by Roberta Kray
Unsure as to what effect she wanted to create, she had gone through the palaver of dragging endless garments out of the wardrobe, holding them up to her body, gazing into the mirror and then throwing them on the bed. Too smart, too casual, too sexy, too boring. By the time she’d eventually chosen a dark green dress that flattered her figure without being too revealing, it had been time to leave.
The Fox was only five minutes from Silverstone Heights, and so she’d left the car at home and walked. Simon had been waiting for her outside the pub when she’d arrived shortly after seven. She had felt butterflies in her stomach as she saw him standing by the door. He really was very good-looking, with his wide brown eyes and tawny gold hair. Dressed in a smart grey suit, he’d obviously made an effort, and Valerie was glad that she had worn the dress rather than anything more casual.
Simon had greeted her with a peck on the cheek, told her she looked stunning and held the door open for her as they went inside. So far, so good, she had thought. But she’d still been nervous about how the evening would go. Getting on with someone on a work basis was one thing, but socialising with them could be quite another.
Within a few minutes, however, all her reservations had disappeared. Over a glass of wine the conversation flowed easily, and she quickly relaxed. He was amusing, intelligent and charming. He also listened to what she had to say. After the frustrating day she’d had – still no leads on the whereabouts of Dan Livesey, and a blank on any useful forensics – it was a relief to wind down and relax with someone who understood the trials and tribulations of the job.
Now, almost an hour after they’d arrived, he leaned across the table, smiled and said, ‘So, Inspector, if you don’t mind me asking, what made you change your mind about coming out for a drink?’
She smiled back at him. ‘You want the honest truth? I couldn’t bear the tragic disappointment on your face.’
He grimaced in mock dismay. ‘Was it that obvious? And here was me thinking I was being Mr Cool.’
‘Mr Cool? I think that one needs some work.’
Simon laughed, opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I was just … No, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘If you don’t tell me, I’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what it was.’
Simon played with his glass for a moment, turning it in circles before slowly raising his eyes to look at her again. ‘Well, I like you, you already know that, but I don’t want to tread on anybody’s toes.’
Valerie stiffened a little. She pushed a strand of hair back from her face. ‘And whose toes would those be?’
‘Harry Lind’s. Someone said that you two were still together, and …’ He let go of the glass and placed his elbows on the table. ‘Hey, it’s none of my business, right? Just tell me to keep my nose out.’
‘You’ve been listening to office gossip.’
He put his hands up for a second. ‘Guilty as charged. Except … well, no one was actually gossiping about you. I made a few discreet enquiries. Do you mind?’
Valerie gave a light shrug. She wasn’t sure whether she minded or not. On one hand, it was flattering that he’d been interested enough to find out if she was single or not; on the other, she was none too happy to discover that her private life apparently wasn’t that private. She wondered who’d told him about Harry. Swann perhaps. Simon had spent a fair amount of time over at Cowan Road recently, and Kieran was hardly the discreet sort.
‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No, it’s okay.’ She took a sip of wine and put the glass back on the table. ‘I do still see Harry, we’ve stayed in touch, but we’re not …’ She struggled to complete the sentence. Not serious? Not going anywhere? Not committed? Thinking of Jessica Vaughan, she frowned. She doubted if Harry’s conscience was bothering him as much as hers was. ‘We’re still friends,’ she said finally.
Simon gave a nod. ‘That’s good.’
‘And you?’ she said.
He wrinkled his brow, as if he didn’t understand. ‘Me?’
‘You know what I mean.’
He smiled at her again. ‘Actually, I just met someone. But I’m not sure how much she likes me.’
Valerie felt a light blush rise into her cheeks. She’d been out with other men during her split from Harry, but none of them had made her feel the way she was feeling at the moment. She had a connection with Simon that had been missing with the others. She looked into his eyes and said softly, ‘Maybe she’s still making up her mind.’
‘Well, I’m the patient sort. She can take as long as she likes.’
There was one of those brief silences that seemed to brim over with unspoken words, with possibilities and tingling hopes. Valerie was the first to break it. ‘Changing the subject,’ she said. ‘Have you ever come across a guy called Micky Higgs?’
‘Doesn’t ring any bells.’
‘He’s a doorman at the Lincoln Pool Hall. I went to see him today about the Hibbert murder on the Mansfield.’
‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘I heard you’d got that case. What’s the Higgs connection?’
‘He used to work with Dan Livesey, so we figured he might have some idea of Livesey’s whereabouts.’
‘But he didn’t?’
‘Claimed he didn’t.’
‘You don’t believe him?’
Valerie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. There’s something off about this whole case. Livesey cleared out his flat either before or after the murder. If it was before, then the killing of Becky was probably premeditated, and yet he didn’t make any real attempt to hide his face on the way in to the estate. But he knew the Mansfield, so he must have realised that he’d be caught on camera.’
‘So maybe he didn’t plan it. Could have been a domestic that simply turned nasty.’
‘But if you’d just killed someone … well, okay, you might head home to pick up some essentials like your passport or money or whatever, but surely you’d be in and out as quickly as you could? I mean, you wouldn’t hang about to do a proper clear-out.’
