by Penny Grubb
‘I’d like you to meet a woman called Nicole Perks,’ Jennifer said. ‘She’ll fit in with whatever time you can spare. Just hear her out. Either you can help or you can’t, but I know I can rely on you to keep it confidential.’
‘Are you going to tell me anything about her?’
‘She’s a couple of years younger than you, about twenty-four … twenty-five, slim build.’
‘No, not the e-fit. What does she want to see me about?’
‘Oh … uh … I think you should hear that from her, first.’
So Jennifer wanted to minimize her involvement. This backed up Annie’s instinct that this was not a legitimate case for her to pass on. Different angles flashed through Annie’s mind as she made a decision.
Nicole Perks? The name was unfamiliar, but she could look up the details of the case before they met. This afternoon had been earmarked for trawling through online files for a case she and Pat were working on, but Barbara might still be lurking in the office, so the excuse of a meeting with a potential new client to keep her in town was welcome. She could do the work just as well at the library. But the biggest question was what was the deal with Jennifer, who usually did everything by the book?
She nodded. ‘I can carve out a gap this afternoon, but just to talk to her. No promises about taking the case.’
Chapter 2
When Annie arrived in the library, she found her usual corner writhing with schoolchildren fighting for space at the screens. She took a place at another terminal, resentful of the turbulent atmosphere that made it hard to concentrate.
It took longer than it should have to dig out all she needed for the case she was currently working on with Pat, but once done, she turned her attention to recent media articles on the vigilante trial.
The facts of the murder were not in dispute. Yates had gone to Michael Walker’s house and stabbed him several times. He had then walked bloodstained through the streets of Hull to turn himself and the murder weapon in at the central police station, gathering a multitude of witnesses along the way.
Annie shielded the screen as a couple of the schoolchildren pushed by. For all the media coverage, it felt inappropriate to display the lurid headlines for them to see. They settled opposite her, chattering over their notebook. She heard enough to glean that they were part of the annual Young Persons’ University scheme. The scheme made a small dent in the local media every year. Annie supposed it was a good thing as the city didn’t do well in school league tables, but wished they hadn’t chosen her favourite corner of the library to work in. Her mental picture of the supposed victim in the vigilante case put the girl at about the age of the girls across from her – 11 or so – but Yates had never specified.
The partners of both the murderer, Yates, and his victim, Walker, appeared in the news coverage.
VICTIM’S LIVE-IN LOVER PROTESTS HIS INNOCENCE.
MURDERER’S GIRL CLAIMS POLICE INCOMPETENCE.
Reading through the cuttings, what struck Annie was the thinness of Yates’s allegations. He claimed he had a witness, but wouldn’t name her and no one came forward. His vehement proclamations against Walker were both ghoulishly specific and bizarrely vague. He was quoted as shouting about Walker’s ‘unspeakable degradations’, about him ‘forcing unwelcome attentions’ on young girls.
Annie wondered how far the police had looked at Walker’s background. Enough, surely. The official line remained that Walker was a man of unblemished character and Yates was a madman.
Although aware of the shape of the case and the names of the murderer and victim, this was the first time Annie had paid attention to the detail. Seeing that the girlfriends of each man had spoken up, she expected to see the name Nicole Perks attached to one of them, but it wasn’t. Walker’s partner, who had come home to find his bloodied body, was called Charlotte Liversedge; the woman fighting Yates’s corner was Brittany Booth.
Annie had agreed to the meeting mainly as a favour to Jennifer, but now felt a stab of curiosity about Nicole Perks. Could she be the missing witness?
‘Thanks so much for meeting me. I’ve heard you’re really good. We simply have to clear his name.’
Nicole Perks, a slim woman with short mousy hair, was already in the coffee shop where they’d arranged to meet and Annie heard huge expectation in the greeting as the woman leapt forward to shake her hand. Annie smiled back and said, ‘Don’t get your hopes up. I’m happy to talk it through, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to take the case on. Let’s just see how it goes.’
