Barbie studied her reflection, an activity which gave her considerable satisfaction. She still looked pretty good, all things considered. She’d kept her figure – Hugo’s not wanting kids had something to do with that, of course. That had upset her at first, but with hindsight she knew it was just as well. The one he had fathered, the one he’d always refused to acknowledge was his even though the mother was a sixteen-year-old virgin before he got his hands on her, had had a pretty thin time and so had young Ivy, poor cow. At least she was at peace now, and a fat lot Hugo – Charlie as he was in those days – would have cared if he’d known how she’d suffered towards the end.
Barbie put away her lipstick and picked up a comb. Her skin and hair always looked good, thanks to regular facials and visits to the hairdresser. Hugo kept her on a tight rein as far as ready cash was concerned, but he let her run up as many bills as she liked on clothes and beauty treatments and he always paid them without a quibble. ‘Just as long as you go on looking good for me, love,’ he’d say, handing her a cheque with one hand while fumbling in her knickers with the other. Never could keep his hands to himself, it was almost a reflex action. And what was the point of looking good, she thought despondently, when it was only now and again there was someone around who really appreciated you?
Behind her, the bathroom door opened and Hugo emerged swathed in a striped towelling robe and smelling of Chanel’s Pour Monsieur. His eyes met hers in the mirror. On his freshly shaven face was the satisfied smirk that meant he was feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. At forty-five he was still handsome and he had the kind of personality that had women flocking round him at parties and other gatherings. Barbie had watched him time and time again, lapping up the admiration, his eyes roving from one to the other, sizing them up, deciding which ones he fancied screwing. Oh yes, she thought as she dutifully responded to his smile, I know what you get up to when I’m not around. And I’ll tell you something else, you lecherous pig, I don’t give a toss – not a fucking toss. I just wish you’d keep it for your fancy women and leave me alone.
He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, then slid them down under her armpits and over her breasts. ‘Got something for you,’ he whispered, his tongue probing her ear. ‘Wanna see it?’
‘I’ve just done my hair and make-up,’ she protested. Surely, she thought, the bloody old ram doesn’t want it now. We’re supposed to be leaving in fifteen minutes.
‘That’s OK, I can wait for that till we get home. No, this is something else.’
‘What is it?’
‘Shut your eyes and I’ll give it to you.’ He gave her breasts a quick squeeze – a hint of what was to come later, she thought resignedly. She heard a faint click, then felt something cool against the skin of her throat. He fumbled for a moment at the back of her neck, then said, ‘OK, you can look now.’
Barbie opened her eyes and stared in the glass at the glistening gold circlet. ‘Smashing, innit?’ he said smugly.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said, and meant it. ‘Must have cost a packet.’
‘You betcha. There’s earrings to match. You’ll have to put ’em on yourself.’ He laid a shiny lacquered box on the dressing table. ‘Well, go on then, let’s see how they look.’
Barbie clipped the earrings into place and tilted her head to study the effect. The set looked good on her, she had to admit. She wondered how Hugo had come by it, whether it had been nicked and if so who from. As long as it wasn’t from any of the women they’d be meeting tonight… but no, however moronic he might be in other ways, he was too shrewd to make that sort of blunder. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said and gave him the kiss that was expected of her. ‘They’re beautiful.’ She stood up and unfastened her robe. ‘I must get dressed now, and so must you.’
‘Good to you, ain’t I?’ he said. He put his arms round her, ran his hands down her back and gave her bottom a squeeze before releasing her.
‘Yes dear, you are.’
He threw off his own robe and went to a drawer to look out clean underwear. Barbie saw him steal a satisfied glance at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Vain old sod, she thought, although she had to admit he was a pretty fine specimen. She wondered how he’d come by the scratches on his hand and his backside. Screwing some bird with sharp nails, probably.
No point in asking; he’d only come out with some stupid lie. It didn’t matter anyway. Once, she had thrilled to the sight of his naked body and the touch of his hands as they explored her own. Not any more.
At approximately the same time as Mr and Mrs Hugo Bayliss left to keep their dinner engagement, Terry and Rita Holland and their ten-year-old son Billy sat down to supper in the kitchen of their terraced house a short distance from the centre of Gloucester. The Friday ritual was always the same: Terry picked up fish and chips on the way home from his last job of the afternoon, Rita put it on plates in the oven to keep hot while she cut bread and butter and made tea, and Terry went with Billy into the tiny living room to watch children’s television. Rita never called them until the programme was over. She wondered sometimes which of them enjoyed it the most.
He was a good dad, was Terry. Pity he’d missed so much of Billy’s childhood, being inside for so long. When he came out, Rita made him promise to go straight and he’d kept his promise, doing his best to make up to her and Billy for all the lost years. He’d learned a trade in prison and was making quite a decent living doing carpentry and building jobs. It had been her idea to move away from their old haunts and make a completely fresh start, but she hadn’t reckoned on coming so far afield. ‘Why Gloucester?’ she had asked, but all he would say was, ‘Why not? It’s a nice place’, and she hadn’t bothered to argue. The important thing was that the three of them were together again, and that was how she wanted things to stay. Being so far from London meant they’d completely lost contact with Terry’s old cronies, and seeing what they’d led him into in the past, that was all to the good.
