‘I’m glad it did. I don’t often get the chance to show anyone around. I wonder sometimes if people feel that I’m being pretentious when I start talking about my painting. Lately, though, it’s got me through some rather dark times.’
‘And how are things at the moment?’
‘Fine, I suppose. It’s never easy getting over the loss of someone you cared for.’
‘You’re still working at Harbinson’s?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She sounded a little put out by the question. It sparked an alarm in Tara that told her to quit work for the evening and to stop asking such pertinent questions.
‘Come on,’ said Jez, rising from the chair. ‘I’ll show you around, after all, that’s what you came for.’
She led the way up the thickly carpeted stairs, pushed open a door on the landing and switched on the light.
‘It’s supposed to be the master bedroom, but I thought that I could put all the space and light to better use. I sleep in one of the rooms at the back of the house; it’s perfectly adequate when you’re living alone.’
The room was indeed spacious and would appear more so in daylight with the French windows open onto the balcony.
‘It must be a lovely room when the sun is shining,’ Tara commented.
‘Mmm. In summer I can easily lose track of time up here. I do all my real living in this space.’
Tara began to relax and to wander around, inspecting the half-dozen pictures on the walls. There were several canvasses stacked on the floor, paper sketches too, paint boxes and two easels. The smell of fresh air mingled with the odour of oil paints and new paper. Jez remained by the doorway, her arms folded, allowing her visitor to browse in silence.
Being honest, Tara wouldn’t know if Jez’s work was any good in the commercial sense, but she didn’t have to be told what to like and what to dislike. She stood for a moment, lingering over a painting that sat on the floor and against the wall, of a place familiar to her.
‘I used to love going there when I was a kid. You’ve captured it very well.’
‘Funny you should say that. I painted it from a photograph when I was living in London. I’ve never been there. Don’t even know where it is.’
‘You’re joking? You’ve never been to Llanberis?’
‘I’m afraid not. I didn’t get the chance when I was a child and I moved to London when I left school. I did the painting while I was at university.’
‘Let me know when you have a day free, and I’ll take you for a drive. Then you can see how you’ve done the place justice.’
‘Thank you, you’re very kind, Tara.’
They smiled at each other and at last Tara felt at ease in this woman’s presence.
They spent nearly an hour going through Jez’s collection, discussing each one that interested Tara. Jez explained a little of how she chose a subject and what she tried to convey in the work. Mostly, Jez’s paintings were traditional landscapes, but Tara uncovered several canvasses which seemed a tad bizarre. She held one before her in both hands.
‘Oh, that was part of an exhibition theme I did a few years ago,’ Jez explained. ‘I chose some beautiful landscapes and then blighted them with something horrible. A big environmental statement, I suppose, but they sold well.’
Tara was holding a picture, shaking with laughter, as she gazed at a beautiful rural scene of cows in a meadow. In the background, however, the cows had formed an orderly queue which led to the front door of a McDonald’s restaurant.
‘For that one, I had no takers,’ Jez said.
* * *
‘So tell me, how do you like being a police officer?’ Jez asked, having insisted upon making supper after Tara had let it slip that she had not eaten.
‘It has its moments, I suppose. It certainly gives me plenty to think about.’
‘You mean that you bring your work home?’
‘Sometimes it’s hard to switch off. It’s probably the type of job that a woman like me should have. Not married, no kids, not much else to worry about.’
Jez set a bowl of spaghetti with smoked salmon in a cream sauce and a basket of garlic bread in front of Tara. She was ravenous and tucked straight in.
‘How come you’re in Liverpool and working as a secretary? I’d have thought you’d have done pretty well with your painting in London?’
‘I suppose I did do well, but I needed a break. I wanted to be somewhere else, and I decided to do something ordinary for a change. Being a secretary pays the bills. The money I make from painting allows me to enjoy myself from time to time.’
‘You don’t feel awkward working at Harbinson’s, after what happened?’
Jez’s expression told her that she was pained by the question. Prying off-duty was an anti-social habit she would have to stop.
‘Why should I? Richard and I hadn’t done anything wrong, except fall in love.’
‘I’m sorry, Jez. I shouldn’t poke my nose in. I didn’t come to interview you.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Already in the past, I suppose, and I’m on my own, again.’
Jez took a drink of her wine as if to wash the thought away. Tara caught the look in her sad blue eyes and offered a sympathetic smile. Jez smiled, too.
‘Do you have family in Liverpool?’ Tara reckoned the question was less intrusive than her previous faux pas. But she was wrong again.
‘No, not really,’ Jez replied, her eyes watering. ‘My mother died when I was three and my father when I was seventeen. There’s no one here really, no one I’m particularly close to.’
She seemed to wander off with her thoughts for a while as Tara continued with her supper. When the meal was finished, an awkward silence ensued and Tara began to think she had overstayed her welcome.
‘That certainly hit the spot,’ she said, wiping her mouth. ‘But I think I’ve taken enough of your time.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘God, it’s after eleven. I’m sorry for spoiling your evening, having to entertain the likes of me. I’d better be on my way.’
