Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side

by Shirley Wells

  She might not be sure where to go, but she did feel they were getting somewhere. Unfortunately, Grace didn’t share her views.

  ‘So Josie Hayden’s mother was a bit of a goer,’ she said. ‘It means nothing, Jill. Josie had lived on that farm for twenty years. Digging around here won’t find our man.’

  ‘You’ve been working with Max too long . . .’

  She was probably right, though. Perhaps Jill was on the wrong track. Perhaps Martin Hayden’s murder had been

  No, the answer lay with Josie, she was sure of it, and to find out about Josie, they had to talk to people who had known her.

  They carried on knocking on doors and trying to talk to people who’d known Josie and her mother.

  Slowly, Jill began to piece together a picture.

  Josie’s father, as they knew, hadn’t been named on the birth certificate. From what people said, it was unlikely that Rose had known who he was. By all accounts, Rose had had more boyfriends than most people had Sunday lunches.

  ‘She was a looker,’ they’d been told, ‘and she knew how to flirt.’

  Josie, on the other hand, might not have existed.

  ‘A quiet thing,’ a few said.

  Most people had forgotten that Rose had a daughter, and no one had connected the murdered farmer’s wife, Josie Hayden, with her.

  Grace was all for calling it a day.

  ‘Let’s just try Brenda Daley’s place again,’ Jill said. ‘She worked at Rockafella’s with Rose, too, so she might be able to tell us something.’

  ‘Like what? That Rose flirted with all the blokes then dragged them off to her bed? I think we’ve got the picture by now.’

  ‘We may as well knock on her door again on the way back . . .’

  Brenda Daley had moved off the Brook estate to Jubilee Crescent where she lived in a semi-detached bungalow on a quiet road.

  A blue Fiat sat on the drive when they pulled up. An encouraging sign.

  Jill spotted the resigned expression on Grace’s face and grinned. ‘This is a nice neighbourhood, Grace. Who knows, we might even get a cup of tea out of a clean cup.’

  ‘I’d rather be at home making my own tea,’ Grace grumbled.

  Jill rang the doorbell for the second time that day and, for the second time that day, caused a dog to start yapping for all it was worth.

  There was a movement behind the glass panel and then a woman in her early sixties opened the door to them.

  ‘Mrs Daley?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Grace introduced them, and showed her ID. ‘We’d like to talk to you about Rose Dee.’

  ‘You’d better come in.’ Brenda Daley’s first priority was stopping her dog, a small Yorkshire terrier, escaping.

  ‘I’ll tell you what I can, but it won’t be much, I’m afraid,’ she said, once they were inside. ‘I haven’t seen her for years. I haven’t even thought about her until recently it was when I saw that her daughter had been murdered. How awful. That poor kid well, a woman now, of course didn’t have much of a life.’

  Brenda was the first person who had realized that Josie had been Rose’s daughter. Progress perhaps?

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ Brenda asked. ‘The kettle’s just boiled.’

  ‘Two sugars for me, please,’ Grace said immediately.

  ‘No sugar for me, thanks,’ Jill told her.

  The dog, Susie, had stopped yapping and was curled up on what was, judging by the pet blanket and dog toys crammed on it, her personal armchair. While Brenda made the tea, they had to hear how Susie was a rescue dog, how Brenda had only had her four years, and how she didn’t know how she’d cope without her.

  ‘What can you tell us about Rose Dee?’ Jill managed to ask at last.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  At least she was willing to talk. Unlike the residents of the Brook estate, she didn’t clam up and eye them both with suspicion.

  ‘Anything,’ Jill told her. ‘We know you worked together for a while at Rockafella’s. How did you get on with her?

  Were you close?’

  Brenda thought about that for a moment.

  ‘We worked together three, sometimes four nights a week,’ she said, ‘but no, we weren’t close. For all that, I knew her business. She talked non-stop. She went on and on about the men she was seeing. Sometimes, she had two or three on the go at once. I can’t say I liked her and, to be honest, I thought she was a fool. They were only after a good time, but she couldn’t see that. “He’s the one, Brenda,” she’d say. They weren’t interested, though. Half of them were married anyway. Even if they weren’t married, they didn’t fancy the idea of taking on another man’s kid.’

