by Roberta Kray
Paige Fielding’s stall was at the far end of the market. As they jostled their way through the densely packed crowds, Jess revealed what Maggie had told her about Stella Towney and her daughter Clare. When she came to the end of her story she looked up at Harry. ‘Quite a coincidence, don’t you think, Clare coming back to Kellston just as all this bad stuff starts happening to Sam.’
‘So now you’ve got her down as your number-one suspect.’
She could hear the cynicism in his voice and frowned. ‘As a suspect,’ she corrected him. ‘I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? She works in the same place as Becky Hibbert, which is how she could have found out about the article. And after what happened to her mum post-trial, she could be worried about history repeating itself.’
‘But why pick on Sam Kendall to warn off? Why not Becky or Paige?’
Jess thought about it for a moment. ‘Maybe Becky told her that Sam was my main contact. After all, Sam was the one who put me in touch with the other two, so perhaps Clare thought if she could scare her into keeping quiet the others might follow suit.’
‘Sounds pretty thin to me.’
Jess, disappointed by his negative reaction, gave a light shrug. ‘I still think it’s worth pursuing.’
‘You should be careful. You can’t start hassling her without any evidence.’
‘No one said anything about bassling,’ she replied indignantly. ‘What do you take me for?’ She didn’t wait for an answer before adding, ‘But you’ve got to admit that she does have a motive.’
Harry gave a small lift of his eyebrows as if to imply that he didn’t have to admit anything of the sort. ‘All I’m suggesting is that you tread carefully. From the sound of it she’s had a rough ride. You don’t want to go making matters worse.’
‘I don’t intend to,’ she said. Although disappointed by Harry’s lack of enthusiasm, she wasn’t deterred. She was still convinced that she was on the right track. Once she’d worked out the best approach, she’d go round to Palmer Street and put some questions directly to Clare Towney. Jess had a nose for the truth, and if the girl was guilty it wouldn’t take her long to discover it.
Eventually they fought their way through to Paige Fielding’s pitch. Her stall was on a corner and was covered with a blue-and-white-striped awning. From it she flogged a multitude of cheap kitchen goods: pots and pans, cutlery, crockery, colanders, sieves and plastic food containers.
‘That’s her,’ Jess said to Harry, pulling him aside for a moment. ‘The one in the turquoise vest.’
She couldn’t see his eyes – they were still hidden behind the dark lenses – but she was pretty certain that he was making a rapid assessment of the woman she had pointed out. Paige was a tall, big-breasted girl with sharp features and long brown hair. There was a heavy gold chain around her neck, a jangle of gold bracelets encircling her wrist and several gold rings on her fingers. She was sporting a deep, artificial-looking tan that had probably come out of a spray can.
‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘Let’s do it.’
Paige was serving an elderly lady as they walked up to the stall, packing a selection of items into a carrier bag and totting up the price as she went along. When payment had been made and the customer had left, she turned her head to smile at Jess. As recognition dawned, the smile instantly vanished.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Paige said coldly. ‘What the hell do you want?’
‘A word,’ Jess said.
‘I’m busy.’
Jess made a show of looking around. There was no one waiting to be served, no one even browsing. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘I’ve already told you. I ain’t interested. Just leave me alone.’
‘Five minutes,’ Jess said. ‘That’s all I’m asking. I only want to know why you changed your mind about the article.’
Paige put her hands on her hips and glared at her. ‘Got a right to do what I like, ain’t I? It’s a free country.’
‘Sure,’ Jess agreed. ‘But a few weeks ago you were well up for it, couldn’t wait to get started, and now … Come on, Paige, you could at least tell me why. It’s not too much to ask, is it?’
For a few seconds Paige appeared to be thinking about it, but then she leaned across the stall towards Jess, her eyes hard, her lips tight and grim. She barely opened her mouth as she hissed out the words. ‘Look, you bitch, what don’t you understand about leave me alone? Get the fuck out of my face or you’ll be sorry you ever met me!’