Today had started badly. Couldn’t have been worse, in fact. Someone had nicked Terry’s van during the night with all his tools and working clothes in it. At least it was all insured. Rita had insisted; it was important, she said, when it was his livelihood and he had to leave it outside in the street. She’d paid the premium out of the money she earned as a dinner lady at Billy’s school and from doing odd cleaning jobs. But until the insurance company shelled out, Terry was faced with losing some of the work he had lined up so things looked like being tough for a while. Then, almost unbelievably, the van turned up after just a few hours, with all the stuff intact. Three cheers for the Old Bill, Terry had said, then added with a grin that he never thought to hear himself say that.
When she heard the signing-off tune of the kids’ programme, Rita put her head round the living room door. ‘Supper’s ready,’ she said and they came out to the kitchen laughing at some joke they’d heard, Billy’s happy face upturned to his father’s, Terry’s hand on his son’s shoulder. Please God, let it stay this way, she said silently to herself as she fetched the plates from the oven. No more days like today, please!
After supper, Billy went out to play with his friends. Rita washed the dishes and Terry dried them.
‘Fancy coming out for a drink later?’ he said. ‘To celebrate getting the van back,’ he added as she hesitated.
‘If Christine will come and look after Billy.’ That was something she’d never do, leave Billy alone in the house.
‘Oh, come on, he’s nearly eleven. He’ll be OK.’
‘We’re not leaving him,’ she insisted.
He hung the teacloth on its hook and put an arm round her as she was rinsing away the washing-up water. ‘You’re a good mum, Reet,’ he said, ‘and a good wife. I’ll never forget the way you’ve stood by us… me and Billy. You won’t ever leave me, will you?’
She dried her hands and turned to face him. ‘What brought this on?’ she asked. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Nothing,’ he said defensively,
but he could tell from the look in her eye that she didn’t believe him. She had to know sooner or later anyway. He turned away to put a dish in the cupboard. He kept his back to her as he said, trying to sound casual, ‘I had a call from Reg Hodson while you were at work.’
He didn’t need to see her face to know what she was thinking. Her voice sounded harsh as she demanded, ‘How did Reg get hold of our number?’
‘I gave it to him. I’d asked him a favour.’
‘What kind of favour?’
Terry went over to the window and stared out. Billy and one or two other kids were riding their bikes up and down the street. It was a quiet side turning so it was fairly safe so long as they didn’t go out into the main road. Billy was pretty good about that – he’d had it hammered into him enough times.
Rita grabbed him by the arm. ‘You promised me you’d finished with the old mob,’ she said fiercely.
He swung round to face her. ‘There’s something I forgot to tell you,’ he said at last. It’d been a mistake to mention Reg, or the phone call. Trouble was, she read him so well, she’d give him no peace until he told her what was on his mind. Not just on his mind… in his guts, eating him up, tearing him apart with the sheer bloody injustice of it all. ‘I saw Charlie Foss the other day.’
She gaped at him, apprehension replacing the anger in her eyes. ‘Where, for God’s sake?’ Her voice was a croak; he could see her mind racing ahead, seeing nothing but trouble.
‘In the car park of a place in Cheltenham where I was doing a job. He didn’t see me.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Rita relaxed her grip on his arm. Then it tightened again and the anxiety returned. ‘Where does Reg Hodson come into it?’
‘I took Charlie’s car number and asked him to see if he could get a check on it, find out where he lives.’ Reg knew a bent policeman who did him the odd favour in exchange for a share in the profits of one or other of his petty scams. ‘It was a flashy great Jag,’ he added bitterly, ‘a company car.’
‘What company?’
Terry’s gaze slid back to the window. ‘Never you mind. The less you know about it, the better.’
Rita had gone very white and he knew exactly what she was thinking. She grabbed both his hands, forcing him to look at her. ‘Did you know he was living somewhere round here?’ she asked. ‘Is that why you brought us to Gloucester, so’s you could find him? You did know, didn’t you?’ Anger sent her voice racing up the scale and the last words were almost a scream.
He shook himself free. ‘What if I did?’
‘How d’you find out?’
‘Brenda told her Auntie Gwen before they left that they’d be living somewhere near Gloucester. She found that out because she saw something from an estate agent, something she wasn’t supposed to see. Charlie hadn’t told her anything and he threatened to knock the living daylights out of her if she let on to a soul where they were.’
‘He’d have done it, too. Poor old Bren, I’ll bet she misses her Auntie Gwen something rotten.’ For the moment, Rita forgot her own problems, remembering the hard time Charlie used to give his long-suffering wife. Only for a moment, though. ‘Terry, you’re not going after Charlie, are you?’ she begged.
