“But you didn’t see him again?”
“Well, when I thought about it I reckoned maybe he were all worked up because he’d found someone new. I were going round there about a week ago and I saw this black lad coming out. Right good-looking, he were, nice gear an’all. I just knew Stanley would go for him if he got half a chance. So I thought I’d bugger off for a bit, didn’t I? Chances were he’d not last long and then Stanley would come crawling back to me.”
“That had happened before?” Thackeray pressed.
“One or twice, yes,” Harman admitted. “I told you. He were always on the pull, was Stanley.”
“But there were other reasons why men might call on Stanley, weren’t there?” Sharif asked. “You knew he was carrying on some filthy pornographic trade there.”
“If you’ve been crawling all over his house you must know he had a little business going,” Harman said, apparently unperturbed. “It were nowt to do wi’ me, that. I’m not into all that stuff, pictures of kids an’ that. Nor were Stanley, as it goes, but he reckoned he could make a few bob out of them that were. He were good wi’computers, were Stanley. You must have seen all the stuff he had upstairs in the back room.”
“Are you saying you didn’t help him? Come on,” Sharif sneered, with fierce scepticism.
“I never,” Harman said. “I don’t know owt about computers. I’m not into all that technology stuff.”
“It must have cost him to set all that up, though,” Thackeray observed. “How did he fund all that on his wages?”
“I don’t know,” Harman said. “He had some of it before I met him. He did once say that someone loaned him some money, but I’ve no idea who. It’s not summat you could ask the bank for a loan for, is it?”
“And you didn’t raise any objection to the nature of this … business?” Thackeray asked.
“It were nowt heavy,” Harman said. “Just pictures of kids on beaches, in the park, family snaps, that sort of stuff. Not hardcore. At least that’s what he said.”
“And you believed him?” Sharif’s intervention was scornful. “You expect us to believe that?”
“It’s the truth. I had nowt to do wi’it.”
“So we won’t find your fingerprints all over the computers?” Thackeray asked.
“No, you won’t,” Harman said. “I told you, I know nowt about computers. Never learned. And Stanley used to say that the beauty of the thing was that nothing important ever came off those machines. It were all stashed away there with passwords and codes — what is it? Encryption? All his contacts, customers, everything was in there.”
“But he copied videotapes. Surely you know that?”
“He had a few customers for tapes,” Harman said. “But mostly it went out over the internet. He said that were much safer. He didn’t like doing the tapes but a few customers who couldn’t use a computer liked them. He said if he ever got caught they’d be the ones who got done because he had their addresses, road names an’that. A lot of the others he only had computer addresses and he said that were much safer. Anonymous, like.”
“Anyone you know take the tapes?” Thackeray asked.
Harmon shrugged.
“Special customers, Stanley said. Did it as a favour. I got the feeling there was someone important though — the person who bankrolled him, maybe. He talked once about his insurance being in that machine.”
“His insurance? What did he mean by that?” Thackeray asked sharply.
“I’m not sure,” Harman said slowly. “But I reckon there was stuff in there someone didn’t want let out.”
“You think he was into blackmail?”
“He had plenty to go on, didn’t he?” Harman said easily. “But I don’t know who so it’s no good asking. I took care to keep well out of Stanley’s business affairs. Too clever by half, I reckoned he might be. I wanted nowt to do with it.”
“So you say you haven’t seen Stanley this week,” Thackeray changed tack sharply. “So you can tell me where you were on Wednesday.”
“What time Wednesday?” Harman asked sulkily. “I were at work most o’t day, till six any road.”
“And where’s that?”
“Dale’s Engineering up Manchester Road. I work in t’finishing shop.”
“But not today?” Sharif asked. “Or was that your dinner-hour when you came into the bar?”
“That’s right,” Harman said. “I saw the Gazette earlier and bloody well needed a stiff drink.”
“And later on Wednesday. What did you do after work?”
