Deadly Shadows (A Dylan Scott Mystery)

by Shirley Wells

  She eventually drifted off and was woken by the shrill screeching of her alarm. She felt worse, if that were possible, than she had before she fell asleep.

  Miraculously, the children were still sleeping, so she went straight to the shower and let the hot water wake her. With her body clean and her hair washed, she felt better. With a strong cup of coffee inside her, she felt almost human.

  The chaos that followed gave her no time to think. Getting Luke ready for school had been easier when he was five. These days, he’d be engrossed in his music, or talking instead of eating breakfast. Freya was in one of those moods when she would only stop grizzling if she was picked up and carried.

  Dylan’s mum arrived at her usual time, and Bev breathed a relieved sigh. “You’ll have fun with madam today.”

  “I always do.” Vicky beamed at her granddaughter and happily carried her around the room while Bev grabbed everything she—and Luke—needed for the day.

  “Right, we’re off. If you have any problems—”

  “I’ll call,” Vicky said. “Off you go. Have fun.”

  “Fun?” Luke scoffed. “At school?”

  “You never know.”

  “I do.”

  Bev grabbed her handbag and car keys just as the phone rang. She crossed the room to inspect the display, ready to ignore it, but it was the health centre. Her stomach did an impressive backflip. They never phoned. If you’d had blood tests done, you had to badger them to make certain the results were back and, more important, that they’d been checked by a doctor.

  “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Scott?”

  “Yes.” Bev expected her heart to burst through her rib cage at any moment.

  “This is the health centre. I’m calling to let you know your blood test results are back. There’s nothing to worry about, but Doctor Singh would like to see you as soon as possible. Can you come in today?”

  Nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about.

  “Well, yes. What sort of time?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Nothing to worry about.

  Bev tried to think about the day’s schedule but her mind was too busy panicking to think straight. “I can make it around eleven.”

  “Let me see—how about ten past eleven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Right, Mrs. Scott, that’s ten past eleven with Dr. Singh.”

  Bev returned the phone to its cradle.

  “Everything all right, love?” Vicky asked.

  “Yes, fine.” Bev forced her face into something resembling a smile. “Just the health centre calling to say my blood test results are back. They want to see me this morning.”

  Something flashed across Vicky’s face but was gone before Bev could analyse it. “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “That’s what they said. Nothing to worry about. Anyway, I’ll have to go or I’ll be late.”

  “Good luck,” Vicky called after her.

  Nothing to worry about.

  Of course there was something to worry about, Bev thought as she climbed in her car, fired the engine and slammed it into gear. If there was nothing to worry about, the receptionist could have given her the results. There was no need for a doctor’s appointment when there was nothing to worry about.

  Perhaps she was overreacting but she was damn sure there was plenty to worry about.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dylan had finished the Everest of washing up and was sneaking a quick coffee before his allotted two hours of manual labour when Doll strode into the kitchen. This morning’s outfit was the trademark short skirt—it was a wonder she didn’t get frostbite—and tight blue blouse.

  Apart from a few brief moments on Tuesday morning, when she’d brought Anna Woodward to the kitchen, it was the first time he’d seen her since Monday night. And the more he thought about that, the more convinced he became that she would have met up with John Taylor if he hadn’t been there.

  “How are things with you, Doll?”

  “Oh—” She sighed. “Okay, I suppose. They’d be a damn sight better if that Woodward girl would keep her hands to herself. If she thinks she’s getting hooked up with Hank, she can think again. The last thing he needs in his life is a little slut like her.”

  Such a welcoming Christian attitude warmed your heart.

  “She’s a kid, Doll. I’m sure she’s harmless enough.”

  “Pah.” She poured herself a coffee, and spilt half of it on the counter. “I’ve warned her about coming on to him. If she tries it on again, she’ll be out. Joe can say what he likes, but she’ll be gone.”

  “Gone where? She doesn’t have anywhere else, does she?”

  “I don’t care where she goes, so long as it’s away from here.” She took a sip of coffee that must have scalded her lips. “The young ones are the worst. They have great bodies—” She gave a bitter laugh. “Didn’t we all at that age? They think it’s their duty to flaunt them and catch the most eligible male they can.”

  It wasn’t in Doll’s nature to age gracefully. She’d see the flaws, the odd wrinkle here and the sagging there. Age wouldn’t be welcomed or accepted in her world.

  “I expect it’s a bit of fun to her,” he said.

  “Pah,” she said again.

  Hell hath no fury like a woman ageing and jealous.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to town tonight, are you, Doll?”

  Her scowl deepened briefly. “I might be. Why?”

  “I wondered if I could share a taxi with you. Or with Joe, if he’s going. I thought I might go in that club and have a couple of cheap drinks.”

  “Tempo?”

  “That’s the one. I met Joe there last week.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Yes, I’ll be going in. I’m meeting up with my friend, the one I should have seen on Monday. If she’s better, that is. She’s had a stinking cold.”

  “Fingers crossed then. Can I beg a lift?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t look happy about it.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  She took her phone from a skirt pocket. “Don’t you need to be at the chapel?”

