No Good Reason

by Cari Hunter

  “Half an hour, or no little jelly eggs for you.” She placed the sweets next to her phone, settled back into her seat, and crossed her legs at the ankles. “We’ve only been here for ninety-seven minutes, and your wriggling is already doing my head in.”

  Nelson hid his face in his hands. “Ninety-seven minutes? Is that all?”

  “How long did you think it was? It’s not even dark.”

  “Hours. It feels like it’s been hours.”

  “Well, it hasn’t. Have a nap or something. I’ll keep watch.”

  Satisfied that an accord had been reached, she turned her attention back to Ned’s house. As planned, he had been released on bail mid-afternoon, and a taxi had brought him straight home. He had remained in the house for two hours before walking to the corner shop, buying a pizza and four cans of lager, and walking back again. The most exciting event the surveillance team in the alley had observed was Ned throwing the pizza box into his bin. At no point had he appeared to realise he was being monitored. The trace on his phone showed that his mum was the only person he had contacted since his release, and no one but his lawyer had called him. Although he had a full driving licence, the only vehicle registered in his name was a scooter, which would have been completely impractical for moving Rachel. One of the uniforms was looking into his access to off-road or four-wheel-drive vehicles, but as yet nothing had come up.

  Parked on Prospect Street, Sanne and Nelson were keeping watch at the front of his house, while also managing the two units situated in the back alley. A new team would relieve them at seven a.m.

  Two hours of unrelenting tedium later, Sanne was watching the light of Ned’s television flickering behind his living room curtains, when a spicy aroma made her mouth water and reminded her that half a bag of Haribo made a poor substitute for an evening meal. She looked around to find Nelson sharing out two portions of curry and rice onto plastic plates.

  “Is that what I think it is?” She took the napkin he offered her and stuffed it into the front of her shirt.

  He grinned. “Abeni thought our first all-night stakeout would be the perfect occasion.”

  For months, he had been promising to bring in a flask of his wife’s famous goat curry, but the opportunity had never arisen. The aversion of Sanne’s dad to anything foreign meant she had been raised on a strict English-food-only diet, and she had consequently spent her adulthood sampling the cuisine of as many different cultures as she could, but she had avoided Caribbean food for the past year, after Nelson’s boast early in their partnership that no one cooked it as well as Abeni.

  “It smells amazing,” she said, scooping a generous amount of rice and meat onto her fork.

  Nelson laughed at her enthusiasm, holding off on his first taste to await her verdict. It came with two thumbs up and another forkful stuffed into her mouth.

  “Good, isn’t it?”

  “Fab.” She chewed more slowly, savouring the spices and the tender meat. “She’ll have to give me her recipe.”

  He waggled his fork at her. “I’ll ask, but it might be a family secret.”

  “Fair enough.” She found it very difficult to hold a grudge with a full stomach.

  “Maybe we can do a deal.” He popped the top off a can of ginger beer and held it out to her. “You tell me how you got your name, and I’ll get hold of the Balewa family goat curry recipe for you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment he seemed on the verge of recanting, afraid that he had broached too sensitive a subject. Then she smiled and tapped her can against his.

  “Okay, deal. But I’m finishing my tea first.”

  They took their time eating, as the setting sun turned the sky purple and pink, making even the grotty terraced houses look appealing. Sanne washed down her last bite with ginger beer and dabbed her mouth with her napkin.

  “Please pass my compliments to your lovely wife.”

  “Will do. Can I interest you in an after-dinner mint?” Nelson asked in a ridiculously posh voice, while proffering a packet of Polos.

  “Thank you, kind sir.” She sucked her mint for a couple of minutes, letting him put away their plates.

  “So…” he said, once he had settled in a comfortable position.

  “So.” She stuck her feet up on the dash and cracked her knuckles in preparation for her tale. “’Twas a dark and stormy night…” She paused for effect and bit her mint in half.

  He laughed. “You’ve missed your calling. You could’ve been an actor.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Where was I? Right, dark and stormy, blah blah, back in nineteen-eighty-something or other, when my mum and dad got married. You know my dad’s an inveterate alky, don’t you?”

  “You have mentioned that on occasion.”

