Streetwise

by Roberta Kray

  ‘Maybe Ava got it for her. I’m sure the Streets have a whole artillery stashed away somewhere. And that could explain why Lydia didn’t call her on Saturday night. Plus the fact that she’d accidentally shot Danny too.’

  Butler put his knife and fork down and sighed. ‘Jesus, it would help if we were actually sure who the intended target was. I thought you were more inclined towards Danny Street.’

  ‘I was until Lydia Hall decided to end it all.’

  ‘But if Lydia did shoot Squires, then why was he saying the name Ava?’

  ‘Perhaps Lydia and Ava were in it together.’

  Butler wiped with mouth with his napkin. ‘Except Squires couldn’t have seen who shot him. He had his back to the gate.’

  ‘I know. But I still think she’s involved in one way or another. We just have to find out how.’

  ‘Well, maybe something useful will turn up today. I’ve got a couple of officers going into Squires’s office this morning and we’ll be doing a trawl through his bank accounts to see if there’s anything interesting there.’

  ‘What about Danny Street? You went to see him again, didn’t you?’

  ‘Oh, he’s sticking to his story,’ said Butler. ‘It’s a pile of bollocks of course, and he knows that we know it, but unless we can prove the real reason for the meeting we’re pretty much buggered.’

  ‘What does he say about the blood on the jacket? It is his, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, a perfect match. Says he tried to help Squires, that it must have been transferred then.’

  ‘Be the first time Danny Street ever tried to help anyone.’ Valerie picked up a spoon and poked at the froth on her cappuccino. ‘And the wife? Have you managed to talk to her again?’

  ‘She’s still in shock, but claims her husband didn’t have any enemies that she knew of. The name Ava didn’t mean anything to her either, although I get the feeling – and it is just a feeling – that our Mr Squires may not have been the entirely faithful sort.’

  ‘A hunch?’

  ‘Yeah, she wasn’t exactly forthcoming when it came to their personal life. I don’t know, I could be wrong, but we’ll ask around, see if any of his friends or business associates are willing to dish the dirt.’

  ‘She knew Lydia Hall, though, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, although only through Beast. She met her quite a few times at the shop, but they never socialised as such.’

  Valerie’s eyebrows shifted up a notch. ‘Well, she might not have. Doesn’t mean that Squires wasn’t seeing Lydia on the quiet.’

  Butler pushed his plate to one side. He drank some tea and glanced around the café before his gaze came to rest on Valerie again. ‘Maybe we’re making this too complicated. What if Squires wasn’t the target? There’s a list of people as long as my arm who’d be more than happy to see the back of Danny Street.’

  ‘And Lydia Hall?’

  ‘The shooting of Squires could have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. She’s unhappy, possibly even clinically depressed. Maybe she was involved with Squires or maybe she just liked the guy, and the shock of it all simply sent her over the edge.’

  Valerie thought about this for a moment but then shook her head. ‘Sorry, I don’t buy it.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think you would.’ Butler grinned at her. ‘Not sure if I do either, to be honest. Just thought I’d throw it in the pot for the hell of it.’ He paused and then said, ‘So what about this call, the one she got from her boss about the shooting? Maybe he can tell us something.’

  ‘We’re still trying to get hold of Morton Carlisle. I’ve been ringing his mobile – his number was on Lydia’s phone – but he’s not answering.’

  ‘So how about we walk down the road and ask him in person?’

  Valerie’s hands tightened around the cup she was holding. ‘What, go to the gallery?’

  Butler laughed. ‘What’s the matter, Val? Do stuffed animals give you the creeps?’

  ‘No, that place gives me the creeps.’

  He looked puzzled for a second, but then his expression abruptly changed to one of mortification. ‘Ah, God, I’m so sorry. I forgot all about… Christ, I should have thought.’

  Valerie, who spent more time than she should trying not to think about it, offered up a faint semblance of a smile. ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t want to be remembered forever as the cop that almost got killed by the Whisperer.’

  Butler gave an understanding nod. ‘Hey, look, why don’t I go on my own? I can nip down the road, have a word and then come back. You stay here and get yourself another coffee.’

  Valerie was tempted to take him up on the offer – she had no desire to step inside that building again – but knew that would be giving in to her fear. ‘Aren’t you supposed to face your demons?’

  ‘Can I let you in on a secret? It’s not obligatory.’

  Valerie lifted her left hand from the cup and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘No, I can’t spend the rest of my life avoiding the place.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Come on,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘Let’s get over there before I lose my nerve and bottle it.’