‘Finish your wine first,’ said Jez, topping up her glass.
Tara found this woman hard to refuse.
CHAPTER 13
It was the first board meeting since Richard’s death, and Maggie Hull was frightened. She set a tray of glasses and jug of water in the centre of the table and looked around the room. There would be an empty chair this morning unless Edward had already found someone to replace his son-in-law.
She had worked for the company for more than thirty years. Edward had been in charge for longer, but she remembered the day that Toby had joined in the shadow of his father Jimmy. Then Richard came along and he and Toby soon became a double act, bosom pals and tricksters of the highest order.
Soon, though, Richard had begun a relationship with Nicole, Edward’s daughter. She had worked there during the summer months while she was a student, but when she and Richard married, and the children came along, she was happy to stay at home. Everything had turned sour when Jez showed up. Maggie could see trouble brewing once Richard and Toby both began paying Jez too much attention. At first, it seemed merely a light-hearted competition between the two lads to see who could impress Jez the most. But the harmless flirtations developed to something more serious. She could see that Richard and Toby were fighting each other for the affections of the stunning woman. Jez had been her friend for a time also but she could never approve of such behaviour. She never thought that Richard would go as far as he had done. To leave his family for Jez was only asking for trouble. He hurt so many people.
But Maggie knew the secrets of this place, far more than she was supposed to know. She had seen how Jez had eased her way into working for Edward, a job that she, Maggie, had done for years. There was a hostile atmosphere about the office. And now she was afraid. She knew things about Jez, and she knew the secrets of each of the directors. Such knowledge, she feared, might one day get her into terrible trouble. How was it all going to end?
* * *
‘
Good morning, Maggie,’ Skip McIntyre called to announce his presence in the room. He enjoyed making an entrance.
She could barely summon a reply. ‘Morning,’ she mumbled, but the man’s ego didn’t stretch to him being concerned by the lack of warmth in her greeting. He was thick-skinned and had never cared a damn for his employees, including Maggie. At times she wondered how a man like McIntyre gained any satisfaction from working at the firm. Then again, she knew how he had come to be here.
Toby came in next and sat down at the table where she had already laid out his files for him. He had a report to present to the board this morning and she knew he was ill-prepared. As always, she did her best to cover for him. He looked his usual nervous self, well-dressed, well-groomed but there was little of substance between his ears.
A few minutes later, his father Jimmy hobbled in on his walking stick, puffing heavily from having struggled from his car to the lift and then to the boardroom. Nowadays, effectively retired, he maintained a presence on the board, more to ensure that he was not getting ripped off by the rest of them than to contribute anything worthwhile to the company. Years ago he had enjoyed groping her each day when she came into his office. Now he was incapable of anything, and she could make him feel inadequate merely by brushing her body against him.
Last to arrive was the chairman, Edward Harbinson, son of the company’s founder and the man responsible for making Harbinson Fine Foods a profitable company and national success. She thought that he looked drained and was sure it had everything to do with what had happened to his son-in-law. He might also be aware of the trouble that surely was soon coming his way.
When Jez strode in elegantly to record the minutes of the meeting, Maggie quickly made her escape. It was her nature, though, to express her distaste of the woman by staring coldly into her eyes as Jez took her seat. Once, they had been friends but now Maggie Hull knew better. This woman had destroyed Richard’s marriage and now he was dead, and yet she still had the nerve to continue working there. Any decent woman would make herself scarce.
Maggie missed her regular bus home because, after the board meeting, Toby had a ton of things needing to be done. He had disappeared off to the factory in Speke, or so he said, while she was left to sort his problems. On her way out of the office, she shared the lift with Skip McIntyre who was full of his usual monotonous chat about holidays drawing near and questions on her plans for the weekend. He knew damn well she had few plans; she lived alone, never married, no family in Liverpool, no real interests outside of work, while he could boast of a rich social life, his country cottage in the Lakes and his bloody villa in Marbella.
Maybe it was time for her to think of a new job, or perhaps retirement. But where could she go, or what else could she do? Harbinson’s was all she had ever known. This company was her life.
On the walk from the bus stop, rain coming down heavily with the sudden drop in temperature, she deliberated over what to have for her dinner. She could fetch some fish and chips on the way home, or else pop a steak pie in the oven and settle down for the night with Eastenders and Coronation Street.
Having opted for the steak pie, she slid her key into the lock and pushed open her front door. She shook the water from her raincoat as she pulled it off, hung it on the post of the bannister and went down the hall to the kitchen to switch on the oven. Her doorbell sounded. She froze. She didn’t even dare to look behind her. So often these days she had a reluctance to open her front door. The last time they had called at least she had the money to pay them. But not tonight. She’d promised herself that she would not rack up any more debts. She had decided it was so unnecessary. Most of the things she bought were useless to her anyway. Pretty to admire, but that was all. And before she knew it her spending was out of control again. She’d maxed out her credit cards weeks ago. She was behind on payments. As she’d done several times before, she turned to the local guys who were quick to lend her cash but at a huge rate of interest. Now she had no money to pay them back and no friend this time to step in to help her.