  “Well, he hid it pretty well when my mum first started to date him. I’m sure she was aware that he liked a drink, but she didn’t really have a clue what she was getting herself into. A year later, they were engaged, and my mum had her wedding all planned—nice ceremony, lots of friends and family, dress like a meringue, bridesmaids in turquoise, and a dream honeymoon cruise to the fjords of Norway.”

  “Ah,” Nelson said, a connection obviously beginning to form.

  “Yeah.” She sighed and tucked her hands between her thighs, no longer able to maintain her jocular tone. “Mum got her wedding, but the reception was at a crappy local pub, her dress was a hand-me-down, and my dad had already drunk all the money she’d saved for their honeymoon cruise. He took her to Blackpool for a weekend instead, and she ended up pregnant with me. I’m not sure he was even there when I was born, but I know he told my mum that he didn’t give a shit what she decided to call me. So, she chose the name Sanne because that’s what her beloved Norwegian cruise liner was called.” Sanne looked up at Nelson and shrugged hopelessly. “I’m named after the honeymoon my mum never got to go on.”

  “Oh, San.” He sounded mortified, but she shook her head and managed a smile.

  “I asked her once if I made her sad—y’know, reminding her of what she’d missed—but she just said, ‘I have no regrets about anything your dad has done, because without him I wouldn’t have you.’”

  “Your mum’s a remarkable lady.”

  Sanne stared at a streetlamp, letting the orange glow fill her vision. “She’s too bloody proud to take any money from me, so I’ve never told her that I’m putting fifty quid aside for her every month. She’s going on that cruise as soon as that bastard finally kicks it. Maybe she can take his ashes and dump them into the North Sea.”

  Nelson snorted. “There’d be something poetic about that.”

  “Aye.” She thought of her dad, huddled by the gas fire even in the height of summer, his pinched fingers stretched out to the red-hot bars. “It’d be perfect for him. He fucking hates being cold.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  The uneven path crunched beneath Sanne’s trainers, so that she had to concentrate on where she placed her feet, rather than on the weariness pervading her body. She had managed to snatch only a few hours of sleep after her night shift, before the warmth of her south facing bedroom had combined with an unsettling, barely-remembered dream to force her awake. Reluctant to lie there tossing and turning, and eager to get back into the office that afternoon, she had opted for a run to clear her head. Now, six and a half miles into the eight-mile loop, her head did feel clearer, but her legs were on the verge of mutiny.

  Slowing her pace as the path widened, she looked up at the hills that rose out of the valley. Bright sunshine lit their summits and sparkled off the brook alongside her track. Swelled by the recent rain, foamy streams zigzagged through the vegetation, and sheep roamed freely, helping themselves to bilberries. She wiped sweat from her eyes and pushed on. The serenity of her surroundings couldn’t distract her from the fact that this was her first run since she found Josie. There was no doubt that she was more cautious now. She kept scanning the horizon with a wary eye, and her phone—something she rarely carried on a low route—was
tucked into her pocket. Whenever a grouse broke for cover right under her feet, it frightened her half to death. She couldn’t bear to sacrifice the moors, though. It would be too much like admitting defeat. Instead, she considered every step a small victory, a chance to reclaim the peaks for those who loved them.

  Thinking about the case reminded her of an idea she had had during the previous night’s fruitless stakeout. Techs working on Ned Moseley’s computer had unearthed no history of any pornographic sites or mail-order companies related to the stash discovered in his house. He had no PayPal account, as far as they could tell, and his debit card statements indicated that nothing but a few harmless video games had been purchased over the Internet. The DVDs and magazines had been found wrapped in supermarket shopping bags, as if they had been delivered in person rather than mailed. It made Sanne wonder about a local supplier. That part of the investigation had been handed over to the Sexual Offences and Exploitation Team, but they were an under-resourced unit unlikely to drop everything in order to give it precedence. She hadn’t discussed any of this with Nelson, who was also unlikely to consider it a priority, but at this point even the slightest lead was worth following up on. Fortunately, she happened to know someone very well connected. She made a mental note to call Keeley about it when she got back to the cottage.