Simon lifted a hand, lightly stroking his chin while he thought about it. ‘Unless you were pretty sure the body wouldn’t be found for a while.’
She gave a sigh of frustration. ‘But even then. And he couldn’t have known anything for sure. There are lots of people wandering around that estate at that time of night. Any one of them could have stumbled on her.’
‘You’ve got a point.’
Valerie raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking work with you. You’ve come out to relax, not listen to all this.’
‘We’re cops,’ he said, smiling. ‘We never relax. We don’t know how. So tell me about this Micky Higgs. I take it he’s not the most trustworthy of citizens.’
And Valerie suddenly realised that this was what she’d missed – being able to share her problems, her worries and concerns with someone who truly understood. Ever since Harry had been invalided out of the force, she’d felt bad about mentioning anything even remotely connected to the job. She knew how much he missed it, and discussing her cases would have been like rubbing salt in the wound.
‘About as trustworthy as your average Kellston lowlife,’ she said. ‘And he gave us a story that was suspiciously similar to his girlfriend’s. Almost word-perfect, in fact. The girlfriend’s called Paige Fielding. And Paige was a friend of Becky Hibbert’s. And that’s where it gets complicated.’
‘Complicated?’
‘It’s a long story, one that goes back over fourteen years.’
‘In that case,’ Simon said, ‘I’ll get another round in before you tell me all about it.’ He picked up the empty glasses, rose to his feet and gave her a probing look. ‘That’s if you haven’t had enough of me already.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m hig
hly insecure. Feel like throwing one in my direction?’
She inclined her head, pretending to think about it. ‘Well, you do have quite nice eyes.’
‘Quite nice?’
‘Be grateful for small mercies,’ she said. ‘Are you going to get those drinks, or are you going to stand there all night?’
‘Two minutes,’ he said. ‘Don’t go away.’
Valerie watched him as he walked off to the bar, her eyes firmly fixed on the back of his head. He had no worries on that score. She had no intention of going anywhere.
41
It was the first time Jess had ever been inside a casino, and this one was the very picture of opulence, all deep-pile carpet, red walls and crystal chandeliers. The surfaces were immaculately clean and gleaming. Situated down in the basement, below the nightclub, it had no windows and the lighting was mellow. She had heard that casinos were always windowless and often without clocks, so that the punters had no distractions and were less aware of the passing of time. No opportunity to notice the afternoon slip into dusk, or the night into dawn.
Jess glanced at her watch. It was getting on for eight o’clock, and already the place was heaving. There was an electric buzz in the room, as if a big win was just around the corner – one turn of the wheel, one throw of the dice, a single card that could be worth a fortune. She could see how easy it would be to get caught up in the atmosphere, to chance your arm on Lady Luck.
Harry had bought fifty pounds’ worth of chips, but they hadn’t put a bet on yet. Instead, they had got a couple of drinks and settled down on a plush leather sofa where they had a good view of the activity going on around them. Warren had called again to say that Aimee Locke had been safely delivered by cab, but as yet she hadn’t put in an appearance.
Jess sipped on a Singapore Sling, feeling an instant impact from the alcohol. She wondered if the bar staff deliberately made them extra strong or if she just wasn’t used to drinking cocktails. A couple more of these, she thought, and she’d feel happy enough to gamble her life savings away. Well, what little was left of them. Harry was drinking tonic water in a tall glass with lots of ice and a slice of lemon.
‘So what happens next?’ she asked him. ‘You just sit here, wait for her to show up and then watch her?’
‘That’s about the sum of it.’
‘You think she might be seeing someone from the casino?’
‘Could be.’
Jess wrinkled her brow. ‘But even if she is, I don’t see how you’ll know about it. They’re hardy likely to dance the fandango on the roulette table.’
‘Granted, but they probably will talk to each other. And body language changes when people are involved in a relationship.’
A pretty blonde waitress glided past them with a tray of drinks. Jess noticed Harry’s appraising glance and gave him a look.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Er, I hate to tell this, but you’re about to blow your cover.’
‘How do you figure that one out?’
‘Because you’re supposed to be here with me, and anyone can see that I’m not the sort of girl who appreciates my man giving the glad eye to every passing piece of totty.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, grinning. ‘I didn’t think we were that serious.’
Jess put a hand on her chest, her eyes widening. ‘How can you say that? You’re breaking my heart.’
Harry sat back and laughed. ‘Hang on a sec, aren’t you the one doing the cheating here? Out on the town with your fancy man while your other half’s away on business.’
‘God, you’re right,’ she said, sucking in a breath. ‘I’m such a hypocrite.’
‘How’s that going, by the way? Neil, isn’t it? Think you might make it permanent?’
Jess felt a familiar knot twist into place in her stomach. She liked things the way they were with Neil and didn’t want them to change. ‘Marriage, you mean?’ she said glumly.
Harry slowly shook his head. ‘And you reckon I’ve got issues with commitment.’
Jess took another swig of her Singapore Sling. ‘Hey, I’ve got nothing against commitment. It’s just marriage I’ve got a problem with. And you would too if your parents were addicted to the institution. They’re both on their third, and I doubt these will last any longer than the others.’
