‘You thought exactly right,’ said Mariner, lifting his jacket from the back of the chair. ‘Well done, Ralph. You just got yourself another Brownie point.’
Audrey Patterson had been Nina Silvero’s neighbour for thirty years, she told Mariner as they sat in a conservatory overlooking her garden, and, Mariner deduced, was probably about the same age. The shoulder-length hair would have long since ceased to be naturally ebony, but her face was smooth and unlined. She had agreed to see Mariner before her Thursday-afternoon yoga class and was dressed in preparation for it in a plum-coloured velour track suit.
Audrey had been devastated by what had happened to Nina. ‘I feel terrible, because Ray and I always try to be good neighbours. We were out at a church function the night she died, but we were at home all day on that Monday, so we must have been going about our business here while she was lying in the kitchen -’ She broke off, unable to say the word. ‘I feel dreadful about it.’
‘You weren’t to know,’ Mariner reassured her. ‘We’d all like the gift of x-ray vision sometimes. But I understand you overheard an argument between Nina and her stepdaughter quite recently.’
‘Yes, it was a couple of weeks ago. Rachel and the baby came to stay for the weekend.’
‘Not Rachel’s husband?’ asked Mariner.
‘No. Rachel visited her mother quite often - every couple of weeks or so - and I think it was more difficult for Adam to get away.’
‘And you overheard a disagreement?’ Mariner prompted.
‘Yes, it was on the Sunday afternoon. I think little Harry must have been having a nap because I noticed that the back curtains were drawn. I wasn’t eavesdropping, I couldn’t help but hear.’ She was keen to make that clear. ‘I was doing some weeding in the flowerbed just down here -’ she indicated an immaculate border just beyond the window ‘- and they were out on the patio, and speaking quite loudly.’
‘So you heard exactly what was said?’ Mariner checked.
‘Oh, yes. Nina was saying, “I can’t do it any more. I’ve given you what I can and I’ve got my own old age to think about.” Then Rachel suggested that Nina could sell the house and get somewhere smaller, but Nina wasn’t having any of it. She said, “This is my home,” and I remember thinking, good for you. Rachel always was rather spoiled, especially by her father. Not long after that, I saw her and the baby leaving.’
‘Do you think Rachel and Nina parted on good terms?’ Mariner asked.
‘Oh I think so.’ She seemed sure. ‘I saw Nina a few days later and she said what a lovely weekend they’d had.’
‘She didn’t mention the argument?’ Mariner asked.
‘Oh, no. We’ve been neighbours a long time but we don’t interfere with each other’s business.’
Pity, thought Mariner. ‘You must have been aware of who came and went at Nina’s house, though,’ he said.
‘Sometimes, of course,’ she said.
‘Do you ever remember seeing any male visitors?’
‘Not recently,’ Audrey said. ‘Just after Ronnie died, there was a man who came to the house now and again.’
‘A workman?’
‘No, he was too well dressed for that. I did wonder at the time what kind of relationship it was. None of my business, of course, but it did seem a bit soon to be taking up with someone else. But he stopped coming after a few months.’
‘Do you remember what he looked like?’ Mariner asked.
Audrey sighed. ‘Not really. This was a long time ago.’ A squirrel scampered across the lawn, distracting her momentarily. ‘I think he was quite tall and well built, with dark hair, though balding a bit. He drove quite a big car; a Rover or something like that.’
Sitting in his car out on the street, Mariner made a phone call, and on his way back to Granville Lane he took a detour to the offices of Mercer, Brooke and Hanley, an old and well-established partnership that had offices in a Georgian villa on the Harborne side of Five Ways. Outwardly a traditional law firm, Nina’s solicitor, Sarah Wagstaffe, clearly brought the glamour to the practice. She took Mariner into a refurbished modern office that overlooked the car park.
‘Have you been Mrs Silvero’s solicitor for long?’ Mariner asked.
‘About seven years. Nina was one of my first clients. I took her on from Mr Brooke, by mutual agreement of course.’
‘And did you have much contact with Mrs Silvero?’
‘We’ve met about half a dozen times. She has been very conscientious about keeping her will up to date, so I last saw her shortly after her grandson was born. A sensible woman.’
