The Seagull

by Ann Cleeves

  ‘There’s something I wanted to tell you.’ Vera walked into the house and through to the kitchen, then put the kettle on as if she owned the place. Patty didn’t mind. ‘Before the press gets wind of it.’

  ‘What?’ Patty already knew about the two bodies at St Mary’s Island. That had been all over the news already. ‘Is it my mam buried in the culvert on the coast? Is that what you’ve come to tell me?’

  She thought Vera looked a bit confused for a moment. ‘Sorry, pet, we can’t positively identify both those people. Not yet. If one of them is your mother, I’ll come to tell you as soon as we know. No, this is something different. It’s about Gary.’

  ‘What’s he done?’ Because Patty knew Gary was always a bit tricksy, always working scams. When they’d lived together, money had suddenly appeared from nowhere and, when she’d asked, he’d just tapped his nose and said he’d done a bit of business. Nothing for her to worry about.

  ‘He’s not done anything.’ Vera had made the tea, wiping up clean mugs from the draining board first. She carried them through to the living room and put them on the windowsill, waited for Patty to sit down before speaking again. ‘He’s dead, pet. He’s been stabbed. Sometime this evening, we think.’

  Patty’s first thought was that there’d be no more glorious dreams of the two of them getting back together. She wouldn’t be able to lie in bed while the house was still quiet, with only Archie up and pottering downstairs, watching the sun on the ceiling and imagining how it would be if she plucked up the courage to meet Gary again. To pick up the phone and speak to him. Some days it had only been those dreams that had kept her going. She’d known Gary wouldn’t come back to her if she was a mess, so she’d had to get herself sorted. Now, what would be the point? She realized she was crying, and that tears and snot were running down her face. Vera fished in her bag and came out with a proper handkerchief, big and designed for a man, not too clean but dry.

  Patty wiped her face. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, pet, it must have come as a shock.’ A pause. ‘He’d be glad to know that someone was crying over him.’

  Patty looked up at her. ‘Who killed him? Some lad in a bar? He could wind people up, when he’d got a few drinks inside him. But most of the time he was lovely.’

  Vera shook her head. ‘He was killed at home.’

  ‘Who by?’ Patty wondered if it was anyone she knew but she doubted it. Gary had always kept his home and business separate, and when she’d asked where he was going when he left the house most evenings, he’d come back with the same response: ‘It’s business.’ In the end, she’d stopped asking. Perhaps she didn’t want to know.

  ‘We don’t know that, and that’s why I have to ask some questions. Is that all right?’

  Patty nodded. The last thing she wanted now was to be left alone. ‘Let me just go and switch Jen’s light off. Otherwise she’ll be up all night.’ At the living-room door, she paused. ‘Do you think I should tell her? She’s the only one who properly remembers him.’

  ‘Maybe not tonight,’ Vera said. ‘Not if she’s nearly asleep. First thing in the morning, and maybe keep her off school so that she has time to get used to the idea.’

  Patty nodded again and went up the stairs. Jen was asleep, her tablet on the pillow beside her. Patty switched it off and straightened the cover, stroked her daughter’s hair away from her face and felt like a proper mum once more. She turned off the light and went back to Vera. While she’d been out of the room, the woman had piled all Archie’s Octonaut figures into the toy box in the corner, drawn the curtains and switched on the standard lamp. In the half-light you couldn’t see the dust or the stains on the carpet and the room seemed peaceful.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ Patty said. ‘I haven’t seen him since he walked out.’

  ‘It seems a bit of a coincidence.’ Vera was drinking her tea, but her eyes were fixed on Patty’s face. ‘We find those bodies at the coast, and then Gary is stabbed. I’m wondering if he knew something about them. Perhaps he threatened to speak, or demanded money to keep quiet. What do you think?’

  Calmer now, Patty considered the idea. ‘How could he have known anything about those dead people? Weren’t the bodies buried years ago?’

