“But he was right!” Victoria shouted out. The tears welled up in her eyes as she went on emotionally, “Mummy blamed me for daddy’s death at the funeral! We were at the cemetery when she started shouting at me! She said it was all my fault, that I had stolen daddy away from her, and that I had got him killed! She must have known what daddy and I were doing all along! She must have known for years! I never even suspected it! She shouted and screamed at me! She kept blaming me! I shouted back, ‘Why didn’t you stop him?’ And she said, ‘Because I didn’t want to lose him!’ She put him before me! I used to love my mummy, but after that I hated her! She’d known, and she had never said or done anything to help me!
“We started fighting. Can you picture it? The coffin being lowered into the ground and me and mummy pulling at each other’s hair, falling in the dirt, scratching and biting! We fell in the hole and landed on the coffin! The priest didn’t know what to do! They should have buried us both with him!”
As Louise and Rosanna both sat in shock, imagining the scene Victoria had described, she suddenly stood up. “I need a drink,” she announced as she swayed on her feet. “I need to drink ‘till I drop! I want to get as drunk as a friggin’ skunk! I want to stew my brain until I forget everything! I want a drink!”
She swayed even more, then her eyes rolled up in her head and she fell over, landing flat on the kitchen floor. Louise and Rosanna rushed to help her. She looked completely confused and disorientated.
Rosanna looked across at Louise’s worried face as they both picked her up. “Come on, let’s get her to bed. Let her sleep it off.”
They carried her to the bedroom. She seemed to be only half awake. “Gosh,” she gasped. “I feel half pissed already, and I can’t even remember having a drink yet!”
By the time they finished undressing her and putting her to bed, the sedative had done its worst and Victoria was already asleep. Louise stood over her, watching her breathing evenly. Rosanna had to pull her away, and as soon as they were outside, Louise fell into Rosanna’s arms and burst into tears.
Chapter Thirty
Making Sense
Detective Sergeant Connors looked over the statements Shawcroft had obtained. Shawcroft sat opposite him. He was reading the Coroner’s Report Connors had handed to him. When Shawcroft had finished reading the report, he put it down on the desk and stood up.
“Well, that settles it,” he said going to stare out of the window.
“You’re talking about the time of death?” Connors asked without looking up. He was still reading the statements.
Shawcroft nodded. “If she was killed between three and four am, that puts Max in the clear and Scott becomes our killer. But why did he do it?”
Connors put down the statements and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on his desk. “Anger!”
Shawcroft turned his back to the window and leaned against the sill. “I know; it’s the key. You keep telling me. But why would Scott be angry enough to snap the neck of his brother’s girlfriend? It doesn’t really make sense.”
“That’s if it was Scott.”
“You still think it’s Max? Even after what the Coroner’s Report says?”
“If it doesn’t make sense, then there’s something wrong.” Connors pointed to the statements on his desk. “These all tie up with what Scott and Max Headly told us, at least about the early part of the night. Obviously this Kenyon girl was a catalyst in the group, a destructive force that split them all up. It doesn’t matter why she did it, but what does matter is that everything they told us about that part of the night makes sense. It’s only later that things don’t add up.” Connors began counting off the points on his fingers.
“One, Joanne dumped Max, giving him a reason to be angry with her. Two, the time of death puts Max in the clear if he got home when he did. Three, Scott was unaccounted for on his way home from the restaurant in Rusholme at exactly the time when Joanne was killed. Four, Scott had been rejected by Chrissy Davis, but was this enough to make him take it out on Joanne? Do you notice anything obvious?”
Shawcroft stared at Connors in sudden realisation. “Swap Scott and Max around and it makes sense!”
Connors held up his finger. “Exactly. But that only works if Mr and Mrs Headly only heard one of their sons arrive home early, and didn’t actually see him.”
“But they said it was Max.”
“They did. And both Max and Scott confirmed that. So maybe I’m totally wrong. Because if I’m right, Scott is putting himself in the firing line for his brother. Very unselfish of him, but also very foolish. So why would he do that?”
