by Roberta Kray
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah, yeah, no worries. That’ll be fine. Bye, then.’ She looked at Lenny. ‘Bye.’
Lenny gave her a brusque nod, turned around and walked off towards the warehouse. She thought his manners left a lot to be desired, but she wasn’t about to kick up a fuss. Who cared what he thought of her? He was just a dinosaur male with a pea-sized brain. Glad that she was finally making her escape, she gave Ryan a cheery wave, started the engine and set off for the road.
The drive back seemed to take forever. The sense of relief she felt at having finally freed herself of the stolen goods was tempered by her ongoing anxiety about Chris. There would also be the inevitable repercussions of her going missing. She had to think of a story, no matter how thin, to tell the cops when they picked her up.
The traffic was especially bad as she hit the outskirts of Kellston and it took her twenty minutes to reach Tierney Road. The spot where the van had originally been parked was now occupied and she had to go round the block three times before she finally found a space in Cherry Street.
Once the van was successfully in place, she leaned back and briefly closed her eyes. Thank God. It was done. It was over. But she didn’t have time to hang about. Now she had to face the rest of it. Quickly, she sorted out her mobile, putting the battery and the sim card back in. She knew the police could track her whereabouts through the phone, but could they also listen in to conversations? She didn’t dare take the risk.
Five minutes later, having bought herself a phone card, she was standing in a booth at the railway station. It was possible that the cops had put a tap on her dad’s line, but she was hoping that they wouldn’t have been able to organise it this quickly. Anyway, she didn’t have a choice about calling him. She’d have to take the chance and hope for the best. She punched in the number and listened to it ring. It was answered almost immediately.
‘Hello?’
‘Dad?’
He answered with the sound of panic in his voice. ‘Ava? Where have you been? What’s going on? I’ve been trying to call you.’
She put one hand over her left ear, trying to block out the noise of the station announcements. ‘I’m fine. Everything’s okay. Sorry, my phone’s playing up. Have the cops been round about Jenna?’
‘They’re looking for you. I didn’t tell them nothing. I said I’d seen you today, but only for ten minutes. Is it true? Did Chris Street really —’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so, but God knows what’s going on. All I heard was that she’d been killed.’ She thought it best to keep quiet about the rest – what her father didn’t know, he couldn’t inadvertently let slip. ‘Look, the van’s on Cherry Street. I’ve left the keys over the rear wheel, driver’s side. You’d better get the owner to pick it up quickly. Oh, and I told our mutual friend that you’d had to go to hospital, just in case he asks.’
‘Hospital?’
‘Just tell him it was suspected pneumonia, something like that. I’ll explain when I see you.’
‘Ava —’
‘Dad, I’ve got to go. Don’t worry. I’ll speak to you later.’ She hung up before he had the chance to say anything else. Leaving the station, she looked warily to the left and right. She needed to get back on the high street, but didn’t dare go past the green. It would still be crawling with cops and one of them might recognise her.
Instead, she took the long way round, walking through the back streets until she was able to swing back on to the main road further up. Here, she dived into the first clothes store she came to, made a fast perusal of the racks, chose three cheap T-shirts and paid for them at the counter. When questioned, she was going to tell the police that she’d spent the morning shopping. It was hardly a rock-solid alibi, but it was better than nothing.
Ava walked back towards Market Square, her heart starting to thump in her chest. She came to Connolly’s and thought about going inside for a coffee. It was tempting. Anything that involved putting off the fateful moment was tempting. But she knew it had to be faced. It wasn’t going to go away and the longer she left it, the harder it would be.
She was at the end of Market Street when she saw the two cops, a man and a woman, sitting in an unmarked car near the flat. They were illegally parked on a double yellow line. Even though she’d been expecting it, her impulse was to turn and run. She had to dig deep into the meagre remains of her courage to keep on walking towards them.
52
DI Valerie Middleton looked across the table at Guy Wilder and his solicitor. The latter was a slick piece of work, dressed in a suit that had probably cost more than she earned in a month. His name was Hugo Pinner and his attitude was one of supercilious impatience. He frequently sighed and glanced at his watch as if to remind her that his client’s time was important and shouldn’t be wasted. He was, she thought, a man with an over-inflated sense of his own importance.
Guy Wilder, however, was harder to fathom. Although clearly shaken by Jenna Dean’s death, he did not appear to be in any way devastated. Considering his girlfriend had just been murdered, he was remarkably calm.
‘So,’ she continued, ‘when exactly did your relationship with Jenna Dean begin?’
Wilder’s hands rested comfortably on the table. ‘Recently. Very recently, in fact. Only a couple of weeks ago. I’ve actually known her longer than that, but only in passing, to say hello to, that kind of thing.’
‘And you knew she was Chris Street’s ex-wife?’
‘Of course.’
‘And that didn’t bother you?’