‘Hey,’ Harry said. ‘Cool it, yeah? There’s no need for that kind of talk.’
As if only just realising that he was with Jess, Paige’s eyes flicked warily in Harry’s direction. ‘And who the hell are you?’
‘My name’s Harry Lind.’
Paige looked him up and down before saying sneeringly, ‘You the filth? You look like the filth.’
Jess wondered what it was that so readily identified him to Paige as a policeman – albeit an ex-one. If she herself hadn’t already known about his former career, it would never have occurred to her. Maybe it was some sort of aura that was only obvious to those who made it their business to be able to spot a copper at a hundred paces.
‘Actually,’ Harry said, ‘I’m a private investigator.’
As if this was barely one step removed from the law, Paige gave a contemptuous grunt. ‘Stay out of it. This is none of your business.’
‘Someone’s made it my business.’
‘Oh yeah? And who would that be, then?’
Harry gave her a thin smile. ‘Look, you don’t want us here. We don’t want to be here. So why don’t you do us all a favour and tell us why you’ve decided to pull out. That way we can all get on with our lives.’
‘I changed my mind,’ Paige said stubbornly.
‘Did you?’ Harry said. ‘Or did someone change it for you?’
‘I dunno what you’re talking about.’
Jess had noticed the tiniest of hesitations before Paige’s response. It wasn’t marked, but it was enough for her to be sure that the girl was lying. ‘Do you really want to be an accessory to death threats, to criminal damage?’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Paige snarled. ‘I ain’t done nothin’. Whatever you’re trying to pin on me …’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not having it, right?’
‘If you’re covering something up, it’s going to come out eventually. You can count on it.’
Paige’s expression grew even darker. ‘Just fuck off,’ she said. ‘Fuck off and leave me alone.’
Jess might have stayed and tried to push her further, but she felt the pressure of Harry’s hand on her arm.
‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘We’re wasting our time here.’
Reluctantly, Jess allowed him to pull her away. As they moved back into the crowd, she gave one last glance over her shoulder. Paige already had her phone pressed to her ear. The girl’s left hand was bunched into a fist and she had a face like thunder.
‘Well,’ Harry said, ‘that went well.’
‘She’s lying.’
‘Of course she is, but the question is why.’
‘Because she’s up to her neck in it. She’s either been threatened or bribed and my money’s on the latter. Did you notice all the bling she was wearing? You don’t get that from flogging pots and pans twice a week on Kellston market.’
‘Maybe she’s got a rich boyfriend.’
Jess gave a snort. ‘She hasn’t. She’s shacked up with a lowlife called Micky Higgs. He’s a small-time dealer who works at the Lincoln Pool Hall. No, I reckon she’s been paid off.’
‘So what are you thinking? That Clare Towney has been flashing the cash, making sure that no one opens their mouths about what happened in the past?’
She looked at him. ‘Who mentioned Clare Towney?’
Harry gave her a sidelong glance. ‘That’s who you’re thinking, though, isn’t it? Except it doesn’t quite add up. From the tone of the notes sent to Sam, the perp sounds more like someone who’s angry
about what happened to Minnie, someone who’s got a personal interest.’
‘Clare’s got a personal interest.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Harry said. ‘Someone closer to Minnie. Towney may be less than happy to have the subject raised again, but why would she accuse Sam of being responsible for Minnie’s death?’
Jess let the question roll around in her mind for a while before she came up with a suitable answer. ‘Maybe it’s because she’s trying to shift some of the blame from her uncle. I mean, the girls were the ones who encouraged Minnie to go into the house in the first place. If they hadn’t done that, then …’ She gave a shrug. ‘I suppose it would never have happened.’
They were silent for a while as they negotiated the rest of the market. The stallholders were packing up, the noise subsiding and the crowd thinning out. Trade was coming to a close for the day. Jess was the first to speak again.
‘Becky Hibbert may be a better bet. She’s not as tough as Paige. A bit of pressure and she might cave in.’
