by Roberta Kray
‘Yeah, okay.’
As they sped off down the alley, Paige was crouching down and Minnie was climbing clumsily on to her shoulders.
It was a few minutes before their absence was noted. By then Minnie had made two failed attempts at getting through the window. Even with the help of Paige’s extra height, she hadn’t quite been able to reach. It was Becky who looked round and realised the other girls were missing. She walked to the gate and peered both ways along the alley. It was empty. She hurried back and reported the news. ‘They’ve gone.’
‘What d’ya mean?’ Paige said, her dark brows crunching together in a frown.
‘Sam and Lynda. They’ve scarpered, done a runner. What you gonna do about it?’
Paige heard the challenge in her voice – Becky always liked to stir things – and was in two minds as to whether to go after them. She glanced rapidly from the gateway to the house and back again. They couldn’t have got far, and if she was quick she could catch them up. Yeah, she could grab the treacherous little cows and teach them a lesson they’d never forget. But appealing as this prospect was, it would mean abandoning the break-in. She was furious but determined not to show it. Instead she gave a casual kind of shrug. ‘So, who cares? All the more for us when we get inside.’
Becky, hoping for a more vehement response, looked disappointed. ‘I suppose.’
‘I suppose, I suppose,’ Paige mimicked in an exaggerated high-pitched voice.
Kirsten giggled.
Becky’s lips tightened into a thin straight line. She didn’t like being on the receiving end of Paige’s mockery. ‘Maybe I’ll piss off too,’ she said sulkily.
‘Go on then. We don’t care.’
Becky scowled but stayed where she was. It was that ‘we’ that was troubling her. Leaving Kirsten alone with Paige – Minnie didn’t count – was too risky. By this time tomorrow the two of them could be best mates and she’d be left out in the cold.
Paige glared for a while. When she was satisfied that Becky wasn’t going to give her any further trouble, she returned her attention to the trickier problem of getting into the house. It was only on the third attempt that Minnie finally managed to grab the edge of the window. Paige took hold of her ankles and pushed her further up. With an effort, Minnie got her head through, and then her shoulders. She hung suspended for a moment, half in, half out, with her legs flailing and her grubby knickers on display, before eventually slithering through the gap and disappearing from view.
‘Minnie?’ Paige called out softly.
There was a clattering sound from inside.
‘Minnie? You okay?’
Nothing.
‘Minnie?’
‘Yeah,’ she finally replied in her small whiny voice. ‘I banged me leg.’
‘Come on, don’t hang about. We ain’t got all bleeding day.’
Paige stood back, well pleased with herself. Now all they had to do was to wait. Minnie was under strict instructions to go straight to the back door and open it. She’d been told three times and asked to repeat it. Even a moron like Minnie should be able to manage that. Earlier, Paige had got down on her hands and knees and peered closely at the lock: there had been no light coming through it, so the key must still be in there. Once they were inside, she decided, she’d make the others stay downstairs while she went up to the bedroom. Creeps like Peck always kept their cash under the mattress. How much was there likely to be? Hundreds, she thought, maybe even more.
The sky had grown darker, large grey clouds gathering overhead, and now a few drops of rain began to fall. A couple more minutes passed but Minnie still didn’t appear. Paige banged on the door with the flat of her hand. ‘Minnie? What are you doing? Stop messing about and open up.’
There was no reply.
‘Bitch,’ Paige muttered, growing increasingly impatient. ‘I bet she’s filling her pockets with all sorts.’ Dragging an old metal bin across the yard, she clambered on top and put her face to the open window. ‘Minnie? Get yer thieving arse back here or I’ll fuckin’ kill you.’
But still Minnie didn’t respond.
Paige had had enough. The silly cow was making her look like a fool. The rain was falling harder now, one of those freak summer showers that could drench you in moments. Shaking the water from her ponytail, she leaned in towards the window again. ‘Minnie? Minnie, you’ve got to get out of there now! The Beast’s coming! Quick! He’s coming to get you.’
