‘A week ago. Last Sunday wasn’t it, Derek, when those two blokes had that fight?’
‘Hmm …’ Derek responded, turning away and reaching for a glass. His obvious reluctance to engage in conversation heightened Harry’s interest. He pulled out his card. ‘I wouldn’t mind hearing about that if you’ve got a moment? Can we sit and have a chat? You may be able to help us with our enquiries.’
Ten minutes later he was back at the bar. ‘I think you and I need to talk, Derek,’ he said to the barman. ‘I’d say you’ve been deliberately withholding evidence from the police.’
The man looked at him for a long, hard moment, then turned his back on him. ‘Jackie!’ he yelled. ‘Come out front for a bit, can you?’
He turned back to Harry and sighed. ‘We didn’t tell you because we know what you lot are like. And we know Ken. He’s had a rough time – what with all the terrible stuff with his wife – and he doesn’t deserve you lot sniffing around. He might have a temper, but he’s not a murderer.’
‘You know that for a fact, do you? Wish I could be so confident of everyone I knew. Who was his argument with?’
There was the slightest of hesitations before Derek told him, as if it was being dragged out of him. ‘The guy who was murdered.’
Harry’s mouth became grim. ‘Right. I think you’d better start at the beginning, don’t you?’
When Harry let himself into his grandmother’s house an hour later, he was surprised to hear laughter coming from the sitting room. He looked at his watch. It was nearly half past nine. He smiled to himself. Who was she entertaining at this time of night?
‘Ah, Harry. Come in, come in. Claire and I were just having a little tipple to celebrate her birthday.’
Claire looked up at him and laughed. ‘Your grandmother …’ she said, shaking her head. ‘She’s a wicked, wicked woman. She’d corrupt the Devil himself, given half a chance.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ Harry grinned, walking further into the room and giving his grandmother a kiss. He looked at the half-finished glass of whisky by her side. ‘Is it alright for you drinking alcohol at this time of night?’
‘Of course it is, boy. If I’m going to go, I might as well go in good spirits, eh?’ She laughed at her own joke and gave him a poke. ‘Get yourself a glass of something and come and join us. We can’t let the poor girl go home without celebrating her birthday, can we?’
‘There’s no need,’ Claire said. ‘Really … I should be off anyway.’
‘Nonsense. Harry looks as if he could do with a drink. Let’s party.’
It sounded so ridiculous coming from an eighty-nine-year-old woman that both Harry and Claire laughed. Harry went off to get himself a beer, marvelling at the change in his grandmother since she’d come off the last of her meds. It was like she’d been given a new lease of life now she wasn’t feeling sick all the time, and, although he knew it was only temporary, he vowed they’d make the most of it. If she wanted to party – they’d party.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kirsty peered at the alarm clock by her bed and flung the bedclothes back in horror. Eight-thirty. How had she slept that late? – as if she didn’t know. She’d spent half the night worrying about the conversation she’d had with Susan, playing it over in her mind, angry with herself for not pressing harder for information. That was always something she’d been teased for, wasn’t it? – her tenacity and refusal to let go of things. So where were those traits when she most needed them? She was pathetic. And now it was too late. She’d probably never see the woman again and she was none the wiser about anything.
No … that wasn’t strictly true. She had learnt something. Susan had told her father about Paul’s suspicions and Kirsty suspected there was more to that than she’d let on. It was possible that was the reason for her father’s death. And if that was the case, then it was huge.
In the kitchen her mother frowned when she saw Kirsty was dressed for work. ‘Are you going into the office again?’
‘Yes.’
She needed to talk to Robbie. And maybe the police.
‘You should leave things to Robbie. It would be nice if you stayed here to support me.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mum. I thought Anne was coming round this morning and the two of you were going out?’
‘She is, but – maybe it’s best if you don’t go into the office today.’
Kirsty looked at her mother suspiciously. She had her full attention now.
‘Has Rob been talking to you?’
Her mother looked awkward. ‘He’s just not sure it’s a good idea for the two of you to run the business together.’
‘What? Why not? It’s what Dad always intended – you know it is.’
‘Yes, well Dad’s not here now and the situation’s different. It’s a lot of responsibility for Robbie – and he’s clearly feeling the burden. We don’t want to add to that.’
Kirsty couldn’t help wondering what else her brother had been saying. ‘Mum, I’m trying to ease his burden, not add to it. What do you think I’ve been doing the last nine months at Jean-Pierre’s? I’ve been learning the business. I know what I’m doing and I can help Robbie.’
‘I’m sure you think you can, love, but if he’s not convinced … maybe now’s not the time to push it? You’ve not been around the last year to see the pressure having the children has added to his life. He’s really not been himself, and if on top of that he’s got to train you up–’
‘He’d have to do that to anyone he got in. And I know more about the business than most. I’ve been helping out since I was sixteen.’
‘Yes, but I don’t think any of us really expected you to make a career out of it. It was only ever meant to be a stopgap until you and Luke had a family.’
‘Well, that’s not going to happen now, is it?’ Kirsty snapped. ‘Are you saying it’s more important for Robbie to have a career than me? I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.’