‘If she knows anything.’
‘She must do,’ Jess insisted. ‘Both of them are involved in this – one way or another. They have to be. Why else would they suddenly decide not to talk?’ In frustration she slapped the palm of her hand against her thigh. ‘Someone’s got to them, and I’m going to find out who it is.’
Harry gave her another glance and grinned. ‘You journalists don’t give up without a fight, do you?’
Jess shook her head. ‘It’s not just about the article. It’s more than that. Sam’s a friend, a decent person, and she doesn’t deserve any of this. Who’s going to help her if I don’t? The police, no offence, are doing sod all about it. She’s out there on her own and worried sick about what’s going to happen next.’
‘Yeah, I understand.’
Jess wasn’t sure if he really did, but she gave him a nod all the same. She wasn’t sure either if her vehement response was quite as truthful as she’d been trying to make it sound. Since her major scoop with the Grace Harper story – a child who everyone thought had been murdered, but who had later reappeared under the name of Ellen Shaw – her reputation had soared, slipped down a few notches and then gradually plateaued out. Now, all these years later, she was aware that she needed something good, something better than good, to boost her name and get her back in the game.
They turned into the high street and strolled slowly back to the car park of the Fox.
‘So what next?’ Harry said when they were standing beside the Mini.
She opened the passenger door, bent down and pulled the folder from under the seat. ‘Here,’ she said, handing it to him. ‘This is a copy of everything I’ve gathered to date. Have a read through and let me know what you think.’
Harry took the file and put it under his arm. ‘You’re going to see her, aren’t you?’
‘Who?’
‘Clare Towney,’ he said.
‘Probably,’ she replied. ‘At some point.’
‘Well, when you reach that point, give me a call and I’ll come along with you.’
‘What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me on my own?’
‘I thought we were in this together,’ he said.
‘We are.’
‘Well then.’
Jess gave in gracefully. She’d have preferred to go solo, but was prepared to compromise if it meant Harry committing to the cause. ‘Okay, you’ve got a deal. But in the meantime, why don’t you have a word with Kirsten Cope?’
‘I thought she’d refused to see you.’
‘She has. But that doesn’t stop you having a go. She may be more inclined to talk to a private investigator than a member of the press. Her address and phone number are in the file.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. You fancy a coffee, or do you need to get off?’
‘No, I’d better go,’ she said. ‘But thanks for the offer, and thanks for coming along today.’
‘No problem.’ He waved the file in a gesture of goodbye, then turned and strolled towards the road.
Jess walked around the car but didn’t immediately get in. For a while she leaned her elbows on the warm metal of the roof and watched as Harry Lind headed towards his new flat. She had a feeling about this case, a gut instinct. There was a can of worms waiting to be opened, and she was about to start prising off the lid.
11
Ray Stagg slammed the skinny youth against the wall, hearing the satisfying thud as his body made contact with the brickwork. ‘What have I told you, asshole? You don’t peddle your shit here!’
The boy’s nose was bleeding profusely – it was probably broken – and one of his eyes was almost closed. He stared wildly out through the other one, a desperate pleading look that only increased Stagg’s determination to finish the job. He put his right hand tightly around the young man’s throat and squeezed. Leaning into his face, he spat out a warning. ‘No one, d’ya hear me, no one deals in my club. Do you get that? And in case you forget—’
Unexpectedly, the door to the storeroom opened and James Harley-Cunningham walked in. At the sight that met him, his face paled and his lips parted in shock. He looked from Stagg to the kid and back at Stagg again. Then he quickly closed the door behind him. ‘For God’s sake, Ray. What’s going on?’
Stagg retained his grip on the youth’s throat as he glanced over his shoulder. ‘I caught this toerag here trying to deal smack to the punters.’
‘Let him go. That’s enough!’
‘Enough?’ Stagg said. ‘Christ, I’ve barely started.’ He could have carried on, but he preferred to do his dirty work in private. Regretfully, he released his victim, and the youth slid down to the floor, the breath hissing out of his lungs like a deflating tyre.