“Went home, had my tea, watched a bit of telly and went to bed,” Harman said flatly. “If you think I killed Stanley you must be barmy. I were actually fond of the old bugger, though I sometimes wondered why.”
Thackeray got home late and tired. They had let Harman go, as they had to, having no evidence at all to link him to Wilson on the day he died. He had been about to call it a day when the uniformed duty inspector had called him downstairs where he found Kevin Mower, Kiley and Sharon Hatherley and a social worker crowded into an interview room waiting for him.
“We couldn’t find their parents,” Mower said. “But I think they’ve got something to tell you which might be useful to your murder investigation.”
Thackeray had listened in astonishment as the girls repeated what they had already told Mower.
“How often did you see this man on the Heights,” he asked when they had finished. “Every day? Once a week? Can you remember?”
“Not every day,” Sharon said. “Once or twice a week maybe. He were usually talkin’ to t’older lads. He took no notice of girls, did ’e?” Kiley nodded solemnly but suddenly the huge blue eyes which had been gazing guilelessly at the assembled adults lit up as a new thought struck her.
“He were always there Tuesday,” Kiley said.
“How do you know that?” Thackeray asked, surprised.
“Because it’s PE after us dinner on Tuesdays and when we go to t‘chippie we have to hurry back. The day Emma got sick it should have been PE and I missed it ’cause Sharon an’ me waited for her mam to come down from t’Project, didn’t we? And I like PE.”
“And once he gave us a lift back to school in his car, and that were a Tuesday an’all because Kiley were going on about getting changed for PE,” Sharon said.
“You took a lift with this man?” Thackeray had said, glancing at Mower in scarcely veiled horror.
“You must never -” the social worker had begun, until Thackeray stopped her with a wave of his hand. He did not want the children distracted.
“Tell me about his car,” he said. “Was it a big one?”
“It were red, not very big.”
“Anything else you can remember about it?” The two girls shook blonde heads in unison: as far as they were concerned, a car was just a car and the main memory of that Tuesday was of sailing down the hill back to the primary school while most of their contemporaries trudged through the rain on foot.
“So when this man gave you and Emma a drink you already knew him? He wasn’t really a stranger?” Thackeray pressed the younger girl. Kiley nodded, frightened now.
“Did you tell Emma’s mum who it was?”
Mower shook his head angrily at that.
“I went round there to ask,” he said. “Their mother wouldn’t let me talk to Kiley.”
“My dad said to keep out of it,” Sharon said on her younger sister’s behalf. “Said if Emma wanted to get pissed it were nowt to do wi’us.”
“Your parents and Mrs Maitland didn’t get on?” Thackeray asked.
“My mam said Donna were a stuck up cow,” Sharon said. “I’m sorry for Emma now, mind,” she added quickly. “Now her mam’s dead.”
Thackeray had led Mower up to his office after the social worker had taken the two girls home to wait for their parents.
“Love thy neighbour?” Mower said angrily, flinging himself into a chair.
“Come on, Kevin, you know what it’s like up there,” Tha
ckeray had said. He looked at the sergeant critically, taking in the still unshaven beard and dark circles under the eyes. If Mower was on the way back to normality he was disguising it well, he thought.
“If there are links between Wilson and what been going on up on the Heights you may get what you want after all,” Thackeray said.
“Was he propositioning these lads he was talking to, or was he delivering something for someone?” Mower asked.
“Something else to talk to the drug squad about,” Thackeray had said. “It’s quite possible they know the answer.” He looked at Mower again thoughtfully.
“Do you still think Donna Maitland’s suicide was a fake?” he asked.
“Amos Atherton said …”
“You’re pushing your luck, Kevin,” Thackeray had interrupted angrily. “Amos shouldn’t be saying anything to you.”
“One of the slashes on her wrists was very deep,” Mower said, his face closed and remote. “Too deep, maybe, more like a knife than a razor blade. There was no knife in that bathroom when I got there. He’s waiting for the results on the toxicology tests.”
