by Roberta Kray
‘No,’ Harry said. ‘Of course not.’
Jess could sense that Harry was about to end the meeting. He’d not been comfortable about coming here in the first place, and it was clear that since arriving, he’d heard nothing from Clare that had led him to suspect her of being anything more than a victim. She, however, wasn’t so sure. Harry might be smart, but he was still a soft touch when it came to damsels in distress.
‘So if there’s nothing else?’ Clare said.
Jess wasn’t in a hurry to leave. She still wanted to talk about Lynda Choi and the light. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see Clare’s reaction. Just as she was about to broach the subject, she sensed a movement behind her. Turning her head, she saw a woman standing in the doorway.
Stella Towney – for surely it had to be her – was a tall, gaunt woman in her mid-fifties. Her hair, cropped short, was a faded shade of red. With her hands pushed deep into the pockets of a long green cardigan, she gazed around the room with a look of bewilderment. Finally her brown eyes settled on Harry. She stared at him for a moment, and then, as if a flicker of recognition had dawned somewhere in the back of her mind, she inclined her head and smiled.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘How are you? Have you come to see Alan?’
‘No, Mum,’ Clare said, quickly standing up. ‘Dad isn’t here any more. You know that.’
‘Hello, Mrs Towney,’ Harry said.
Stella rocked on her toes, her gaze still fixed firmly on his face. ‘He isn’t home yet, you see. Has Clare made you a cup of tea? You should have a brew while you wait.’ Her eyes shifted over to her daughter and then back to Harry again. ‘He could be in the pub,’ she said. ‘Have you tried the Fox?’
‘He’s not in the Fox, Mum,’ Clare said, her voice full of strained weariness. She took her mother’s arm and led her gently back into the other room. ‘Come on, let’s get you sat down and then we’ll find something for you to watch.’
Jess wondered if Stella remembered Harry from long ago, from the trial perhaps, or the police station. The woman was comparatively young to have developed dementia, but Jess knew that it could strike at an even earlier age. It couldn’t be easy for Clare to cope with. Not only had she had to return to Kellston, but also, as an only child, she’d had to take on all the responsibility for her mother’s care. Jess felt some sympathy. However, if she was putting on her cynical hat, she could see how easy it would have been for Clare to become bitter, to turn against others, to maybe even want some payback for the cruelty of her own ruined life.
When Clare came back, Harry immediately rose to his feet. ‘We should be going,’ he said. ‘Thank you for talking to us. We appreciate it.’
Jess, left with no other choice than to follow suit, reluctantly stood up too. ‘Yes, thank you.’
Clare smiled thinly, walked across the room and opened the front door. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. As you can see, I’ve got more to worry about at the moment than what may or may not have happened in the past.’
‘Well, if you think of anything that could be useful,’ Jess said, holding out a small piece of paper with her name and number written on it, ‘you can call me any time.’
Clare Towney gazed disdainfully at the offering before eventually reaching out and taking it from Jess’s hand with the tips of her fingers. As if she couldn’t wait to get rid of it, she immediately turned and dropped it on to the sideboard. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye,’ Harry said.
Jess gave her a nod.
They were barely out of the door before it was shut firmly behind them and the bolt pulled across. Jess squinted as they walked in silence along the short driveway, past the bins and into the street. It seemed extraordinarily bright outside after the gloom of the semi-curtained room.
‘So, what do you think?’ she said, keeping her voice neutral. She was irked by Harry’s unilateral decision to leave but determined not to show it. After everything he’d done for her, it would be churlish to pick a fight now.
‘I think she’s struggling. It must be stressful trying to hold down a job and take care of her mother at the same time.’
Jess glanced up at him. ‘Yeah, but maybe that’s not all she’s struggling with.’
Harry’s blue eyes met hers. ‘Meaning?’
‘How about a guilty conscience for starters?’
‘And how do you figure that one out?’
Jess held his gaze and smiled. He might believe that Clare Towney had nothing to hide, but she thought otherwise. ‘Just call it feminine intuition.’
