“I was digging into Lauren’s past, not yours. To help you, Eva – you can see that, right?”
“For the last time, I didn’t enjoy my life back then – and I want this particular part finished with as soon possible. Don’t muddy the waters and more, Joanne. I need clarity to get this done.”
“Then open your eyes. Know what you’re dealing with.”
“I already do,” she replied. “I’m dealing with a huge problem that won’t go away. Please don’t become another one, Joanne. If I were you I’d get back to your day job before you end up without any kind of job at all.”
Joanne shook her head. She felt battered and bruised and now Eva had called her bluff on the Poulter lead, implying she was unreliable as well as a liar. Joanne was upset but did her best to hide it.
“You think you know how to handle Lauren. But I’m not sure you really know her at all. Be careful, okay?” Joanne grabbed her bag. Red faced and shaking, she hustled out of the door and walked away down Hamstel Road as fast as her legs could carry her.
Being careful wasn’t going to be easy. A professional killer was keeping watch on Lauren, and Eva knew they had to be rid of him. And they had to do it soon – or there was a real chance Boothroyd would run out of patience. Eva slapped her pen down on Joanne’s note, puffed out her cheeks and blew out a long, weary breath. It was time to make a plan.
Joanne stopped to take a breath as soon as she was out of sight of the office window. She was hurt, but Eva was right on most of it. The lies especially – lies which she’d tried to make up for ever since. But the one thing Eva was wrong about was the most dangerous of all. Joanne considered her options. Carlton had asked her to leave Mrs Gernahue out of the equation if she could, and Eva had given her a firm warning to stop meddling. She was about to ignore both requests. Eva hadn’t given her any choice.
Nine
Carberry Close wasn’t your typical Basildon cul-de-sac. The red brick properties certainly weren’t social housing. The individual paint colours of the front doors gave it away, along with the variety of fancy paved driveways. It still wasn’t the kind of place Dan would have ever wanted to live. There was no character, no life, no soul, no honesty. And looking at the street, Dan wondered again whether the whole neighbourhood drama schtick had simply been invented by a lonely mind. Because if there was trouble in the vicinity Dan couldn’t see any sign of it – not so far. Mark and Dan walked slowly along Carberry Close, side by side, with Ronson setting the pace just a few steps ahead. Ronson was the one maintaining the distance between them. The odd little man walked with his head tilted down, turning back to look at them whenever he spoke. Mark and Dan watched the man swinging his arms stiffly at his sides, as if he felt awkward about being seen by his neighbours. As the walk dragged on, Dan stole a moment to send a quickfire text message to Eva. “Gone to Basildon to check out Mr Delusional’s neighbours. Hope the Lauren case is going okay.” He knew Eva’s case was a serious problem, and a slow paying one at that. But Eva had made it clear she wanted to deal with Lauren on her own. For her it was a personal issue. Dan wasn’t happy about it, but the best thing he could do was stay out of the way and make some money until she asked for his help.
They had parked the ailing Egomobile back at the furthest end of the street. Now it seemed like Ronson really was giving them the grand tour. Some of the houses had window-boxes, some had hanging baskets. The street was tweeville. They all looked like family homes or at least they had been once. Which got Dan thinking. How had an obviously single man like Andrew Ronson come to live in one by himself?
“Nice places around here,” said Dan, his tone disingenuous enough to pique Mark’s interest. Ronson turned around to accept the compliment.
“I like it,” said the man.
“Must be worth a pretty penny too. This is prime commuter belt after all.”
“Oh, they’re worth upward of three hundred grand and some of them more.”
“Then I guess the mortgage must be pretty steep,” said Dan.
“Which is why some of these people seem to work all the hours under the sun. I suppose I’m in a fortunate position.”
Dan raised an eyebrow. “You’re not old enough to have cleared your mortgage already, surely?”
Ronson grinned. “I never had one in the first place, Mr Bradley. The benefit of being an only child with two deceased parents. The only benefit, I might add. My inheritance paid for the house outright.”