And lucrative client, Mariner thought, but he kept that to himself. She had copies of the will ready for Mariner to take, and on the way out they passed an older man in reception.
‘Ah, this is Mr Brooke,’ Sarah introduced them.
It occurred to Mariner as he shook Brooke’s hand that he vaguely fitted the description of the man Estelle Waters and Audrey Patterson had seen. ‘What sort of car do you drive, Mr Brooke?’ he asked.
‘A Range Rover,’ said Brooke, understandably taken aback by the question. ‘Always have done.’
Mariner took the will back to Granville Lane where he and Knox pored over copies, Knox glad of the respite. Nina Silvero, it transpired, had been generous in her donations to charity, including the police benevolent fund, so it didn’t appear that she bore any grudges there. The ballet school, along with any profits or losses, was bequeathed to Susan Brady, and, apart from a sum to be put into trust for her grandson, the remaining estate, running into several hundred thousand even before the house had been sold, would go to Rachel Hordern.
‘The ballet school is an interesting one,’ Mariner remarked.
‘In what way?’ said Knox.
‘Along with profits and losses,’ Mariner quoted. ‘Susan Brady admitted to us that it was beginning to struggle. Much better for her to take control of it while it’s still viable and she has a chance of turning things around than wait until it’s in real trouble.’
‘Taking into account that argument, wouldn’t Rachel Hordern have been pretty anxious to get her hands on her cut sooner rather than later, too?’ Knox speculated. ‘You reckon there’s any chance that these two women knew each other?’
‘The stepdaughter and the business partner?’ Mariner hadn’t considered it before. ‘They must be about the same age. I would say there’s every chance.’
‘Perhaps we should find out for sure.’
‘Well, we should bump into them both tomorrow at the funeral,’ said Mariner. ‘Something to look forward to.’
CHAPTER TEN
On Thursday evening, Mariner really had no justification for being in the bar opposite the Brass House language centre other than spying. From where he sat idly turning the icy beer bottle in his fingertips, he had a perfect vantage point for seeing who emerged from the building. As it was he almost missed them because he didn’t immediately recognise the glamorous young woman who emerged arm in arm with a tall, dark young man in a sharp suit. Kat had changed out of her formal work clothes and was wearing a short, clinging dress and high heels, a short jacket over the top. Mariner had never seen her dressed like that before. It made him feel uneasy.
Giles, if this was him, and Mariner was certain that it was, was speaking into a mobile. He wasn’t what Mariner had expected or hoped for; for a start he was younger and better looking. There was clearly some playful banter going on between him and Kat as they came down the steps of the centre and turned to walk along Broad Street. Mariner abandoned his beer and started after them at what he hoped was a discreet distance. As he followed, he watched Giles take Kat’s hand, raise it to his mouth and kiss it.
Mariner tailed them at a distance down a side street and into the entrance to a multi-storey car park. Once in the winding concrete stairwell he lost sight of them and had to monitor their ascent by the sound effects. A flight below, he fell into step with the rhythmic echoing footsteps, until they halted suddenly, and a few seconds
of silence was punctuated by the clanging of a door. Mariner bolted up the remaining stairs and pushed open the next exit door on to what he hoped was the right level. Casting about the rows of parked cars, he was just in time to see Kat, fifty yards away, duck into a low-slung sports car. Giles had already vanished and, as Mariner watched, the car, that must have cost upward of thirty thousand, fired up, reversed slowly out of the parking bay and accelerated towards the exit ramp with a throaty roar, giving Mariner more than enough time to note down the registration. It would do for a start.
Leigh Hawkins was popular. There were no reserved seats in the first-floor room of the tiny Edwardian pub and, half an hour before the venue was due to open, the queue snaked down the stairs and into the street. Millie was having to stand and wait on her own as Mariner hadn’t yet showed up. She wondered what was keeping him. Perhaps, despite what Knox had told her, he was seeing that Stephanie again. She hoped so. It would do him good. Having experienced the pleasures of married life first hand, Millie felt it her mission to secure the same happiness for everyone. It was a mystery to Millie, and always had been, why the boss hadn’t been married, with his mandatory 2.4, years ago. OK, he was knocking on a bit now, but he was still an attractive bloke. Even the grey beginning to streak his hair suited him. And she happened to know from very limited personal experience that he was an all right shag. It was such a pity things hadn’t worked out with Anna. It was still a source of some shame to Millie that she was the one who could potentially have jeopardised that relationship for him, but, no, in the end he had managed to screw it up all on his own.
