by Roberta Kray
Jess raised her brows. ‘Lovely, eh?’
He grinned. ‘Well, not as lovely as you, naturally. But were I a free man of good health and natural appetites, I might just be tempted to give her a second glance. Why do you ask?’
‘I met her last night, briefly. Does she do divorce work?’
‘No, that’s not her bag. She’s into criminal law, dealing with all the lowlifes of Kellston who regularly walk through the doors of Patterson, Hoylake and Co. She’s a smart cookie, though. She’s wasted with that firm.’
‘So why does she stay there?’
Neil put his can down on the coffee table, shifted on the sofa and rearranged a couple of cushions. ‘Rumour has it that her old man has something of a record. She fell into the trap of mixing business with pleasure and ended up married to one of her clients. That kind of connection doesn’t go down too well with some firms.’ He picked up the can again. ‘So why do you want to know? Are you after some good prenup advice in case I pop the question?’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s it. I’m planning ahead. So if you’re intending to take me for every penny I’ve got, think again.’
He pulled a face. ‘So much for my master plan.’
‘Okay, I’d better go. See you later.’ Jess stepped into the hall, then put her head back round the door. ‘Oh, and what we just discussed about Vita Howard, it’s off the record, right?’
‘Who?’ he said.
She gave a nod. ‘You’re smarter than you look, babe.’
‘Love you too, honeybun.’
Outside, Jess got into her cherry-red Mini Cooper, threw her bag and the file on to the passenger seat and set off for Kellston. Her mouth widened into a smile as she drove along Victoria Park Road. She’d been seeing Neil Stafford for almost a year now, and had never been happier. He was smart, attractive and funny. He was also amicably divorced with no kids and – as far as she could make out – no seriously bad habits. Just for once, she appeared to have struck gold.
They weren’t actually living together – he had his own flat in Pimlico – but they spent most weekends and a couple of nights in the week together at either his place or hers. This arrangement suited Jess just fine. She liked spending time with him, but she liked her own space too. There would come a point, she supposed, when he might want something more, but thankfully it hadn’t yet been reached.
Putting the radio on, she hummed along to an old song she could only vaguely remember the words to. She thought about what Neil had told her regarding Vita Howard. She’d been hoping to get some useful information to pass on to Harry, a kind of thank-you for taking on Sam’s case, but her original theory that Aimee Locke could be thinking of beating her husband to the punch seemed unlikely in the light of what she’d learned. Although maybe not. Just because Vita didn’t specialise in divorce didn’t mean she couldn’t give advice about it. But then again, with the kind of money Aimee had, wasn’t she more likely to consult one of those flash City lawyers?
Jess continued to weigh up the arguments as she negotiated the weekend traffic. She tapped her fingers against the wheel as her mind wandered on to the Minnie Bright case. Despite what she’d told Harry about being interested in the legacy of the crime rather than the crime itself, she wasn’t convinced that the original investigation had been that thorough. The cops had found the poor kid’s body in Donald Peck’s house, and from that point on it was case closed. But if it had all been so clear-cut, then why was someone trying so hard to stop Sam from talking about it? The more Jess thought about this, the less it added up.
9
When Jess reached Kellston, she drove along the high street before turning into Station Road and swinging a right into the car park of the Fox. It was after three o’clock and there were plenty of spaces. The lunchtime rush was over and it wouldn’t get really busy again until the evening.
She leaned over and slid the file under the passenger seat where it couldn’t be seen. Then she picked up her bag, got out of the Mini and locked it. A couple of signs warned in large red letters that parking was for clients only and that any other vehicles would be clamped. Jess wasn’t worried. She knew the landlady, Maggie McConnell, and had permission to park there whenever she wanted. However, for courtesy’s sake she nipped into the pub to let Maggie know that she wouldn’t be long.
The Fox was Jess’s favourite pub in Kellston, a free house with excellent beer, good food and a pleasant atmosphere. And she wasn’t alone in her preference. Even at this time of day, although it wasn’t exactly heaving, there were still a fair few customers spread out through the interconnecting rooms. They were mainly locals, she guessed, who had walked here and left the car at home. With so many pubs closing down, it was to Maggie’s credit that she managed to maintain a thriving business.