  The plan gave her a burst of energy. She leapt across a puddle stretching the width of the path and made quick work of the last mile, sprinting along the home straight. At her gate, she bent double to catch her breath, and as she panted for air, a hint of smoke caught in her nostrils. She raised her head to see a grey cloud drifting from her kitchen window, which would have been more alarming were Meg’s car not parked in the drive.

  The shrill bleep of a smoke alarm halted her at the back door. “Raise your hands and step slowly away from the stove,” she said, attempting to sound stern, though too breathless to carry it off.

  “Just in time! Go and have a shower.” Meg silenced the alarm by knocking the battery out of it, and slid the over-heated frying pan from the gas ring.

  “Just in time for what? And are you planning to burn down my house while I wash?”

  “Eggy bread, and no, I don’t think so.” With a dubious expression, she surveyed the oil sizzling in the pan. “I hope not, anyway.”

  Sanne filled a glass with water and took a long drink. “How about we eat first and then I shower?”

  “Fine, but I’m cooking. I wanted this to be a surprise.”

  “Consider me surprised.”

  Meg looked downcast. “I fixed your washer and that dripping tap for you.”

  Swallowing the last of her water, Sanne took a proper look around the kitchen. Meg’s tool kit was still open at the side of the washing machine, with a towel spread out beneath the cupboard that housed the plumbing. On the unit, a dish held eggs cracked in readiness beside a fresh loaf and two mugs.

  “You’re a love.” Sanne planted a sweaty kiss on Meg’s cheek and grinned when Meg shooed her away. “Thank you. I owe you salad.”

  Meg picked up a fork and began to scramble the eggs. “I crept in, thinking you were still asleep, and spent over an hour being as quiet as I could. It wasn’t until I nipped to the loo that I realised you weren’t bloody here.”

  “I’d have left a note, only I live on my own.”

  Meg laughed. “Touché.”

  Sanne gave her a little bow. “Can you hold off on breakfast for a few minutes while I phone Keeley?”

  “Sure. Anything wrong?”

  “No. I just want to pick her brains about something.”

  “About what?” Meg’s voice followed Sanne into the hallway. “Crap names beginning with K? How to filch from the system without breaking your false nails?”

  “She speaks very highly of you, you know,” Sanne called back. Meg’s hoot of laughter was swallowed up by the whistle of the kettle.

  Out of habit, Sanne checked the time before she dialled. It was almost noon—late enough for Keeley to be back from the post office if it was benefits day. The phone rang repeatedly, but just as Sanne had resigned herself to leaving a message, Keeley answered.

  “Oh, hey, San. What’s up?”

  “Nothing much.” Sanne floundered. She and Keeley usually met on the neutral turf of their parents’ house, where they got along fine for the few hours it took to eat a Sunday roast. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken on the phone. “How’re the kids?”

  “Loud, annoying, snotty, and at school. In that order. San, you didn’t call to ask about the kids. What’s wrong?”

  “I just…” This time she hesitated for a different reason, unsure whether Keeley would take umbrage. She decided to make her request seem official, hoping Keeley might be flattered rather than offended. “Okay, I need your help on this case.”

  She heard the spark of a lighter and, seconds later, Keeley sucking on a cigarette.

  “Cool.” Keeley exhaled. “I don’t know nothing, though.”

  “Never say never, Keels. We’re investigating a porn link, nasty hardcore DVDs, and I remembered Wayne used to dabble in that kind of thing.”

  “Wayne never made pornos!” She sounded outraged.

  Sanne winced at her own poor choice of phrasing. Wayne was Kasper’s dad, or was he Kerby’s? She could never keep track. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean he made them, but he sold a few pirated films, didn’t he? He’s not in trouble. I just wondered if he knew anyone local who was dealing in the really hard stuff. Maybe bringing them in from abroad and copying them to sell on?”

  “He probably wouldn’t tell me, San. He knows you’re a bobby.” Keeley paused, and the turning cogs were practically audible as she mulled over the pros and cons. “He has been sniffing around a bit lately, though. Maybe if I promised to meet him for a drink…”

  “That’d be great, Keels.” Sanne pre-empted Keeley’s next question. “I’ll send you some cash to pay for a meal out. Okay?”