At seven sharp the doors opened and the line began to shuffle forward up the stairs, giving Millie her first glimpse into the gig venue. Seeing how crowded it was becoming, she hoped there wouldn’t be a problem with reserving two seats, though she had her warrant card to back her up should she need it. Most of the punters were middle aged or older, ageing hippies many of them, universally dressed in jeans, T-shirts and open-necked shirts. And all of them, from what Millie could see, were white. She’d long passed the stage where this could make her feel uncomfortable, and she certainly didn’t feel under threat, but it was an interesting observation. Soon she was next in line at the ticket table, and at last Mariner arrived, squeezing his way breathlessly up the stairs past the tail-end of the queue. And, for God’s sake, still wearing his work suit.
‘You know how to blend in, sir, don’t you?’ Millie said, eyeing him up and down as she handed over the money for their tickets. ‘I can see why they never ask you to go under cover.’
‘What? Oh, no time to change,’ Mariner said, distracted.
Tickets bought, they walked into the rapidly filling room and Millie chose a table about halfway back.
‘What are you having?’ Mariner asked. He took Millie’s order and went up to the bar, leaving her to keep their seats.
‘Been somewhere nice?’ Millie fished, as he rejoined her with their drinks, his own already half-depleted.
‘Nowhere interesting,’ he said, with a minimal shake of the head. ‘God, it’s ages since I’ve been in here, I used to come in regularly. But the landlord still keeps a good pint, well half-pint, anyway.’ He looked warily around at the audience. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be your finger-in-the-ear purist stuff.’
And from that, Millie surmised, the subject was closed.
When the band appeared Lucy Jarrett’s husband was instantly recognisable from the wedding photos Millie had seen. ‘Though he’s better looking in the flesh,’ she told Mariner. Lean and tanned in black jeans and T-shirt, with dark, spiky hair, he was every inch the rock musician, his arms branded with elaborate tattoos and a string of beads at his throat. The band was a five piece and, apart from Will, was as predominantly Irish as Leigh Hawkins himself. The eponymous front-man was tall and rangy, his long grey hair tied back in a ponytail, his beard almost white.
The bass player and drummer kept a pretty low profile but the front line was Leigh Hawkins himself, all gravelly voice and acoustic guitar, Will Jarrett on guitar, mandolin, banjo and occasional harmonies and a female singer whose crystal pure voice was a clean counterpoint to the gruff male vocals.
‘That must be Tess Maguire,’ Millie said.
‘She’s the other woman?’
‘She phoned to speak to Will while I was there. Lucy wasn’t impressed. Touch of the green-eyed monster, I think.’
Occasionally the two sang backing harmony to Leigh Hawkins, and when they did they shared the mic, standing close to one another, often Will’s hand at the young woman’s back, and as they moved back and forth across the stage, in and out of the songs, they exchanged frequent intimate glances.
‘He’s not behaving much like a newly married man, is he?’ observed Millie.
The performance ended at close to eleven thirty and afterwards, while Mariner went to find the gents, Millie queued by the table at the back of the room to buy a CD. She purposely joined the line nearest to Will, but had to wait some time, as the woman ahead of her was clearly a long-time fan.
‘Back again then, Sally.’ Will turned his pearly smile on her.
‘Of course,’ the woman twittered. ‘You were fabulous as always.’ She picked up one of the CDs. ‘Will you sign it for me. I’ve already got that one, but I can’t go away empty handed.’ Having paid for the CD, Sally produced a camera. ‘One for the album?’ Will dutifully posed, then she turned and handed Millie the camera. ‘Would you mind?’ Before Millie could respond, Sally was round to the other side of the table, her arm gripped tightly around Will, her face pressed close to his. Millie focused and snapped. To Will’s credit, he seemed totally relaxed about it all, though the woman must have been too close to be comfortable.
