Shades of Evil

by Shirley Wells

  Max supposed the bloke had nothing better to do than drink away the time. If they weren’t careful he’d go from good copper to dypso.

  ‘Jill?’

  ‘No, thanks. I only came to say hello so I’ll be off soon.’

  As soon as Clive had his drink in his hand, he went off to catch up with his friends.

  Jill gave Max a guarded look, no doubt daring him to comment on her decision to keep Clive away from the job. Max knew he should keep quiet, but—

  ‘I really can’t see the need to keep him off work for another six weeks. We’re short of officers as it is.’

  ‘I’m not arguing with you, Max. I believe he’s unfit for work and that’s that.’

  ‘He seems all right to me.’ And how anyone could decide one way or the other after showing him a few ink blobs, or whatever it was they did, Max had no idea.

  ‘At least he seems more cheerful,’ Jill agreed, watching Clive laughing with fellow officers on the far side of the room. ‘Usually, I can’t get two words out of him.’

  Max was about to comment on that, but then he spotted another familiar figure.

  ‘Don’t look now, and whatever you do don’t make eye contact, but Adam Smith is sitting in the corner.’

  ‘You and your shadow, eh?’

  Max was halfway down his pint when Smith, swaying slightly, made his way to the bar to stand beside Max.

  ‘You’ll be busy looking for this girl’s killer then.’ His bloodshot eyes were sinking into his skull. The weight was falling off him. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? My Yasmin has been forgotten. Case closed.’

  ‘Not at all, Mr Smith. The case won’t be closed until your daughter has been found. I give you my word on that.’

  ‘Your word? What good’s that, eh? You told me you’d find her. It’s been four months now. Four months!’

  ‘I know.’ Max also knew that if one of his boys was missing, he’d be frantic, too. In fact, he’d be doing exactly what Adam Smith was doing, walking the streets day in, day out. ‘Believe me, we’re doing everything we can to find Yasmin.’

  ‘No you’re not. You’re looking for the bloke who killed that girl. And what use was she to the world, that’s what I want to know? My Yasmin has her whole future ahead of her. She’s bright, clever. She’ll make something of herself. Not that other girl. She was a drug addict, that’s what it said in tonight’s paper. Who cares if she lives or dies, eh?’

  ‘We’re doing all we can to find your daughter.’ His heart went out to Smith though. He wondered if Smith, too, was wondering if the killer of Lauren Cole had known his daughter. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

  ‘No, you bloody well can’t!’ Smith spat on the ground at Max’s feet. ‘You enjoy your little party. I just hope you can damn well sleep at night because I can’t!’

  It didn’t do to shout at senior officers in this place and a couple of PCs soon had Smith by the arm.

  ‘Leave him,’ Max said.

  Smith freed himself from the officers’ grasp and stormed out of the pub.

  ‘He’s right,’ Max said when he and Jill were alone again. ‘What right do I have to stand here drinking a pint when his daughter’s missing?’

  ‘Every right in the world,’ she replied easily. ‘Yes, it’s awful for him and yes, we’d all be wrecks in the same situation, but you can only do your job, Max. And you can’t do that twenty-four hours a day.’ She looked at him. ‘Are you sleeping?’

  ‘You should know.’ But last night, she’d been asleep within seconds and Max had tossed and turned beside her. ‘If you’ve forgotten, you can come back to my place and find out.’

  ‘Ha.’

  ‘OK, I’ll come back to yours,’ he suggested.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be with your kids tonight.’

  ‘I am.’ As much as the idea appealed, he couldn’t spend another night at Jill’s. ‘And I will be soon. Come with me.’

  ‘I can’t. In any case, I want an early night.’ She emptied her glass and put it on the bar. ‘Be seeing you, Max.’

  Max bought himself another pint, spent twenty minutes chatting to various people, then decided to leave them to it. And God help them if there was even a whiff of a hangover at the morning’s briefing.