  “Nice one, sis.” Keeley took another long drag on her cigarette. “I’ll give him a ring now and let you know.”

  She hung up without saying good-bye. Sanne took the handset into the kitchen, where the smell of frying eggs had replaced that of burning.

  “Perfect timing,” Meg said. “Grab a plate.”

  *

  “I think this is one recipe I’ve mastered to perfection.” Full to bursting after two slices of fried bread, Meg was now sipping from a mug of tea. She slid a third slice onto Sanne’s plate and watched her pour on a generous quantity of maple syrup.

  “Can’t really go wrong with eggy bread.” Sanne paused, as if considering the myriad ways in which Meg could make it go wrong. “Hmm…”

  Riding high on the success of her breakfast, Meg merely smiled. “I think, as adults, we’re supposed to call it French toast.”

  “Bit lah-de-dah for us, love.”

  Meg sniffed. “I’ll have you know I can be very lah-de-dah when I want to be.”

  “My arse! My bloody rooster’s got more decorum.” Sanne laughed as Meg flipped her the bird.

  The phone rang just in time to prevent things escalating. Clearing the plates away, Meg listened to a one-sided conversation that culminated with Sanne agreeing on a time and place to meet Keeley. Sanne was still clutching the phone when she came back into the kitchen, and she appeared to be on the verge of dialling again.

  “Problem?” Meg asked.

  “No. Well, yes.” Sanne sat at the table. “I’m not sure. An ex of Keeley’s knows a bloke who sells legit DVDs on Halshaw market and not-so-legit ones to a chosen few. She doesn’t think he’s got access to the sort of stuff we found at Ned Moseley’s, but her ex reckons he might know who has.”

  Meg dried her hands and hoisted herself onto the countertop. “So what’s bugging you?”

  “The market’s only on today, and we have no other contact information for this bloke. He’ll be shutting up shop in a few hours. If we miss him, it could be another week before we get a chance to sp
eak to him.”

  “Too late in the day to get this authorised by the boss, is that the problem?”

  Sanne nodded, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “Yeah, and also…I still have some issues with Ned Moseley as a suspect, and I’d like to shore up this link. No one else is really considering this angle. With the surveillance and the searches, there’s too much to do. Keeley said she’d come with me and point out the right stall, but I should tell Eleanor what I’m up to, all the same.”

  “Why? What difference would it make? And what if she refused to give her permission?” Meg’s voice rose. Sometimes Sanne’s aversion to taking the initiative frustrated the hell out of her. “Are you going in all guns blazing to arrest him?”

  “Well, no.” Sanne put the phone down and then picked it up again.

  “And you’re on a bit of a deadline, aren’t you?”

  “Obviously, yeah. And it might take ages to obtain this chap’s home address from the market managers and bring him in for questioning, even if Eleanor thinks it’s worthwhile.”

  “And that’s if he’s registered the right address. If he’s flogging illegal stuff in his free time, it’s unlikely he’d be forthcoming with his details.”

  “True. I don’t even know where Eleanor is. She might be with Josie or interviewing. And after working last night, I’m not expected to be in today, anyway.” She glanced up at Meg. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

  Meg flashed a grin. “Want some company on your illicit mission?”

  “Keeley’s bringing three of the kids,” Sanne warned her. “And Kerby’s full of a cold.”

  “I’m completely immune to germ-riddled children.” Undeterred, Meg ushered her toward the doorway. “Time’s a-wastin’. Go get a shower and find yourself something scruffy to wear.”

  *

  Fine weather and an appetite for bargains seemed to have emptied most of Halshaw estate onto the market. Young mums hurried around the outside stalls, cramming cheap meat and bumper packs of nappies into prams before they had to go and collect their elder children from school. Vendors yelled their knockdown prices, and the air was thick with the smell of bacon butties, greasy burgers, and cigarettes. As teenagers, Sanne and Meg had both worked on stalls during the long summer holidays, but the place hadn’t been so bedraggled then, nor the shoppers so downtrodden. A few of the older, more established stalls had survived the recession, and Sanne was watching Meg buying crumbly Lancashire cheese from one of them when she heard Keeley’s irate yelling. A thin wail rose above the clattering of plates from the neighbouring cafe.