She glanced towards the faraway roof of the open plan shopping mall. The sheer size of the glass panes that made up the walls added to the overall impression of massive space and height. This was not a place to meet when it was packed with shoppers, but the few hundred here now were absorbed easily. The place looked deserted.
She wondered whose name she was being asked to clear.
‘Start from the beginning,’ she said, as she sat down. ‘What’s your connection with the case? What exactly do you want me to do?’
‘I’m a friend of Charlotte. We’re supposed to be business partners but it’s all on hold now, of course.’
‘Charlotte Liversedge? Michael Walker’s girlfriend? Did you know Michael Walker?’
‘Yes. Yes, I knew them both. I’ve known them a long time. They’re going to crucify Michael now. We can’t let that happen.’
‘All I know is what I read in the papers. I know the guy who killed him claimed he had a justification, but I don’t know much more than that. I thought it was an open and shut case.’
‘Oh, it was dreadful. Yates is a vile man … a madman. He claimed Michael was a paedophile. He said he’d kept a young girl as his sexual slave for years. Kept her imprisoned like that awful Garrido man. As if anyone could have led the life Michael led and hidden something like that. It’s absurd.’ Nicole’s voice rose with a mix of anger and upset. She snatched a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose.
‘The police would have checked it all out, anyway.’
‘Yes, of course they would. There’s no truth in any of it.’
‘Who was the young girl supposed to be?’
‘Yates wouldn’t say. He spouted such garbage from that witness box. We think he insisted on giving evidence; no barrister worth anything would have put him there deliberately. He went on about a witness and how someone would come forward with evidence, but, of course, no one did.’
Annie thought back. Yates’s impassioned plea to his witness to come forward sparked memories of overheard comments in a city pub.
‘He’d hardly say all that if he didn’t have something…’
‘If a tenth of that’s true…’
But no witness came forward and the tiny swell of sympathy for Yates ebbed.
‘Did Yates have any visible support during the trial?’ Annie asked.
‘Not that we saw. We wondered if there would be because he reckoned to be some sort of a spiritual leader. We were really worried there’d be a gang of nutters in court on his side.’
‘What sort of spiritual leader?’
‘Some cult thing he founded himself. To do with getting homeless men off the streets. All fantasy by the sound of it. We didn’t think he had anyone until that cow started shooting her mouth off. There has to be a way to stop her. She’s really going to trash Michael’s name.’
‘But who is she?’
‘She’s supposed to be Yates’s girlfriend. A vile cow called Brittany Booth. She’s talking to people, getting them on her side. She’s really scary. It gives you the creeps just to look at her. Making out all kinds of stuff that just isn’t true. She’s got a campaign to raise money. And what can we do? We can’t even afford to hire you properly.’
‘Aren’t you worrying over nothing? Sure, she might get a few nutters, as you call them, on her side. You just have to say paedophile and some people’s brains drop out. But there’s never been a scrap of evidence against Michael Walker.’
‘Yeah
, but now she’s saying he was investigated for child abuse six years ago, and that’ll get people thinking no smoke without fire.’
Annie thought about the crime Yates attributed to Walker. This wasn’t the USA where 11-year-old Jaycee Dugard could be snatched from under her parents’ gaze and kept out of sight for eighteen years. The British Isles were too small to hide the crime Yates had described.
‘And was there an earlier accusation?’ she asked. ‘I mean, not that it’ll make a difference to the court; Yates is going down for murder.’
‘We want him locked away in an institution like the madman he is, but if that Brittany Booth gets things stirred up enough, they might send him to an ordinary prison. He might be out in a few years.’
‘I really don’t think there’s anything Brittany Booth can do that will influence the sentencing. That’s going to rest on the psychiatric reports.’ Annie struggled to see a useful role for herself. Nicole and her friend would be better off with counsellors. She was surprised Jennifer hadn’t eased them that way.