  ‘We think one of the corpses was Robbie Marshall.’ Vera’s voice was steady. ‘And we know that Gary knocked around with him. There’s a picture of them in his flat. It was taken outside The Seagull, that flash club in Whitley. That was probably before your time.’ She gave a little smile. ‘I don’t see you as the sort of girl who went clubbing. Your father’s in the same photo, and a man called Angus Sinclair.’ She looked as if she was going to add another name, but seemed to think better of it. ‘Did Gary ever mention Sinclair?’

  Patty shook her head without trying too hard to drag back any memories. She couldn’t make sense of it all.

  ‘Or someone called “the Prof.”?’ Vera frowned and Patty could tell that the question was important.

  Patty shook her head again. ‘Gary never went to college. He didn’t know that sort of person.’

  ‘You were aware that Gary knew John Brace, your dad, before you tracked him down through the adoption people?’ Vera set down her mug on the floor next to her, before looking at Patty again.

  This time Patty did remember. They’d been in the little house they were renting in North Shields. She’d found out she was pregnant with Jonny. It seemed like ages ago. ‘I came back from the social-services place and said they’d traced my dad. Gary wasn’t that bothered. Not really. Not until I told him the name.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘He said: “John Brace the cop?” I didn’t know what job my father did then, so I couldn’t answer. Then Gary said: “I bet it is, the old dog.” I thought perhaps my dad had arrested him at one time. Gary had got into a bit of bother when he was younger. I hadn’t realized they might have been friends.’

  ‘Gary had a bit of a temper.’ This wasn’t a question. ‘Did he ever take it out on you and the kids?’

  ‘No!’ The idea made Patty angry, but then she remembered Gary’s moods, the way he stamped around the house, yelling at them all. ‘Not physically. But he got depressed, I think, and then he wasn’t great to be around.’

  ‘Did he ever go to the doctor for the depression?’

  Patty shook her head. ‘I suggested it once, but he wouldn’t have it. I think his mam had mental-health problems. He’d lost touch with his family, but he talked about her when we first got together. She ended up in hospital and he said that was never going to happen to him.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  Patty could remember that without any difficulty at all. ‘About a month after he left us. Archie was still a baby, so it would have been about five years ago. Gary turned up at the house.’ In her head, she replayed the scene. She’d been in the kitchen and she’d just come back from taking Jen to school. It had been winter and there’d been baby clothes draped over all the radiators. Everything a mess. She’d already started to let things slide. Then the front door had opened. No warning. No knock. And Gary was standing there, looking bloody gorgeous, wearing a leather jacket she’d never seen before and a Burberry scarf. In that moment she’d thought he was coming back and everything would be okay again. They’d be a proper family, and he’d lie in her bed every night and make her feel wonderful. Instead he’d looked down his nose at her, as if she was a bit of dog shit on his shoe. I’ve just come to pick up some stuff.

  She’d heard him moving around upstairs and he’d come down carrying a pile of clothes. Archie had started grizzling and she had him in her arms, trying to calm him. She’d thought at least Gary would want to see him. He’d always liked the kids when they were small and couldn’t answer back. It was as if somehow they were still a part of Gary until they developed their own personalities. But he’d just thrown his house keys onto the kitchen bench. I won’t be needing these again. Then he’d turned and walked out of the house, sl
amming the door behind him.

  ‘You haven’t seen Gary since then?’ Vera’s voice broke into her memory.

  Patty shook her head. ‘He made it quite clear then that he wouldn’t be coming back.’ She paused. ‘It was all my fault. He was older than me and he could cope with things better. Having me around was probably like having another child. I could see why I got on his nerves.’

  ‘Is that what you really think? Or is that what he told you?’ Vera paused for a moment. ‘Sounds to me as if he was the big kid, with his temper tantrums. Not taking any responsibility now for his own bairns.’

  ‘I loved him,’ Patty said. ‘I really loved him.’

  ‘I know, pet.’

  But Patty thought Vera couldn’t really know, because she couldn’t imagine the big woman giving up her independence for anyone. And anyway she was strong, not needy like Patty. Not desperate to be loved back.