  After trudging through freezing slush to his car, he began the drive home. He was turning into Bailey Street when he saw the unmistakable figure of Adam Smith heading towards the bridge over the canal. It was a common meeting place for drunks, druggies and prostitutes. Smith’s head was turning from left to right, scanning every doorway, and his hands were deep in the pockets of a jacket that offered little resistance to the temperature.

  Smith rarely slept and, by the look of him, rarely ate. He’d given up his job as a lorry driver and spent every minute of every day searching for his daughter.

  Max wondered what he’d do if he got home to find that Harry or Ben was missing. It was every parent’s nightmare and simply didn’t bear thinking about.

  Linda’s last words to him had been, ‘Take good care of my boys, Max.’

  He could remember feeling the weight of that responsibility at Linda’s funeral when he’d said a final goodbye to his wife.

  His marriage had been over long before then, though. He and Linda had shared the same house, and the same bed, and would probably have stayed together for the sake of the boys, but it had been over. They’d both known it.

  He only remembered two things from the funeral. One was the sheer panic of trying to raise two boys on his own. The other had been the rain. It had been relentless as he and his sons had stood beside that sodden, miserable grave, oblivious to the dozens of mourners around them. Undertakers had fussed around with huge, black umbrellas but he and the boys had preferred the rain.

  Max pushed the memories away and concentrated on the murder of Lauren Cole.

  Motive. He needed to concentrate on motive. Why would anyone want her dead?

  Max had an uneasy feeling about it all. Was the person who chose an axe as a murder weapon the same person who enjoyed stringing up cats?

  He suddenly slapped the steering wheel.

  Percy Jacobs!

  Seven years ago, Bill Jacobs had been sentenced to life imprisonment for the vicious rape and murder of a teenager. Jill’s profile had helped to bring about an arrest.

  His brother, Percy, had always, despite hard evidence and a confession, protested Bill’s innocence. If anyone bore Jill, or the force in general, a grudge, it was Percy Jacobs. And Max would bet his life that the grudge was weighing even heavier now that Bill had passed away. He’d died in prison two weeks ago.

  Percy was a nasty piece of work, too. No better than his brother, he’d been detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure for rape.

  Perhaps it was time to pay him a visit.

  Chapter Eight

  When Jill arrived at headquarters the following morning, she went straight to the coffee machine. If she’d known Clive White would be standing there, a clipboard under his arm as he took a full plastic cup from the dispenser, she would have given it a miss.

  ‘Hi, Jill. I wanted to buy you a drink last night, but you’d already left.’

  ‘I was driving so I didn’t stay long.’

  ‘No hangover for you then?’

  ‘Nope. I just need a coffee to warm me up a bit. Why? Are people feeling a bit the worse for wear after last night’s session?’

  ‘A few are. The boss won’t be pleased.’

  He certainly wouldn’t.

  ‘So what are you doing here, Clive?’

  Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but seeing him at every turn was beginning to annoy her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not working.’ He thrust the clipboard at her. ‘You remember last year I organized the New Year Run? I’m doing it again this year.’

  ‘Really?’ And now she felt guilty, which was absurd. ‘Good for you.’

  But she felt guilty every time she saw him, as if she’d stolen a favourite toy from a
child, and that was ludicrous. She should have more confidence in herself. She’d deemed him unfit to continue in his job, and that should be the end of it.

  ‘Any chance of some sponsorship?’ he asked. ‘I’m raising funds for the hospice, the same as last year.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  She took the clipboard from him, signed her name and promised a more than generous donation if he completed the run. She was sure he would. He found it difficult to accept failure.

  ‘So are you out training in this weather?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m trying to. It’ll either get me very fit or kill me.’

  She smiled at that. ‘Rather you than me.’

  ‘Jill—’ He hugged the clipboard to him, and clutched his hot drink tightly. ‘About the time—’

  ‘Let’s forget it, shall we?’

  She knew exactly what he referring to, and she really didn’t want to talk about it.

  ‘I just want to say sorry.’ He shuffled his feet. ‘I was horrified to be suspended from duty and I was angry. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, though, and I’m sorry about that.’

