‘I’m not. I’m staying till I’ve seen her.’
‘Here?’ West raised an eyebrow. ‘That’ll set you back a bit, won’t it?’
‘I can afford it,’ Harry said modestly. ‘Anyway, I’ll be doing business as usual from my room, so I won’t lose out. Will you let me know when you hear anything?’
‘If,’ West corrected him. ‘Yeah, I will – as long as it doesn’t overrun my retirement date. After that . . .’ He shrugged. ‘You’ll be on your own.’
Back at home a short while later, West made himself a cup of tea and carried it through to his study. Sitting at the desk, he thought over what Harry Shaw had told him.
There was no way it could go on record when there wasn’t a bollock’s hair of evidence. The kid had been so convinced that West had wanted to believe him, but that wasn’t why he had agreed to look for Sarah. It was sheer curiosity that had pulled him on board Harry Shaw’s loco express. Seeing the monumental change in Harry, he was intrigued to see how well Sarah had fared.
Picking up the phone, he dialled the station, expecting the amenable night sergeant, Gordon Lightfoot, to answer. He was surprised to hear Janice Webb’s voice.
‘What are you still doing there?’ he asked. ‘Haven’t you got a home to go to?’
‘For your information,’ she snapped, ‘some of us have to take all the overtime we can get. We’re not all on detective’s pay, you know. What do you want?’
‘Well, I was going to ask Gordon to do me a favour.’
‘Won’t I do?’
‘Suppose so.’ He took a noisy slurp of the too-hot tea. ‘I need the whereabouts of a Sarah Mullen, last known address Demesne Road, Moss Side.’
‘How far back are we talking?’
‘Ten years-ish.’
‘You’ll be lucky!’ Janice snorted. Then, ‘All right, give me ten minutes while I have a look. Where are you?’
‘Home.’
‘I’ll ring you back.’
‘Thanks. You’re a babe.’
Putting the phone down, West opened the desk drawer and rooted through the papers inside. Finding the tatty old address book he was looking for, he laid it on the desk and flipped it open.
He chuckled as he went through it. There were names and numbers in there of people he hadn’t seen or heard of in years – snouts, mainly, and the occasional trustworthy hooker. He hadn’t even thought about most of them, losing interest as he rose through the ranks and no longer needed them.
Jenny was listed under ‘M’ for massage. Jotting her number down in his notepad, he carried on flipping through the book of memories.
Snatching up the phone when it rang, he said, ‘Did you get it?’
‘No.’ There was a hint of apology beneath Janice’s brusque tone. She liked West. He was one of the few detectives she would put herself out for but she never let it be known. People tended to take advantage if you went all soft on them.
‘Oh, well.’ He sighed. ‘Thanks for looking.’
Lowering her voice, she said, ‘Look, how urgent is it? Only, there’s a few other avenues you can try if it’s not life or death.’
‘Such as?’
‘The new link-up to the Central Register. This Sarah Mullen’s bound to have seen a GP or dentist in the last ten years, even if she’s off paper in every other respect.’
‘Oh, yeah, I’d forgotten that. I don’t suppose . . . ?’
‘You must be joking!’ Janice whispered harshly. ‘I haven’t got the foggiest how to use it, and even if I did I couldn’t. Not tonight, anyway. The super’s got visitors from the Met. You know how much trouble I could get into if he caught me playing with his precious new program?’
‘All right, keep your knickers on. What are the Met doing there, anyhow?’
‘Planning your retirement party, but you’re not invited ’cos it’s just for brass – to celebrate getting rid of you at long last.’
‘Oh, ha ha! You’re in the wrong job, Jan. You should be doing stand-up down the mess.’
‘Certainly get enough material from you, don’t I? Anyhow, piss off back to your cocoa, or whatever you’re doing, and let me get back to looking like I’m doing something useful.’
‘Don’t strain yourself.’
‘I won’t . . . Oops! Gotta go!’
West smiled when Janice hung up abruptly. Replacing the receiver, he gazed at Jenny’s number for a while then delved into his drawer once again. Finding the small photograph that Jenny had given to him a long, long time ago, he ran his thumb across the dusty face and smiled at the infectious grin, the happy eyes squinting in the sunlight. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a ring, would it? It might yield fruit, but even if it didn’t it’d be nice to talk to her again. It had been a good few years since their brief fling.
