Streetwise

by Roberta Kray

  50

  Back at Cowan Road station, Valerie Middleton went straight to the Ladies’ and washed her hands with the kind of manic thoroughness that would have shamed a sufferer of OCD. No matter how many murders she dealt with, she always had the same feeling of being unclean, of being in some way polluted by the act.

  The victim had been found behind the bushes by a woman walking her dog at around seven thirty this morning. She’d been shot through the heart. There was no sign of a struggle and no sign of sexual assault, although they wouldn’t know for sure until after the autopsy had been done. The pathologist had put the death roughly between the hours of nine and twelve last night.

  It hadn’t taken long to put a name to the victim. Even before the contents of her bag had been examined, one of the first officers at the scene had identified her as Jenna Dean, the ex-wife of Chris Street. Though the body had now been removed, the green remained taped off while the SOCOs combed the ground. Valerie also had a team going door-to-door, questioning all the local residents. One of them, surely, must have heard that shot.

  She shook her wet hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looked tired, as if the burden of the investigation had already started to weigh her down. She’d never been one to jump to premature conclusions, but this murder had all the hallmarks of a domestic. The text in the send box of Jenna’s mobile phone had told them pretty much all they needed to know: last night Jenna Dean had arranged to meet with Chris Street and now she was dead.

  While Valerie carefully dried her hands, she continued to think about the killing. Street, unsurprisingly, had disappeared. If he’d left directly after the murder, he could be miles away by now. But he hadn’t taken the Mercedes, so how had he got away? He could have taken a cab – they’d have to check that out – or borrowed a car or got someone else to drive him. His girlfriend, Ava Gold, was a distinct possibility. She was also missing, although her flatmate swore that she’d been in all night. But what would Tash Reed know? She hadn’t been aware that Lydia Hall had left on Saturday night so how could she be sure that Ava hadn’t slipped out too?

  Valerie returned to the mirror and made some final unnecessary adjustments to her hair. Then she pushed back her shoulders, took a deep breath and prepared herself for battle. During her first few years in the job she’d worked for a senior officer who had always referred to murder as a kind of war with the police on one side and the perpetrator on the other. It was their job, and their duty, to hunt down the enemy and take him prisoner. Although it was a particularly masculine perspective, she had never quite been able to shake the analogy from her head.

  Upstairs, the incident room was buzzing. There was the bustle of officers coming and going, the exchange of information, the clicking of fingers on keyboards, the constant ringing of the telephones. Valerie went to the desk where DS Laura Higgs was working and peered over her shoulder at the sheet of paper she was studying.

  ‘Is that Jenna Dean’s phone log?’

  Higgs gave a nod. ‘Yes, guv. There are over twenty texts from Chris Street since Friday. He wasn’t a happy bunny. Did you know she was seeing Guy Wilder?’

  ‘Wilder? You’re kidding. God, he wouldn’t have been too pleased about that.’

  ‘You can say that again. He was giving her a shedload of grief, although there’s no sign of her having replied until last night. Looks like she’d had enough of being hassled and decided to meet him face-to-face.’

  Valerie could imagine how Chris Street would feel about his ex taking up with Wilder. The two men detested each other and never bothered to hide it. ‘What about Street’s mobile?’

  ‘We’re still waiting for the phone company to get back to us. You know what they’re like. It could take a while.’

  ‘Guv?’ DC Preston called from the other side of the room. ‘Got a call for you. DCI Butler.’

  Valerie gave him a nod and then said to Higgs, ‘Get someone over to Wilder’s place and bring him in. Let’s see if he can shed any light on what happened last night.’ She walked quickly to Preston’s desk and picked up the phone. ‘Jeff, hi, sorry. I was just about to call you.’

  ‘I heard there was another shooting. Is it true? Is the victim Chris Street’s ex-wife?’

  ‘Yes, Jenna Dean.’

  Butler gave a low whistle. ‘Being connected to the Streets doesn’t sound like good news at the moment. Got any obvious motives yet?’

  ‘How does a complicated love life sound for starters? It appears she was dating Guy Wilder.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Butler said. ‘I bet that went down like a lead balloon. Your man Street wouldn’t have liked that one little bit. So you’ve got the ex-husband and the current boyfriend. Which one’s your money on? Or are you going for a rank outsider?’

  Valerie was used to the apparently callous way some officers responded to an unnatural death. It was a protective barrier, a way of distancing themselves. Everyone had their own coping mechanisms. ‘Well, Chris Street appears to have done a runner. He’s not at home and we’ve searched Belles, the Lincoln and all his other usual haunts. His phone’s turned off too.’

  ‘Narrows the odds. Anything on the weapon that was used?’

  ‘Not yet. Are you thinking it might be the same gun used in the Belles shooting?’

  ‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility. There does seem to be a suspicious amount of fatal activity revolving around the Streets at the moment.’

  ‘I’ll keep you up to date,’ she said. ‘Nothing new your end, I suppose?’

  ‘You suppose right. Look, I’ll try and drop by this evening. I know you’ll be up to your ears, but if you have a minute, maybe we can grab a drink, exchange notes.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ she said. ‘See you later, then.’