Jess walked through the pub until she found the landlady sitting at a table near the back. She had a heap of papers to her left and a glass of her usual tipple, gin and tonic, to her right. Maggie McConnell was a well-preserved woman in her mid-fifties, small and slim, with a heart-shaped face and a pair of twinkling blue eyes. Her naturally blonde hair was cut short and generously streaked with silver. She looked up as Jess approached, and smiled.
‘Hello, stranger. Haven’t seen you for a while.’
Jess smiled back. ‘Oh, you know what it’s like, all work and no play. Anyway, you’re looking well. I just popped in to let you know I’ve left the car outside. I shouldn’t be longer than half an hour or so. Is that okay?’
‘You don’t need to ask, love. You’re always welcome.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate it.’ Jess had first made Maggie’s acquaintance through her former mentor, Len Curzon, when she’d been working at the Hackney Herald several years back. Len had been familiar with all the pubs in north and east London, although his preference had been for the spit-and-sawdust dives. That was where the small-time villains hung out and where he could, if he was lucky, pick up useful snippets of information. The Fox, however, had been an exception. ‘So,’ she said. ‘Business seems good.’
‘Not bad,’ Maggie agreed.
Jess glanced down at the table. ‘Catching up on the paperwork?’
‘VAT, rotas, orders,’ Maggie said, wrinkling her nose. ‘It never seems to end.’
‘Rather you than me.’
Maggie lifted her glass and took a sip. ‘That’s why I need this. It helps to numb the pain.’ She gestured towards the chair beside her. ‘Come on, take the weight off your feet. I haven’t seen you in ages. You can spare five minutes for a chat, can’t you?’
Jess glanced at her watch. She didn’t want to keep Harry waiting, but it suddenly occurred to her that Maggie could be just the person to ask about the Minnie Bright murder. She’d been running the Fox for over twenty years and there wasn’t much that went on in Kellston without her knowing all the ins and outs of it. Jess pulled out the chair and sat down. ‘Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you.’
‘Ask away. But have a drink while you’re here. What would you like?’
‘Oh, okay. Just an orange juice, thanks.’
‘Shelley?’ Maggie called out to the girl behind the bar. ‘Be a love and bring an orange juice over, will you. And I’ll have another G and T.’
While she waited for her juice to arrive, Jess took a moment to study the woman beside her. Despite her size and her placid demeanour, Maggie McConnell was a force to be reckoned with. Nobody messed with her. Everyone in the neighbourhood, from the cops through the villains to the local toms, was welcome in her pub so long as they obeyed the four basic rules: no scrapping, no soliciting, no thieving and no drugs. Anyone caught breaking those rules would be out on their ear, no second chances.
Shelley delivered the two glasses, put them down and headed back to the bar.
‘Thanks,’ Jess said.
Maggie put her elbow on the table, cupped her chin with the palm of her hand and said, ‘So what’s on your mind?’
Jess hesitated. Although Maggie
knew her well enough by now to be aware that she wouldn’t be planning on writing some sensationalist piece of tabloid journalism, she was still unsure as to how to broach the subject. Crimes as terrible as this one always left deep scars on the local community, and even though it had occurred more than fourteen years ago, there were obviously some people – as Sam Kendall could testify – who didn’t want the past raked up again.
‘Come on, love,’ Maggie urged. ‘Spit it out. You can tell me, whatever it is.’
Jess looked back at her, still trying to formulate the right words in her head. She quickly came to the conclusion that there was no easy way to enquire about this particular subject, so she took a deep breath and began. ‘Well, I’ve been working on an article about the Minnie Bright murder. Actually, not so much about the murder itself as the impact it had on the other girls – you know, the ones who were with her on the day it happened. Do you remember much about the case?’