“I’ll have a close look at the PM report,” Thackeray had conceded. “And I’ll have to talk seriously to Ray Walter now. We can’t make any major moves up there without them on board.”
“If you ask me they’ve not got a clue what’s going on,” Mower said. “And if Donna did kill herself, it’s bloody well down to them anyway. They were out of order raiding the Project like that.”
When Thackeray had finally got home he found Laura and her grandmother eating risotto at the table in the window which overlooked the long luxuriant garden which as much as anything had persuaded Laura to buy the flat. But tonight the curtains were drawn tight against the gusting rain outside, and the softly lit room seemed like an oasis of warmth in a cruel world.
Thackeray kissed Laura on the cheek and put a hand lightly on Joyce’s shoulder. She had barely touched her food, he noticed.
“I heard you’d been vandalised,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll ask Jack Longley to kick uniform into putting some extra effort into finding the little toe-rags.”
“I don’t want any special treatment,” Joyce said tetchily. “I’m not the only one being bullied up there, you know.”
“She needs to stay here for a bit,” Laura said, looking up at Thackeray doubtfully.
“Of course she does,” Thackeray said quickly.
“Not long, I don’t,” Joyce said. “I’ll not be in your way long. I’m not giving the developers the satisfaction of finding my place empty. Or the vandals for that matter. I’m going home as soon as the repairs are done.”
Laura raised her eyes skyward for a second and Thackeray allowed himself a faint smile.
“I see the famous Ackroyd bloody-mindedness hasn’t been dented too badly,” he said.
“Anyway, you must know I’m a major drug suspect these days,” Joyce said with satisfaction. “I’m sure it’s not good for your reputation to be living with the likes of me for long, Michael.”
“If I told you I thought the drug squad was misguided, Joyce, I don’t suppose you’d believe me, would you?” Thackeray said carefully.
“Aye, well, they turned out to be a sight too misguided for poor Donna,” Joyce snapped back, for once letting her bitterness show.
“The whole situation on the Heights is turning into a bloody tragedy,” Laura said suddenly, glaring at Thackeray. “It’s time the left hand told the right hand what it’s doing. The bad guys seem to be running rings round you all.”
“Which is why I’d like you both to keep away from the place,” Thackeray said.
“We all have our jobs to do,” Joyce said sharply. “And now I’ll get to bed, if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day.”
When she had closed the door of the spare bedroom firmly behind her, Laura glanced at Thackeray, who had slumped into a chair and closed his eyes. She slipped onto the chair arm beside him and put an arm round him.
“This is getting to you,” she said. “What is it? Have you been talking to Kevin Mower? Do you really think Donna was murdered?”
Thackeray shrugged wearily.
“I don’t know. But yes, in general terms you’re right. There’s a reign of terror going on up there and the drug squad seems to be compounding it rather than making it any better.”
“And then there’s Karen and the missing babies,” Laura said. “No progress there, I take it?”
“I’ve put their mother on the missing persons’ list,” Thackeray said. “Mother and babies, as it goes. And asked social security to find out if she’s picking up her child benefit and if so, where. Jack Longley would go spare if he knew how I was wasting police time but I still think there’s something deeply suspicious there. But no one I’ve mentioned it to has come up with anything concrete. She just went, without a word, and no one seems to think it even slightly odd.”
“You don’t sound very hopeful of finding them.”
“I’m not really. I’ve never underestimated Barry Foreman’s intelligence. What I got wrong was the ease with which he could take other people in, whether it’s Karen’s mum or the local establishment. He’s going to end up running this town if someone doesn’t stop him buying friends and influencing people.”
Laura ran her fingers through Thackeray’s hair gently.
“Don’t you think you’re maybe getting a bit obsessive about Foreman,” she said carefully. “You’ve got enough problems without taking on the whole of Bradfield’s great and good. You say he’s a bastard, so perhaps his girlfriend just got fed up and bunked off with her twins. If he’s as bad as you say, she’ll have taken care he won’t be able to find her, maybe.”