  She’d known an apology was coming, but the fact that he sounded sincere surprised her.

  They’d bumped into each other in the Green Man, the day she’d deemed him unfit to work. He’d lost his temper with her, calling her a power-crazed shrink among other things.

  ‘Forget it, Clive. In the same situation, I would have been angry, too. But you did witness a terrible tragedy. Not only were you chasing a suspect, you had to try and save the life of an innocent bystander.’

  And watch the young man die as they waited for the ambulance.

  ‘Anyone would struggle to cope with that,’ she went on, ‘and I’m sure some time away from the job will do you good.’

  ‘But that’s just it. I’m not struggling. These things happen and I can accept that.’

  In other words, he was pushing it from his mind and that wasn’t healthy.

  ‘You’ll soon be back with us. And probably wishing you were still at home,’ she added with a dry smile. ‘It’s manic here right now.’

  ‘I can imagine. Trust me to be stuck at home when there’s a good juicy murder, eh?’

  The words sounded callous, but he wouldn’t be the only officer thinking that way. Clive was ambitious. He was young, too. He would have seen this as a chance to shine in front of superior officers. To him, a murder investigation would represent promotion.

  ‘There will be others, Clive.’

  ‘Yeah. Anyway, I’m sorry about – well, you know. And thanks for the sponsorship. I’m hoping to beat last year’s effort. I raised just over three grand then.’

  ‘I remember. Good luck.’

  ‘Thanks. And thanks for being so understanding. I’m really sorry.’ He spotted a couple of officers heading towards the main reception. ‘I spy more sponsorship. See you, Jill.’

  ‘See you.’

  As she waited for her plastic cup to fill, she watched him laughing with the two PCs. They wrote on his clipboard so she guessed he’d managed to get more sponsorship.

  She carried her coffee to her office, and saw that a large note had been stuck to her desk. ‘Marshall in rm 3. Give me a buzz when you’re ready.’

  Max would have to wait while she drank her coffee and checked her email.

  She was pleased they’d found Ricky Marshall, but why interview room three? It was easily the coldest place in the building and competition was stiff for that particular accolade.

  Fifteen minutes later, she phoned Max. ‘You’ve found Ricky Marshall then? How did you manage that?’

  ‘He’s well known. Are you ready for a chat with him?’

  ‘I can be.’

  Jill kept a spare jumper in her office for emergencies such as this and, before going to meet Max, she put it on. She loathed being cold. It slowed her thought processes.

  ‘Why,’ she demanded of Max as they headed along the corridor towards it, ‘is the room never used in the summer and yet seems to be first choice in winter?’

  ‘The others have been painted,’ he explained, ‘and we can’t subject people to fumes. Had I known we’d want you along, I’d have told you to wear your thermals.’

  ‘Who says I’m not?’

  She pushed open the door, saw Ricky Marshall and had to bite back a laugh. Lauren’s flatmate Jo had said she thought Ricky had his teeth done by his barber and his hair done by his dentist. A more apt description of anyone it would be difficult to find.

  She looked at Max and saw the same amusement in his eyes.

  They sat opposite Marshall and went through the usual performance of switching on the equipment, informing him he was being recorded and introducing themselves.

  It became clear that he enjoyed being under the spotlight. As he had several previous convictions for theft, he was well used to the procedure.

  ‘When did you last see Lauren Cole?’ Max asked him.

  ‘I’ve already told you.’

  ‘Then tell me again.’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Can’t remember. Some pub or other, I expect.’

  ‘OK, let’s start at the beginning,’ Jill suggested. ‘Where did you first meet her? Can you manage to remember that?’

  ‘Yeah. It was at the Commercial.’

  Jill had never been inside, but she knew the place by reputation. It was an ugly, sprawling town centre pub where fights broke out on a regular basis. Drinks were cheap so it attracted a young crowd.

  ‘When was that?’ she asked him and he shrugged.

  ‘About six weeks ago.’

  ‘Tell us about it. She was there with friends, yes? You got talking?’