With his arms hanging limply by his sides, James gazed down at the dealer, his hands slowly clenching and unclenching. His voice, when he spoke again, was hoarse with fear. ‘Jesus, what have you done?’
‘Nothing more than he deserved.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Let’s hope not,’ Stagg said. ‘Otherwise I’ve just wasted the last ten minutes.’
A low groan came from the floor. At this point Stagg would usually have put the boot in. Instead, he leaned down, yanked the beaten youth up by his lapels, dragged him over to the back door and hurled him out into the yard. ‘No second chances,’ he called after him. ‘Next time you’ll be leaving in a fuckin’ box.’
When he turned, he saw that James was standing very still with his shoulders slumped. His jaw was slack, his mouth wide enough to catch flies.
‘I didn’t have any choice,’ Stagg said.
‘You could have just kicked him out. You didn’t have to …’
Stagg gave a shrug. ‘Yeah, I could have – but what kind of lesson would that have been? By this time next week he’d have been back again with half the scumbag dealers in London in his wake. You let them think you’re a soft touch and that’s just the beginning. Before you know it, the big boys will have moved in and this place will be swimming in gear. Is that what you want?’
James shook his head. ‘No, but—’
‘But nothing,’ Stagg insisted firmly. ‘This is the only language these bastards understand.’ In fact the club was already swimming in gear, but it was his gear and nobody else’s – his coke, his E, his dope, his crack. The profits were his and he intended to keep it that way.
‘What if he goes to the law?’ James said anxiously, already baulking at the prospect of his licence being taken away. ‘He could do you for assault.’
Stagg brushed down his suit whilst mentally raising his eyes to the ceiling. James Harley-Cunningham, his business partner, moved in the blue-blooded circles of London and the Home Counties. He was a nice enough guy, but about as streetwise as a pedigree poodle. ‘Yeah, and what exactly is he going to tell them? That he was just dealing a little bit of the white stuff and along came the big bad man and beat the shit out of him? Hardly likely, is it? Nah, you don’t have to worry, mate.
He’ll crawl back under whatever stone he came from. We won’t be seeing him or hearing from him again.’
‘You think?’
‘I’m sure.’
As if he’d been temporarily paralysed, James finally began to move again, shifting restlessly from one Gucci-clad foot to the other. He stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his tailored jacket and pursed his lips. Stagg looked over at him, aware from his stance and from the expression on his face that he was still shocked by what he’d witnessed. It was unfortunate that he’d walked in when he had. Next time Stagg would remember to lock the door.
‘You all right, mate?’
James gave a nod, but his eyes told a different story.
Stagg felt irritated by the younger man’s ignorance of the realities of the club world, but he was simultaneously aware that it was this naivety that enabled him to make a packet on the side. The legitimate end of the business brought in good profits, but they were split straight down the middle. It was the lucrative extras, the junk, the dope, the white stuff, that really swelled the coffers of his personal bank account. He had this side running like a well-oiled machine, and the last thing he needed was a spanner in the works.
‘Look,’ he said, walking over and laying a hand genially on James’s shoulder. ‘No one likes this kind of thing. It’s ugly. It’s nasty. But it has to be done. You do see that, don’t you? There are plenty of firms out there who’d like a piece of Selene’s. You either stamp on it now, or you sit back and watch until we’re drowning in the shit. At that point there’ll be no going back, word will get around and we’ll end up with the law on our backs.’
‘I suppose,’ James said dubiously.
Stagg squeezed his shoulder. ‘Believe me, it’s a fact. This way we send out a clear message and we keep control.’
James managed a tentative smile. ‘I just don’t like—’
‘I know, I know. I don’t like it either. But it’s over now. Finished. You don’t need to stress about it. You just do what you do best – keeping the punters entertained – and I’ll sort out the rest.’
James opened his mouth as if about to say something, but swiftly closed it again.