‘Yeah, I can see how that might colour your view of things.’
‘So, what’s your excuse? I mean, you’ve still got this thing going on with Valerie, haven’t you?’
‘Thing?’ Harry said.
‘You know what I mean. You don’t seem to have made a complete break from each other. Maybe she’s the one.’
‘And how are you supposed to know when someone is the one?’
‘God knows,’ Jess said, tilting her head back and laughing. She didn’t want him to suspect, but her reasons for asking how he felt about his ex had their roots in more than idle curiosity. This evening, as they’d been leaving the flat, she had looked along the road and seen Valerie Middleton with a tall, good-looking man outside the Fox. There had been something about the way the two of them had looked at one another, at the way they’d smiled, at the way the guy had leaned down to kiss her cheek that … well, it had suggested something more than friendship. ‘I mean, how would you feel, for example, if she started seeing someone else?’
‘I suppose she will eventually.’
‘And that doesn’t bother you?’
Harry hesitated before giving a small shrug.
Jess was none the wiser. She had been hoping to discover if he still wanted a future with Valerie, but getting information on his emotional life was like trying to squeeze blood from a stone. It was best, she decided, to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t want him to get hurt, she liked him too much for that, but she didn’t want to be a stirrer either. No matter how good their intentions, it was usually the messenger who got shot.
42
Harry leaned his spine against the soft leather of the couch and let his gaze slide back across the room to Aimee Locke. It was a couple of hours now since she’d started dealing blackjack, and there hadn’t been an empty seat at the table since she’d arrived. Most of the punters were men, and none of them could keep their eyes off her. He had the impression that each and every one would be prepared to squander a fortune just for the pleasure of seeing her smile.
Tonight she was dressed in a long, silky red dress, styled to accentuate every beautiful curve of her body. Her lightly tanned arms were bare and smooth. He watched as she quickly dealt the cards, admiring her dexterity and her slim, elegant fingers. Despite a superficial friendliness – the men engaged her in almost constant conversation – there was something distant about her, a remoteness that made her all the more attractive. With her high cheekbones and grey-green eyes, she reminded him of an exotic cat, graceful and aloof, that gave and received love only on its own terms.
Jess, who had gone off to play on the slot machines, returned and sat down beside him. ‘Anything happening?’
‘Nothing yet.’ Reluctantly he shifted his gaze off Aimee Locke. ‘So, have you made me a fortune?’
‘Sadly not, but I haven’t lost you one either. I won a tenner, so I thought I’d quit while I was ahead. Pretty good self-control, even if I do say so myself.’
‘Admirable,’ he agreed.
‘This place is a maze, though. It took me ages to find the loos, and then another twenty minutes to find my way back here.’
‘Yeah, they do that deliberately,’ he said. ‘It’s so they can put constant temptation in your path. All those flashing lights, all those coin-filled machines screaming Play me, play me! It’s like an obstacle course in temptation.’
‘Talking of which,’ she said, looking across at Aimee. One of the punters had just had a big win and was in the process of handing over a substantial tip. ‘She must make a bundle if everyone’s that generous.’
Harry rubbed at his temples and frowned. ‘You know, I still can’t figure out why she’s working here.
The hours aren’t exactly sociable and she can’t need the money. Locke must be rolling in it.’
Jess finished the last inch of her drink and put the glass back on the table. ‘Maybe she just needs a twice-weekly fix of lustful admiration.’
‘Miaow,’ he said. ‘Have you got the claws out, Vaughan?’
She grinned at him. ‘Sorry, let me rephrase that in language more suitable for a fully paid-up member of the sisterhood. Maybe she’s the independent sort who likes to earn her own money and not be beholden to any man.’
‘It’s a theory.’
‘Got a better one?’
It was at that precise moment that a door on the far side of the casino opened and Ray Stagg walked in. He was a sleek, handsome, fair-haired man a few years older and a few inches shorter than Harry. Dressed in a white tuxedo, he started on a leisurely tour of the room, stopping to talk to the regulars, to share a joke and do some convivial back-slapping. Just the sight of him made Harry bristle. Stagg was one of those villains who had used his filthy money – all made from drugs and prostitution – to buy into legitimacy. Now he was the king of the castle, the beneficent host, and everybody loved him.
Well, almost everybody. It still stuck in Harry’s craw that several years ago he’d been forced to make a deal with the bastard. He’d let Stagg keep a large supply of coke in exchange for information that was to put Jimmy Keppell away for life. It was a deal that still caused him sleepless nights. Keppell, of course, had deserved everything he’d got; he was a vicious hardcore gangster who had been responsible for the blast that had killed two of Harry’s colleagues. But had making the deal been the right thing, the moral thing to do? Sometimes, in those grey pre-dawn hours when his conscience came knocking, Harry still wondered if the end could ever justify the means.
It was another half-hour before Stagg sauntered over to the blackjack table. He waited until the hand that was being played was finished and then bent across to whisper in Aimee Locke’s ear. Harry watched them closely. She gave a small nod, the merest hint of a smile, but there was nothing in her face to betray what she was thinking.