“I thought this sort of thing was meat and drink to journalists,” Thackeray teased her, although his heart was not in it.
“If he’s getting involved in the regeneration scheme I think that’s interesting. I’d dearly like to find out what Councillor Spencer and the rest of that committee are getting out of this project. They’ve even got Ted Grant on board now, and the only reason I can think of for inviting him in is to make sure the Gazette doesn’t ask too many questions when the contracts are handed out.”
“Jack Longley goes to those meetings too,” Thackeray said gloomily. “He doesn’t seem to have picked up anything dodgy and he’s got a nose like a ferret.”
“Well, I expect they’d make sure they kept anything dubious away from him. I get the feeling that some of that committee are in the know and others are there as window-dressing.”
“Or could it just be that this is a pot and kettle job?” Thackeray asked. “You don’t like Spencer any more than I like Foreman. Maybe we’re both letting our emotions cloud our judgement.”
“Maybe,” Laura said, getting to her feet and stretching lazily. “Anyway, with the Beck about to flood the town and your murder case, plus the mayhem on the Heights, a little bit of council corruption’ll have to go on the back burner for now, won’t it? It’s getting to the stage where Ted’s going to have us in the office twenty-four-seven. I’m going to bed. I’m whacked.”
A short time later, when Thackeray slipped into bed beside, as he thought, a sleeping Laura, she turned towards him and slid her arms around him, running her hands down to his hips and pressing her body into his, with predictable effects.
“Don’t let all this stuff get between us,” she murmured.
“It’d be difficult just now,” he said, kissing her neck and ears. “I just want to keep you safe. You know that.”
“Life’s an unsafe enterprise, or else it’s very, very dull.”
“Keep Joyce here where we can keep an eye on her is all I’m saying,” he said, cupping her left breast so that he could kiss that next. “And let’s hope she sleeps soundly because this bloody bed creaks.”
Chapter Sixteen
It only became clear the next day, after fire officers and police had begun to work their way through the smouldering rubble, and
Bradfield Infirmary had patched up half a dozen young men sufficiently to allow detectives to talk to them, that the fire which gutted the Carib Club was the cause and not the result of the Chapel Street riot. Laura Ackroyd and Bob Baker arrived together at the scene of the previous night’s disturbance, in unlikely partnership at the insistence of their editor who for once seemed almost overwhelmed by the pace of events. The irony of one section of the town threatened with inundation and another burning was not lost on Laura who gazed in dismay at the still smouldering ruin of the club, a couple of wrecked and gutted cars and a fire-engine, like a beached whale, with its tyres slashed.
“Didn’t they have a lovely time?” Bill Baker said.
“It was an arson waiting to happen,” Laura said, stepping cautiously over broken glass and half bricks scattered across the roadway where Jeremy Adams had been run down. “The last time I was here someone set a fire against the door. Leaving the place empty for a week or so was asking for trouble.”
“Licensing a club like this so close to Aysgarth Lane was asking for trouble, actually,” Baker said.
“You’d accept a no-go area, would you? Here? Or on the Heights, maybe? That’s exactly what the drug gangs want,” Laura said, but she did not wait for a response. On the other side of the police cordon she saw a dishevelled looking Darryl Redmond, one hand bandaged, being helped out of the remains of the entrance by Dizzy B Sanderson. Behind them she could see fire officers sifting through the blackened interior of the club.
“Look,” she said to Baker. “I’ll talk to the owner again, as I’ve already interviewed him. Why don’t you see what you can get from the fire service and the cops. There’s Val Ridley over there looking as if she’s not keen to get her hands dirty. You know Ted wanted a definitive piece for the front page an hour ago.” And before Baker could object to this allocation of responsibilities, which she knew he would if he could think of a reason quickly enough, she waved at Redmond and Sanderson and picked her way across the rubble strewn street to meet them.
Death in Dark Waters Page 21
