engine and looking up the path he saw a black cab draw up. ‘Here we go, Guv’nor. Hubby’s home.’
A tall man with short-cropped brown hair and large shoulders paid the cabbie and turned to the gate. Ryan stood there with Weir. For a moment the man looked at them, then beyond them to the uniform standing at his open front door.
‘What the …’
‘Alec Turner?’ Weir said to him.
Turner looked at him and nodded.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Weir, Mr Turner. I need to have a word.’
The three of them sat in the Roberts’ lounge. Weir and Ryan side by side on the settee, Turner sitting hunched forward in the armchair, his hands clasped together between his knees. He stared into space, eyes widening and narrowing, a furrow cleft across the flat of his brow. His unopened bag lay at his feet. After a moment he spoke, moistening his lips and clearing the croak that opened his throat.
‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Turner. Maybe we should leave you alone for a while.’ Weir half-got up but Turner continued to stare blankly at the wall behind them. His eyes were glazed as if all thought had ceased in his head.
‘Somebody shot her? Somebody shot Jess?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Turner looked hard at him now and his knuckles whitened over one another. ‘In our house?’
Ryan nodded. ‘Last night, Mr Turner. Round about midnight. They were waiting for her when she got home.’
‘Who was? Who was waiting for her?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
Turner stared between them again and then he looked back. ‘Wait a minute — what d’you mean — waiting for her when she got home? Got home from where?’
Ryan glanced at Weir. ‘She was away for the weekend.’
‘No she wasn’t. She was home.’ Turner jabbed himself in the chest with a thumb. ‘I was away for the weekend.’
Weir slowly unwrapped a stick of gum, rolled it between his fingers and popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly. ‘Are you saying you didn’t know she was away this weekend?’
Turner shook his head. Weir glanced at Ryan. ‘I want to see her,’ Turner said. Weir shook his head. ‘You can’t see her just yet.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we have to perform an autopsy. After that we’ll need you to identify her.’
And then Turner’s face crumpled and he burst into tears.
Outside they got into Weir’s car. They had left Turner crying with the neighbours. Weir turned the car around and they headed back to Hendon.
‘Over the side, Guv.’
Weir looked at him and nodded.
‘He was pretty upset.’
‘You don’t think he ought to be, Sid?’
Ryan lifted his shoulders. ‘I don’t know, Guv. Yeah. He ought to be.’
‘What’re you thinking?’
Ryan gazed out of the window. ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking. But somebody really wanted to kill her didn’t they. I mean we’re not talking random here. We’re talking about a planned, systematic shooting. Somebody knew exactly what they were doing.’
‘Let’s not jump to any conclusions
till we know what we’re dealing with eh?’
‘Right, Guv’nor.’ Ryan folded his arms.
Morrison was already back at the incident room in Hendon. He was freshly shaved, red hair cut close to his scalp in a marine-style flat-top. He was talking to Fat-Bob Davies, but came over as soon as Weir and Ryan arrived.
‘Husband home yet?’
‘Just got in, Sir,’ Weir stated. ‘He’s staying with the neighbours. Have we heard from the pathologist yet?’
Morrison shook his head.
‘I’ll take a drive over there in a while.’ Weir went into his office, stripped off his jacket and laid it over his chair. He sat down at his desk and scratched his head.
‘What’ve we got so far?’ Morrison asked him.
Weir told them about the Forensic finds and Morrison pursed his lips. ‘Three shots.’
‘To the head and neck. Cartridges are on their way to Lambeth.’
Morrison glanced at Ryan and sat down. ‘Who was she exactly?’
Weir made a face. ‘Still finding out, Sir. Jessica Turner, thirty-six, married to Alec Turner. He’s an engineer. She worked for a marketing consultancy in the West End. Calderwood and Haynes.’ He sat back and placed both hands on top of his head. ‘Married for ten years, no children. Both of them in careers.’
Ryan leaned against the radiator. ‘The husband didn’t know she was away for the weekend,’ he said.
Morrison looked up at him, then back at Weir. ‘What does that tell us?’
‘I think it tells us we’re looking for another body, Sir. Whoever she was with.’
Morrison nodded. ‘Have we released anything to the press yet?’
Weir shook his head. ‘Body’s not officially identified.’
Morrison stood up. ‘I don’t like shootings on my manor, Frank. Especially not this kind.’
‘You mean assassinations, Sir.’ Ryan rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers.
‘We don’t know that’s what it was, Sid.’
Ryan lifted his eyebrow. ‘In — bang — and out. What else do you call it?’
Weir shook his head at him and Ryan went back to his desk. Davies came over to him and sat in the chair opposite, his bulk splaying out over the arms. Ryan cocked an eyebrow. ‘Need to get you a bigger one don’t we, sunshine.’
‘Shut it, Slippery. What did the husband say?’
Ryan leaned his elbows on the desk and looked at him. ‘What d’you think he said?’
Four
JAMES MCCAULEY LAY IN bed listening to the shouting of teenagers from the school playing fields across the road. Rolling onto his side he glanced at the scarlet digits of the clock and frowned. Nearly one o’clock and still she wasn’t in. That meant he would have to deal with the children in the morning again. Why did they never see their mother till they got home from school?
He tried to close his eyes but he never could till she was home, and then it was hours after. He did not know why he even bothered coming to bed at all, except he could not bear to be there when she got home, never knowing which one of them she would be with.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Light played across its path in a white band that drifted from the street lamp. Outside he heard the rumble of an engine and then silence. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brow as he heard car doors opening, the giggle of a woman’s voice and then her key being fitted in the lock.
More laughter, his voice this time, deep in his throat. The fat one, Stepper-Nap. James pulled the pillow over his face.