Wilder lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. ‘Why should it?’
‘You didn’t think Chris Street might find it… provocative?’
‘What exactly are you trying to imply, Inspector?’ Pinner cut in. ‘I don’t see how —’
But Wilder waved his objection away with a flap of his hand. ‘It’s okay, Hugo. I don’t mind answering the question.’ He focused his gaze back on Valerie and gave a slight smile. ‘You can’t always help who you’re attracted to. And if I was to automatically eliminate any woman who’d had a past relationship, there wouldn’t be many left to date.’
Valerie stared back at him. She found the response disingenuous – he must have known how Street would react – and decided to pursue the matter. ‘But Chris Street wasn’t happy about it? Would that be a fair assessment?’
‘I have no idea what goes on in Chris Street’s head. But yes, I believe he did express some displeasure. He turned up at the bar Friday lunchtime, shouting the odds, looking for me. I wasn’t there, but my business partner Noah Clark was. There were plenty of other witnesses too. He was acting in a… how shall I put it?… a somewhat threatening manner.’
‘And what did you do about it?’
‘Do?’ he repeated, raising his eyebrows.
‘Did you call the police and report him?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Wilder sat back and crossed his legs. ‘Well, to be honest I presumed it was just bluster. He’s the type of man who doesn’t like to lose face. He was obviously bothered by my seeing Jenna – even though they’re no longer together, and haven’t been for a long time – and decided to kick up a stink about it. I never thought for a second that she might be in any danger. He was directing his anger at me rather than her.’
Valerie suspected that Guy Wilder had taken pleasure in winding up his old adversary. It was hard to tell whether he’d had any genuine feelings for Jenna or whether she had simply been a means to an end. ‘Did you view the relationship as serious, as one that was going somewhere?’
Wilder produced that slight smile again. ‘Who’s to know what’s going to become serious or not? It was early days. We were simply enjoying each other’s company. I liked her. She was good fun.’
Good fun, Valerie thought, wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of the relationship. It suggested something light and superficial. The roots of murder tended to be fixed in strong, powerful emotio
ns and there was little evidence of those in Wilder – at least not in regards to Jenna Dean. She could not, however, entirely rule him out as a suspect. Chris Street might be top of the list, but it was wise to keep an open mind. She gave DS Laura Higgs a quick sideways glance, letting her know that she was free to continue with her own set of questions.
‘Perhaps we could move on to last night,’ Higgs said. ‘Had you arranged to meet Jenna?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘No firm arrangement. She was busy, seeing friends, but said she might drop by later. I did try and call her – it must have been about a quarter to eleven – but her phone was off.’
‘So you didn’t see or hear from her yesterday?’
‘Yes, we talked earlier in the day. About one o’clock, I think it was. That was the last time we… that was the last time I heard from her.’
‘You weren’t worried when she didn’t turn up?’
‘No, not at all. I presumed she was still up West with her friends.’
DS Higgs shuffled the files on the table, opened the top one and looked at the contents. She left a short pause before glancing up again. ‘How did Jenna feel about the situation with Chris?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Was she worried, annoyed, indifferent?’
Guy Wilder’s gaze roamed briefly around the room before coming back to rest on Higgs again. ‘I’d say she was more irritated than anything else. He’d been bombarding her with calls and texts all weekend. She was trying to ignore him, but he clearly wasn’t getting the message.’
‘And did she mention the idea of meeting up with him?’
‘No, but if she’d chosen to do so, it would have been entirely up to her. I wouldn’t have tried to influence her decision one way or another.’
‘Even though he’d been making threats? Weren’t you worried for her, afraid for her safety?’
‘In retrospect, I clearly should have been. I believed, wrongly as it transpired, that it was me he had the problem with.’
‘Although you knew that she was being bombarded – wasn’t that the word you used? – with calls and text messages from him.’
Pinner tried to interject again, but Wilder made the same stop gesture with his hand. ‘Jenna showed me the texts. There was nothing specifically threatening about them. They were more tedious than anything else. Still, I’m sure you already know that. You do have her phone, don’t you? You must have read them.’
It was true, Valerie thought, that there was nothing in the messages to suggest that Jenna was in any imminent danger. They mostly consisted of requests that she call him back immediately. Their sheer volume, however, should have set alarm bells ringing. ‘Why do you think she asked him to meet her last night?’
‘Did she?’ Wilder looked surprised by this piece of information. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘She sent him a text telling him to meet her at the green.’
Wilder shook his head. ‘She must have… I don’t know… Maybe she’d decided it was the only way to put a stop to all the harassment. Obviously, she wouldn’t want to meet him in the bar – not when I was there – and I shouldn’t think she’d want to go to his house either. When she came to see me, she often parked by the green. I suppose she must have been intending to come over after she’d finished talking to him.’