‘And what if the doctors believe he was right about Michael? Doesn’t that make him less mad?’
‘No … I don’t know. It’s still murder. It doesn’t justify what he did. So what story is she peddling?’
‘She says he was investigated and got away, that it’s down to incompetent policing, that they messed up Ian Huntley’s records and now they’ve let another one through the net.’
‘But was there any earlier investigation? Is there anything in her story?’
‘No, nothing. It’s all garbage. The woman’s insane. I mean it. You can see it in her eyes. But it’s really got to Charlotte. She’s beside herself. She’ll barely talk to me about it.’
Annie sat back. She didn’t see that Yates’s sentence could be influenced by any stories Brittany Booth spread, but it could have a major impact on Charlotte Liversedge if people began to believe the allegations against her partner. Annie could imagine the trial by tabloid that would follow.
… the live-in lover … must have known … as guilty as he was …
And goodbye to any fledgling business venture she and Nicole had going.
‘Is there anything you can do? We can pay for a few hours of your time.’
‘It’s tricky. It’s proving a negative. Often it just isn’t possible and you could spend thousands trying. If Yates had come out with any names, or where and when, I’d have a starting point. I could look to show that Michael Walker had been nowhere near the supposed victim at the time. But without any specifics, it’s difficult.’
Annie paused as she saw Nicole’s face fall, as though Annie was the last hope and was pulling the rug from under her. If it meant so much, she could give it a shot.
‘There’s one handle I can see. This accusation of an investigation six years ago. I can look into that. I can probably show it never happened. It might be useful to talk to Charlotte. Pay me for an hour’s time to start with and I’ll get to know if it’s worth going any further.’
Nicole’s expression was fierce with hope. ‘Thank you so much. I’ll do that. And I’ll arrange for you to meet Charlotte.’
Annie’s mobile rang as she left the coffee bar.
‘How soon can you get back to the office?’ Pat’s voice said in her ear.
‘I’m on my way now. I’ve got the stuff we need.’
‘Good. I’ll take over on that. Hurry back. There’s another new case for you. Did you pick up any messages this morning?’
‘No, why?’
After the ghost of a pause, Pat said, ‘Uh … nothing. It wasn’t important.’
Annie felt her eyes narrow. What now? What part was she playing this time in the sisters’ continual feuding? But this wasn’t one to unravel by phone.
‘So what’s the new case?’
‘It’s from Vince.’
Annie pulled a face as she heard the tension in Pat’s voice. Pat knew what she thought of Vince Sleeman. It had only been a few days ago when Barbara had walked in on one of Annie’s attempts to persuade Pat to take things along different lines.
‘Dad built this business from nothing and he didn’t keep it going by specializing,’ Barbara had proclaimed.
‘You didn’t keep it at all!’ Annie had fired back, but neither sister would listen to that sort of criticism. Their late father, Jed Thompson, was a god to whom they paid homage by keeping his business alive. Except they weren’t keeping it alive. All the worthwhile assets, all the business contacts, even the firm’s original name now belonged to Vince Sleeman, the trusted business partner who had wrested control from Pat and Barbara within a year of their father’s death.
The only chance Annie could see was for the three of them to rebrand themselves as a specialist firm. Investigation of insurance fraud was her favoured route, but Barbara wouldn’t hear of it and Annie had to persuade both of them because she had no financial stake to put any clout behind her suggestions. And she was getting weary of the fight.
The cases Vince Sleeman passed on were always dodgy in some respect; often favours for mates he couldn’t be bothered with. Pat and Barbara weren’t in a position to turn him down, but Annie knew they would have a healthier business if they could. The sisters didn’t share her view. Vince had been their father’s friend. They felt the connection as a blood bond.
‘Vince is very keen to see a result on this one,’ Pat went on. ‘It’ll be good for business if we can pull it off. He’s an influential guy.’
As Pat couldn’t see her, Annie made no effort to curb her raised-eyebrows expression of incredulity. How could Pat still fall for this?