A shadow passed across Maggie’s face. ‘Remember? Who could forget it, love. That poor little girl. A dreadful business, that was.’ She reached for her glass, took a gulp of gin and stared into the middle distance for a few seconds before refocusing her gaze on Jess. ‘So what is it you want to know?’
‘I’m not really sure,’ Jess replied honestly. ‘It’s just that … that some things don’t seem quite right.’
‘You mean about Donald Peck?’
Jess had actually been thinking about Sam Kendall and the threatening messages she’d received, but decided to ride the wave. Go with the flow, Len had always insisted, you might learn something useful. ‘Did you know him?’
‘Oh, everyone round here knew him, love. He wasn’t right in the head. I mean, it ain’t normal, is it, always wanting to get your bits out, but no one thought of him as dangerous. He’d been at it for years, ever since he was a kid. I’m not saying it’s right what he did, but he never went any further, never tried to touch or nothin’.’ She paused, looking thoughtful again, before adding, ‘Jesus, no one expected him to …’
‘He always denied it though, didn’t he?’
Maggie raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Well, he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Probably thought that if he kept on saying he was innocent, someone might finally believe him. That’s what people round here do, love. Even when they’re bang to rights.’
Jess took a sip of her orange juice. ‘So you never doubted that he was guilty?’
‘Who else could it have been? It was his house they found the poor kid in.’
Jess gave a nod. ‘I suppose. But if that’s the case, why is someone so determined to stop me writing about it?’
Maggie frowned back. ‘You been having trouble, love?’
Jess hesitated, but decided she could trust her. Maggie wasn’t a gossip, and she was sure it wouldn’t go any further. ‘No, not me. This is in confidence, right, but one of the girls who was with Minnie that day agreed to talk about it and next thing she’s being warned off and her car’s being trashed. A couple of the others said they’d talk too and now they’ve suddenly pulled out and won’t tell me why.’
‘Same reason perhaps,’ Maggie said.
‘I’m not so sure.’ Somehow Jess couldn’t see Paige Fielding as the type to be intimidated by a few anonymous threats made of cut-out letters from a newspaper, or even the vandalising of her car. Sam Kendall wasn’t a pushover either – she couldn’t be with the job she did – but she was a more thoughtful and sensitive type. And on top of being riddled with guilt about what had happened in the past, she’d also had the tragic death of Lynda Choi to deal with.
‘Well it can’t be Stella, that’s for sure’ Maggie said. ‘She never leaves the house from one month to the next. Poor cow don’t know what day of the week it is.’
‘Stella?’ Jess asked. She hadn’t heard the name before.
‘She’s got dementia.’ Maggie reached for her glass and took another large gulp of gin. ‘Christ, if I ever lose my marbles, promise to shoot me, love. Can’t think of anything worse. It’s a living death, ain’t it? And she’s only my age.’ She gave a visible shudder, as if someone had just walked over her grave. ‘Still, it’s hardly surprising with everything she’s had to put up with. Be enough to send anyone over the edge.’
‘Who’s Stella?’
Maggie, as if expecting her to know, looked surprised. ‘Stella Towney, of course. Donald’s sister.’
‘Oh, right.’ Jess hadn’t really looked into Donald Peck’s family background. On the whole she’d been concentrating on the girls’ story rather than his. ‘So she still lives around here, then?’
‘Palmer Street, just down the road. They moved away for a while after the trial, went to … Devon, Dorset?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t remember. Some place on the south coast. But Stella was back within the year. She was born here, you see, lived here all her life. She couldn’t settle anywhere else.’
Jess nodded. Stella Towney, all things considered, didn’t seem a likely candidate for Sam’s mystery tormentor. ‘That can’t have been easy for her, coming back here. I don’t suppose she was welcomed with open arms.’
Maggie pursed her lips. ‘Well, it was hardly her fault, was it? She didn’t do anything.’
‘Of course not,’ Jess said quickly, seeing the flash of anger in the older woman’s eyes. ‘All I meant was that people have a tendency to vent their rage on whoever’s to hand. It’s not fair or just, but it is what happens.’