Dan nodded, and wondered whether owning a mortgage free property was another one of the man’s delusions.
“Ah,” said Ronson. “Here we are. This is my place… and that, I’m sorry to say, is theirs.”
The trio stopped at a point where the road became deeply curved, circling back around so the houses on the same side of the street were almost opposite. Ronson’s was one of two semi-detached houses, part bare red-brick, part rendered, a mirror-image of the house next door. The houses sat on a nub of land jutting out into the street before the road curved away to the left. Through the window, Ronson’s front room looked dated but plain. Dan caught sight of a decorative mask hanging on the wall, one of those awful Pierrot mime artist decorations he remembered from back in the eighties. Not good. But from the little he could see through the slatted blind of the window next door, the décor looked even worse. Downstairs, presumably the living room, looked dark, the walls possibly painted a deep maroon. It looked like a strong prescription for antidepressants was in order for whoever had chosen the paint colours. Dan saw a hint of movement behind the blinds. Someone had walked into the room, followed by another. They stopped and peered back at him from deep in the room, before they disappeared again. It was impossible to make out their features. They were little more than silhouettes. Their house was the noisiest around, but only by virtue of some tinny music drifting from an open fanlight window on the top floor, but it certainly wasn’t the kind of angry thrash metal Dan had been expecting. The guitar riffs came from some pop rock Dan remembered from about ten years back. Franz Ferdinand, maybe? No, not them, but something like them…
“See what I mean?” said Ronson. “They’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” said Dan. “Impossible.”
Ronson gave Dan a look “You have no idea, not yet. For you this is the afternoon. For them, this is where their day begins.”
“No offence,” said Mark, “But so far, I don’t see any grounds for a complaint.”
“It’s only early, young man,” said Ronson. “We’re watching them and they know it. They’ll be on guard.”
“So, how do we catch them in the act?” said Dan, laying it on a little too thick for Mark’s tastes.
But if Ronson caught Dan’s sarcasm he didn’t show it. “By waiting. When they forget about seeing you here with me, they’ll soon revert to type. I know they will.”
Dan scratched the side of his face. “If you want us to sit and wait, then the meter on this case starts running here and now,” said Dan.
Ronson nodded eagerly. “Not a problem, Mr Bradley. I offered you an advance, remember? I want you on the case.”
“Shhh,” said Dan. “We don’t want the neighbours from hell knowing there’s a case on.”
Ronson seemed to take Dan’s comment in good heart as he turned for his garden path, but Mark saw the grin on Dan’s face.
“You should give him a chance, don’t you think?” said Mark.
“That’s why we’re here, so there’s no reason not to see the funny side. Lighten up, Mark boy. Didn’t you know, work’s supposed to be fun.”
“You’ve got some warped ideas of fun,” said Mark.
Ronson opened the front door and looked back down the path, waiting for his entourage, his mouth hanging open as if to catch some summer flies.
“I don’t think I’m the only one with warped ideas around here,” muttered Dan.
***
An hour later, Dan had drunk a coffee, eaten two dry rich tea biscuits – they were the only biscuits the m
an stocked – and the volume of the music had barely changed next door. Since arriving, Dan had already swapped his position for a seat on the other side of the living room. His first choice had been directly opposite the eyeless face of the tearful mime mask. There was only so much he could take. Another half hour in and the noise next door began to increase. There were peals of laughter. A girl started shouting loudly about someone drinking all the milk, and she blamed at least two people in turn, the second of whom gave as good as he got. The milk row died a sudden death, but the noise levels stayed loud. Then they started to increase again. The sound of a full-spectrum movie soundtrack, complete with the rat-a-tat of machine guns and groans of death mingled with sounds of the girl singing in the shower, blow drying her hair, and the shouts of some whooping stoner.
“It is getting pretty noisy in there now,” said Dan. “I’ll admit, they wouldn’t be my ideal neighbours.”
Ronson looked at Dan over his folded arms. “This is nothing. They’ve barely even begun.”