‘You know how I feel. A career’s fine until you marry and have children, but after that your duty should be to your husband and family – like Lizzie. You may not realise it now but having a family is very fulfilling for a woman–’
‘But that’s not relevant to me at the moment, is it?’
‘Oh, darling … you’ll meet someone else.’
‘That’s not the point. And what has any of this got to do with whether Rob and I work together or not?’ She couldn’t keep the impatience out of her tone and then felt awful as she saw her mother’s eyes well up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, reaching out to touch her arm. ‘I don’t mean to sound aggressive.’
Her mother shook her head and reached for a tissue from the table. ‘No, I’m the one who should be sorry … I just want to feel my family close around me. I hate to think of you and Rob falling out.’
Kirsty gave her a hug, breathing in her perfume – letting the familiarity of it calm her.
‘We’re not falling out, Mum. We’re just grieving, all of us, in our different ways. It’ll get easier.’
They stood like that for a shared moment before Kirsty drew back. ‘Though I’d better get going if I don’t want Rob to fire me before I’ve even started working there. I promise I’ll tread easily with him. Will you be okay until Aunty Anne comes?’
Her mother nodded. ‘She’ll be here soon. Aren’t you putting some make-up on before you go?’
Kirsty tried to hide her frustration. ‘No.’
‘I don’t know what’s got into you these days. You’ve changed since you’ve been out in France. You even look different with your hair long like that and not styled. You mustn’t let yourself go, it’s not a good thing – and there’s no need to smirk like that.’
‘I’m not smirking. I know you think those things are important, but–’
‘Yes, I do. Look at me, I’m in a terrible state but I still find time to do my make-up. It helps me face the day.’
‘And if it helps, that’s great, Mum. I’m just not as
bothered about it as you are.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘I must go.’
‘You’ve not had any breakfast.’
‘I’ll buy something from the shop near the office.’ She gave her mother a peck on the cheek. She looked genuinely bemused and Kirsty’s heart went out to her. ‘Look, call me if you need me later and I’ll come home, okay? Rob and I will be fine. You’ll see.’
She wished she felt as sure as she sounded. She was floundering in this new world that seemed to be opening up to her. And she felt desperately short of people she could turn to for advice.
***
Harry put his elbows on the desk and buried his head in his hands. His wild decision to party with his grandmother and Claire didn’t feel quite such a good idea this morning. He couldn’t believe they’d stayed up until the early hours. Well … he and Claire had … His grandmother had finally retired very ungracefully at eleven o’clock, needing more than a little assistance to get her up the stairs.
‘Haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years,’ she’d mumbled, as they helped her into her bedroom. We should do this more often … we really should.’
‘She’s blossomed since you’ve been here,’ Claire said, once they were back downstairs again. ‘She’s a different woman.’
Harry shrugged, embarrassed. Then he smiled. ‘It’s not very cool having to admit I’m living with my grandmother.’
‘She told me about your parents travelling around a lot. That must have been hard for you as a little boy.’
‘You get used to it.’ He leant back in his chair and looked around his grandmother’s lounge. Every inch of it was familiar – the photos of him dotted around the room, the china tea set in the display cabinet; the small Marie Antoinette clock sitting on the mantelpiece above the fire – and all of it was home. In this room he’d learnt to read, played games, done puzzles (there’d always been one on the go), snogged his first girlfriend and decided on his career. Unremarkable memories along with a thousand others, but every one of them part of the fabric that made up who he was today. He couldn’t imagine this house not being a part of his life, but knew he’d have to get used to the idea soon enough when his grandmother was gone. He’d never be able to afford to buy it, that was for sure.
Now, as he returned his gaze to Claire, he said, ‘They were good to me, my grandparents, and I’ve been lucky to know them. Not everyone gets that.’
‘Where were your parents?’
‘My father’s an archaeologist – very well respected. Unfortunately you don’t get many Egyptian remains in the UK – which is his speciality now.’
His smile was rueful.
‘You could have travelled with them as a child?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘No.’
It was clear she was waiting for more and he shrugged. ‘When I was quite young they took me, but once I started school they felt it was better for me to be brought up in the UK. It was fine.’
‘Right.’
There was a wealth of meaning in that response, which touched on a nerve. He jumped up to top up her glass.
‘More wine? Or something soft?’
‘Have you got some sort of juice, or elderflower? I’ve had enough wine if I’m driving.’
Harry disappeared off into the kitchen and came back into the room with an orange juice for her and another beer for himself.
‘What about you? Where do you live?’ he asked, sitting back down in his chair.
‘Cuffley. I’ve got a small flat there – ground-floor house conversion with a garden. It does me alright.’
‘And family?’
‘Both parents, sister, brother, niece and nephew. They’re all local so we see quite a lot of each other. Bit of a madhouse when we get together, but it’s fun. I couldn’t imagine growing up without them around me.’
‘Boyfriend?’ His tone was casual.
Hers was equally flippant. ‘Nah … I’m off men at the moment. You?’
‘Not a boyfriend,’ he smiled. ‘Or girlfriend for that matter. Don’t seem to have the time.’
‘I know what you mean.’
‘So you’re off men – is that a permanent state of affairs?’