‘Is that something to be relied upon?’
‘Oh, Mr Lind,’ she sighed. ‘You’ve still got a lot to learn.’
46
DI Valerie Middleton had spent almost fifteen minutes on the phone, fifteen minutes of wheedling persuasion and implied threats in order to finally convince Chris Street that it was in his best interests to hand over Monday’s security tapes from the Lincoln. She had known that she was on dodgy ground, that she probably couldn’t force him to comply without going through the more usual time-consuming legal channels, but she wanted those visuals as fast as possible.
Eventually, a compromise had been reached and Street had agreed to release the footage from the external cameras only. What went on inside the Lincoln probably wasn’t something that he’d relish being viewed by the police. Still, it was a result. Livesey had been working the door that night so everything he’d done and everyone he’d talked to would have been caught on camera.
It was now over half an hour since Street had relinquished the tapes. Valerie and Swann were sitting side by side in the incident room going through them carefully. There was the usual motley crew drifting into the pool hall – shifty-looking youths, hustlers, dealers, even a couple of toms hoping to pick up some business – but no one out of the ordinary.
Livesey was a wide, solidly built man with the kind of face only a mother could love. He was virtually chinless, with small eyes, a fleshy mouth and a nose that had clearly been broken on more than one occasion. His head was shaved and his bald pate gleamed in the fierce security lights. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, he looked bored and sullen. For long periods of time there was nothing for him to do. He leaned against the wall, smoking cigarettes and fiddling with his phone.
‘He’s either texting,’ Swann said. ‘Or he’s checking out the hot babes on the internet.’
‘And you’d know all about that.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, smirking. ‘I do a lot of texting.’
Valerie raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Well, there were no texts sent from the mobile he left in the flat. And the one and only call he made to Becky Hibbert that night was at five past twelve, shortly after he got to the Mansfield. That’s kind of late to ring, isn’t it?’
‘Depends on the hours you keep, I suppose.’ ‘But why not call earlier and let her know he was coming?’ ‘Maybe he didn’t want her to know. Or maybe he only made his mind up at the last minute.’
Valerie stared hard at the grainy image of Livesey. ‘He doesn’t look like a man with murder on his mind. More like he’s trying to choose between a bag of chips and a kebab.’ She placed her elbows on the table and tried not to yawn. It had been after one o’clock before she’d got to bed last night. After dinner at Adriano’s, she and Simon had gone on to a wine bar. It had been an enjoyable evening – he was good company – but she’d drunk more than she should have and woken up with a hangover. The remnants of a headache still tugged behind her temples.
‘Fast-forward it,’ she said to Swann. ‘Let’s see what happens at closing time.’
The Lincoln theoretically closed at eleven but it took another half-hour for the pool hall to empty. The punters came out in twos and threes, some with that glazed look in their eyes as if they’d been tugging on a joint for the past few hours, others more rowdy from the pints of lager they’d been knocking back. Livesey swiftly moved them on. The quicker he got rid of them, the sooner his work was do
ne.
It was at twenty to twelve that a familiar face emerged from the open door of the Lincoln, lit a cigarette and went over to chat to Livesey. The man was clearly part of the security team. Valerie instantly became more alert. She sat up straight, a thin stream of adrenalin running through her blood. ‘Well, fancy that,’ she said. ‘If it isn’t the delightful Micky Higgs.’
‘He wasn’t on the rota for Monday night.’
‘No, he must have swapped shifts with someone. Nice of him to mention it to us.’
‘Lying toerag,’ Swann muttered. ‘He said he hadn’t seen Livesey since Saturday. Now why would he tell a porkie like that?’
Valerie kept her eyes fixed on the screen. ‘Exactly.’ She frowned. ‘And how come we didn’t see him go in?’
‘He must have got there early. Maybe he had a few games of pool before he started work.’
The conversation between the two men seemed casual at first, nothing more than a friendly chat between two co-workers, but after a couple of minutes everything changed. Livesey became more animated, his face tightening, his arms waving around. He turned away, turned back, and glared at Higgs.