Dan glanced at the little digital clock on the old-fashioned tiled mantelpiece. The LCD showed 16:14. “You weren’t serious before? When you said they’d just got out of bed?”
“That’s exactly what I meant,” said Ronson. “Believe me, this is calm compared to what will be happening later.”
Dan grimaced. “How much later?” he said, looking at the clock.
“That depends on them. What they’re doing, who comes round, with what intention.”
Dan shook his head with impatience. “Don’t you have anything else you can concentrate on or think about to stop you dwelling on the noise. You must have a job? Or at least a voluntary occupation?”
“A job? With this racket? Do you seriously think I could hold down a proper nine-to-five with these hellraisers next door?”
“You’re here, Mr Ronson,” said Dan, with a shrug. “So how do you pay the bills? The council tax, the water rates, your food?”
“I invest a little bit here and there. That’s how I get by. Not much, because I don’t like risking what I’ve got. But I generally bring in more than I lose in a typical month.”
Dan saw the man was understating the truth. To survive he would have to do more than break even each month. To be able to afford a PI meant he was doing better still.
“What do you invest in a bit?” asked Dan. “You trade in stocks?”
A hint of pride shone in Ronson’s beady eyes. He gave Dan a slow nod.
“Yeah. Stocks, bonds, options, not to mention the crypto-currencies as well. I’m waiting to see what’s going to happen with this Facebook thing, Libra. Could have been worth a bet, but PayPal and the rest just pulled out, so who knows… Don’t follow the sheep is what they say, though. There’s a new Chinese crypto-currency coming through too, but that might not be too safe for foreign investors…”
“And you do well enough from these investments to live on it?”
Ronson nodded. “Of course. And I could do even better if not for this horror show next door. I want my life back. My neighbourhood back too.”
Ronson’s eyes flitted to the front window as a slim white shape whizzed past on the street. As soon as he saw it, Ronson leapt up out of his seat. Mark and Dan watched as the man shuffled to the front window and knocked on the glass. Dan stood up to get a view of what Ronson was doing, and then he saw the girl in the street outside. A young girl with a pale, almond-shaped face and long straight brown hair was playing around on a scooter. She stopped scooting when she heard Ronson’s knock. She looked at the glass and her face formed an uncertain smile. When Ronson waved, she offered a non-committal wave back. Her hand wasn’t even raised above shoulder height. It was a half-effort at best. Dan appraised the girl. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, had soft, unlined features, and was riding a scooter. She was young, very young. Maybe twelve, or thirteen tops, but probably much less. Dan waited for Ronson to turn away from the glass so he could look in Ronson’s eyes. A long moment later, after the girl had gone, Ronson obliged. Dan saw the same strangely vacant look on the man’s face, but there was also a disturbing gleam in his eye. A dreamer’s gleam. Dan felt an unpleasant twinge in his gut. For the first time he felt as if there was genuine cause for concern. Mark noticed Dan’s expression had become a grimace. But Dan’s concern wasn’t around the next-door neighbours. It was about Ronson himself.
“Did you see her? That’s Kitty. She’s a lovely girl. She’s the daughter of my neighbours, the Mellots. She’s a lovely girl, she really is. Now I want you to see this.”
Ronson’s chin quivered as he pointed back to the window. He stood out of sight, behind the folds of the curtain.
“Don’t let her see you. Go to the window by the front door, you can look through the blind.”
“Why don’t you want her to see us?” said Dan, his voice flat and careful.
“Because of them. You’ll see. Go and look,” said Ronson.
Dan shook his head and left the living room. He walked into the hallway and stood behind the brown wooden front door, then leaned into the window next to it, peering through the blind. He saw the almond-faced girl standing halfway down the neighbours’ front path. She was smiling now, nodding at someone, looking much more comfortable than when she had Ronson’s attention. She was talking to someone. Dan couldn’t see them but he could hear them talking. One of them stepped out from the doorway and entered Dan’s line of sight. They were soon followed by another. The first one was a man in a dark T-shirt. He had scruffy bleached hair, white to blond with hints of ginger, dark roots showing through at the scalp. His whole outfit looked like a charity shop fashion statement. A woman appeared at his side. She wore a tie-dye T-shirt over black jeans, and had the same badly bleached hair, straggling down past her shoulders. The couple stood close together, exchanging banter with the girl just a few feet away from them. The girl looked relaxed and happy. Dan was able to pick up on some of what was said, though other parts were too quiet or too nuanced to understand.