‘See you again soon, darling,’ she said, holding Will’s hand for much too long and squeezing it tight, until finally relinquishing it.
‘You take care now.’ Will smiled, turning to Millie, brows raised.
‘You have a fan,’ Millie observed.
‘Yeah.’ Will gave a wry smile. ‘Thankfully just the one. Sally’s pretty harmless though.’
Millie handed over the money for her chosen CD. ‘Your wife is Lucy, right?’
He looked up in surprise, the smile in place. ‘Yeah, you know her?’
‘Kind of. I’m the police officer who’s investigating the nuisance phone calls she’s been getting.’
There was a definite reaction in those dark eyes, but Jarrett recovered quickly. ‘I didn’t know she’d got you guys involved,’ he said casually. ‘You really think there’s something in them?’
‘I think there’s something bothering your wife, and I’d like to try to find out what it is,’ Millie said pleasantly.
The smile had faded somewhat. ‘That’s very conscientious of you.’
‘It’s my job,’ Millie said lightly.
Mariner caught up with Millie as she walked away.
‘Do you think that was wise?’
‘I wanted to make him squirm a bit.’
‘What if he goes back and takes it out on Lucy?’
Millie stopped and turned. The thought clearly hadn’t crossed her mind. ‘He wouldn’t, would he?’
‘It wouldn’t be very sensible, especially now that he knows we’re watching him,’ said Mariner. ‘But it might complicate things.’
Sally, Will’s fan, was hovering in the car park close to an ornately decorated transit van when they emerged from the pub. ‘Waiting for another glimpse,’ she confessed. ‘Don’t you think he’s just gorgeous?’
‘You know he’s married.’ Millie said gently.
‘Ah, but for how long?’ Sally grinned, a little manically Millie thought. ‘I mean, she seems like a nice woman but she’s bound to get fed up with the travelling, isn’t she?’
‘You’ve met his wife?’
‘Not met exactly. Will introduced her at one of the gigs. The novelty must have worn off, though - she doesn’t come along any more. A long way to come, I suppose.
’
‘Have you come far?’ Mariner asked. ‘Can we drop you somewhere?’
‘Oh no, thank you. That’s my little car there.’ She pointed across the way to a light-coloured compact hatchback. They should have known it was hers. There were Leigh Hawkins stickers all over the rear window. ‘And I don’t live too far away. South Birmingham, in Kings Heath. Do you know it?’
‘A little,’ Mariner said.
‘It’s not far from where Will lives as a matter of fact.’
‘You know where he lives?’ Millie said.
‘Oh, I’ve driven past a few times, and seen his van on the drive. I couldn’t help myself.’
They left her standing outside in the freezing air.
‘Christ, she’s a bit scary,’ said Mariner, under his breath, when they were on the other side of the car park.
‘Will thinks she’s harmless,’ Millie said.
‘I’d say she’s got the motive and the opportunity.’
‘And now I’ve got her registration number,’ Millie said, snapping shut her notebook.
‘Good. I’ll see you in the morning.’
It was well after midnight when Mariner got home, but the house was dark and empty; Kat was still out. This was a first and, combined with what he’d seen earlier, it bothered him. Where the hell was she? Was she still with Giles? What were they doing? He moved on from that one. It had been a long day, but, even though he was shattered, Mariner didn’t want to go to bed. He paced around a bit then made himself a coffee, paced around some more, while it went cold, then tipped it down the sink.
‘This is stupid,’ he told himself. ‘She’s twenty years old, a grown woman.’ He went upstairs and brushed his teeth and got undressed, then came down and paced around yet again. Eventually, fatigue forced him into bed, but he couldn’t sleep and lay awake listening. Finally, at two fifteen am, he heard a car draw up outside, footsteps and voices, followed by the clunk of the front door closing. After that it went quiet, so at least Giles hadn’t come in with her. Mariner padded down the stairs and found Kat in the hallway, standing precariously on one leg, trying none too successfully to take off her left shoe without falling over.
Stalked By Shadows Page 13