  Outside, she walked as quickly as she dared on the slippery pavement. Now that she’d made the decision, she was eager to get it over and done with. They crossed the road and started heading north towards the former undertaker’s. Butler made small talk, but she was only listening with half an ear. Her heart had started to pound in her chest. It was almost three years but she could still remember every second of her ordeal, every wave of panic, every desperate plea she had uttered, every scorching rush of pain as the burning cigarette was pushed into the soft flesh of her shoulder. Gerald Grand’s voice whispered in her ear: Of the woman came the beginning of sin, and through her we all die.

  Valerie swallowed hard, trying to force down the fear. It was over, done with. Grand was in jail and would most certainly die there. She was the lucky one, the one who had got away. She had to hold on to that. If she continued to let the events of that day haunt her, then he would still have control, would still be pulling her strings from behind prison bars. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow that to happen.

  They came to the gallery and stopped outside. Butler reached for the door, but then hesitated and withdrew his hand. He looked at her. ‘Are you sure? You don’t have to do this.’

  ‘Just do it,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘If I feel a fit of hysteria coming over me, I’ll let you know.’

  Butler smiled. ‘Somehow I don’t associate you with fits of hysteria.’

  ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  Butler pushed open the door and they stepped inside. The inside of the gallery was filled with a vast array of animals in glass cases and domes. Such was the surreal nature of the place that Valerie was temporarily distracted from her own fears and anxieties. She had read about taxidermy being back in fashion, but had not been prepared for the sheer quantity of creatures on show. Her gaze flicked quickly over rabbits, voles, weasels, mice, rats, fish and snakes – and they were just the exhibits closest to her. A large brown bear, its expression less than friendly, was standing guard by the wall.

  ‘Nature in all its abundance,’ Butler murmured. ‘Skinned and stuffed in Kellston.’

  ‘Not tempted to an impulse purchase, then?’

  ‘I’ll pass.’

  A tall, stooped man with a shock of white hair and a salesman’s smile approached from the rear of the room. ‘Good morning, good morning,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Welcome to Beast. Not so nice out there today.’

  ‘Morton Carlisle?’ Butler asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I’m DCI Jeff Butler and this is DI Valerie Middleton.’ He held out his ID.

  Carlisle gave it a cursory glance. ‘Ah,’ he said, his face instantly dropping. ‘Is this about poor Mr Squires?’

  ‘And Lydia Hall,’ Valerie said.

  ‘Lydia?’ he said,
frowning. ‘I’m afraid she hasn’t come in today. It’s not like her, not like her at all, but I think she may be too upset about… Well, it’s not always easy to cope with these things. I’ve tried calling her but…’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’

  ‘Heard?’ he said. ‘Heard what?’

  Valerie prepared herself to break the news. ‘Is there somewhere we can go? An office, perhaps?’

  Carlisle’s mouth opened, his lips parting as if to demand an answer to his original question. But then he thought better of it. ‘This way,’ he said, turning and walking back in the direction he had come from.

  The inside of the building was so altered that Valerie had no immediate reminders of her experiences there. It was only as they passed the open door to the basement that she received an unwelcome jolt. A smell, something like formaldehyde – perhaps it was formaldehyde – floated up the stairs and caught in the back of her throat. She shuddered, her eyes instinctively closing for a second.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Butler softly.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, smartly bringing down the shutters on the part of her mind that held the details of the past. ‘I’m fine.’

  Morton Carlisle took them into a small office off to the right where they all sat down and the bad news was imparted. Valerie watched him carefully as she told him about Lydia’s suicide. The shock on his face seemed genuine, although his skin was so bloodless it was impossible to tell if he actually paled or not. Butler asked if he wanted a glass of water.

  Carlisle shook his head. ‘She’s dead? I can’t believe it. She’s dead?’

  It was another few minutes before Valerie felt able to ask the questions that she had to ask. ‘We need to track down her family, if she has any left. Did she mention any relatives to you?’

  ‘Relatives? No, no I don’t think so.’ Carlisle’s hands shifted around the desk as if he didn’t know what to do with them. ‘I got the impression that she was alone.’

  ‘And as a person, what was Lydia like?’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘You know – quiet, bubbly, reliable, happy, sad…’

  Carlisle pondered on this for a moment. ‘Reliable, yes, certainly. That’s why I was so surprised when she didn’t turn up this morning. And hard-working too. I wouldn’t say she was an especially extrovert person, but then I wouldn’t call her shy either. I suppose she was rather… self-possessed.’ His right hand reached for a piece of paper, moved it a quarter of an inch and then moved it back again. ‘And polite. She was always good with the customers.’

  Butler leaned forward. ‘Jeremy Squires was a customer.’

  Carlisle made a slight movement of his head, almost a nod but not quite. ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘Did Lydia know him well?’

  ‘Well?’ Carlisle repeated.

  ‘Did they seem friendly towards each other?’