‘You don’t think it’s odd?’ Valerie asked. ‘I mean, that she didn’t call you, tell you that she was on her way?’
Wilder’s clear blue eyes gazed directly into hers. ‘Perhaps she wanted to surprise me.’ He inclined his head and gave a sigh. ‘Why are we even doing this? You know who killed her. We both know.’
‘Is my client a suspect?’ Pinner asked. ‘Only if he is, then —’
Valerie smiled thinly back at him. ‘Mr Wilder is simply helping us with our enquiries.’
‘Well, I think my client has been more than generous with his time. So if you don’t intend to charge him with anything, may I suggest we bring this interview to a close?’
53
The rain was bucketing down, hitting the pavement at speed and streaming down into the gutters. Michael Raynard stood for fifteen minutes, sheltering in a doorway. He waited until he was sure that the shop had no customers before quickly crossing the high street and going into Beast. He opened the door – there was a light dinging sound – and closed it carefully behind him. He shook the rain from his hair. He flipped the sign over from Open to Closed and drew the bolt across.
Morton Carlisle, alerted by the bell, wandered out from the office at the back. His salesman’s smile wavered. ‘I’m sorry. What are you doing?’
‘Closing up for the day,’ Raynard said.
Carlisle stared at him. ‘I don’t… Why? Why are you…?’
‘I’ve come for a private viewing. I don’t want us to be disturbed.’
‘We don’t do private viewings, not without an appointment.’
‘I don’t need an appointment.’
A nervous tic danced at the corner of Carlisle’s mouth. ‘I don’t… What… What’s going on?’
Raynard ran a hand along the top of one of the glass cabinets. ‘Please don’t be difficult, Morton. I’m not in the mood. Let’s just keep this simple, huh?’
‘What is it you want? Money? Is that it?’ Carlisle’s hands moved restlessly from his sides, to his chest, to the back of his neck. ‘We don’t… we don’t keep cash on the premises.’
‘You can’t pay for what I want. No, that’s not it at all.’ Raynard gave a small impatient shake of his head. ‘I’m here to talk about Silver Delaney.’
‘What? Who?’
‘You don’t recall her? How odd. I’ve always thought of her as a rather memorable sort of girl.’
Carlisle swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’d like you to leave, please, or I’m… I’m going to call the police.’
‘The police? Are you sure about that?’ From the long inner pockets of his dark grey overcoat, Raynard pulled out a baseball bat. He slapped it twice into the palm of his hand, producing a dry thudding sound. He gazed down at the cabinet. ‘The trouble with broken glass is that it makes such a mess, don’t you find?’ He glanced up again, his eyes hard and cold. ‘You end up picking up the pieces for weeks.’
‘No!’ Carlisle pleaded. ‘Please! Don’t… don’t…’
But it was already too late. The bat descended on the cabinet with enough force to shatter the glass into a thousand pieces. The noise ripped through the room, making Carlisle jump with fright. His eyes widened at the same time as his mouth fell open. The mounted red fox tumbled to the floor and Raynard stamped on its neck with the heel of his boot. ‘I’ve never been keen on foxes. Vermin, that’s all they are.’ Slowly, he looked up. ‘Shall we start again, Morton?’
Carlisle was now backing away, both hands raised in a defensive gesture. ‘W-what do you want? Tell me what you want, but please don’t…’
Raynard advanced towards him, glancing to his left and right as if trying to decide which cabinet to choose next.
‘Please!’ Carlisle begged again. ‘Stop this. Anything… tell me… only please…’ His hands shifted up to his face, clenching into fists and squeezing against his cheeks. ‘Do you have any idea what these exhibits are worth?’
Raynard gave a low mirthless laugh. ‘Silver Delaney,’ he said again. ‘You do know her, don’t you? She came to see you here not so long ago. She came with Danny Street.’
‘Oh, h-her,’ Carlisle stammered. ‘Yes, the girl, the fair-haired girl. Is that her name? I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.’
Raynard continued to pat the bat softly into the palm of his hand. ‘Mr Delaney has concerns about his daughter. Like any decent father, he worries about the company she keeps.’
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘I want to know what she was doing here.’
A thin film of sweat had erupted on Carlisle’s forehead. ‘Nothing. I mean
, she just came with him. He was… he wanted to buy something… from the gallery.’
‘At night?’
Carlisle swallowed hard again, his eyes fixed on the bat. ‘He… he called me, said he needed an item urgently. For a client. A business partner. He had to have it for the following day. A falcon, that’s what he bought. Yes, yes, a gyrfalcon, I remember it now. It was a very fine example of…’ He ran his tongue along his dry lips. ‘I hardly spoke to her, I swear. She was just here, with him. Nothing else.’
Raynard inclined his head. ‘Why don’t I believe you, Morton?’
‘I’m telling the truth. I swear. That was…’