Paige jumped off the bin and without a backward glance made for the gateway. The two other girls followed her automatically, and the three of them ran down the alley whooping and screaming with laughter.
That was the last time any of them saw Minnie Bright. It was forty-eight hours before her crack-addicted mother reported her missing, and a few hours more before the police entered the house and found her small twisted body hidden under a bed.
1
Harry Lind sat back, put his feet up on the desk and cast a critical eye over his new surroundings. The room, freshly whitewashed, still smelled of paint despite the open windows, but he wasn’t about to complain. The office was twice the size of the last one and half the rent. The trade-off was that they’d had to relocate the business to the East End, a move that his business partner Mac remained distinctly dubious about. Had it been the right decision? He hoped so.
Harry slowly took in the row of filing cabinets, the wooden floor, the slatted blinds – pulled up now to let the spring air flood in – and his old oak desk. The walls needed some pictures to soften the starkness of the white, but as yet he hadn’t decided exactly what he wanted. He looked through the open door to the reception area beyond. A wine-coloured leather sofa, along with a couple of matching easy chairs, had replaced the uncomfortable seating of the previous office. There was even a new desk for their receptionist and PA, Lorna Green. Today, Friday, was her last day at the Strand. She and Mac would be joining him on Monday morning.
Harry knew that they were taking a chance. The West End had a prestige that was missing from the mean streets of Kellston, and although their overheads may have been reduced, that wouldn’t make a difference if they didn’t get the clients. Having spent the last nine months twisting Mac’s arm about the move, Harry was starting to feel the pressure. What if it all went wrong? But no sooner had the thought entered his head than he pushed it aside. Kellston was one of those up-and-coming areas, close to the City, and the office was near the station. There was no reason why the business shouldn’t flourish.
The sound of traffic drifted up from the road. Harry’s gaze, still on the reception area, alighted on the sign on the wall: Mackenzie, Lind, and underneath, Private Investigators. His mouth slid into a smile. It still gave him a kick to see his name in print. For the first time in years he actually felt optimistic about the future. Yes, signing the partnership deal had been the right move. After he’d been invalided out of the police force, there had been a long period when he’d had trouble getting up in the morning, never mind looking to the future. Now, at forty-three, he was, perhaps, finally managing that closure the shrinks were always banging on about.
Harry was still contemplating this notion when he heard the buzzer go, an indication that someone had come through the main door downstairs. He swung his legs off the desk, stood up and put his jacket on. Strictly speaking, the office wasn’t open for business until Monday, but he wasn’t about to turn any potential clients away.
The woman who strolled into reception was in her early thirties, wearing jeans, a white shirt and a faded denim jacket. Her oval face, although not conventionally beautiful, was open and expressive. It was framed by a bob of shiny pale brown hair, and from underneath her fringe a pair of grey eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘How are you doing, Harry?’
‘My God,’ he said, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head in surprise. ‘Jessica Vaughan. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Good to see you too,’ she said, smiling. ‘I was just passing by and thought I’d pop in a
nd say hello.’
Harry stared at her for a moment. She’d lost a bit of weight but still had curves in all the right places, curves that had drawn his attention a few years back when they’d met for the first time in the Whistle. Quickly he focused his attention back on her face. ‘It must be … God, how long is it?’
‘A while,’ she said. ‘So do you have time for a chat, or are you too important to mix with the hoi polloi now that you’ve gone up in the world? I noticed the sign on the door. Mackenzie, Lind, huh? So you finally took the plunge.’
‘I guess that makes me a grown-up. It had to happen one day.’
‘So now all you have to do is deal with those commitment problems of yours and you’ll be a fully rounded human being.’
Harry grinned. ‘You haven’t changed.’
‘Nor you. Well, except for the hair.’
Harry touched his head self-consciously. His father had been completely grey by the time he’d hit forty-five, and already his own black hair was generously streaked with silver. ‘Thanks for that.’