  Valerie walked back across the room, sat down opposite DS Higgs and started going through the scene-of-crime photographs. Jenna Dean was lying on her side, her eyes still open, her long blonde hair soaked by the rain. The victim was wearing a short, dark red dress and knee-high boots. Her lipstick matched the colour of her dress. The single bullet wound in her chest matched the colour of her lipstick. An expensive Cartier watch was still on her wrist as were a couple of fancy-looking rings. This was no mugging, then, but they already knew that.

  ‘Why do you think she got out of the car?’ Valerie asked.

  Higgs glanced up. ‘Guv?’

  The distinctive bright pink Cherokee Jeep had been parked by the green and thoroughly examined by Forensics. ‘It was raining, wasn’t it? And no woman wants to stand about in the rain and the cold if she doesn’t have to. Why didn’t she wait in the car for Chris Street and have the conversation where it was warm and dry? We know he didn’t get in because his prints aren’t on the passenger door.’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t want to be that close to him. Maybe she waited until she saw him arrive and then got out. She was probably intending to keep it short and simple – Leave me alone – before going on to the bar to see Wilder. But then Street got mad and —’

  ‘And what? Dragged her on to the green? Wouldn’t she have struggled, shouted for help?’

  ‘He wouldn’t need to do any dragging if he was pointing a gun at her.’

  Valerie pulled a face. ‘Bit risky when you’re standing on the high street. Anyone could have seen him.’

  ‘Except it was raining. And no one takes much notice of anything when it’s pouring down.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Valerie frowned as she continued to flick through the pictures. Near the bottom of the pile was a photo of Jenna’s striped umbrella, which had blown across the green and got entangled in some bushes. The spokes were bent and twisted, the fabric spattered with mud. She gazed at it for a while, the image imbued with a kind of poignancy. In her mind, it seemed to sum up all the waste and futility of a life taken prematurely.

  Fifteen minutes later, news came from the officers who’d been despatched to Wilder’s: Guy Wilder was down in reception and demanding to see his solicitor.
Valerie raised her eyes to the ceiling, knowing that would mean yet another delay. But there was nothing she could do about it. Being Jenna Dean’s current boyfriend, Wilder was bound to feel under pressure, under suspicion even. And no one these days, especially in a murder case, would set foot in an interview room without legal protection.

  While she waited, she turned her attention back to Ava Gold. The girl still hadn’t returned to the flat in Market Square. DCs Joanne Lister and David Franks had been to the Mansfield Estate to see her father, but Jimmy Gold hadn’t been cooperative.

  DC Lister, a pale-faced officer with a mop of red hair, stood in front of Valerie’s desk and shook her head in frustration. ‘He said he’d seen her briefly this morning, but doesn’t know where she is now. He claims that he thought she was going on to work and insists that she couldn’t have known anything about the murder or Chris Street disappearing. He says she wouldn’t get involved in anything like that. But then, he’s her dad. He is going to say that, isn’t he? He was lying, guv, I know he was.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

  ‘Do you think we should pull him in?’

  ‘No,’ Valerie said. ‘Let’s leave him be for the moment. When… if Ava comes back, she might head for his flat rather than her own. She might reckon it’s a safer bet. Let’s not give her any reason to think otherwise. We’ll get a car down to the Mansfield in case she shows up.’

  DC David Franks, a tall solid guy who loomed over Lister, asked, ‘Is she likely to come back, guv? I mean, if she’s just helped Chris Street do a runner, isn’t she going to stay with him?’

  ‘Well, we don’t know anything for sure yet. Why don’t the two of you head over to Market Square and keep an eye on the flat?’

  51

  Ava, although trying not to think about the kiss as she drove towards the old dog track, was actually thinking of nothing else. It hadn’t meant anything. Of course it hadn’t. It was just one of those mad, impulsive actions fuelled by adrenalin, fear and anxiety. When you were afraid, you reached out for someone… anyone who might bring you some temporary comfort. And it wasn’t as if she had those sorts of feelings for him. She liked him well enough, but she wasn’t falling in love. No, she absolutely, definitely wasn’t falling in love.

  ‘Watch the road,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Don’t get distracted. Don’t mess up now.’ The traffic was heavy and there were roundabouts to negotiate. All it would take was a second’s loss of concentration and she would plough straight into the backside of the car in front.

  But despite the good advice to herself, she still couldn’t contain her worries about him. The police would check out all his known friends. Were they aware of the mate in Chingford? Could the guy even be trusted? Rewards were often offered for suspected murderers and greed could easily overrule old loyalties. And she should have reminded Chris not to pull any money out from a cashpoint; that would be another way the police could track him down, or at least get a vague idea of his whereabouts.

  Ava drummed her fingers on the wheel as she waited at a red light. She had to stop stressing about him. He wasn’t stupid and hopefully he wouldn’t do anything stupid. And he was innocent, wasn’t he? She instinctively felt that he was, but what if her instinct was skewed, if she’d got it all wrong?

