Stalked By Shadows

by Chris Collett

  So she kept up with the news. ‘Yes, it is. Can we come in?’

  It wasn’t exactly a gracious welcome, but she showed them into a lounge where another young woman was overseeing a gaggle of pre-teen children.

  ‘It’s the police,’ Tracey said. ‘Can you take the kids outside for a bit, Shel?’

  Shel regarded the two men with an added layer of suspicion. ‘Sure. Is everything all right?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Tracey reassured her.

  Politeness compelled her to invite them to sit, although Mariner sensed she would have preferred them not to contaminate the beige leather sofa.

  ‘You heard about Mrs Silvero then,’ Mariner said.

  ‘Couldn’t really miss it, could I?’ she said. ‘The name’s engraved on my brain.’

  ‘How did you feel when you heard about it?’

  ‘I just thought it’s a shame, like you do when you hear about anything like that.’ She reached for a pack of cigarettes and lit one, blowing smoke away from them, towards the window.

  ‘There wasn’t part of you that thought, ‘I’m glad she’s dead?’

  She had no difficulty meeting Mariner’s gaze. ‘No. I might have thought that when her old man died. It was him was responsible for our Billy, and he went before justice could be done, but that wasn’t her fault. None of it was her fault. So I just felt sorry for her. It sounded nasty.’ There wasn’t much warmth to her sympathy.

  ‘What about the rest of your family? Have you seen your mum and dad lately?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘They’re back in Birmingham?’ Mariner was surprised, though of course there was a good explanation.

  ‘They always come back up here this time of year; they like to go to our Billy’s grave.’

  ‘For the anniversary.’

  ‘There’s no crime in that. It’s all they’ve got left.’

  ‘How long are they staying?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘About ten days. They came up a week last Saturday, go back the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Quite a long visit then,’ Mariner observed.

  ‘They’ve got a lot of friends and family up here still,’ replied Tracey.

  ‘And where are they staying?’

  ‘With Auntie June, Mum’s sister. They always stay there.’ She recited the address and Knox wrote it down.

  ‘Have you ever been round to Nina Silvero’s house?’ Mariner asked.

  ‘Till I saw it in the papers I didn’t know where she lived.’ The response came out glibly, almost as if she’d rehearsed it.

  A small child came running into the room. ‘Mum, Mum, can I have a lolly? Shel said we can have lollies.’

  ‘Are we finished?’ Tracey asked, absently stroking the child’s head.

  Mariner got up to go, and Knox followed suit. ‘One more thing,’ Mariner added. ‘Where were you last Sunday evening, between seven thirty and midnight.’

  ‘We all went out for dinner; about twenty of us.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mariner. ‘We can see ourselves out.’

  Back in the car Knox had doubts. ‘It doesn’t make sense, boss,’ he said. ‘Surely the last person Nina Silvero would let into her house is a member of the Hughes family.’

  ‘Unless they persuaded her that they wanted to bury the hatchet,’ Mariner said. ‘After all she’d suffered a loss too and, as Tracey said, what her husband might or might not have done wasn’t down to her. The twenty-year anniversary is a significant one. Maybe somehow they persuaded Nina Silvero that they wanted to put it all behind them. Nina might have even seen it as an opportunity to clear her late husband’s name. It might explain why they didn’t get any further than the kitchen, too. Nina Silvero could have been uneasy about the approach but not wanting to be impolite.’

  ‘But why now?’

  ‘Like I said, the anniversary for one thing, and perhaps someone in the family saw the announcement in the paper; Nina Silvero getting her MBE. It probably didn’t seem much like justice to them.’

  ‘Tracey Hughes doesn’t seem to bear any grudges,’ Knox pointed out.

  ‘She’d hardly let it show in front of us,’ Mariner countered. ‘And she’s not the only member of the family, is she?’

  The address Tracey Hughes had given them was for a house in West Heath, just a mile away, but when Mariner and Knox arrived there was no one there.

  ‘We’ll come back later,’ Mariner said. ‘We’ve got a couple of days.’

  After Max had gone, Millie sat quietly, glad of a few minutes to rest her aching eyes, when her phone rang.