“…don’t worry about him. He’s just a bloody weirdo. You’ll be fine. He gives you any rubbish, we’ll fix him for you,” said the woman. The young girl nodded back with shy gratitude. It looked as if the couple had a rapport with her. From what Dan heard, it sounded as if the girl was scared of Ronson.
“You can always come around to see us, you know,” said the woman. “We’re always up and running by early evening… It’d be fun to have a guest. You never know. There might be a career in it for you.”
Dan watched the woman reach out for the girl’s hair. She picked at it as if she’d seen something unwanted there. A piece of fluff or something. Kitty didn’t seem to mind. Another sign of rapport. Something Ronson clearly didn’t possess but imagined he did. Yet, at the same time, Dan began to wonder about what they were saying. Fun to have a guest? A career for the girl…? Did they mean in film? Dan kept his eyes and ears on the girl.
“I’m not sure if I can. Not today, at least. My mum doesn’t like me going anywhere after tea, and my dad’s even worse.”
Good for them, thought Dan.
“They’re just doing their job,” said the man. “But where there’s a will, there’s a way. If you ever want to see what we do, you’d be welcome.”
“I do. You don’t do boring jobs like most people. You always seem to be having so much fun.”
“Fun is the name of the game, right?” said the man.
The couple laughed and Kitty did her best to join in even though Dan suspected she didn’t know what they were laughing about. In truth, neither did Dan. There was a creak on the stairs behind Dan, and he looked around to see Mark standing on the lowest step, trying to get a view through the glass over Dan’s shoulder. Ronson stood framed in the living room doorway, his spectacles reflecting the light from the window. When Dan looked back to the path, he saw his movement had given the game away. The girl had seen him. Her eyes stared at Dan. From nothing more than pure habit, Dan snapped his head out of the way and moved behind the doo
r, which probably only made things worse. He waved to Mark and Ronson telling them to get out of the way into the front room. They both did as he asked. Dan listened.
“I saw someone watching us in there. Watching from window,” said the girl. She sounded frightened. Dan shook his head.
“Did you? Don’t you worry about that creep,” said the man. “We’ve already got his number. I swear, if he upsets you in any way you can come and tell us.”
“Okay,” said the girl. “I will.”
“See you around, okay?” said the guy. “And if you can come along, you’d be welcome.”
“Yeah,” said the girl. But her voice sounded as if she had already given up on any chance of going along. As far as Dan was concerned, that could have only been a good thing. The neighbours retreated to their house and shut the door and the girl kicked away on her scooter. Dan narrowed his eyes in thought. So far, the neighbours certainly seemed unconventional, but maybe there was a reason for their ways. A different lifestyle, working to a different beat was one possibility. Whatever they did, they certainly weren’t nine-to-fivers, but neither was Ronson. And for all his talk, the neighbours seemed less creepy than their client. But how much of Ronson’s creepiness was because he was isolated and lived alone? And how much of it was because he was just a little too interested in the young lady of the neighbourhood? Ronson had flagged the girl as a concern. Everything Dan had seen so far underlined the fact. The neighbours also seemed interested in the girl, or maybe they were just protective of Kitty in reaction to Ronson’s off behaviour. Dan put himself in their shoes. If someone kept showing a vaguely inappropriate interest in a local child in his life, Dan knew he would draw similar conclusions and keep an eye on the kid. He might have even paid the weirdo a pre-emptive visit to put him in the picture. But appearances could always deceive, and the fact was they were the ones who had invited the girl to their house – and against the parents’ wishes.
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