by Roberta Kray
While he waited for breakfast, Stanley returned his attention to the paper. It hadn’t occurred to him that the Cecils could be involved. Tony was the older boy. How old was he? Eighteen or nineteen, he thought. As the boyfriend, he’d be up there, high on the list of suspects. He wondered what this would mean for Lolita Bruce. Social Services might not be too keen on her staying in a house with a boy suspected of murder.
Stanley felt sorry for the girl. It was only a matter of time. Once Brenda realised she wasn’t the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Lolly would be out on her ear. And then what? Pulled from pillar to post, probably. Foster care or a home. She might get lucky along the way, catch a break, but the chances were that her future was bleak. Like most of the kids who grew up on the Mansfield, the odds were already stacked against her.
The estate had seen its fair share of tragedy recently: first Lolly’s mother, and now Amy Wiltshire. It struck him as a dark, dangerous place, seething with anger and frustration. The three tall towers were home to the disadvantaged and the disenfranchised, people who were mostly without prospects or hope. It was hardly surprising that bad things happened there.
Maeve brought his tea and he thanked her. As he lifted the mug to his lips, he became aware that someone’s gaze was on him. A man on the table to his left kept looking over, but whenever Stanley caught his eye he looked away again. The bloke, probably in his late twenties, had a thin, hollowed-out face, as if the skin had been stretched too tightly over his cheekbones. He had the trademark dark shadows under his eyes and all the jumpy mannerisms of a junkie.
It was another couple of minutes before the stranger plucked up the courage to join Stanley at his table. He took the chair opposite, leaned forward and said in a soft rapid tone, ‘You want to know about Angela? I can help. I can tell you stuff.’
‘What kind of stuff?’
The man glanced nervously around. ‘You’re not the law, right?’
‘No, I’m not the law.’ Stanley took out his wallet, opened it and showed his ID. ‘Stanley Parrish, private investigator. And you are?’
‘That doesn’t matter. Do you pay, you know, for information?’
‘Depends how good the information is.’
‘What are you after?’
Stanley knew better than to trust the man. Junkies would say anything, do anything, to get their next fix. ‘What have you got?’
‘I knew her, you see. I knew Angela. I used to live along the landing from her.’
‘On the Mansfield?’
‘Yeah. Carlton House.’
Stanley rolled his eyes. The guy couldn’t even get the right tower. He was just a chancer, an opportunist trying to make an easy buck. ‘She lived in Haslow House, not Carlton.’
The guy shook his head. ‘Not the first time she was here.’
Stanley frowned. ‘What do you mean, the first time?’
‘Just what I’m saying. She used to live right up there on the top floor, you know, where she jumped from. Shit, that freaked me out, man. I mean, why’d she go and do a crazy thing like that? And before you ask, I didn’t see nothin’. I wasn’t even there when it happened.’
‘Hang on,’ Stanley said, ‘can we just rewind a bit? When are we talking about, here? When exactly was Angela living in Carlton?’
‘It was way back: fourteen, fifteen years? She wasn’t there for long. About nine months, I reckon. Only I remember her, see, with us being neighbours. And she was pretty, the kind of girl you notice. A looker, yeah? But nice with it. Not up herself like some of them are.’
‘Okay,’ Stanley said casually, rapidly absorbing this new piece of information whilst simultaneously trying not to sound too interested. ‘So what else can you tell me about her?’
The guy gave a shrug. ‘Like what?’
‘Like, do you recall what her surname was back then? Was she using the name Bruce?’
‘I dunno. I’m not sure I ever knew it. I was only a kid; you don’t take much notice of that kind of thing.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend, a husband?’
‘Yeah, there was a bloke, a black geezer, not her husband though. Well, he didn’t live there with her.’ The guy screwed up his face in concentration as if forging a path through the distant parts of his addled brain. ‘Calvin or Kelvin, I think. He didn’t come from the estate.’
‘Did she work? What about a job?’
‘Yeah, up West. She worked in a clothes shop, one of those boutiques.’
‘Do you know which one?’
‘Nah, sorry.’
I don’t suppose you know where she’d moved from, where she used to live before she arrived on the Mansfield?’
The guy shook his head. ‘People come and go, don’t they? No one hangs around the estate if they don’t have to. They fuck off soon as they get the chance.’
Stanley wasn’t sure how useful any of this was. It was interesting, though, that she’d lived for a brief period in Carlton House. It could explain her reasons for going there on the day of her suicide. Perhaps it had held some memories for her, good or bad. ‘And all this was before she had Lolly? She didn’t have a child back then?’