She tried to make out the figure beyond the frosted glass. It might be someone else, about something entirely innocent. Mormons, Jehovah’s Witnesses, charity collectors or even a neighbour. Maybe it was Toby, or someone from the office, calling to drop off files for her to work on before the morning. But the outline of the figure in the dying light didn’t look as though it could be Toby.
The caller was persistent, ringing the bell and hammering with a fist on the glass of the door. She heard the muffled voice calling to her. She switched the oven off again and eased slowly down the hall. Her hands trembled as finally, she opened the door. Immediately, she drew back, sighing with relief as her visitor, dripping wet, stepped into the hall. Maggie turned and walked towards her living room as her caller closed the front door. But it was a disastrous mistake to assume she was safe.
The first blow to the back of her head knocked her cold and she fell across the doorway into the lounge. The frenzy that followed quickly sucked the life from her.
CHAPTER 14
Despite feeling less motivated even than the day before, Tara dealt swiftly with Big Beryl.
‘I suggest that you tell DC Wilson of your involvement in these burglaries,’ she said.
Beryl scoffed as if her words meant nothing.
‘We have a witness, Beryl. Someone who can identify you as the man who was making out of her front door with her television.’
Beryl rubbed his chubby hand across a day’s growth of beard. Suddenly, he didn’t look so confident.
‘I’ll leave you with DC Wilson, and you can make your statement.’
She sighed as she walked from the interview room back to her desk. Only twenty to eleven and she was praying for the day to be over. She glanced across the room at Murray who was engrossed in paperwork. The remainder of her day promised the same, and yet her mind was busy with the information she had digested on the poisoning emergency. She had composed a mental list of the people she would like to interview. Whoever was running the investigation may have already done so, but why had no progress been reported? It seemed that with the involvement of national security services everything was being kept under wraps. The public was not to be told. And she was not allowed to get involved.
Scrolling through the Merseyside Police bulletins, she was trying to conjure some interest in her work when her desk telephone rang.
‘May I speak with Detective Inspector Grogan, please,’ said a woman’s sedate voice.
‘Speaking,’ Tara replied.
‘Inspector, this is Jez Riordan, how are things?’
Tara was startled by the call. She was certainly not expecting it, and yet somehow she felt elated to hear the friendly voice.
‘Up to my eyes in tedious paperwork,’ she replied. ‘Not the most interesting of days.’
‘Oh dear,’ Jez said. ‘Maybe I can change that. Are you free this evening? I have two tickets for the Philharmonic tonight. I wondered if you would care much for an Elgar Cello Concerto?’
‘Classical music? Can’t say that I’ve tried that before. I’m more a Foo Fighters fan.’
‘A what?’ Jez said incredulously.
‘Rock music.’
‘Oh, I see. I thought about asking you last night, but I’m afraid I chickened out. I didn’t want to appear forward.’
‘No, not at all.’
‘It’s fairly light – lowbrow, you might say.’
‘Why not? You’ve talked me into it. I’m happy to drive.’
‘Great. You can pick me up at seven if you like?’
‘See you then.’
‘Bye.’
Tara could have talked more. She could have chatted to such a friendly soul all day. With a wistful smile, she wondered about her new friend. Was Jez, like her, in desperate need of companionship?
* * *
Her afternoon’s work paled away. It was a battle with her mind to concentrate on the Hurley case. The paperwork was four months old,
the case having first come to light almost a year ago. After a tip-off and then several weeks of surveillance, police had managed to seize two tanker lorries. Five men were caught at the scene and three others, including Jack Hurley, the overlord of the smuggling operation, were arrested within the day. The lorries had been especially converted to carry alcohol in tanks hidden behind the refrigerated compartments used for transporting dairy products. Thousands of gallons of booze had been smuggled from Poland ready to be bottled and sold as a major brand of vodka.
The police had managed, not only to catch the smugglers but also to smash the distribution network for the booze once it reached Liverpool. The case being prepared for the courts was built upon the surveillance evidence. The objective had been to disrupt a major alcohol smuggling operation. Jack Hurley was the number one target; his previous convictions ran to two pages, mainly related to drug activities. The rumour was that his old associates were upset to learn about Jack’s smuggling operation because they had been excluded from the scheme. Hurley was probably thankful that the police got to him before his old comrades did. Chief Superintendent Tweedy was pleased with the work and hopeful of a positive result when the CPS took it to court.
As Tara read through the various reports she could see the flaws, mostly the minutiae of police procedure but a half-alert barrister could still decide to muddy the water sufficiently for a judge to order a dismissal. She had seen it happen many times before. That’s what worried Tweedy. Unfortunately, events and occurrences could not be changed. Having got to this stage they would simply have to make do.
* * *
By six o’clock Tara could take no more, her head buzzing, the cocky face of Jack Hurley flashing like a Belisha in her head. She felt elated at the prospect of a night out with new and friendly company. A quick shower and change at home and, twenty minutes late, she dashed to the house in Woolton to pick up her new friend.
‘Did you think I wasn’t coming?’ Tara asked.
THE DARING NIGHT Page 5