  ‘No.’ He had a sneering smile that made Jill long to slap him. ‘She was there on her own. She wasn’t bad looking, and there was nowt better in, so I went up to her.’

  Nowt better in? Jill could have howled with laughter. He thought he was a gift to the female species. He believed he’d done Lauren Cole a favour.

  ‘She was very attractive,’ she corrected him, ‘and you’re trying to tell us that you were the best she could do? I find that hard to believe. Let’s face it, Ricky, you haven’t been well blessed in the looks department, have you?’

  He didn’t answer, just stared back at her, and Jill waited for the insult that she felt sure was coming. But either he couldn’t think of anything suitable, or he couldn’t be bothered.

  ‘So, having gone to chat her up, did you wine her and dine her? Or is a quick shag in the bogs more your style?’ Jill leaned back in her chair to wait for his answer. Often, when she reduced conversation to the opposition’s level, they talked. Ricky was the exception; he didn’t say a word.

  ‘Lauren was a bit classy, wasn’t she?’ she pushed on. ‘She came from a good family. So what was she doing with you? Did she fancy a bit of rough, Ricky?’

  No answer.

  ‘It didn’t last long, though, did it? And you didn’t get to have sex with her, did you?’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘Liar,’ Jill scoffed.

  ‘What do you know about it?’

  ‘I know you didn’t sleep with her. You called her a prick tease. You thought you were on a promise but she didn’t deliver, did she?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So the fact that you were seen hammering on her door and calling her names makes you a suspect in a murder investigation,’ Max informed him.

  ‘You what?’

  Gone was the cocky young man who enjoyed being the centre of attention. In his place was someone who was suddenly looking very nervous.

  ‘Now, look, that’s nowt to do with me. You know that. Aw, come on, that’s bloody daft.’

  ‘Is it?’ Max asked. ‘Why?’

  Jill brought to mind photos of the dead girl. It had been a brutal killing, but swift. Someone had lifted that axe and brought it down right through her skull.

  ‘Why the hell
would I kill her?’ Marshall asked urgently. ‘I told you, I saw her a fortnight ago and that was it. I haven’t seen her since.’

  ‘You’d kill her for revenge,’ Jill said. ‘You thought you were guaranteed great sex and she didn’t deliver. You thought you’d teach her a lesson.’

  ‘Bollocks! Christ, she reckoned everyone fancied the tits off her. Maybe it was one of them did it to her.’

  ‘Like who?’ Max asked.

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Everyone. She reckoned everyone she spoke to fancied her.’

  ‘So you said. Give us an example, Ricky.’

  ‘There was her landlord for a start. She reckoned he only called in to chat her up.’

  Lauren’s landlord was overweight, pushing sixty and, more important, gay. He’d be more likely to go for Marshall than Lauren.

  ‘Who else?’ Max asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re not doing very well, are you?’ Jill said.

  ‘Wait. There was another bloke she saw when she walked that dog of hers. He gave her the creeps, she said, but he fancied her, too.’

  ‘Another bloke? That narrows it down a lot,’ Max said.

  ‘She sometimes saw him when she was taking the dog for a walk. She reckoned he was old, about fifty probably. Called him a dirty old man. Said he wore a funny grey hat, like his mum had knitted it for him.’

  ‘Where did she see him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Where did she walk her dog?’ Jill asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve told you, I don’t know.’

  ‘You must have some idea,’ Max insisted. ‘Sometimes she walked the dog through town. Sometimes she drove out to Kelton Bridge and walked the dog over the hills there.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So where did she see this man?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ricky said again. ‘All I know is that he used to chat her up. Or so she said. And he had a dog.’

  ‘What sort of dog?’ Max wanted to know.

  ‘I don’t know. Christ, I wasn’t interested. If I’d took an interest in every bloke she claimed fancied her, I’d have a bloody degree in it!’

  ‘She loved that dog of hers,’ Jill said, ‘and the dog loved to go for walks. Now, given this big romance you had going with her, I’m surprised she didn’t invite you along when she took Charlie out.’