  ‘Josie?’

  Brenda nodded. ‘Most of them didn’t know about her Rose kept quiet but as soon as they found out, she didn’t see them for dust.’

  ‘Did you know Josie?’ Jill asked.

  ‘I saw her a few times,’ Brenda told her, and there was a touching wistfulness to her voice. ‘I used to buy small presents for her on her birthday and at Christmas. I felt sorry for the kid. Half the time, Rose would come to work and leave her in the house alone. She was only about twelve then. Poor kid.’

  She broke off and took a sip of her tea.

  ‘There was one bloke who wasn’t put off by Josie,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I can’t remember his name now, but he’d often stay and babysit while Rose came to work. I thought he had to be a decent bloke. Of course, he had no idea that Rose was busy flirting with other men while he sat at the house with Josie.’

  ‘Are you sure you can’t remember his name?’

  Brenda shook her head apologetically. ‘There were so many, you see.’

  ‘Did you see Rose or Josie after you left Rockafella’s?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Brenda said. ‘I left when I got married. Bob, that’s my husband, died five years ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  There was a brief, respectful silence for the absent Bob’s benefit.

  ‘How long did you work with Rose?’ Jill asked, bringing the conversation back to Rockafella’s.

  ‘About four years,’ she replied. ‘Yes, four years, almost to the day. I left the day after Josie’s fourteenth birthday. Funny how you remember things like that, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’ Jill wished Brenda could remember the man’s name.

  ‘Another funny thing,’ she went on suddenly. ‘I went back two weeks later because they owed me some money and I was amazed to hear that Rose had left, too. She just hadn’t turned up one night. No notice, no nothing. She left them in a right pickle, I can tell you. Mind, that was typical of Rose. She had no consideration for others. But no, I never saw her again.’

  ‘Did she ever mention anyone called Robbie?’ Jill asked, holding her breath.

  ‘She may have, but I don’t remember the name. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Something she said,’ Jill explained. ‘She’s quite ill at the moment, and inclined to lose touch with reality, but she mentioned having to get Robbie’s tea on the table. I wondered if you knew anyone called Robbie.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry, but the name means nothing to me.’

  Brenda made them another cup of tea, but was unable to tell them much else and they were soon leaving.

  ‘Will you give us a call if you think of anything else?’ Grace asked, handing her a card with the phone number on it.

  ‘I will.’

  They were at the car when Brenda suddenly called out. ‘Terry! The one who used to babysit, I reckon his name were Terry or something like that.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It was good to spend the evening with Kate and the boys. Max too, if Jill was honest with herself. She couldn’t help wondering, though, if she was so pleased about his turning down Donna Lord and asking her to accompany them this evening simply because she wanted him to want her. And why? So that she could have the satisfaction of turning him down, and provi
ng to him that she liked her life without him? The trouble was that, although she did enjoy her life, she missed him and the boys terribly. Evenings like this were simply a reminder of how good things had been between them. Why was it so easy to remember the good times? And why was it so easy to ignore the bad memories the fighting, Max’s drinking, his betrayal?

  They were having a pub meal before Kate returned to her flat for a small party with her friends.

  ‘I might win another rosette on Sunday,’ Ben was telling Jill.

  ‘What for?’ Harry scoffed with a guffaw of laughter.

  ‘Sitting down when you’re told to?’

  ‘OK, so Fly might win one,’ Ben muttered, used to his brother’s teasing.

  ‘Is it a show?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Yeah, at the leisure centre. It starts at ten,’ he added, looking hopeful, ‘but Fly doesn’t go into the ring till two.’

  ‘Can I come and watch,’ Jill asked, ‘or will that put you off?’

  ‘You can come,’ he told her.

  ‘I’ll be there then.’

  The unconcealed pleasure on his face at that statement brought tears to her eyes and she had to blink them back. Max was looking at her. He saw. He knew.