  The niggling doubt gnawed away at her. She tried to push it aside, but the voice couldn’t be silenced completely. Chris had been angry at Jenna, more than angry. He’d felt betrayed and humiliated. He’d also had a gun, although he claimed it had gone missing. Was he telling the truth? All it took was a red mist to descend, a momentary loss of self-control and there was no going back.

  She blinked twice, trying to wash away the doubt. It was too late now to change her mind. All she could do was stand by her convictions and pray that she hadn’t been taken for a fool. Up ahead she could see the old dog track – and now there was something else to worry about. What if the cops had got Lenny Crew under surveillance? Perhaps he was a known fence. Perhaps one of the guys who’d been arrested had tipped the wink to the cops about where the gear was going be offloaded.

  She was a hundred yards past the track before she spotted the warehouse, a wide grey metal structure with the name Crew & Lambert emblazoned across the front. She had a sudden impulse to just drive on past, to not take the chance, but then thought of her dad and knew that she couldn’t do it. After uttering a quick prayer – Please God, don’t let me get nicked – she indicated left, went into the slip road, turned on to the forecourt of the warehouse and pulled in by the main entrance.

  Seconds later, a tubby middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and suspicious eyes, emerged from behind the double doors. He came alongside the van, put his hands on his generous hips and stared at her.

  Ava wound down the window. ‘Hi. Are you Lenny Crew?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said.

  ‘Got a delivery for you.’

  ‘A delivery?’ he said, a deep frown settling on his forehead. ‘I ain’t expecting no delivery.’

  Ava stared back at him. She didn’t know how these things worked. What was she supposed to say now? She could hardly blurt it out – Hey, remember that dodgy load of electricals you arranged to buy? Well, here they are! – and without being sure of what was acceptable and what wasn’t, she felt reluctant to name names either. As she was pondering on what to do next, Ryan Moore suddenly appeared at the doors. He hurried over and grinned at her.

  ‘Ava, love. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Dad’s sick,’ she said, laying it on thick. ‘He’s bad. He’s had to go to hospital, but he didn’t want to let you down so…’

  Lenny Crew glanced at Ryan. ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Ryan said, giving him a slap on the back. ‘This is Jimmy’s daughter, Ava. She’s sound. She’s fine.’ He looked back at her. ‘No problems, then?’

  ‘Sweet as a nut,’ she said, recalling her father’s words about the original job. ‘But I’m in a hurry. I need to get to the hospital. Where do you want the van?’

  Lenny Crew jerked his thumb, his eyes still less than friendly. ‘Round the back,’ he said. He was, she imagined, the type of man who believed that women were only good for two things – domestic chores and shagging – and had no place at all in the masculine world of crime.

  Ava drove the van round to the back of the warehouse where there were a number of storage depots. One of them had its doors rolled open and she waited there. After a short while, Lenny and Ryan appeared in her rear-view mirror. Their heads were close together and Lenny still looked peeved by the unexpected change in the arrangements. She had never expected to be pleased to see Ryan Moore, but on this occasion it was a godsend. If he hadn’t been here, she was pretty sure that Lenny, fearing a set-up, would have sent her on her way.

  ‘You want to reverse in?’ Ryan said, walking up to her and gesturing towards the open depot.

  ‘Sure.’

  Ava carefully manoeuvred the vehicle until she could slide it easily into the open space. Then she switched off the engine, jumped out of the cab and gave the keys to Ryan. He opened the rear of the van and messed about with the tailgate. She stared at the gear piled high in the back. Jesus, it was like an Aladdin’s cave! There must have been hundreds of boxes and until they were unloaded she wouldn’t be able to get away. Aware that she needed to get the van back by twelve, she rolled up her sleeves and nodded at the two men. ‘Right, let’s get this lot shifted.’

  Ryan kept up a steady stream of chatter while they moved the stolen goods, but Lenny barely said a word. Spurred on by fear – what if the cops suddenly showed up? – she threw herself wholeheartedly into the job, and with the three of them working flat out, they managed to finish in under fifteen minutes. By the time all the boxes had been transferred, her face was flushed from the exertion and she could feel a trickle of sweat running down her spine.

  Ryan closed up the back of the van and passed the keys back to Ava. ‘Drive carefully, then.’ />
  ‘I always do.’

  ‘And sorry about your dad, love. Give him my best.’

  She could have done with a breather, but her desire to get away outweighed any physical needs. Quickly, she clambered into the cab, closed the door and smiled at Ryan through the open window. ‘I will, ta. See you around.’

  ‘Ain’t you forgetting something?’

  Ava stared back at him. ‘Sorry?’

  Ryan grinned, took a large wad of notes out of his pocket and offered them up to her. ‘Don’t want to leave without your dosh.’

  She gazed at the notes, knowing that she couldn’t turn up in Kellston with an unexplained pile of cash. Not when the police would be waiting for her. They’d think Chris had paid her to help him get away. ‘Oh, er… why don’t you sort it out with Dad? I’ll get him to give you a bell when he’s feeling better.’