  ‘Like I said, Lydia is… was always good with the customers. She had a nice manner. Jeremy and Amanda made regular visits to the gallery. They’re keen collectors. They’ve got an excellent eye.’

  And an excellent bank balance, Valerie thought, judging by the price tags she’d noticed on her way through the rooms. ‘So she would have seen quite a lot of them. Did Jeremy ever come in on his own?’

  Carlisle hesitated again, concerned perhaps about the direction the interview was taking.

  ‘Occasionally, but I don’t see what that has to do with —’

  ‘We’re just trying to get some background,’ Butler said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  Valerie continued with her questions. ‘And would they have been alone together, or are you always here?’

  Carlisle went back to fiddling with the sheet of paper. He gave it a long hard stare and then raised his eyes to the inspector. ‘I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at.’

  ‘I’m just trying to establish the nature of their relationship.’

  ‘There wasn’t any relationship,’ said Carlisle firmly. ‘Well, nothing beyond the normal parameters of business.’

  ‘Are you certain of that?’

  ‘He’s a married man, for heaven’s sake.’ Carlisle cleared his throat. ‘He and Amanda are…were… No, there was nothing like that going on. I’d have noticed. I’d have known about it.’

  Valerie wasn’t so sure. Couples who were having illicit affairs would take extra care in the company of others. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But now, can I take you back to Saturday night. How exactly did you hear about the shooting of Jeremy Squires?’

  Carlisle seemed to relax a little, as if now on safer ground. ‘Eddie Barnes called me. I’ve known him for years. He was having a dinner party and the Squires had been invited, but only Amanda turned up. Jeremy was supposed to be joining them later but… well, you know what happened next. The police found Amanda’s number on his phone and called to let her know. Once she was on her way to the hospital, Eddie gave me a ring.’

  ‘And then you rang Lydia,’ Valerie said.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Butler.

  ‘Pardon me?’

  Butler leaned his elbows on the desk. ‘Why exactly did you call her? If Jeremy was just a customer, why the urgency in letting Lydia know?’

  A frown settled on Carlisle’s forehead. ‘There wasn’t any urgency except… I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t want her to see it on the TV.’ His hands resumed their restless dance, his fingers intertwining, parting, coming together again. ‘I called a few people, not just Lydia.’

  Valerie suspected that Carlisle was the kind of man who revelled in passing on bad news. He had probably called everyone he knew to relay the information and gossip about how a respectable businessman like Squires had been shot outside a sleazy lap-dancing club in Shoreditch. ‘Do you know where she was when you called her?’

  Carlisle shook his head. ‘She didn’t say. I didn’t think to ask.’

  ‘Could you hear any noise in the background – traffic, music, the TV, that kind of thing?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Nothing that I recall.’

  ‘And how did she react when you told her?’

  Carlisle lifted a hand to his face and rubbed at his chin. ‘She was… upset… shocked… she didn’t say much.’

  ‘So she sounded surprised?’

  ‘Of course she was surprised. I mean, you read about this kind of thing, see it on the news, but you don’t expect…’

  ‘No,’ Valerie said.

  ‘But I had no idea that she’d take it so badly. Is that why she…? But surely not. Was there a note? Did she say why?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. How long had Lydia been working here?’

  ‘Since the summer. July. Yes, it was the beginning of July, I believe.’ Carlisle moved his hands down into his lap and then back on to the table again. ‘It really is too terrible. A young girl like that. Dreadful. What a waste.’

  Valerie wasn’t sure what made her ask the next question. Simple curiosity, perhaps, as to how Lydia Hall had ended up here. ‘How did she get the job? Was it through an advert, an agency?’

  Carlisle frowned again. ‘What does that matter?’

  ‘It probably doesn’t, but if you could just humour me.’

  ‘Well, as it happens it was Guy Wilder. He asked me to consider her. He knew I was looking for a new assistant and thought she might be suitable.’

  Valerie glanced quickly at Butler, but of course he hadn’t been there at the interview with Wilder. ‘Oh,’ she said, feigning ignorance. ‘So Lydia was friendly with Mr Wilder?’

  ‘Yes. I believe so. She used to go to the bar quite often.’

  Valerie gave a nod. ‘Okay. Thank you.’

  With her questions finished as regards Lydia Hall, Butler continued with his own line of enquiry.

  ‘How well did you know Jeremy Squires?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve known him for years. He’s a collector, a business acquaintance. Sometimes our paths crossed at various social events.’

  ‘
And what kind of a man was he?’

  Carlisle gave a light shrug of his shoulders. ‘Decent, honest, trustworthy. A family man. He was a councillor too, you know. Yes, he was well liked and respected in the local community.’

  ‘Mr Perfect, then?’

  Carlisle’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Well, I doubt if many of us qualify for that particular status. All I’m saying is that I’ve never heard a bad word said about him.’