  It was a woman’s voice. ‘Hello, I don’t know if you’ll remember, but you came to talk to me the other day. I do some cleaning on the Manor Farm estate.’

  The silver Honda driver. ‘Yes, of course,’ Millie said. ‘You’ve got a vacancy?’

  The woman laughed. ‘No, sorry, it’s not that. It’s probably nothing at all, but the person at number nineteen getting these calls - her name wouldn’t be Lucy, would it?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Millie sat straighter in her chair.

  ‘When I parked my car as usual this morning at the top of Hill Crest, I had one of those déjà vu things that you get, and remembered a man who came up to me a couple of weeks ago. He wanted to know where Lucy somebody lived. I said I didn’t know, because, well, I didn’t. It may be nothing, of course, and I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before, but I thought I ought to let you know.’

  Millie fought to suppress her excitement. ‘You’ve done the right thing -’

  ‘Pam.’

  ‘Pam. Thanks. Do you remember what this man looked like?’

  ‘Well, that was it,’ Pam said. ‘It’s why I should have thought of it before. He wasn’t at all the sort of man you generally see around here.’

  ‘In what way?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Well, he was a big man, tall I mean, not fat, and he was unshaven and quite scruffily dressed, one of those shirts without a collar. And his jacket, it was like a suit jacket, but well worn and not too clean. My first thought was that he was -’

  ‘What?’ Millie prompted gently.

  ‘Well, I was going to say “gypsy” but that’s not PC, is it? What’s the word we’re supposed to use now?’

  This got better and better. ‘A traveller?’ Millie offered. Or perhaps a man who travels a lot?

  ‘That’s right, a traveller. And he had some kind of brogue, Irish I think.’

  Millie’s heart did a somersault. Most of Leigh Hawkins’ band were Irish, including, presumably, their roadies. She cast her mind back trying to remember anyone who might fit the description. There had been a couple of men tinkering about on stage before the show started, but neither had struck her as being particularly tall. ‘How sure can you be about that?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I’m not very good at accents,’ Pam admitted. ‘But he sounded like my cousin Martha’s husband, Bill.’

  ‘Did you feel threatened by him?’

  ‘Oh, no, he was perfectly polite, although I suppose I did feel slightly intimidated, mostly because of his size, and because he looked a bit rough.’

  ‘And how long ago was this?’ Millie asked.

  Pam thought for a moment. ‘A couple of weeks, maybe three.’

  ‘Can you remember the exact day or the time?’

  A pause while there was further thought. ‘I think it was a Thursday because I was just about to go into Mr Coyle’s house, and it would have been at about nine thirty.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Millie. ‘That’s been really helpful.’

  So was someone doing Will’s dirty work for him?

  Lucy Jarrett would be at work. Millie tried phoning but the line was permanently engaged, so she drove straight to the health centre. This couldn’t wait.

  Lucy and Paula were both in the office. Nodding a greeting to Paula, Millie went over to Lucy’s desk. She looked terrible, pale with dark circles under her eyes.

  ‘Hi,’ said Millie. ‘Great nig
ht last night.’

  Lucy gave a wan smile. ‘It was, but I’m paying the price today.’

  ‘Bad head?’ Millie queried.

  ‘Not just that.’ Lucy lowered her voice so that Paula wouldn’t hear. ‘I haven’t stopped throwing up all morning.’

  ‘Maybe you should have stayed at home,’ Millie said sympathetically.

  ‘For a hangover? I couldn’t do that. I’ll be OK. What are you doing here?’

  ‘The other day, when I was leaving your house, I bumped into the woman who cleans for some of your neighbours,’ Millie told her.

  ‘A cleaner? Really?’ Lucy brightened. ‘That sounds like a great idea, I wonder if she’d do our house too?’

  Millie shook her head. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. She told me she’s full.’

  ‘Shame. That’s the other thing about having such a ridiculously big house; all the cleaning. Sorry, you were saying?’

  ‘This woman called me back this morning because two or three weeks ago, she was approached by a tall, scruffy Irishman, who was asking where you live. Have you any idea who he might be?’

  Lucy wrinkled her nose. ‘The only Irish I know are Leigh and the guys in the band. Are you sure it wasn’t one of them?’