  He grinned and gave her a mock salute. “I do, yeah. I’m on my way.”

  He rinsed his cup and put it away, then left her to her phone call. He closed the kitchen door behind him, walked away with a heavier tread than usual, then crept silently back to the door and listened.

  “No, no,” Doll was saying. “I’ll have to see you somewhere else, that’s all. How about the Rising Sun?”

  The Rising Sun. As Dylan crept off again, he pictured the faded sign hanging outside a pub. He simply couldn’t place where that pub was.

  He made his way to the chapel, ready to begin work.

  “Have you done any plastering before?” Child asked.

  “What? No, of course not.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Child grinned at him. “It doesn’t have to be a professional job. It’s good that we all chip in though, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t have the first clue about plastering.”

  “It’s easy enough. The mix details are on the bags of plaster. We’ve got an old electric mixer out the back, so you don’t have to do it by hand. Then spread it on the walls as evenly as possible. Adrian’s helping. Between you, you’ll do a great job.”

  Dylan went outside to where Adrian was studying the instructions on a bag of plaster. “You done this before, Dave?”

  “No. You?”

  “No. Between you and me, I don’t think it’s as easy as it looks.”

  “I’m damn sure it isn’t.”

  “Ah well, I suppose all we can do is give it our best shot.”

/>   Their best shot was going to be a disaster, but Dylan had far more important things on his mind than the inside of a building that might or might not be used as a chapel. He’d searched the damn place and found nothing, but he wasn’t convinced that the old stone barn didn’t have a far more sinister purpose.

  As they mixed the plaster, he was aware of Kennedy working on the ever-expanding vegetable plot. Their mysterious gardener had been absent for a couple of days, and Dylan would love to know what he did in his spare time. He’d love to know why he watched everything and said nothing too.

  The plastering, thanks to Adrian’s persistence, wasn’t too bad at all. Obviously, if you’d paid someone to do a similar job in your home, you’d demand your money back, but it was passable. Even Child was impressed.

  “See? I told you so. The Lord gave you talents you aren’t even aware of.”

  Dylan wished the Lord had given him a few more talents—like X-ray vision.

  Their work stint was soon over, and instead of joining Adrian at the house for a well-earned lunch, Dylan crossed the yard to the vegetable patch where Kennedy was moving the earth.

  “Hi,” Dylan greeted him. “We met before, but it was dark. Dave Young.”

  There was no answer.

  “And you’re Kennedy. Is that first or last name?”

  No answer. There wasn’t so much as a blink.

  “I’d love to know why you won’t talk to anyone,” he said. “People believe you’re deaf and dumb, you know. I know that’s not true because I’ve heard you talking to the cat. You’re well-spoken and I’d bet my life you’ve had a good education.”

  Kennedy’s gaunt face was dominated by slate-grey eyes that seemed to look straight through Dylan. He stood motionless, the metal fork idle. For a moment, Dylan thought he was about to get an explanation, but after a minute or so, Kennedy lowered his gaze and turned over more ground.

  “I suppose you’d have a lot of explaining to do if people knew you could talk,” Dylan said. “Joe Child would certainly want to know why, instead of chatting, you preferred to spend your time watching everyone and everything. He might be a bit angry and, as you may or may not know, he’s not a bloke to cross. It could be the last tenner and half dozen eggs you get from him.”

  The fork was idle again. Kennedy leaned on the handle, those eyes of his burning into Dylan’s. “So what are you going to do about it? Tell him I’m working in his garden under false pretences?”

  Even knowing he could speak, and speak well, Dylan was still surprised by the sound of his voice. “No. I’d rather hear what you’ve seen going on in this place.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you would.” That piercing gaze became more thoughtful. “I’ve seen Anna Woodward meeting Hank Child in the chapel for a late-night sex session. I’ve seen Gordon Riley turn up at all hours of the day and night.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  “So—what exactly are you doing here?” Dylan asked.

  Kennedy smiled at that and the weariness seemed to slip away from his face. “What exactly are you doing here? What are you? A police officer? A private investigator? I’d guess at the latter. Am I right? Are you a private investigator?”

  Dylan didn’t answer that. “What else have you seen?”

  “I’ve seen you creeping out at night to meet up with ex-Detective Chief Inspector Willoughby.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Thanks, Doll! See you later.” Dylan left the taxi and ambled up to Tempo’s front doors. He stood to watch the taxi disappear into the night, and then he approached the two bouncers who guarded the entrance to Tempo. “Can you tell me where the Rising Sun is, mate?”

  “Yeah. I can tell you it’s a dump too. It’s at the back of the old bingo hall on Cavendish Street.”

  “Of course it is.” Dylan could remember passing it one night and seeing a drunk comatose at the bus stop opposite. “Thanks.”

  He went inside and shuddered. Tempo looked tackier than usual, if that were possible.

  There was no one in sight that he recognised, on either side of the bar. Certainly no one behind the bar would recognise him as the drunk who enjoyed threatening coppers with broken bottles.

  Child, according to Doll, wouldn’t be arriving until later as he had a “spot of business to attend to.” Dylan would love to know what that was about.