Shawcroft sighed. “We’re back where we started.” Then another thought occurred to him. “What about Miss Taylor’s statement about the other boy?” he asked. “It could be him.”
“I’ll admit that it could be this other boy, this Mike. But you have to remember the results of the post mortem. Joanne’s neck was snapped as the result of what can only be described as whip-lash. It wasn’t a brutal attack. Her killer didn’t intend to harm her. The bruises on her arm show how tightly he held her, but there were no others. No, he was filled with emotion and pent-up frustration, and he shook her violently, and because she was lightly built and too drunk and limp to withstand it, her neck broke. Anger! Why would this boy be that angry with a girl he just met to shake her that violently? And according to Miss Taylor, they were both getting on very well.”
“You think he’s unconnected with her death?”
“Oh, he’s connected alright, because he’s the only one who can tell us what happened to Joanne during the rest of the night, and more importantly, where they went for a curry. Any luck on identifying him?”
“Not so far,” Shawcroft replied. “I’ve been in touch with the club they were in that night. Apparently it’s supposed to be members only, but most people bring in ‘guests’. And the people on the door are pretty laid back on the number of guests they let in with each member. I have to hope this Mike was a member, because if he was, they’ll have records with photographs. They also have surveillance cameras at the entrance. They’re sending me the tapes.”
Connors nodded. “Good. Let me know when you’ve got them.” He closed his eyes.
There was a brief pause as both men became thoughtful, both busy thinking about the murder and the people involved. Connors broke the silence.
“Where would you go for a curry in Manchester at three o’clock in the morning?” he asked, his eyes still closed.
“I was just thinking about that,” Shawcroft said. “Rusholme. It’s the obvious place. And that would put them in the same area as Scott and John King at the Shere Khan.”
“Or Max and John King,” Connors added, opening his eyes at last. “Maybe it’s time we had a chat with Mr King and see what he has to say about his eating partner. We’ll get Scott Headly in at the same time. Let’s see how well their stories compare.”
Chapter Thirty-One
A Surprise Visitor
Chrissy was always far too headstrong for her own good, but even she hesitated when she was finally at the door. Whatever was she doing here? What was she going to say?
Of course, she had known exactly what she was going to say on the way over here. She had gone through it all in her mind over and over again. What she would say, what he would say, what the outcome would be. But now, standing here at the door, all alone, she suddenly felt scared.
Her mother had been very upset as soon as she had heard the terrible news. Chrissy had just blurted it out as soon as she had got home. Veronica Davis couldn’t believe it. She had known Jo for a long time. In fact, she had known Jo since she was only ten years old. She cried as much as Chrissy did as they both sat in each other’s arms on the sofa in the back room.
But Veronica also reacted to the news by being very protective towards her daughter. She wanted to hide Chrissy away from the world, to protect her from the evil people who would do such a thing to a young girl. She kept thinking about
Jo’s parents, about how they must feel. It made her hug Chrissy even harder.
Chrissy had only managed to get away three hours later. As the hours had gone by, Chrissy’s sadness for Jo had remained, but her anger at Victoria for splitting them all up gradually subsided. She kept thinking about what had happened that night, about how and why Jo had been on her own when she was killed. Jo had been with Max. So why was she alone? What had happened after she left? The more she thought about it, the more Chrissy became intrigued. She wanted to know what had happened.
Jo had talked to Chrissy about Max quite a lot, more than any other boyfriend she had had in the past. Jo usually went through boyfriends at a fast rate. Her average time for a relationship could be measured in hours rather than days. But Max had been different. It had been over two weeks, and they had still been together. That had to be a record for Jo. And Jo had even suggested that Chrissy should get to know his brother. She had kept saying how good it would be if they made up a foursome. Jo wouldn’t have said things like that if she and Max hadn’t been serious. Or as serious as Jo could ever be with a boy. So what had happened? Why hadn’t Max walked her home like Jo always said he did?