She laughed, tossing her head cheerily. ‘No. Just taking a sabbatical.’
‘Sounds like there’s a story there somewhere?’
‘There is, but I don’t intend boring you with it tonight. Let’s just say I get a bit fed up with the games you blokes sometimes play.’
‘Surely not?’
‘Surely yes, and something tells me, Harry, you could be one of them.’
He held up a hand and laughed. ‘Not guilty.’
But even as he said it, he knew that some women might indeed charge him with that offence. He was pretty good at playing the non-commitment game, for example.
‘I’ll reserve judgment until I know you better,’ she said airily, flashing him a grin. And that grin got to him, pushing him to test the ground.
‘You think we might get to know each other a bit better, then?’
He liked the small stain of colour that warmed her cheeks, but her reply was nonchalant. ‘Who knows – though, as I say, I’m off men at the moment.’
‘Maybe we’ll have to see what we can do about that.’
It was the drink talking – or maybe it was just the effect she had on him. He wasn’t usually as direct around women.
‘Hmm...’ The look she threw him was doubtful but he took some comfort from the fact she hadn’t rejected the idea outright.
She twiddled her glass in her fingers and looked at him over the rim, surprising him by changing the subject.
‘Your grandmother’s doing well, but … you do realise it’s probably not going to be long now, before–’
‘I know. I talked to her doctor a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Are you okay with that?
‘Nothing I can do about it, is there? I just want to make sure she’s as comfortable as she can be when the time comes.’
‘She worries about that.’
‘I know she does.’ Drink loosened his tongue. ‘I can’t do what she wants, though. She doesn’t seem to understand that.’
‘What do you mean?’
He shook his head. Much as he longed to open up to someone – get another point of view – he knew he couldn’t.
‘This conversation’s getting morbid and it’s your birthday. Tell me a bit about yourself … How old are you today? If it’s not too rude a question?’
She laughed. ‘Not rude at all. I’m thirty-one. How about you?’
‘Two years older – but you don’t look anywhere near that, whereas I suspect I do.’
‘Probably the company you keep adds a few grey hairs.’
‘Hey – that’s one thing I don’t have.’
‘Oh, fishing, are you?’ She made a pretence of studying his hair and he laughed. He felt comfortable talking to her here, in his grandmother’s sitting room … liked that they could be relaxed with each other.
The next couple of hours had passed quickly … and as he drank his way through another half-pint of beer, followed by a rare indulgence of a glass of whisky, he’d found himself becoming hypnotised by her soft, mellow voice and the mobility of her face – the way it suddenly lit up when she recounted some amusing tale of her childhood and family. When he’d finally seen her out at quarter to one in the morning, they’d very nearly kissed. But somehow it had ended up as an awkward bumping of noses and they’d both laughed embarrassed. As he shut the door behind her, he’d groaned out loud and banged his head on the door. Prat.
But it hadn’t detracted from the frisson of pleasure he’d experienced.
‘What have you got?’ Beth asked, plumping herself down on the corner of his desk and relieving him of this embarrassing memory. ‘Because you look like the cat that got the cream.’
He shuffled some papers around on his desk, then remembered that he had another rea
son for looking pleased with himself.
‘I revisited The Crown last night.’
‘And?’
‘I’ve got witnesses who saw Ken Lazard attack Paul Copeland the night before he was killed. Seems he really lost it.’
Beth’s jaw dropped. ‘No! You said his girlfriend mentioned he’d been in a fight. What happened?’
‘Apparently Copeland walked into the pub and Ken recognised him. Told him to get out while he still could. Paul got bolshie and refused. The next thing Ken went for him and the landlord had to split them up. Paul apparently left with Ken’s shouts ringing in his ears about how he was going to get him.’
‘Jesus. That sounds damning for our Ken.’
‘Yup. Definitely means another visit. In fact, come on, we’ll go now.’
At the day care centre they were let in by an attractive, forty-something woman with a bright smile and dark, shoulder-length hair.
‘What can I do for you?’ she asked pleasantly, ushering them in. Harry showed her his card.
‘Is Ken Lazard around?’
‘Yes. In his office probably.’ Her manner altered slightly, becoming almost protective. ‘He’s a good man, you know. He does wonderful work with our clients here.’
‘And you are?’
She smiled. ‘Kathy Wilkins. I’m a volunteer. My husband’s over there – the one in the bright red wheelchair.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He was never one for understatements. Come with me. I’ll take you to Ken.’
Ken’s expression became irritable when he looked up and saw Harry and Beth – and yup, there was a glint of fear in those eyes, too, Harry thought.
‘I’m really busy,’ he greeted them, shuffling some papers around on his desk and not standing up.
‘We won’t keep you long,’ Harry said easily. ‘But there are one or two things we need to clear up with you. I’m thinking that yet again you haven’t been entirely straight with us, Mr Lazard – is there anything else you feel you might like to tell us relating to Paul Copeland that you might have forgotten to mention?’
Ken looked at him briefly, then looked away again. ‘Don’t think so.’
THE JAGGED LINE A Thrilling, Psychological Crime Mystery (Harry Briscombe Book 2) Page 10