For a moment, he couldn’t recall why they had called it off. Then it came to him. Oh, yeah. His ex-partner Kay Porter – or Kay Ewing as she was now, having married one of her poncey Cheshire colleagues in the meantime – had turned up.
West had dumped Jenny without a second thought, sure that Kay had realized her mistake and come back to him. He’d soon realized that the mistake was all his. He was just a convenience while Kay did a two-month refresher course. As soon as that was over, so were they, and she legged it back to her big-shot detective husband, leaving West with nothing but a sour taste in his mouth and a desire for revenge. Not the hurt-em kind – the show-’em-what-you’re-made-of-and-do-better-than-them kind. The very next day he had put himself forward for promotion. Now, several years on, he was a rank above both Kay and her hubby, and it felt good.
Even if it would all be over in a couple of weeks.
West had never contacted Jenny again. It hadn’t seemed right, somehow. But she wasn’t the sort to bear grudges, and he was sure she would tell him if she knew anything about Sarah.
Dialling the number, he lit a cigarette and sat back with a prickle of nervous anticipation, wondering how it would feel to hear her voice again after all this time. Getting no answer after a couple of minutes, he gave up. She was probably working. He would try again in the morning.
Going into the lounge, West switched on the TV and flopped into his armchair. Swinging his feet up onto the coffee table, he groaned as pain shot through his legs. Too many years on the beat followed by too many sitting in cramped cars had taken its toll. If he’d had any sense he’d have retired years ago while he still had a social life.
Frowning, he told himself to pack in the maudlin nonsense. He was only fifty-two years old. Was he seriously going to relegate himself to the past-it pile without a fight? Was he buggery!
So, Jenny hadn’t answered her phone. He’d just go and look for her instead. It was only eleven. The night was still young – even if he wasn’t.
Swinging his feet down, he grabbed his coat and headed into town.
Molten Gold was the fifth place that West tried. It was on Princess Street between a nightclub and a restaurant and he felt conspicuous having to press the clearly labelled intercom button with pissed-up clubbers and curious diners strolling by within earshot. It had been all right when he’d been in uniform but now he was plain-clothed they obviously thought he was a punter.
Inside, Jenny watched him on the CCTV screen and smiled at his obvious discomfort. It served him right, the two-timing swine! Making him wait, she took the opportunity to look him over. He’d put on a lot of weight since she’d last seen him, and his hair was undeniably silver, but he still looked good. He always had. Something about his aura had always attracted her. He was so strong and positive. And he’d been a mighty fine lover, too – for the brief time that she’d had the pleasure. Bastard!
Flipping the switch at last, she said, ‘Good evening, sir. How may I help you?’
Recognizing her voice, he hissed, ‘Jenny? It’s me, Tony.’
‘Tony?’ She repeated the name loudly. ‘Are you a regular client, Tony?’
Glaring at a sniggering couple, he said, ‘You know damn well
I’m not. Now quit messing about and let me in.’
‘Business or personal?’
‘Come on, Jen.’ He looked pleadingly into the tiny camera lens. ‘I feel like a right plonker standing here. I’m getting weird looks.’
‘Serves you right.’
‘Jenny!’
‘All right, keep your hair on.’ Relenting, she pressed the door release. ‘Second floor.’
She was waiting for him in the corridor. Leaning against the wall, arms folded, legs crossed, she watched as he came towards her, a bemused smile playing on her lips.
‘Long time no see, Tony. You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he grunted, noticing that she actually hadn’t. She looked better, if anything. Age suited her. What was she now? Forty-two? She looked thirty. Her figure was still trim, her face unlined, and her hair was shorter and gleaming with golden highlights. She looked great.
‘Come to the office.’ Jenny waved him in through the main door. ‘Do you want a coffee, or something?’
‘Something,’ he said, eyeing the reception area, one eyebrow raised. ‘Hey, this is nice. You’ve moved up in the world.’