  ‘I have to ask this. You do understand, don’t you? We’ll be talking to everyone who knew him.’ Vera patted her awkwardly on the arm. ‘Where were you this evening after about five o’clock? We know Gary was in his shop until then, and we think he had a visitor sometime later. Someone he knew and let into the flat.’

  ‘I was here,’ Patty said. ‘Just as I always am. I gave the kids their tea, sat and watched some telly with them.’

  ‘Did anyone see you here? A neighbour or a friend?’

  Patty didn’t like to say that she didn’t really have any friends, that the yummy mummies in the playground scared her to death. Then she remembered. ‘Freya came! Freya, the social worker. She was on her way home and we’d already had tea, so it must have been about six o’clock. She wanted to chat to the kids individually and then she played with Archie, so she was here for nearly an hour.’ Patty wanted to tell Vera about Archie’s reading, but it seemed a bit heartless to be boasting when Gary was dead.

  Vera beamed and Patty could tell she was relieved. She supposed at least Vera could cross her off her list of suspects. ‘Has anyone been here looking for Gary?’ Vera said. ‘Or trying to get him on the phone?’

  Patty shook her head. ‘Not since he left. His mates would call sometimes while he was still living here, but they didn’t stay. It was just to pick him up and take him out.’

  ‘Any names?’

  ‘Sorry, Gary didn’t talk much about his life away from the family. Sometimes I think it was about work. He went to people’s homes and offices to fix their computers. He was brilliant with computers.’

  Vera nodded. ‘Will you be all right, pet? I know you and Gary hadn’t been together for a while, but you were obviously fond of him. Is there anyone I can get to sit with you?’

  ‘I’ll be fine!’ Because there wasn’t anyone Vera could call to keep her company. Anyway, it was probably true. She would be fine.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  In Keane’s flat in Anchor Lane, Joe was trying to zone out the activity of the crime-scene team and work out in his head what might have happened here. He found a bunch of keys on a hook in the kitchen and, when he was sure Keating and Cartwright had everything they needed, he went back downstairs. The officer who’d arrived immediately after him was still standing there, on the edge of the cordon marked by crime-scene tape. In a more residential area, this would already have attracted a crowd of gawpers, people hoping for excitement, real-life CSI, but the road was empty apart from the PC. An elderly man was walking his dog in the garden, but he seemed not to notice the police presence and disappeared down a street on the opposite side of the square.

  ‘How long are you here for?’ Joe knew what it felt like. The boredom and the hunger, the growing realization that you needed a piss.

  The officer grinned. He seemed very young. ‘Someone’s on their way to relieve me. I should still get to the pub before closing. Just about.’

  Joe thought he was being optimistic, but didn’t say anything and waved the keys. ‘I’m just going to see if I can get into the shop, if you want to make a note.’

  The man nodded.

  It took two keys to open the shop door – a Yale and a Chubb. Keane hadn’t been in so much of a rush that he hadn’t locked up properly. Joe found a switch just inside the door and the space was suddenly lit from a bright neon strip. The room was all contrast: sharp glare and shadow. He walked past the shelves but wasn’t sure what he was looking for. He was more comfortable with IT than Vera, but that wasn’t saying much. Sal was more confident than him, always on Facebook and shopping online.

  The shop was cut in two, separated by a flimsy party wall. There was the area inside the door, where the public could browse the shelves for the latest techie toys, then the counter, and then a sliding door led through to what seemed a combined office, stock and repair room. A desk held a PC and a tiered basket of paper files. A small filing cabinet stood in a corner, and along one wall there was a workbench with a box of tools, a set of tiny screwdrivers and pliers. Above the bench, a shelf held machines that seemed already to have been repaired. Each was labelled with a brown tag. Joe looked for one marked with the Millers’ name, but it seemed Becky would have to find someone else to repair her laptop.