  ‘The description doesn’t fit Leigh,’ said Millie. ‘This guy was tall but with short dark hair. Is there anyone who fits that description; one of the roadies perhaps?’

  Lucy shook her head slowly. ‘Of course, they come and go, so I might not necessarily know, but the only ones I know are Dec and Rod and neither of them has short dark hair. They’re both pretty average height, too.’

  ‘This man looked scruffy too, like a traveller. There’s no one else you can think of like that?’

  They were speaking normally now and Paula Kirkwood must have heard from across the office. ‘What about Michael Kerrigan?’ she said to Lucy. ‘Didn’t you say he gave you a hard time about the social worker?’

  ‘Oh, God, Kerrigan, yes, of course. It all makes sense now!’ Lucy seized on the idea enthusiastically. So much easier to contemplate than that her husband or one of his friends might be behind all this.

  ‘What happened?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Kerrigan was waiting for me in the car park one evening a couple of weeks ago. He started yelling at me, shouting abuse, but that was all.’ After the initial fervour, doubts began to creep in. ‘But he’s all bluster, and he’d been drinking. I’m sure he wouldn’t -’

  ‘If he was waiting for you in the car park he could have watched you get into your car. He could also have followed you, at least as far as the estate. Why was he waiting for you?’

  ‘To give me a piece of his mind, mostly,’ Lucy said. ‘Part of my job is to go into homes where there’s a newborn, to make sure that the baby is being cared for and that there are no problems in the family. The Kerrigan family is on my caseload. They are settled travellers.’

  ‘So what was Michael Kerrigan so unhappy about?’ asked Millie.

  ‘When I did the home visit, I had concerns about his wife. She was very low; I thought she might have postnatal depression. I think the money is a bit tight and there are some issues with the older children attending school, so all in all it seemed a good idea to make a referral to social services. It didn’t go down very well with Mr Kerrigan.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘I suppose I did the home visit about a month ago and would have made the referral straight after that.’

  ‘So it would be around the same time as the phone calls started?’ Millie said, piecing it together.

  ‘I couldn’t be sure, but, yes, I suppose it was about then.’ Lucy was warming to the idea again.

  ‘But how would Kerrigan have got your personal phone number?’ Millie wondered. ‘You’re not listed in the phone book.’

  Lucy flushed. ‘I gave it to his wife,’ she confessed.

  Paula couldn’t restrain herself. ‘Lucy!’

  ‘Isn’t that against your professional code or something?’ Millie hazarded.

  ‘It was stupid, I know, but I was worried about Mrs Kerrigan. I wanted to give her every opportunity to contact someone if she needed to. I thought it was possible that the relationship might be abusive. Michael came in while we were talking and she seemed afraid of him.’

  ‘Where do they live?’ Millie asked. ‘I need to go and talk to Mr Kerrigan.’

  Lucy gave her the address. ‘Should I come with you?’

  ‘No, that’s fine.’ Millie was resolute. ‘You can leave this one to me.’

  But once out in her car again, Millie was torn by indecision. What she wanted more than anything was to solve this case herself and be able to deliver a result to Mariner that she’d achieved all on her own. But she was also a realist. If Kerrigan was a traveller, albeit a settled one, then it was likely that he’d be more forthcoming speaking to a man. And if Lucy suspected him of being abusive towards his wife, then he may be aggressive towards her, too. She recalled the advice Mariner had given her, and recognised this as one of those occasions when she could potentially get out of her depth. First, though, she drove back to Granville Lane to find out whether Michael Kerrigan had a history. He did. Kerrigan’s convictions were mainly for petty theft and burglary, but he had also got himself into some scraps; a couple of assaults that were basically drunken brawls, outside various local hostelries. No arrests or convictions for some years.

  Mariner himself was out with Tony Knox but luckily Charlie Glover was available, and what’s more already knew the Kerrigan family, so would be able to smooth the way. And as far as Glover could recall there had never been any complaints of violence against the long-suffering Mrs Kerrigan.

  ‘He’s a lovable rogue,’ Charlie said as they drove off the station concourse.