‘Who is it? Have you arranged a meeting?’
‘Yes, I’ve slotted her in for you this evening. You’re not doing anything else, are you?’
‘Yes, actually. A group of us were going down town.’
‘You can get out of it, can’t you? This is important and time’s tight.’
‘Oh, I suppose so, but don’t expect me to work all weekend. What’s it about anyway?’
‘I’ll give you the gen when you get here, but you’ll have heard of the case. It’s a woman called Brittany Booth.’
‘Brittany Booth? But we can’t. I’ve just …’ Annie paused. Ethical issues wouldn’t occur to Pat and sure as hell wouldn’t worry Vince. ‘That’s a coincidence,’ she amended. ‘I’ve just picked up the other side.’
‘You’ve picked up what? Hang on, there’s someone at the door. Another new client by the look of it. Things are on the up. I’ll have to go and let them in. We’ll talk when you get here. Don’t hang about.’
Annie clicked off the phone and took a quick look back towards the coffee shop. Nicole would be horrified to know her rival had landed up with the same firm, but this might work in her favour. Presumably Brittany Booth wanted exactly the same as Nicole – the truth about Michael Walker. If Annie was to find it, one of her clients wouldn’t like the result, but it looked like Brittany Booth was the one with the resources to get the job done.
Chapter 3
Certain sectors become black holes in the network, lying out of easy reach of the city’s transport and leisure facilities. Contrasting the burgeoning cafe culture of areas like Spring Bank, these are places where rents bump along the bottom and buildings sport the gloom of decay. Extra money here means a budget for demolition rather than refurbishment. People grumble at the buses but mostly there are plenty of them and they run to time. Where there aren’t any at all, people complain at having to bring their cars into town and look without envy at a young woman who jogs up the road, sometimes more than once in a day. They accept that her cardiovascular fitness is better than theirs, but balance that with the assumption she’s an obsessive, some kind of weirdo.
Annie ran up the stairs into the office keen both to hear what the message had been that Pat had referred to, and also to get her hands on whatever information Vince Sleeman had passed on about Brittany Booth, but Pat shushed her questions with frantic flapping of her
hands and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. Annie’s gaze followed the gesture towards the small back office.
‘New client,’ Pat hissed. ‘They just walked in off the street and asked for you by name. They look quite well-to-do so put on a good show in case it’s something big.’
‘Who are they?’
‘A Mr and Mrs Long.’
The name meant nothing, but a trickle of recommendations came through that she was sure could become a flood if they could only focus their resources.
‘Any idea what they want?’
‘They didn’t volunteer, so I didn’t push. Go on, don’t keep them waiting.’
Pat’s hand held a file. Annie’s gaze was drawn to the tag where the name Booth was written. It would have to wait.
She opened the door to the back office, put on a smile and stretched out her hand. ‘Hello. Mr and Mrs Long? I’m Annie Raymond. I gather you wanted to see me.’
For a fraction of a second surprise threatened her professional welcome. She’d seen these people just a few hours ago in the pub. It looked as though one of the barman’s recommendations had at last turned into a real job. The woman with the long maroon fingernails leapt up and grasped her hand.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see us so quickly. We need someone investigating. It’s urgent.’
‘Now, Sheryl,’ the man said, ‘don’t go exaggerating things.’ His voice bore the shadow of an East London inflection, which surprised Annie who had expected a gruff Yorkshire tone. He turned to her. ‘There’s nothing wrong, but it’s a case of my wife’s nerves. If you can reassure her and it won’t cost too much, I’ll be well satisfied.’
Won’t cost too much? Another worthless bit of a job? Annie held on to the façade of unruffled calm that she used with new clients, but found herself hoping Brittany Booth would not turn out to be the madwoman Nicole Perks described, and that she would have something concrete for her to work on, because out of the three she seemed the only prospect for a job worth doing at the moment.