  He knew better than to touch the computer. A specialist tech officer would take that away, and Billy Cartwright’s team would move down here after they’d finished in the flat upstairs. He began to look at the files in the basket on the desk. It seemed as if everything was in order. Invoices from suppliers had been paid and receipts kept. Joe wondered where Gary Keane had learned all this stuff. It was much more organized than he would have expected, for a lad with a temper who’d been on the fringes of criminal activity since he was a boy. It came to Joe that perhaps Keane had needed order, to be in control, and the anger came out of chaos and situations he couldn’t handle. Three young kids and a flaky wife might do that to you. For the first time, he felt some sympathy for the dead man.

  He pulled open the filing cabinet. On the bottom shelf, it seemed, were the historical records. Perhaps Keane had been reluctant to throw anything away. That need for control again. Joe found invoices that went back years. They were smudged, on flimsy paper, carbon copies of the bills sent out to whoever had hired him, and stored in large brown-paper envelopes with the year written on the front. Joe found 1995, suddenly feeling excited. He’d thought he was going through the motions and there would be nothing to be found here; now he might discover evidence that Sinclair had paid Keane to torch his club. Even that Keane had been involved in Robbie Marshall’s murder.

  He tipped the thin sheets of paper onto the desk and looked through them. Most seemed legitimate and had been sent to individuals with names that meant nothing to Joe. For installing a security system in The Amazon Bar. For general maintenance of electricals in The Beach Hotel. In each case, Keane had scribbled paid across the bill. Then Joe came across one where the name at the top of the invoice leapt out at him. Hector Stanhope. The description of the work provided by Keane was unspecific. For services rendered. But Hector must have paid up, because the same word was scrawled across the copy of the bill. Joe returned all the pieces of paper back to the envelope. He’d have to tell Vera, but that conversation could wait until morning.

  He was about to leave when on impulse he picked up the telephone receiver. He heard the beeps that indicated a message. Joe dialled 1571 and waited. The man’s voice on the other end of the line was plummy, but friendly. ‘Hello, Gary, this is the Prof. I rather think we should meet, don’t you? I believe you have something to tell me. I’ll try your mobile.’

  Joe replaced the receiver. He’d almost stopped believing that the Prof. existed. Now they had a voice to put to the title, and he knew that Vera would be delighted. But that too could wait until morning.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  They met early the next day, the whole team crammed into the briefing room. Standing at the door, waiting for everyone to find seats, Vera felt a moment of claustrophobia and panic, caused not just by the overcrowded room but by the fact that
she was swamped with information and stressed by how much there was left to do. Watkins had been on her back, demanding answers she couldn’t give him. She had the sense that he was willing her to fail.

  They were still following up Robbie Marshall’s contacts, but now they had to check out Gary Keane’s customers and friends too. They’d pulled in staff from all over the region; it would take a while for the newcomers to be effective, though. Everyone needed briefing. She was trying to sort out priorities in her head when Joe ran up the stairs and joined her.

  ‘Any chance of a quick word before we start?’ He seemed nervous, a little awkward.

  She looked at her watch. Still five minutes to go. ‘If it’s very quick.’

  ‘I wanted to let you know that Gary did some work for your dad. He’s kept receipts going back years and there’s a record. I had a quick look at his office last night.’

  ‘What year?’

  ‘1995, so before Robbie Marshall went missing.’

  Vera tried to work out where she’d been in her life then. Early thirties and trying to make a name for herself as a detective constable. Hector had still been fit, with only a red face and a short temper as clues to the heart problems that would get to him later in life.

  ‘Would your dad have used him for anything electronic? Security system for the house maybe? Not many people had computers at home then.’

  Joe Ashworth was trying to be helpful, but she found the interruption irritating. She wanted to picture herself back there, a younger woman with almost her whole working life ahead of her. Not as she was now, almost washed up, having to answer to an unsympathetic boss. ‘I didn’t see much of my father around then,’ she said. ‘Too busy.’ And I didn’t like the stuff he was getting up to.

  She thought Hector might have employed Gary to disable a security system, not install one. She’d suspected her father of stealing osprey eggs from a famous breeding site in the Highlands. The RSPB had put in a camera at the site and had wardens to keep watch, but the eggs had disappeared anyway.