‘Don’t worry. It suits you. It gives you a look of statesmanlike distinction.’
‘Yeah, right,’ he said, instantly spotting a line when he heard it. ‘So what are you really doing here, Vaughan? And none of that I-was-just-passing-by nonsense. Don’t forget you’re talking to a trained detective.’
Jess perched on the corner of Lorna’s desk and lifted her eyebrows in mock offence. ‘Heavens, can’t a girl look up an old friend without her motives being questioned?’
‘Most girls, perhaps, but not the ones who do what you do. How’s it going on the journalism front?’
‘Moderate to good. I’m getting by.’ She paused, her mouth curling into a smile again. ‘But this has nothing to do with my brilliant career. As it happens, I do have a friend who needs some help. Trouble is, she’s not exactly well off, so I was wondering …’
Harry folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head. ‘You were wondering?’
Jess gave a tentative lift of her shoulders. ‘Mates’ rates, perhaps?’
‘I’m suspecting that’s a euphemism for no charge at all. You know, believe it or not, I am actually trying to run a business here. I can’t afford to—’
‘No, she’ll pay you. I promise. Only … er, it might have to be in instalments. But hey, money’s money even if it doesn’t come in all at once.’
Harry grinned again. ‘Is that what you say to yourself when you don’t get paid?’
‘Ah, come on. You owe me.’
Harry barked out a laugh. ‘And how do you figure that out?’
‘The last time we worked together, I got shot.’
‘Winged, actually. And how was that in any way my fault? In fact, if my memory serves me correctly, it was your idea to go there in the first place.’
‘But after it was all over and I wrote up the story, I kept my mouth shut about how involved you were with Ellen Shaw.’
At the mention of her name, Harry felt a familiar pang. It was always the ones who got away, the might-have-beens, who lingered in your thoughts. He still hadn’t figured out how Ellen had got so completely under his skin. Small, dark and fragile, she hadn’t even been his type, or at least not his physical type – he preferred tall, leggy, confident blondes – but her memory continued to haunt him. ‘You trying to blackmail me, Vaughan?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said, ‘but only for the greater good.’
‘Glad to hear it. And, just to put the record straight, Ellen and I were never involved. We were just …’ But just what they had been continued to elude him. ‘Nothing happened.’
Jess’s grey eyes widened as she placed her hand dramatically over her heart. ‘God forbid.’
Harry gave up and waved towards his office. ‘Okay, grab a seat and I’ll get some coffee.’
Jess jumped up off the desk and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Harry. You’re a star.’
‘I’m not promising anything.’
She gave him one of her knowing smiles. ‘Course not.’
Harry went through to the kitchen. There was coffee in the percolator, still hot from when he’d made it earlier. He poured it into two mugs and carried them through to his office, along with a bowl of sugar and a spoon. He put the bowl down in front of her. ‘Do you take sugar? I can’t remember.’
Jess, who’d sat down in one of the new chairs, was busily testing its swivelling abilities. Like a kid with a new toy, she swung left and right and left again. Then, putting her feet back on the floor, she stopped and gazed up at him. ‘Boy, you really know how to flatter a girl. I can see I must have made a major impact.’
‘It’s been what, three, four years? Do you remember if I take sugar or not?’
‘You could have stayed in touch.’
‘So could you.’
Harry wondered why they hadn’t. He and Jess had always got on, give or take the odd disagreement, but his life back then had been complicated. When they’d last seen other, their paths crossing on a difficult case, he’d still been trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d never be a cop again. His head had been all over the place, his long-term relationship with Valerie Middleton on the rocks, his emotions in freefall. ‘You want to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Take a seat,’ she said, ‘and I’ll reveal all.’
Harry walked around his desk, sat down and peered at her over the rim of his mug.
‘Well?’
Jess smiled again, but this time it was more tentative. She let a few seconds pass before she glanced down at the floor and then up at him again. ‘You remember the Minnie Bright case?’