  More important, he’d love to know how in hell’s name Kennedy had guessed he was a private investigator and how he’d known he’d met up with Frank. Dylan was slipping. He should have known he was being followed. He’d got no clues from Kennedy, because just as he opened his mouth to pose the question, Child had appeared.

  “You may as well talk to yourself as talk to him,” he’d said. “Isn’t that right, Kennedy?”

  Kennedy had grunted and returned to the task of turning over soil.

  “Davey, I need you to come with me. The window in the back stables has finally disintegrated and I want to get it boarded up. It’ll be easier with two of us.”

  Dylan had no choice but to walk with Child to the stable block. He’d gone with an extremely uneasy feeling.

  Dylan had done little poking around at the refuge during the night, as he’d considered it too dangerous. Kennedy had no such qualms. Who the hell was he, and what was he up to?

  Before ordering himself a drink, Dylan crossed the crowded room to the toilets. He dived inside one of the cubicles and removed his boot. Nestling beneath the insole was his sim card. He swapped it with Davey Young’s and listened to his messages.

  The first was a torrent from Bev. She was talking too loudly—and hysterically—for him to take it in at first, and he had to listen again. Even then, all he caught was “doctor” and “scan” and “Oh, my fucking God, Dylan.”

  Frowning, he played his next message. Another from Bev. “Sorry, I panicked. I expect it’ll be okay. Give me a call though, will you? Hope you’re okay.”

  The third and fourth were from prospective clients and they’d have to wait. If Child discovered his real identity, he wouldn’t be needing any clients. All he’d need was a tag round his big toe.

  He swapped sim cards again, left the toilets and went to the bar. While he waited to be served, he looked around him. Most customers were young, either late teens or early twenties. If this was Child’s hunting ground, and if he was hunting teenage girls, preferably blonde ones, it was an excellent choice of venue.

  Coloured bulbs flashed impressively but provided more shadows than light. Most people were watching the girls dancing on stage or around the tables. If you were so inclined, you could get up to mischief without being noticed.

  Dylan had only intended to have one quick drink to pass enough time to allow Doll to get nicely settled in the Rising Sun, but as he drained his glass, in walked Child. He wasn’t alone. Walking on his right was Gordon Riley, and Riley’s arm was resting lightly on Anna Woodward’s waist as he ushered her to the bar. Both men were smiling. Anna was giggling at something Riley had said. She was wearing heavy makeup, ridiculously high heels and a sophisticated black dress. She’d easily have passed for eighteen, but Dylan still thought she was closer to sixteen.

  Dylan watched them at the opposite end of the bar as they ordered their drinks. Riley was paying. Anna ordered a triple vodka. He wasn’t close enough to hear what was being said—the music was too loud anyway—but Anna was batting her eyelashes at Riley and obviously pleading with him for something. Finally, he gave in and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor. It just proved that money could buy anything. Riley was nothing to look at and Anna wouldn’t have spared him a second glance if it weren’t for his wallet. Who said size didn’t matter?

  Dylan ordered himself another drink and wandered over to where Child was watching his friends.

  “Hey, Joe, how�
��s things?”

  “Davey, boy! I wondered if we’d see you here.”

  “I’m only having a couple. The price will be going up in a minute, so I’ll go and have a look at the local pubs.” Smiling, he nodded across at the dance floor. “I think your friend’s a bit old for Anna.”

  “It’s only a bit of fun and at least we can see that she gets home safely. Believe me, she’s better off with Gordon than some of the idiots in here.”

  “It’s probably Gordon you need to worry about.”

  Child gave a hearty laugh. “Probably. He won’t get too carried away and she’ll soon grow tired of his computer jargon. He’s a great mate, of course, but believe me, he could bore the balls off a buffalo when he talks computers and software.”

  “She probably won’t be able to hear him over this racket,” Dylan said as the volume was cranked up a notch.

  “True.”

  Dylan sipped at his whisky. He wondered if the staff knew that watering down drinks, even if they were cheap, was against the law.

  “Did you see Barney Fraser’s boys last night?” he asked.

  “I did.” The smile was replaced with a sympathetic sigh. “They’re bearing up. Nothing else they can do, is there? It’s their mother I feel for. She’s done nothing to deserve this. The boys are travelling down to London to be with her, and I’ll probably pay a quick visit too, just to see if there’s anything I can do. They’re like family to me.”

  “Have they any idea who killed him?”

  “None at all. As his phone and wallet were missing, we can only assume it was a mugging. If someone pulled a knife on me and asked for my cash, I’d hand it over. No question. Christian wouldn’t. He’d act first and think later.”

  “Was a knife used?”

  “Well, no. But you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” He knew exactly what he meant. By nature, Child was a suspicious bastard, and if he was pimping the mugging theory, it was odds-on he knew who’d ended Christian Fraser’s life.

  It seemed to Dylan that the more questions he asked, the more questions he needed to ask. Answers, on the other hand, were sadly lacking. He had no idea what was going on in Child’s life, and he certainly had no idea what had happened to Caroline and Farrah, but he knew the two were connected. Until he could get to the bottom of Child’s sordid lot, he stood no chance of discovering the whereabouts of the two girls.