‘Not good news, then,’ Swann said.
‘Interesting.’ Valerie leaned in towards the screen. ‘Can’t make out what they’re saying, though.’
The heated conversation continued for a while, and then Dan Livesey suddenly stormed into the Lincoln. Higgs, with a smug expression on his face, finished his cigarette, chucked the stub on the ground and followed him inside. It was almost midnight when Livesey came out again, now wearing a long dark overcoat over his suit and looking like thunder.
‘That is not a happy man,’ Swann said.
‘A man in the mood for murder, perhaps.’
Livesey strode down the path and turned right in the direction of the Mansfield. After that, the cameras lost him and he disappeared from view.
‘Right,’ Valerie said. ‘Let’s pull in Micky Higgs again and see what the lying bastard has to say for himself.’
It was twenty past four before DCs Lister and Franks finally managed to find Higgs and bring him into the station. As Valerie entered the interview room, with Swann behind her, Micky blatantly looked her up and down. He was a tall, good-looking, cocky sod who thought he could talk his way out of anything.
‘Hello, darlin’,’ Higgs said. ‘Have you missed me?’
She pulled out a chair and sat down across the table from him. He was wearing a white T-shirt that said Fuck the Law, which naturally endeared him to her. ‘Like a hole in the head. And it’s Inspector to you.’
Higgs grinned. ‘You didn’t need to send the plods, Inspector. You could have just given me a bell. I’m always happy to oblige.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Swann turned on the recording equipment and they went through the usual procedure of announcing who was present in the room.
‘Hang on a second,’ Higgs said. ‘Shouldn’t I have a solicitor?’
‘You’re not under arrest,’ Valerie said. ‘You’re just helping us with our enquiries. We need to clear up a little … misunderstanding from when we talked to you yesterday.’
Higgs thought about this for a moment and then gave a lazy shrug. ‘Go on, then.’
‘It’s about the last time you saw Dan Livesey,’ Valerie said. ‘Saturday night? Wasn’t that what you said?’
‘Yeah, Saturday. We were working together at the Lincoln.’
Valerie gave him a thin smile before opening a brown folder and sliding three black and white stills across the table. ‘And yet here you are, large as life, chatting to him on Monday night.’
Higgs sat forward, frowned and stared at the pictures. He wasn’t the slightest bit fazed at being caught out in the lie. ‘Was that Monday? Sorry, I must have got my dates mixed up. The job’s kind of boring, you know, one night’s much the same as another.’
‘Except Monday night wasn’t the same as any other, was it?’ Swann said. ‘Your mate’s ex-girlfriend, Becky Hibbert, got murdered. That kind of thing tends to make a night more memorable.’
Higgs sat back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Like I said, I just got my dates mixed up.’ He gave Valerie a sly look. ‘It was a genuine mistake. Can’t get arrested for it, can you?’
‘No,’ she agreed, ‘but we could do you for perverting the course of justice.’
‘Only if you can prove that I did it deliberately.’
Valerie tapped her fingernails on one of the photographs. ‘We’ve had a look through the security footage, Micky, and at about twenty to twelve you came out of the pool hall and said something to Livesey that got him mighty upset. You mind sharing it with us?’
Higgs unclasped his arms and raised his hands in a gesture of frustration. ‘Ah, come on. Do you remember the details of every conversation you’ve ever had?’
‘Don’t waste my time,’ Valerie said. ‘Up until that point Livesey’s perfectly calm, and next thing he’s like a bull with a sore head. I’m presuming it was to do with Becky, because that’s where he went next, straight to the Mansfield Estate.’
‘Which could make you an accessory to murder,’ Swann said. ‘I mean, if you knew he was going there to kill her …’
‘Hey,’ Higgs said, suddenly not quite so cocksure. ‘You’re not pinning that on me. No fuckin’ way. I didn’t know what he was planning on doing, did I?’