  ‘So what does sixty-two feel like, Kate?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Old!’

  Jill laughed. ‘Don’t talk silly.’

  Kate pulled a face. ‘You wait.’

  It didn’t seem like two years since they’d celebrated Kate’s sixtieth. She’d insisted she didn’t want any fuss, yet Jill and Max had organized a surprise party and she’d loved every second of it.

  The thought of birthdays dragged her mind back to what Brenda Daley had said about leaving Rockafella’s the day after Josie’s fourteenth birthday. Why had Rose left at the same time, and why leave so suddenly?

  Had she met someone new? Had she had trouble from a boyfriend? Perhaps an irate wife had been after her.

  It sounded as if she’d loved that job so what had made her leave? Something important must have happened.

  She glanced across at Max and she could see that, although he was laughing and joking, his mind was on the case. That didn’t surprise her. They were all on edge as they tried to race against time. They had two boys missing, and it was Max who would have to break the news to their parents if they ran out of time.

  It was possible, of course, that James Murphy and Jason Keane were already dead. So how did they fit in?

  She was convinced, rightly or wrongly, that Josie Hayden’s past was responsible for her murder and that of her son. But what about the two missing boys?

  ‘Come on, you two,’ Kate said to the boys, ‘let’s go and put some money in the machines.’ She shook her head at Jill and Max. ‘You two are miles away,’ she scolded.

  Jill watched them wander off.

  ‘Anything new?’ she asked Max.

  ‘No. Apart from a few dozen more loose ends,’ he said grimly, ‘and another couple of dozen possible sightings of James Murphy and Jason Keane. Murphy’s been spotted hitching a lift near the M62 junction at Milnrow, going into a cafe in Blackpool, and eating a sandwich in Carlisle.’

  Like Max, Jill wouldn’t get excited. When someone was reported missing, so-called sightings came in from all over the country.

  ‘And you still haven’t found a link with the Haydens?’

  ‘Only Toby Campbell,’ Max told her, ‘and he checks out.

  He couldn’t have killed Josie.’

  ‘I know.’ She signalled for the waiter and asked for another coffee.

  ‘Geoff Morrison’s hiding something,’ Max said, ‘and so is that boyfriend of his.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, ‘but there’s something. When Martin Hayden was taken, they claim they were together. I don’t believe them.’

  ‘And when Josie was murdered?’

  He sighed. ‘Geoff Morrison was at the school entertaining a visiting football team with a very convenient shed load of witnesses.’

  ‘And the boyfriend?’ Jill asked.

  ‘In a recording studio in London,’ Max told her, ‘and yeah, it checks out. There’s no way he could have killed Josie.’

  ‘We’re assuming that Martin and Josie were killed by the same person. Perhaps we’re wrong.’

  ‘We’re assuming that,’ he agreed, ‘but we’re looking at every possibility. We’re questioning everyone in Harrington, we’ve checked out everyone at Harrington High clerical staff, cleaners, teachers, canteen staff, the groundsman . . .’ He sighed again.

  Jill finished her coffee.

  ‘Come on, let’s find Kate and the boys, throw some money in the machines and put it from our minds for a while.’

  ‘Good idea. You go ahead and I’ll settle the bill.’

  The boys were on a winning streak, but it didn’t last long.

  Half an hour later, they all headed back to Max’s place. Kate went straight to her self-contained flat to get ready for her guests. Jill and Max had coffee while Ben showed them how Fly’s training was coming along. Ben took it very seriously; Fly thought it was great fun.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ Jill said, hugging Ben to her. ‘I’ll be at that show on Sunday to watch Fly win that rosette.’

  ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ Harry grinned. ‘Fly will eat it . . .’

  Jill was about to leave when Max’s phone rang.

  ‘Yes, Fletch?’

  Jill watched him. His gaze darted from Harry to her, and it rested on her, unnerving her, as he spoke. Something awful had happened; she could see it in the tension in his jaw and the hard anger blazing in his eyes.