The guy frowned. His hands danced on the table for a few seconds as though he was playing an imaginary piano. ‘Yeah, that was a bit weird. I’d forgotten until now but…’ His voice trailed off.
‘But?’ Stanley prompted.
‘One day she just ups and leaves, right? And then, like a month later, I’m over at Dagenham, visiting my nan, and I see her – Angela, I mean – standing at a bus stop with a kid, a baby, in a pram. So I go over to say hi. She seems a bit off, you know, like she’s surprised to see me and doesn’t really want to talk. And that wasn’t like her; she was always friendly. Odd thing is she hadn’t even looked pregnant when she left.’
Stanley’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Are you sure the baby was hers? Maybe it was a friend’s or a relative’s.’
‘She said it was, said her name was Lolita. I remembered that ’cause it’s kind of different, ain’t it?’ The guy didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. ‘Anyway, she rushes off down the street, saying she’s just remembered something and that was the last I saw of her until she turned up on the Mansfield again.’
Stanley considered the fact that Angela would have had to have been about eight months pregnant when she left the estate if the information was correct. But was it? They were talking years ago and the memory can play tricks, especially on the drug-fuelled mind of an addict. Perhaps, if Angela had been wearing loose clothes, her pregnancy might not have been immediately apparent, or maybe it was a lot more than a month before the guy bumped into her again.
‘So?’ the guy asked.
‘So?’ Stanley repeated.
The guy looked agitated. ‘What’s it worth? You wanted to know about her and I’ve told you.’
Another thought occurred to Stanley. Perhaps he was in cahoots with Brenda Cecil. This could all be a ploy so he’d believe her story. ‘How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?’
‘Shit, man, why would I lie to you? And look, old Ma Fenner can back me up. She used to live up at the top of Carlton, next door to Angela. She can tell you. She’ll put you straight.’
‘Used to? Where is she now?’
‘They moved her, didn’t they? Down to the ground floor. She’s getting too old for going up and down in those lifts. It’s number eight, the one with the blue door.’
Stanley took a fiver from his wallet and slid it towards his informant.
‘Is that it?’
‘Well, if you don’t want it…’ Stanley made to take the note back, but the guy quickly grabbed the money.
Maeve showed up with his full English and put it down on the table. As if spooked by this unexpected interruption, the guy rose to his feet and hurried out of the café without so much as a goodbye.
‘Was he bothering you?’ she asked, staring after him.
Stanley shook his head. ‘No, it’s fine. I don’t suppose
you happen to know his name, do you?’
‘Darren,’ she said. ‘Darren Wakefield. Although he usually goes by the name of Daz. And whatever he’s been saying, I’d take it with a pinch of salt.’
‘Not the reliable sort, then?’
‘About as reliable as snow in summer.’
‘Yeah, I kind of got that impression. There was something I meant to ask you, though. Were you aware that Angela used to live in Carlton House around fourteen years ago? It was only for nine months or so, before she had Lolly.’
Maeve frowned. ‘Really? No, I didn’t know that. She never mentioned it. Are you sure?’
‘No,’ Stanley said. ‘I’m not sure of anything.’
‘Well, enjoy your breakfast.’
‘Thanks. I will.’
Stanley picked up his knife and fork. He tried to curtail the growing sense of excitement, the feeling that he might finally be on to something. No, it was too early for that. Darren could have been feeding him a load of nonsense. He would have to track down old Ma Fenner and see what she had to say. But what if she was part of Brenda’s conspiracy too?
He sighed as he ate his bacon and eggs. All he could do was follow the leads and see where they took him. But his thoughts continued to race. If Darren was telling the truth, then Angela had acquired a baby at around the same time as Kay Fury had disappeared. And that, taken in conjunction with the blood tests, the missing birth certificate and Angela’s alleged fear of Mal Fury, added up to something more than a coincidence.
20
There was bad feeling in the house and all of it was targeted towards Lolly. She felt the weight of the Cecils’ anger and disapproval pushing down on her. Earlier in the morning she’d been interviewed again by the police, this time down Cowan Road station. Brenda had not sat in with her – there was a conflict of interest, perhaps, with Tony being under suspicion – and instead she’d been joined by the social worker, Mrs Raynes. Lolly had been glad of it. It was hard enough lying to the law without having to do it under Brenda’s fierce scrutiny.
She thought, looking back, that she had done a decent enough job, sticking to the original story and not wavering even when they’d pressed her. They had tried to catch her out but she hadn’t fallen for their tricks. Now all she could do was wait and hope that Jude’s name would be cleared.