Or maybe he had.
Chrissy suddenly wanted to talk to Max. She wanted to know if he walked Jo home or not. And if he didn’t, why not?
She had told her mother she was going out to see Angie. Veronica didn’t want her to go out. Chrissy was sure that her mother would have been happy to have her bricked up in her bedroom. They had argued.
“How can I finish my degree if I’m too scared to go out of the house?” Chrissy had said. “How can I get on in life if I’m always frightened that something bad is going to happen?”
“But bad things do happen,” her mother had told her. “Jo is dead, isn’t she?”
It was a callous thing to say. But it was true. It made them both cry again.
“But that was late at night,” Chrissy had said eventually. “This is in the daytime. And I’ll be careful. I always am. You know I am, mum. And you know I can’t hide inside the house forever.”
Chrissy had finally convinced her mother to see reason. But she kept seeing the worried look on her face as her mother waved to her from the door step. Chrissy felt very guilty as she hurried along. She wasn’t going to see Angie at all. She hated lying to her mother. But her mother would never have let her go if she had told her the truth.
Chrissy knew where Max lived. Jo had told her. All the way there she kept trying to convince herself that what she was doing was alright. That she was being careful and sensible. She was going to have it out with Max, one way or the other. She kept going over and over in her head what she was going to say. It all felt very sensible, but now, standing in front of the door, it didn’t feel sensible at all.
Her mind was suddenly filled with fear. She kept thinking about Jo. She was probably drunk when it happened, and she was on her own. Jo had been careless. Just once. No, more than once. Jo was always careless. She never thought twice about the boys she went out with, or how drunk she got, or even how she would get home at night. She just wanted to have fun. She took life as it came, and it had killed her.
Was she being just as careless? Was this a stupid thing to do? What if Max was the murderer? What if she went inside and he was alone? Would he kill her too? Oh, Chrissy! What in heaven’s name are you doing here? Something in her mind told her to run away, to get away before it was too late. But her feet were rooted to the spot, and suddenly, it was too late.
As she stood there, frozen to the spot, the door was suddenly flung open. It was Scott. He grabbed her arm and yanked her inside, and the door slammed shut behind her.
Chrissy couldn’t help herself. As she was yanked inside, she screamed.
Scott clipped her round the ear and shoved her against the wall.
“Oh, shut up!” he said in a raised voice. “What do you think I’m going to do? Strangle you?”
Chrissy stared up at him in shock as she rubbed at her ear. “I thought you were Max.”
Scott sighed. He obviously understood her meaning. “He’s at work. Everybody’s at work. It seemed like the best thing to do. What are you doing here, Chrissy? If you’re so frightened of Max, why did you come?”
Chrissy shrugged. “I’m daft I suppose. I wanted to ask Max what had happened. He was Jo’s boyfriend; he should have been with her.” As she spoke, her voice grew more emotional, until in the end, she was demanding an answer. “Why wasn’t he with her, Scott? Why?”
“Jo dumped him, that’s why!” Scott replied with just as much emotion. “Max told me all about it. She even found herself another boyfriend before the night was out. Not a very loyal girlfriend was she?”
“Jo was alright!” Chrissy snapped back, defending her friend. “Don’t you dare say anything bad about her! So she was a little dizzy when it came to boys, but she didn’t sleep around! She was alright! She didn’t deserve to be killed like that! It’s not fair! It’s not fair I tell you!”
Chrissy got tearful and Scott did his best to calm her down.
“Okay! I’m sorry! Don’t get all upset, now. I didn’t say she deserved it. I just said she wasn’t very loyal. I didn’t really know her that well. I only saw her a few times when Max brought her home. She seemed alright to me. She was always very bright. Always smiling. It just seemed sudden the way she dropped him.”
Chrissy wiped at her eyes. “She was probably drunk. She probably didn’t even mean it. She probably wouldn’t even have remembered doing it the next day.”