‘It’s still Bernie Silva’s place,’ she said, leading him into a plush office. ‘Difference is, I’m the manager now so I get to choose the décor.’
‘Not bad,’ he said, settling into a comfortable swivel chair. ‘So you’ve been promoted, have you?’
‘A while back, yeah.’ She handed him a glass of Scotch. ‘I hear you were as well. DI now, isn’t it?’
‘Where did you hear that?’ West was intrigued that she should have kept up on where he was at.
‘I have my sources.’ Jenny smiled mysteriously. ‘Let’s just say we have a few of your lads in for . . . stress relief, and mouths tend to loosen along with muscles. But you wouldn’t know that, would you?’
‘Never went in for being mauled, myself,’ he sniffed, sipping the drink.
‘Not what you said when I was doing the mauling.’
‘Ah, but you weren’t a stranger.’ Smiling, West raised his glass. ‘You’re looking good, kid.’
‘I’d return the compliment, but it wouldn’t be true.’ She gave a claws-out smile. ‘You look like crap. Sorry to hear about Kay, by the way. The dumper dumped, eh? Now, what is it they call that? Oh, yes . . . Karma. Or should that be poetic justice? Or maybe just the shit getting the shit he deserves?’
‘All right, bring it on . . . I deserve it.’
‘Too bloody right you do!’ Jenny snapped. Then, taking a deep breath, ‘But, no . . . I vowed I wouldn’t do this if I ever clapped eyes on your ugly mush again. I’m better than that. I can be compassionate.’ Feigning sympathy now, she said, ‘Must have been hard to lose her like that?’
‘Not really.’ West shrugged. ‘It made me go for promotion, so I guess she did me a favour.’ Pausing, he smiled a little sadly. ‘I shouldn’t have done that to you, though. You deserved better.’
‘Yes, I did, but never mind. We live and learn.’
‘We do indeed,’ he agreed, mentally kicking himself for letting her go. Jenny had a tongue on her, but it was infinitely better than listening to the silence he faced whenever he went home. ‘Anyway, I didn’t come to talk over old times. I need your help. I’m looking for Sarah Mullen.’
‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaimed, chuckling. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yeah, why? What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing. Only that’s how we met in the first place. Bit ironic, don’t you think?’
‘Suppose so. Do you know where she is, then, or what?’
‘Still a charmer, I see?’ she teased. ‘I want an answer and I want it now! You make everything sound like an interrogation.’
‘Sorry.’ West ran a hand through his hair. ‘I guess I’m a bit impatient.’
‘You always were,’ Jenny chided. ‘Anyway, no, I don’t know where Sarah Mullen is. Last time I saw her she was funny with me. I think she was still blaming me for losing her job. I told her she should thank your mate for that, but she was still a bit miffed.’
‘Bob Vine? What did he have to do with it?’
‘He was the one who grassed her to Bernie. Don’t say you didn’t know.’
‘I didn’t, as it happens. He never said anything.’
‘Didn’t I tell you when we were – you know?’
‘No.’ He gave a sheepish half-grin. ‘But I don’t think we had too many deep discussions back then, did we?’
‘Complaining?’
‘Not at all.’ He shook his head. ‘But it might have been nice to – I don’t know – talk now and then.’
‘My, my, we are getting old,’ she murmured. ‘Is this the all-action hero speaking?’
‘All right, take the piss if you want, I deserve it. Anyway, what about Sarah?’
‘Oh, she was fine.’ Jenny flapped a hand. ‘She was married, actually. Some guy from that home she was in.’
‘Really?’ West frowned. ‘Don’t suppose you’d know his name?’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘Great. How am I supposed to track her down if I don’t know her surname?’
‘Can’t you get a list of all the kids’ names from Social Services, or something?’ Jenny suggested helpfully.
‘Nah.’ He shook his head. ‘The place was closed down years ago, and I doubt they kept the records. Anyway, this is unofficial. I can’t go poking my nose into confidential files.’
‘Unofficial?’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s it all about, Tone?’
‘You don’t want to know.’ He chuckled. ‘Let’s just say one of her old friends had a . . . spiritual awakening and wants to make sure she’s okay.’