  Millie liked Charlie Glover. A quiet and unassuming family man, Charlie would have seemed more at home as an accountant or a civil servant than a police officer. Solidly built, with thinning fair hair, he was also solid in a scrape and she was confident that, like the other members of the team, he wasn’t about to try to steal her glory.

  ‘Do you think he’d be up to stalking?’ Millie wondered.

  ‘It might depend on how much he thinks he’s been wronged,’ Glover said. ‘And how much drink he’s got inside him.’

  The Kerrigan family lived in the heart of the Nansen Road sink estate in one of the larger council houses. Michael Kerrigan was in the garden tinkering with an ancient motorcycle when they got there. Even though it was a cool day, he wore jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, his tattooed arms oily and a grimy bandana tied around his forehead. Pushing fifty he was rangy and strong; not a man you’d want to run into in a dark alley. Millie could understand why Pam had felt intimidated.

  But Kerrigan seemed unperturbed to see them. ‘Mr Glover,’ he said evenly. ‘This is a rare pleasure. What can I do for you, sir?’ He picked up a filthy cloth and wiped his hands on it. Though he’d lived in the city for three decades, the Irish accent was as strong as any Millie had heard.

  ‘I hear congratulations are in order, Michael,’ said Glover pleasantly. ‘You’ve got a new addition to the family.’

  Kerrigan beamed with what seemed like genuine pride. ‘I’ve still got it in me,’ he boasted.

  ‘What did the social services think?’ Glover asked.

  Kerrigan’s face clouded. ‘They had no feckin’ business coming here, and that feckin’ nurse had no right to send them in the first place.’

  ‘She was only doing her job,’ Glover reasoned. ‘Making sure that your wife had all the support she needed.’

  ‘I give her enough support. She doesn’t want anyone else interfering.’ Kerrigan’s fists hanging loose at his sides, had clenched, the knuckles white.

  ‘You seem upset about that,’ Glover observed.

  ‘They have no right to come sticking their noses in, the social. It’s only because of who we are.’

  ‘It still bothers you, doesn’t it?’

  Ke
rrigan’s eyes narrowed quizzically.

  ‘Is that why you’re giving Mrs Jarrett a hard time?’

  Kerrigan squinted at Glover uncertainly.

  ‘I heard that you caused a scene outside the health centre a couple of weeks ago,’ Glover continued, and the penny dropped.

  ‘Yeah, well, she deserved it,’ said Kerrigan petulantly.

  ‘Did she deserve the phone calls too?’ Millie interceded. ‘Have you been trying to give her a scare?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You bitch, I’m going to make you suffer. It’s not very imaginative, Mr Kerrigan.’

  Kerrigan directed his confusion at Glover. ‘What the hell is she talkin’ about?’

  ‘So you haven’t taken it upon yourself to make nuisance phone calls to Lucy Jarrett’s house?’ Glover said. ‘We’ve got a witness who can put you in the vicinity of Mrs Jarrett’s home about three weeks ago.’

  ‘How the feck?’ Kerrigan seemed mystified. ‘I don’t even know where the woman lives.’

  ‘You know where she works, though. It would have been easy enough to follow her home,’ Glover pointed out.

  ‘Oh, and I can run at forty miles an hour now, can I? In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr Glover, I don’t have a car.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean you can’t borrow one when you need it. Our witness saw someone fitting your description, including the accent, who says you were at Hill Crest three weeks ago on a Thursday at about nine thirty, asking where Lucy Jarrett lives.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ Kerrigan insisted. ‘I don’t even know where that is.’

  ‘Let me refresh your memory then. It’s the estate off the Bristol Road, just down from the college.’

  Kerrigan thought for a moment. ‘Ah, I know the one. The big posh houses. Yeah, I was there. Can’t remember when it was, though.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’ Glover asked.

  ‘Knocking doors,’ said Kerrigan. ‘We had a load of tarmac, so I was askin’ if anyone wanted their drive doin’. It was ages ago.’

  ‘Our witness says you were asking for Lucy Jarrett’s house.’

  ‘Well, your witness is wrong, Mr Glover. It wasn’t me he talked to. There was no one about, the place was like a bleedin’ ghost town, and, anyway, I’m not anywhere at nine thirty in the morning. I don’t get up till all the kids are off to school, maybe ten o’clock.’