Harry’s face instantly grew serious. ‘The Kellston girl, the poor kid who was murdered.’
‘That’s the one.’
The lines between his brows grew deeper. No cop, no matter how hard they tried, ever forgot a case where a kid was involved. And Minnie’s had been a particularly tragic one. ‘That was years ago.’
‘Fourteen,’ she said.
Harry ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Jesus, is it really that long?’ He’d been a DS back then, one of the officers who’d gone in to search the terraced house on Morton Grove. Minnie’s lifeless ten-year-old body, found stuffed under the bed in the spare room, was a horrifying discovery that would never leave him. ‘That sick bastard Peck, yeah?’
‘That’s right, Donald Peck. He hanged himself in prison a few years after he was convicted. Always swore he was innocent.’
‘Don’t they all,’ Harry said.
Jess placed her elbows on the desk and put her chin in her hands. ‘Except, I mean, Minnie wasn’t … er … interfered with in any way, was she? She wasn’t raped or sexually assaulted.’
‘He killed her,’ Harry said. ‘He broke her neck and then hid the body.’
‘But why leave her in the house? The body was there for over forty-eight hours, wasn’t it? He had plenty of time to move her, and he must have realised that someone would come looking eventually.’
Harry’s blue eyes narrowed. ‘What’s this all about, Jess? What’s going on?’
‘Don’t look like that. I’m not here to screw anyone over. You know me better than that. But maybe what happened wasn’t as straightforward as everyone thinks.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning exactly that. This mate of mine, the one I want you to see, was one of the girls who were hanging out with Minnie that day. Sam Kendall. Do you remember her?’
‘Vaguely,’ he said. Minnie’s five friends had all been interviewed by female officers. He had an impression of a group of small pale-faced girls, their eyes full of panic and fear. They’d come forward after Minnie had eventually been reported missing by her mother. Hannah Bright, a crack-addicted tom, had failed to notice her daughter’s absence for two whole days.
‘Sam’s a cabbie. That’s how I got to know her. She works for one of those all-women taxi firms in Hackney. Anyway, we got talking one night and she told me a
bout the murder and about how a year or so ago one of the other girls, Lynda Choi, had drowned in the River Lea. The coroner reported a verdict of accidental death, but Sam thought it might have been suicide. She reckoned Lynda couldn’t get over what had happened. And that got me thinking about how some people find a way of coping with these kinds of trauma and others don’t. I thought it might be an interesting subject for an article.’
‘Hang on,’ Harry said, leaning forward. ‘So you’re writing a story about this?’
Jess gave a sigh. ‘You’ve got that expression on your face again. Look, I’m not writing about the original investigation, only about what happened after. There’s not a problem with that, is there?’
Harry considered it for a moment. ‘Except you said earlier that you thought the cops might have got it wrong.’
‘I did not say that.’
‘Not in so many words, perhaps, but—’
‘I didn’t say Donald Peck was innocent. I merely mentioned that there could, possibly, have been more to the case than came out at the time.’
‘Peck had form. He was a known sex offender.’
‘Okay, okay, but forget about that for now. Sam agreed to be interviewed and she also pointed me in the direction of the other girls who were there that day. Lynda was the only one she’d kept in touch with, but two of the others, Paige Fielding and Becky Hibbert, are still living locally.’
‘And I bet they were simply overjoyed to hear that the past was going to be raked up again.’
Jess frowned. ‘I didn’t put any pressure on them, if that’s what you’re thinking. I do have a few scruples.’
‘Now who’s the one being defensive?’
Her forehead quickly cleared and she smiled again. ‘Okay, point taken. Anyway, as it happens, they were both more than willing to talk to me. Paige especially. She was mad keen on the idea of having her picture in a magazine. I made arrangements to interview them, one in the morning, one in the afternoon – this was about two weeks ago – but the night before we were due to meet they suddenly pulled out. Paige called me, said they’d changed their minds and weren’t prepared to go through with it.’