“Yeah,” Scott replied in a sad voice. “Dizzy.”
Chrissy managed half a smile. Scott put his arm around her.
“Come on,” he said and led her into the front room. He took her to a sofa. “Sit down here. Do you want a drink?”
She shook her head and sat down. “No, it’s alright.”
“A Scotch would do you good. Just a small one?” He went over to a drinks cabinet, opened it, and held up the bottle temptingly.
Chrissy gave in. “Oh, alright then.”
She watched him pour the whisky into two glasses and bring them over.
“Why aren’t you at work, then?” she asked him when he handed her one of the glasses.
“I’m on shifts, remember? The happy woman has taken the kids to school and is out shopping even as we speak.” He sat down beside her.
Chrissy smiled, remembering their conversation that night. “I was a bit cruel, wasn’t I?”
“Cruel?” Scott exclaimed. “You practically disembowelled me on the pavement and trampled on the mess.”
Chrissy took a sip of the whisky, feeling the warmth of it as it travelled down her throat and into her stomach. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said sadly. “You must have thought I was a heartless bitch.”
“Not at all.” Then after a pause he added, “Well, maybe for just a short while. But there’s nothing to be sorry about. After I had the time to think about what you said, I could see that you were right. Blunt maybe, but right.”
“No, don’t say that,” Chrissy protested, surprised to hear herself defending him. “Don’t put yourself down. You’ve got a job, you’re good looking, and you’re fit. And you’re not a stuck up arrogant sod like some of the men I meet. You’ve got a lot going for you, Scott. I’m sure you’ll find someone. You’ll be alright.”
“Then why did you turn me down?” Scott was quick to reply. He saw the embarrassed look on Chrissy’s face and quickly added, “You don’t have to answer that.” He sighed. “Look, Chrissy, I know I’m never going to be rich, but I accepted that a long time ago. I’m not a movie star or a pop star; I’ll never earn more than an average wage for an average job. It makes me feel sad to say it, but it’s true. We all have dreams, and I’m just the same. But that’s when you’re young enough not to have been blighted by the reality of life.
“When you’re at school, life’s full of possibilities. We all think we’re going to be rich, we all think we’re going to ge
t exactly what we want. Big cars, big houses, girls, places in the sun. It’s all magic, it’s all going to happen, and it’s all just childish crap. The reality is most of us end up on the dole, with only enough money to get drunk on a Friday night. It’s a harsh awakening, and some of us don’t take it too well. We end up bitter and envious of those with money, and we let it twist us for the rest of our lives.”
“But you’re not like that,” Chrissy said in a quiet voice. “I know you’re not.”
“No,” Scott agreed firmly. “I know what I can get out of life, and I intend to make the most of it. Maybe it won’t be the same as life in Hollywood, or New York. But the names of places in this country have never held the same kind of magic, have they? Who would compare Swinton with San Diego? Or Bolton with Chicago?”
“Or Stretford with San Francisco?” Chrissy added with a weak smile.
Scott shook his head. “Don’t sound the same, do they? But it doesn’t matter. What matters is being happy. Money helps. But people with money aren’t always that happy are they?”
“No,” Chrissy said thoughtfully. “Once they have their dream, they just invent another one.”
“That’s right. They think money brings happiness in itself, but it doesn’t. Money helps, don’t get me wrong. I could do with a lot more. But its people that count. People and being happy. Being with someone like you would be worth all the money in the world.”
“Oh, Scott, don’t start on that again. You know how I feel. I do like you. I told you I’d cry buckets, and I did. But I want something better than having to settle for what I’ve got. I know I’m being selfish and maybe a bit stupid too. Like you said, it’s all just dreams. And you aren’t the only one to point out the childishness of such dreams. But that’s me. I want to have a try at making my dream come true. At least once. There’s no harm in that is there?”
Scott shook his head. “None at all. You go for it, Chrissy. And if you succeed, come and look me up. I could do with a rich wife to sponge off!”
The Look of Love Page 21