  Had a body been found?

  The house was warm, but Jill was shivering. She turned on the gas fire.

  Max finished his call.

  ‘Right, you two, time you were in bed,’ he said, and there was something in his voice that chilled Jill even more . . .

  Half an hour later, the boys were in bed.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

  They were in the kitchen. Max was reaching for glasses.

  ‘A text message a fucking text message, for God’s sake has been received at the nick. It was sent from Jason’s Keane’s mobile.’

  ‘Jason sent it?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  Without asking, he half filled two glasses with whisky and handed one to her.

  She tried to remind him that she was driving, that her car was parked on his drive and that she needed to go home. She couldn’t. Her hand trembled as she took the glass.

  ‘What did it say, Max?’

  He looked at her long and hard. ‘Tell DCI Trentham that Harry is next.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Max sat in the armchair, a glass of Scotch in his hand and the bottle on the table at his elbow. He felt sick.

  Jill was curled up on the sofa, a glass beside her. She’d planned to drive back to her cottage after the birthday meal but, if she left now, she’d have to get a taxi. Apart from the fact that they’d both been drinking, she didn’t look capable of walking across the room let alone driving.

  ‘You OK, Jill?’

  ‘Not really. You?’

  Of course he wasn’t.

  ‘What are you going to do, Max?’

  He’d been asking himself that same question and, other than find this sick bastard and blow his brains out, he had no answers. Who the fuck was he dealing with? Someone he’d leaned on? Geoff Morrison? Toby Campbell? Brian Taylor?

  ‘I don’t know.’ For her sake, he had to at least give the appearance of being calm. ‘It’s tempting to pack the boys off to a safe place in Scotland or somewhere, but I can’t do that. Whether I like it or not, they have to be at that bloody school tomorrow.’

  She nodded, and he saw a shimmer of moisture in her eyes.

  ‘Hey, nothing’s going to happen to Harry,’ he promised.

  She nodded again, as if she hadn’t doubted it for a secon
d.

  Nothing’s going to happen to Harry. Who the hell was he to say that? The great detective who had no idea what the fuck was happening? The great detective who already had two, and possibly four, bodies on his hands?

  He felt sick. Physically sick. A mixture of fear and fury was churning away inside him, fear that he might not be able to protect Harry and fury that some sick bastard thought he could fuck with him!

  ‘As a rule,’ he said, ‘Kate takes them to school, but sometimes, I take them. Starting tomorrow, I’ll take them every day and bring them home. We’ll get someone at the school watching them classrooms will need painting or the electrics will need checking.’ He drained his glass. ‘Half of Harrington Constabulary will be at the school watching Harry and Ben, and if Meredith even thinks the word shoestring, I’ll bloody deck him.’ He sloshed more whisky into his glass. ‘Do you want another?’

  She looked at her glass, seemed surprised to find it was almost empty, and nodded. She stood up, helped herself, then sat on the floor, close to his chair, gazing at the fireplace.

  ‘Have I had this wrong from the start?’ she said shakily. ‘I’ve convinced myself this is all to do with Josie, but perhaps she simply knew too much.’ She kicked off her shoes and rested her feet on the hearth. ‘This maniac may not be directly linked with the school,’ she went on, ‘but if it’s someone who likes young boys, it’s the most convenient place to hang out.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘But if it is someone with an unhealthy interest in boys, and we’ll forget Josie for the moment, then Harry doesn’t fit, Max. Our man likes them sixteen or seventeen years old. Young adults. Harry’s too young.’

  She stood up again, walked over to the bureau and hunted round for a pen and paper.

  ‘Let’s start with Harry and work backwards,’ she suggested, resuming her place on the floor. ‘If we work on the assumption that Harry has been chosen because of you, and we have to assume that because no one else has had a warning, we need to think ’ ‘

  About someone I’ve spoken to,’ he finished for her.

  She sighed. ‘Or someone you haven’t spoken to. You’re the face on TV, Max. The face everyone associates with this case. This could be a cry for help. Our killer might want to be caught.’