She put her elbows on the kitchen table, glad that she was finally alone. Freddy had gone to the bookie’s, FJ was out with his mates and Tony was upstairs. Brenda was working in the shop and from time to time she heard the ding of the bell as the front door opened. In front of her was a heap of tarnished silver she was supposed to be cleaning, items that would be flogged once they’d got a shine on them again – tankards and trinket boxes, knives and forks and spoons.
Lolly was back to thinking about Jude, wondering how he was doing, what he was feeling, when the knock came. Too soft to be the law so she didn’t have to worry about that. She stood up, crossed the room and opened the back door to find Terry Street standing there. His dark hair was wet and slicked down against his head.
‘Hey, Lol,’ he said. ‘Long time, no see.’
Her first thought was that he had turned up to find out why she’d gone AWOL. It had only been a few days but she’d never let him down before. ‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot. ‘I’ve not been able to come. It’s been —’
‘I know. Don’t worry about it. I’m here to see Brenda. Do us a favour and give her a shout. And do you mind if I step inside? It’s chucking it down out here.’
‘Oh, okay, yeah, sorry.’ She stood aside and Terry walked into the kitchen. She caught a whiff of his aftershave as he passed, along with the smell of damp and tobacco. ‘I’ll just go and get her.’
‘Ta,’ he said, brushing the rain off the shoulders of his overcoat. He peered around her into the living room, checked that it was empty and quietly added, ‘Oh, and Lolly, about our little arrangement: let’s just keep it between the two of us, right?’
‘I haven’t told anyone.’
‘Good girl. Brenda mentioned that the law had been to see you. We don’t want things getting any more complicated than they already are.’
Lolly’s heart skipped a beat. As her eyes met his she realised that he knew the alibi she’d provided for Jude – or at least part of it – was false. While she’d been making the deliveries to Albert Road and to Joseph, she couldn’t have been watching Sunset Boulevard.
‘Cheer up,’ he said, looking at her face. ‘No need to stress. It’ll all get sorted. We’re mates, aren’t we? I’ll watch your back and you watch mine.’
Lolly nodded. She understood what he meant. If she didn’t mention running errands for him, he wouldn’t mention where she’d actually been on Tuesday afternoon. She recognised, suddenly, that he had something to lose too if the truth came out. The law wouldn’t take kindly to him using a kid to do his deliveries – and probably Joe Quinn, for different reasons, wouldn’t be too happy about it either. She didn’t understand all the ins and outs but she’d already guessed that Terry was doing business behind his boss’s back.
‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘Go and get Brenda for me.’
Lolly went through to the shop where Brenda was standing at the counter in the process of examining a gold wedding band for a thin, scrawny-looking woman with a grizzling baby in her arms. While Brenda studied the hallmark through her magnifying glass, the woman tried to stop the child crying.
‘So how much can you give me?’ the mother asked.
Even though Lolly could only see her back, she knew Brenda would be wrinkling her nose in that way she always did when she was figuring out the cheapest price she could get away with. If the ring was never redeemed, she would want to be able to sell it with the highest possible profit margin. ‘Well, I can’t go any higher than —’
Lolly cleared her throat to alert Brenda to her presence.
Brenda turned and looked at her. ‘What is it? What do you want?’
‘There’s someone here to see you.’
‘Who?’
Lolly shrugged, not wanting to say Terry’s name in front of the customer. She was in enough trouble as it was without providing Brenda with more ammunition. ‘He’s waiting in the kitchen.’
Brenda glared at her for a moment and then, perhaps recalling that she was expecting someone, gave a nod. ‘I’ll be two minutes.’
Lolly went back to relay this information to Terry. He was sitting at the table, his legs stretched out, his head tilted back a little as he dragged on a cigarette and blew perfectly formed smoke rings into the air. ‘She’s with a customer. She won’t be long.’
‘Ta. You’re a diamond.’
Lolly wasn’t sure what to do next. She was usually comfortable with him, able to speak openly, but now she felt awkward and self-conscious. This was partly down to the knowledge that Brenda was close by and partly because he knew she was a liar. Although he wouldn’t grass her up, she still wanted to explain, to tell him why she was so sure that Jude Rule was innocent.
Confused, she drifted over to the window and stared out at the yard. Behind her she could hear Terry’s soft exhalations as he smoked. Should she go or should she stay? It seemed wrong, rude even, to leave him alone, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. Fortunately, she was saved from having to make a decision by the sound of footsteps coming through the living room.
Brenda hurried into the kitchen, stopped and frowned at Terry. ‘Oh, it’s you. Where’s Joe?’