‘Why not?’ She’d put him on the defensive and he didn’t like it. ‘He owes me and he owes Frank. He’s got our share from the bank job. I’ve done time, Frank’s still banged up and that shit can swan around in a posh car and live the life of Riley.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Her eyes were streaming. ‘Terry, please let it go. We’re doing all right, we don’t need the money.’
‘Don’t need the money?’ His eyes swept round the cramped kitchen with its shabby fittings and worn furniture. ‘We live in this rabbit hutch ’cos we can’t afford nothing better and you reckon we’re doing all right? Listen!’ He grabbed her shoulders and put his face close to hers. ‘That job was worth at least sixty grand, and twenty of it’s mine – ours. If he doesn’t give it to me, I’ll shop him.’
‘How can you? Charlie never had a record, you couldn’t prove nothing, he’d only laugh at you, or pretend he’d never seen you before. He might complain to the police you’d been trying to blackmail him. Please, Tel, it’s not worth it.’
‘Just leave it, will you.’ He let her go and began putting dishes away as if nothing had happened. ‘You’d better go and wash your face and get changed if we’re going out. I’ll go next door and ask Christine if she’ll come and sit with Billy, if that’s what you want.’
With a despairing gesture, Rita left the room and went upstairs. She was half frantic, seeing everything they’d built up over the past year falling apart, knowing all too well that once Terry set his mind on something it was useless to try and talk him out of it. Until half an hour ago she really believed they’d left the old life behind them, yet all the time he’d been watching and waiting for the chance to get his hands on his share of the stolen money. There must have been signs – how could she have missed them?
If that’s what I want, she thought bitterly as she splashed cold water over her face and repaired the damage to her make-up. What do you care what I want? And I thought everything was all right, I thought we were happy.
Five
Jim Castle called Sukey on Saturday morning to say that he had checked with the lab and the prints would be ready that afternoon and would it be all right if he dropped by around five so that she could talk him through them? The sub-text of all this read: Sorry, can’t make it for lunch but look forward to seeing you later. The fact that he made no overt reference to their date caused her no surprise. This was official business and there were sure to be other people around. From the outset, they had agreed to keep their friendship entirely separate from their working relationship, and if anyone suspected an attraction between Detective Inspector Castle and one of the SOCOs, they never gave the slightest hint of it. To their colleagues, she was simply a member of the team, which sometimes meant that if he was in an impatient mood she was as likely as anyone else to get bawled out.
She took the change in their arrangements philosophically. It wasn’t the first time the job had interfered with their plans, and it wouldn’t be the last. It was the uncertainties of police life that had caused Jim’s marriage to founder. She often wondered how it would have been if she had married him herself. She was pretty sure he would have asked her, given half a chance. They had first met when he was a young constable doing his two years on the beat and she a new recruit. They had dated a few times and he looked like getting serious, but then she had met Paul and fallen for him in a big way. Their marriage too had failed, but it had nothing to do with irregular hours and everything to do with Myrna’s glamorous lifestyle and money.
Sukey finished her breakfast and went upstairs to change the bed linen. She came down, loaded the washing machine and got out the vacuum cleaner. As she went methodically about her routine household tasks, she reflected on the twist of fate that had brought her and Jim together again. A few months after she picked up the threads of her old job with the police, this time in a civilian capacity, Jim – by then a detective inspector – had rejoined the Gloucestershire Force after serving for several years in London. He had lost no time in asking her out, saying that life had given them a second chance and they would be daft not to take it. He was an impetuous type, so different from Paul with his calculating accountant’s brain. Sukey herself had reacted more cautiously. She enjoyed Jim’s company; he was considerate and dependable – everything, in fact, that Paul was not – and, but for Fergus, she would have accepted without hesitation. But she had resolved, after Paul walked out, never to start a serious relationship with anyone else until Fergus was mature enough to cope with it.
She found herself looking forward to the evening visit with mixed feelings. Fergus knew about Jim; the two had actually met at a friendly football match between the police and a local youth club and they seemed to take to one another, but Sukey had been careful to introduce him very
casually as an old friend from her rookie days. This evening was different. She would be on call until ten, so going out for a meal wouldn’t be on the cards, but Jim might offer to fetch a takeaway and with Fergus at Paul’s house until Sunday afternoon it would be difficult to refuse… and then what? She knew what he wanted, and to be honest, that was what she wanted as well – wasn’t it?
An insistent whirring clatter from the washing machine reminded her that the cycle was nearly over. Pushing the unsettling thoughts away, she went out into the back garden to set up the rotary dryer. The fine weather looked set to last for the weekend. She pegged the laundry out, made a cup of coffee and sat down in the kitchen to write out a grocery list while she drank it. Life had to go on.
It was nearly half-past seven when Jim’s car drew up outside Sukey’s house. That he was still, mentally at any rate, on duty was immediately apparent. He strode into the kitchen ahead of her, sat down, took a large envelope from his briefcase and spread the contents on the table. She pulled up a chair and sat beside him, picking up the photographs one after another as he examined them and laid them aside. When she came to the shots taken in the study, she remarked, ‘I know you said the dog followed a scent in there, but nothing seemed disturbed.’
Death at Hazel House Page 4