Downstairs, they moved into the living room and he heard music start up and then quieten. Didn’t she care anything about the children? Getting out of bed, he padded across the landing to the girls’ room at the back of the house. On tiptoe he pushed the door open and cast a quick glance at their beds. Blankets ruffled, Caran’s foot sticking out of the side. James moved over to the bed and gently lifted the blankets so that she was completely covered again. He heard the living-room door open and he scuttled back to his bedroom. Eilish moved to the kitchen. He heard the chink of glasses and then the living-room door was closed again. He could feel the vibration of dance music through the floor.
Downstairs, his sister Eilish danced with Stepper-Nap. Petite in his arms, long red hair falling across her back. He dwarfed her, not as tall as Young Young but fuller in the figure, like a great black bear with his heavy jowls and nappy springing hair. Eilish looked up into his face, brushed his lips with hers and moved her belly against his groin. He gave a little moan and chewed all at once at her neck. She could smell the leather of his waistcoat.
He started to unzip her dress but she wriggled away from him. ‘Not down here, baby.’
‘Here,’ he said, catching up her hand. ‘I like it on the floor.’
‘The bed’s made up. I’m not getting carpet burns on my arse.’
His smile shallowed then and she moved fingers over his groin and squeezed, then she placed her arms about his neck and leaned her face into his. ‘Take me upstairs and fuck me.’
James heard them on the stairs, a tiny giggle breaking from her as she stumbled against the wall. The weight of her feet, creaking with every step.
‘Your baby brother in?’
‘Ssshhh. Don’t wake him.’
‘Wake him. Little mother goes to bed the same time as the children.’
‘He’s good to them. We get to party don’t we?’
They moved from the landing into her bedroom. James heard the door swing to then creak open a fraction. It never closed properly.
Eilish took hold of Stepper’s belt and slowly unbuckled it. His trousers slipped to his ankles and his penis bulged in his boxer shorts.
Naked now she pushed him down onto the bed and traced lines on his belly with her tongue. Like his chest it was matted with kinky curls of black hair. She felt his fingers reach for her, ease between her legs and begin gently to probe. She opened her mouth a fraction. Moving herself around she straddled him. Stepper let go a gasp.
James carefully lifted his bedclothes, breath growing tight in his chest. He tiptoed to the door, eased it back and crossed the landing. Her door was ajar, light slipping over the bed from the gap between the curtains.
Stepper-Nap rolled Eilish onto her back and thrust his weight into her once more. His fingers twisted her hair, half a beard nuzzling the tiny mounds of her breasts, tugging the nipples into peaks of crimson flesh with his teeth. Eilish wrapped her legs about his waist and squeezed. She could see James standing at the door, watching them. The past grew up in her mind. So long ago, but the same, only the man inside her was white and his hair was long and black and he had freckles on his shoulders and his arms and his eyes were the wild green of his mother. James was fifteen and then as now he stood at the door and watched them.
James heard Stepper-Nap leave at four in the morning. He was not asleep, lying on his back with one arm crooked across his face. Eilish, went to the bathroom. He heard the car start outside and finally he closed his eyes.
The alarm woke him at seven o’clock and he felt the skin drag at his face beneath his eyes. His jaw ached with lack of sleep, mouth dry and husky. Next door the children were stirring. He threw off the bedclothes and reached for his jeans. Almost mechanically he pulled them on and stretched a T-shirt over his head.
Caran was getting dressed, nine years old, half-caste skin. She had never known her father. Kerry was the same. Different father, again she never knew him. James scratched his arm and yawned. He could smell the thick scent of Stepper-Nap on the landing. Kerry was watching him from under the bedclothes.
‘Get dressed, Kerry. Come on, be a good girl like your sister.’
‘It’s cold.’
‘I know it’s cold, darling. But the sooner you’re dressed the sooner you’ll be warm.’ He smiled at her. ‘Come on, I’ll make you breakfast.’ He cocked his head at her then. ‘Don’t dawdle. I’m going to pour the milk so it’ll be soggy if you take all day’
Downstairs
he plugged in the kettle and poured out their Frosties. He laid both bowls together with two spoons on the little kitchen table and took a mug from the rack. Half a bottle of red wine stood open on the side. He poured it down the sink.
Caran appeared pushing her long curling hair from her eyes and sat down at the table. Her tie was crooked. James straightened it for her. ‘Your sister ready yet?’
Caran shook her head. James called up to Kerry from the bottom of the stairs and she appeared, her shirt on but unbuttoned and her skirt at an askew angle. He could not help but smile. ‘Come down, Kerry. I’ll fix it for you.’
Caran spooned cereal into her mouth as James settled Kerry in the seat opposite her. ‘Is Mummy going to take us to school today?’
James shook his head. ‘No, darling. Mummy was out last night. I’m taking you.’
Kerry picked her nose, looked at it and sucked the end of her finger. ‘Mummy goes out a lot doesn’t she, Jamie.’
James did not say anything. He splashed cold milk over her cereal and took the sugar bowl from her. ‘They’ve got sugar on.’
‘That’s why they’re called Frosties, stupid.’ Caran shook her head at her sister.
Eilish came to the top of the stairs as he opened the front door after delivering them safely to school.
‘God, thanks, lover. I’d never had made it this morning.’
James just looked at her, stripped off his jacket and went through to the kitchen. He scooped up the dishes from the table and settled them into the sink. He heard the sound of the shower running above his head.
Eilish was getting dressed when the doorbell sounded. James wiped his hands on the cloth and tossed it over the tap. Then he answered the door. Mary-Anne Forbes stood there, hair long and black hanging against her shoulders. She smiled at him.