Valerie was quick to take advantage. ‘So just tell us what you said to him. That’s all we want to know and then you’re free to go. I’m sure, on this occasion at least, we can overlook your unfortunate memory lapse.’
Higgs looked from one to the other while he weighed up his options. In the end he came down on the side of self-preservation. ‘I just tipped him the wink, didn’t I?’
‘Tipped him the wink?’
‘Yeah. About what that filthy slag was up to. Someone had to let him know. She’s supposed to be taking care of his kids, right? And if the Streets had got wind of what she was up to, they might have thought Dan was taking a share. He’d have been out of a job – and minus his kneecaps too. The only toms they allow to operate on the Mansfield are their own.’
‘But I thought that was just a rumour,’ Valerie said. ‘I mean about her working as a prostitute.’
‘Rumour or no rumour, he needed to know about it.’
‘So why didn’t you tell us all this yesterday?’
Higgs scratched at his head and scowled. ‘You don’t grass up a mate, do you? I had no idea he was going to … How could I have known? I’m not a fuckin’ mind-reader.’
Valerie could have pointed out that it didn’t take a mind-reader to see what mood Livesey had been in, but she held her tongue. ‘Okay,’ she said, gathering up the photographs and putting them back in the file. ‘You can go.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Unless you’ve got something else you want to tell us,’ Swann said. ‘Like where Livesey could be hiding out, for example.’
Higgs rose to his feet, shook his head and grinned. ‘He’ll be well gone, man. Not gonna hang around and wait for you lot to pick him up, is he?’
‘And you haven’t spoken to him or seen him since the murder?’
‘Why would I?’
They accompanied Higgs back to the foyer and watched in silence as he swaggered through the doors. As soon as he was out of earshot, Swann said, ‘That piece of shit knows more than he’s letting on.’
Valerie gave a nod. ‘You bet he does. Let’s put a tail on him and see what he does next.’
47
At ten past five, shortly after Harry had taken over the surveillance at Walpole Close, the electric gates slid smoothly open and a white Ford Mustang appeared with Aimee Locke at the wheel. Quickly he jumped into the driver’s seat of the van and started the engine. He let a couple of cars go by before pulling out. It wasn’t long before they hit the busier part of Kellston, where the traffic, heavy and slow-moving, meant he had no problem keeping her in sight.
>
Even as he edged along behind the Ford, Harry was aware that it was probably a waste of time. Ray Stagg would already have tipped Aimee off about the tail. It had been an error of judgement, he thought, going to the casino like that. He’d been hoping that Stagg wouldn’t be around, or if he was that he wouldn’t make the connection with Aimee Locke. Harry slapped his hand against the wheel. Damn it! He should have given the job to Warren or one of the others.
Halfway along the high street, the Mustang’s indicator flashed left and the car turned into Market Road. As there was no business today, no stalls or traders or bustling crowds of customers, there was plenty of room to park. As she drew up beside a meter, Harry drove on past and pulled in further along the road.
He watched in the side mirror as she got out of the car. She was wearing a stylish cream linen suit and high heels. She took out her purse, fed the meter and then glided back towards the high street. He took a moment to admire her long, shapely legs before climbing out of the van and following her. She crossed the road at the zebra – cars screeching to a halt as soon as she appeared – and went into Boots.
Wanting to keep a safe distance, Harry remained on the corner on the other side of the road. He pretended to examine the display in an electrical goods shop while surreptitiously watching the reflection of the chemist’s in the window. She reappeared in a couple of minutes, waited for all of three seconds for the line of traffic to stop, and crossed over again. He kept his back turned, continuing to watch her progress in the glass. Any moment now she would pass right by him on her way to the car.
No sooner had the thought entered his head than Aimee Locke was at his side. He had no time to stride away, no time to take evasive action. She gazed up at him with her cool grey-green eyes.
‘Hello, Mr Lind. Thinking of buying a fridge?’ Her voice was soft and husky, tinged with amusement.
There was no point in him trying to deny the obvious. He looked back at her with a wry smile. ‘I guess this is what’s known as being caught in the act.’