‘Spiritual, eh?’ She gave him a cynical lopsided smile. ‘And you’re going along with it because . . . ?’
Shrugging, he said, ‘Curiosity? Boredom?’
‘Boredom? You?’
‘I’m retiring soon.’ West sounded suddenly weary. ‘Your mind goes a bit funny, and you start reflecting on shit you’ve done – and shit you haven’t. Sarah’s unfinished business, I suppose. I’m just interested to know how she turned out.’
Jenny peered at him thoughtfully. Teasing aside, she couldn’t believe his spirit was so low. It wasn’t like him at all. The thought of retirement obviously wasn’t sitting too comfortably with him.
Finishing his drink, West stood up. ‘Oh, well, I suppose I’d best go and let you get back to your work. It was nice seeing you.’
Jenny felt a cold hand grip her insides. She couldn’t let him go like this. Never mind Sarah, they were the unfinished business in her book.
‘I don’t suppose you’d fancy meeting up sometime?’ she blurted out as he made his way to the door. ‘For a drink, or something.’
West turned back, his brow puckered with suspicion. Was she just being polite because he’d moaned about retiring, or did she genuinely want to see him again?
‘I won’t be offended if you say no,’ she went on. ‘But we always got along pretty well, didn’t we?’
‘That’s true,’ he agreed, cocking his head.
‘Yeah, well, I’d really like to see you again.’ Jenny was almost blushing now. ‘I thought about you a lot after we split up, and, well, there’s been no one else. No one serious, anyway.’
‘Come off it.’ He narrowed his eyes.
‘It’s true.’ She gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’m not easy, you know. I’m actually pretty choosy. Anyway, my mother gave everyone such a hard time after you, none of them stuck around for too long.’
‘Really?’ West was doubtful. He’d met Jenny’s mother a couple of times, and she’d been nothing but rude on both occasions.
Laughing, Jenny said, ‘Yeah, she really liked you for some unfathomable reason. I think it was the uniform that clinched it. She was a bit of a rum old bugger under all that frosting. She blamed me for us breaking up. Didn’t talk to me for weeks after.’
‘Well, well . . .’ Chuck
ling, West shook his head. ‘Who’d have thought it? How is she, anyway?’
‘Dead, thank God,’ Jenny told him without malice. ‘It was the best thing all round. She wasn’t happy being such a moody old cow, and I sure as hell wasn’t happy having to live with her after she moved in for good. Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge now.’ She flapped her hand. ‘What are you saying about this date? Are we on, or what?’
West drew himself up to his full height. He’d spent too long shuffling around like an old man of late. If this lovely young woman still had time for him, wasn’t it time he stopped dust-to-dusting himself?
‘Yeah, that’d be great. Give me your number, I’ll give you a call.’
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ She laughed. ‘I know you. You’ll find something better to do. You give me yours.’
West was grinning all the way home. He should never have let Jenny go in the first place, and now that he had a second shot at . . . What? Love? He didn’t know if that was what he would call what he felt for her, but whatever it was, it beat the hell out of the future he had been facing when he got out of bed that morning.
The answerphone’s red light was flickering when he let himself into the house. It was so rare for anyone to call him at home that it almost didn’t register – a sad indictment of the fact that he had no life. Pressing play, he smiled when he heard Janice Webb’s hushed whispers.
‘Tony? It’s me . . . Janice . . . pick up if you’re there!’ Pause. Tut. ‘Oh, great, you’re asleep! Oh, well . . . you’ll get this in the morning.’ Rustle of paper. ‘Don’t know if this is what you’re after, but I did another quick check and came up with a few more Mullens in a two-mile radius of Demesne Road. Two men, and two women – unrelated. Well, the women are related, actually. Mother and daughter: Margaret and Karen. I’ll just give you their address for now. Let me know if you want the blokes’ as well. Got a pen?’ Another pause. ‘Right, it’s 32 Hartnell Road, Rusholme. Let me know how you get on, and I’ll keep looking for the other one. See ya!’
‘You little darlin’,’ West murmured, grinning broadly as he copied the address down.
Tainted Lives Page 37