‘Sorry,’ Maggie said, reaching out to touch Jess lightly on the arm. ‘I didn’t mean to snap, love. And you’re right. It was those stupid morons who drove her out in the first place. What that poor woman went through – bricks through the windows, dog shit through the letter box, abuse being screamed at her in the street … As if she was the one who’d killed that little girl. God, there are some ignorant pigs in the world.’
‘It must have been awful.’
‘And for Clare,’ Maggie said. ‘She was just a kid back then, only a few years older than Minnie Bright. Imagine having to deal with all that at her age. Stella tried to protect her, but there was only so much she could do.’
Jess’s ears pricked up. Someone else she didn’t know about, not to mention someone who might have a motive for not wanting the story of the killing revived. ‘That’s Stella’s daughter?’
‘Yeah, she came back with Stella, stayed for a while, but then took off again as soon as she was old enough. Can’t say I blame her. She went back to Devon or wherever and got herself a job.’
‘So she doesn’t live here now?’
Maggie hesitated. ‘Well, yes, she’s come back now to take care of Stella, but she wouldn’t be involved in any of the stuff that you’ve been talking about. I’m sure of that. She’s a nice girl, quiet. She just wants to be left alone to get on with her life.’
Jess gave a reassuring nod while in her head she carefully filed the information away. ‘Has she been back for long?’
‘Only a few months. She works in that Asda on the high street.’
‘Really?’ Becky Hibbert, another of the girls who’d been with Minnie Bright on that fateful day, worked at the same supermarket. Now that had to be more than a coincidence. Had Becky told Clare about the article Jess was writing? It was a possibility.
‘Like I said, though,’ Maggie insisted firmly, ‘she’s not the type to go causing trouble.’
But she could be the type who would try to prevent it, Jess thought, as she finished her orange juice and rose to her feet. ‘I’d better shift, Maggie. Thanks for the drink and the chat. It’s been good to get some background on the case.’
‘No problem, love. You take care of yourself.’
‘I will. And thanks again.’
As she left the pub, Jess looked at her watch and pulled a face. She was going to be late for her meeting with Harry, but it had been worth it. Maggie had just given her an unexpected lead. Clare Towney could well be in the frame. The girl might be nice, might be decent, but she wouldn
’t want the Minnie Bright murder coming back to haunt her – or her mother. Yes, all in all it had been a profitable stop-off. She had some new information and a possible suspect. Hopefully it would be enough to keep Harry interested.
10
It was warm outside, and as she strode along the high street, Jess could feel the heat of the sun on her face. She shed her denim jacket and flung it over her shoulder. Summer had come early. The sky was clear blue and cloudless, and the temperature must have been up in the seventies.
The market was its usual riot of noise and colour. Quickly weaving her way between the stalls, her senses were assailed from all directions. The smell of spices, of curries, of frying onions vied with the stinks and scents of the crowd. While her eyes drank in the rainbow shades, she heard bursts of music, rap and reggae, along with brief snatches of conversation.
By the time she managed to reach the monument, a memorial to the dead of two world wars, she was wondering if Harry would still be waiting. But there he was, standing just to the left of the obelisk with his arms folded across his chest. Hurrying towards him, she saw that he was wearing a stylish grey summer suit with a crisp white shirt open at the neck. Her gaze took in his austere, almost gaunt face, his wide thin lips and the two deep lines that seemed engraved forever between his brows. A pair of Ray-Bans hid his piercing blue eyes, but she could see the impatience in his stance if not his face.
He caught sight of her as she approached and deliberately looked down at his watch.
‘I know, I know,’ she said, trotting the last few steps and lifting her arms in a gesture of apology. ‘I’m late. I’m really sorry. I got held up.’
‘You didn’t think about calling?’
‘It’s only ten minutes.’
‘More like twenty,’ he said, glancing down at his watch again.
‘Is it?’ she said, all wide-eyed innocence. ‘I didn’t realise. Sorry. But I did find out something interesting.’ She linked her arm through his. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you while we walk.’
